Patriot games - Tom Clancy [66]
"God preserve Queen Anne!"
"Amen!" the guard force replied.
Behind them, a bugler stood. He blew Last Post, the British version of Taps. The notes echoed against the stones in a way that denoted the end of day, and when necessary, the end of life. Like the circular waves that follow a stone's fall into the water, the last mournful note lingered until it faded to nothingness in the still air. Ryan bent down to kiss his wife. It was a magical moment that they would not soon forget.
The Chief Warder proceeded up the steps to secure the keys for the night, and the crowd withdrew.
"Every night since 1240, eh?" Jack asked.
"The ceremony was interrupted during the Blitz. A German bomb fell into the Tower grounds while things were under way. The warder was bowled over by the blast, and the candle in his lantern was extinguished. He had to relight it before he could continue," Evans said. That the man had been wounded was irrelevant. Some things are more important than that. "Shall we return to the pub?"
"We don't have anything like this at home," Cathy said quietly.
"Well, America isn't old enough, is she?"
"It would be nice if we had something like this, maybe at Bunker Hill or Fort McHenry," Jack said quietly.
Murray nodded agreement. "Something to remind us why we're here."
"Tradition is important," Evans said. "For a soldier, tradition is often the reason one carries on when there are so many reasons not to. It's more than just yourself, more than just your mates-but it's not just something for soldiers, is it? It is true-or should be true-of any professional community."
"It is," Cathy said. "Any good medical school beats that into your head. Hopkins sure did."
"So does the Corps," Jack agreed. "But we don't express it as well as you just did."
"We've had more practice." Evans opened the door to the pub. "And better beer to aid in our contemplation."
"Now, if you guys could only learn how to fix beef properly " Jack said to Evans.
"That's telling 'em, ace," the FBI agent chuckled.
"Another beer for a brother Marine." A glass was handed to Ryan by another of the warders. "Surely you've had enough of this para prima donna by now."
"Bert's one of the Marines I told you about," Evans explained.
"I never say bad things about somebody who buys the drinks," Ryan told Bert.
"That is an awfully sensible attitude. Are you sure you were only a lieutenant?"
"Only for three months." Jack explained about the helicopter crash.
"That was bad luck. Bloody training accidents," Evans said. "More dangerous than combat."
"So you guys work as tour guides here?"
"That's part of it," the other warder said. "It's a good way to keep one's hand in, and also to educate the odd lieutenant. Just last week I spoke to one of the Welsh Guards chaps-he was having trouble getting things right, and I gave him a suggestion."
"The one thing you really miss," Evans agreed. "Teaching those young officers to be proper soldiers. Who says the best diplomats work at Whitehall?"
"I never got the feeling that I was completely useless as a second lieutenant," Jack observed with a smile.
"All depends on one's point of view," the other yeoman said. "Still and all, you might have worked out all right, judging by what you did on The Mall."
"I don't know, Bert. A lieutenant with a hero complex is not the sort of chap you want to be around. They keep doing the damnedest things. But I suppose the ones who survive, and learn, do work out as you say. Tell me. Lieutenant Ryan, what have you learned?"
"Not to get shot. The next time I'll just shoot from cover."
"Excellent." Bob Hallston rejoined them. "And don't leave one alive behind you," he added. The SAS wasn't noted for leaving people alive by accident.
Cathy didn't like this sort of talk. "Gentlemen, you can't just kill people like that."