Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 19

When he got to his room, he saw that his laundry had been delivered, and that his other OD uniform was crisply pressed and hanging in the wardrobe. His riding costume was hanging beside it, and his boots, freshly polished, were at the foot of the bed. He took off his Ike jacket, pulled his necktie down, took a cold beer from the ice-filled insulated box, and then unpacked the Zenith Transoceanic portable radio.

He read the instruction book that came with it, opened the back, installed the large, heavy storage battery that had come as an accessory, and turned it on. He tuned in AFN-Frankfurt, the American radio station, and picked up b.u.ms and Allen.

With his feet on an upholstered footstool, a can of beer in his hands, and half listening to George's running battle with Gracie, he began to study the Transoceanic's operating instructions.

There was a knock at the door.

"Who's that?" he called, in German.

"Captain MacMillan."

"Come in," Lowell said. s.h.i.t. The last person Lowell expected to see at the door of his apartment was Captain Rudolph G. MacMillan. He had thought it was one of the grooms, who made predictable trips to his room to report on the condition of the horses in the certain knowledge they would be offered both a beer and a package of cigarettes.

Lowell had come to the conclusion that he was the only member of the Army of Occupation who was buying cigarettes on the black market. Every other mother's son was selling not only their ration, but having them shipped from the States to sell as well.

Lowell had considered writing his mother and telling her to send him a case of cigarettes. He did not. His mother would not understand. He would either get a carton of cigarettes, or, more likely, a cigarette case, suitably monogrammed. It wasn't worth the effort. He could afford to buy three cartons a week here and dispense them judiciously among the German grooms, in exchange for having his dirty clothing washed and pressed and his boots polished, and for having the a.s.surance that the animals and tack were in impeccable condition when they were led to the field for the officers to ride. This was a better job than being caddy master.....He intended to do what he could to keep it.

MacMillan made no secret of his dislike for him, and it was entirely possible that when he saw the apartment, he would order Lowell to move back into the barracks with the other peasants.

MacMillan came into the room and looked around.

"Very nice," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Lowell said.

"You got another one of those beers?" MacMillan asked.

"Yes, sir," Lowell said. "Of course."

MacMillan walked around the apartment, opening the door to the bathroom, and then the door to the wardrobe.

"Very nice," he repeated. "Even an icebox. Like I said, Lowell, you're a survivor."

He was caught now. There was nothing to do but take a chance. "My company commander thinks I'm sleeping on straw in a sleeping bag," he said, handing MacMillan a can of Schlitz, then a metal church key, and finally a gla.s.s.

"Very cla.s.sy," MacMillian said. "Crystal, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Bohemian, about 1880, according to the markings. I looked it up in the library."

"You're interested in crystal?" MacMillan asked. His concern was evident. An interest in crystal was tantamount to a public announcement of h.o.m.os.e.xuality. MacMillan didn't think that was likely, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't beyond possibility either. s.h.i.t.

"Not really. When I was offered this by one of the grooms, he told me it was quite good. I was checking up on him more than anything else. The beer tastes the same."

MacMillan chuckled. Lowell thought that it was entirely possible that MacMillan was going to permit him to continue living in. comfort.

"You got hot plans for tonight?" MacMillan asked.

"I was going to lie here and listen to my radio," Lowell said, nodding toward the new Transoceanic. "I just bought it."

"How would you like to come to my house for supper?" MacMillan said. When Lowell was obviously reluctant to reply, MacMillan went on. "Come on, Roxy's been wanting to have you over."

"That's very kind of you, Captain," Lowell said. "And I appreciate it, but. . ."

"What the h.e.l.l's the matter with you?" MacMillan snapped.

"Look, I mean it. I do appreciate what you're doing. Take care of the lonely troops. I really appreciate it. But I'm sure that as seldom as you get to spend a night at home, Mrs. MacMillan would really rather spend it alone with you, instead of entertaining one of your troops."

MacMillan didn't say anything.

"Honest, Captain. I'm used to being alone, and I like it. And I really appreciate the thought."

