Ira Hayes:
Hank wasn't in the picture.
Bud Gerber:
Sorry?
Ira Hayes:
Hank didn't raise that flag. He raised the other one. The real flag.
Bud Gerber:
The what? The real... the real flag? There's a *real* flag?
John "Doc" Bradley:
Yeah, ours was the replacement flag. We put it up when they took the other one down.
Bud Gerber:
Am I the only one getting a headache here? You know about this?
Keyes Beech:
It was after it was already in the papers. The mothers had already been told by then.
Bud Gerber:
Aw, that's it, that's beautiful. Yeah, that's beautiful. Yeah, why tell me? I'm only the guy that has to explain it to a hundred and fifty million Americans. Who is in the goddamn picture? Are *any* of you guys in the goddamn picture?
Ira Hayes:
Yeah, we're in the goddamn picture.
Bud Gerber:
Six guys raising a flag over Iwo Jima. Victory is ours. You're three of them, right?
John "Doc" Bradley:
This was the fifth day, sir. The battle went on for thirty-five more.
Bud Gerber:
Well, what'd you do, raise a goddamn flag every time you stopped for lunch?
Ira Hayes:
[whispers to Bradley] Can I hit this guy?
[after their narrow escape, Izzy cheers wildly, then rounds on O'Connell]
Izzy:
[furious] O'Connell, you almost got me killed!
Rick:
[shrugs weakly] At least you didn't get shot. [Izzy is about to say more, when Evie grabs him and smothers his face with kisses]
Evelyn:
Izzy, thank you! Thank you!
Izzy:
[considerably more mellow] O'Connell, who the hell you been messing with this time, huh?
Rick:
Oh, you know, the usual. Mummies, pygmies, big bugs.
She would be quiet at first. Then she would say a word about something small, something she had noticed, and then another word, and another, each one flung out like a little piece of sand, one from this direction, another form behind, more and more, until his looks, his character, his soul would have eroded away . . . I was afraid that some unseen speck of truth would fly into my eye, blur what I was seeing and transform him from the divine man I thought he was into someone quite mundane, mortally wounded with tiresome habits and irritating imperfections.
His master plan to get them all out the door early met its first check of the day when he opened his closet door to discover that Zap the Cat, having penetrated the security of Vorkosigan House through Miles's quisling cook, had made a nest on the floor among his boots and fallen clothing to have kittens. Six of them.
Zap ignored his threats about the dire consequences of attacking an Imperial Auditor, and purred and growled from the dimness in her usual schizophrenic fashion. Miles gathered his nerve and rescued his best boots and House uniform, at a cost of some high Vor blood, and sent them downstairs for a hasty cleaning by the overworked Armsman Pym. The Countess, delighted as ever to find her biological empire increasing, came in thoughtfully bearing a cat-gourmet tray prepared by Ma Kosti that Miles would have had no hesitation in eating for his own breakfast. In the general chaos of the morning, however, he had to go down to the kitchen and scrounge his meal. The Countess sat on the floor and cooed into his closet for a good half-hour, and not only escaped laceration, but managed to pick up, sex, and name the whole batch of little squirming furballs before tearing herself away to hurry and dress.
