“Sir, we’ll be returning Sergeant Withers’s body to the States on the 707. Would it interfere with your schedule if we took Withers to Stanleyville before we went back to Costermansville?”
“Forgive me,” Supo said. “I should have thought about that. Stanleyville, of course.”
Rigor mortis had set in the body of SFC Withers. It was difficult to get his body bag into the Beaver, then strap it somewhat awkwardly into one of the seats, and by the time they had finished, everyone was sweat-soaked.
“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Lunsford said to Thomas. “They’ve had a lot of time to hide. And don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’m going to get the bastards that did this to Clarence, boss,” Doubting Thomas said matter-of-factly.
Then he saluted crisply and trotted off toward Sergeant First Jette, who was going to track the Simbas.
By the time the Beaver started, taxied to the end of the runway, and took off Thomas and Sergeant First Jette had already disappeared into the bush on the other side of Route Nationale Number 5.
[ EIGHT ]
2301 Kildar Street
Alexandria, Virginia
0425 7 April 1965
There was a telephone on the bedside table in the bedroom of Colonel and Mrs. Sanford T. Felter. And there was a second telephone inside the bedside table. It was in appearance identical to the telephone on top of the table, but it was not connected to the Alexandria exchange, but actually to the White House switchboard.
When it rang—actually buzzed, like an angry wasp—Felter was instantly awake and quickly took it from the cradle. There was no sense in waking Mrs. Felter.
“Felter,” he said.
“Turn the light on, darling,” Sharon Felter said. “You’re probably going to have to write something down.”
“Hold one for a secure call from Mr. Finton, Colonel,” the male operator ordered. “Go ahead, Mr. Finton.”
“Finton, sir,” Finton said. “They just delivered a message from Helper.”
“Read it,” Felter ordered.
In Room 637 of the Executive Office Building, CWO(4) James L. Finton, who had been sleeping, fully dressed, on the too-small couch in the outer office, picked up the sheet of paper he had just received from the White House Signal Agency duty officer and read from it.
SECRET
HELP0026 0925 ZULU 7 APRIL 1965
VIA WHITE HOUSE SIGNAL AGENCY
FROM: HELPER FIVE
TO: EARNEST SIX
FOLLOWING IS VOICE MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM HELPER SIX PRESENTLY AIRBORNE VIA WOOLWORTH TO THIS STATION.
1. REGRET CONFIRM DEATH OF SFC CLARENCE WITHERS AS RESULT OF INSURGENT ATTACK ON OUTPOST GEORGE. REMAINS ARE BEING TRANSPORTED WOOLWORTH. UNLESS ORDERED SPECIFICALLY TO THE CONTRARY, INTEND TO RETURN REMAINS TO FORT BRAGG ON 707. REMAINS ARE NOT REPEAT NOT SUITABLE FOR VIEWING.
2. SFC WITHERS WHO WAS ALONE DURING ATTACK DISPATCHED AT LEAST SIX HOSTILES AND WOUNDED AT LEAST THAT MANY BEFORE LOSING HIS LIFE. IT IS INTENTION OF COLONEL J.B. SUPO, WHO VISITED SITE WITH UNDERSIGNED TO AWARD THE CONGOLESE MEDAL FOR GALLANTRY IN THE GRADE OF CHEVALIER POSTHUMOUSLY TO SFC WITHERS. UNDERSIGNED, FULLY AWARE OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES MAKING AN AMERICAN AWARD AWKWARD NEVERTHELESS RECOMMEND IN THE STRONGEST POSSIBLE TERMS THE AWARD OF THE SILVER STAR MEDAL TO SFC WITHERS.
3. SUPPORTED BY DET17 AERIAL SURVEILLANCE AND AN ADVISOR ON THE GROUND, AN ATTEMPT IS BEING MADE BY CONGOLESE FORCES TO LOCATE THE INSURGENTS RESPONSIBLE.
