By William F. Buckley Jr.
Set opposed to the background of the second one 1/2 the 20 th century, a singular follows the not likely friendship among global battle II servicemen--one of them the president's grandson, either one of them dedicated to an analogous lady. 75,000 first printing. $75,000 ad/promo.
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Hell, these guys can’t be immortal! What the fuck, Henry, we’ve been dumping on them since—” He stopped. He would not even try to raise his voice to compete with the two major detonations “—since maybe two o’clock? ” Danny stopped talking. He had spotted the spitting light from the gunner ahead and heard the thup-thup-thup of the bullets. They tore into the earth not many yards from the foxhole in which he and Henry were crouched. “I guess there’ll be somebody out there to welcome us after all.
At nine o’clock Danny calculated he might as well bring the boat about and head north, toward land. The rain had returned, the wind’s velocity had stayed steady at twenty-five knots. He let one sheet go and drew in on the other as, in spurts, he turned the wheel. Little by little he was able to winch the sail in tight. They were now on a course to Martha’s Vineyard … somewhere in Martha’s Vineyard, which stretches from end to end over twenty miles. Rachel passed around a box of cookies. Danny ate two, Lila and Rachel none.
An answer came in over the primitive intercom: Pfc. O’Hara to proceed to Ward B. Danny walked to the designated area and at the entrance to the ward asked an attendant which was the number for Henry Chafee. He would just as soon not need to stare at the faces of a dozen or more mutilated men just to find Henry’s bed. But he had maneuvering to do even within the ward he was looking for. A doctor or nurse or aide here, with the need to step around them and the paraphernalia of a hospital, trays at various levels, bottles, tubes, all of them to be skirted.