Free Armageddon by Leon Uris Page A

who is stationed at the Presidio in San Francisco. I asked him to call on your parents and explain the position.”
    “How are they ...”
    “As well as can be expected.”
    “What ... did they decide?”
    “I don’t know. Your father wrote a letter. It was flown here and handed to me by personal courier.” The general held the envelope. Sean read his name spelled in a tired and shaky hand. “Will you abide by your father’s decision in peace?”
    “Yes, sir ... would ... would the General please read it to me?”
    “Very well.” Hansen adjusted his specs, bent close to the uneven writing, and cleared his throat.
    My Beloved Son:
    My heart cries out for you in this time of your great need! I am so sorry I am not close by to comfort you. It is needless to say that a terrible darkness has fallen upon this house. I have always been honest with you, Sean. I will not lie now. The truth is that I do not know if either your mother or I can live long after this.
    It is for you I sorrow now for you must go on living. You are the last of our seed. You are the one who will either carry our name on beyond us or forever put it to rest.
    Your mother and I have no tears left. Our pain can be no deeper. I cannot in all honesty say that the death of three sons can be more terrible than the death of two. If you must join them, then you must.
    I would give my life to embrace you once more, my son. I have sat for many hours to put upon paper the words that will force you to come back to us safely. Yet, I cannot do this thing. I have tried to teach you all your life that you must follow your own conscience. I cannot deny you that pursuit now. You cannot live for Tim and Liam. You must live for Sean.
    You have served our name longer and more faithfully than a boy ought to. You have denied yourself for us so long ... you have worked for us, so hard.
    You are free.
    I beg you, Sean, do not be consumed with hatred for it will destroy you as it did Tim. And remember, we have done all we have set out to do. I am but an immigrant laborer and I have lived to see my three sons graduate from college.
    Hansen gave the letter to Sean. “What a fine man,” the general said. “Sean, I want to use you in here with me as my adjutant. I want you to give up your command.”
    “Give up my command?”
    “You’re asking too much of yourself. After what has happened I don’t think you or anyone else could be placed in a position of direct contact with Germans. Your judgment would be too clouded now.”
    A familiar rumble outside had been building up in intensity ever since Sean entered the office. Suddenly it became overwhelming. The roar made further conversation impossible; the windows rattled and the building trembled at its moorings. Sean and General Hansen went to the window—for once the London sky was clear. Wave after wave of Liberator bombers lumbered like flying whales toward the coast. The invasion of Europe could not be far off now.
    “General Hansen,” Sean said. “I want my command.”

Chapter Twelve
    N AN M ILFORD FLUNG THE door open. Andrew Jackson Hansen stood before her. Her expression changed from anticipation to obvious disappointment.
    “I am General Hansen,” he said. “May I come in?”
    “Of course.”
    All the trappings of a reunion were in evidence: a magnificent woman in an attractive hostess gown; a candlelit table in the alcove; music from the gramophone, and dim lights. He trailed her into the living room. She was, indeed, beautiful, but ice and anger too.
    “Major O’Sullivan had to leave for Shrivenham unexpectedly.”
    “At your personal arrangement?”
    “May I sit down?”
    “By all means.”
    “Mrs. Milford. We have some unpleasant things to say to each other. I’d like a drink.” Nan coldly poured him one. He did not like the situation. He would rather have taken on anyone than an angry woman.
    “As long as we are going to be candid,” Nan said, “I should like to know just how far your command