The Line

by Bob Mayer

  Boomer twisted his hands inside the cuffs as Lucas led him to a waiting unmarked car. He pushed Boomer into the back seat and slid in beside him. Another man in civilian clothes was at the wheel. They didn't look like cops, military or not, to Boomer. Both men had the hard set to their face that said they were professional soldiers who had seen action. Lucas took a pair of cuffs that had a foot-long chain in the middle and snapped one around each ankle, ensuring that Boomer could not run.

  "Let's go, Mike," Lucas ordered.

  As the car rolled out the main gate to Fort DeRussy and turned west, Boomer tumbled the pieces in his mind: Keyes and the team from 1st Group probably hiding on the North Shore; Colonel Decker in the tunnel; the Sam Houston somewhere off shore; General Martin and the Joint Chiefs ensconced at Pearl. Skibicki and Vasquez were now alone against an organization that seemed to be everywhere and know everything. Boomer was afraid to even think what may have happened to Trace.

  Boomer looked around. They couldn't allow him to live. The thought made more sense than anything that had happened so far on this confused day.

  They were on H1 and shortly made the turn onto H2, which ran up the center of the Hawaii to Schofield Barracks, home to the Army's 25th Infantry Division. Boomer knew he didn't have much time to act.

  He was surprised when they pulled off the highway well short of the exit for Schofield Barracks. They were on a dirt road that descended off the shoulder of H1, then looped underneath it next to a stream. An old rusted sign read waikakalaua ammo storage tunnels site. The road was on low ground following the small stream, and the terrain rose steeply on either side.

  They passed a long-abandoned guard shack and entered the site. Row upon row of steel doors were cut into both hillsides. A few of the doors were askew, opening into dark tunnels. Others were padlocked. The entire area looked deserted.

  "No one's going to find you for a long time," Lucas said as he pulled up to one of the open tunnels.

  Boomer didn't bother to reply. Days of frustration snapped as he realized the depth of his predicament. He twisted and slammed both hands into Lucas's face, stunning him. Before he could recover, Boomer looped the cuffs over Lucas's head and pulled him in, increasing pressure on his throat.

  As Mike slammed on the brakes, Boomer used Lucas to anchor him as he lifted his feet up over the driver's seat headrest, splitting them to the maximum allowed by the chain, and then dropping his feet down on either side of Mike's head. He flexed his hamstrings, and the chain grabbed hold of Mike's neck and pulled him up against the headrest.

  Boomer tightened every muscle in his body, contracting like a snake as both men desperately struggled against the chains around their necks. He felt blows in his chest from Lucas while the driver tore at his ankles.

  The driver was the smarter of the two as it finally occurred to him after almost twenty seconds of getting choked to pull his gun. The problem was he had his back to Boomer and he couldn't move because of the pressure against his neck. Mike twisted his arm and fired blindly.

  Boomer felt the bullet speed by his face, hearing it impact with flesh. His face was splattered with blood. Lucas went slack and Boomer maintained his pressure on Mike as he spared a glance to the other side of the back seat. The bullet had hit Lucas in the jaw and taken off most of the top of his head.

  Another shot and the bullet shattered the right rear passenger window. The gun finally fell from unconscious fingers, but Boomer maintained the pressure for another minute against the possibility of a ruse. Finally, he lifted his legs and brought them back into the back seat. He went through Lucas's pockets, ignoring the blood that was soaking his clothes and retrieved the keys for the cuffs. Boomer unlocked himself. He took the gun out of Lucas's shoulder holster, then the holster itself. A Berretta 92, military-issue. He strapped it on under his shirt. He checked just to verify—Lucas was carrying a DIA ID card just like the others had.

  Boomer got out of the backseat and opened the driver's door. He checked for a pulse: none. Pushing the body over, Boomer took the wheel. He drove into the ammunition storage bunker between the open steel doors. The car narrowly fit through and he parked inside. He took the leg cuffs with him as he went back out. Shutting the doors, Boomer locked them with the leg cuffs, then threw the key into the stream.

