were loaded with paper sacks and his patrol work helmet
dangled by its strap from the crook of his arm.

Clay turned and moved from the doorway into the wind. A sudden gust
swept around the corner of the building and a small sack perched atop
one of the larger bags in his arms blew to the ground and began
tumbling towards the drill field.

"Ben," he yelled, "grab the bag."

The sergeant lunged as the sack bounced by and made the retrieve. He
walked back to Ferguson and eyed the load of bags in the blond-haired
officer's arms.

"Just what is all this?" he inquired.

"Groceries," the youngster grinned. "Or to be more exact, little
gourmet items for our moments of gracious living."

Ferguson turned into the walk leading to the motor pool and Martin
swung into step beside him. "Want me to carry some of that junk?"

"Junk," Clay cried indignantly. "You keep your grimy paws off these
delicacies, peasant. You'll get yours in due time and perhaps it will
help Kelly and me to make a more polished product of you instead of
the clodlike cop you are today."

Martin chuckled. This patrol would mark the start of the second year
that he, Clay Ferguson and Medical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoot
had been teamed together. After twenty-two patrols, cooped up in a
semiarmored vehicle with a man for ten days at a time, you got to know
him pretty well. And you either liked him or you hated his guts.

As senior officer, Martin had the right to reject or keep his partner
after their first eleven-month duty tour. Martin had elected to retain
the lanky Canadian. As soon as they had pulled into New York Barracks
at the end of their last patrol, he had made his decisions. After
eleven months and twenty-two patrols on the Continental Thruways, each
team had a thirty-day furlough coming.

Martin and Ferguson had headed for the city the minute they put their
signatures on the last of the stack of reports needed at the end of a
tour. Then, for five days and nights, they tied one on. MSO Kelly
Lightfoot had made a beeline for a Columbia Medical School seminar on
tissue regeneration. On the sixth day, Clay staggered out of bed,
swigged down a handful of antireaction pills, showered, shaved and
dressed and then waved good-by. Twenty minutes later he was aboard a
jet, heading for his parents' home in Edmonton, Alberta. Martin soloed
around the city for another week, then rented a car and raced up to
his sister's home in Burlington, Vermont,