W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels

by The Colonels(Lit)

  "Does it show?" "I saw you in the White Castle," Mac said.

  "Stony," the kid said.

  "You should have talked to your first sergeant," Mac said. "Not all of them are bastards. Maybe yours could have arranged a partial pay."

  "Is that what you were, a first sergeant?" the kid asked. "I used to be a technical sergeant," Mac said. "Platoon sergeant of the Pathfinder Platoon of the 508th P. I.R." "No kidding?" the kid said, impressed. Mac was pleased.

  "You jump into Normandy on D day?"

  "I jumped every place the regiment jumped," Mac said with quiet pride.

  "They showed us the movies of Normandy," the kid said. "Twice." Tim

  COLONELS

  "How come twice?"

  "Once in OCS and once in jump school."

  "You were in OCS?"

  "Second Lieutenant Ellis, Thomas J." at your service," the kid said.

  "Why the hell are you broke and hitchhiking, Lieutenant?" Mac asked.

  He wasn't entirely sure that the kid was telling the truth. He didn't look old enough to be an officer.

  "Because three kings doesn't beat three nines and a pair of sevens," Ellis said, simply.

  "Jesus!" Mac said, sympathetically. "And you lost your whole month's pay." "The pay didn't bother me," the kid said. "Losing the car really hurt."

  "You lost your car, too?"

  "Nice little red MG. And my watch. And a very nice ring with a diamond."

  "You were in the wrong game, "Mac said.

  "Now you tell me," Ellis said, and chuckled.

  "Were you taken?" Mac asked.

  "No," Ellis said. "I thought the sonofabitch was bluffing. He couldn't play poker. He just drew the right cards. You know how it is."

  Nice kid. No bitching about losing his shirt.

  "What are you going to do until next month?"

  "I'm praying that I'll be able to convince a banker at Bragg that as an officer and a gentleman on jump pay I'm a worthy risk," Ellis said.

  "You've solved my major problem, getting from Benning to Bragg. And I'm grateful."

  "Are you old enough to smoke cigars, Lieutenant?" Mac asked.

  "I'm nineteen," Ellis said. "Is that old enough?"

  "Reach down to that jar and get a couple out," Mac said. Ellis opened the wide-mouthed glass jar and took two long, thick, black cigars from it.

  They were H. Uppmann

  "Churchills." Roxy had told Mac, years ago, that they cost two bucks apiece. Every year since 1947, the postman had delivered a carton from Alfred Dunhill in New York City. The cartons contained four wide-mouthed jars, each jar containing twenty H. Uppmann "Churchill" cigars. There was always a card, always the same message: "Merry Christmas, Craig W. Lowell." It wasn't his signature; somebody in the cigar store signed it. And every year, too, there was a package for Roxy, always containing the same thing, a bottle of Chanel No. 5, not the size bottle you saw in stores, a little one containing an ounce, but a big one, about a pint, and the same card, signed by somebody in the perfume store.

  The cigar jars were too good to throw away. Roxy kept them and used them for sugar and coffee, and to put things in the refrigerator. The cigars were good, but Mac couldn't see where they were worth two bucks apiece.

  He thought of Lowell now, watching the kid light the cigar. Lowell had always smoked cigars, even when he'd been an eighteen-year-old god damned PFC and the golf pro at Bad Nauheim. Lowell had been eighteen when he'd put on the gold bars of a second lieutenant. And this kid at least had gone to OCS to earn his. They'd handed Lowell his on a tray, because General Waterford wanted him to play polo.

  "How long you been in the army?" Mac asked.

  "Almost a year," the kid said.

  "You enlist for OCS?"

  "No. I enlisted, believe it or not, for cook's and baker's school. I thought what I'd like to do is own a restaurant." "That's what I do," Mac said, and wondered why. "I own a restaurant."

  "Must be -a successful one," the kid said, indicating the car.

  "My brother-in-law runs it," Mac said. "In Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania."

  "That where you're headed?" the kid asked.

  Mac nodded. He didn't want the kid to be scared off by his silver leaf.

  "I saw the clubs in the back seat. I thought maybe you were going to Augusta."

  "I've been South," Mac said. "So tell me, how did you get from cook's and baker's school to OCS?" "By way of KP," the kid said, and laughed. "By the time I'd done my first day of KP, I decided that I did not want to spend the next four years of my life in a kitchen. And the only way I could get out of going to cook's and baker's school was to go to OCS. So I did."

  "Being a second john is better than being a sergeant," Mac said.

  "I think I'll like it," the kid said. "Anyway, I figured at Tim COLONELS since I was going to do it, I might as well go whole hog. So I applied for airborne, and when I furnished OCS they sent me to jump school." "I never went to jump school," Mac said. "They didn't even have a jump school back then. What happened was they sent a guy from the Switlick Parachute Company down to Benning, and he taught us."

  The kid was fascinated, and made a good listener, and Mac liked to talk about the old days. The time and the miles passed quickly.

  Mac pulled into a restaurant on the outskirts of Augusta, Georgia.

