W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels

by The Colonels(Lit)

  He had been able to negotiate a reasonably peaceful soh2 tion. The crazy bastards from the 508th were the Pathfin& Platoon, whose sergeant, Rudolph G. Macmillan, was a friend of his. Consequently Mac trusted him when Hanrahan had told him he could either give up (and he would see about things with the colonel), or he could keep on fighting an spend the next year in the stockade.

  (Three) Office of the Commanding General XVIII Airborne Corps Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0915 Hours, 8 January 1959

  "Colonel Hanrahan, sir," the sergeant major announced. "Come on in, Paul," Lieutenant General H.H. Howard called, cordially.

  Colonel Paul Hanrahan, wearing crisply starched fatigues, Model 1911 Al in a holster suspended from a web belt, jump boots, and a green beret, marched into the room and crisply saluted the commanding general.

  Macmillan was standing nearby.

  "Good morning, General," he said.

  "I was about to say to you

  "Look what the cat in," General Howard said, smiling, returning the salute. I wonder if I shouldn't say that to Mac. Are you running a field exercise, Paul?"

  "No, sir," Hanrahan said. "I'm running fatigues as Special Warfare School's uniform of the day." "For all hands?" Howard asked, as if greatly surprised

  "I thought post regulations prescribed fatigues only for field exercises and work details.."

  "I believe that is correct, sir," Hanrahan said. "Then, Paul," General Howard asked, reasonably, "wouldn't that make you out of uniform?"

  "As I understand it, sir," Hanrahan said, "post regulations only to those personnel under your command, sir."

  "cc," General Howard said, icily.

  I'm sure the general understands that no disrespect is moed." "Of course," General Howard said. "And I'm sure you'll that I think Mac here looks more like a senior r snould than you do." Colonel Macmillan, like General Howard, was in the "green uniform, and like Howard's his was festooned with ins and devices.

  Howard and Colonel Hanrahan smiled artificially at EU amer a moment.

  "Yes, sir," Hanrahan said. "I take the general's point." He turned to Macmillan and offered his hand. "Hello, Mac," he said, "it's good to see you."

  "Mac's staying with me until we can work something out lout his quarters," Howard said. "Technically, I suppose, "s A. W.O. L.."

  "That's very kind of you, General," Hanrahan said. "Good to see you, Red," Macmillan said. "Sergeant Major," General Howard said, raising his voice, you get us all some coffee, please?" He gestured for Hanrahan to sit down. "How was Washington, Paul?" Howard asked. "About like it always is, General," Hanrahan said. "How's that?" "Never have so few been led by so many," Hanrahan said. Howard laughed politely. "Did you wear your beret?" General Howard asked. "Yes, sir," Hanrahan said.

  The sergeant major delivered coffee in china mugs. He offered sugar and cream, which was refused, and then he left room. -"Mac and I have been gaily skipping down memory lane," General Howard said. "You'll never guess where we had breakfast?" "No, sir," Hanrahan said.

  "With Headquarters and Headquarters Company of the 508th FIR," Mac said.

  "That must have given the mess sergeant a thrill," Hanrahan said. "How was it?"

  "Actually, not bad," General Howard said. "I like to make an unannounced visit to a mess every once in a while."

  "The last meal I had with H&H of the

  "Eight," "Macmillan said, "was in Holland."

  "And were you wet-eyed with nostalgia, Mac?" Hanrahan asked, dryly.

  "It was a funny feeling," Macmillan said, looking at him strangely.

  "I made a trip down memory lane myself last night," Hanrahan said.

  "Blood Alley." "Really?" Howard asked. 1-lanrahan had been watching General Howard's face, and concluded from it that Howard had already heard about his visit to Clara's Cafe.

  "I was checking out a rumor that the MPs are extraordinarily zealous in the performance of their duties insofar as my people are concerned," Hanrahan said.

  "And what did you find?" Howard asked. "Nothing that merits an official complaint," Hanrahan said. "I'm glad to hear that," General Howard said. He and Hanrahan smiled icily at one another. "Well, Paul," Howard said finally, "I'm sure Mac's interested to see where he'll be working, and I'm sure you have things to do."

  Haurahan came quickly to his feet.

  "With your permission, General?" he said.

  "Thank you for coming to see me, Paul," Howard said, and then to Macmillan: "If Paul has no plans for you, Mac, we'il expect you for dinner." "I have no plans for Mac, General," Hanrahan said. "Then we'll see you about six, Mac, if not before. Paul, are you and your wife occupied?"

  "I'm afraid we are, sir," Hanrahan said. "Perhaps another time, then," General Howard said. Hanrahan and Macmillan saluted: It was returned, and they left General Howard's office.

  "How do you want me to do this, Red?" Macmillan asked. "About my car, I mean? Leave it here, or what?"

  "I'll get you a ride back to it," Hanrahan said. "I've got a jeep out in back."