4. OUTPOST GEORGE WILL BE RECONSTITUTED NO LATER THAN 1030 ZULU 7 APRIL 1965.
5. AN AFTER ACTION REPORT WILL BE FURNISHED ON COMPLETION.
6. ADVISE SOONEST 707 ETA.
HELPER SIX
END VOICE MESSAGE
HELPER FIVE FOR HELPER SIX
SECRET
“I thought we sent him the ETA of the 707,” Felter said.
“Sir, you authorized a twenty-four-hour hold to see if we could get some additional pilots.”
“So I did,” Felter said. “And we got them. But did they get off?”
“Yes, sir. And I sent the 707’s ETA—before 1300 tomorrow— just now.”
“I guess you better wake up General Hanrahan with this,” Felter said. “He’ll have to go to his office to take it, but that’s what he said he wanted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And do not, repeat do not, inform the AG yet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when you do that, you might as well go home, Finton.”
“Mary Margaret’s coming in at 0600, sir. I’ll wait for her.”
“If I’m not there when she gets there, tell her I’ll be in early,” Felter said.
“Yes, sir,” CWO(4) Finton said. “Break it down, White House.”
[ NINE ]
County Highway 17
Laurinburg, North Carolina
0530 7 April 1965
“Hello?”
“Mr. Withers?”
“Yeah.”
“General Hanrahan, sir.”
“I’ve been expecting your call.”
“The news is very bad, Mr. Withers,” Hanrahan said. “We have confirmation that Clarence has been killed.”
“Yeah.”
“I have some other information, Mr. Withers, that I really would not want to talk about over the telephone.”
“You want to come here?”
“Yes, sir, if that would be all right.”
“It’ll take you what, an hour and a half to get here.”
“Actually, sir, I’m calling from a motel—the Carolina—just outside Laurinburg on U.S. 401.”
“Charley Taylor’s place. It’ll take you about ten minutes.”
“We’ll see you shortly, sir,” General Hanrahan said.
Mr. Withers came down the steps from the verandah of his home when the olive-drab Chevrolet stopped on the concrete pad. He was wearing a windbreaker over a stiffly starched white shirt and gray slacks.
Hanrahan was out of the car before Tony could open the door for him. Chaplain (Lt. Col.) T. Wilson Martin and Captain Stefan Zabrewski clambered after him. A muscular Green Beret wearing the chevrons of a sergeant major got quickly out of the front seat.
“You must have got up pretty early to be here now,” Mr. Withers said.
“We came by chopper, Mr. Withers—”
“Staff car and all?” Withers asked incredulously.
“Sergeant Calzazzo drove back over last night, Mr. Withers, with Sergeant Major Tinley . . .”
“Good morning, sir,” Sergeant Major Tinley said.
“I know that face,” Mr. Withers said. “You was with Clarence in Vietnam, right?”
“Yes, sir. We were in the same A Team. I’m sorry as hell about this, Mr. Withers.”
“Yeah, we all are.”
“Delmar,” a female voice called from the verandah. “Ask the gentlemen to come inside.”
“That’s Clarence’s mother,” Delmar Withers said. “I was hoping you’d stay in bed.”
“I want to know what happened,” she said simply.
Withers waved his arm in a signal for them to go into the house.
“That’s Tin Man, Clarissa,” Withers said, pointing to Sergeant Major Tinley. “He was with Clarence in Vietnam. They was in the hospital together when they both got shot.”
“Yes, I remember,” Mrs. Withers said.
She led them through the house into the kitchen.
“Can I make breakfast?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” Hanrahan said. “Thank you just the same.”
“Delmar told me to expect the worst news,” she said. “Is that what you’re here to tell us?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hanrahan said. “We have confirmation that Clarence was killed.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” she murmured. “Praise God!”
“Amen,” Chaplain (Lt. Col.) T. Wilson Martin said. “Mrs. Withers, I’m Chaplain Martin.”
“How do you do?” she said, and gave hi
m her hand. “What are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re Presbyterian,” she said.
“I’m Presbyterian,” Martin said.
“Most of the black people around here are Baptist,” she said. “But the people who owned the place before the Civil War were Presbyterian, and we just stayed Presbyterian, afterward, Delmar’s family and mine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chaplain Martin said.
