Hanging on

have forgotten, for the moment, that he hated Kelly. His awe of General Blade was not faked; that old syphilitic bastard must really be on the shortwave set.
        Kelly dropped his mess tin and ran. None of the men in front of the tents tried to trip him, but they worked hard to get Slade who ran close behind. Again, they failed.
        Since the HQ building had been torn down to make way for the fake community, the radio was being sheltered in Slade's tent, the only tent other than Major Kelly's which was roomy enough to hold the monster and the square wooden table on which it stood. Major Kelly stooped and entered the gloomy canvas room. The place smelled of wet straw and a few dozen mice. Since neither seemed to be present, Kelly supposed that both odors were endemic to the lieutenant. Wrinkling his nose, he went quickly to the radio and picked up the microphone just as Slade entered the tent behind him.
        "Kelly here, sir," the major said, voice heavy with dread.
        "Kelly?" Blade asked, unnecessarily.
        "Yes, sir."
        "How's my favorite major?"
        Kelly frowned. "I don't know, sir. How is he?"
        "Who is this?" General Blade asked, suddenly suspicious.
        "This is Major Kelly," Major Kelly said.
        "Well, then… how's my favorite major?" Blade asked again.
        Kelly hesitated. "Is that a riddle, sir?"
        "Is what a riddle?"
        Kelly decided that if it were not a riddle, it was a joke. He was expected to repeat the straight line, and then Blade would give him the punch line. He sighed and said, "How is your favorite major, sir?"
        "That's what I asked you," General Blade said, somewhat gruffly.
        Kelly wiped at his face with one palsied hand. "Sir, I'm confused. I don't know anyone under your command except my own men. I don't know your favorite major and I can't-"
        "You're beginning to confuse me," General Blade said. "Let's just talk about the Panzers, okay?"
        Swallowing hard, Kelly nodded at the microphone.
        "Okay?" Blade asked.
        Kelly nodded.
        "Kelly?"
        Kelly nodded vigorously.
        "Is that okay? Kelly, are you there?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "Did you come up with any plans to use against them?" the General asked.
        Kelly suddenly realized that the General did not know about the fake town. He had called three nights ago, a few hours before Maurice came to the major with this plan for hoaxing the Germans, and he had not called back since. "We have a plan," Kelly admitted. But he knew there was no way to explain the fake village to Blade, not in a few minutes and not over the radio and not when they were both confused. So he lied. "Same as before. We'll masquerade as Germans."
        "I suggested that a few nights ago," Blade said.
        "We're taking your advice, sir." Blade had apparently forgotten all of the faults with the masquerade plan, which Kelly had detailed in their last conversation. Syphilitic old men probably could not retain anything when their brains had finally decayed to the consistency of cold oatmeal.
        "Well," Blade said, "what I called to tell you won't come as bad news-not now that you're prepared for the krauts." He took a sip of coffee or blood. "Kelly, you won't have to sit on pins and needles for three more days, waiting for the Panzers. Our original information was faulty. They left the staging area at Stuttgart two days early. So they'll reach you around midnight on the twenty-first, two days earlier than we thought."
        Kowalski had been right again.
        "Tomorrow night, sir?"
        "That's right, Kelly."
        For the next few minutes, they talked about Panzers. The general described the size and quality of the force, though nothing had changed in that regard since he had described it a few nights ago. They were still dead. Doomed. Mincemeat.
        "Will you be able to handle them?" Blade asked.
        "Sure." All he wanted now was to get Blade off the air, stop wasting time.
        "I hope so," the general said. "I don't want my favorite major to be hurt."
        Kelly could not understand what in the hell the general's favorite major had to do with any of this. Who was this bastard Blade loved so much? Then Kelly decided that the average syphilitic old man could not always be expected to make sense. "Nothing will happen to him, sir. Your favorite major will come through this war unscathed.