  "I'll stake you to chow," he said. "I've lost my ass at poker, too." "Thank you," Ellis said simply. "Thank you."

  Over a tough hot roast beef sandwich in a pasty gravy, the kid asked him his name, and a couple of minutes later, how to spell Mauch Chunk.

  "Why the hell do you want to know how to spell Mauch Chunk?" Mac asked.

  "So I can send you a check for my dinner," the kid said.

  "Forget that," Mac said. "My pleasure." "I really want to," the kid said.

  He means it. He's just not saying that. A nice kid.

  "I'll put it on my expense account," Mac said. "Forget about it."

  When they came out of the restaurant, Ellis offered to drive.

  Mac was surprised at himself when he walked to the passenger side of the Cadillac. He didn't usually let anybody else drive the Caddy. But he told himself the kid was trying to pay his way, and it was a long haul to Bragg yet.

  "I'll crap out in the back seat," he said. "Wake me when you get tired.

  (Five)

  The kid shook him awake.

  Mac sat up. They were in a truck stop. The kid was in uniform.

  "Where are we?" Mac asked. He looked at his watch. It was seven-thirty.

  "A couple of miles outside of Fayetteville. I thought I'd better change into my uniform."

  Mac got out of the back seat.

  It was so much bullshit about eating where truck drivers ate because the food was good. Truck drivers ate where they could find room to park their rigs. Still, he was hungry.

  "Let's get something to eat," he said.

  "I've mooched enough," Ellis said.

  "When you've mooched enough," Mac said, "I'll tell you." He opened the glove compartment, and pushed the trunk opener button.

  He handed the kid a twenty dollar bill.

  "Fill it up," he said. "Check the oil. I'm going to change, too. Then we'll get something to eat, and then I'll take you out to the post."

  "That's out of your way. They must have a bus or something, and I've got enough money for that." "I'll see you inside," Mac said, and picked up one of the zipper clothing bags and carried it into the truck stop.

  Mac had never been in a truck stop this big before. The god damned place was enormous, and it had something Mac had never seen before. For three dollars, you could rent a room for eight hours. That made sense, when he thought about it. It didn't cost them three bucks to wash a couple of sheets and towels, and for three bucks a driver got a place for a little shut-eye and a shower. And besides, he filled up his truck and ate probably two meals. Plenty of money changed hands.

  Roxy's brother was talking about them building a truck stop. He would ha
ve to remember to tell Roxy to tell him about this.

  And right now, three bucks seemed like a cheap enough price to pay for a quick shower, a private crap, and a clean place to change into his uniform. He handed over three bucks and a girl gave him a key.

  As he tucked his shirt in his pants, Mac looked at the breast of his tunic. Roxy had pinned every god damned thing he owned on it. There were decorations and insignia above both breast pockets. Above the right pocket were what the army called "metallic devices": there was a gold-rimmed blue oblong, the Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation, awarded to the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment. It was both a personal and a unit award. If you were in the 508th when it was awarded, you could always wear the citation. You could also wear it if you were assigned to the 508th even if you had never heard a shot fired in anger. Beside it was the Korean Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation. Above those devices were French Army paratrooper's wings.

  The upper left breast of the tunic was buried under ribbons and devices. There were five rows, each of thiee ribbons, each signifying an award. Above them, by itself, was the ribbon representing the Medal of Honor. Above that was an Expert Combat Infantiy Badge, second award, above that the army aviator's wings with the wreathed star of a Master Aviator, and above the pilot's wings, parachutist's wings, onto which were fixed five stars, one for each jump into combat.

  What the hell. What was it the kid had said about going "whole hog"? I might be coming to Bragg on the shit list, but there is no harm in wearing the crap that says you haven't always been on it.

  He put the tunic on and examined himself in the mirror. Then he zipped up the clothing bag and carried it across his shoulder out to the dining room.

  Second Lieutenant Ellis was sitting in a booth over a cup of coffee. He glanced at Mac, then did a double take and stood up.

  "Keep your seat, Lieutenant," Mac said, and slid onto the seat across from him. "You order for us?" "No, sir, Colonel," the kid said.

  "Life is full of little surprises, ain't it?" Mac said.

  Ellis was studying the ribbons.

  "Is that one on top what I think it is?" he asked.

  The waitress appeared, so Mac didn't have to answer.

  "Bring us a couple of

  "Long Haul Specials," medium," Mac said. He had noticed an advertisement for it. It was steak, eggs, and hash browns.

  "Coffee for you, too?" she asked.

  "Yeah," Mac said, and then said, "Hold it a minute, honey." He took out his wallet and two one-hundred-dollar traveller's checks and his AGO card. He scrawled his name on the checks and handed them and his AGO card to her.

  "Cash-those for me, will you?"

  She walked away.

  "You must think I'm a real horse's ass," the kid said.

  "No," Mac said, and smiled at him. "Anybody who can lose all his dough, and his car and his watch and his ring, betting on three kings can't be all bad."

  "You're stationed at Bragg, Colonel?" Ellis asked.

  "I'm reporting in, like you," Mac said.

