A Marine corporal stepped out from behind the wheel, ran around the front, and opened the rear door. Captain Carstairs emerged, tugged at the hem of his blouse, and started toward the house.
"Natty sonofabitch, isn't he?" Bill Dunn said softly, but not softly enough to escape his mother's ears.
"You watch your language, Billy!"
"Yes, Ma'am," he said, sounding genuinely contrite.
Carstairs reached the top of the stairs, came onto the porch, and removed his uniform cap.
"Good morning, Ma'am," he said. "Gentlemen."
"Good morning, Sir," Dunn and Pickering said, almost in unison.
"Lovely day, isn't it?"
"I don't think either of them noticed, Captain," Mrs. Dunn said. "But yes, it is. Can I have Kate bring you something?"
"That's very kind, Ma'am," Captain Carstairs said, and nodded at the Bloody Mary Pickering was holding. "That looks interesting."
"It's not tomato juice, Captain," Bill Dunn said.
"I hoped it wouldn't be," Carstairs said, smiling.
"I'll have Kate bring you one," Mrs. Dunn said. And then, "Captain, if you'll excuse me?"
"You're very kind, Ma'am," Captain Carstairs said.
Kate appeared almost immediately with a tray holding three glasses and a glass pitcher full of a red liquid.
"Kate," Dunn said. "Would you see that the corporal gets something to drink? Why don't you ask him in the kitchen and see if he's hungry?"
"Can I fix you something, Captain?" Kate asked.
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"How about a nice ham sandwich?"
"You ought to try it, Captain," Dunn said. "We cure our own."
"Thank you very much," Carstairs said.
"Why don't we sit over there?" Dunn said, indicating a set of white wicker chairs, couches, and a table, to the right of the wide porch.
"This is a very nice place, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said. "I guess I've flown over it a thousand times, but this is the first time I've been on the ground."
"It's nice," Dunn agreed. "One of my ancestors stole it from the Indians, and then another ancestor kept the Yankee carpetbaggers from stealing it from us."
"How did he do that?" Carstairs asked.
"There's a story going around that every time the Yankees started out for here from Mobile, their boats seemed to blow up," Dunn said.
"How big is it?" Pick asked.
"Right at a hundred thousand acres," Dunn said. "Most of it in timber now. You ever hear of the boll weevil?"
"No," Pick admitted.
"Up in Dale County, they built a monument to the boll weevil," Dunn said. "Right in the center of town. Everything down here used to be cotton. The boll weevil came along and ate all the cotton, and we had to find something else to do with the land. We put ours in timber. And pecans. We have twelve hundred acres in pecans. And we're running some livestock. Swine, sheep, and cattle. You can graze cattle in pecan groves, get double use of the land."
"I would never have pegged you for a farmer," Pick said.
"My brothers are farmers," Dunn said. "Before I went in the Corps, they hadn't made up their minds what I was going to be. The only thing they knew was that I wasn't cut out to be a farmer. Now I'm not so sure. This all looks pretty good to me, now that I'm home."
"Yours was a pretty spectacular homecoming, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said.
"He said, preparatory to dropping the other shoe," Pick said. Carstairs gave him a dirty look. "I would like to apologize for calling you Captain Mustache, and thank you for driving us over here," Pick went on.
"Count me in on that," Dunn said. "I have the feeling that light colonel can be a real nasty sonofabitch."
"It doesn't behoove lieutenants, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said, "to refer to a lieutenant colonel as a 'real nasty sonofabitch' in the hearing of a captain who works for the nasty sonofabitch."
"Yes, Sir," Dunn said. "Can I infer from your presence that all has not been forgiven?"
"Forgiven, no. But there is an opportunity offered for you to make amends."
"And what if we're unrepentant?" Pick asked.
"Let me put it this way, Mr. Pickering," Carstairs said. "I spent the morning delivering 'reply by endorsement' letters to the officers Colonel Porter found drinking beer in the Club yesterday afternoon; these letters asked them to explain why they weren't whitewashing rocks, or doing something else useful, when they were through with their last student of the day."
"Fuck him," Pick said. "If you're suggesting he'll write our CO, even our MAG commander, telling him we were a little tight, let him."
"The letter would go to your new MAG commander, Mr. Pickering, not your old one."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't know, do you?" Carstairs said. "You two are not going back to your squadrons. None of the Guadalcanal aces are. You're going to train new fighter pilots. Here. I mean in the States. Probably at Memphis, I would guess."
"How do you know that?"
"Take my word for it. My orders to Memphis were canceled. I'm going to the Pacific. The Corps seems to feel the new generation of fighter pilots should be trained by people with combat experience, and not by those of us they've kept around the States until now."
"Oh, shit," Dunn said.
"It could be worse than teaching fighter pilots in Memphis or Florida, Mr. Dunn. It could mean teaching basic flight here-sitting in the backseat of Yellow Perils, and whitewashing rocks when you're through with the day's flying."
"He'd do that to us?" Pick asked.
"In a word, Mr. Pickering, you can bet your ass he would."
"How do we make amends? Kiss his ass at high noon in front of the O Club?"
"Colonel Porter feels that it would be educational-perhaps even inspirational-if you were to speak to the Marine Aviators and the Marine students here. And he sent me to ask if you would, for the good of The Corps, be willing to give up one day of your well-earned leave for that noble purpose."