"I'll have to ask you to cover for me for a week at the hospital though," she said.

"Sure," he said. "You're going to California with him?"

"With a stop at Valhalla," she said.

"Valhalla?"

"That's not fair of me," she said. "Phil and I are going to stop off to see his parents that's Colonel Philip Sheridan Parker III, Retired. They have a house outside the gate of Fort Riley. That's not fair, either. They have a very nice house on 160 acres outside Manhattan, Kansas. The colonel raises horses. He was a cavalryman. But it is sort of Valhalla, or at least the Valhalla Museum. All the souvenirs all the Parker soldiers and there have been a lot of them have brought home from their wars. It's a sacred ritual, like Japanese ancestor worship, to go there and be reminded of Phil's noble, soldierly heritage. There is even a symbol like a ceremonial sword, an enormous Colt revolver, that Phil's grandfather carried in World War I."

"An old six-shooter?"

"Not the cowboy gun, but an old revolver. The colonel carried it in World War II, and Phil carried it in Korea. When Paul Hanrahan told Phil he was going to Indochina, he took it to pieces and cleaned it. Not that it needed cleaning, but that was the ritual."

Dr. Stacey chuckled.

"And while his daddy was taking it apart and putting it back together, little Phil stood quietly behind him, eyes wide, watching, just dreaming of the day when he can be a soldier."

"Don't get sore at me, Toni," Stacey said, "but I sort of understand that."

"That's because you're a male chauvinist," she said.

"You knew that," he said. "Is there anything I can do, Toni?"

"Come to the party," Toni said. "Prepared to tranquilize a hysterical wife."

"Whose party?"

"Mine, of course. An officer's wife has a ritual party for a husband going away. Everybody gets drunk and worships Mars with a ritual bloody steak."

When Emory and Jo-Ellen came to Quarters Six, Hospital Area, for the party, Emory slipped a bottle into Toni's hand. He had taken her at her word. There were enough tranquilizers in the bottle to put the officer corps of the Eighty-second Airborne Division into a happy stupor.

She had yet to take one, although there had been great temptation at the farm outside Manhattan, when, with tears in their eyes, the kids had waved good-bye to them. She was also tempted the day before when Phil had had to go to the navy base to check in and had left her alone in the hotel. Toni had really wanted to be either drunk or tranquilized then.

She did not do either, though. Phil didn't like her when she had too much to drink, and she didr't want him to go away remembering her that way, so that was out. But so were the pills. She was afraid of drugs, medical efficacy aside. She had seen too many women, Jo-Ellen Stacey among them, riding around on cloud nine.

So she'd gone to the pool and swam to work the emotional poisons out of her system before Phil came back from the navy base. When she went up their room, there was an enormous floral display standing in front of the dresser. It was in the shape of a horseshoe, and it carried a legend, Bon Voyage!" in gold letters on a purple ribbon. She didn't have to open the card to know that it was from Craig Lowell. Lowell sent flowers on every occasion always too many, too garish.

Lowell, whom Toni Parker regarded as another lost soul, was Phil's best friend. They had met at Fort Knox long ago as second lieutenants, and Phil believed Lowell's testimony in his behalf was the reason he had been acquitted at his courtmartial. Lowell had been Phil's best man at their wedding. The flowers made her think of that and consider that she very possibly was on the next to the last day of her time with the man she had married. Soldiers got killed in wars, and her husband, goddamn him, insisted on being a soldier.

She had not taken a pill then, either. If these were to be their last hours she wanted to remember them in detail, not through a chemical fog.

As Phil tied his tie, Toni jumped out of bed.

I'm going with you to the dock."

He turned and looked at her.

"I thought we talked that through," he said. "The dock will be loaded with sailors' wives."

"And at least one soldier's wife," Toni said.

"It's not smart," he said.

"Maybe not," she said, "but I'm going."

"Okay," he said.

My God, she thought, he's pleased. He really is pleased. He wants me to go with ham. And! almost lay here on my tail and didn't go.

There was a marine guard at the gate to the navy base. He started to wave them through with a crisp salute, but then held his hand out.

Toni thought she understood that. He had first seen the officer's insignia, the gold major's leaves, on Phil's epaulets. Then he had seen, certainly, the color of the major's skin.

"Good morning, sir," he said, and leaned down to look in the window, looking at both of them carefully. "Your destination, sir?"

"The USNS Card," Phil said.

"Thank you, sir," the MP said, and waved them through.

She had never seen an aircraft carrier up close before. This one, Phil had told her, wasn't even a full-sized one. It was a World War II carrier taken out of mothballs and converted into an aircraft ferry. It wasn't even officially a navy ship, but crewed by civilians and called USNS for U.S. Naval Ship rather than USS, which stood for United States Ship. Toni didn't pretend to understand the convoluted military logic behind that.