  Orienting himself, Boomer began walking back east, toward the mountains and Waiwa where he hoped to find at least Vasquez, maybe Skibicki. If not—Boomer didn't even pause in his terrain-eating stride—if not, well then he'd continue on and do whatever needed to be done to stop The Line.

  CHAPTER 23

  AIRSPACE, UNITA MOUNTAINS, UTAH

  5 DECEMBER

  6:00 p.m. LOCAL/ 0100 ZULU

  Trace noticed a slight change in the Osprey's speed and twisted on the web seating, peering out the window. Below, she spied the snow-covered mountains of Utah. The V-22's propellers were laboring in the thin air to keep it going. They were heading into the sun, which was low on the horizon.

  Trace had slept quite a bit. Harry stayed at her side, only occasionally going up to the cockpit. Trace had settled her leg up on the web seat as comfortably as possible while at the same time trying to avoid twisting her ribs into a painful position. Harry had helped by placing two kit bags on the seat to give her some support.

  Trace noticed a reflection to her right and tried to focus in the dwindling sunlight. Soon she didn't have to squint as the object came closer on an interception vector. Trace wondered what a twin-bladed Chinook was doing here. The answer wasn't long in coming. The Chinook swung out in front of the Osprey, the reason the V-22 had slowed down. The back ramp of the helicopter came down and she saw the refueling nozzle.

  Trace had heard about Special Operations Chinooks being modified to accomplish in-flight refueling of other helicopters and she had no doubt that this particular helicopter—coming from the Nightstalkers of Task Force 160, the secret Army helicopter unit—was a specially modified MH-47. The Chinooks own refueling probe in front, 31S not standard equipment on regular CH-47s, reinforced that identification.

  Harry came back from the cockpit. "Doing all right?" Trace nodded. "As well as can be expected. My leg is starting to itch." She pointed out the window. "Where'd that come from?

  "We can't make it on one tank of gas, and we don't want to be landing, so I asked Skibicki if he could get us some help."

  "Is that how we got this plane?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  Trace wondered. Skibicki might be a sergeant major, but he certainly did not have the power to order an experimental aircraft to fly such a mission or to get the in-flight refueling. She felt a tremor of unease in her gut that Harry believed that.

  Harry stood. "We'll be in Hawaii in about eight hours. Try to get some more rest. You won't be getting much when we land." He went back to the cockpit.

  Trace looked about at the interior of the Osprey, then out the window again at the Special Operations Chinook. The plastic box with the diary in it was on the seat next to her. She opened the box and pulled it out. Trace turned to the first page. The words were written in very neat, block letters and Trace read the initial entry:

  12 June 1930

  I will indeed miss my “rockbound highland home” above the Hudson, but I must admit to a certain degree of anticipation for the assignments that await me. I have become a man at West Point, and as a man I will take my allotted place in the Long Gray Line.

  I thought my heart would burst today as we sat on the Plain and listened to Secretary Hurley give the graduation address. I find it difficult to believe four years have gone so quickly, yet looking at the faces of my classmates on either side I can see the changes wrought in us by the years. We came here as boys—we leave as warriors. And I have been fortunate enough to be the first of the chosen ones. I have received my instructions and training beyond that of my peers for the past two years. Now I am finally ready to go out into the Army as one of the Line.

  Trace scanned slowly, reading Hooker's acco
unt of his graduation. She paused and leaned back in the seat, feeling the throbbing from her legs. This was real. She was almost afraid to continue. Hooker was part of The Line. It was no longer a fanciful idea for a novel. Indeed, she could see that she had had it wrong in her own writing. Hooker had not been approached the night before graduation. He'd been part of The Line for two years prior. It made sense. They'd want to draw the cadets in and make them feel something even more special than being part of the Corps. Trace wondered when The Line approached cadets. Maybe Ring Weekend, when the new third-year cadets received the band of gold marrying them to the Academy and the Army.

  She wished Hooker's diary had started at the beginning of his association with The Line, but she realized it made little difference. The important question was what had The Line done over the years. The part of her that was afraid to know grew stronger. Then she remembered Mrs. Howard lying in her bed in Maryland, telling her story of Patton and his death. Trace turned the page.

