He'd never had the chance to transfer it back to the safe in his quarters. Damn. He'd almost thrown the thing overboard, convinced that his own presumed heroism was a fake.
Impulsively, he reached down and pinned the blue and white ribbon to the front of Bayerly's shirt. When he stood, Pamela took his arm and squeezed.
'It's not the medal, you know,' she said. 'It's the man.'
EPILOGUE
The ceremony took place in the outer courtyard of the Grand Palace, directly adjoining the gold-spired magnificence of Wat Phra Keo, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. The crowd had begun assembling there hours before, old women with cropped hair and betel-stained lips, students in school uniforms, businessmen in suits, society matrons in pastel-hued silk, office workers, soldiers in full dress whites.
A separate block of white-clad men in ranks stood in a position of special honor, before the throne set under the temporary awning before the temple gates. They were a contingent of officers and men from the U.S.S.
Jefferson, resplendent in their full dress whites, standing at attention as one official succeeded another at the speaker's podium in front of the throne.
On the throne was King Bhumibol Adulyadej, also in white, with a gold sash across his chest.
The current speaker was the American ambassador, who was thanking the American Navy and Marines for their timely defense of American interests in Thailand. The speech had been going on now for nearly twenty minutes, and Tombstone wondered just how thankful a diplomat had any right to be.
At least, Tombstone thought, he knew now what he's been fighting for… and what he'd been fighting against.
The coup was over. Without the support of the King or the people, with American Marines and aircraft openly siding with the loyalists, with the Jefferson, her consorts, and her air wing on station between Bangkok and Sattahip, the rebellion had collapsed as quickly as it had begun. The rebel officers were under arrest. The soldiers, most of them, had been disarmed and allowed to return to their barracks. There was talk of a general amnesty for all save those who had directly threatened civilian lives. The ambassador was talking now of heroes.
Heroes? Yes, there had been plenty of those. Bayerly… killed defending Pamela. Taggart and Ziegler, shot down in the dogfight over U Feng.
And there was that sailor, young David Howard, just promoted to Seaman and awarded the Silver Star for his part in the hostage rescue at the That International.
An unlikelier hero Tombstone could not imagine, a five-foot-six eighteen-year-old who had beaten a rebel colonel unconscious. Kriangsak was still in the hospital and under guard. His conversations with That and American interrogators had already filled in most of the missing pieces, and the Burmese general captured at U Feng had told them the rest.
Evidently, the whole operation called Sheng li had been put together and run by Hsiao Kuoping, the former Chinese intelligence officer, a man with underworld and revolutionary contacts throughout Southeast Asia. It was incredible that the entire plot had been assembled without sanction, without help from Beijing… but stranger things had happened. As the halls of power crumbled in communist capitals around the world, it seemed, more and more of the occupants of those halls were trying to carve new and secure niches for themselves elsewhere.
Hsiao had been one such… his ally General Kol of Burma another. Their plan had been to topple the That government and install their own, probably with Kriangsak as the new leader and with themselves as the powers behind the throne. Hsiao and his organization would then have been in a position to control much of the opium and heroin trade coming down from the Golden Triangle… a control which would have been worth tens of billions of dollars and made Kriangsak, Kol, and Hsiao three of the wealthiest and most powerful men on Earth.
The ambassador concluded his remarks and stepped away from the podium, to general applause from the audience. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the King rose from his throne and took several steps forward.
General Duong stood behind the podium, adjusting the microphone.
'Lieutenant Commander Matthew Magruder,' he said. 'Front and center!'
Tombstone gripped the hilt of his dress sword with his gloved left hand and strode forward. He'd rehearsed this maneuver time and time again… always with the secret dread that he would trip over the unaccustomed obstacle of his scabbard and fall facedown in the grass.
Bhumibol made a short speech in That, then turned and held out his hand.
General Duong opened a wooden box, revealing the medal.
The Ramathepbodi, the King's Coin of Courage ? That equivalent of the Medal of Honor. The King removed it from its red velvet resting place, unfolded the ribbon, and draped it over Tombstone's neck.
'Thank you, my friend,' the King said in English, his clipped and slightly Bostonian accent reminding Tombstone of Commander Neil. He remembered reading someplace that Bhumibol had actually been born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, while his father was studying medicine at Harvard.
'Your leadership in the battle over U Feng saved a number of our fighters… as well as the helicopters of the airmobile forces. We owe you… and your men… a debt which can never be repaid.'
Tombstone snapped a rigidly correct salute. 'Thank you, Your Majesty.'
The King returned the salute. Mindful again of his sword, Tombstone wheeled an about-face and marched back to the ranks. His uncle stood in the front row, beaming, and Tombstone knew that this award had nothing to do with Admiral Thomas J. Magruder. Another Magruder ? Sam Magruder of the Doumer Bridge in Hanoi ? would have been proud.
So was Tombstone. He saw Pamela standing in the front rank of civilians, caught her eye, and grinned. She smiled back, radiant. He knew now that he loved her. And that was more important than any medal.
