There was a chirp of rubber as the Commander touched down, and then a roar of the engines as Lowell reversed the pitch of the propellers, turning them into brakes.
He allowed the plane to run to the end of the runway, past the painted markings indicating the beginning of the active runway, onto the paved area beyond.
“MacDill,” he said. “Aero Commander One Five, just past the threshold of Runway Two Seven Left. My emergency seems to have disappeared. It was probably a loose wire on the main power buss.”
“Aero Commander One Five, hold your position,” a new voice, this one cold and heavy with authority, came over the radio. “I say again, hold your position. Failure to do so will result in your aircraft being fired upon by base security personnel.”
“My, they are annoyed, aren’t they?” Lowell said.
“What the hell is going on?” Paul T. Hanrahan asked, sleepily.
“Sleeping Beauty is heard from,” MacMillan said, laughing.
“We had a little problem, Paul,” Lowell said. “But it’s cleared up. We’re at MacDill.”
“You could say we have just jumped from the frying pan into the fire,” Wojinski offered.
Hanrahan looked out the window. The airplane was surrounded. There were two fire trucks, from which were emerging firefighters in aluminum suits carrying large-mouth foam hoses. Air Force Military Police in two of the jeeps trained machine guns on the airplane. An officer carrying an electronic megaphone and wearing an MP armband jumped out of one of them and went to the checkerboard staff car.
“Attention in the aircraft!” the MP officer ordered through his microphone. “Shut down your engines and emerge from the aircraft with your hands in the air!”
“What the hell?” Hanrahan asked.
“When they said the field was closed to civilian airplanes,” Lowell said, “I had an emergency.”
“You go out first, Wood,” Wojinski said. “Lieutenants are expendable.”
“Don’t you move, Charley!” Hanrahan snapped. He rummaged around until he had found his green beret and put it on, then walked to the rear of the cabin, pushed open the door, and stepped into the glare of the lights.
“I am General Paul T. Hanrahan,” he announced. “Take that floodlight out of my eyes.”
III
(One)
Office of the Commanding General
Headquarters, U.S. Joint Assault Force (Provisional)
MacDill Air Force Base
Tampa, Florida
2220 Hours, 22 October 1962
It is not really true, as folklore has it, that general officers are permitted to design their own uniforms. They are subject to the same uniform regulations as any other member of the Army. On the other hand, the more stars one has on one’s epaulets, the fewer people there are in a legal position to correct one’s dress.
Brigadier General Paul T. Hanrahan was meditating on that point as he marched into the office of the JAF CG. The fur-collared zippered nylon jacket General James G. Boone was wearing was intended by Army Regulations for wear by aviation personnel when engaged in flight activities. It was, in fact, specifically prohibited to nonaviation personnel, as well as to aviation personnel when not engaged in, or en route to, flight activities.
But there were four silver stars on each of the jacket’s epaulets, which meant that there was virtually no chance of anyone suggesting to General Boone that he was out of uniform. There were only two generals in the Zone of the Interior (the Continental United States) senior to General Boone: the Chief of Staff and the Commanding General of CONARC (Continental Army Command) and Hanrahan thought it very unlikely that either would say anything to him.
General Boone was also under arms. He was wearing a “Pistol, General Officer’s, w/accoutrements.” The pistol was a Colt automatic, caliber .32 ACP. The .32 ACP cartridge was, in General Hanrahan’s judgment, only marginally more effective than a .22 long rifle cartridge. That is to say, hardly useful for anything more serious than shooting squirrels or holes in beer cans. The general officer’s .32 Colt was carried in a soft brown leather holster suspended on a soft brown leather belt. The belt carried three lines of stitching lengthwise and was clasped by a gold-plated buckle, which, when closed, formed a circle stamped (engraved?) with the National Seal. These were the general’s accoutrements.
Hanrahan thought the “General Officer’s Pistol w/accoutrements” was something of a joke, something that would appeal to a recently appointed brigadier general of the Quartermaster Corps, or maybe the brigadier who served as Chief of the Medical Service Corps, who commanded the non-M.D. administrators and technicians who ran the Army’s hospitals. At the time of his own promotion to brigadier general, when he had been presented with his “Pistol, General Officer’s, with accoutrements,” Hanrahan had looked at it, cleaned it, and then put it in a drawer. He had never worn it, never intended to wear it, and was genuinely surprised to see General James G. Boone wearing his. General Boone, in Hanrahan’s judgment, was one hell of a soldier, and not given to affectations.
Boone, a tall, heavy man with a pockmarked face and short gray hair, had been a major of Engineers when the Philippines fell in World War II. Refusing to give up when Wainwright gave the order to surrender, he took to the hills of Mindanao, where he proclaimed himself “Commander, U.S. Irregular Forces in the Philippines” and promoted himself to colonel—in the correct belief that only a colonel had sufficient prestige to successfully enlist Filipinos to his cause. When MacArthur was finally able to send troops back to Mindanao, they landed to the strains of “The Washington Post March” played by the band of the thirty-thousand-man-strong U.S. Irregular Forces in the Philippines, Colonel J. G. Boone (his promotion by then having been confirmed and made a matter of record by General of the Army Douglas MacArthur) commanding. There was no doubt in General MacArthur’s mind (he, in fact, would have done the same thing himself) that Boone was one hell of a commander and a soldier, even if he had refused a legitimate order to surrender and had the unspeakable arrogance to proclaim himself a colonel.