  There were reserved parking spaces behind the brick barracks which had been converted into Headquarters, XVIII 4irborne Corps. Three of the spaces had been specifically zaerved for unspecified colonels, the spaces being marked with a representation of the eagle insignia.

  Hanrahan had ed his jeep in one of them. When they got to it, an MP had pulled in behind it, and two MPs in white hats and and army green uniforms were standing in front of the on a clipboard. somethig wrong?" Hanrahan asked. MPs saluted. The taller of them asked, "Is this your jeep, sir?" When Hanrahan nodded, he went on, "We're looking for your driver, "I'm driving it," Hanrahan said.

  The announcement surprised them.

  "I asked," Hanrahan said, "if something was wrong."

  "Sir, post regulations require that drivers stay with their vehicles," one of the MPs said.

  "Are you about to issue a citation?" Hanrahan asked. The MPs looked at each other uncomfortably. And then the taller one had an inspiration.

  "Sir, may we please see your trip ticket?"

  "It's in the glove compartment," Hanrahan said, and walked amind the back of the jeep and reached into it and came out with the trip ticket.

  He handed it to the MP, who looked at it to see who the form listed as the driver.

  "Your name is Hanrahan, sir?" he asked.

  "That's correct."

  The MPs looked at one another again, and then the taller one went to the MP car and got on the radio. In a minute he was back.

  "You can go, Colonel," he said: "Sorry we had to hold you up, sir." "No problem," Hanrahan said, and got behind the wheel. "Get in, Mac," he said. "We're free to go." The MFs got in their car and backed it out of the way. "What the hell was that all about?" Macmillan asked.

  "You heard it, I broke a post regulation."

  "Why the hell don't you have a driver? For that matter, what are you doing driving a jeep? Don't you rate a staff car?"

  "Let's just say I like to drive myself in a jeep," Hanrahan said.

  "Then you are going out of your way to ruffle Triple His feathers. What the hell for?"

  "Is that what he told you?" Hanrahan asked.

  "Several people told me," Mac said.

  "We're over in Smokebomb Hill, Mac," Hanrahan said, obviously changing the subject. "It's hardly changed at all." "We're old friends, Red," Macmillan said. "You and I go back before the beginning of airborne. Let's stop the bullshit. Do you know why I got transferred here?"

  "I saw Felter and E.Z. Black in Washington," Hanrahan said. "They both told me."

  Macmillan had served under Howard in Sicily, at Anzio, in Normandy, and in the jump across the Rhine during which Macmillan had been captued.

  He thought of Howard as a friend and as a fine officer, who was a superb commander. Thus he didn't understand, and was made uncomfortable by the visible friction between him and Paul Hanrahan.

  "Triple H was pissed that you didn't tell him you were going to Washington," Macmillan said. "In case you didn't kn
ow."

  Hanrahan didn't reply.

  They reached the Smokebomb Hill area of Fort Bragg, a collection of frame barracks and other buildings built in the early days of World War II to last five years. A somewhat faded sign, a four-by-eight-foot sheet of plywood mounted on two-by-sixes, identified the U.S. Army Special Warfare School.

  "I'll give you a tour later," Hanrahan said. "I've got a couple of things to do in the office first."

  He drove the jeep up the footpath leading to the front door of the frame headquarters building and stopped. He got out and went up the wooden steps and opened the door. Macmillan, trailing after him, heard someone call "attention" and Hanrahan's immediate reply: "As you were."

  When he stepped inside the tired old building, Macmillan found Hanrahan standing in a doorway. He motioned for Mac to follow him. Through the door was an office, holding the desks of the sergeant major and a clerk. Two doors opened off that office. There were signs on each door: cheap, cardboard signs, white letters on a dark blue background, the kind you can find in drugstores advertising the day's bargain on plastic kitchen ware.

  One said, on two lines, P.T. HANRAHAN COL INF, and the other said, R.

  G. MACMILLAN LT COL INF.

  "Sergeant Major Taylor," Hanrahan said, "this is Colonel Macmillan." "How are you, Sergeant?" Mac said, smiling and offering his hand.

  "Good to see you again, sir," Sergeant Major Taylor said, and when he saw the surprise on Macmillan's face, he went on. "I used to know the colonel, sir, when the colonel was running the

  "Eight's Pathfinders."

  "You did?" Mac asked, genuinely surprised. "Taylor? The only Taylor I remember was a little guy, a kid, broke his leg going into Sicily."

  "If the colonel will forgive me," Sergeant Major Taylor said, "we are all a little older, sir, than we were then."

  "Well, Jesus, I'm glad to see you," Mac said, enthusiastically pumping his hand.

  "You two can gaily skip down memory lane later," Hanrahan said. He was mockingly quoting General Howard. When Mac looked at him in surprise, Hanrahan motioned with his head for him to enter his office. "I'm in conference," Hanrahan said to Sergeant Major Taylor.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sit behind the desk," Hanrahan ordered.

  "Behind it?" Mac asked, confused. "You mean in your chair?" "Yeah," Hanrahan said.

