Roger McIntyre. Smart and fair. Went to West Point, soldiered some under General Grant. He’s a lifer, the Captain.”“Why was he good?”I smiled ...n the dark, “His main aim was to keep us alive. We didn’t lose a single man. A few old boys got wounded, a couple pretty severe, but nobody got killed under Captain McIntyre.”Rebecca patted my chest, “Good.”“He’d study the orders and ... he never really ignored something no matter how stupid it was. But he’d find a way not to lead us into ... a situation. “What the fuck? Do you expect me to use these to clean myself up?” “Of course not,” I replied. “But you could clean the desk off.” I got the majority of the mixed fluids running down my belly and legs absorbed, leaned over and pulled my jeans up. Buttoning the jeans, zipping the fly, lacing the belt through the loops, and putting the belt buckle back together, I made it over to the cabinet without tripping over my wobbly legs. I reached inside and withdrew two clean cloths. I turned and headed. More

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