Paul tapped on a piece of plywood attached to the front of the tent as a crude knocker. "Come in," a voice called, and Paul had that feeling that he'd been here before. It was uncannily like that last time in Germany.
He ducked his head and entered. Then he started to stand upright and come to attention. "Sit down, Lieutenant," said the voice, interrupting that effort. Paul found a camp chair and did as directed.
As his eyes became adjusted to the dimmer light, he saw that the man facing him across a card table that served as a desk was a captain in his late twenties or early thirties. He had dark, brush-cut hair and looked to be fairly tall and rangy.
"Lieutenant Morrell, I presume?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wonderful. Lieutenant, I am Captain Tom Ruger. Now just where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be here three days ago. Almost all the rest of the regimental officers have gone on ahead with the enlisted men, with me left behind to round up strays like you."
Tradition dictated that he was to say "no excuse," or something like that. Right now, Paul was too tired and dirty to care. "Sir, if I hadn't been thrown in jail for no good reason yesterday, I would only have been two days late. As to the rest of it, my orders weren't realistic. I may have had travel priority, but that couldn't get me on planes that weren't flying or trains that weren't moving."
To Paul's surprise, Ruger laughed. "The orders may not have been realistic, but most army orders aren't. If we had told you to arrive as soon as you could, how long would you have taken? A year? Two? As to the other part, you were arrested for the crime of wearing a uniform in San Francisco, which, after the peace riots of a few weeks ago, is now off-limits to all military personnel and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.
"When the cops stopped you, your orders caused the police to worry about your intentions because they showed you were already two days AWOL. If you'd been on time, they'd just have put you on a bus or truck and shipped your sorry ass out here. Since your paperwork condemned you as a probable felon, they decided not to take chances, and that's why they held you in jail. To tell you the truth I don't blame them. There are a lot of people showing up late in hopes the war will be over by the time they arrive."
"I admit the thought crossed my mind."
"As to transportation problems, Lieutenant, the military in the Northwest states are going crazy, which is completely screwing up everything that moves on wheels. The Japs have started sending over firebombs attached to balloons that drift along over the prevailing air currents by the hundreds, maybe the thousands, and into the U.S. They've only caused a little damage: a couple of small forest fires, and a handful of people were killed while trying to examine them. But rumor has it that one of the bombs apparently started a fire at some supersecret installation near Hanford, Washington, and cut the place's electricity. It may have been chance, but it's the sort of thing that drives the brass crazy and disrupts train schedules."
Ruger's voice dropped its tone of banter and turned stern. "Be that as it may, you were still supposed to be here on time. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, sir."
"You planning to make the army a career, Lieutenant Morrell?"
"Hell, no. I mean, no, sir."
Ruger took a piece of paper off his makeshift desk and wadded it up. "Then there's no point in disciplining you, is there? I could maybe have you court-martialed and stripped of rank, but that would be a waste of the time and money the government's got invested in you, and a written reprimand that would ruin your career wouldn't mean squat if you don't have a career to ruin in the first place." He threw the paper away. It landed on the ground, a few feet from an overflowing wastebasket. "You got a family in Detroit? A girl?"
"Yes to both, Captain."
Ruger leaned forward and glared. "I'll bet you deviated from a true straight-line course and spent some time with them, didn't you?"
Why lie? Paul thought. "Yes, Captain, I did. I was off course for about seven hours."
Ruger shook his head in disbelief. "That all? Jesus Christ, Lieutenant, I would have spent a lot more than that with them. After all, you're not likely to see them for a helluva long time."
Paul blinked and Ruger started laughing. "Like I said, Lieutenant Morrell, how can I punish you? Can't fire you, now can I?"
Paul worked up a reciprocal smile. "It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you did."
"Morrell, I'm a reservist myself, so I can't wait for this pile of shit war to end so I can get home to my loving wife and two kids and start working on kids three and four. In the meantime, I've got an infantry company to staff, along with filling a couple of other openings in the battalion for Major Redwald and General Monck. The enlisted men and the rest of the officers left via troopship shortly after the riots, and we are trying to fill the last officer vacancies. It's an unusual procedure, but this whole damned war is highly unusual. You, Mr. Morrell, look like you can do the job. Let's see, you're twenty-three. How the hell did you stay out of the draft for so long?"
"Captain, I was in ROTC in college, had a mild knee injury from high school football, and my dad knew someone on the draft board. Of the three, I think the last was the most significant."
"Not exactly dying to get in, were you?"
"I don't think anybody is. I guess that's why we have the draft in the first place since any rush to enlist ended shortly after Pearl Harbor. But now that I'm here, I'll serve and do my best."
Ruger grunted acknowledgment. "I see you've been in combat."
"Very little. Twice my unit in Germany was under indirect artillery fire, and once we might have been shot at by a sniper. In all cases, I just kept my head down and tried to keep my people from being killed."
"But you actually did something. You didn't lie there frozen in your own crap, now did you?"
"I guess I did manage to move about and function usefully."
"So why'd they get rid of you in Germany? How badly did you flick up?"
Paul explained the situation with the grenades and the discipline. "Funny," Paul concluded, "but all I was trying to do was the right thing."
Ruger nodded. "The road to hell is paved with people trying to do the right thing or something like that. I presume you've learned a little discretion."
Paul grinned. "A lot."
"Fine. Let's get back to you in those combat situations. Were you scared?"
"Shitless."
Captain Ruger nodded. "My first time was in the Philippines last year. I was so scared I maybe did shit, although the place already stank so bad I don't think anybody could tell, and I suppose I'll be scared again when we invade Japan."
Paul's heart sank. "Then it's official?"
"Yep, and you're gonna be part of it. Since you look reasonably human and have almost satisfactorily explained yourself, I'm taking you for my company. We are part of a now-forming infantry regiment, the 528th, Brigadier General John Monck commanding. We are going to be assigned as a reserve force for one of the divisions that's going to invade. We'll be shipping out from here faster than you can say jack shit, so don't even think about unpacking or even leaving this tent without me as a chaperone."
Paul sagged. That soon? Not even a few days' respite? "Do I have time for a phone call? How 'bout a shave and a shower?"