From a distance she could see the flight deck. It was jammed with helicopters and airplanes. She knew what they were. Piasecki H-21 "Hying Bananas," with a rotor at each end. De Havilland of Canada L20 "Beavers" and the larger version of the Beaver, the UIA "Otter." There were Mohawks aboard, too, but they were being carried internally, Phil had told her. The twin turboprop Grumman reconnaissance aircraft were a deep secret within the larger deception involved in sending army airplanes to Indochina.

Even though Card was a small vessel, close up it was so large, it was overwhelming. When Phil stopped the car at a marine MP's hand signal on the dock, Toni could not see anything but the carrier's enormous expanse of gray steel.

"You're going aboard, sir?" the marine asked.

"Yes," Phil said.

"You'd better hurry; sir. They've already begun to take in the lines." With a little bit of luck, it'll leave without him.

"Thank you," Phil said.

He took off his brimmed cap and handed it to Toni.

"Take care of that for me, will you?" he said. He opened his attache case, which contained, among other things, the ceremonial Colt revolver, and took out a green beret.

"I thought they were outlawed," she said.

CO NARC directives apply only in the States," he said, setting the beret in place on his head. He twisted the rearview mirror of the Econo-Rent Ford to examine himself.

They're like little boys with those hats. Little boys dressing up to go play war.

"If I have neglected to mention this," Phil said, "I love you. Take care of yourself."

He leaned over and kissed her, very tenderly, on the lips, then quickly stepped out of the car. He stuck his attache case under his arm and then pulled his two suitcases from the backseat.

Their eyes met and he smiled. Then he straightened up, kicked the door shut, and marched down the pier in the shadow of the enormous gray bulk above him.

Two soldiers in green berets came running to him and relieved him of the suitcases. He turned and looked at her for a moment, waved, and walked farther down the pier.

Toni jumped out of the car and walked after him.

There was an open door, as large as a house, in the side of the ship, with a wide stairway leading into it. She thought she caught a glimpse of him at the top, but she wasn't sure.

She stood on the pier looking up at the ship.

A crane pulled the wide stairs away from the door in the ship.

A navy band began to play "So Long, It's Been Good to Know You."

She sensed, rather than saw, that the carrier was moving.

She walked backward away from it, and gradually the deck came in sight. It was possible now to see people up there, army officers among them, looking down at the pier, but she didn't see Phil.

It took a long time for the USNS Card to begin to move, and the band changed tunes. They played "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon." That was an old Cavalry tune she had learned from Colonel Philip S. Parker Ill. The navy was playing it for the army. That was nice, she thought.

She did not see Phil again, although she searched the USNS Card until it was too far away to make out faces.

Now she would have one of those goddamn pills' she thought.

She went back to the rented Ford, sat behind the wheel, and ran her fingers over the scrambled eggs on the brim of Phil's hat. Then she pulled the pill vial from her purse and took a pill from it. She stared at it a moment, then left the car and walked to a fifty-five gallon trash barrel on the pier and threw the pill and the bottle into it. (Two) Post Stockade Fort Jackson, South Carolina 084S Hours, 11 December 1961 The day had begun for Confinee Craig at 0345 hours. The lights had been turned on, and a half-second later the corporal in charge of the barracks had blown his whistle.

Confinee Craig was on the second floor of the barracks, along with a number of other confinees. A confinee was not a prisoner; a confinee was awaiting trial. A prisoner had been found guilty at his court-martial. For that reason prisoners were separated from confinees. And following the principle of American jurisprudence that individuals are presumed innocent until proven guilty in a competent court of law, confinees were not denied the privileges taken from prisoners. Confinees, for example, were permitted to salute. Prisoners were denied that privilege.

Confinees were also allowed the privilege of military training, although Geoffrey Craig had been unable to detect any difference whatever between "confinee military training" and "prisoner retraining." Both consisted primarily of close-order drill, calesthenics, and the preparation of field sanitary facilities. That meant digging a latrine in the morning and then filling it back up in the afternoon.

When the lights went on and the whistle blew, the confinees had leaped out of their beds, ripped from the beds the blankets and mattress covers issued in lieu of sheets, and thrown them to the floor mattress covers to the left, blankets to the right. Pillows were not available for issue.

They then stood to attention at the foot of their bunks for "confinee count," which was conducted by the barracks corporal. As he walked past each confinee, the confinee sang out his last name, his first name, his middle initial, and the last four digits of his serial number.

Confinees were required to be wearing at that time T-shirts, shorts, and socks, men's, woolen, cushion-sole.

