said.
“You'll what?”
“I'll wait, general.”
“Mr. President, you are playing with the fate of millions.”
“That's how I earn my two hundred thou, general.”
“They're mousetrapping you.”
“I'll wait.”
Icarus paused, feeling the heat of the sun. “You will accept my resignation, Mr. President?”
“Strange time to run, general.”
“Effective in twenty-five minutes, Mr. President. I want it on the record.”
“The record. Very well.”
“Good luck, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, general. And to you.”
“You fully realize, sir, that under my authority I launched the B-52's when I moved us to Double Take?”
“You what?! God damn you, general.”
Three
0608 ZULU
After two weeks working in this crazy place, the Vietnamese counter boy just wanted out of here as fast as he could every night. At ten o'clock sharp. This was a place of dragons and malevolent spirits. It had no soul. It was a place to play war. Crazy war. When the Americans had no place to fight a war, they made a place to play war. He would never understand them and he would never like this place.
The counter boy unlocked the cash register to add the last penny the American had bounced off his counter. He hurriedly locked the register again, still unhappy that the visitor had kept him here past the ten-o'clock closing. He rubbed one last smudge off the stainless-steel counter and turned to leave.
Down the hallway in the game room, Kazaklis kicked the Space Invaders game in frustration. “Fucking machine,” he muttered. “Life's run by fucking computers that don't work.” He kicked the machine again, watching the game flare in rebellion after eating his last quarter. He turned to catch Halupalai grinning at him.
“You laughing at me, you over-the-hill beachboy?”
Kazaklis leveled his heaviest stare at the gunner, but his eyes gave themselves away with their twinkle. He liked Halupalai. Everybody liked Halupalai.
“Or you laughing at Moreau? Got her a good one, didn't I, old buddy?”
“You're hopeless, Kazaklis. Why don't you let up on her?”
“Me?” the pilot protested. “Don't lay that one on me, pal. This joint's been like a damned sorority house since Moreau showed up.”
“No, you'd like that. Your problem, captain, is that our hard-nosed Vassar copilot won't let you romp through her fortress like it was a sorority house.”
“Worst mistake the Air Force ever made, letting broads into SAC.”
“That's not what you thought when she first showed up.”
Their eyes locked. Then the twinkle returned. “That's what broads are for, Halupalai. Typin' or screwin'. Wasn't much typin' to do around here.”
“Not much of the other, either.” Halupalai paused. “As it turned out.”
“Fuck off, old man,” Kazaklis said sharply.
Halupalai watched Kazaklis closely, for the pilot seemed genuinely irritated this time. “That's okay, Kazaklis,” he finally said. “I evened it up for you.”
“Yeah?”
Halupalai paused again, wondering briefly if he was being unfair to Moreau by continuing. He thought not.
“You know how point-blank she was when she first came here. Had to know everything about everything and everybody. She was a real pisser. But she learned how to fly the Buff faster than anybody I ever crewed with.”
Kazaklis grunted.
“Well, after your little . . . uh, failure, Moreau comes up to me the way she does—sticking her chin out a foot and boring those laser-beam eyes straight through to the inside of my skull—and asks what's with Kazaklis. I say whaddaya mean. And she says, very seriously, 'Everybody's got a skeleton in his closet, Halupalai.' I says, are you serious, and she says, yep, she's serious, she wants to know what skeletons Kazaklis has got in his closet.”
“No shit?” Kazaklis said, surprised.
“So, I look at her,” Halupalai continued, “and say, just as seriously, 'I wouldn't open his closet door, Captain Moreau.' She asks why and I says, 'Cuz
“You'll what?”
“I'll wait, general.”
“Mr. President, you are playing with the fate of millions.”
“That's how I earn my two hundred thou, general.”
“They're mousetrapping you.”
“I'll wait.”
Icarus paused, feeling the heat of the sun. “You will accept my resignation, Mr. President?”
“Strange time to run, general.”
“Effective in twenty-five minutes, Mr. President. I want it on the record.”
“The record. Very well.”
“Good luck, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, general. And to you.”
“You fully realize, sir, that under my authority I launched the B-52's when I moved us to Double Take?”
“You what?! God damn you, general.”
Three
0608 ZULU
After two weeks working in this crazy place, the Vietnamese counter boy just wanted out of here as fast as he could every night. At ten o'clock sharp. This was a place of dragons and malevolent spirits. It had no soul. It was a place to play war. Crazy war. When the Americans had no place to fight a war, they made a place to play war. He would never understand them and he would never like this place.
The counter boy unlocked the cash register to add the last penny the American had bounced off his counter. He hurriedly locked the register again, still unhappy that the visitor had kept him here past the ten-o'clock closing. He rubbed one last smudge off the stainless-steel counter and turned to leave.
Down the hallway in the game room, Kazaklis kicked the Space Invaders game in frustration. “Fucking machine,” he muttered. “Life's run by fucking computers that don't work.” He kicked the machine again, watching the game flare in rebellion after eating his last quarter. He turned to catch Halupalai grinning at him.
“You laughing at me, you over-the-hill beachboy?”
Kazaklis leveled his heaviest stare at the gunner, but his eyes gave themselves away with their twinkle. He liked Halupalai. Everybody liked Halupalai.
“Or you laughing at Moreau? Got her a good one, didn't I, old buddy?”
“You're hopeless, Kazaklis. Why don't you let up on her?”
“Me?” the pilot protested. “Don't lay that one on me, pal. This joint's been like a damned sorority house since Moreau showed up.”
“No, you'd like that. Your problem, captain, is that our hard-nosed Vassar copilot won't let you romp through her fortress like it was a sorority house.”
“Worst mistake the Air Force ever made, letting broads into SAC.”
“That's not what you thought when she first showed up.”
Their eyes locked. Then the twinkle returned. “That's what broads are for, Halupalai. Typin' or screwin'. Wasn't much typin' to do around here.”
“Not much of the other, either.” Halupalai paused. “As it turned out.”
“Fuck off, old man,” Kazaklis said sharply.
Halupalai watched Kazaklis closely, for the pilot seemed genuinely irritated this time. “That's okay, Kazaklis,” he finally said. “I evened it up for you.”
“Yeah?”
Halupalai paused again, wondering briefly if he was being unfair to Moreau by continuing. He thought not.
“You know how point-blank she was when she first came here. Had to know everything about everything and everybody. She was a real pisser. But she learned how to fly the Buff faster than anybody I ever crewed with.”
Kazaklis grunted.
“Well, after your little . . . uh, failure, Moreau comes up to me the way she does—sticking her chin out a foot and boring those laser-beam eyes straight through to the inside of my skull—and asks what's with Kazaklis. I say whaddaya mean. And she says, very seriously, 'Everybody's got a skeleton in his closet, Halupalai.' I says, are you serious, and she says, yep, she's serious, she wants to know what skeletons Kazaklis has got in his closet.”
“No shit?” Kazaklis said, surprised.
“So, I look at her,” Halupalai continued, “and say, just as seriously, 'I wouldn't open his closet door, Captain Moreau.' She asks why and I says, 'Cuz
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