Henry motioned. Charles shut the hall door. His father said, “Just reached me from CD.
Condition Yellow, Chuck.”
The soldier, in the dark blue suit, lost color also. Fear jumped into his eyes and was mastered. His pale lips moved. “That’s—what—I’ve been scared of.”
“You think it could be the McCoy? Or some error …?”
Chuck strode to the phone, snatched it up, thought a moment and dialed. He waited, then set the phone down. “I called Hink Field—on a special number. Busy. So I can’t say. But we can’t take chances now.”
“On the other hand, I’d hate like the devil to scare Beth and Ruth and the kids half to death-and find it was a bloomer.”
“That’s true. Suppose you take our car, and Ted—he’s due to report, isn’t he?—and go.
I’ll try the phone awhile. We can tell the folks it’s a practice-for the moment. I’ll come along—
on Willowgrove, to keep clear of the Christmas crowds—right after dinner.”
“That’ll do,” Henry decided. He bellowed up the stairs, “Hey, Ted! Hurry down! The fools have called a practice alert and you and I have to make tracks!”