Boone had gone into Korea as an Infantry colonel, and came out eighteen months later as a major general, in command of a division. He was now deputy commander of CONARC (Continental Army Command) and Hanrahan had not been at all surprised when Boone had been named commander of the forces that were going to invade Cuba.
Hanrahan was deeply ashamed to come before General Boone in the present circumstances.
“General Hanrahan reporting to the commanding general as directed, sir,” Hanrahan said, and raised his hand in salute.
General Boone’s jowls had begun to sag. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and cold, and there were bags beneath them. He returned Hanrahan’s salute, and said, softly, “You may stand at ease, General.”
Hanrahan assumed a position just slightly less formal than “Parade Rest,” but stiffer than “At Ease.”
“Your reputation precedes you, General,” General Boone said.
“I regret the circumstances, sir.”
“I have heard the Air Force’s version of what they feel is your ‘inexcusable’ conduct,” General Boone said. “I will now listen to yours.”
“No excuse, sir,” Hanrahan said.
“This isn’t West Point, General,” Boone said. “That ‘no excuse’ business doesn’t wash with me.”
“I assume full responsibility, General,” Hanrahan said.
“You’re beginning to annoy me, General,” General Boone said. “I did not ask for a paraphrase of ‘no excuse, sir.”
“I was asleep when the incident occurred, General,” Hanrahan said. “If I had been awake, I would have forbidden Colonel Lowell to do what he did.”
“So it’s Lowell’s fault?”
“If I may continue, sir,” Hanrahan said. “I would have forbidden him to do what he did, and I would have been wrong.”
“That’s interesting,” General Boone said. “You’re saying you believe what Colonel Lowell did was justified?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain that, if you will.”
“Colonel Lowell was directed to report to General Jiggs as soon as possible. Twenty minutes ago, he was told the field was closed even to an aircraft with a Code Seven aboard. If he had complied with that order, he would have had to land at Tampa International. If he had done that, I would probably be just now arranging for a vehicle to bring us here. It would be another hour and a half before we would arrive. And his aircraft, should I need it, would be at Tampa International, not here. Both we and the airplane are here, now.”
“Why would you need his airplane?”
“Colonel Lowell has offered me his airplane, if I should need one,” Hanrahan said. “I don’t know that I will, but that was, I am sure, part of his reasoning.”
“The end justifies the means?” Boone said, and without giving Hanrahan a chance to reply asked, “Are you sure MacDill was notified a Code Seven was aboard the aircraft?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They neglected to inform me of that,” Boone said. “But there was no bona fide emergency?”
“No, sir, there was not.”
“Lowell just decided he was going to land whether or not the Air Force wanted him to, is that it?”
“Yes, sir,” Hanrahan said. “In compliance with his order.”
“He was a little late in complying with his orders, wouldn’t you say, General? General Jiggs has been looking for him for three days.”
“There was some kind of a communications breakdown, General,” Hanrahan said. “For which I am sure Colonel Lowell feels personally responsible. But I must say in his defense that I don’t hold him responsible for that, and that I don’t think there was thirty seconds wasted once he understood that he was supposed to be here.”
“That brings us to you,” General Boone said. “Inasmuch as Special Forces is being represented by the XVIII Airborne Corps liaison officer, what are you doing here?”
“I am the senior Special Forces officer, General,” Hanrahan said. “I believe it is my place to be here.”
“The XVIII Airborne Corps liaison officer was among the first to arrive,” General Boone said. “Three days ago. When did you change your mind, General, about your place being here?”
“I was not aware of the situation until this afternoon, General.”
“And what is it that you feel Special Forces can contribute to this operation with you here that it could not represented by XVIII Airborne Corps?”
“We have had recent experience in Cuba, General. If nothing else, we should be the pathfinders for the parachute drop. We are also prepared to harass the enemy’s rear lines, sir. What we can do is proportional to the airlift capability that can be made available to us.”
“XVIII Airborne Corps feels that the airlift capability we can give them is marginal, and they have informed me they are perfectly capable of using their own pathfinders.”
Hanrahan said nothing, afraid to sound argumentative.
“Presumably, you left someone in command when you went off hunting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you did not instruct him regarding what you regarded the duty of the Special Forces commander to be? Vis-à-vis coming here, I mean?”
“I apparently failed to make it sufficiently clear, sir.”
“Or was it possibly a case, General, of your deputy deciding his greater loyalty lay with the commanding general of XVIII Airborne Corps?” Boone asked.
“I have not had the opportunity as yet, General, to discuss the matter with him at any length,” Hanrahan said.
“Good man, is he?” Boone asked.
“I have found him to be more than satisfactory so far, sir.”
“Excluding this? This failure to comprehend your desires?”
