"You think your name starts with an L, like on that fancy handkerchief?" Rocko said, looking out toward the ocean. He seemed interested in that handkerchief, but working hard not to show it.

"Doesn't ring a bell," I said. "Probably just something I picked up."

"Lemme have a look, willya?"

I hesitated, trying to think of a reason not to take it out of my pocket. Maybe I was naturally distrustful, and maybe he was simply curious, but something told me not to hand it over so easily. A jeep braked hard in front of us, spewing sand as it swerved to a halt.

"You! Sergeant!" A paratroop captain wearing the double-A patch of the 82nd Airborne pointed at Rocko.

"Yes sir," said Rocko, setting down his coffee cup. "What can I get you, sir?"

"You can get your ass over to the weapons depot and load this jeep with grenades and ammo. Then you're both coming with me. Move!"

"But my pal just got out of the hospital, Captain…"

"I said move, Sergeant. Now." He said it quietly but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes. Powder marks darkened the skin around his cheekbone. This guy had been doing his share of shooting, and it looked like we would too. He waited while Rocko trotted down the road to another nest of tents, then put the jeep in gear and watched me as I followed. A corporal with a clipboard emerged from the main supply tent. Rocko spoke to him and gestured toward the jeep with his thumb.

"You too, Corporal! Load up and get in the jeep." The captain looked around for other candidates but the road was empty. His voice carried pretty far.

"Captain, I need my clerk here. What if-"

"Shut up, load up, get in," the captain said, picking up his carbine and making a show of checking the clip.