The Generals (32 page)

“Is there anything we can do?” Lowell asked.

“He spends a lot of time at our house,” Geoff said.

“Thank you, Geoff,” Lowell said.

“What the hell, he’s my friend, too. He was my CO, you remember.”

“Poor sonofabitch,” Lowell said.

“Ah. what the hell.” Geoff said. There was no point in talking about it. “What’s going on in Mobile?”

“We’re going to a field on this side of the bay,” Lowell said. “A place called Fairhope.”

“Steer a minute and let me look at the chart,” Geoff said. Lowell took the controls.

“I’ve got it,” Lowell said, and added, “all you have to do is follow the beach. It’s off the airways.”

Geoff found Fairhope Municipal Airport on his Jeppeson chart.

“Very interesting,” he said. “Right there in the middle of nowhere. Fifty-eight hundred feet, lighted runways, twenty-four-hour radio. Avgas and JP-4. Now what do you suppose a dinky little town like that is doing with an airport like that?”

“There’s a hotel there. A lot of business jets,” Lowell said. The question confirmed his suspicions that Geoff’s arrival in the Hughes was not entirely because he wanted to be nice to his cousin.

“I got it,” Geoff said, taking the controls back. “And you don’t care if someone knows you’re landing there. So it’s really not a pussy flight.”

“If you learn to keep your mouth shut,” Lowell said, “and don’t fly into any mountains, and eventually make colonel, you will learn that captains very seldom question where colonels go. That is known as ‘Rank Hath its Privileges.’”

“Yes, sir, I’ll remember that, sir,” Geoff said. “Colonel, sir, am I going to be very surprised to see maybe a dozen Chinooks parked at Fairhope Municipal Airport?”

Goddamn it to hell! He does know! The only question is how much
.

“I would be very much surprised if there was anything there painted olive drab,” Lowell said, as calmly as he could.

“The most astonishing thing has happened lately, Colonel,” Geoff said, “while the Colonel has been taking the sun with the Air Force at Hurlbert.”

“Is that so?”

“Major Franklin and I were discussing it just before I flew down here, as a matter of fact.”

Major Franklin (then Sergeant) and Colonel Lowell (then Captain) had met when Lowell had been an assistant military attaché in Algiers, watching the French use of Piasecki H-21s against Algerian guerrillas. Lowell had arranged for him to get into the Warrant Officer Candidate (Flight Training) Program. When he’d gone to get Sandy Felter off the beach at the Bay of Pigs fiasco, Bill Franklin had been his copilot. When they somehow managed to pull that off, Kennedy had promoted him from warrant officer to lieutenant on the same order Lowell had been made lieutenant colonel. Major Franklin had commanded a company of Huey-Cobras under Lowell in Vietnam.

His interest in whatever Colonel Lowell was up to was understandable, Colonel Lowell thought, but right now it was the worst fucking thing that could happen.

“Go on, Geoff,” Lowell said.

“There’s about a dozen Chinooks missing,” Geoff said, more than a little smugly. (Listen to what I found out, clever fellow that I am.) “Four from Rucker, four from Benning, and two each from as far away as Riley and Bliss.”

Lowell didn’t reply. He had to hear him out.

“And each of these machines, by another interesting, strange coincidence, happens to be crewed by some very experienced Chinook pilots. Not just one very experienced Chinook pilot and some kid along to learn from his betters, but
two
very experienced Chinook pilots. Some of them are even almost as experienced as I am.”

He looked over at Lowell.

“One of the pilots, whose name I happen not to be able to recall, talks a lot to his wife. And his wife said that all she knew was that he had gone to Bragg for three weeks or so. But the next day, Bill Franklin just happened to be at Bragg, and when he asked about this guy, Bragg swore they didn’t know anything about Chinooks.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” Lowell said. “Do you suppose they have been swallowed up in the Bermuda Triangle?”

“And then when I was zipping merrily along on my way to Hurlbert Field just now, you’ll never guess what I saw flying down the middle of the Eglin Reservation.”

“Eglin is a restricted zone,” Lowell said. “What were you doing flying across a restricted zone?”

“I guess I was lost,” Geoff said. “But I was so low, I would be very surprised if they picked me up on their radar. I was telling you what I saw, Colonel, sir. I saw a dozen Chinooks zipping in from the ocean about six inches off the waves.”

