“Come on in, Harry!” Rembrandt called. “Good to see you back in uniform.”
Indeed, Chocolate Harry was decked out in his Legionnaire uniform, complete with-or incomplete, as the case may be-the torn-off sleeves that were his personal trademark.
“Good to be back, Lieutenant,” the massive sergeant said. “Hey, Top! Lookin’ good!”
He waved across the room at Brandy, still in her housekeeping uniform, who interrupted her conversation with Moustache long enough to give him a grin and a wink.
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” Armstrong said, “but the last thing I heard you were on the inactive list. Aren’t you supposed to be convalescing?”
“What? For this?” Harry gestured at the bandages around his torso that peeked through the armholes of his uniform. “Heck, I hardly remember that I got hit … ‘cept if someone should happen to want to give me a good old hug.”
He dropped his voice but maintained his grin, though his eyes glittered darkly as he met Armstrong’s gaze with a hard stare.
“Besides, there ain’t no way I’m gonna sit this one out-not with the cap’n in trouble-and with all due respect, Lieutenant, I’d advise you not to try to change my mind. You ain’t nearly big enough-or mean enough.”
He waited until Armstrong gave a small, reluctant nod of agreement, then raised his voice again.
“‘Sides, I brought along a few goodies just to be sure I’d be welcome. That is, they should be along any-there they are! Bring ’em on in, boys!”
Half a dozen of Harry’s team of supply clerks, also known to be the biggest thieves, scroungers, and con artists in the company, were coming into the room, towing or pushing a small caravan of float crates. From their appearance, even while still sealed, it was apparent what they contained, and a small cheer went up from the crowd.