When he drove up, Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi saluted crisply, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon, Sir. I’m glad you could come out. I’m just about ready to blow this sonofabitch.”
McGuire returned the salute.
“I’m glad you waited until I came out here, Pelosi,” McGuire said, more than a little annoyed.
Pelosi picked up on the sarcasm.
“Sir,” he said, a little uneasily. “The Captain did not say he wished to be here when I blew it.”
No, I didn’t, McGuire realized. It never entered my mind that you would come close to having your charges in place before fifteen or sixteen hundred.
“No problem, Lieutenant. I’m here now. You say your charges are laid?”
“All I have to do is hook up the detonator, Sir. This was my final look-around.”
“Well, let me have a look,” McGuire said.
He gestured for his driver to take the jeep over to where the company waited for the show to start, then walked around the site, following the electrical cord to the various places Pelosi had laid his charges.
They were in much the same places he would have chosen himself, the difference being that he would have used at least twice as much explosive.
“You’re sure you’re using enough explosive?”
“Yes, Sir. If anything, I used a little more than I had to.”
That, Lieutenant, is the voice of ignorance speaking.
He noticed more wire on the ground and followed it with his eyes. The first pair disappeared under one of the derelict World War I tanks.
“Would you care to explain that to me, Lieutenant?”
Pelosi looked uncomfortable.
“Sir, it was my understanding that the Captain wanted this to be a familiarization exercise for the men.”
“And?”
“Since I had a little extra stuff, and the time, I had some of the noncoms lay charges under those old tanks. I figured they would like to see something blow they had laid themselves.”
“You didn’t use all the stuff—the explosives—you asked for?”
“No, Sir,” Pelosi said, and pointed to several canvas satchels. “Even after rigging the tanks, that was left over.”
Pelosi, you are about to make a three-star horse’s ass of yourself in front of the entire company. All they are going to see is a couple of puffs of smoke. I really hate to see that happen, but it’s too late to do anything about it.
“Pelosi, you’re sure about what you’ve done? The men expect to see that chimney come down.”
“It’ll come down, Sir. That’s not my first chimney.”
OK. A dose of humiliation is often just what a second lieutenant needs.
“I’ll give you a hand with your excess explosives,” McGuire said, and bent to pick up one of the canvas satchels. He started toward the rise where the company was waiting. Pelosi picked up the other satchel, caught up with him, and fell in step.
“You’ll remember, Tony,” McGuire began conversationally, “that I was suspicious of it when we talked about you volunteering for the Military Intelligence assignment?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“There is no greater joy in a man’s life, Pelosi, than being able to say, “I told you so.’”