“That’s enough, Geoff,” Lowell said. “I mean it, stop right there.”

“And do you know what I thought when I saw those Chinooks?” Geoff went on.

I can’t stop him, Lowell realized
.

“I mean, since they didn’t have any gunship support or anything? I mean, it was an assault, but it wasn’t a combat assault with gunships and colored smoke and some jackass sitting up at thirty-five hundred feet in a command-and-control Huey playing with his toys.”

“I have flown a command-and-control bird myself on several occasions,” Lowell said. “I never felt like a jackass playing with toys.”

“You wouldn’t believe what they’ve got over there now, Colonel,” Geoff said, unwilling to back down here, either. “Graduates of some VIP flight courses who literally don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

“What kind of an assault did you think they were practicing?”

“Like I said, Major Franklin was over at Bragg one day last week. And he thought that he would pay his respects to his former commanding officer, who he knew was at Bragg, because the President of the Army Aviation Board himself told him he was at Bragg. At Bragg, he met a guy who told him his ol’ buddy was out at Camp McCall, which didn’t surprise him, since his ol’ buddy and former commanding officer was in tight with the snake-eaters, and had even been seen, on occasion, wearing a green beret hisself.”

“Franklin went to Camp McCall?”

“Yeah. He wanted a little time in one of these, so he flew some paper-pusher over there in one. He was empty going back and in no big rush, so he figured, what the hell, I’ll drop in and say ‘Howdy’ to the Duke. The major tells me that when he put down at McCall, a bunch of very angry Berets came running up and pointed guns at him and otherwise pissed their pants.”

“Is that so?”

“But that isn’t what he found over there that was
really
interesting,” Geoff said. “What he found absolutely fascinating, would you believe it, was that there’s a mock-up of the POW camp at Dak Tae out there.”

“I’m sure he was mistaken.”

“Come on, Craig. Franklin flew a dozen Mohawk photorecons of Dak Tae. The last time two months ago.”

“I’m telling you, Geoff,” Lowell said. “Franklin’s mistaken.”

“We want in,” Geoff said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“In what?”

“I’m a good Chinook pilot, and you know I am. Franklin was a test pilot on the sonofabitch; he’s got about a thousand hours in it. And we’re still even current in ’Nam. If you’re going to get those guys, and don’t tell me that you’re not, we want to go.”

“How many people have you and Franklin discussed this James Bond fantasy with?” Lowell asked.

“Nobody,” Geoff said. “Christ!”

The implication was clear. They knew when to keep their mouths shut.

“Think over that answer, and then tell me again,” Lowell said.

Sensing how serious Lowell was, Geoff took a moment to think it over.

“Nobody,” he said. “Absolutely nobody.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Lowell asked. “If for some reason you and Franklin suddenly vanished from Rucker tonight, Geoff, who would get curious? I mean, aside from people concerned with where you were? Would somebody start coming up with theories about where you would likely be?”

“No, sir,” Geoff said, believing he had won; that he and Franklin would be going along.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Geoff,” he said. “I am speaking as an officer. This is an order.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You are to consider yourself under arrest. When you drop me off, you are to return to Fort Rucker and make contact with Major Franklin. You are to inform Major Franklin that on my authority, he is under arrest. You are permitted to tell your wife that you have been placed on TDY to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and will be out of touch for several weeks, and that she is not to tell anyone of your location. Then you and Major Franklin will fly to Camp McCall in this aircraft—I remind you that you are under arrest—and report to a Lieutenant Colonel Seaman, he’s the security officer. You will inform Seaman that I have ordered you to relay him the instructions that your arrest is to be immediately reported to Colonel Felter. Do you completely understand me?”

The blood drained from Captain Geoff Craig’s face.

“I never dreamed you’d turn us in,” Geoff said.

“Geoff, if necessary,” Lowell said, “I’d have you shot. You two are just too fucking smart for your own good. I don’t think I have to tell you that you’re not to get clever with Felter. You’ll tell him exactly what you told me, and anything else he wants to know.”

“Then what happens to us?”

“You’ll probably be taken to a place that’s been set up on McCall and put on ice for the next three weeks or a month. You won’t be alone, but so far, there’s only one other officer who got nosy.”

“So you are going,” Geoff said.

