Diapers. They were extremely messy and smelled to high heaven. Of course he had never actually seen or smelled a loaded diaper or wiped a baby’s bottom — he knew from listening to adults who had taken the parental plunge. As he contemplated the messy prospect now, he shuddered. And washing clothes in the same machine used for diapers! Do people get two washing machines? His mom had never owned but one… Funny, he had never thought of that before. He would have to ask somebody.
He wondered if Rita would want to nurse. There’s something…not obscene…jarring, yes, jarring, about watching a woman open her blouse and do something to her bra and plug a kid in. Seeing a woman nurse gave Toad the same sensation he got watching a sword swallower: the sight jolted him right to his toenails. These modern women have waited so long for kids they do it everywhere — in cars, restaurants, theaters, stores, hair places — not just in the ladies’ room like their grandmas used to do.
And somebody once said that babies don’t just eat three squares a day — they are hungry every two hours. That seemed like a lot, and he frowned. Every two hours couldn’t be right. That guy must have had a fat kid.
His kid wouldn’t be fat. He would speak to Rita about that. Eat right and get plenty of exercise, throw the ol’ ball around, climb trees and play tag and all that stuff. He would see to it.
Boy or girl, he would raise this kid right. Help with the homework and stories at night, lots of sports…
How in the heck had his parents done it?
He recalled some spankings and flashes from holidays and picnics, and some run-ins with the little girl who lived next door — Becky or Rebecca or something like that — but it was precious little when he tried to add it up. That stunned him. Shouldn’t he remember more? God, he hadn’t tried to dredge up this stuff in years, not since…well, he had never tried.
And now he needed it. Slam bam thank you ma’am and he was going to be a father.
Maybe he ought to write to his mom and get some sort of operator’s manual, something in writing.
Rita wouldn’t like that, might get all huffy.
Did she remember more about being a kid than he did?
Probably not, but she would confidently assume that since she wasn’t cursed by the Y chromosome she would instinctively know the right things to do.
Why couldn’t he remember?
Jake Grafton used the phone in the office after the senior chief had rigged the scrambler. He reached General Hayden Land at the Pentagon.
“The real problem is Iraq,” Land told Jake after he had related Ambassador Lancaster’s little speech. “Missiles armed with nuclear warheads in Saddam Hussein’s arsenal is something these people in Washington don’t want to face.”
“The Iraqis only took a few missiles,” Jake informed him. “Apparently they elected to take warheads instead.”
“I think so too. The president didn’t have any problem putting the wood to the Russians to destroy Petrovsk. He was ready to use U.S. assets to bomb it if the Russians refused. Almost too ready.”
“What do you mean, General?”
“He hasn’t got burned yet by one of these military adventures blowing up in his face. So he’s ready to damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead.”
“What did CIA say to all this?”
“They told the president to go slow. That he risked making an enemy of Russia. They were about to threaten World War III but he shut them up before they got it out.”
“General, now is the time to go get those weapons in Iraq. Every day that passes means we are one day closer to a desert Armageddon.”
“I’m listening,” Land said.
“We’re going to have to go into Iraq. An airborne assault. We’ll go into Hussein’s backyard, take or destroy the missiles and warheads, and leave as quick as we can. We’re going to have to do it before he uses those weapons.”
Silence. “That won’t be easy.”
“Yes, sir. I know that.”
“Saddam may bag the whole lot of you.”
“That’s a possibility. But we’ll destroy the missiles first. General, we’re going to have to pay a little now or pay a lot later — there are no other options. Any way you cut it, we’ve got to get the jump on him. We have to take the initiative while there is still time.”
“I don’t like it. It’s too risky. Too many things can go wrong, then you’ll be stuck on the ground with a lot of casualties. The Iraqis may bag the whole lot of you, then we have a political prisoner situation. No, the way to do this is an air strike. We’ll bomb that base into powder and that will be the end of Saddam’s nuclear arsenal. We might lose a few pilots, but not a whole bunch of people.”
“If destroying the missiles were the only objective, I would agree with you,” Jake told the chairman. “But it’s not. We must prove to the world that Saddam has the weapons. We’ve got to show the world these missiles and warheads. Here’s what I want to do.” Jake laid it out. His explanation took almost five minutes.
When Jake was finished, Land didn’t say anything for several seconds. Finally he said, “Well, maybe. I’ll think about it. Present it to the president. As a soldier, I’ll tell you right now that all that is too complicated.”
“It’s our best shot, sir.”
“I’ll think about it. What time frame are you thinking about for this operation?”
“As soon as humanly possible, sir. As soon as we can plan it. The sooner the better. I’m going to be flying one of these Russian jets down to Petrovsk tomorrow. We’re flying out of the Lipetsk air base. We leave here in about an hour. I figure we’ll get a checkout on the planes tonight, then fly first thing in the morning. Tomorrow night I can go to Arabia.”
“The weather people say that you can expect scattered to broken stratocumulus in the Petrovsk area, maybe fifty percent coverage, bases around three or four thousand feet, occasional rain showers.”
“That’ll be good enough.”
“Who is the other pilot?”
“Lieutenant Commander Moravia, sir.”
“Okay. Take your scrambler with you and call me from Lipetsk before you take off. I’ll go back to the White House and see what they think about Saddam Hussein.”
“Yessir.”
“Good luck, Jake.”
“Thanks, General.”
Only two options left to stop Saddam Hussein — an air strike or an airborne assault. Jake thought about that after he broke the connection. When you are down to just two options in this dangerous world, you are in deep and serious trouble. He knew that and Hayden Land knew it, but did the president?
She was in the apartment rolling her hair into a bun, with her mouth full of bobby pins. She was already wearing her flight suit and steel-toed flight boots.
“Gertrude Murgatroyd Tarkington,” Toad told her. “Or Tarkington-Moravia or Moravia-Tarkington. Do you want the kid hyphenated?”
“Tarkington is okay,” she said, grinning around the bobby pins and eyeing him in the mirror.
He rammed his hands into his pockets and stood looking at this and that, avoiding meeting her eyes. “Have you told your folks?” he asked finally.
“Of course not. Just you. We’ll wait until the rabbit dies before we tell anyone.”
“Does a rabbit really die?”
“Not anymore. Used to though.”
Toad thought about that for a moment, about rabbits giving their lives to let women know they were pregnant — really! There was a whole lot about this baby business that he didn’t know.
He glanced at her reflection in the mirror and said, “You be careful out there.”
“I will.”
“Be ready for anything.”