"Person to person, Brigadier General Stewart, Public Relations Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, Washington, D.C.," he said.

He had all his shirt buttons open before the Eighth and I operator answered. He was working on his tie when he became aware that he was not alone in his bedroom.

Veronica Wood was standing over him. One towel, wrapped around her head, covered all her hair. Another towel, wrapped around her torso, concealed her bosom and the juncture of her legs-or so she apparently believed.

"You could have said 'hello, baby' or something," she said.

"I didn't know you were here. I didn't see a car, and Alejandro didn't say anything."

"General Stewart's office, Sergeant Klauber speaking, Sir."

"Major Dillon, Sergeant, returning the General's call."

"One moment, Sir. I'll see if the General is free."

"It's Saturday. I let him go," Veronica said. "What's that smell?"

"Brake fluid, hydraulic fluid, I don't know what that stuff is. And how was your day?"

"What did you do, roll around in it? Don't ask about my day."

"OK, I won't."

"General Stewart."

"Major Dillon, Sir," Jake said.

"Major Dillon, Sir," Veronica parroted, then giggled, and saluted. This action caused the towel around her body to rise even higher, and then to slip loose. She adjusted the towel, an action that Jake found to be quite pleasurable.

"Dillon, I have been trying to get in touch with you all day."

"Sir, I was in San Diego. There was a problem there that had to be resolved."

"Sir, I was in San Diego," Veronica parroted.

"What sort of a problem?"

Oh, shit, I don't want to get into that.

"It's a solved problem, General. I spoke with General Underwood and Colonel Frazier. They not only gave me a couple of gunnery sergeants, but a station wagon as well, for as long as the tour lasts."

"Well, that was certainly nice of General Underwood," General Stewart said.

"I think the General has a good appreciation of the importance of the war bond tour," Jake said.

"I think the General has a good appreciation of the importance of the war bond tour," Veronica parroted, then sat down on the bed beside Major Dillon and inserted her tongue in his ear.

"The reason I've been trying so hard to get in touch with you, Dillon, is that I have some good news."

I've been called back to work for Pickering, I hope?

"Yes, Sir?"

Miss Veronica Wood groped Major Homer C. Dillon, USMCR. He pushed her hand away.

"I had a very good conversation with the Assistant Commandant about your man Easterbrook," General Stewart said.

"Sir, did you manage to get his records straightened out?"

"Yes, of course," General Stewart said, a hint of pique in his voice. "I told you I'd handle that."

"Yes, Sir," Major Dillon said.

"Yes, Sir," Miss Veronica Wood said. She stood up and walked in front, of Jake Dillon, removing the towel from her hair as she did. She swung her head back and forth, and her long blond hair swept this way and that. Sweetly.

"The Assistant Commandant was aware, of course, that Easter-brook's splendid work has come to the attention of the Secretary of the Navy," General Stewart said.

What the hell is he talking about? Oh, yeah! The Easterbunny's 16mm film and still pictures Ed Banning took to Washington with him. Knox probably said, "nice pictures, Banning." And Banning probably said, "they were taken by a young corporal, Sir, "passing the credit where it was due.

"Yes, Sir?"

"That letter reflected well on the shop, Dillon. It made us all look good."

What the fuck is this idiot talking about?

"Yes, Sir," Major Dillon said.

"And I told him that I had just arranged to have his lost-in-combat records reconstructed, which would reflect his promotion to staff sergeant early on in the Guadalcanal campaign."

"Thank you, Sir."

Miss Wood untucked the towel that more or less covered her body and held it by its corners. She lowered a corner, briefly, enough to expose her left breast. And then she quickly gathered it back over her and winked at Major Dillon.

"Get off the phone, Jake," Miss Wood said.

"And the Assistant Commandant then asked me, Jake, if I had considered the question of decorating Easterbrook and commissioning him..."

Jesus Christ, he's nineteen years old!

"... and I said the thought had occurred to me, but that I hadn't really thought it through."

Miss Wood raised the towel over her head and let it fall across her face. And then, her hands locked behind her neck, she demonstrated the dance technique known as "bump and grind."

"Get off the phone Jake!" she called plaintively from beneath the towel.

"He's a little young, General," Dillon said.

"I made that point myself, Dillon," General Stewart said.

"Who's a little young? Are you talking about Bobby?" Miss Wood inquired, pulling the towel off her head so she could see.

"The Assistant Commandant said he could think of no greater recommendation for commissioning a second lieutenant than his earning staff sergeant's stripes on the battlefield, and taking over from officers who had fallen in battle."

"And you're thinking of recommending Sergeant Easterbrook for a commission, General?"

"What about Bobby?" Miss Wood asked, letting the towel fall to the floor, then moving to sit, stark naked, beside Dillon on the bed.

"It's a fait accompli, Dillon! You just get that young man to San Diego as soon as you can. By the time you reach there, everything will be laid on. He'll be walked through the commissioning process."

"Yes, Sir."

"And then we'll assign him to train the combat correspondents. The elusive round peg in the round hole, right, Dillon? Who better to train them than someone like Easterbrook?"

"Yes, Sir," Dillon said.

"And it should make a fine public affairs press release, wouldn't you say?"