  She scanned Hooker's account of fulfilling his Rhodes Scholarship. There was no further reference to The Line.

  Impatient, Trace flipped the pages. Where was Mrs. Howard's story? The story that had started all this. She found it a quarter of the way in:

  18 Dec 1945

  Only that damn fool of Patton could break his neck and stay alive. If only George could have kept his mouth shut. If only he could have handled the Task Force Baum mishap better.

  I told the staff eight months ago that George was a liability and that the best thing to do was to have him die “honorably.” Perhaps a plane crash. We’ve done it before, and that would been that. He would have had a great funeral, everyone would have said great things, and he would be remembered as a hero. Now we have this mess. He’s caused us grief for a half a year now and he’s still alive, damn it! Bernie and his complicated schemes. Just kill the son of a bitch—that’s what George himself would have said.

  Now I have to go over there and do damage control, and there’s so much to do here. The chief has got some really great plans to get Europe on its feet and to counter-weight the Russians. I need to be here, not making sure some old fool doesn’t open his mouth.

  21 Dec 1945

  I’m exhausted. The flight over with Mrs. Patton and the doctor certainly wasn’t the most enjoyable experience. Went in to see General Patton right away. He’s in bad shape, and the doctor assures me he won’t see Christmas alive. Bernie did a good job isolating him. We’ve kept anyone he might want to talk to away.

  I had to talk to him about Baum. He wasn’t happy. He doesn’t give a damn about the gold or the men killed. All he cares about is his reputation. Christ—some of these prima donnas. He got to lead the 3rd Army. I had to stay in D.C. and do the chief’s and the staff’s dirty work all those years.

  I feel confident, though, that all is secure here.

  21 Dec 1945

  It is done. Time to get back to work. I’ve got to go to London and talk to Ike about the chief’s plan. The staff approved it after a long argument—there is quite a bit of fear about the Continent. After all we’ve already fought two wars this century. Some wanted to let it rot. But those with a little more vision can see the threat in the Soviet Union, and we need Europe as a buffer. As long as we have the bomb and bases in Europe we are safe.

  Mrs. Patton wanted to return the body to the States. I was willing to do it, but Ike was quite upset when I talked to him on the land line. He was adamant—SHAEF policy is all who die here get buried here and making one exception would open the floodgates. So George gets to rest overseas. Glad to be done with it. I chewed Bernie’s ass. Told him next time he needed a job done, pick someone who knew how to do it right.

  Mrs. Howard's story was true. And fifty years later she died because she repeated it. Trace knew there would be time later to go through the diary in detail. Now she just wanted a feel for what they were up against. Trace turned a chunk of pages, jumping several years. Her eye caught an entry on the bottom of the page, dated 1951:

  April 1951

  Truman relieved MacArthur. The “Generalissimo” always was a damn prima donna and would never listen. We tried to help him, but he was always too bitter about losing the Philippines and that we supported Ike first and not him in the war. Of course, behind it all was Mac Arthur’s simple resistance to taking advice or even listening to those who graduated after him. The last time I saw the “Generalissimo” I warned him both of the Chinese and of Truman; to keep the balance in that pisspot country and remember Europe was the main scene; and he reminded me that he was superintendent of the Academy while I was still in grade school. As if that mattered. Our original decision to go with Ike certainly is justified now beyond any reasonable doubt.

  Will have to throw a bone to the general though—will have to meet with the staff to see what to do. Jerry knows the Generalissimo well from the war, he’ll know what to do. The good thing is that Truman has torpedoed himself with this. Couldn’t have planned it more perfectly. It’s all rolling for Ike in ’52.

  Such casual references about events that preceded her life and were written about in history texts astounded Trace. Obviously the staff was the ruling council of The Line. She turned several more pages, this time halting at a section that mentioned Eisenhower again.

  2 May 1960

  Ike is furious about Powers and the whole U-2 incident. CJ tells me that Ike somehow knows we gave Powers to the Russians. Hell, what does he expect? CJ warned him to back off with Khrushchev.

