“And where were you all this time, Father? You’re supposed to be our advisor on British relations. You’re the one that showed us, in the first place, that if we were to accomplish anything in these Hills we were going to have to handle the British.”
The priest was sitting with head bowed, eyes downcast, the grey-white beard resting on his chest, his hands folded in his lap.
“As a man of God, Father, you’re a disappointment to me. You’re much too quick to judge. Too eager to condemn. Power is no compensation for Godliness. Take it from me. I have power,” the General said. “You should be ashamed that you have not criticized, or even thought of criticizing, the Christian principles that have been desecrated in this affair. I shall expect better judgment from you in the future. If I hear the contrary I shall use my every influence to stifle your ambition. You have fair warning. You have much to atone for.”
The General drank his martini down in three huge gulps. He smacked his lips and took a drink of water. “Naturally, Ray,” the General said to the Colonel, “I shall do everything within my power to see that your prestige as a commanding officer is upheld. The possibility that Con will not be brought to trial is merely supposition. However I will have to forward the particulars to Washington. It is a possible reaction. Not probable but possible.”
“I see,” the Colonel said. “I see it now.” And he did see and he accepted it. The army was the army but confronted by civilian authority and policy it was more than ever merely the army; a subsidiary instrument of all the people. And if the civilian authority wished to change the policy of the army, wished to allow a major to disobey a colonel, that was the prerogative of the people. Any officer that served in the peacetime army in the Thirties could tell you that. That the army system was so designed that it destroyed its own best material was an opinion fallaciously initiated by the civilian authority who had in actuality designed the system that was the army system, Colonel Raymond Pearson thought not bitterly but acceptively. You can’t really be bitter about what you have resigned yourself to live with. Not if you were truly resigned.
To be caught up in the web of the system was plain T.S.… Tough Shit in the army. Wrong place wrong time. Very simple. It was the chance you took. No, the chance you had to take. That was the security of the army man that people didn’t talk about, the Colonel thought. The gift of your life to a gamble; a deep-rooted hope that you will not be caught in that wrong place at a wrong time. There were no civilian jokes about that.
“Shall we eat,” the General suggested pleasantly.
The Colonel called for the dinner to be served. Remember, the Colonel said to himself, it wasn’t too long ago that you wouldn’t think of wearing your uniform to a decent restaurant. Not if you wanted a decent table and not to have to suffer the indignities of a waiter who made it quite plain it was beneath his dignity to serve you. Oh, but that was all changed now. Did the army change that? No. The civilians changed that. The very same civilians who had looked down on the army which was really in the first place a civilian army so that in a sense the people who looked down on the army were really looking down on themselves. That is if it was a civilian army. And it was. Of course they didn’t realize they were looking down on themselves. No man on the surface of himself in the act of degrading mankind ever realized that they were degrading themselves in the process. Vanity was not that weakly constructed.
It was very confusing this living. Very confusing, he thought now feeling light as air, not giving a damn because really all this living was such a stupid-ass betrayal of yourself to yourself that when you did see it all it was really such a damn fool joke on yourself you couldn’t help but feel anything but I-don’t-give-a-damn. I mean if you can’t laugh at a joke what’s the use of anything, Pearson? That was the first law of the society that bred you; to be a good sport.
They ate of split pea soup, chicken curry and rice, dandelion greens and banana salad. They hardly spoke. General O’Hanlon was thankful that no one spoke. He always thought well when he ate in silence. That was why he preferred dining alone. He had always dined alone during those periods when he was preparing legal briefs for important legal actions.
Now Mike, he said to himself, refer to the simple theory of your success: Your theory of inversion. You know what was done. What was not done? That was the important thing. If you cannot determine where the fault lay in what was done, and you cannot objectively, though you might be able to subjectively, primarily because of your Irish sentiment, but as long as you cannot determine the fault by what was done you must determind it by what was not done, mustn’t you? It was really very simple. And it worked. As most simply applied things work. Didn’t the majority of your clients become involved with the law not because of what they had done but because of what they failed to do? Yes, the theory worked.
