Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

Capitán von Wachtstein was properly appreciative of the story of Granduncle Guillermo, chuckled a final time, and then met Clete’s eyes.

“You said you were formerly a lieutenant,” he asked amiably. “In the Argentine Army?”

“No,” Clete said.

“I could not help but observe your watch,” von Wachtstein said in a polite challenge. “I have seen such watches before.”

“Have you?”

“On the wrists of American aviators shot down over France and Germany. They are very good watches.”

“You are a very perceptive man, mi Capitán.”

“Possibly. And you have a very interesting Spanish accent. Why do I think that my being here may be very awkward for both of us?”

“I am not a professional officer, mi Capitán,” Clete said. “I have no idea what conduct is expected of an officer, even a former officer, when he meets an enemy officer in a neutral country.”

“And in his father’s house,” Peter replied. “I, on the other hand, am a professional officer, and I haven’t the faintest idea either. My father, however—my father is a Generalmajor, and presumably should know about these things—served in France in the First World War and often told me about the armistice, the unofficial armistice, declared between the English and the Germans on Christmas Eve. Do you suppose, as officers and gentlemen, that we might pretend it’s Christmas Eve? We’d only be off by a couple of weeks. Less.”

“I think that would be a splendid solution,” Clete said. “Merry Christmas, Captain. Peter.”

They shook hands.

“Fröhliche Weihnachten, Clete,” Peter said. “You were a pilot, right?”

Clete nodded.

“I could tell,” Peter said. “Not only by the watch. Pilots are better-looking, more charming, and far more intelligent than other officers.”

“More modest, too,” Clete said.

“Absolutely. What did you fly?”

“Wildcats, Grumman Wildcats.”

“You’re a fighter pilot. So am I. Most recently Focke-Wulf 190s. I had a Jaeger squadron near Berlin.”

“I was in the Pacific. Midway and Guadalcanal.”

Their eyes met and locked for a moment.

“We heard about Guadalcanal,” Peter said. “My father told me that the Japanese military attaché assured him that the Americans would be forced into the sea within weeks. My father said he did not think so.”

“We were hanging on by our teeth for a while,” Clete said. “But we’re there for good now, I think.”

“Are the Japanese pilots competent? And their aircraft?”

“The Zero is a first-class fighter,” Clete said. “And some of the Japanese pilots, two in particular, were very good.”

Peter chuckled in understanding.

“You were shot down twice?”

“Shot down twice, disabled once. I was able to bring it in dead-stick.”

“Over Russia, especially in the Steppes, losing an engine is not much of a problem. You can sit down almost anywhere. Over Western Europe, it is a problem. The farms are smaller, and in France, in Normandy in particular, the edges of the fields are fenced with rock.”

“I guess you know from experience?”