"Mary, you scared me, sir!" Hodicky gasped through his smile. "We'll get right on it." He turned to dart back into the store room. But as the little man did so, he paused and turned again. "Sir," he said, "I ought to just keep my mouth shut, I know, but… Look, it's just as much against regs to issue your own booze to enlisted men as it is to let a couple bottles disappear. What's the deal?"

Waldstejn smiled, more at himself than at the question. "Look, Hodicky," he said, "if you get caught and my ass comes up on charges as a result-fine. I trusted somebody I shouldn't have and I got burned for it like I deserved. I never swore to anybody I'd make sure enlisted men got pissed on beer and officers on spirits. But my accounts are going to be straight because / say they will, not for some damned regulation. Now, go fix the roof while I take a look at what's happened inside." He walked toward the counter's gate.

"It's like you said, Pavel," Private Quade called from above. His head was silhouetted against one of the larger rips in the lobby ceiling.

"Come on down and help me carry," Hodicky shouted back. "We're in a hurry."

Hodicky waved the Lieutenant through into the stores area and followed him. In a low voice- though there was no one nearer than Quade, whose rapid footsteps were slanting toward the ladder at the back of the building-the Private said, "Ah, sir, I noticed lots more rat droppings than we'd thought when I was checking things out a moment ago. The shipment of warfarin hasn't come in-" it had, but Hodicky had checked the invoice himself- "and you know how they give Q the creeps. While you're in the locker, why don't you withdraw some digitalis from medicalstores. I'll lace some flour with that and put it out for Q, you know. I don't like it when he gets upset."