The crowd parted reluctantly to let him pass, and he paused at the first step to Hut 101, turning and facing the men. Lincoln Scott hovered just behind him.

"What is going on?" he asked again.

"Ask the nigger," a voice from the mob answered.

"He's the one that wants to fight."

Tommy did not turn to Scott, but instead slid his body between the front row of the crowd and where the black airman was perched. He pointed directly at the man who'd spoken.

"I'm asking you," he said briskly.

There was a momentary hesitation, then the man answered, "Well, I guess your boy there doesn't cotton to some of the local artwork…"

Several men started to laugh.

"And because he ain't much of an art critic, well, he comes storming out of the hut there, challenging each and every one out here just minding their own business to a fight. Damn, he looks right ready to have it out, one by one, with just about everyone in this damn camp, excepting maybe you. Hart. But the rest of us, well, he looks like he wants a piece of every flier here."

Before Tommy could respond, another voice came bellowing from perhaps fifty yards away.

"Attention!"

The kriegies pivoted and saw Colonel Lewis MacNamara and Major Clark rapidly striding toward the gathering. Captain Walker Townsend hovered just behind them, pausing at the periphery to watch. At almost the same moment, a squad of German guards, perhaps a half-dozen men, trotted into view, coming around the same corner from the assembly yard that Tommy had passed seconds earlier. They carried rifles and were marching double-time, their boots slapping the dry camp dirt. They were being led by Hauptmann Visser.

The Germans and the two senior American officers arrived at the front of Hut 101 at almost the same moment. The Germans assumed guarded positions, rifles at the half-ready, while Visser stood forward of the squad. The kriegies all snapped to attention, standing ramrod straight in their positions.

MacNamara moved through the crowd slowly, as quiet grew around him, examining the face of each airman. It was as if the SAO were imprinting the name and identity of each man in the mob on his memory.

Visser remained halted a few feet back, waiting to see what MacNamara would do. The SAO moved with an angry deliberateness, like an officer conducting an inspection of a particularly slovenly unit. His face was red, his temper clearly ready to burst forth, but the angrier he looked, the more calculated his every motion became.

It took him several minutes to reach the steps to Hut 101, where he looked first at Tommy, fixing him with a long, rigid glance, then at

Scott, then finally back to Tommy.

"All right," he said quietly, in a voice that belied his rage, "Hart, please explain. What the hell is going on here?"

Tommy saluted sharply, and replied: "I only just arrived moments ago, sir. I was seeking to ascertain the same answer."

MacNamara nodded.

"I see," he said slowly, although he clearly did not see.

"Then perhaps Lieutenant Scott can take this opportunity to enlighten me."

Scott, too, saluted sharply. He hesitated, as if gathering his words, then replied: "Sir. I was challenging these men to a fight, sir."

"A fight?" MacNamara asked.

"All of them?"

"Yes sir. As many as was necessary. Some of them. All of them. It did not make a difference to me. Sir."

MacNamara shook his head.

"Why would you do this, lieutenant?"

"My door, sir."

"Your door? What about your door, lieutenant?"

Scott paused. He took a deep breath.

' "See for yourself, colonel," he replied.

MacNamara started to respond, then stopped.

"Very well," he said. He took a step forward, only to hear Heinrich Visser's voice.

"I think, colonel, that I shall accompany you."

The German was making his way through the crowd of men, which parted swiftly to allow him to pass. Visser mounted the steps, nodding toward

MacNamara.

"Please," he gestured to Scott, "show us what it is that would prompt a man to attempt to battle such uneven odds."

Scott eyed the German with disdain.

"A fight is a fight, Hauptmann. Sometimes the odds are completely irrelevant to the cause of the fight."

Visser smiled.

"A brave man's concept, lieutenant. Not a pragmatic man's."

MacNamara interrupted sharply.

"Scott, lead the way.

Now, if you please!"

Tommy was the last through the double doors into Hut 101.

The uneven tread of the men echoed in the barracks as they traveled down to the last door, which marked Scott's quarters.

There they paused, staring at the wooden exterior.

In large, deep knife strokes, someone had carved: die NIGGER KKK.

"Not even very grammatical," Lincoln Scott said sourly.

Visser stepped forward, removed a black leather glove from his sole hand, and then slowly ran the tip of his finger over the words, outlining each. He did not speak, and carefully, using his teeth, tugged the glove back into place.

MacNamara's face was marred by a scowl. He turned to Scott.

"Do you have any idea, lieutenant, specifically, who placed these words on your door?"

Scott shook his head.

"I left my room only to go and use the Abort. I was not gone for more than a few minutes. When I returned, the message was there."

"And you thought to take on everyone in sight?" MacNamara asked, still harnessing the fury that leeched onto the edge of each word.

"Although you had no real idea who carved the words here when your back was turned."

Scott hesitated, then nodded.

"Yes sir," he said.

"Precisely."

Behind them, they all suddenly heard the sound of the doors to Hut 101 swinging open, and heavy footsteps in the corridor. All the men gathered in front of Scott's room pivoted, and saw that Commandant Von

Reiter was marching directly toward them. He was accompanied by two junior-grade officers, both of whom kept their hands nervously on the holsters of their pistols. Behind them, trying to remain inconspicuous, but still eager to see, was Fritz Number One. As he had been only a few hours before, Von Reiter was in his dress uniform.

The camp commandant pushed forward and halted a few feet away from the door. For a long, silent moment, he stared at the words, then he turned to MacNamara, as if seeking an explanation.

MacNamara didn't hesitate.

Pointing a finger directly at the commandant, he spoke briskly and harshly.

"This, Herr Oberst, is precisely what I warned you about! Had it not been for the arrival of Lieutenant Hart and myself, we might have had a riot on our hands!"

MacNamara pivoted toward Scott.

"Lieutenant, while I can understand your rage " "Begging the colonel's pardon, but I don't think you can, sir " Scott started to reply.

MacNamara raised a hand, shutting him off.

"We have due process. We have a procedure! We must adhere to regulations! I will not have a riot! I will not allow a lynching! And

I will not allow you to be goaded into a fight!"

He switched back instantly to Von Reiter.

"I warned you, commandant, that this situation is dangerous. I'm warning you again!"

Von Reiter hissed his reply, equally furious: "You must control your own men. Colonel MacNamara! Or else I will be forced to extreme measures!"

The two men glared at each other. Then, abruptly, MacNamara turned to Tommy.

"We will proceed at zero eight hundred on Monday! And this" he pivoted back to Von Reiter "I want a new door on this room within the hour!

Understand?"

Von Reiter started to reply, then paused, and nodded. He rapidly spoke a few words in German to one of the adjutants, who clicked his heels together, saluted, and hurried down the corridor.

The German commandant said, "Yes. This will be seen to. You, colonel, will take steps to remove the mob outside.