“Excluding this, sir. As I say, I have not had the chance to discuss this with him at any length.”
“I feel sorry for him,” General Boone said.
“Sir?”
“From what I know about you, General,” General Boone said, “as I said, your reputation preceded you, I would not like to be an officer whom you felt had betrayed you.”
“I don’t know that to be the case, sir,” Hanrahan said.
General Boone pushed a button on his intercom.
“Would you ask General Delahanty to step in here, please, Sergeant?”
There almost immediately came a knock at the door. Boone called “Come in,” and an Air Force major general stepped into the room.
“General, this is General Hanrahan,” Boone said. “General, this is General Delahanty, the base commander.”
“General,” General Delahanty said, stiffly.
“Sir,” Hanrahan said.
“General, I have heard General Hanrahan’s version of the incident that’s bothering you,” General Boone said. “General Hanrahan deeply regrets the inconvenience to your people, and so do I. Is that going to be sufficient?”
“Sir?”
“General Hanrahan has apologized. I apologize. Is that sufficient, or do you desire any additional action be taken?”
General Delahanty obviously desired additional action be taken. Even more obviously, he was not prepared to demand it from the man looking at him with cold bloodshot eyes.
“So long as General Hanrahan deals with the pilot, to preclude a reoccurrence of such an irresponsible act, as I’m sure he will, I can see no value in making anything official of this, sir.”
“Thank you, General,” General Boone said. “That will be all.”
(Two)
The two officers walked into the commanding general’s somewhat spartan office and saluted simultaneously.
“General Boone, this is Colonel Lowell,” Major General Paul T. Jiggs said.
“Oh, yes,” General Boone said, coldly eyeing Lowell. He returned their salute.
“How do you do, sir?” Lowell asked.
“I’m fascinated to meet you, Colonel,” Boone said. “I have heard a good deal about you, most recently from our Air Force hosts.”
Lowell did not reply.
“I am pleased to learn that your emergency ended without disaster,” General Boone said.
“There was no emergency, sir,” Lowell said.
“But you declared an emergency?”
“I wanted to land, sir,” Lowell said. “I believed that they would bring us under fire if I just came in, after being denied permission to land.”
“Colonel, I presume you are aware of your rights as expressed in the Thirty-first Article of War against self-incrimination?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And certainly an officer of your service must understand that falsely declaring an emergency constitutes some sort of violation of the Code of Military Justice, so the question therefore is why you are not seeking the protection of the Thirty-first Article of War.”
Lowell did not reply.
“I asked you a question, Colonel,” Boone said.
“The facts are before you, sir,” Lowell said. “I will not contest any decision you make in the matter.”
General Boone glowered at Lowell and let him stew for almost sixty seconds before he spoke.
“General Jiggs tells me you’re a pretty good shaker and mover,” Boone said.
“That’s very kind of the general, sir,” Lowell said.
“He wants to send you to Fort Hood,” Boone went on. “The 2nd Armored may have bona fide problems that we don’t know about, or it may have lead in its ass, but whichever, it’s not getting its show on the road as fast as it has to.”
“So General Jiggs has recently led me to believe,” Lowell said.
“Under other circumstances, Colonel, you would spend the next two weeks devoting what General Jiggs tells me are your considerable literary talents to replying by endorsement to a letter I would like to write you asking you to explain this latest escapade of yours,” General Boone said. “But the priority is getting the 2nd Armored out of low gear.”
“Ye
s, sir.”
“You will not, Colonel,” General Boone said, “consider that the exigencies of the service have once again kept your neck out of the noose, but rather that I am delaying my final decision about what to do about you until I have a chance to weigh your sins against the service you will render at Fort Hood. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said.
Then General Boone read from a paper on his desk: “Your appointment as Deputy Inspector General, Headquarters, U.S. Joint Assault Force (Provisional), by authority of the verbal order of the commanding general, is effective immediately. You will proceed to Fort Hood, Texas, to investigate and if possible resolve certain logistic and transportation problems in the 2nd Armored Division by the quickest available means. You will identify yourself and explain your mission to the commanding general of the 2nd Armored Division on your arrival, making it clear to him that while you will report directly to this headquarters, your mission is to get the division moving, rather than to find fault with its commander or any of his officers.”
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said.
“Why is it, Colonel,” General Boone said, “that I feel I have just put a loaded pistol in the hands of a ten-year-old?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, General. All I can say is that I will try to justify your and General Jiggs’s trust in me, sir.”
“My confidence, at the moment, is in General Jiggs, Colonel, not in you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That is all, Colonel,” General Boone said. “I’ll have a word with you, General, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lowell saluted.
“Permission to withdraw, sir?”
“You are dismissed, Colonel,” General Boone said.
Lowell saluted, did an about-face, and marched out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“I wasn’t kidding about that loaded-gun business, Paul,” Boone said. “I’m sure your Colonel Lowell, who is a guardhouse lawyer if I ever saw one, is fully aware of the power I just handed him.”
“He’ll get the division on-loaded, General,” Jiggs said. “There may be some bruised feelings, but he’ll get it moving.”
The Generals Page 7