Chapter 21

09:05 Monday, July 15th, 1991
Oakland Yacht Club (Restaurant Pay Phone)
1101 Pacific Marina, Alameda CA, 94501

"Sergeant Hauptmann, please. I'll wait if he's not available." Ben was using his dad's credit card to pay for the call.

He waited for almost five minutes, before Sergeant Hauptmann picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Sergeant, its PFC Collins, checking in and needing orders."

"Ben! Jesus, am I glad to hear your voice! How's Sandy? Your leave going well? You two haven't fought or anything, have you?"

Ben laughed. "Christ, Sergeant, is our relationship that obvious? She's fine, better than ever, and we're in great shape together."

"Ben, I couldn't be happier. You got a fax number for some orders? We've got your TDY to the school ready to rock, and I need to know your location so I can cut some movement orders."

"I'm in the Bay Area, Sergeant. I can fly from San Francisco or Oakland."

"San Francisco, then, it'll be easier to set up. What gear do you need? Boots, three sets of BDUs, Kevlar, what else?" Hauptmann referred to the Kevlar battle helmet.

"Web gear, Sergeant, boot black and my brushes and rags, six sets of underwear and socks. I've got my Class B short sleeves with me, but I'll need my Class A jacket."

"Okay Ben, we'll pack it up. Call me back with a fax number, I'll have some orders early this afternoon. You'll fly a week from Thursday in the morning, and take a cab to Airborne Intake Friday, I'll put you up in transient quarters that Thursday night."

"Thanks, Sergeant Hauptmann, I really appreciate it."

17:50 Tuesday, July 16th, 1991
Sonoma Valley Inn
550 W Second St, Sonoma, CA 95476

"Hi, Sandy. It's Deb, Barbara Harding's secretary. The tailors called me today to say they'd shipped everything, but they didn't make the cutoff for Ben's uniform. It'll be here Thursday. If you could meet me tomorrow for lunch, I can cut you free by fourteen hundred, if that will meet with the Chief's approval? Please, call me back at the number you called the other day, and let me know. Bye."

Sandy played the message again, for Ben's ear, while she held the receiver to his head. Nodding that he'd understood it, she broke the connection.

Lieutenant Brophy had shown up Monday, for his familiarization week with the boat, and Rudolfs and he spent a good part of the morning alone in the bridge.

Kostowe had worked them all Monday afternoon, handling a small dinghy with an outboard motor. He'd made them all run through several exercises handling the boat, reversing direction, learning how a boat felt changing direction, and docking. Then he'd made them all do it, each for an hour, while the others polished and scrubbed the Joy Redux.

Today, Tuesday, hadn't been much better. He made each of them work out a course, in grease pencil on the Plexiglas over the charts, with a long checklist to be sure they'd done everything right. Then, in some very shallow water off the flatter coast of Marin County, he'd had them, Sandy and Lenore, work with Brophy and Rudolfs to learn how to dive.

"Private Collins, you'll need to listen in on the diving lectures." Ben recognized it as an order.

"Aye Aye, Chief." He gave a moment's longing glance at the radio manual, then turned to the table.

"It's like this, Ben," Lieutenant Brophy spoke. "You may be able to use tanks in shallow water someday. Hang around boats long enough and there may someday be a catastrophe that you need to handle, with scuba gear. And, if you're the boat master, knowing what you need to do to makes it easier on the divers."

Ben muttered to Sandy his thought that Kostowe was training them for a special warfare mission themselves. "Maybe as a backup to a backup," she agreed. They agreed to talk about it later.

All of that meant they were tired. Sandy considered that an hour or two with Deb test-fitting her new Blue Dress would be an escape.

Sandy called and agreed to meet Deb at the house off Page Mill Road the next afternoon.

