Sarah felt he wanted her to ask—so she did. "What happened to your girl, Bill?"
The boy licked his lips, looked at her and then looked away, knocking out the pipe against the heel of his work-boot. "Dead, ma'am. What got me in the Resistance. She lived in town, ya know—some of them brigand trash came through right after it all happened. I—ahh—I found her— they'd, ahh—" He didn't finish it.
Sarah reached out to him, putting her left arm across his shoulders, her left hand touching his neck as he leaned forward, not looking at her.
"They'd—they'd raped her—real bad—real—it was— the stuff—all over her legs and her belly and her face— it—it was all beat up. She just died I guess—right in the middle of it all—her name was Mary—like my mom's—" He started to cry and Sarah leaned close to him. There wasn't anything she could say.
Chapter 28
"I need Doctor Rourke with me—Rubenstein can stay here. And no guns for Rourke, ' Cole said flatly.
Gundersen wove the fingers of his hands together. "I anticipated that, Captain Cole. I've talked briefly here with Doctor Rourke. Sending a man out unarmed into what might be out there would be like committing murder. Doctor Rouke gets his guns—"
"I object to that, sir!"
"I'll note that objection in my log," Gundersen went on placidly. Rourke watched his eyes. "And as to Mr. Rubenstein—if he chooses to accompany his friend, he certainly may. If you like, Lieutenant O'Neal—he's my missile officer and hasn't had much to do since we fired all our missiles you know—well, he's coming along as well as are a few of my men—a landing party. Lieutenant O'Neal can be responsible for Mr. Rubenstein if that suits you better. And as to Major Tiemerovna—there's no policy decision to be made there. She's not strong enough yet to travel. So she doesn't need her guns. Questions about that, captain?"
"I still protest, sir—once we're on land, this mission is mine."
"But this mission involves my submarine, mister—and getting those missile warheads safely on board this boat directly affects the safety of my crew. So some of my people go along, like it or not."
"I want to send out a recon patrol right away—before the shore party."
"A wise move—I'll let you handle that. If you'd like any of my men to ace—"
"No—no, sir. My men can handle that. That's what they're trained for."
"Can I say something?" Rourke asked.
"Certainly, Doctor Rourke," Gundersen nodded.
Rourke saw Natalia, Paul—even Cole staring at him. "That recon party could be a mistake—we can recon as we go. We have to go from here anyway, regardless of what's out there. Only way to reach Filmore Air Force Base. Sending out a patrol from here will only serve to alert any potentially hostile force to our intentions of going inland. I say we move out under cover of darkness—get ourselves well inland before dawn and go from there."
"Bullshit, Rourke!"
"There's a lady present, mister," Gundersen snapped. "And I agree with Doctor Rourke."
"The land portion of the mission is mine—I intend to send a recon patrol out now—I've got men geared up and ready."
Rourke shrugged.
Rubenstein cleared his throat, Rourke watching as the younger man pushed his glasses up off the bridge of his nose. "John's right—we let anybody out there know what we're up to, all they're going to do is set a trap for us."
"If this meeting is about over, commander—I've got a final briefing for my men."
Rourke lit one of his cigars, looking at Cole, studying him. "You leading it—the recon patrol, I mean?"
"Corporal Henderson—"
"Ohh—well, I don't care much if he ever comes back anyway. How's his face doing?" Henderson was the man Rourke had put away for shooting Natalia.
Cole glared at Rourke, saying, "One of these days, Doctor Rourke—after we contact Colonel Teal, after we secure those warheads—it's you and me."
Rourke nodded. "It scares me just to think about it," and he exhaled the gray smoke from his lungs.
Chapter 29
The faces—she watched them as they watched her. She held Michael's right hand in her left, the boy saying nothing, but watching the faces, too.
Sarah shifted the weight of her M-, the rifle carried now cross body on its sling, her right fist balled around the pistol grip. She had not seen so many people in one place—crowded together in one place—since before the Night of The War. It mildly frightened her. She had seen other large groups—but she didn't count them people. The brigands—they were less than animals. The Russians—she refused to think of them any more than she had to. But she thought every once in a while of the Soviet major—the man she had met during the resistance escape in Savannah, whom she had met once again in Tennessee.
He had spared her.
She had watched his eyes, seeing something there she had seen in her husband's eyes. And she wondered what he had seen in her eyes.
She shook her head.
"What's wrong, Momma?" Michael looked up at her—he was nearly to the height of her breasts when he stood erect.
"Nothing—just all these people—" She stopped, Pete Crichfield having stopped, even Bill Mulliner's golden retriever, the dog the children had constantly played with at the farm, having stopped.
Bill Mulliner came up beside her. "That fella on the porch—David Balfry—he's the commander."
"The commander?"
"Yeah—college professor before the Night of The War—he's sort of the headman for the resistance in Tennessee here."
She looked beyond Pete Critchfield's massive shoulders. "David Balfry,*' she repeated.
He was her own age, she judged. Tall, straight, lean-featured. Close cropped blond hair, a smile lighting his face for an instant.
"Mrs. Rourke!" It was Pete Critchfield, calling to her.
"Yes, Mr. Critchfield."
"You and your boy come up here and meet David." Sarah left the ragged column, walking closer to the knot of people, still watching her—watching all of the newcomers, she told herself. There were wounds—bandaged, some not cleanly. There were missing limbs, eyes—terrible burns on the faces and exposed hands of some of the people in the crowd. She pushed past, stopping at the porch steps of the farmhouse.
"Mrs. Rourke—I heard of your work in Savannah with the resistance there. It's an honor to meet you," and David Balfry extended his hand. The fingers were long, like the fingers of a pianist or violinist were supposed to be but so rarely were.
She felt his hand press around hers.
She looked into his eyes—they were green. They were warm.
"It's—it's a pleasure to meet you, too—Mr. Balfry."
"It used to be Professor Balfry—now it's just David. Sarah—isn't it?"
"Yes," she told him. She wondered quickly what else he would ask her.
"May I call you Sarah?"
She nodded, saying nothing.
"I understand your husband was a doctor—"
"Is a doctor," she told him, shifting her feet in her tennis shoes.
"Yes—but were you ever a nurse—"
"Not really—but I've done a lot of it."
"Reverend Steel—I think he could use some help with the sick—after you settle in, of course."
"Of course—I mean—yes. I'll help," she told him.
Balfry extended his right hand again, this time to Michael's head, tousling his hair. She felt the boy's right hand tensing in her left, saw him step away.
David Balfry smiled. "We'll get to know each other, son," and he turned to Pete Critchfield. Sarah felt awkward just standing there, but didn't know what else to do.
Michael tugged at her hand.
Something else tugged at her as well.
Balfry looked away from Pete Critchfield once and she thought he smiled at her.