Harrison entered the living room, his head covered with bandages. He had a definite limp, but it was obvious he wasn't seriously hurt.
Beidemann came in right behind him. "Well, Englishman, how did it go?"
Harrison pulled himself erect and snapped, "I do not have to take any crap from you, you great bleedin' rotter. Remember, we won the war, not you."
Beidemann was a little shocked by the hostility in Harrison's response and said, "That's only because I spent most of my time on the Eastern Front. You tell him, Cas–" He was stopped by a sharp move of Casey's hand, which told him to knock it off and change the subject. He did. Going to Harrison, he put his arms around him and picked him up. It looked as if a normal size man were trying to comfort a child. Ignoring Harrison's protests, he kissed the Englishman wetly on both cheeks. "Not to worry. Uncle Gus will take care of you." Casey told him to put Harrison down, which he did, dropping him to the floor and further denting the pilot's dignity.
After Harrison was back on his feet, Casey handed him a cognac and asked, "How was it?"
Harrison sat down heavily on a leather sofa before answering. "I can do it, but only once more and then I never want to speak to you again. The only reason I am going through with it is because Shan said the plane in the other crate had good canvas and termites hadn't eaten away the wing support struts. When that godforsaken antique finally stopped, it threw me clear through the bloody windshield! That's why I'm all cut up."
"What about your seat belt?" Casey inquired.
"Seat belt?" shrieked Harrison. "The reason I'm walking around like the bleedin' hunchback of Notre Dame is because the goddamned seat belt was the only thing in the entire plane that wasn't rotted clear through! The bloody seat belt held me to the bloody seat, which ripped and followed me through the bloody windshield!” Harrison leaned back, exhausted, and gulped his drink in an attempt to drown the memory.
Casey turned to Beidemann, who had been joined by Van and Fitzhugh. "I think Harrison's a bit upset, gentlemen, but if I understand him, he says it's a go."
Harrison raised his eyes, trying to look more wounded than he was. "That is correct. We leave in three days. The contractors, according to Shan, will pick us up in one of their aircraft and transport us to the staging area, wherever that is. The plane will have consular status and therefore will entitle us to a certain amount of diplomatic immunity. It won't be searched or inspected at any of the refueling stops along the way."
"Good enough," said Casey, turning to Beidemann and Van. "Get your men ready, and have them clean up any sign of them ever having been here. I want the area sterilized. Each man is to write instructions for the disposition of his share in the event he doesn't make it back. They're to give them to Yu Li by tomorrow evening at the latest. She'll see that they are followed to the letter, according to our agreements."
Pouring a round for everyone, Casey toasted them with the ancient salute of the Roman gladiators before they fought. Beidemann had seen him do this a number of times and still did not understand the strange look that always appeared in his friend's eyes when he made the old toast: " Ave Caesar! Te moritu, te salutas . Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you."
Graveyard humor was common enough among men like these, and no one thought the toast an ill-omen or out of place. Each accepted the possibility of his own termination as an occupational hazard. They were ready for whatever fate was in store for them. Three days to Africa.
“ By the way, Harrison, all your shots are up to date, aren't they?" queried Casey, who already knew the answer.
"Shots? What shots?" Harrison grew instantly leery. "You're not going to shoot me up with those awful bleed in needles! No, sir! Not me! I've never caught anything, not even the ruddy clap!"
Casey tried to ease some of his mental
Beidemann came in right behind him. "Well, Englishman, how did it go?"
Harrison pulled himself erect and snapped, "I do not have to take any crap from you, you great bleedin' rotter. Remember, we won the war, not you."
Beidemann was a little shocked by the hostility in Harrison's response and said, "That's only because I spent most of my time on the Eastern Front. You tell him, Cas–" He was stopped by a sharp move of Casey's hand, which told him to knock it off and change the subject. He did. Going to Harrison, he put his arms around him and picked him up. It looked as if a normal size man were trying to comfort a child. Ignoring Harrison's protests, he kissed the Englishman wetly on both cheeks. "Not to worry. Uncle Gus will take care of you." Casey told him to put Harrison down, which he did, dropping him to the floor and further denting the pilot's dignity.
After Harrison was back on his feet, Casey handed him a cognac and asked, "How was it?"
Harrison sat down heavily on a leather sofa before answering. "I can do it, but only once more and then I never want to speak to you again. The only reason I am going through with it is because Shan said the plane in the other crate had good canvas and termites hadn't eaten away the wing support struts. When that godforsaken antique finally stopped, it threw me clear through the bloody windshield! That's why I'm all cut up."
"What about your seat belt?" Casey inquired.
"Seat belt?" shrieked Harrison. "The reason I'm walking around like the bleedin' hunchback of Notre Dame is because the goddamned seat belt was the only thing in the entire plane that wasn't rotted clear through! The bloody seat belt held me to the bloody seat, which ripped and followed me through the bloody windshield!” Harrison leaned back, exhausted, and gulped his drink in an attempt to drown the memory.
Casey turned to Beidemann, who had been joined by Van and Fitzhugh. "I think Harrison's a bit upset, gentlemen, but if I understand him, he says it's a go."
Harrison raised his eyes, trying to look more wounded than he was. "That is correct. We leave in three days. The contractors, according to Shan, will pick us up in one of their aircraft and transport us to the staging area, wherever that is. The plane will have consular status and therefore will entitle us to a certain amount of diplomatic immunity. It won't be searched or inspected at any of the refueling stops along the way."
"Good enough," said Casey, turning to Beidemann and Van. "Get your men ready, and have them clean up any sign of them ever having been here. I want the area sterilized. Each man is to write instructions for the disposition of his share in the event he doesn't make it back. They're to give them to Yu Li by tomorrow evening at the latest. She'll see that they are followed to the letter, according to our agreements."
Pouring a round for everyone, Casey toasted them with the ancient salute of the Roman gladiators before they fought. Beidemann had seen him do this a number of times and still did not understand the strange look that always appeared in his friend's eyes when he made the old toast: " Ave Caesar! Te moritu, te salutas . Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you."
Graveyard humor was common enough among men like these, and no one thought the toast an ill-omen or out of place. Each accepted the possibility of his own termination as an occupational hazard. They were ready for whatever fate was in store for them. Three days to Africa.
“ By the way, Harrison, all your shots are up to date, aren't they?" queried Casey, who already knew the answer.
"Shots? What shots?" Harrison grew instantly leery. "You're not going to shoot me up with those awful bleed in needles! No, sir! Not me! I've never caught anything, not even the ruddy clap!"
Casey tried to ease some of his mental
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