Half a dozen bullets seemed to hit the officer at the same time. His body twisted horribly, as if it didn’t know which way to fall. His sword went flying. And Susie grabbed Oscar and dragged him down.

“Getting shot’s not how you’re gonna get out of proposing to me!” she yelled.

“Okay, babe. That’s a deal.” Oscar stayed down from then on.

By the noises, some of the Japs actually got in among the Marines. They didn’t have a hope in hell of driving them back; they just died a little sooner than they would have otherwise. They probably also killed some Marines who might have lived if things went a little differently.

After that mad charge got smashed, the Marines surged forward. Only spatters of gunfire answered them. The Japs had shot their last bolt. An American in a green uniform flopped down almost on top of Oscar and Susie and Charlie. His rifle swung toward them with terrifying speed. “Don’t shoot!” Oscar said. “We’re on your side!”

As soon as the leatherneck got a look at Susie, the rifle stopped moving. His grin showed white teeth amidst brown stubble. “I don’t care about you, pal, but I hope like hell she is,” he said. “Here. Enjoy.” He tossed them a pack of cigarettes and some crackers and cheese wrapped in cellophane. Then he fired a couple of rounds and ran on.

“My God!” Oscar said dizzily-and he hadn’t even opened the Luckies yet. “We made it!” Susie kissed him. Charlie pounded him on the back. Nobody stuck anything up where a bullet might find it. Oscar didn’t want to turn himself into a liar now, especially after Susie kissed him again.

THE JEEP THAT ROLLED SOUTH FROM HALEIWA down the twice wrecked and now restored Kamehameha Highway carried a pintle-mounted.50-caliber machine gun. The driver glanced over to Fletch Armitage. “You handle that thing if you have to, sir? Still Jap snipers around every now and then.”

“I’ll handle it,” Fletch promised. “You think I’m skinny now, you should’ve seen me a month ago.” He felt like a new man. If the new man tired easily and looked as if he’d blow away in a strong breeze, he still marked one hell of an improvement over the old one.

Fletch looked like a new man, too, in the olive-drab uniform that had replaced khaki while he was on the sidelines. The jeep was new, too, or new to him; none of the handy little utility vehicles had got to Oahu before the war started. The machine gun, by contrast, felt like an old friend. He could have stripped it and reassembled it blindfolded. He’d had to do that at West Point. If the instructors felt nasty, they’d remove a key part before you put it back together, and make you figure out what was wrong.

War had chewed up the landscape-chewed it up twice in less than two years. Not even Hawaii’s luxuriant growth was able to cover up the latest round. Fletch looked at things with a professional eye. The Japs had fought like sons of bitches, no doubt about it. Burnt-out tanks and wrecked artillery pieces and pillboxes told how hard they had fought. So did the smell of death that fouled the warm, moist air.

The Kamehameha Highway was better than new: twice as wide, with no potholes because the paving was still so fresh. The engineers who’d put Humpty Dumpty back together again had done a hell of a job. And they’d needed to. If supplies didn’t go south by the Kamehameha Highway, they didn’t go south at all.

No snipers fired at the jeep. Less than an hour after Fletch got off the landing craft, he found himself in Wahiawa. “Here you go, sir,” the driver said, pulling up behind the gutted corpse of a Packard that had sat by the curb since December 7, 1941. “Good luck.” He pulled a Big Little Book out of his pocket and settled down to read.

“Thanks,” Fletch said tightly. He got down from the jeep. Wahiawa looked-trampled was the first word that came to mind. The Japs hadn’t cared about civilians. To them, built-up areas made good strongpoints. The town had paid for their stand. Everybody in Hawaii had paid and paid-including, at last, the Japs themselves.

Civilians on the streets were scrawny. K-ration cans were some of the commonest trash Fletch saw.

K-rations weren’t delicious, but they were paradise next to what people had eaten while the Japs ruled the roost.

A brunette haole woman with her hair hacked off short as a Marine’s shrank away from Fletch when his eye fell on her. He wondered what that was all about, but only for a moment. She must have been sleeping with the enemy. His mouth tightened, which only made the woman look more frightened as she scuttled past him. How anyone could… But then he sighed. Some people didn’t care what they did to get by. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen that before. If your choices looked like screwing a Jap and starving to death, what would you do? He thanked God he wasn’t a judge. Making Hawaii run the way it was supposed to again would take years.

His own worries were more personal. He turned west off the highway toward Schofield Barracks, which he knew were nothing but wreckage, and, more to the point, toward his old apartment building, which he hoped was still there. A lot of the places around here were okay. The Japs must not have thought they could make much of a stand in this part of town.

There it was, battered but still standing. Just like me. Fletch started to shake. This was harder than anything he’d done since the first time he went into combat, with Japanese fighters and dive bombers blowing up everything in sight. And who says you’re not going into combat now? he asked himself.

Jane already blew up your heart.

ARMITAGE was still on the mailbox in the lobby. He climbed the stairs two at a time so he wouldn’t have time to think. By the time he got to the second floor, he was panting-he still wasn’t in great shape. But exercise wasn’t the only thing making his heart pound when he walked down the hall. He took a deep breath and knocked on what had been his own front door.

Maybe she wouldn’t be home… But he heard footsteps inside, so she was. The door opened. There she was, skinny (but who wasn’t skinny these days?) but still looking damn good to him. “Yes, Captain?”

she said-and then she did a double take right out of the Three Stooges. “My God! Fletch! My God!”

she squealed, and threw herself into his arms.

She didn’t feel skinny. He’d forgotten how a woman in his arms did feel. Finding out again was like three shots of bourbon on an empty stomach. When he kissed her, she kissed him back-for about three seconds before she twisted away. What had been intoxication curdled. “Hello, Jane,” he said sourly.

“Come in,” she said, looking down at her toes and not at him. “I’m sorry, Fletch. I know what you must be thinking. But that-wasn’t all about you, anyway.”

“Great,” he said, and she flinched as if he’d hit her. He did go in. The place didn’t look too different. It smelled of wood smoke, but she sure wouldn’t have been able to go on cooking with gas. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m here,” she answered. “I saw you once, with those others…”

“I know. I saw you, too,” Fletch said. “I must have looked like hell.”

Jane nodded. “You did. I’m sorry, but you did. I didn’t think anything would be left of you in a little while.”

“Damn near wasn’t,” he said. “I was down to about a hundred pounds when the leathernecks raided the camp in Kapiolani Park and got me out.” He’d put some weight back on, but he still had a long way to go. “You made it, though. Way to go.”

“Way to go. Yeah. Sure.” Her laugh might have been dipped in vitriol. “Fletch…” She stopped, then muttered, “Well, you might as well hear it from me, because you’ll sure hear it.”

“Hear what?” he asked, ice forming in his belly. If she’d collaborated… He didn’t know what he’d do if she’d collaborated. Bust her in the chops and walk out, he supposed. Slam the door on this part of his life forever.