The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [43]
“Captain…sir.”
Adams threw up the salute, could see Scofield’s hard stare, softening now.
“We have a problem here, Sergeant?” Pullman said.
“No, sir. Just trying to get the men to pack their chutes with a little more…efficiency.”
He knew Pullman wouldn’t buy it, but the lieutenant eased past him, close to Marley.
“Private, you having trouble remembering how to pack your chute?”
“No, sir.”
“Then pack the damned chute!”
“Yes, sir.”
Marley began to work on the fabric, the folds. Men were murmuring now, the ones who were farther away going back to their business. Pullman always seemed to be careful around Adams, had never chewed him out for anything, and Adams knew he wouldn’t do it now. He noticed the man’s coffee cup. Of course.
“Sergeant,” Pullman said, “Captain Scofield tells me you have some history together.”
Adams saw a smile on Scofield’s face. “Yes, sir. That we do.”
Scofield said, “Lieutenant, do you mind if Sergeant Adams walks with me a bit? Things seem to be under control here.”
“He’s all yours, sir.”
Scofield looked past Adams, scanning the tables, the rows of men. “You men had better listen to Sergeant Adams, every damned word. You want to survive this war, he’s the man who will keep your butts in one piece. You hear me?”
There was a sharp chorus. “Yes, sir!”
Scofield continued to examine the men and their equipment, then looked at Adams again. “Let’s go, Sergeant.”
Scofield walked away and Adams followed, moving toward the wide opening of the hangar. He felt a strange energy. He had not seen Scofield since Italy, since the day General Gavin had chosen Adams to go to England. Scofield was the company commander, and Adams had served with him throughout the fights in Sicily and after. There was no uncertainty about Scofield, no need for guessing whether or not the man was a leader. In Sicily, Scofield had been everything a soldier needed to see, and Adams had learned to trust him with a loyalty many veterans knew was rare.
The captain led him out into the rain, lighter now, more of a thick mist. As Adams followed, Scofield moved close to one of the C-47s, its camouflage netting pulled away. Adams saw the cockpit: Two pilots were in place, unexpected. Scofield turned to him.
“We’re going up. The entire damned division. General Ridgway is sick of sitting on his ass, so the word came down a half hour ago. The weather is better, supposed to clear up a good bit more, give us some chances at a jump or two. Have your men recheck their chutes, load up their packs. I don’t trust weathermen, and I’m not sure why General Ridgway feels any different, but orders are orders.”
Scofield was looking at him, and Adams saw a smile.
“It’s good to see you too, sir.”
Scofield put a hand on his shoulder, a hard grip. “This is eating you alive, isn’t it, Sergeant?”
“Not sure what you mean, sir.”
Scofield looked up, squinted through the wetness on his face. “I feel it too. Every veteran I’ve spoken to is chewing nails to get on with it. Most of us thought we were done after Italy. Figured someone else would pick up the slack. But, hell, I knew better than that. We’re the best this army’s got. And from what I hear, that’s what we’re going to need.” He paused, removing the hand from Adams’s shoulder. “I had a feeling you’d go crazy as a staff sergeant. Gavin never changed your designation, you know. Did that on purpose, left it so you could come back to the company. I suspect you know more about our mission than I do, and that’s fine with me. I’ll learn what we’re supposed to do when Colonel Ekman decides to tells me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Scofield looked at him, hard in the eyes.
“Good. Keep your damned mouth shut. I was hoping you wouldn’t spill your guts. Hell, I knew you wouldn’t. You’ve been drinking tea with British generals, and we’ve been out here fielding rumors. Lots of rumors.