W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels

by The Colonels(Lit)

  Colonel Macmillan had a large cardboard carton holding several thermos bottles and jugs. Major Lowell was nearly hidden under the four down-filled sleeping bags he was carrying.

  When Wojinski had dropped off the batteries, he ran back to the Gooney-bird. CWO(2) Franklin was sitting in the door.

  "Remember where you left us, Franklin," Wojinski said. "A guy could starve to death out here before anybody found him."

  Franldin handed him another cardboard box. Wojinski ran off between the parked aircraft and disappeared from sight.

  Franklin leaned out the door, looking toward where It. Commander Eaglebury was staring out of the sliding window. He made a tugging gesture, like a train conductor ordering a commuter train into motion.

  The running engine revved, and the Gooney-bird turned aroul3d and taxied a half mile down the taxiway back toward the runway. There it stopped. Franidin went down the stairs carrying the Winchester riot gun. He walked in front of the left wing, faced rear, and put one shell into the magazine. Then he worked the action, chambering the shell. Taking careful aim, he blew a hole in the Gooney-bird's tire.

  Then It. Commander Eaglebury got on the radio (which seemed to be working now) and informed the Davis-Monthan tower that not only did he seem to be lost, but he had blown a tire, and would somebody come help him?

  (Four)

  Operation Fearless had been born two weeks before on the 15th tee of the Fort Rucker golf course. Major Lowell had been invited to go a round with It. Col. Charles. At first Lowell had turned down the invitation; but Charles had insisted, and Low eli had concluded that Charles had something on his mind besides hitting a small white ball with a variety of steel and wood implements.

  The problem was the ANIARC-55 radio. AN stood for Army-Navy. ARC stood for Aircraft Radio Communications. The number 55 identified the model. The ARC-55 was a high-frequency, long-range, radio transmitter-receiver. The Gooney-birds were going to need such radios to fly to Nicaragua from Florida.

  There were none in army stocks, because the army had no requirement for radios with a long-distance capability; and the navy had long ago declared the model obsolescent and transferred its stock of them to the air force. The air force was "regrettably unable to oomply" with U.

  Col. Augustus Charles's request for the interservice transfer of any ANIARC-55 radios.

  Both It. Col. Charles and Major Lowell were extraordinarily good golfers, and they played quickly. They talked about the ARC-55 problem only as they walked together down the fairways, never on the tees or greens, where only Sunday golfers profaned the noble sport by idle conversation.

  By the 15th tee, however, It. Col. Charles had gone through his problems with finding the ARC-55.

  "The air force is screwing us," he said. "I know god damned well they have ARC-55s in warehouses. But they want us to set up a large howl about not having any, whereupon they can ask what we want them for. And that opens a large can of worms." "Felter can get them for us," Lowell said.

  "I look at Felter as a too easily expendable asset," Charles said. "I'd rather keep his clout in reserve until we really need it. And God knows, I don't want to see him lose his job and have it taken over by those lunatics in the CIA."

  "I've got just about a blank check," Lowell said. "Can we buy them?"

  "I looked into that, too. Unless we go to the trouble of getting a special exemption for a classified project, we would have to put acquisition up for bids. That would take too long, for one thing. And for another, even if we had the time and we don't-to put it up for bids, that would give the air force a chance to ask what we wanted long-range aviation radios for."

  "You tell me. What do we do?" "You ever been to Leavenworth?" It. Col. Charles asked.

  "Fort Leavenworth, or the prison?"

  "The prison."

  "When I was at Command and General Staff," Lowell said, "they took us on a tour of the prison."

  "What did you think of it?"

  There was a reason for the question, Lowell sensed, so he answered it.

  "The prisoners live better than GIs," he said.

  "That's what I was thinking," Charles said. "I mean, going there wouldn't be all that bad, if you got right down to it. Not that I plan to get caught, of course. Just thinking about the worst possible scenario."

  "Get caught doing what?"

  "Stealing ARC-55s from the air force graveyard at Davismonthan," Charles said.

  "Have they got them out there?"

  "All C-54s were equipped with them," Charles said. "I'll bet I could come back with a couple of dozen of them."

  "You couldn't do it by yourself," Lowell said.

  "No. I figure it would take at least three people."

  "You got anybody in mind?"

  "You can't ask people to take a risk like that," Charles said.

  "Aside from you and me, I mean?" "Funny," Charles said. "I thought you just might volunteer."

  "Not only will I volunteer, but I have an ace in the hole who owes me a favor."

  "A professional thief, I hope?"

  "Better than that, a Medal of Honor winner. They never get court-martialed. Think of the bad publicity."

  "Macmillan?"

  "Why not? He's going to use the damned radios."

  "OK," Charles said. "I will not offer the comment that while Medal winners can commit murder and get away with it, their partners in crime go to jail just like ordinary people." "Colonel," Lowell said, "why don't we finish this round quickly, then repair to my home, where we can get down to some serious planning?"