  Ike still thinks he can pull off the summit. I think not and the staff agrees. However, we still have a few back-up plans in case Khrushchev does not act as expected in response to the U-2 shootdown. CJ has persuaded Ike to go with the cover story. It’s all going as planned.

  As Trace read on, the U-2 crisis unfolded, but with a vastly different tint than that laid out in history books. CJ was Eisenhower's top aide—a West Point graduate who had temporarily put aside his Army green uniform for a suit and tie and the role of National Security Adviser. Trace remembered him as a three-star general in charge of the III Corps at Fort Hood, Texas, while she was at West Point. But in reality, CJ was the link between The Line and Eisenhower. The cover story that CJ persuaded the President to issue—that the U-2 had wandered off course—was the key to destroying the summit when Khrushchev trotted out Gary Powers and another version of what had happened days after the cover story was issued.

  Despite these later deceptions, it was clear from Hooker's writings that Eisenhower had had the complete support of The Line from the early days of World War II. They had groomed him after the end of the war for the Presidency, and his election was perhaps their greatest coup.

  But somewhere along the way, Eisenhower had begun to disregard the advice of The Line. Trace could well imagine the difference for the former general. As commander of Allied forces in Europe during World War II, his and The Line's goals had been in congruence. But as President of a country at peace, Eisenhower's vision must have shifted and become larger. No longer was having a strong military the number one priority. He had the entire welfare of the country to think of.

  Trace flipped back several pages. The Line had strongly opposed any attempt at contact with the Russians and most particularly objected to the summit in Paris. Hooker's diary didn't exactly say how they had set up the U-2 incident, but there was a later mention of the CIA getting Powers back from the Soviets and taking care of him in order to keep him quiet.

  Trace closed her eyes briefly in weariness. The Line had put forward one of their own and gotten him elected President and then when he failed to heed their wishes, they had sabotaged him repeatedly. She remembered reading about Eisenhower's final speech as President where he had warned of the military-industrial complex. It was as blunt as he could get without directly exposing the machinations that had been behind his own rise to power. And after reading what The Line had done to Patton after he stepped out of cadence with their plans, Trace had no doubt that Eisenhower had b
een aware of his predicament.

  If The Line could threaten and coerce presidents, what chance do we have? Trace thought to herself. She turned a few more pages. Eisenhower had two terms. She noted Hooker's shock at Kennedy's election. The Line had sunk its claws into Nixon and backed him with a lot of help from Howard Hughes, who certainly had a stake in the military-industrial complex.

  Trace kept reading. She read how The Line had helped the CIA mislead Kennedy about the invasion of Cuba and how they had assisted bringing about the disastrous events in the Bay of Pigs. After that Kennedy had paid more attention to his instructions from Langley and the Pentagon.

  Trace found a diversion in the diary. Hooker had been at West Point, heading up the history department, but in early 1961 he went to Vietnam. There had been a U.S. military presence in that country since 1951, but it was a minor one. No one had really heard of Vietnam up to that point, despite the French debacle at Dien Bien Phu.

  23 October 1961

  The Staff wanted me to go to Vietnam and take a look. With Europe frozen and Korea gone cold, we need a new hot field. After a few weeks poking around, I think we’ve got one, Just like Korea except we don’t have to worry about a big neighbor like China since the two are also at each other’s throats. The North is isolated and we can take them at our pace. I envision five or six good years. A chance to check out the triangle division concept and this newfangled “airmobile” tactic that Gerry has managed to get approved by the chief for his 1st Cavalry Division.

  Most particularly, we can blood our junior leaders. The last of the Korean War vets are all now at least majors. Our captains and lieutenants are green. We have good solid leadership at the highest levels, all of whom saw action in World War II, but we must look to the future. Even though running around the jungles of Vietnam might not be the best preparation for the coming war in Europe it is the best opportunity we have. I am going to recommend to the staff that we approve and implement OPLAN Burning Field. I think we have Kennedy’s attention now. We can roll this thing up a notch or two so that in a few years we can get regular troops on the ground.