Gomez snapped off a salute. "I will do my best, general."
"Then go meet the woman again," General Ortega said. He wondered under just what circumstances a pig like Gomez would have met an intelligent and attractive young American woman. He decided he really didn't want to know.
A young Spec 4 opened the door to General Bunting's office and Midge Romanski entered. General Josiah Bunting stood and tried to smile affably, after all, they'd known each other for years. He could see that she was not in the mood for smiling and stopped.
"Midge, it's good to see you, even if it is under trying circumstances. Please, take a seat."
She took a chair and placed it closer to Bunting's desk. She was wearing a full dark skirt and dark jacket with a white blouse. Not quite a mourning outfit but close to it. Bunting caught himself staring at her shapely legs and stopped it. Not now.
Midge Romanski glared at him. "General, I will come to the point. I am not pleased to be here and I am not glad to see you, and I don't give a shit about your rank. I just want to know what the hell is going on with my husband."
Bunting sat back. He was neither surprised nor angry. This had happened far too often in the recent past. Dealing with grieving widows and loved ones was the worst part of a military career. Some cried, some pleaded, and some, like Midge, were royally pissed. He'd similar conversations a dozen times since the attack on Gitmo and hated it every time.
"Okay, Midge, specifically what is happening that's disturbing you? I thought you understood the circumstances."
Midge blinked back tears. Again, Bunting couldn't help but note again how attractive she was. "General, I was originally told that Ted was missing and presumed dead. When I thought I could handle it, my sons and I began planning a memorial service. Then some very young jackass lieutenant, he was maybe thirteen years old, shows up at my door and says that maybe I want to hold off for a while. What's the story? Is my husband presumed dead or not?"
"Midge, until we know otherwise he is considered missing and not dead. We originally told you that he was presumed dead because that's what we believed, and even saying presumed means we really don't know. His plane went down. It exploded in the air. Nobody could have lived through that and nobody did. Later, a couple of the pilots of the surviving planes said they saw a handful of men parachuting from that transport before the explosion and crash."
"Oh, God," she said and doubled over in emotional pain.
"Yeah. Then the Cuban commies decided to be cooperative. They informed the Swiss and the Red Cross that at least four men had indeed jumped from the plane. Two were killed and two were captured. Neither was Ted. The Cubans found the crash site and recovered a number of other bodies. None was Ted. He and one other man, a Master Sergeant Morton, are truly missing and we just don't know where they are or what the hell is going on with them."
Midge almost smiled. She knew who Morton was. "Do you mean he could be wandering around Cuba?"
"Don't get your hopes up. I've got to be frank. It's equally possible, maybe even more than equally, that he was killed and his body hasn't yet been found. Regardless, I sent that lieutenant, and he's twenty-two by the way and not thirteen, to suggest that you hold off on a memorial service. I don't want to get your hopes up, but it is still possible that it would be premature. I hope to God it won't be much longer before we can provide a definitive answer."
She paused a moment, digesting what he'd said. "I have another question and I'm not going to be nice. In a short while, Ted was going to retire and we were going to get on with our lives. So, I'm not going to put up with any more army bullshit from you or anybody else. I simply want to know — who was the flaming asshole who sent him on this stupid mission?"
Bunting winced. He wanted to lie, but she deserved the truth. "I believe that would be me."
"Good God, why?"
He stood and began to pace, his anger and frustration growing. "Because I honestly thought it would help the boys at Guantanamo. We had set up Roman Force during the first crisis and we wound up not needing it because the marines got there with numbers and firepower to defend the base before the situation could get hot.
"When we got last minute word that an attack on Gitmo might be imminent, I told Ted to get Roman Force ready again and wait my orders. When I mentioned it to President Kennedy, he gave me a verbal go-ahead, which he is now managing to forget. Fortunately for me, he and I were not alone in the room, so, if you care, I am not being left hanging out to dry."
Midge shook her head angrily. "Sorry, but I really don't care right now. I am only concerned about Ted."
"Midge, we had no idea the Cubans would move so quickly or in such force against us. They overwhelmed the base before the relief force could get there. When I realized what was happening, I called off the effort. I got most of the planes turned around but, obviously, not all of them."
There was pain on his face and Midge felt a twinge of sympathy. It went away.
"General, are you telling me that you really thought a few hundred men would stop the Cuban Army?"
"No. We thought it would send a message to Fidel that we were serious."
She laughed bitterly. "Didn't any of you fools in the Pentagon consider that a massive assault on an American base indicated that Fidel was already serious? Don't bother to answer."
She stood and straightened her skirt. "I'll give you a few more days to give me some firm information, one way or the other. After that, all gloves are off. I have friends at various newspapers and I'm sure they'd love to write articles comparing Roman Force's futile efforts to the Charge of the Light Brigade. You can be General Raglan. Do you remember who he was?"
Bunting's face turned red. "I believe he was the flaming asshole who ordered the charge." And, he thought, I think it's time for me to retire as well.
Cathy Malone stretched her arms. "I would like a shower. A nice long hot shower. Maybe half an hour, maybe longer, and with an unlimited supply of shampoo and scented soap."
They had all tried to clean up in ponds and streams but those were muddy and contained numerous insects that liked to nibble on human flesh. It was generally accepted that ponds and streams would not really clean anyone. It was not quite the same with rain. Yes rainfall was clean, but it was cold and one other thing Andrew's crew lacked was towels and enough changes of clothing. Body odor had become body stench for all. At least the problem was universal and they were getting used to it.
Cathy sighed and continued. "Then I would like my nails done and that includes my toes. I've never had anybody do my toes."
"Me either," Andrew said. "The Corps kinda frowns on it. I think it clashes with the dress uniform. By the way, Happy New Year."
She blinked in surprise. "It's today?"
"Actually, it was a couple of days ago. Remember how time flies when you're having fun?"
"Funny, but I don't remember having all that much fun, but I'm sorry I missed it just the same. In that case, I also wish I'd been at a party with champagne and good food and dancing the night away in my sexy little black dress. And with some people I really like. Maybe next year."
"Would I be invited?"
Cathy squeezed his arm. "Absolutely."
"Would anybody else be there?"
She laughed. "Maybe not. But I would have to do something with the other guys. After all, we've already been through a lot together. Did you hear what Hollis is saying?"