11:50 Wednesday, July 17th, 1991
28910 Matadero Creek Lane
Los Altos Hills, CA 94022

She trotted up the steps to the door, shaking her head again at the size of the house. Not for the first time Sandy wondered how in hell she had been caught up in so much strangeness. When did I lose control over the events in my life? I guess its just California. This time next week, I'll be back to Arizona, then to Ft. Benning.

Sandy rang the bell. A forty-ish woman Sandy's own height, with brown hair lightly streaked with grey in a short pageboy and a cute upturned nose, opened the door. "Deb?" Sandy asked, and held out her hand.

"Hi, Sandy, I'm so pleased to meet you. Come on in, let's go get you dressed up." The other woman took and released her hand. Sandy followed her into the house, with its positively huge foyer and tasteful décor. Sandy marveled at the scale model of a sailing ship on a small shelf above a coat rack. That has got to be actual bronze.

Deb led on, deeper into the house. Along the way, she asked polite questions about the drive down from Oakland, and whether or not the Chief had been working them too hard.

Turning a corner into a nicely appointed study, with walnut shelves and books lining the walls, furnished with a walnut desk and chair rails, Sandy nodded appreciatively. "This would be a very nice place to work in."

"Thank you," Deb said, her eyes smiling under her bangs. "The Admiral has heavy cherry and those brass lamps with green shades in his office. It's awful," she confided. "Now down to bra and panties..." and she turned to remove the garments from the shipping boxes.

Sandy stripped to her underclothes, and, growing bored waiting for Deb to unbox the uniform, stood on tiptoes feeling the leather backs of the legal tomes lining the upper shelf with her finger, reading the titles. She turned at Deb's slight gasp, to see the older woman staring at her, while holding the white uniform blouse with both hands bunched under her chin. Deb shook herself, and blushed.

Sandy felt concern for the other woman. "I'm sorry, am I snooping?"

"No ... no, it's not that. Here, put these on."

As Sandy pulled up the stockings, Deb kept up a running monologue.

"You know, the Admiral is one of the few men I see, and sometimes I'm not sure how well we get along. He's incredulous, I think, that I'd choose to work for Barbara over my early career, or even over him. Over the years, though, the Admiral and I have grown ... used ... to each other, I suppose, a sort of warm tolerance for each other. Though occasionally, we'll do small favors directly for one another."

Sandy indicated she needed the blouse, and Deb handed it over. "But for a man in my life, if you were to point to one, he'd be the nearest. Now, your Ben, if I were so inclined, would be one heck of a catch. Do you know Barbara raved for hours about how in love with you he is? She tortured me for a day about the look in his eyes when he brushed your hair at her little cookout."

Sandy blinked. Little cookout? It was catered... Yet, Deb carried on, seemingly oblivious to Sandy's surprise. "Oh yes, it's obvious to us all, you two are completely smitten." Sandy considered that while Deb absently handed her the uniform skirt. Sandy fastened the top button of the skirt, pleased it was snug, but still allowed movement. Experimentally, she bent at the waist. The skirt didn't split or tug painfully. She straightened, and caught Deb's eye. Refusing to let it go, she asked, almost challengingly, "Deb, why is Barbara doing all this?"

Deb nodded, as if she'd expected the question. "When it comes to you and Lenore, I think Barbara is a frustrated mother. She's only had a little influence on Junior, and not very much at all on Billy." At Sandy's confused look, she clarified, "The Admiral's sister's son? William Wells? The midshipman?" Sandy nodded at the last, and Deb continued. "Junior is Harry's son, and he and the Gunny ... saved, I suppose, or significantly helped at the least, Janet's son. Barbara is looking for someone to mentor, to guide."

Deb looked at Sandy with an odd expression. "There's more to it, of course. Some of Barbara's motivation is to help good friends." Deb sighed. "Yes, some is because of the Gunny. You have to understand, Sandy, Barb is committed to her husband the Admiral's goals. Harry owes the Gunny ... so much, for saving Billy. And, Barbara is very fond of the Gunny for his own sake, he's saved Harry twice..."