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Show Flying -162 Captain Black wants to see him at the Headquarters tent. Now. Ushered by a slender and silent clerk into Black's office, John Henry steps up smartly and salutes his crispest salute. "Private Pierson reporting to the Captain as directed, sir," he says. Black leans across the desk, glaring at him, then relaxes. "At ease, Pierson," he says. The captain leans back in his swivel chair and taps his front teeth with the point of his swagger-stick, choosing his words before he speaks. "Pierson, last night somebody wrote some pretty filthy words on the windshields of several of our trucks. With white shoepolish. Now there were guards in the notorpool all night, so I figure whoever wrote those words nust either be one of the guards or have had the guards help hin. Do you follow me so far?" "Yes, sir," says John Henry. "But couldn't it have been some of the aggressors?" "It could not," says Captain Black. "Those aggressors are hand-picked elite troops. Special Forces men, the very best we have. Fine soldiers. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir," says John Henry. "All right. Now I've talked to the other four guards |
