"I thought you might want to show it to General Schwarzkopf," Colonel Wallace said. "This one's going to make all the papers. An Apache pilot, a West Pointer, whose father won the Medal of Honor in Vietnam."

Naylor read the computer printout.

ATTN: J-l

HELICOPTER COMPANY, WITH CITATION AS FOLLOWS:

Major General Naylor looked at Colonel Wallace and said, "How badly was this officer wounded? Do we know?"

"He can't be too badly hurt, General, if he flew that shot-up Apache a hundred miles. I think they would have said something if he was seriously injured."

Naylor snorted.

"You see what I mean, sir?" Colonel Wallace asked. "It's a great story! The son of a Medal of Honor winner, and I think we can infer he's a Tex-Mex, with all the implications of that. This will be on the front page of every newspaper in the country tomorrow."

"No, it won't," General Naylor said. Sir?

"Listen to me carefully, Colonel. I am placing an embargo on this story. It is not to be released, leaked, talked about, anything, unless and until General Schwarzkopf overrides my decision. Is that clear?"

"It's clear, sir, but I don't understand:"

"Good. We understand each other. That will be all, Colonel. Thank you."

The office of Major General Oswald L. Young, the J-l (Personnel) of Central Command, in the command bunker was almost identical to that of Major General Naylor, and the two were old friends.

"Got a minute for me, Oz?" Naylor asked.

"Any time, Allan. I was just thinking about you-specifically, of Freddy Lustrous-and wishing I had his ass-chewing ability. I remembered one he gave you and me in 'Nam. I just did my best, but it wasn't in the same league."

"I'm thinking of delivering one of my own," Naylor said. "What was yours about?"

"They had a pool out there. Twenty bucks. Winner take all. The winner was to be the guy who picked the number closest to the actual number of casualties we'll take in the first twenty-four hours."

"Jesus!"

"Actually, there were several such pools. KIA. WIA. MIA. Plus, lost fighters, lost A-10s, lost Apaches. Goddamn, I don't understand people who could do that. It wasn't a bunch of old sergeants, either. A couple of colonels were happy gamblers. What's rubbed you the wrong way?"

"Aviators. Jesus Christ, they're worse than the goddamned Marines! Anything for publicity that makes them look good."

"Going down that road, I just got a recommendation for an impact DFC for an aviator, an Apache pilot who did good."

"Who shouldn't have been anywhere near where he was. Those goddamned sonsofbitches!"

"I thought I was the only one around here who lost his temper," a voice said from the door. It had been opened without first knocking by General H. Norman Schwarzkopf.

Neither Major General Naylor nor Major General Young said anything but General Young got out of his chair.

"I'm glad you're here, Allan," Schwarzkopf said. "I was coming to see you next. After I tell you two why I'm pissed off, you can tell me what the goddamned sonsofbitches you were talking about have done. Or haven't done."

"Yes, sir," Major Generals Naylor and Young said, almost simultaneously.

"Have either of you heard about an office pool, or pools, being run around here?"

"Sir, I have dealt with that situation," General Young said.

"You, Allan?"

"I didn't know about it until just a moment ago, sir," Naylor said. He looked at Young. "Were some of my people involved?"

Young nodded.

"Sir, I will deal with that situation immediately," Naylor said.

"Okay. So you weren't talking about that. Who has you so pissed off?"

Naylor did not immediately respond.

"Take your time, Allan," Schwarzkopf said. "I've got nothing else to do but stand here waiting for you to find your tongue."

"Sir: Oz, have you got the message from the 403rd?"

"Right here," General Young said, picked it up from his in-box, and handed it to Naylor who handed it to Schwarzkopf who read it.

"Something wrong with this? You don't believe it, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, I believe he did it, sir," Naylor said. "With the trumpets of glory ringing in his ears."

"You're losing me, Allan. When I was young and a second lieutenant, I heard those trumpets. Didn't we all?"

"Sir, he graduated from the Point in June."

"I saw that. So?"

"Sir, you don't go from the plain to the cockpit of an Apache in six months."

"Uuuh," General Schwarzkopf grunted. "You know this kid, Allan?"