So let’s review it, the General said to himself chewing satisfyingly on a hotly curried piece of chicken leg.
Con took action. The Colonel realizing that the action might be considered to be outside of his military jurisdiction, or for some other reason not known, sought the approval and guidance of higher authority in his reaction to Con’s action in the general interest of the Colonel’s command and military purpose as a whole. So the first failure to do, to hesitate, to fail to act goes to the Colonel. The question was why. Was it really possible that the Colonel didn’t know his boundary of operation? And even if he didn’t know his boundaries why didn’t he react to the obvious facts as Con had presented them: The treachery that had been exposed. The slaying of American soldiers by their Allies. What difference did it make to the Colonel who did the liquidating of those forces that were supplying the Japanese? Other Americans, Chennault’s airforce in China, were taking part in that liquidation? What made the Colonel believe that he wasn’t to take part in it to begin with?
Why did the Colonel who helped to formulate the policy of execution to all proven collaborators within his area of operation suddenly object to the execution of Chinese bandits who had, under the authority of Kai-shek himself, committed the most atrocious traitorous acts of all; the murdering of American soldiers for personal profit. What gave the Chinese immunity as far as Pearson was concerned?
And why, even if Pearson had considered the Chinese immune to policy, had Allied Headquarters feared to reprimand the Chinese for this vile act? Why hadn’t it occured to Sultan or Wedemeyer, to demand from them, instead of them from us, the immediate punishment of those responsible for those atrocious acts?
And there was the answer, the General knew. The cause lay not with the Colonel or Con. The cause lay within the framework of American policy. And what was American policy? That was what no one in this Theatre seemed to know. As long as they didn’t know they must presume.
And how would they presume? It was obvious. Stilwell had been removed at the request of Chiang Kai-shek. There could be no stronger implication to those who succeed his command: Go along with Kai-shek or else. So how else would the high command think except along the lines they were thinking? If Kai-shek wanted an explanation, wanted American officers punished, Kai-shek would get it. After all Kai-shek was holding one million Japanese troops immobile. After all, the General thought. Go along with Kai-shek or else.
And the General being a civilian officer, who had given of his own time to hold responsible civilian advisory jobs in government, knew the reaction of the regular officers to civilian policy. The regular officer had a deeply ingrained respect for his civilian superior. Categorically this respect might come under the heading of duty much as the salute to the superior officer came under the heading of duty. But while the officer understood the basic disciplinary reasons behind the salute he didn’t understand his civilian superior any more than many civilians understood the religions by which they lived.
It was really very simple then. The Colonel did not object to the Chinese action and the generals in turn did not object because it was beyond their comprehension to object, and if there had been a regul
ar officer instead of Con at Lewje he would have undoubtedly not have objected, which was in turn no fault of the regular officer who might have been there if you really wanted to get down to it, because if you really wanted to get down to it it’s not really very fair or very democratic to insist that the army take part in politics and not let them have a voice in it.
So where are we? Well, I’ll tell you Mike O’Hanlon exactly where we are. You have finished your chicken which was very good chicken and are eating your rice pudding with no appearance of distaste though you have always had a great distaste for rice pudding. Your sainted mother, God-rest-her-soul would attest to that. You are in a tea plantation in Assam in the vicinity of where Frank Buck did his hunting, and by now you ought to be in Cairo. You should very definitely be in Cairo because your American agents out of Cairo, working in Yugoslavia, have been killing each other in another internal struggle between a guy named Mikhailovich and another hood named Tito, and you still haven’t figured out a way to present those facts to the deceased’s parents in a logical manner, if there was a logical manner to present such facts. But you are here and the contest is about to begin:
For contestants you have a stubborn kid and a tricky Englishman. How do you know the Englishman’s tricky? Because he’s English. That’s a good answer. Well, you have those two to which you can add a face-saving Chinese, who should arrive tomorrow, along with a team from the Inspector’s department whose military code has been imposed upon because of a civilian policy.
