In fact, there wasn't enough room in Quarters No. 1 for all the colonels (21), lieutenant colonels (130), and majors (20g). plus their ladies no matter how brief their call. Fortunately, Major General Paul T. Jiggs thought wryly, a goodly number of the lieutenant colonels and majors had decided to duck the New Year's Day reception. The smart ones, he thought, the ones who knew they probably wouldn't be missed and thought it. improbable that their names would be checked off on a wster.
General Jiggs, in army blue uniform, stood with his wife and his aide-de-camp at the entrance foyer to his quarters. He shook hands and exchanged a brief word with each officer (and each wife) in a long line of army blue uniformed officers and hatted and gloved wives.
Then he saw something interesting in the shuffling line, a very familiar face indeed. Behind the familiar face was a young French officer, in a well-fitting tan gabardine uniform; more than likely the captain Barbara Bellmon had called his wife Jane about.
"Why, I'm so glad you could make it, Major Lowell," General Jiggs said, his voice dryly sarcastic. "Aren't you pleased to see Major Lowell, Jane?"
"I'm always pleased to see Major Lowell," Jane Jiggs said, her voice suggesting that she knew he was joking. "Happy New Year, Major Lowell."
"Happy New Year, Mrs. Jiggs," Lowell said. Then Lowell switched to French: "Mon General," he began, and then introduced Captain Jean-Philippe Jannier to them in French.
Jane Jiggs saw a colonel from the Department of Tactics actually put his hand on his wife's arm to hold her back. He didn't want to give the general the mistaken impression that he was with Major Lowell, whose pardoned status was not yet fully known, and who was saying God only knows what in a foreign language to the general.
Paul Jiggs was cordial to Jannier, asking him if Lowell was helping him to feel at home at Fort Rucker.
"We have established bachelor quarters together, mon General," Jannier said with an ease that told both Jane and her husband that he was accustomed to dealing with senior officers.
"How interesting," Jiggs said, giving Lowell a significant look.
"We're splitting the cost," Lowell said, innocently.
Jiggs nodded. Still in French, he said: "It always warms my heart, Captain Jannier, when one of my bachelor officers, such as Major Lowell, is willing to tear himself away from the football game on television to pay his respects to his post commander."
"It is my great pleasure to be received by you and Mrs. Jiggs, General," Lowell said, drolly. "It will be the high point of my day."
"How kind of you, Major Lowell," Jane Jiggs said, fighting to keep from smiling.
"Have you met my aide, Major Lowell?" the general asked, and gestured toward the neat young lieutenant at his side.
"Lieutenant Davis, sir," the aide said.
"How do you do?" Lowell said.
The aide shook hands with Lowell and Janmer.
Switching to English, Jiggs spoke to the aide: "Davis, if Captain Jannier can find the punch by himself, will you take Major Lowell into my study? If he can spare me a moment, I would be grateful for his wise counsel."
That man, Jane Jiggs thought, looking at the frozen smile on the colonel from Tactics, is actually afraid.
"Yes, sir," the aide said. "This way, please, gentlemen?" General Jiggs turned to the wife of the colonel from Tactics and took her hand.
"How nice of you to come," he said.
Ten minutes later, Jiggs walked into the fouith bedroom of Quarters No.
1, which, at his own expense, he had turned into a working den. There was a desk and chair, and two walls were covered with bookcases. The third wall was nearly covered with photographs and other memorabilia.
Lowell had been looking at a photograph. Jiggs saw which one. It was a photograph of Jiggs himself, looking over the shoulder of his fur-trimmed parka. He was standing on the fender of an M46 tank, and he appeared to have been caught in the act of relieving his bladder.
The photograph had been taken by Major Craig W. Lowell as then Colonel Jiggs emulated General George S. Patton. If Patton could piss in the Rhine, Jiggs had told his wife, there was no reason he could not mount on his private study wall a photo of himself pissing in the Yalu. It was as far north as his battalion had gotten in the Korean War. The photo had been taken twenty-four hours before the chinks came in.
"You want a drink, Craig?" General Jiggs asked.
"I'd love one," Lowell said.
Jiggs poured scotch into glasses, and added soda. He handed one to Lowell and then raised his in a toast.
"Absent companions," he said, barely nodding his head toward the photo.
"Eight years ago today," Lowell said, obviously affected by the memory, "the 73rd Heavy Tank landed at Pusan from Harnhung. At right about this time of day, you and I were standing on Pier One in Pusan freezing our asses, watching them unload our tanks."
"And our dead," Jiggs said. He had a clear memory of a pallet stacked with wrapped corpses being swung over the side of the ship.
"Absent companions," Lowell repeated and they both raised their glasses again.
"What's with you and Jannier?" Jiggs asked. "We have two things in common," Lowell said. "Neither of us like the BOQ."
"How do you know he can afford his half of your motel suite?"
"That's the other thing we have in common," Lowell said.
