By Order of the President

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Well, what did you think of the House in the Woods?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to frame my thoughts, Fred,” Netty said, a little impatiently.

  “Sorry.”

  “Lovely lunch,” Netty said. “Roast boar. Her dining room overlooks the border. While we were eating, two of your patrols rolled by. Frau Erika showed me what used to be their property on the other side of the fence.”

  “I’ve been up there. The last time was last year, with her father, when we put the radio link in?”

  “I remember,” Netty said, somewhat impatiently. “Okay, here we go.” She went into her purse and came out with a photograph and handed it to her husband.

  “What am I looking at?” Fred Lustrous inquired.

  “One of our love children,” Netty said, bitterly.

  “Really?” he asked.

  As General George S. Patton used to say, Colonel Lustrous thought, “A soldier who won’t fuck won’t fight.” And that’s probably true. But why can’t the irresponsible sonsofbitches use a condom?

  “According to Frau Erika,” Netty said, “the father is a chopper jockey who was here a dozen years ago, just long enough to sow his seed.”

  “How does she know that?”

  “That’s Karl Wilhelm von und zu Gossinger,” Netty said. “Frau Erika’s only child. The ‘Frau’ is apparently honorific.”

  “Let me make sure I have this right,” Lustrous said. “This kid is Frau Erika’s kid, and his father is an American?”

  “You got it,” she said. “And she wants you to find him.”

  “Oh, Jesus!”

  “As quickly as possible,” Netty said. “And, of course, as quietly and discreetly as possible.”

  “Why? After all this time?”

  “Frau Erika doesn’t have much time. She has, she said, between two and four months. Pancreatic cancer, inoperable. She’s already taking medicine for the pain.”

  “This whole thing sounds . . . unbelieveable,” Lustrous said.

  “That was my first reaction,” Netty said. “But Pastor Dannberg has apparently been aware of the boy since . . . since she became pregnant. It’s real, Fred.”

  “And this helicopter pilot didn’t want to marry her?”

  “She said she’s sure he doesn’t know about the child,” Netty said. “This wasn’t said, but it seems obvious to me: The family preferred that she bear this child . . . she was eighteen when she had him, by the way . . . out of wedlock, rather than the alternative, which was seeing the blood line corrupted by marriage.”

  “What do you mean, ‘corrupted’? By an American, you mean?”

  “Not just an American. According to her, the father of that blond boy is Jorge Alejandro Castillo. From Texas.”

  “Oh, boy!” Colonel Lustrous said.

  “Yeah, Freddy, ‘Oh, boy!’ ” Netty said.

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said. And then a thought popped into his mind and he asked it aloud, “Does the boy know?”

  “I don’t know,” Netty said. “She’ll have to tell him, if she hasn’t already.”

  “Let me see what I can find out,” Lustrous said.

  Netty met his eyes, then nodded, then stood up.

  “You’re coming home for supper?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “We’re having roast boar,” Netty said. “As we were getting in the Investment to come back, a maid came out with an enormous platter of food wrapped in aluminum foil. The maid said Frau Erika wanted me to have it; otherwise, it would go to waste.”

  “I like roast boar,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “When you were a lieutenant, you and the colonel used to shoot them with Thompsons and give the meat to Saint Johan’s.”

  “I’ve told you that story, have I?”

  “I was here, dear,” she said. “A still-blushing bride. And I almost left you when you walked into the house staggering under the weight of the ugliest animal carcass I had ever seen and made it clear that I was expected to turn it into dinner. ”

  He chuckled.

  “There’s more than enough, if you want to ask anyone,” Netty said.

  “The Naylors?” he asked.

  “Why not?”

  She walked to him, kissed him, and said, “Do me a favor, Freddy. Don’t put this on a back burner.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” he said.

  He led her to the door with his arm around her shoulder. Sergeant Major Dieter looked up from his desk.

  “See if Major Naylor is available, will you, please?” Colonel Lustrous said to him.