“Ma’am,” Sergeant Major Albert “Tin Man” Tinley said. “Maybe I’m out of line, but I knew him pretty well, and I know he would want his daddy to know he went out like a soldier.”
“How do you mean?” Mr. Withers asked.
“He took six, maybe more, of the bastards with him, and wounded a lot more.”
“That’s quite enough, Sergeant Major,” Chaplain Martin said sternly.
“It’s all right, Chaplain,” Mr. Withers said. “I can’t find much wrong with calling the bastards who killed Clarence bastards.”
“Not in front of the Reverend,” Mrs. Withers said.
“When are you going to be able to bring him home?” Mr. Withers asked. “How long is that going to take?” When Hanrahan didn’t immediately respond, Withers went on: “We are going to get him back, aren’t we?”
“We have a supply plane en route to the Congo right now,” Hanrahan said.
“That’s where he was, in the Congo?” Mrs. Withers asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hanrahan said. “The plane will reach the Congo tomorrow, and start back the next day, or the day after that. They’ll bring Sergeant Withers with them. And they’ll come directly to Pope Field at Fort Bragg.”
“He bought a set of dress blues just before he went over there,” Mr. Withers said. “They’re here. I expect he’d like to get buried in them.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Hanrahan said. “But . . . I don’t know how to say this . . . the message we have said ‘the remains are not suitable for viewing.’ ”
“What does that mean?” Mrs. Withers asked.
“It means he got shot up pretty bad when they killed him, right, General?” Mr. Withers said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I think I’d like to remember him the way he was,” Mrs. Withers said. “I don’t think I’d like to see him. . . .”
“Goddamn,” Mr. Withers said.
“There are two other things I have to tell you,” Hanrahan said. “The first is that the Congolese government is decorating Sergeant Withers for his valor. Specifically, he’s being awarded the Congolese Medal for Gallantry, in the grade of Chevalier.”
“What about the U.S. Army?” Mr. Withers asked.
“He’s been recommended for the Silver Star. But that often takes some time to work its way through the bureaucracy.”
“And what’s the other thing?” Mr. Withers asked.
“As I told you, as I think your son told you, he was on a classified assignment,” Hanrahan said.
“I don’t understand that,” Mrs. Withers said.
“His being in the Congo, for some reason, was a secret,” Mr. Withers said. “Right?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Hanrahan said.
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Withers repeated.
“It doesn’t really matter, Clarissa, when you think about it, does it?” Mr. Withers said.
“I guess not,” she said.
“But you said, General?” Mr. Withers said.
“So far the Adjutant General’s Department has not been officially notified of what happened,” Hanrahan said. “They’re in charge of handling all the details when something like this happens. But with your permission, sir, we’d like to bury Sergeant Withers. Send Special Forces soldiers to carry the casket, fire the volleys over the grave, that sort of thing.”
“I’d like to carry Clarence’s casket, ma’am,” Sergeant Major Tinley said.
“What’s the problem, then?” Mr. Withers asked.
“Well, I’m going to do everything I can to stop the normal procedure, ” Hanrahan said. “But sometimes . . . what’s likely to happen, I’m afraid, is that the AG will send an official notification team from Third Army Headquarters.”
“I get the picture,” Mr. Withers said. “I was in the goddamned Army.”
“Delmar, watch your language,” Mrs. Withers said.
“With your permission, I’d like to leave Sergeant Major Tinley here to make sure that everything goes smoothly,” General Hanrahan.
“Run the bastards off is what you mean,” Mr. Withers said. “Well, he’s the man to do it. Clarence said the Tin Man was the one meanest badass he’d ever met in his life.”
“And I’d be happy to stay as long as you need me,” Chaplain Martin said. “Actually, we’ve set up sort of a command post in the motel.”
“Maybe, Reverend,” Mrs. Withers said, “you could go see Reverend Pollman. First Presbyterian Church of Laurinburg. It’s right on Maple Avenue—you can’t miss it.”
“I’d be happy to, ma’am,” Martin said.
