have no jurisdiction over the water boy there,” he said, indicating the man in

the Navy uniform. “But I sure as hell do over both of your butts. So turn back

around and tell the man you’re sorry, and get back to your post. And consider

yourself lucky I don’t haul your asses down to the stockade for using a fake ID,

soldiers!” Puller’s voice had steadily risen as he was speaking, and by the time

he was done he was in full-on drill sergeant mode. The two uniforms jumped out

of line and tried to do their best imitation of world-class sprinters. After a

moment’s hesitation the Navy guy followed. They turned the corner and were soon

out of sight.

 

Paul Rogers looked up at John Puller and put out his hand. He said, “Thanks for

that. I never want any trouble.” “That’s always a good way to look at things.

And by the way, I’m old enough to drink.” He showed his ID card. “Works for me,

Mr. Puller. Have a good time.” Puller walked past him and into the bar.

 

Rogers flicked a glance at him and then turned back to his work.

 

Chapter 43

 

THE GRUNT WAS already three-quarters full, but Puller had little difficulty

finding the woman. She was at the bar with a drink already in hand.

 

Over the next hour he watched her work the room. Flirting, drinking, dancing,

flirting some more. Finally she ended up in a corner with a guy who had his hand

on her butt and his tongue down her throat. And in a show of equality, she was