  [THREE]

  Headquarters Eleventh Armored Cavalry Regiment Downs Barracks Fulda, Hesse, West Germany 0740 8 March 1981

  “How are we doing, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Frederick J. Lustrous greeted Sergeant Major Rupert Dieter as he walked into his office. But before Dieter could reply, Lustrous went on, “But before we get into that, you might want to put a quiet word into the ear of the mess sergeant of Baker Troop, First Squadron.”

  "Yes, sir?”

  "I had breakfast there.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-huh. You take my point, Sergeant Major?”

  “I will have lunch there, sir.”

  “It was really bad, Dieter,” Lustrous said. “And that’s one of the things we just can’t have.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “I leave the matter in your capable hands, Sergeant Major, ” Lustrous said and motioned for the sergeant major to follow him into his office.

  Dieter snatched one of the three stainless steel thermos bottles from the coffee machine table and followed Lustrous into his office.

  “Give me a second, Colonel,” Dieter said. “What I want to show you is on my desk.”

  Lustrous nodded, said “Sure,” took off his field jacket and hung it on a coat-tree, and then went behind his desk and sat down.

  Dieter came back in the office a moment later carrying an eight-inch-thick stack of paper about fourteen inches across and twenty-two inches long fastened together with enormous Ace spring metal clips. On it sat a thin book bound in maroon-colored artificial leather.

  “What the hell is that?” Lustrous asked.

  “The regimental newspaper, sir,” Dieter said. “Specifically, for the year 1969.”

  “Did you find Daddy in there?”

  “Yes, sir, I think I did.”

  Dieter laid the stack of old newspapers on Lustrous’s conference table and carefully opened it in about the middle.

  “Want to have a look, sir?” Dieter asked.

  Lustrous heaved himself out of his chair and walked to the table.

  Dieter pointed to a somewhat faded photograph of two young officers in flight suits standing by the nose of an HU- 1D.

  “That’s a Dog model,” he said, indicating the Huey helicopter.

  “Uh-huh,” Dieter said.

  The headline over the picture read, “BLACKHORSE TO TRAIN WITH SKYCAV.”

  The caption under the picture read, “1st Lt. James Biden (left), Ithaca, N.Y., and WOJG J.A. Castillo, San Antonio, Tex., of the 322nd Aviation Company shown by their HU- 1D helicopter, one of eight which will participate in a three-week -long joint training exercise with troopers of the Blackhorse.”

  “It’s a lousy photo,” Lustrous said. “But he looks like he’s fifteen years old.”

  “I noticed that, sir,” Dieter said.

  “Well, you found him,” Lustrous said. “Good for you.”

  “You better hold off on that, sir,” Dieter said. “That’s not all I found.”

  He picked up the book bound in maroon artificial leather and handed it to Lustrous.

  Lustrous looked at the title.

  “The Medal of Honor?” he asked, curiously.

  Dieter nodded.

  “I stuck a piece of paper in it, sir,” he said.

  Lustrous found the slip of paper and opened the book to that page.

  “Jesus H. Christ!”
he said when he found himself looking at another photograph of Warrant Officer Jorge Alejandro Castillo, this one, he guessed, taken when Castillo had graduated from flight school. Castillo also looked like he was fifteen years old.

  “I don’t think there’s too many guys who flew Hueys with a name like that,” Dieter said. “I think that’s your guy, Colonel.”

  Colonel Lustrous started to read the citation: “ ‘On 4 and 5 April 1971, while flying HU-1D helicopters in support of Operation Lam Son 719 ...’ ” He stopped and looked at Dieter. “April ’71? We were out of Vietnam by then.”

  “Not the aviators,” Dieter said. “Air Force and Army. We left a bunch of them—plus some heavy artillery—behind to support the South Vietnamese. I looked Operation Lam Son 719 up.”

  “And?”

  “The South Vietnamese went into Laos to cut the Ho Chi Minh Trail,” Dieter said. “They got clobbered. And so did our choppers. We lost more than a hundred, and five times that many were shot up.”