Once confinee count was completed, the trainees had forty-five minutes to shower, shave, dress, make up their bunks (less mattress covers), and wash the mattress covers and the uniform they had worn the previous day. A good soldier takes pride in his personal cleanliness. The clothing and mattress covers were washed by taking them to the latrine and scrubbing them with a brush and GI soap on the concrete floor. The washed uniforms, underwear, and mattress covers were then taken outside and hung, in the prescribed manner, on a wire clothesline to dry.

Inasmuch as Confinee Craig's hand was in a cast, the daily laundry ritual posed something of a problem for the barracks corporal. This dilemma was resolved by the appointment of a roster of fellow detainees, one of whom each day would be responsible for washing Confinee Craig's laundry in addition to his own. Because Confinee Craig was perfectly capable of taking the laundry down when it was dry and of making his bed as required, these tasks he did on his own.

The confinees' uniform of the day was fatigues (stenciled with P's in the designated places), cartridge belts, canteens, first-aid packets, and helmet, steel, protective. It was the same uniform prisoners wore, except that prisoners were denied the privilege of soldier's headgear. They wore instead caps, fatigue, with brim reversed, which made them look like German soldiers in the movie All Quiet on the Western Front.

Prisoners wore their cartridge belts upside down with the flaps hanging open, signifying that they had lost the privilege of bearing arms.

Roll call was held at 0430, and differed from confinee count in that it was held outdoors.

The confinees were then marched to breakfast. Confinees were given the standard ration, which was spooned onto each confinee's stainless-steel compartmented tray. Confinees were required to eat everything on their trays.

At 0505 the day's training began: First came forty-five minutes of calisthenics, followed by a ten-minute break, followed by an hour of close-order drill, a ten-minute break, and another hour of close-order drill.

At 0800, training in techniques of field sanitary procedures began. Again Confinee Craig's hand in a cast posed a problem for the noncommissioned officer in charge of training. Since he could not in fairness be excluded from the training, Craig was required to stand at the end of the latrine being dug and to count aloud the number of shovelfuls of dirt taken from the hole.

It was unfortunate that some dirt spilled on the spot where he had to stand in order to make an accurate count. Much of this dirt, predictably, fell onto his boots. By the time the field sanitation facility had been dug to the required depth, his boots were just about completely covered.

When the loudspeakers blared Craig's name, he had just announced the removal of shovelful number 128.

The call was probably a summons to the hospital, he thought, for the every-other-day examination of his hand. He didn't believe that the hand required all that much examination, and there was always a wait for most of the morning, and it was humiliating standing there in the emergency room with an MP guard, but that was considerably less unpleasant than standing at the end of a field sanitation facility in the process of excavation, having your boots buried in dirt.

The barracks corporal waited patiently for Craig to replace his muddy boots and trousers with clean items suitable for an appearance at the administration building. Confinee Craig had yet been unable to learn to tie his bootlaces with one hand, but he had grown rather adept at stuffing the loose ends beneath the crisscrossed laces so the ends wouldn't drag on the ground.

The barracks corporal ordered him to proceed to the administration building gate. Confinees always moved at double time. When Craig reached the rear door of the building he double-timed in place until the barracks corporal caught up to him and ordered him to halt.

When the barracks corporal knocked at the door, it was opened by the confinement sergeant.

"What the hell took you so goddamned long?" the sergeant baiked at the barracks corporal. Then, to Confinee Craig, he said, "I will knock at the door. When we are told to enter, I will enter. You will follow me. When I stop, you will stop one pace behind me. When I render the hand salute, you will render the hand salute."

"Yes, Sergeant," Confinee Craig said.

When the confmement sergeant knocked at the door, a voice said, "Come in."

The confinement sergeant and Confinee Craig marched into the room and stopped.

"Sir, Confinee Craig is present, sir," the confinement sergeant said, and saluted.

"Thank you, Sergeant," the officer said. "I'll call you when I need you."

"Sir, confmees are to be accompanied at all times."

"I won't tell you again, Sergeant," Lowell said. "You are dismissed."

The sergeant saluted again, about-faced, and marched out of the office.

"Hello, Geoff," Lowell said.

"What do I call you, under the circumstances?" Geoff asked.

"Colonel' or sir' will do nicely," Lowell said.

"How did you hear about this?" Geoff asked, and remembered after a moment to add "sir."

"The check you wrote to the lawyer was called to your father's attention," Lowell said. "He brought it to mine."

"I'm sorry he found out," Geoff said.

"You're in no position to antagonize me, Geoff. I told you to call me sir."

"Yes, sir," Geoff said.

"You do have, I hope, some idea of the magnitude of the jam you're in?"

"Yes, sir."