  "What the hell for?" "Because I said so, and for the moment at least, I'm in command."

  Macmillan did as he was ordered.

  "You can have that seat if you want it, Mac," Hanrahan said, pleasantly. "Maybe not for sure, but you've got the best shot at it you'll ever have." "I don't get any of this, Red," Mac said.

  "AU you have to do to get my job is keep your eyes open amund here, and let the post commander know what's going on."

  "I don't want to get in the middle of whatever's going on between you and Howard," Mac said.

  "What's going on between me and Howard is that he wants me out of this job, and he wants this school under him; and in the best of all possible worlds he wants it under a commandant he can trust to do exactly what he tells him to do, which, at the moment, I think means you."

  "Why does he want you out?" Mac asked.

  "Because he knows that Special Forces are going to be important, and he believes they should be under airborne."

  "And you don't?"

  "If I had my way, this place would be at Camp Mccoy, Wisconsin, and the wearing of jump wings would be forbidden," Hanrahan said.

  "Camp Mccoy?"

  "It was used to train a ski-troop division in War II. Now it's a National Guard summer training base." "Why Camp Mccoy?" Mac asked. He saw from the look on Hanrahan's face that he considered that a stupid question.

  "Because nobody ever heard of Camp Mccoy," Hanrahan said. "Because we could train there with nobody looking over our shoulder." "Let me make it clear, Red," Mac said. "I'm not after your job."

  "Don't be so eager to make a decision. You're a light bird now. There are no time-in-grade requirements to make bird colonel. You do right by Howard, and you could count on that eagle in a year. "Bullshit, Red."

  "No bullshit, Mac. Think about it. Marvelous public relations, among other things. Modal of Honor paratrooper named to head super-troopers."

  "Is that what this place is? A school for super-troopers?" "The point is how the term is defined," Hanrahan said. "Howard sees it as a collection of super-troopers, super-physical specimens honed to a fine edge who can be ordered anywhere in the world to out-marine the marines."

  "What's wrong with that?" "Nothing," Hanrahan said, "except that we already have a Marine Corps, and I don't think a regiment of paratroops... even, for that matter, a company... will ever be dropped into combat again. Certainly not as the spearhead for conventional forces."

  "And what do you think you should be doing?"

  "Training guerrilla leaders," Hanrahan said. "People who are ordered to stay alive because they're too valuable to get killed. People who speak the language of the people they're geaching how to fight. People we can send anywhere, very quietly, to beef up native forces, so that it won't be necessary to send out regiments and divisions. And if we do find ouraelves in a conventional war, people who can really raise hell running around the enemy's rear." - "Well, who's in charge?" Macmillan asked.

  "Felter got me my eagle and the command," Hanrahan said. "But that shot his wad. Black told me I can't look to him icr protection.

  Realistically, Mac, I'm outnumbered and about to be overwhelmed."

  "Felter thinks this is a good idea?"

  "Felter was in Greece with me. And he saw, as you should hive, how effective Indochinese irregulars were against conventional French forces... paratroops, I have to remind you at Dien Bien Phu. Yes, of course, Felter thinks it's a good

  "I meant, your fighting with Howard," Macmillan said.

  "He knows I have to do it, or we won't have Special Forces in anything but name."

  "Well, then, you've got the clout on your side," Macmillan said. "From what I hear, Felter spends more time with Ike than Mamie." "He told me he can't go back to the well," Hanrahan said. "He didn't say it, but I had the feeling the President feels Felter slipped one over on him. Take my word for it, Mac, right now I'm that one guy in the live-fire infiltration course just can't keep from sticking his head up to see if they're really using live ammo."

  "And Black can't help you, either?"

  "Black is really on the upper-echelon shit list. The flak from his decision to keep the armed helicopter away from the air force is just starting."

  "Pins Lowell," Mac said.

  "Plus Lowell," Hanrahan agreed.

  "Why don't you do the smart thing, Red, and go along with Howard?

  Christ, you could be a little easier to get along with, for openers."

  "The beret, for example?"

  "The beret, for example. That really pisses him off. You can't tell a lieutenant general to go fuck himself about his uniform regulations, and you know it."

  "The beret is a symbol, Mac. Of the independence of this place, that airborne is not telling us what to do."

  "What do you mean "we," white man?" "What?" Hanrahan said, not understanding.

  "The old joke, Red," Macmillan said. "The Lone Ranger and Tonto are surrounded by ten thousand howling Indians; and the Lone Ranger says, "What do we do now, faithful Indian companion?" and Tonto says, "What do you mean, "we," white man?" "Oh, yeah," Hanrahan said, impatiently. "Tell me what you want from me, Red," Macmillan said. "I want you to think this over, and then tell me where you stand," Hanrahan said. "That's all."

  "You really want to know what I think, Red?"

  "Please."

  "I think you're out of your fucking mind," Macmillan said.

  "With Felter on your side, and Black, maybe you could have gotten away with telling airborne to go piss up a rope. By yourself, no way."