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Pearly nodded。 The door opened and he saw； with unutterable relief； that the newer was Owen Underhill。 Kurtz's eyes flew to him。
'Owen！ Me foine bucko！ Another witness！ Another； praise God； another messenger！ Are you listening？ Will you carry the word hence from this happy place？'
Expressionless as a poker…player in a high…stakes game； Underhill nodded。
'Good！ Good！'
Kurtz returned his attention to Melrose。
'I quote from the Manual of Affairs； Cook's Third Melrose； Part 16； Section 4； Paragraph 3 … 〃Use of inappropriate epithets； whether racial； ethnic； or gender…based； are counterproductive to morale and run counter to armed service protocol。 When use is proven； the user will be punished immediately by court…martial or in the field by appropriate mand personnel；〃 end quote。 Appropriate mand personnel； that's me； user of inappropriate epithets； that's you。 Do you understand； Melrose？ Do you get the drift…ola？'
Melrose； blubbering； tried to speak； but Kurtz cut him off。 In the doorway Owen Underhill continued to stand pletely still as the snow melted on his shoulders and ran down the transparent bulb of his mask like sweat。 His eyes remained fixed on Kurtz。
'Now； Cook's Third Melrose； what I have quoted to you in the presence of these； these praise God witnesses； is called 〃an order of conduct〃； and it means no spicktalk； no mockietalk； no krauttalk or redskin talk。 It also means as is most applicable in the current situation no space…niggertalk； do you understand that？'
Melrose tried to nod； then reeled； on the verge of passing out。 Perlmutter grabbed him by the shoulder and got him straight again； praying that Melrose wouldn't conk before this was over。 God only knew what Kurtz might do to Melrose if Melrose had the temerity to turn out the lights before Kurtz was done reading him the riot act。
'We are going to wipe these invading assholes out； my friend； and if they ever e back to Terra Firma； we are going to rip off their collective gray head and shit down their collective gray neck； if they persist we will use their own technology； which we are already well on our way to grasping； against them； returning to their place of origin in their own ships or ships like them built by General Electric and DuPont and praise God Microsoft and once there we will burn their cities or hives or goddam anthills； whatever they live in； we 'II napalm their amber waves of grain and nuke their purple mountains' majesty； praise God； Allah akhbar； we will pour the fiery piss of America into their lakes and oceans 。 。 。 but we will do it in a way that is proper and appropriate and without regard to race or gender or ethnicity or religious preference。 We're going to do it because they came to the wrong neighborhood and knocked on the wrong fucking door。 This is not Germany in 1938 or Oxford Mississippi in 1963。 Now； Mr Melrose； do you think you can spread that message？'
Melrose's eyes rolled up to the wet whites and his knees unhinged。 Perlmutter once more grabbed his shoulder in an effort to hold him up； but it was a lost cause this time； down Melrose went。
'Pearly；' Kurtz whispered； and when those burning blue eyes fell on him； Perlmutter thought he had never been so frightened in his life。 His bladder was a hot and heavy bag inside him； wanting only to squirt its contents into his coverall。 He felt that if Kurtz saw a dark patch spreading on his adjutant's crotch； Kurtz might shoot him out of hand； in his present mood 。 。 。 but that didn't seem to help the situation。 In fact； it made it worse。
'Yes； s 。 。 。 boss？'
'Will he spread the word？ Will he be a good messenger？ Do you reckon he took enough in to do that； or was he too concerned with his damned old foot？'
'I 。 。 。 I 。 。 。' In the doorway； he saw Underhill nod at him almost imperceptibly； and Pearly took heart。 'Yes； boss … I think he heard you five…by。'
Kurtz seemed first surprised by Perlmutter's vehemence； then gratified。 He turned to Underhill。 'What about you； Owen？ Do you think he'll spread the word？'
'Uh…huh；' Underhill said。 'If you get him to the infirmary before he bleeds to death on your rug。'
Kurtz's mouth turned up at the ers and he barked； 'See to that； Pearly； will you？'
'Right now；' Perlmutter said； starting toward the door。 Once past Kurtz； he gave Underhill a look of fervent gratitude which Underhill either missed or chose not to acknowledge。
'Double…time； Mr Perlmutter。 Owen； I want to talk to you mano a mano； as the Irish say。' He stepped over Melrose's body without looking down at it and walked briskly into the kitchenette。 'Coffee？ Freddy made it； so I can't swear it's drinkable 。 。 。 no； I can't swear； but 。 。 。'
'Coffee would be good；' Owen Underhill said。 'You pour and I'll try to stop this fellow's bleeding。'
Kurtz stood by the Mr Coffee on the counter and gave Underhill a look of darkly brilliant doubt。 'Do you really think that's necessary？' That was where Perlmutter went out。 Never before in his life had stepping into a storm felt so much like an escape。
4
Henry stood at the fence （not touching the wire； he had seen what happened when you did that）； waiting for Underhill … that was his name； all right … to e back out of what had to be the mand post； but when the door opened； one of the other fellows he'd seen go in came hustling out。 Once down the steps； the guy started running。 The guy was tall； and possessed one of those earnest faces Henry associated with middle management。 Now the face looked terrified； and the man almost fell before he got fully into stride。 Henry was rooting for that。
The middle manager managed to keep his balance after the first ship； but halfway to a couple of semi trailers that had been pushed together； his feet flew out from beneath him and he went on his ass。 The clipboard he'd been carrying went sliding like a toboggan for leprechauns。
Henry held his hands out and clapped as loudly as he could。 Probably not loud enough to be heard over all the motors； so he cupped them around his mouth and yelled： 'Way to go shitheels！ Let's look at the videotape！'
The middle manager got up without looking at him； retrieved his clipboard； and ran on toward the two semi trailers。
There was a group of eight or nine guys standing by the fence about twenty yards from Henry。 Now one of them； a portly fellow in an orange down…filled parka that made him look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy； walked over。
'I don't think you should do that； fella。' He paused； then lowered his voice。 'They shot my brother…in…law。'
Yes。 Henry saw it in the man's head。 The portly man's brother…in…law； also portly； talking about his lawyer； his rights； his job with some investment pany in Boston。 The soldiers nodding； telling him it was just temporary； the situation was normalizing and would be straightened out by dawn； all the time hustling the two overweight mighty hunters toward the barn； which already held a pretty good trawl； and all at once the brother…in…law had broken away； running toward the motor…pool； and boom…boom； out go the lights。
The portly man was telling Henry some of this； his pale face earnest in the newly erected lights； and Henry interrupted him。
'What do you think they're going to do to the rest of us？' The portly man looked at Henry； shocked； then backed off a step； as if he thought Henry might have something contagious。 Quite funny； when you thought about it； because they all had something contagious； or at least this team of government…funded cleaners thought they did； and in the end it would e to the same。
'You can't be serious；' the portly man said。 Then； almost indulgently： 'This is America； you know。'
'Is it？ You seeing a lot of due process； are you？'
'They're just 。 。 。 I'm sure they're just 。 。 。' Henry waited； interested； but there was no more； at least not in this vein。 'That was a gunshot； wasn't it？' the portly man asked； 'And I think I heard some screaming。'
From the two pushed…together trailers there emerged two hurrying men with a stretcher between them。 Following them with marked reluctance came the middle manager； his clipboard once more tucked firmly beneath his arm。