Trace nodded.
“We can go to my house.”
“Would it be possible for me to see a copy of what you’ve written so far?” Boomer asked.
“I’ve got a printout at home on my desk. Why are you so interested in this?”
Boomer shrugged.
“No particular reason. It’s just kind of strange.” He took her hand in his.
“Enough pondering the world’s problems. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Trace leaned close, her shoulder touching his.
“We certainly do. Why don’t you follow me to my place?”
As if to release the pent-up stress of the past week, Boomer found himself wrapping his arms around Trace, pulling himself tight into her with a passion that surprised even himself. He could feel her moving with him. Then he felt her, a silky moist heat that felt so wonderful that he tried to stop her movements to savor the feeling a little longer. But the long slow spasms of pleasure shook him even as he held her in perfect stillness.
Later, they took their time. Boomer grinned at Trace’s soft sigh as he barely kissed each of her closed eyelids, then did the same to her breasts. She nuzzled up next to him, gently urging him, her slender fingers fondling his chest. He took her hand, kissed her fingers and lost himself in her body. He enjoyed pleasing her and spent a long time bringing her to climax.
It was a perfect ending to a terrible week. Boomer thought, as Trace finally collapsed in his arms. He held her close, feeling her relax into sleep before allowing himself to drift into an uneasy slumber filled with visions of the hillside in southern Ukraine and the sounds of the screams of wounded men.
“They done yet?”
The man tapped the side of the night scope.
“Yeah.”
He pulled back and turned off the power to the scope.
“One of the perks of the job,” the first man said with a grin’ Gonna be a shame to waste her,” the second man said.
“Who do you think the guy is?”
The first man lay down and pulled his poncho liner up around his neck.
“Somebody she works with probably.
He’s not important.”
“I hope they give us the word soon,” the first man mused as he settled down for his shift whittling at a piece of wood with his knife.
In the soft glow of the desk light, the words on the laser printed pages stood out clearly. Boomer sat cross-legged on the carpet and. read them with interest.
11 JUNE 1930
U.S. MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT. NEW YORK
The smooth marble felt cool to Cadet Benjamin Hooker’s hand. He gazed up the shaft of Battle Monument to the stars overhead, then up the Hudson River where the hulking presence of Storm King Mountain loomed to the left, a darker black presence against the night sky. It was a view that never failed to raise a strong feeling of attachment and sentiment in Hooker’s heart.
Boomer shook his head. He’d seen that same view many times over his four years at the Academy and he couldn’t quite say he’d had the same emotions. He continued reading, turning the-pages as Trace’s story unfolded. After finishing the last page of the second chapter, he put the draft of Trace’s book down and glanced out the window at the dark ocean, then over at the bed where Trace was stirring.
“What are you doing?” she asked sleepily, squinting against the small desk light he had on.
“Looking at your manuscript,” Boomer replied. “I had trouble sleeping.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, her small breasts perfect in the morning light.
She smiled.
“I had a good time last night. You’re an amazingly good lover for a guy like you.”
“It takes one to know one,” Boomer murmured in her ear.
She glanced at the glowing digits on the clock next to the bed.
“You know what I mean by a guy like you, right?”
Boomer wrapped his arms around her and sighed.
“Yes, I do. I’m starting to wonder if I’m a guy like me.” He’d caught her glance.
“I know you have to go soon, but can I see you later? I need to be with you.”
Trace nodded.
“You can stay exactly where you are right now. It’s been a while since a man needed me. Just stay in bed and rest.” She smiled and added! “You’ll need it later.”
He cupped her breast and gently blew air across her nipple.
“I’d love to, but I’ve got to make PT too and take a look at the message traffic. What time will you be in this evening?”
“I’m usually back by 1800,” Trace said. She made her way to the shower.
“Care to join me?”
Boomer stepped into the hot spray, his thoughts going back to a shower they’d shared so many years ago. He still hadn’t told Trace what had sent him to Hawaii. He knew he wasn’t authorized to do so.
“I read the first two chapters of your manuscript,” Boomer said.
“What do you think?”
“Good writing,” he said.
“I mean what do you think of the story?” Trace amplified.
“Interesting. I assume the first chapter about Patton was what that old woman told you.”
“I made up the conversations, but basically, yes, that’s what she recollected. It was strange to talk to someone who’d really been there taking care of Patton when he died.”
“I don’t understand the second chapter, though,” Boomer said.
“What does some cadet in 1930 have to do with Patton in 1945? I know you have Patton mentioning Hooker in your first chapter.”
“Did you know that George Marshall was the deputy commander of the Infantry School at Benning from 1927 to 1932?” Trace asked in turn.
“Of course,” Boomer replied.
“How the hell would I know that?” he asked.
“It was there in your manuscript.
And you still didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m getting there. Did you also know that 160 members of the Infantry School during Marshall’s tenure became general officers during World War II and that Marshall, as Chief of Staff, was the one man who made most of the personnel decisions in the war?”
“Besides plumbing the depth of my ignorance,” Boomer said, “do you have a point to make?”
“My point is that a hell of a lot of power was concentrated in the hands of a few men during World War II, and most of those men were at Fort Benning during the years that Marshall was there before the war. At the start of World War II West Pointers made up only seven percent of the officer corps. By the end of the war they were less than one percent. Yet three of three Supreme Commanders, seven of nine Army Group Commanders, eleven of twenty Army Commanders and twenty of thirty-one Corps commanders at the end of the war were West Pointers.”
“The old boy network,” Boomer said.
“Happens all the time. Why do you think the Masons have a handshake?”
“Yeah, but if that old lady was correct, it’s a little bit more than that,” Trace replied.
“Your own manuscript notes that Marshall was a VMI grad, not West Point. Doesn’t that blow your theory?”
“Not really. What better cover than to have someone like Marshall be the front man for The Line?”
“Now you’re thinking like a Special Forces operator, not an aviator,” Boomer said with a smile.
“What about this Hooker character?” Boomer asked again.
“Is he made up?
Where do you get him from?”
“It’s the name the nurse said Patton gave her,” Trace said evasively.
“If The Line existed, I think Hooker played a very special role in it.
I’ll show you what I mean later.”
“Have you shown the manuscript to anyone?” Boomer asked.
“It’s a long way from being done,” Trace answered.