Patriot games - Tom Clancy [106]
"Doctor Ryan," he said stiffly, "I've been asked to make a presentation on behalf of the class."
"Uh-oh." Jack took half a step backward and scanned the body of students theatrically for the advancing threat.
Mid/3 Winton walked forward and produced a small box from behind his back. There was a typed sheet on the top. The young man stood at attention.
"Attention to orders; For service above and beyond the duty of a tourist-even a brainless Marine-the class awards Doctor John Ryan the Order of the Purple Target, in the hope that he will duck the next time, lest he become a part of history rather than a teacher of it. "
Winton opened the box and produced a purple ribbon three inches across on which was inscribed in gold: SHOOT ME. Below it was a brass bull's-eye of equal size. The mid pinned it to Ryan's shoulder so that the target portion almost covered where he'd been shot. The class stood and applauded as Ryan shook hands with the class spokesman.
Jack fingered the "decoration" and looked up at his class. "Did my wife put you up to this?" They started converging on him.
"Way to go, Doc!" said an aspiring submarine driver.
"Semper fi!" echoed a would-be Marine.
Ryan held up his hands. He was still getting used to the idea of having his left arm back. The shoulder ached now that he was really using it, but the surgeon at Hopkins had told him that the stiffness would gradually fade away, and the net impairment to his left shoulder would be less than five percent.
"Thank you, people, but you still have to take the exam next week!"
There was general laughter as the kids filed out of the room to their next class. This was Ryan's last for the day. He gathered up his books and notes and trailed out of the room for the walk uphill to his office in Leahy Hall.
There was snow on the ground this frigid January day. Jack had to watch for patches of ice on the brick sidewalk. Around him the campus of the Naval Academy was a beautiful place. The immense quadrangle bordered by the chapel to the south, Bancroft Hall to the east, and classroom buildings on the other sides, was a glistening white blanket with pathways shoveled from one place to another. The kids- Ryan thought of them as kids-marched about as they always did, a little too earnest and serious for Jack's liking. They saved their smiles for places where no outsiders might notice. Each of them had his (or her) shoes spit-shined, and they moved about with straight backs, books tucked under the left arm so as not to interfere with saluting. There was a lot of that here. At the top of the hill, at Gate #3, a Marine lance corporal stood with the "Jimmy Legs" civilian guard. A normal day at the office, Jack told himself. It was a good place to work. The mids were easily the equal of the students of any school in the country, always ready with questions, and, once you earned their trust, capable of some astonishing horseplay. This was something a visitor to the Academy might never suspect, so serious was the kids' public demeanor.
Jack got into the steam-heated warmth of Leahy Hall and bounded up the steps to his office, laughing to himself at the absurd award that dangled from his shoulder. He found Robby sitting opposite his desk.
"What in the hell is that?" the pilot inquired. Jack explained as he set his books down. Robby started laughing.
"It's nice to see the kids can unwind a little, even in exam season. So what's new with you?" Jack asked his friend.
"Well, I'm a Tomcat driver again," Robby announced. "Four hours over the weekend. Oh, man! Jack, I'm telling you, I had that baby talking to me. Took her offshore, had her up to mach one-point-four, did a midair refueling, then I came back for some simulated carrier landings, and-it was good. Jack," the pilot concluded. "Two more months and I'll be back where I belong."
"That long, Rob?"
"Flying this bird is not supposed to be easy or they wouldn't need people of my caliber to do it," Jackson explained seriously.
"It must be hard to be so humble."
Before Robby could respond, there came a knock