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Show Flying - 78 against the cold. O'Connell's truck comes by with Thompson driving and as it passes, the window rolls down. "One hundred and forty-nine days'" yells O'Connell happily into the dawn. Twenty minutes later the convoy has passed and, John Henry at the wheel, the jeep rolls on through Huachuca City and takes a right toward Fairbank and the Tombstone-Benson road, saluted by the lone M.P. on guard at the cross-roads. They roll slowly, numbed by the cold wind that comes around the windshield, content for now to hang on behind the convoy, keeping in sight the big red cross on the back of the last truck, D company's ambulance. On either side of the road, twenty miles away and looking a lot closer in the clear mountain air, the peaks of the Chiricahuas stand tall and black like witches' hats, their backs to the rising sun, as the jeep rolls east to catch Route 80 into Benson. Still trailing the convoy, they roll into the outskirts of Benson at 5.30. At Benson, the road crosses high above the San Pedro river on a new bridge of steel and reinforced concrete. There are police cars parked near the entrance to the bridge now, and traffic is being detoured into the left lane. John Henry parks the Jeep in front of a diner and they walk up to see. One of Headquarters Company's big new GMC's is up on the sidewalk, its nose through the railing and hanging over |