"Take a shave," MacMillan ordered. "I'll wait. That a fresh uniform ?"

"Yes, sir," Lowell said.

"Wear it," Captain MacMillan ordered.

(Eight) Captain and Mrs. Rudolph G. MacMillan had been a.s.signed a fourteen-room villa on the slope of the Tanaus Mountains looking down on the resort town itself. Lowell thought that it looked very much like the house his cousin Porter Lowell had built in East Hampton. He wondered where the Germans who owned it were now living.

He parked his jeep beside MacMillan's Buick and followed him up the brick stairs to the door. A German maid opened the door, but Roxy, in a white blouse, unb.u.t.toned blue sweater, and pleated skirt, came rushing out of the living room.

She grabbed Lowell's arm, planted a kiss on his cheek, and said, "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you!" He had no idea what that was all about, and he was aware that MacMillan had signaled his wife to shut up.

"Ooops," Roxy said. "Me and my big mouth. What do you drink, Craig? We got it all."

"I'll have a beer if you have one," Craig said.

"Good, that'll go with the steaks," Roxy said. She looked at her husband. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Mac, why don't you tell him?"

"Yes, indeed, please, Captain, sir, tell me," Craig said.

"Get us a beer, Roxy, and bring it out on the porch," MacMillan said.

The "porch' was actually a veranda, a thirty-by-eighty-foot area paved in red flagstone, along the edges of which a two and-a-half-foot tall, foot-thick brick wall had been laid. Bad Nauheim was spread out below them. Craig could see the six story white brick and gla.s.s headquarters building, the only modem building in town. And the munic.i.p.al park, and the polo field, and even, he thought, the red tile roof of his stable.

"It's beautiful," he said.

Roxy came onto the veranda and handed him a beer.

"It's a long way from the chicken coop, I'll say that," she said. She banged the neck of her beer bottle against his. "Mud in your eye, kid."

"The chicken coop?" Lowell asked, smiling.

"Our first home," Roxy said. "Mac and I got married in Manhattan. That's Manhattan, Kansas. Outside Riley. We lived with my folks, at first, and then Mac went airborne, and we went to Benning. Some redneck farmer had decided he could make more money gouging GIs than he could raising eggs, so he leased out his chicken coop and turned it into three apartments. Plywood walls, and a two-holer fifty yards away. He charged us fifty bucks a month and Mac was drawing a hundred and fifty-two eighty, including jump pay. And we were glad to get it."

"Well, this is lovely," Lowell said, sincerely, gesturing around the patio and up at the house itself.

"It's supposed to be field grade," Roxy said. "But Mac pulled a couple of favors in."

Lowell didn't know what to say, so he just smiled.

"Have you told him? For Christ's sake, tell him, so we can start the party."

"Jesus, Roxy, you can really screw things up," Mac said.

"You want me to tell him? OK, I'll tell him," Roxy said.

"I'll tell him," MacMillan said. "I'll tell him."

Lowell looked at him expectantly.

"Have you ever thought of becoming, an officer?" MacMillan said.

"Not for long," Lowell said. "They wanted me to go to OCS in Basic..."

"You should have," Roxy said.

"I really don't mean to be rude, Mrs. MacMillan," Lowell said, "but I was in the army about three days when I realized that I didn't belong in the army."

"That's only because all you've seen of the army is the c.r.a.p," Roxy said. "It's a good life, you'll see." He wondered what the h.e.l.l she meant by that. But she was a good woman, and he would have been incapable of saying anything to hurt her feelings, even if he hadn't been afraid of her husband. He smiled at her. "You have fifteen months and eleven days to convince me," he said.

"Tomorrow morning at 0800," MacMillan announced in a flat voice, "you're going to be sworn in as a second lieutenant."

"I beg your pardon?" Lowell asked.

"You heard what I said," MacMillan said. He was smiling at Lowell's discomfiture.

"I heard what you said, Captain," Lowell said. "But I can't believe it."

"Believe it. You got it from me. You can believe it," MacMillan said.