"I don't want to hear tales of wild parties with naked women and bawdy songs, Craig. Nor do I wish to receive a native with a shotgun and a daughter of childbearing age, demanding to know where he can find either of you."
"Following our last little chat, I am determined to be as pure as the driven snow," Lowell said.
Jiggs snorted and chuckled. "That'll be the day," he said. Then he asked: "What the hell happened last night?" "The general refers, one gathers," Lowell said, his voice now lightly mocking, "to Colonel Brandon's devastating vertical envelopment of the post signal officer's table?"
"It's not funny," Jiggs said, chuckling.
Lowell mimicked Colonel Tim F. Brandon's scream of terror.
Jiggs laughed out loud. But then he pulled himself together.
"He could have been killed, for God's sake," Jiggs said. "It's really not funny; and besides, in thirty minutes I'm going to have to explain to Black what happened."
Lowell sobered. "Black? How did he get involved?"
"When he woke up this morning, Brandon called the Chief of Information." "Oh, hell," Lowell said.
"He wants Macmillan court-martialed," Jiggs said.
"Last night, he ordered me to have Mac put behind bars," Lowell said.
"Have you talked to him? Brandon, I mean?"
"I sent my chief of staff over to the hospital this morning. He was at C&GS with Brandon. They weren't close friends or anything, but I thought he might be able to calm him down."
"No luck?"
"None."
"Well, I guess now we test the folklore," Lowell said.
"What does that mean?"
"That you don't court-martial winners of the Medal," Lowell said. "No matter what they do." "Why did he do it?" Jiggs asked.
"He was drunk," Lowell said. "Specifically, because he didn't like the way Brandon kissed Roxy."
"I haven't talked to Bellmon," Jiggs said. "What's he done to Mac?"
"Told him to go home and stay there until he sends for him."
"Did he make it official?"
"He can say he did, if it comes to that," Lowell said.
"Damn him," Jiggs said.
"Beilmon or Mac?" Lowell asked, innocently.
"Mac," Jiggs said. "Bellmon didn't knock Brandon off the balcony." "Has anybody suggested to Brandon that his skirts aren't clean?" Lowell said. "Forcing your attentions on an officer's wife is conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." "He didn't do that, for Christ's sake," Jiggs said.
"If I were Mac, and they were going to court-martial me, I'd damned sure charge him with it," Lowell said.
Jiggs looked at Lowell, and then visibly decided not to say
what came to his mind.
"Are you going to see Bob Bellmon today?"
"I'm taking Jannier there from here," Lowell said, dryly. "I am toeing the line, General, behaving in a manner reflecting my status as a regular army field-grade officer. I am going to all the general officers' receptions. And, of course, to Bill Roberts's."
"Don't be a pain in the ass, Craig," Jiggs said.
"You want me to talk to Bellmon?"
"See if he's got any ideas what we can do with Mac," Jiggs said. "We just can't let it pass. We've got to let Brandon save alittle face." "Yes, sir," Lowell said.
"I mean, find out what's on Bellmon's mind, Craig," general Jiggs said.
"Keep your guardhouse lawyer opinions to yourself. Call me after you've talked to him. But let us handle this."
"Yes, sir."
Jiggs locked eyes with Lowell for a moment, and then he said, obviously making reference to returning to the reception line, "I would rather face a thousand deaths."
It was what General Lee had said before riding out to surrender to General Grant at Appomattox Courthouse.
"Yours not to reason why, General," Lowell said. "Yours but to go out there and shake hands."
(Four) Quarters No. 3 Fort Meyer. Virginia 1345 Hours, 1 January 1959
The great majority of the officers who walked up onto the screened porch of the Victorian house that served as quarters for the Vice Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army wore the stars of general officers.
The screen door was pulled open for them by a white jacketed orderly who smiled and directed them to the double doors of the house itself.
There another orderly pulled open the door, while a third and fourth stood inside to take the coats and hats.
The Vice Chief of Staff and Mrs. Black greeted their guests, and then the guests went into the dining room, where there was a very large silver punch bowl with matching cups, also attended by an orderly, and a bar with bottles of whiskey for those who wanted something harder.
New Year's Day was one of the few times when the Vice Chief of Staff was jealous of the prerogatives of his immediate superior, the Chief of Staff. It might well be more blessed to give than receive, General Black thought, but it was obviously nicer to be on the receiving end of receptions on New Year's Day.
The Chief of Staff and his wife would spend the day going to other people's receptions, from the President's at the White House, down through those given by the Deputy Chief of Naval Operations, the Vice Chief of Staff of the Air Force, the Deputy Commandant of the Marine Corps, and then those of various high-ranking bureaucrats.
The Vice Chief of Staff would spend the day holding a reception.
The Vice Chief of Staff spotted a face that he had been looking for coming through the door. He covered his mouth with his hand and spoke to his wife. "Hold the fort, here comes Chester."
