"Gentlemen," Prentiss repeated. "General Wilson's compliments. The general requests that you attend him at your earliest convenience."
"That sounds pretty goddamn official, Tom," Miller said.
"As goddamn official as I know how to make it, Lieutenant," Prentiss said.
He pulled open the passenger-side door.
A trim blonde who was visibly the mother of the one on the patio was waiting at the open door of Quarters Two.
"You're Miller and Castillo, right? Dick and Charley?"
"Yes, ma'am," they said.
"I'm Bethany Wilson," she said with a smile. "Where were you going?"
Prentiss answered for them.
"Beth apparently believes they are responsible for the general's condition," he said. "And greeted them with something less than enthusiasm."
"If anyone is responsible for the general's condition, you are, Tom," Mrs. Wilson said. "What did Beth say?"
"The one responsible for the general's condition is the general," General Wilson said, coming to the door from inside the house.
"Good evening, sir," Miller and Castillo said.
"The general's condition, in case you're wondering," he said, "is that he cannot-never has been able to-handle any more than one drink in a ninety-minute period. As you may have noticed, I had four drinks in about forty-five minutes at your apartment. And then I came home. And fell out of the car, before at least a dozen of my daughter's guests. Then, to prove to the world that all I had done was stumble a little, I got onto my wife's bicycle and went merrily down the drive-until I collided with the car of another arriving guest. At that point, Tom finally caught up with me and got me into the house."
He looked between Miller and Castillo and said, "You may smile. It certainly wasn't your fault, but I would consider it a personal favor, Lieutenant Miller, if you did not tell your father about this amusing little episode."
"I beg the general's pardon, but I didn't hear a thing that was said," Miller said.
"Quickly changing the subject," Mrs. Wilson said, "what can I get you to drink? Or would you rather just go out to the patio and join the other young people?"
"There's one more thing, dear," General Wilson said. "Dick and Charley don't get along well with Randy."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Do I get to hear why?"
"No," General Wilson said. "You were saying something about offering them drinks? Then I suggest we show them the scrapbook-there's a number of pictures of your dad, Charley, and yours too, Dick-and then, throwing poor Tom yet again into the breach, Tom can cook us some steaks to eat in here."
"Sir," Prentiss said, "I'm sorry that I didn't-"
"Didn't what?" Wilson interrupted, and looked at Castillo. "Charley, you're an aide. Would you dare to tell your general to go easy on the sauce?"
"No, sir, I would not," Castillo replied.
"There you go, Tom. Nobody's fault but mine. Subject closed."
[-IV-] 2002 Red Cloud Road
Fort Rucker, Alabama 0755 6 February 1992 Captain Tom Prentiss walked to the kitchen door of Quarters Two and lightly tapped one of the panes with his ring. Brigadier General Harry Wilson, who was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, gestured for him to come in. He entered.
"Did you have to knock so loudly?" General Wilson inquired.
Prentiss exchanged smiles with Mrs. Bethany Wilson, who stood at the stove.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Good morning, Tom," she replied, her tone teeming with an exaggerated cheeriness.