“I want you to give Colonel Felter the name of your friend who talks too much,” Lowell said. “We have to find out how much damage he’s done.”

“And what happens to him? He gets court-martialed?”

“What do you think should happen to somebody who opens his fat mouth when the lives of a couple hundred people are concerned? A slap on the wrist?”

“He didn’t do anything I haven’t done,” Geoff said.

“If Felter tries to court-martial you and/or Franklin later, I’ll testify for you, testify that I
ordered
you to speculate, make wild guesses. That’s presuming you don’t play smart-ass to Felter.”

“Why don’t you just take us along?”

“It’s too late for that,” Lowell said. “For which answer, I deserve to be court-martialed. I would be grateful if you left that out of your conversation with Felter.”

“Craig, if I’ve fucked things up for you, I’m really sorry.”

“Geoff, I am perfectly capable, as my career has proved, of fucking things up for myself with no outside help.”

Ten minutes later, the Hughes dropped Lowell at Fairhope Municipal Airport. Geoff unloaded Lowell’s luggage. The airport operator called the Grand Hotel, who sent a station wagon for Lowell. When it came, Geoff offered Lowell his hand and wished him good luck.

“I’m sorry, Geoff, I really am,” Lowell said.

“What would happen if I just flew back to Rucker, and denied I ever had seen you?”

“You wouldn’t do that, Geoff. For better or worse, you’re a soldier.”

“Yeah,” Geoff said. “Ain’t that the truth? Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Go directly to jail.” Then he came to attention and threw Lowell a crisp salute. Lowell returned it, as crisply.

Captain Geoffrey Craig said, “God, I’d give my left nut to be there when the bugler blows the fucking charge.”

Then he climbed into the Hughes and pulled the door closed and put on his shoulder harness.

(Four)

A black, gray-haired bellman met the Grand Hotel station wagon at the entrance to the hotel and took Lowell’s luggage from the back seat.

“Nice to see you again, sir,” he said, to Lowell.

“It’s been some time.”

“I expect it’s Colonel by now, isn’t it?” the bellman said. Well, Lowell thought, I’ll be damned. He really does remember me.

“If it wasn’t,” he said, “you would have really blown your tip.”

The bellman smiled back. “And the next time, I expect it’ll be
General
,” he said.

“You wouldn’t want to hold your breath and wait for that,” Lowell said. He followed the bellman into the wide, long lobby of the luxury resort hotel and walked up to the desk.

“My name is Lowell,” he said. “My wife is already here, but you’d better give me a key.”

“You’re in 216-220, Colonel,” the desk clerk, a good-looking young woman, said, handing him the key. “Nice to have you back with us.”

She wasn’t old enough to remember me, Lowell decided. So they must check a card file or something. I hope the card file doesn’t record that the last time Lowell, C W was here, his wife had red hair.

Suite 216 had windows opening on Mobile Bay. There was a bottle of Chivas Regal, a bucket of ice cubes, and a quart bottle of soda on the dresser in the bedroom. Taped to the mirror of the dresser was a note on hotel stationery: “I’m in the pool. 1550.”

He gave the bellman five dollars and told him he couldn’t think of a thing he needed. He locked the door after him and checked his watch. She had gone to the pool at ten minutes to four. It was now a quarter to five. What he should do, he thought, was go down to the lobby and use the telephone in the pay station. But Dorothy wasn’t likely to come back in the next couple of minutes.

He sat down on the bed, took a thin notebook from his pocket, got the hotel operator on the line, and, subtracting two from each number he had written down, gave her Sandy Felter’s number at Hulbert Field.

“Sandy,” Lowell said. “I’m sending you two officers, Major Bill Franklin and Captain Geoff Craig. They have been playing guessing games.”

There was a moment’s hesitation.

“Have they been good at it?”

“They are both very clever people,” Lowell said.

“All right, Craig, I’ll handle it,” Felter said. “Where are you?” he asked.

“In 216, the Grand Hotel, Point Clear, Alabama,” Lowell said. “The number is 928-9201.”

“You’re alone?”

“At the moment,” Lowell said, a tone of belligerence in his voice.

“Tell me more about Franklin and Geoff,” Felter said.

“Franklin was at Bragg last week and stopped off at McCall to see me.”

“McCall has been closed to transient traffic.”