  Colonel Charles hustled Major Lowell for one hundred and fifty dollars on the last three holes of their game. Major Lowell was impressed with Colonel Charles. There were few people able to hustle him either on the golf course or on a caper that was very likely to melt the thin ice on which his chances of promotion were already skidding.

  Lowell told himself that he should have known something crazy like this would come up. That very morning (when Jane

  Cassidy's transfer to the Department of Publications- at the Army Aviation School had at last come through) he had permitted himself to think that he had escaped for a while from crazy situations. He should have realized that he, of all people, couldn't be that lucky.

  Three months ago, Jane had come up to him in a rage and accused him of being just like every other man: "You just have to boast about your conquest, don't you?" she screamed.

  He had no idea what she was talking about and said so.

  "If you hadn't boasted, if there had been no talk, the chief of police would have never found out," she said.

  "What chief of police?" he asked. "The Ozark chief of police," she hissed. "He knows." "Oh, I don't think so," he said, without thinking. He immediately regretted his comment. If she thought the chief of police knew, she just might decide the whole thing was too risky.

  "It's over, of course," she said. "You've left me where I thought you would."

  He could think of no reply to that, so he said nothing. "You're going to have to get me a transfer," she said. "If you think I should," he said, "I'll see what I can do."

  "You won't "see what you can do!"

  "she snapped. "You'll do it! You owe me that much! My marriage is at stake!"

  The wheels of bureaucracy moved with their usual slowness. Even after he found her another job, it took a couple months for the transfer to be made official. During that time, she treated him with icy courtesy.

  His relief when the transfer came through was enormous. Jane was replaced by a plain, pleasant woman in her late forties. An absolutely un dangerous woman, delighted with the promotion the transfer had meant for her and determined to make good.

  Once again, Craig now realized, he was jumping from one fiying pan into if not the fire then another frying pan. If they were caught stealing radios at Davis-Monthan, he would be in as much trouble as if he had been caught with Jane Cassidy in his bed.

  He consoled himself with the thought that at least there was a nobl
e purpose in stealing the radios. Jiggs would understand that. But Jiggs would have been shocked and dismayed if he'd known about Craig's connection with Jane Cassidy.

  The first thing Major Craig Lowell and Colonel Augustus Charles realized when they got down to specifics was that they could not execute Operation Fearless with only three people. At least one more was needed.

  That led them to Lieutenant Commander Eaglebury. As a navy pilot, he could fly the V. I.P Gooney-bird, which he could identify as a navy airplane. To save him from potential trouble, they tried at first to keep him in the dark about what they were up to. But Lieutenant Commander Eaglebury took only two days to figure out that they were going to do something in Arizona besides look at the desert flora and fauna. He demanded in on the whole picture, or they could get somebody else to fly their airplane.

  Lieutenant Commander Eaglebury also pointed out that regulations prescnbed that a Gooney-bird be driven by two chauffeurs. Another getaway driver was needed: CWO (2) William B. Franklin (whose promotion from Warrant Officer Junior Grade had come the week he had been qualified as pilot-in command of R4D aircraft). Not only could Franklin be trusted to keep his mouth shut; but if they were caught, he told them, he would just play the dumb nigger warrant officer who didn't even know he was in Arizona.

  The sixth co-conspirator joined up when It. Col. Macmillan asked Master Sergeant Wojinski to get him a riot gun from the arms rqom and to keep his mouth shut about it. When Wojinski had demanded specifics, Macmillan told him Lowell wanted it, but he didn't know what for.

  M/Sgt Wojinski showed up at Fort Rucker with the shotgun in a golf bag, and announced that whither Lowell was going with it, so was he.

  In order to discourage the sergeant from sticking his ass in a crack where it would very likely get nipped off, Wojinski was given the rough outline of the plan.

  "No disrespect, Major," Wojinski said. "But if you guys are going to get away with this, you're going to need a professional. You're, excuse me, just a bunch of fucking amateurs."

  He thereupon proceeded to point out several flaws in the operations plan. Wojinski was in.

  Immediately upon entering into Phase II of Operation Fearless infiltration of the target area it became apparent that there was a flaw in the operations plan that even Wojinshi had overlooked. There was no way to get inside the airplanes from which the radios would be stolen; their doors were too high off the ground. Even with Lowell (six feet two) standing on Wojinski's (six feet three) shoulders, he was at least four feet from a latch that might or might not gain them access to the aircraft.

  "There is only one thing to do," Wojinski said.

  "Surrender, and throw ourselves on the mercy of the air force."

  "No," Wojinski said. "I'll go steal one of those pickup trucks with a stairs on it." "A what?" Macmillan asked.

  "You know," Wojinski said, patiently. "One of those things they drive up to airplanes so people can get on and off. There must be a couple of them around here."