  Lustrous dropped his eyes to the book again and continued: "’... time and again, Warrant Officer Castillo flew his aircraft into extremely heavy fire to rescue the crews of downed American helicopters. In the process he was twice shot down himself, and suffered painful wounds, contusions and burns, for which he refused medical treatment, as a result thereof. Warrant Officer Castillo was on his fifty-second rescue mission, in the fifth helicopter he operated during this period, when his aircraft was struck by heavy antiaircraft fire and exploded ...’ ”

  Lustrous looked at Dieter and repeated, “Fifty-second rescue mission?”

  “That’s what it says, sir. We lost, I told you, more than a hundred choppers. They mean destroyed, by that; it doesn’t count the ones that got shot down. They really kicked our ass. A lot of chopper crews had to be either picked up or the VC would have gotten them.”

  “Well, it says he was given the medal posthumously,” Lustrous said. “So it doesn’t look as if he will be able to assume his parental obligations, does it?”

  “He’s buried in the Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery, sir,” Dieter said. “They didn’t get his body back right away.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Lustrous said. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “We don’t know for sure it’s our guy, sir. For sure, I mean.”

  “Oh, come on, Dieter!”

  “You don’t think it’s possible, sir, that Frau Whatsername knew about this all along?”

  “No, I don’t,” Lustrous said automatically, but then added, “Why would she do something like that?”

  “Desperate women, shit, desperate people, do desperate things, Colonel. Things that don’t make a lot of sense.”

  “I hate to agree with you, but I do,” Lustrous said. “This situation has just become something that cannot be dealt with by someone of my pay grade.”

  “What are you going to do, sir?”

  “I’m going to try to get General Towson to find a few minutes in his schedule for me,” Lustrous said. “Try to get him on the horn, Sergeant Major.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Major Dieter said and picked up one of the telephones on Lustrous’s desk—there were two: one a local, commercial telephone, and the other connected to the Army network—and dialed a number from memory.

  “Hey, Tony,” he said after a moment. “Rupert Dieter. How they hanging, Fat Guy?”

  There was a pause.

  “Tony, my boss wants to speak to your boss. Possible?”

  There was another pause and then Dieter said, “Thanks, Tony,” and handed the phone to Colonel Lustrous. "The V Corps Commander will be with you shortly, sir,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Lustrous said.

  He had to wait fifteen seconds before Lieutenant General Robert B. Towson, Commanding General, V United States Corps, came on the line.

  “Towson.”

  “Good morning, General. Lustrous.”

  “What can I do for you, Fred?”

  “Sir, I need about ten minutes of your time and some guidance. If there’s a chopper available, I’d appreciate a ride. If not, I’ll drive.”

  “Obviously, you don’t want to talk about this on the phone.”

  “I’d rather not, sir.”

  “Personal matter, Fred?”

  “No, sir. There’s a personal element. I was just thinking: For the good of the service.”

  “Okay. You and I are on for lunch. A chopper will be there in thirty minutes. And you don’t even have to change out of those oil-stained fatigues and illegal boots. Okay?”

  “Thank you very much, General.”

  General Towson hung up without saying anything else.

  “Okay,” Lustrous said. “There will be a chopper here in thirty minutes. You, me, and Major Naylor. Locate Colonel Stevens and tell him I said I want him to come here and mind the store.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Charles D. Stevens was the executive officer of the Blackhorse.

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Major Dieter said.

  [FOUR]

  Office of the Commanding General V Corps The I.G. Farben Building Frankfurt am Main, West Germany 1035 8 March 1981

  “Sir, Colonel Lustrous is here,” Sergeant Major Anthony J. Sanguenetti, a large, dark, almost entirely bald forty-five-year -old, said into the intercom on his desk.

  “Is he alone?”

  “No, sir, he has Major Naylor and a really ugly sergeant major with him.”

  “All of you come in, and tell Lownsdale no calls until I say so.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sanguenetti said and looked up at Lustrous. “Sir, the Corps commander will see you, Major Naylor, and Ol’ Whatsisname over there now.”

