Page 59 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed in a haze of pain medication.

Tom continued to replay the events of the assassination over and over in his head from his hospital room.

Sometimes he had the room to himself; other times he shared it with soldiers missing arms and legs, just out of surgery before being flown to Okinawa. They all looked so young.

Is any of this worth it?

Serrano visited every few days. He had nothing new to report. The fact that Tom was still alive, with a CIA minder outside his room, made him believe that perhaps Serrano was telling the truth, that the Agency had nothing to do with Gaston’s assassination.

At the end of his second week, he could sit up, albeit with intense pain in his spine and the splitting headache that Dr. Brenner had warned him about. That’s when a second visitor arrived.

Serrano opened the door, and Colonel Singlaub entered in uniform without fanfare. He pinned a Purple Heart on Tom’s hospital gown.

Tom had enough strength to render a salute and shake the colonel’s hand.

“I came as soon as I could, son. I was on a battlefield tour of our FOBs.”

“How are the boys at Phu Bai?” Tom asked.

“They’re working. They are looking forward to seeing you when they get stateside.”

Tom glanced at Serrano, who stood off to the side, and then back to the colonel.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t want to go stateside.”

“That’s not up to you, son. You need to recover.”

“I can do that here. I have about a month and a half left. I’m recovering faster than the doc thought. Let me heal up here, and if I can’t pass the Army PT qual, then I’ll go home. If I pass, then I stay.”

Singlaub rubbed his chin and looked at Serrano, who shrugged.

“You’re a lot like he was.”

“Who, sir?”

“Your father.”

“You knew my dad?”

“How do you think you ended up here?”

“I thought it was the SAS exchange, the previous deployments down south, my language skills.”

“You are not the only person who fits that profile who can swim,” Singlaub said.

“You served with him?”

“We crossed paths a few times. First met him at the old OSS headquarters at 25th and E, in Building Q. We interviewed with General Donovan the same day. Did he ever talk about it?”

“He’s kept fairly quiet about the war,” Tom said.

“That sounds like Thomas. We went through training together; the Congressional Country Club, if you can believe that, then Area A-1, ‘Shangri-La.’ They call it Camp David now.”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. The pain from the movement was not nearly as bad as it had been just a day earlier. He was making progress.

“I met you at the ranch in Colorado before you could walk, you know. Thomas asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“He did? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“He’s a father, and the OSS fraternity is a small one. The best way to repay an old friend was to bring you closer, under my command. When this war is over, I’ll get back out to that ranch and thank him again in person.”

“For what, sir?”

“I owe him my life. A lot of us do. Someday, I’ll tell you the story. You keep resting. Recover and pass that PT test, and I’ll do what I can to keep you in-country.”

“You got a deal, Colonel.”