Free Alternate Gerrolds by David Gerrold

Vienna. And I remember wandering through the sprawling parks of Rome—do you know there are wild cats living all over the ruins of the Colosseum? They’ve probably been there since Caesar’s time. And the rumpled hills of Athens, the Parthenon looking down over the city, and ouzo in your belly like licorice fire. Berlin. The beerhalls and the nightclubs. The screech of the trains. The smell
of coal. The old opera house. On Sundays, you could go to the afternoon concerts; if you were a student, you paid half price. That’s where I first heard Beethoven and Wagner. What a marvelous dichotomy the Germans represent, that they could produce such sublime music—and such incredible horrors too.”
    “Uh, ah—you’ve seen Berlin?” I asked. This was the first time he’d ever admitted it.
    Colonel Peck nodded. “A long time ago.” His eyes were shaded grimly. “It’s a funny old town. When I was there it was full of students and workmen, shopkeepers and grandmothers in babushkas. No one was angry then. The streets were clean and the people were stolid and happy. It was spring, and the world was green and fresh and full of butterflies and hope. It was a long time ago, and I was very ... young.”
    Bogey and Reagan exchanged a look then. Worried. Was the colonel having second thoughts?
    Almost as if in answer to their question, Colonel Peck added, “It was the music. I was sure that Berlin had to be the most marvelous city in the world for such incredible music to live there.” And then, as if realizing again where he was and what he’d just said, he shook his head grimly. “I’ve never liked this idea. Bombing a city. Civilians. It’s—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he reached over and flipped the fuel tank switches. It was time to lighten the left side of the plane for a while.
    After a moment, he turned around again and looked at the three of us. First Reagan, then me, then finally Bogey. “All right,” he said. “What is it?”
    “Ah, uh—are you feeling all right, skipper?”
    Colonel Peck nodded with his chin, in that grim way of his. “If you’re worrying if I can do the job, stop worrying. This is what we’ve trained for.”
    “Right,” said Bogey, clapping one hand on the Colonel’s shoulder. “We don’t need Berlin. We’ll always have Paris.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
    Bogey was the weirdest one in the crew, always saying things that were either bitter jokes or just plain bitter. Colonel Peck wasn’t sure what Bogey meant either. He just looked at him sideways for a long moment. The two of them studied each other the way two men do when they first meet, sizing each other up, getting a sense of whether they’re going to be friends or enemies.

    These two jokers had known each other for a long time, but right now, at this moment, it was as if they’d never really seen each other before. Bogey shifted the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and grinned fiercely at Peck. Peck’s expression relaxed, widened into a matching grin. And then suddenly, we were all grinning and laughing nervously.
    “We’re starting to take ourselves a little too seriously,” said Peck. “Take over, Ronnie, I’m going back to check on the boys.” He levered himself out of his seat and climbed past Bogey into the rear of the plane.
    We waited until we were sure he was gone. None of us dared speak. Finally, I had to ask it. “Ah, ah—do you fellas think he’s gonna be all right?”
    Bogey shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, then back again. “I dunno. I’ve seen a lot of men do a lot of strange things. When the crunch comes, that’s when you find out what a man’s made of.” He added. “He’s got a look in his eye all right.”
    Reagan didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked like he was rehearsing his next words. At last, he said, “I had a private briefing with General Donleavy last night.” We waited for him to continue. “He