And what is your prediction Mike O’Hanlon? It’s quite simple, really. To put it in the language of the most important group of men in America today, the ad-man: The man with the best press.
I think I’ll have some coffee. “Ray, I’d like a little coffee now. And it won’t be necessary for me to see Con tonight.”
The coffee came. The Colonel was called into his office. His executive officer was there. The Inspector’s team and the Chinese General had arrived by jeep, the Exec said, and were being shown their quarters now. They hadn’t eaten. The Exec said the Inspector’s team had not come to arbitrate or advise on the matter but to investigate it. They had come with the full authority of Theatre Headquarters. The Colonel told the Exec to bring them over after they were settled, he would feed them here. The Colonel started for the kitchen to inform the cook. Well, he thought, we let them get their foot in the door and that’s all they needed.
He returned to the diningroom and told the General about the unexpected early arrival of their visitors and the capacity under which the visiting brass had come.
“I think it best if you leave this matter to us,” the General said to the priest.
“Ay, I was just about to ask to be excused in any event. I’ve some church matters to attend to,” he said quickly, obviously lying, obviously trying to show that his feelings were still hurt over the General’s reprimand. “Will you still be at the Mass, Mike?”
“I’ll be there,” the General said. “Goodnight, Father. And don’t worry,” he said in that soft way of his. “Things have a way of working themselves out if you give them half a chance.”
The priest left.
“Now you do one thing for me, Ray,” the General turned to the Colonel. “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t make any statements. Don’t refer in any way to your personal opinion on the matter. If they try to pin you down to a direct attitude tonight I’ll get you off the hook. Listen to me. Those guys from Delhi may be a blessing. This may work out.”
The Colonel couldn’t possibly comprehend how the General could comprehend how this mess might be worked out. Out of the corner of his eye the massive Colonel studied the General with that unmilitary slack-jawed expression of awe that military men have for their superiors and betters. The General, coffee cup in hand, discerned the look with one fleeting glance. He had seen it on other faces before. Stenciled on the look in the familiar black ink was: Property of the U.S. Army.
CHAPTER XLI
The guests arrived. Colonel Pearson and General O’Hanlon greeted them pleasantly, conveying along with their pleasantness the distinct impression of being greatly relieved by the visitors’ early arrival. On the other hand the visiting dignitaries hadn’t been forewarned of the General’s presence. This had at once startled and frightened the Americans; Colonel Arthur Reed III, of the Theatre Staff, and Major Jake Alofson, Medical Service. Their original apprehension blossomed fully at the sight of the General’s star into a silly amateurish act of attempting to seem unapprehensive. However the Chinese General seemed pleased. General Chao had felt that to be made to deal with a mere Colonel was beneath his station to begin with, he being a General. General Chao was twenty-three years old.
Colonel Pearson, as instructed, kept silent. The General carried the conversation as if speaking for them both. He began, to Pearson’s surprise and continued consternation, by dropping several sly, derogatory remarks about Con and his conduct, especially about the stubborn attitude the lad had taken. This at once seemed to please and relieve the Americans, while General Chao couldn’t imagine the General having any other attitude.
After the General had subtly established that he and Colonel Pearson were also displeased with Con’s conduct, his atrocious act against the good people of China he had said, he suddenly clammed up. He hadn’t mentioned the documents that Con had hidden or Danny’s knowledge of them.
“In viewing the record of your Major Reynolds,” Colonel Arthur Reed III said, “it is the opinion of our office that it is feasible that the Major is suffering from what is commonly called combat fatigue. I’ve tried to explain that to General Chao. He’s been most patient in hearing me out. And understanding. That’s why I’ve brought Jake. He’s a psychiatrist,” Colonel Reed said giving Jake a look of approval, and at the same time using his right hand to twist the West Point ring on his left hand round and round on his finger. The Colonel was thirty-six years old, crew cut, thin straight nosed, thinly boned with tight, precise, efficiently clipped speech that came from tight precise efficiently clipped lips.
