"Don't let him turn on that radio," a man's voice called. "He will warn the rest of the troops to be waiting for us."
Lowary picked up the hand-mike. "This is Largo One," he said.
"THIS IS LARGO NINE," the voice on the radio said. "ALL CLEAR. REPEAT. ALL CLEAR. BOOGIES CLAIM THEY WERE ON A PEACEFUL TRAINING MANEUVER AND GOT OFF COURSE," the sender's low laugh contained no humor. "RESUME TRAFFIC ON THE BRIDGE."
Lowary's hand trembled as he laid the 'mike' on the seat. He looked up at the sky. The jet bomber had veered left, was heading out to sea, heavily escorted. Lowary took off his helmet and signaled Morgan to let the civilians through. He knew Meyers and the others had heard on their own sets.
The enemy had been testing the defenses, he knew. Another calculated move in the cold war. They were probing, hitting hard with psychology. While everyone was relaxing, enjoying the reprieve, they could very well come back. That would be their way.
Lowary was lighting another cigarette when the soldier came up to him, saluted. "Lieutenant Meyers said to give this to you, sir, and to say that he was sorry if he didn't understand before." He handed Lowary the yellow sheet of paper.
Lowary opened the wrinkled telegram and read it again for the tenth time since that morning. CHILDREN AND I ARRIVED CITY THIS MORNING—WILL SPEND DAY SHOPPING—SEE YOU TONIGHT DARLING—LOVE—DOT.
Lowary put the telegram in his pocket carefully. "Hop in, son. I'll give you a lift," he said to the soldier. He looked over his shoulder, down the river. Then his eyes settled on the bridge. Finally, he said softly, "We're going home." His heart quickened when he said it.