  The waitress returned with a mug of coffee and a wad of battered twenty dollar bills. When she had gone, Mac pushed the money across the table to Ellis.

  "I expect two monthly payments of a hundred bucks," he said. "I'm going to be at the Special Warfare School. You know my name."

  "I can't take that, Colonel," Ellis said.

  "Yeah, you can, and you will," Mac said. "Don't argue with me."

  Ellis was looking at his ribbons again.

  "That is the Medal of Honor, isn't it?" he asked.

  "Yeah, and it and ten bucks'll pay for our dinner," Mac said.

  "I'll pay the dinner," Ellis said. "Now that I'm solvent." "I accept," Mac said.

  It was eight-thirty when he braked the Cadillac at the MP's signal at the main gate to Fort Bragg. The MP came around to the window as Mac lowered it. He took a quick look at Mac and threw a rigid salute. Mac returned it casually. "We're reporting in," Mac said. "May I have your name, Colonel?" "Macmillan," Mac said. "I'm going to the Special Warfare School.

  "Will the colonel please pull his car over to the side?" the MP said, pointing to an area beside the guard shack. "What the hell?" Mac asked, but the MP was gone. Mac moved the car. "What are they doing, searching for booze?" he asked. The MP came to the window. "It will be just a minute or two, Colonel," he said.

  "What the hell is going on?" Mac asked. The MP walked away without replying.

  Mac waited a couple of minutes, time enough to light a cigar and become annoyed. And then he got out of the car.

  He was halfway to the MP shack when he saw an NIP staff car coming down the highway from the direction of the main post. It had its flashing lights on, but wasn't blowing its siren. It screeched to a stop near him. The door opened, and a veiy natty MP first john got out.

  "Colonel Macmillan?" he asked, saluting crisply. "That's right," Macsaid. "What the hell is this, Lieutenant?"

  "Colonel, if you'll be good enough to get back in your car and follow me, sir?" the MP lieutenant said, saluted again, and got back in the MP car. Mac got behind the wheel of the Cadillac.

  "What's going on?" Ellis said.

  "I don't know," Mac said. "Maybe we're the ten millionth soldier or something."

  The MP car led him down the highway to Post Theatre No. 1, and then turned right onto the main post. Finally, it stopped before Quarters No. 1. The door to Quarters No. 1 opened, and a captain came quickly down the stairs.

  "Welcome to Fort Bragg, Colonel," he said. "Will you come with me, please?" "Come on, Ellis," Mac said. "This may be educational." He followed the captain up the stairs to Quarters No.1. Lieutenant General H.H.

  "Triple H" Howard came through the door.

  "By God, Mac," General Howard said, "it's good to see you." Mac and Ellis saluted. A flashbulb went off. Howard took Mac's arm and led him into the house. There was a banner thumbtacked to the wall. On it were representations of the insignia of the XVIII Airborne Corps, the 82nd Airborne Division, a set of Master Parchutist's wings, and the words WELCOME HOME, MAC MACMILLAN.

  There were several vaguely familiar officers in the foyer, all of whom offered Mac their hands. Then a photographer arranged all of them before the banner and took several pictures.

  Whatever this is all about, Mac thought, it don't look like dee standard reception for somebody on the shit list.

  Thn COLONELS Ix

  (One) The Pentagon Washington, D.C. 5 January 1959

  The Vice Chief of Staff of the United States Army received the commandant of the U.S. Army Special Warfare School at 1240 hours, forty minutes after the appointment was scheduled.

  "The Vice Chief of Staff will see you now, Colonel," a gray-haired, middle-aged master sergeant said, holding the door open for him.

  Hanrahan marched into the office, came to a stop three feet from the large highly polished desk, and saluted.

  "Colonel Hanrahan reporting to the Vice Chief of Staff as ordered, sir."

  "Hello, Hanrahan, how are you?" General Black responded, with a casual wave of his hand as a returned salute. "Very well, thank you, sir," Hanrahan said. "Congratulations on the eagle," Black said.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "You had lunch?"

  "No,. sir."

  "You have your choice between the official dining room," Black said, "or a submarine sandwich here."

  "I'd rather have the submarine, if that would be all right with you," Hanrahan said.

  General Black punched his intercom.

  "Ask Wesley to make us a couple of sandwiches, please," he said. Then he turned back to Hanrahan. "Lots of goodies with this job. There's a complete kitchen back there. I don't know what kind of a contribution it makes to the national defense, but it's handy if your wife throws you out of the house."

  "Is that the same Sergeant Wesley I remember, sir?"

  "He's got thirty-six years. I can't throw him out," Black said.

  The door opened and the noncommissioned officer in qu
estion came through, bearing a tray. He was six feet three inches tall, and weighed nearly 300 pounds. He was wearing one of the new shade 51 uniforms. A dozen hash marks, diagonal stripes each representing three years of service, ran from his wrist to his elbow. He was very black, and had three gold teeth.

  "Just happened to have a couple made up, General," he said, and then, spotting Hanrahan: "Well, hello there, and don't you look fine with that gleaming eagle?"