Oh, What a Circus!
Seoul: February 1952
Brig. Gen. Robert E. Hogan spooned against his wife, tried to sleep, but gave up in frustration. Kissing her bare shoulder, he rolled away from her, onto his back. He usually slept very contentedly, very soundly after making love with Miri, but not tonight. Tonight, it'd had too much of the good-bye to it. Hogan put his hand under his head, stared at the ceiling, and emitted a low sigh. The alarm clock ticked softly on the bedside table even as the cold wind rattled the windowpanes of their small house. Exhaling loudly, Hogan roughly turned onto his right side. He thumped his body into the mattress as if he were trying to subdue it. Nothing happened. Sleep didn't magically come. He flopped over onto his left side, using his head and feet as pivots. He landed heavily.
Miri leaned backwards, groaned crossly. "Robin, will you settle?"
"What? No foot?"
She scooted around to face him. "All right, Robin. Out with it. What's bothering you?"
"Would you believe I just can't sleep?" he teased lightly. It sounded false in his own ears.
"No," she replied. "After seven years of marriage, Robert, I know when something's the matter with you. And when you're lying to me." She raised up on an elbow. "If you can't tell me, I will understand. Official secrets are nothing new to me."
He stroked her arm gently. "There's very little I don't tell you. I just don't want to tell you this."
"You're leaving for the front."
Hogan leaned into his pillow and smiled gently up at her as he asked, "What gave me away?"
"We made love as if we'd never get the chance again."
"At least we didn't break any bed slats this time."
"Good thing. I just had the bed repaired." She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.
He reached out and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry, my love, but yes, I'm going to the front, looking for a needle in a haystack. What I'll do with it when, if I find it, I still don't know." Hogan hated being I Corps' head intelligence officer--the renegade, self-aggrandizing operatives gave him headaches. And despite the uniform, they all worked for the same Company.
"Sam Flagg." She spat the name as if it were an oath.
"Bingo." Hogan's tolerance for fools and slipshod work had never been high. "We haven't had an accurate intelligence report from him in 3 months. And what we do get is such a hash of Commie paranoia and wishful thinking." He wiped his face with his hand. Frustration tinged his words: "The scary thing is, Miri, he makes Crittendon look intelligent."
Miri giggled. "Rodney's not so bad. He grows splendid geraniums."
Hogan threw himself on his back, carrying her with him. He groaned, "Oh, give me a break! This is the same Crittendon who wanted to plant those damned geraniums along all the runways in England."
"It would have been very pretty."
The attempt at levity fell flat, and snorting, Hogan looked over at the window as the wind violently shook it. "I want Flagg's guts for garters, but the best I can hope for is reassignment--preferably in an infantry division on the front line."
"Why can't you bust Flagg? You are his commanding officer."
"Better connections in Washington."
Miri made a disgusted noise. "A season of penance won't change him, Robin, and you know that."
"I know. That's why I'm so frustrated. And I can't hope that the Chinese or the North Koreans will get lucky and shoot him."
"That's right. He IS the wind." She'd met Flagg once at a cocktail party in Seoul. "He reminds me of the Sandhurst-trained officers who still thought of spying as a romantic lark. Because of their arrogant stupidity and inattention to reality, they tended to get other people killed, never themselves."
Unable to stop herself, she yawned again and looked at the clock. "If you close your eyes now, my Robin, you might get 3 good hours of sleep."
He kissed her tenderly as she settled against her own pillow. She pulled him to her and cradled his head between her breasts. It took him a moment to relax, but with her heart beating in his ear, with her gently stroking his back, he slowly drifted off. "Like son, like father," she mused and kissed the top of his head and held him tightly.
HH HH HH
Two days later, Miriam Hogan, dressed in a tailored wine wool dress and black suede pumps, slammed the phone down hard and swore loudly. "Dammit."
Maggie Hogan Winslow looked up from the newspaper she'd been reading. "What's the matter?"
"Why in God's name does this always happen to me?" She stalked over to Maggie, Hogan's only sister--a tall, leggy brunette. "It's the Catholic Relief Society. Once a month, two of us go, with Father Tom Killrain, to the orphanage. We take medical supplies, nonperishable food, clothing, blankets, things like that. It's a day to get there, a day there, and a day to get back. But Harriet Donner has avoided her rotation twice now--to my cost!" Miri dropped onto the red velvet sofa in disgust. "Father Killrain wants to leave early tomorrow and will not take no for an answer."
Maggie took her sister-in-law's hands in her own. "Don't worry about it. Go to the orphanage. I'll deal with the tiny terrors."
Miri's mouth quirked in amusement. Maggie certainly shared Robin's sense of humor and even his flexibility. But those two children would tax even her ability to cope. Miri squeezed the hands holding hers. "First Robin and now, me. Here you come to visit, and we abandon you. I'm sorry, my dear."
"These things happen, Miriam. One just has to roll with the punches. And you did say it would only be 3 days, right?"
"That's all it's been in the past." She sighed. Patrick and his cousin Emily were only 4 months apart in age, but already, what one couldn't think of the other one could.
"Okay, then. Have a good time?"
"With the officious, ambitious Fr. Killrain? Thank you, I'd rather face a garden party at the British Embassy."
Maggie laughed at the face Miri made.