Perón descended somewhat regally from the Mercedes.
Don Cletus wondered: What’s the protocol? Does one kiss a colonel in a class “A” uniform on a military base?
When in doubt, kiss.
“I was becoming worried that you would be late, Cletus,” Perón said after they had kissed.
“Punctuality is my only virtue, Tío Juan,” Clete said as he offered his hand to Delgano. “You said one o’clock, and I’m ten minutes early.”
“You had best get in back with us, Delgano,” Perón ordered, “and let the sergeant major sit with the driver.”
“Enrico’s going to fuel the airplane,” Clete said.
Perón looked relieved. But even though Enrico was not going, Delgano got in the backseat. The three of them were all large men, and it was a tight fit.
“Well, where do I take the exam?” Clete asked. “Last night I felt like a schoolboy studying up for it.”
Perón smiled at him but did not reply.
Five minutes later, the Mercedes pulled up in front of the Officers’ Casino. Cars of all sizes lined the driveway.
“Tío Juan, it looks like half the Ejército Argentino is having lunch. Why don’t I take the examination now? And we can come back when there aren’t so many people?”
Perón didn’t reply. He got out of the car.
Shit!
They walked through the ornate doors and into the marble-floored lobby.
Major Cletus Frade, USMCR, looked up at an enormous crystal chandelier and thought: Boy, this is really one hell of an O club. I’d forgotten how fancy it is.
Probably because the last time I was here, there was a good chance I’d be stood against a wall.
The O club at Fighter One was a couple of picnic tables under a canvas flap.
On great occasions, there was a can or two of beer. Warm beer.
A major wearing a uniform draped with gold aiguillettes marched up to them.
“This way, mi coronel,” he said.
He walked to a double door and pulled the right side open.
Perón motioned for Clete to precede him.
Just as soon as he was through the door, the major with the aiguillettes barked, “Mr. President, gentlemen, our guests!”
There was the sound of shuffling feet as the room full of officers came to their feet, and then the sound of applause.
I don’t know what’s going on with Tío Juan Domingo, but I am going to find a chair at the rear of the room.
Perón firmly grasped Clete’s arm and marched him along the side of the dining room, then behind the head table.
General Arturo Rawson, president of the Republic of Argentina, was standing there in uniform. He wore a broad smile and had his arms ready to embrace somebody.
“My great friend Cletus!” Rawson exclaimed, then wrapped him in a bear hug and kissed him on both cheeks.
What the hell is going on here?