“I’ve studied the boy’s record,” Jake Alofson said. “You really can’t get too much from a 201 file. On the other hand you’d be quite surprised, medically speaking of course, what you can get. Especially in my line. Off-hand I’d say the boy’s conduct in this matter was completely irrational in comparing it to his obvious model soldier attitude that is most obvious in his record. Of course, I reiterate, that’s only an off-hand opinion. But you’d be surprised how often first opinions are right. That is in my line. Whether you believe it or not we deal in basics, principles that is. Contrary to all the jibber-jabber of inaccurate and irresponsible medical reporters,” he said authoritatively in a neat very highbrow Boston accent. He was forty, stocky, bald-headed and dark skinned with a thick dark moustache. His eyes were hard and calculating, very dark and did not smile in synchronization with his thick lips.
“Chinese very understanding. If boy is sick and put away my govhernment sathisfyed,” General Chao said. “But must have apology for abshurd charges. No apology mush loss of face.”
Delhi had calculated it all out, the General thought. If they could prove that Con was nuts it was just an unfortunate matter that they had no control over. The Chinese would be happy. Delhi would be happy. They presumed that Colonel Pearson would be happy, though they weren’t through with the Colonel yet. They could get rid of the Colonel after the Chinese got off their backs by merely accusing him of using bad judgment in keeping Con in so long. And, of course now, they presumed that he would be happy. So if we can Section Eight Con everybody will be happy, especially the Chinese bandits. It was the simplest of solutions; obviously derived from a curiously weird but calculating mind such as the mind of Colonel Arthur Reed, in the interest of the future career of Arthur Reed who had obviously perceived from the example of Eisenhower in Europe that the successful soldier of tomorrow was the politician soldier short on ability to command and long on ability to pacify the family of nations that now existed,
whether we liked it or not, because of the airplane.
All this the General thought in a matter of seconds, his round little Buddha belly ploddingly working to digest the heavy chicken curry which the General no longer felt like he had eaten because now his belly was a queasy vacuity, his chair an inert cloud upon which rested his buttocks unfeelingly. He allowed the anger to reach only to his throat where it mulled thickly. He wanted to say something to clear the heaviness that lay like a fist full of phlegm. He turned to Jake.
“I’m very interested in psychiatry,” the General lied in that soft voice of his. “I’ve seriously thought of having myself analyzed. I was about to, in fact, Jake, you don’t mind if I call you Jake, well, I was about to when the war came along.”
“You’d never regret it, General. I can tell you that. You never would. I’ve been analyzed myself. I’ve been trying to convince the Colonel here,” he said smiling at Arthur Reed.
“Maybe after the war,” Colonel Reed said. “But you ought to hear the Major’s theories, psychologically speaking, on Stilwell. They’re amusing. Most amusing and logical. But I think the average layman who had any dealing with old Joe could discern most of his childish quirks. Not as profoundly, of course.”
“An infantilism, to be more specific, that is quite common in senility,” Jacob Alofson said authoritatively, smartly. “Though I have had colleagues argue that a man as active as the General and as physically fine and as mentally sharp could not be really called senile. Of course they forget that a man who has suffered severe prostate trouble can be thrown into the senile state at a very early age. The glands have a very definite connection with one’s mental attitude you know.”
Colonel Pearson’s huge fists clenched tightly. Ever since Vinegar Joe’s departure it had become a Theatre fad to make sneering or snide remarks about the old man. “I think you’re both full of shit,” Raymond Pearson said suddenly, caustically, unable to hold it back any longer. “There wasn’t a goddamn thing wrong with the General except that goddamn bunch of mollycoddles back in your Delhi office. I knew him. I knew him well. How well did either one of you know him? I venture to say that goddamn near everything either one of you knew about him was no more than latrine bullshit,” he said emphasizing the bullshit, blood pounding redly in his bull neck.
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