On one pass, Lett saw MacArthur and Lansdale alone in a suite room. They were standing over a table, poring over another map, the general nodding, Lansdale pointing out this and that. Finally, on Lett’s last pass, Lansdale was given a hearty slap on the shoulder from the general himself.

Lansdale, the Air Force major, wore no doctor’s insignia. Lett felt embarrassed for ever having called Lansdale “Doc” back at The Preserve. And just because he was wearing a white coat? Lansdale never said he was or wasn’t a doctor. He’d only let Lett think what he wanted to think. And yet Lett couldn’t deny it had helped with his cure.

Lett and his group finally got to rest while others filled their boots at guard patrol. Lett smelled that food again and was amazed to find that it was theirs. He, Jock, and the others were led into one of the Quonset huts, where grilled meats and fresh fruit were laid out on a table along with a macaroni salad.

“The leftovers—compliments of the meeting,” a young captain told them before darting out again. “He figured you deserved it and had enough Spam.”

They dove in; their filled bellies and the coffee would get them through their next watch. But the meeting must have been coming to an end, because Filipino helpers lugged in a large metal bucket of beers on ice: San Miguels. A craps game broke out. Cards ensued.

Lett shot up with his dose after all, huddling in a far, dark corner like a junkie hopping up, even though he could’ve just told the rest it was insulin or any matter of regular drug and no one would’ve cared, all of them having their own particular woe and fix.

Sometime later, he and Jock sat with their second allotted beer in a corner of the hut, their feet up on folding chairs.

“Dugout Doug, right here in the flesh, what do you make of that?” Lett said to Jock.

Jock didn’t answer at first. His wet beer label kept sliding off, and he kept sliding it into place with a fingertip. “I ever get close enough, I’d ask him why he left us Marines in the lurch,” he said finally. “Plenty of my fellow gyrenes been visiting me at night asking why.”

“I would not do that if I were you,” Lett said.

Jock grunted.

“Think about this mission,” Lett said. “Aren’t you wondering about that?”

“In what way?”

“Why they don’t use their own troop. They bring us all this way. Lansdale does.”

Jock nodded. “Sure, I been wondering. I’m just trying to be on my best behavior.”

Lett nodded in turn. “This must be real secretive.”

Jock let his label slip off. He snatched it from his thigh and balled it up and tossed it across the floor. “You had that feeling. Before a patrol, say.”

“Or before entering a town.”