"It's been a privilege, son. General Lee will see you at headquarters at noon."
"May I ask why, sir?"
"That's for the General to tell you."
Later, at Mercy, he visited Jackson, and found him in a light, airy ward with Sister Sarah sitting beside him. She came round the bed and kissed him on the cheek.
"It's a miracle." She appraised him quickly. "You've lost weight."
"Well, I wouldn't recommend doing it the way I did. How's our boy?"
"His left lung was badly injured by that bayonet, but it will heal in time. No more Vietnam, though. He's going home," and she patted Jackson's head.
He was overjoyed to see Quinn. "Jesus, I thought you long gone, Sergeant."
"Daniel," Quinn told him. "Always call me Daniel, and if there's ever anything I can do for you back in the States, just call me. You hear? And congratulations on your Distinguished Service Cross."
"My what?" Jackson was incredulous.
"Colonel Harker's put you up for it. It'll go through."
Sister Sarah kissed Jackson on the forehead. "My hero."
"This is the hero, Daniel here. What about you, Sarge?"
"Oh, Christ, I don't want any medals. Now settle down. All this fuss is bad for your lung. I'll see you later." He nodded. "Sister." And walked out.
She caught up with him at the rail of the shaded terrace, lighting a cigarette, handsome in his tropical uniform.
"Master Sergeant Quinn."
"Daniel will be fine for you, too. What can I do for you?"
"You mean you haven't done enough?" She smiled. "Colonel Harker was kind enough to tell me a bit about your background. With all you have, why did you choose to come here?"
"Easy. I was ashamed. What about you? You're English, dammit. This isn't your war."
"As I told you, we're a nursing order. We go wherever we're needed--it doesn't matter whose war it is. Have you ever been to London? We're based at St. Mary's Priory on Wapping High Street by the Thames."
"I'll be sure to look you up the next time I'm there."
"Please do. Now would you like to tell me what's troubling you--and don't try to say you're not troubled. It's my business to know these things."
He leaned against a pillar. "Yes." He shook his head. "I've killed before, Sister, but never like in the swamp. At least two of them at close range were young women. I was on my own, I had no choice, but still..."
"As you say."
"But still a darkness came over me. I saw only the killing, the death and destruction. There was no balance, no order."
"If it worries you, make your peace with God."
"Ah, if only it were that simple." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go. Generals don't like to be kept waiting. May I kiss you good-bye?"
"Of course."
He touched her cheek with his lips. "You're a remarkable young woman," and he went away down the steps. She watched him go, then returned to Jackson.
At headquarters, he was passed through to General Lee with unusual speed, and soon found himself showed into the great man's office by a smiling Captain. Lee, a large, energetic man, jumped up behind his desk and rushed around. As Quinn tried to salute, Lee stopped him.
"No, that's my privilege. I'd better get used to it." He clicked his heels and saluted.
"General?" Quinn was bewildered.
"I've had a communication this morning from the President. Master Sergeant Daniel Quinn, I have the honor to inform you that you have been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor." And he saluted again, gravely.
A nd so the legend was born. Quinn was sent home, endured many interviews and ceremonies until he could take no more, and finally, with no interest in a permanent military career, he left the Army. He went back to Harvard and studied philosophy for three years, as if trying to exorcise some kind of demon, and carefully kept out of bars so that he would not become involved in any physical arguments. He did not trust himself enough for that.
Finally, he agreed to go into the family business. At least it meant he'd been able to help his old friend Tom Jackson, who'd received a law