"Now we can party," Roxy MacMillan said, and kissed him again, wetly, on the cheek.

"Now just a moment," Lowell said. "I don't think I want to be an officer."

"What the h.e.l.l kind of talk is that?" Roxy said. "What's the matter with you?"

"Let me spell it out for you, Lowell," MacMillan said. "The general wants to beat the frogs in a polo game. Now I don't know why that's important to him, and I don't care. I'll tell you this, though: it's more than wanting to beat them at a game on horses."

"I was an enlisted wife," Roxy said. "I know what it's like.

And it's a h.e.l.l of a lot better on officers' row."

"Roxy, for Christ's sake, will you shut up?" Rudy MacMillan said.

She gave him a dirty look.

"The general thinks the only way he can. beat the frogs is if you're playing polo," MacMillan said to Lowell. "And frog officers don't play polo with enlisted men. The general says you will play. You with me so far?" Lowell nodded, but said nothing.

"So tomorrow you get sworn in as a second lieutenant," MacMillan said. "You don't know enough about the army, about soldiering, to make a pimple on a good corporal's a.s.s, much less a good officer. I know that, and you know that, but that's not the point. The point is that you will be an officer and a gentleman, and you will get on your horse and play polo. You got that?"

"And what happens at the end of polo season?" Lowell asked.

"The general's sure to get another star, and pretty soon. That means going back to the States. You keep your nose clean, and I give you my word we'll take that gold bar off you as quick as we put it on."

"And I go back to being a private?"

"You get out," MacMillan said, his voice hard. "I will see to it that your application for relief from active duty for hardship reasons is approved."

"This isn't the way I thought this was going to be at all," Roxy said. "I thought he was just getting a commission. I don't think I like this."

"How soon can I expect to get out?" Lowell asked.

"In six months, you'll be out. You can believe that. You got it from me."

"OK," Lowell said.

"You little s.h.i.t," MacMillan' said, angrily. "When I was your age, I would have given my left nut for a commission."

"May I be excused, Captain?" Lowen said, getting to his feet.

"Now wait just a minute!" Roxy said. "Mac, you stop this c.r.a.p right now. This is my party. I asked Craig here for a party, and we're going to have a party. You guys just leave your differences at the G.o.dd.a.m.n door."

"No, you can't be excused," MacMillan said. "The general and Mrs. W Waterford are due here in ten minutes. You will stay here, and you will act like you're having a good time. You understand me?"

"Now there's a direct order if I ever heard one," General Waterford said from the edge of the veranda. "But I don't see how you could possibly enforce it, Mac." Lowell and MacMillan stood up.

"Good evening, Craig," Mrs. Waterford said. She walked up to him and gave him her hand. "How nice to see you."

"Good evening," Lowell said. He wondered how much of the exchange the Waterfords had heard. There were no signs that they had heard any of it except the last angry remark MacMillan had made.

"I understand that you're to be commissioned," Mrs. Waterford said. Congratulations. 1 think you'll make a fine officer."

He looked at her, wondering if she was simply being gracious, or whether she actually meant what she was saying.

"Thank you," he said.

A cut-in-half, fifty-five-gallon barrel on legs was carried onto the veranda by two German maids. Major General Peterson K. Waterford removed his tunic, his necktie, and rolled up his sleeves. He put on a large white ap.r.o.n, on the front of which was stenciled the face of a jolly chef in a chef's hat and the legend, CHIEF COOK AND BOTTLEWASHER. Next he built a charcoal fire, and then personally broiled steaks. While he was cooking, he drank several bottles of beer, from the neck.

The steaks were excellent, thick, charred on the outside and pink in the middle. Roxy MacMillan provided baked potatoes, a huge salad, and garlic bread.

They talked polo. MacMillan, who knew nothing about polo, had nothing to say, and this pleased Lowell.

What the f.u.c.k, Lowell thought, sometime during the evening. 1 will play polo, and 1 will get out of the army six months early, and in the meantime I will be an officer. What have I got to complain about?