“I see.” Phule scowled. “Is that all, sir?”
“Not quite.” The general grinned. “The last one we’re sending you is in response to your request.”
“My request, sir?”
“Yes. I have it right here.” Blitzkrieg held up a sheet of paper. “It took me a while to find just the right Legionnaire to fit your needs. Captain, knowing as I do how selective you are, but I think I’ve got what you need. You requested a chaplain for your company, and I’m sending you one. Don’t ever say that Headquarters doesn’t give you the support you deserve. Blitzkrieg out.”
For several moments the four officers stared silently at the empty space left by the general’s image after he broke the connection.
“Sir?” Armstrong said at last. “A chaplain?”
“It’s a long story, Lieutenant,” Phule said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “To be honest with you, I had forgotten completely about making the request.”
“I’d watch my step if I were you, Captain,” Colonel Battleax advised. “The general’s dislike for you doesn’t seem to be mellowing with time.”
“We’ll manage,” the commander said. “However, in honor of the general and to celebrate the assignment, I’d like to propose a toast. I’m blatantly stealing it, but it somehow seems appropriate.”
He raised his glass toward his colleagues.
“To honorable enemies and dishonorable friends!”
In a casino restaurant elsewhere on Lorelei, another discussion of a totally different nature was taking place.
“I’ve got to admit, Max,” Laverna was saying, “you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”