“Why, if I didn’t have a hundred better things to do, I’d go out to Zenobia myself. If I watch him like a hawk, sooner or later the impertinent pup’s going to screw up so badly that not even his money can protect him. And then I can cashier him the way I should’ve done when he first came up for court-martial, instead of letting those other softheaded short-timers argue me out of it.”

Major Sparrowhawk sat upright behind her desk. “Well, sir, why don’t you?” she asked brightly.

“Eh? I don’t get you,” said the general.

“Why don’t you just go out to Zenobia and wait for him to screw up?” asked the adjutant. “You said it yourself, he’s bound to do it, especially if you’re there breathing down his neck with every move. And then you’ll be rid of him, and all your troubles will be over.”

“Rid of him,” said Blitzkrieg, in a dreamlike voice. Then his eyes lit up, and he smacked a fist into his open hand. “Rid of him. All my troubles will be over... Yes, you’re dead right, Major! All I have to do is wait for Jester to screw up, and if I’m right there, the poor little rich boy won’t have a chance to cover it up with all his money before I can bust him for it. What a brilliant idea! I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself!”

“Don’t worry, you will,” muttered Sparrowhawk, who was long accustomed to having her best ideas appropriated by her superior.

But the general was already off and running. “Let’s see…” he said. “I’ll have to find someone to cover for me in the staff meeting. That’s no big problem, they never talk about anything important. Colonel Caisson can handle that. And I’ll need a substitute in the Scotch foursome on Tuesday afternoons. Caisson won’t do-that duck hook of his will have him out of bounds the whole back nine. Can’t be anybody too good, though, or they’re likely to want to keep him. Hmmm…” He wandered through the door into his private office, his mind happily occupied with rearranging the details of his social life.