“I’d like to thank all of you for coming here like this, so early,” Mr. Withers said. “And I expect we’ll be seeing more of you in the week.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before we go?”
“You’re not going to go without me fixing you all breakfast,” Mrs. Withers said. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hanrahan said. “That would be very nice.”
XXI
[ ONE ]
Stanleyville Air Field
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
1250 8 April 1965
Captain James J. Dugan and First Lieutenant Paul W. Matthews had been recruited—more than a little hurriedly—respectively from the 1st Infantry Division at Fort Riley, Kansas, and Headquarters, 3rd United States Army at Fort McPherson, Georgia, for “a classified overseas flight status assignment involving a substantial personal risk.” They had literally no idea where in the world they were going until fifteen minutes after the Intercontinental Air Cargo Ltd. Boeing 707 had taken off from Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina.
Then the captain had come into the cabin and told them they were bound, via Casablanca, Morocco, to Stanleyville, in the former Belgian Congo. There, they would be met by a U.S. Army officer, most probably Major G. W. Lunsford, who would explain to them what they would be expected to do.
It was fairly obvious to both that it would involve flying L-19 aircraft, as two of that type aircraft, wings and landing gear removed, were on skids in the fuselage of the 707, sharing space with crates of radios, ammunition, and other military supplies of one sort or another.
Plus three expensive suitcases and what looked like six months’ supply of disposable diapers and other infant accoutrements.
Although both Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews would have endured a fair amount of torture rather than admit this, they had both felt a flush of excitement during their recruitment, which had happened very much the same for both of them, although a day and more than a thousand miles apart.
There had been a message for them to call the Office of the Commanding General, which rarely happens to junior officers. When they had called, they were ordered to report to the airfield at a certain time.
There—in Dugan’s case—the assistant division commander had been waiting for him, and in Matthews’s case the Third Army’s assistant chief of staff, G3.
A Major Hodges would be shortly arriving, they were told, to ask them to volunteer for a classified overseas mission. They were as free to reject the assignment, they were told, as they were to accept it. Major Hodges was acting on the verbal order of the chief of staff of the United States Army, who had personally telephoned the general to set this up. The matter was considered Top Secret.
Major Hodges arrived flying a Mohawk that had U.S. Army markings, but none of the to-be-expected markings indicating to which unit the aircraft was assigned. This was b
ecause Pappy Hodges had been at the Grumman Aircraft Plant at Bethpage, Long Island, picking up a new Mohawk when he got the call from Colonel Sanford T. Felter telling him that Finton had found two black aviators, one at McPherson and the other at Riley, and that Pappy was going to have to go to McPherson and Riley as soon as possible to see if the two met the requirements.
Requirement one would be their willingness to volunteer for a classified overseas assignment. Requirement two was professional qualifications. Since all Army fixed-wing aviators had learned to fly in the L-19, they obviously met that requirement, Felter said.
“Father needs black pilots right now,” Felter had said. “We’re not in a position to be choosy. The 707 leaves in four days, and if these two fellows can see lightning and hear thunder, I want them on it.”
The four days they had spent after volunteering for a classified overseas flight duty assignment involving a substantial personal risk, and before boarding the 707 at Pope Air Force Base, had given both Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews ample time to reflect on, and wonder whether, their impetuosity hadn’t gotten their ass in a narrow crack.
That started before they arrived at Pope Air Force Base and were taken to a hangar guarded by Special Forces noncoms. Seeing that the hangar held an aircraft of an airline neither of them had ever heard of—Intercontinental Air Cargo, Ltd.— which was being flown by a captain who had a French accent and a Cuban who spoke very little English, did not restore their morale to any appreciable degree.
At the very last minute, after the 707 had been towed out of the hangar, three other passengers were escorted into the cabin by the captain with the French accent. One was an enormous black woman who had a sleeping blond-headed infant in her arms, and the third was a good-looking blonde, who had to be the infant’s mother.
There was just time, before the engines were started, to ask a few discreet questions of the blonde. She said she was an Army wife about to join her husband, a first lieutenant.
“And where is that?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to say,” she said.
She had a slight German accent.
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