She nodded.
General Black smiled at the people at the head of his line. "I'll see you in a moment," he said and walked into the house, trailed by one of his junior aides, a natty, crew-cut young major.
He went to his study and thought about having a drink, decided against it, and then changed his mind.
"Would you ask General Chester, alone, to join me?" he said to the aide de camp.
"Yes, sir," the aide said.
While he waited, he made himself a drink and was holding ii in his hand when the aide tapped at the door, opened it, and announced: "General Chester, General Black."
"Come on in, Tom," Black said. "Have a little something."
"Thank you, sir," Major General Frederick Chester said. He was the Chief of Information for the Department of the Army. He had not asked for his job, did not like it, and was very much aware that General E.
Z. Black held his future career in his hands. It would be up to Black to "recommend" to the Chief of Staff whether General Chester, after completing three years as PR. Chief, would be retained in that job... or given a command.." or retired.
General Chester very much wanted a final command, almost any kind of a command, before he retired.
He saw that General Black was drinking bourbon and asked for the' same thing.
"I don't want to spend a lot of time on this," General Black said, as he handed Chester his drink. He was prepared to go along with practically anything Chester recommended in the matter of the assault upon Colonel Tim F. Brandon. Macmilian was no child. In this, he was going to have to take his lumps.
"No, sir," Chester said. "I presume the general is referring to that unfortunate business at Rucker?"
"What do you think should be done?" Black asked.
"It's not an easy one, sir," General Chester said, seriously. "On the one hand, it's black and white officers do not assault other officers but on the other hand, there are very important public relations considerations."
"And have you a recommendation?" Black asked.
"There really hasn't been time to give the situation the consideration it deserves, General. I have, of course, several options to offer."
That does it, you paper-shuffling sonofabitch. This isn't a decision about where to invade the Asian landmass. It's what to do about two unimportant officers. If you can't make a decision like this in ten seconds flat, you shouldn't be an officer, much less a major general.
"I'll tell you what we're going to do, General," General Black said.
"You're going to get on an airplane and go to Rucker and tell your colonel to count his blessings. He's lucky Macmillan didn't kill him, and he's lucky that I don't order his court-martial on charges of conduct unbecoming. If he wants to stay lucky, he is not even to think about pressing charges against Macmillan. You understand me?"
"Sir, I understand Colonel Brandon is the aggrieved party," General Chester said.
Black was surprised that Chester dared argue with him. His opinion of Chester rose a little.
"I know he is, Tom," Black said. "But, of all people, Brandon should know what an embarrassment this could be for the army."
"That's true, sir."
"He's just going to have to swallow his injured pride. If you think it will make him any happier, you may tell him that I have already ordered Macmillan's transfer."
"We couldn't really leave him at Rucker, could we?"
"No more than we could court-martial him, and give everybody a good laugh at our expense," Black said.
"When would you like me to go to Fort Rucker, General?"
"I was hoping that your schedule would permit you to go today," General Black said. "Will it?" General Chester looked thoughtful.
"With a little shuffling, yes, sir," he said, finally.
"Good boy, Tom," General Black said. "I knew I could count on you.
After General Chester had left his office, General Black sat down at his desk. He took a battered telephone book from a drawer, found a number, and picked up the telephone.
"Bill this to me personally," he said, when the operator came on the line. And then he gave her the number.
The phone was answered on the second ring.
"Let me talk to him, Roxy," he said.
Roxy knew his voice. Mac was on the line in ten seconds.
"Yes, sir?"
"Pack your bags, you dumb sonofabitch," General Black run COLONELS said. "And write this on the palm of your hand so you won't fi, rget it: This is the last time I am going to save your ass." "Where'm I going, General?" Macmillan asked.
"This is the last time, Mac, the last time. Get that through your thick head."
Then he hung up."
That left only one thing to resolve. He had no idea where he was going to send Macmillan.
He sipped at his drink, and then smiled broadly. He had the answer to that one. It was so simple he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner.
He dialed the operator again.
"Get me Colonel Paul Hanrahan at the Special Warfare School at Fort Bragg," he said.
Paul Hanrahan had just gotten an eagle earlier than he would have gotten
one without the personal intervention of the President and he'd gotten command of the Special Warfare School. Mac was a paratrooper.
Let Hanrahan sit on the stupid sonofahitch. Let him work off Macmillan's excess energy by running him around and around in the boonies at Bragg.
(Five) Quarters No. 3004 Fort Rucker, Alabama 1500 Hours, 1 January 1959
Only officers and senior civilians (and their wives) assigned to the U.S. Army Aviation Combat Developments Office were invited to the commanding officers' New Year's Day reception. It wasn't much different from the regular unit get-tog ethers that Bellmon held frequently during the year, differing only in that this one would be the last one Bellmon would give before moving to Washington and in that Mac Macmillan, who was in charge of Bellmon's official social calendar, was absent.
W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels Page 18