  "If there is, it would be at Base Operations," Lowell said. "That must be five miles from here."

  "I can go catty-corner," MI Sgt Wojinski said. "I figure three, maybe three and a half miles."

  He took a compass from the knee pocket of his flight suit, consulted it a moment, replaced it, and then trotted off into the massed, parked airplanes, his forearms pumping parallel to the ground, his fists balled, his back straight the jogger out for his daily physical conditioning.

  It. Col. Charles, It. Col. Macmillan, and Major Lowell then went up and down the lines of parked C-54 aircraft, picking out aircraft which seemed most likely to have AN! ARC-55 radios aboard in good condition.

  The aircraft in non preserved storage ranged from skeletonized derelicts, not much more than stripped airframes, to aircraft which appeared ready for takeoff. There was no problem finding a dozen likely candidates for their midnight requisition.

  Then, curiosity aroused, they moved out of the C-54 area.

  There came a loud shout from Charles.

  Lowell first thought that It. Col. Augustus Charles had lost his marbles, calling attention to them. But then he realized that the chances of anybody else but himself or Mac hearing a shout were just about nonexistent. He went in the direction of the shout, and a minute or two later found Charles and Mac, beaming with delight, standing under a Lockneed Constellation. He didn't know the air force nomenclature for it.

  "Look at this!" Charles said, pointing up at the narrow nose. There was a legend painted on the nose, the word "Bataan" superimposed on a map of the Bataan peninsula.

  "I thought he had a C-54," Lowell said, remembering newsreels of General of the Army Douglas Macarthur regally descending from his personal transport aircraft.

  "So did I," Charles said. "But it says

  "Bataan."

  "I'll bet there's beds on that sonofabitch," Major Lowell said, thoughtfully.

  Thirty minutes later, they heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. It was possible that the air police patrolled the area, so they hid themselves behind landing gear and watched.

  It was MI Sgt Wojinski at the wheel of an air force pickup truck. He was driving with his elbow out the window. The pickup truck was equipped with a stairway, and behind it was something else a trailer holding a ground auxiliary power unit.

  "The whole fucking operation almost went down the tube," MI Sgt Wojinski announced.

  "They saw you?" Lowell asked.

  "Nah," Wojinski said, offended at the suggestion. "What happened was that the base commander come by Base Ops to wish the troops stuck with the duty Merry Christmas. And he felt so sorry for Eaglebury and Franklin getting stuck here on

  Christmas Eve that he wanted to have the flat fixed right away."

  "How do you know?" Macmillan asked.

  "I was looking in the window," Wojinski said.

  "So what happened?" Mac asked.

  "Eaglebury said that he would rather not have the general ask enlisted men to work on Christmas Eve. He said that he would hate to have a work crew remember that they had to work on Christmas Eve because of some damned naval officer."

  "So they're not coming tonight?" Charles asked.

  "No. And the general was so touched by Eaglebury's speech that he gave one of his own. He said he would hate to have two naval officers remember that they had spent Christmas Eve in a

  BOQ in Arizona, with the club closed, and that he would be honored if they would accept the hospitality of his quarters." "He took them home with him?" Lowell asked, incredulously.

  "I hope to Christ he don't ask Franklin anything about' the navy," Wojinski said. "F. or a moment, I thought he was going to turn white."

  "You're sure nobody saw you steal this?" Macmillan asked.

  "Nah," Wojinski said, deprecatingly. "They had four of them in a motor pool."

  "How'd you get it out of the motor pool without being seen?" Lowell asked.

  "There's generally two gates to a motor pool," Wojinski explained. "All I had to do was go to the back one and pick the padlock."

  "What about the ground power unit?" It. Col. Charles asked.

  "That was on the transient parking lot," Wojinski explained.

  "Aren't they going to miss it?"

  "Not before we're long gone," Wojinski said.

  (Six)

  Phase III of Operation Fearless went very smoothly. They drove the pickup truck with the stairway to the door of the first C-54 they'd selected, opened the door, and It. Col. Charles and Major Lowell entered the aircraft. Major Lowell carried one of the nickel-cadmium batteries, and It. Col. Charles and It. Col. Macmillan carried between them the tool kit.

  Five minutes later, the dials of the ANIARC-55 radio aboard glowed, It. Col. Charles having powered it up by disconnecting it from the 24-volt major buss and to the nickel-cadmium battery. He set a frequency he thought was unlikely to be monitored by the Davis-Monthan tower, closed his tool box, and then he and Macmillan went down the stairs.

  Lowell
was left alone in the aircraft. It was an eerie feeling. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had sat on the radio operator's stool.

  Ten minutes later, there was a voice in his earphones.

  "Air Force Six Thirteen, Air Force Fourteen Ten."

  "Go ahead, Fourteen Ten," Lowell said to the microphone.

  "How do you read?"

  "Five by five," Lowell replied.