  Sergeant Major Dieter gave Sergeant Major Sanguenetti the finger as he walked past him to enter General Towson’s office.

  Lustrous, Naylor, and Dieter saluted crisply. Towson returned it with an almost casual wave of the hand.

  “When Tony said ’ugly,’ ” he said, rising from his chair to offer his hand to Sergeant Major Dieter, “I knew it had to be you. How are you, Rupert? Too long a time no see.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, sir.”

  “You look skinny,” General Towson said. “He been overworking you?”

  “Yes, sir. He has.”

  “So I guess you know what this is all about?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you should, too, Tony,” General Towson said. “Close the door.”

  Towson waited until the door was closed, then looked at Lustrous.

  “One sentence, Fred,” he said. “For the good of the service? ”

  “Sir, I think it’s very probable that just before he went to Vietnam, where he earned a posthumous Medal of Honor, a young warrant officer impregnated a German girl to whom he was not married.”

  Towson looked at him for a long moment.

  “That’s one hell of a one-sentence summary, Fred,” he said. “I was expecting to hear something like ‘hanky-panky in dependent housing.’ ”

  Lustrous didn’t reply.

  “You’re sure of your facts?” Towson asked.

  “No, sir, but I’d bet ten-to-one on what we think.”

  “Why did this come up now? The mother just found out the guy was a hero?”

  “No, sir. The mother just found out she’s dying—pancreatic cancer—and there is no other family here to take care of the boy, who is now twelve.”

  “Why do you think she’s telling the truth?”

  “I was a friend of her father’s, sir. And she is not after money.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she has more than she needs. She’s Frau Erika von und zu Gossinger, General. There’s a brewery, three newspapers, and other properties.”

  “Related to the guy who wiped himself out on the autobahn? ”

  “That was her father, sir, and her brother.”

  “And how did this come to your attention?”

  “She told Netty, General. Yesterday at lunch. I think she’s telling
the truth, sir.”

  “She probably is, but we can’t take any chances,” General Towson said. “Tony, get on the horn to Saint Louis, tell them to send us . . . what’s this fellow’s name?”

  “Warrant Officer Junior Grade Jorge Alejandro Castillo, sir,” Sergeant Major Dieter furnished.

  “. . . Mr. Castillo’s service record, and any other information they have about him right now, and to follow that up with Xeroxes of everything else they can find sent by the most expeditious means. If they say they can’t do it today, you tell them I said if they said they can’t I’m going to route my request through the chief of staff. If they ask why, you don’t know. Got it?”

  "Yes, sir.”

  “Do that right now,” Towson said. “Rupert can bring you up to speed about what we talk about now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Major Sanguenetti said and looked at Sergeant Major Dieter, who was writing Mr. Castillo’s full name on a sheet of paper. When Dieter handed it to him, Sanguenetti left the office.

  Towson looked at Lustrous.

  “Getting records out of Saint Louis is like pulling teeth,” he said. “I actually had to go to the chief of staff a couple of weeks ago. I hope they remember that.” He paused thoughtfully and then went on. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right, Fred . . . and if Netty believes this woman, you probably are. Where do we go from here?”

  Colonel Lustrous had served under General Towson twice and correctly suspected here that sentence was rhetorical and Towson did not expect an answer.

  “If Mr. Castillo was married,” Towson went on, “that’s one situation. Death benefits and possibly a pension would have gone to his widow, benefits to which this German boy may be entitled. I’ll have a talk with the judge advocate and get the details. If he wasn’t married, that’s another situation. Okay. We don’t know enough now to make any kind of a decision. The only thing I can think of right now is to get a blood sample. A little coldheartedly, if there’s a match it won’t prove anything. If there’s not, it would prove there was no parental relationship. So the only thing I can tell you to do, Fred, is to get a sample, a large sample, of the boy’s blood, and make sure we can testify we were there when the sample was taken and that the blood never left our custody.”