General Matthew J. Evans! a tall, well-built, silver-haired man in his middle fifties, walked into the Secure Reading Room of the Classified Documents Section, trailed by his junior aide-camp. Both were wearing khaki trousers and open-collared short sleeve khaki shirts.
Evans was Commander-in-Chief, (CINC), 'pronounced "sink," u.s. Strike Command (STRICOM) charged with the exercise of United States Military Force-Army, Navy,' and Air Forces in the Middle East, South Asia, and Africa, one-third of the world. STRICOM was a multiservice headquarters, but it was only a staff. When the Joint Chiefs of Staff issued marching orders, Army, Navy, and Air Force units normally assigned elsewhere were put under CINC-STRICOM's command, otherwise STRICOM was the headquarters of a phantom force.
General Evans had been heard to quip, "Never have so many stars [four stars were on each of his collar pins] commanded so few." There were four people at tables in the Secure Reading Room, a lieutenant colonel and two master sergeants in khaki, and a full colonel in greens. The Colonel had removed his blouse, revealing that he held up his trousers with red suspenders. The Lieutenant Colonel and the two Master Sergeants started to get to their feet when the Commanding General, Strike Command, entered the room. General Evans smiled and waved them back into their chairs. The Colonel seemed oblivious to General Evans' presence. Evans walked to his table. The Colonel, slumped back in a chair with a thick folder propped on his stomach, did not raise his eyes from it.
General Evans smiled and chuckled.
"I like your suspenders, Felter," he said. "What did you do, steal them from a fireman?"
Colonel Sanford T. Felter got quickly to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he said. "I didn't know you were there."
"What are you reading?" Evans asked.
"OPLAN 515, Sir," Felter said. "Ready Move."
"There's a sequel," General Evans said. "Five Fifteen Slash One, Ready Move Two."
"Yes, Sir," Felter said. "I have that too."
"Why don't you bring them over to my office, Felter?" General Evans said. "It's more comfortable and I'll throw in a cup of coffee. "
"I don't want to interfere with your schedule, General."
"Question of priorities," Evans said. "Right now a 'Counselor to the President is the closest thing I have to a VIP around here."
"Yes, Sir," Felter said. "Thank you, Sir."
General Evans looked at his aide.
"Sign those documents out, Eddie," he ordered. "I think I'll want to have a look at them when Colonel Felter is finished."
"Yes, Sir," the aide-de-camp said.
"You'll have to put your blouse on, Felter, I'm afraid," General Evans said with a smile. "Those suspenders would raise eyebrows around here." Years before, when he had first met Felter, General Evans had decided that he liked him. He thought of him privately as a mean little sonofabitch, but that was more In approval of him as a smart and an officer than a reaction to Felter's reputation as an officer who could not be safely crossed. Felter didn't look much like a warrior, but it was the General's experience that few warriors looked the part. And from what he knew of Felter (which included what he had heard and what he had taken the trouble to find out for himself), Felter was a warrior, with the Purple Hearts and the medals for valor, including the Distinguished Service Cross, to prove it.
"General Dyess, my J-3, was a little disappointed you didn't have, the time to say hello," General Evans said.
Dyess was plans and training staff officer. The numerical designation was proceeded by an S at battalion and regimental level; by a G-j for General) at Division, Corps and Army level; and by a J. (for Joint on a multiservice staff, such as Strike Command, which included Navy and Air Force components.
(What General Dyess had in fact said was, "General, I just found out that that goddamned little Jew, Felter, is snooping around in the WarPlans. And I thought you'd want to know."
"It was my intention, Sir," Felter said, as he buttoned-his blouse, "to pay my respects to, General Dyess and you if you had time to see me, before I left."
"That's what I told him, Felter," General Evans said. "I told him I Was sure you would make every effort to fit us into your busy schedule."
"General, if I've, offended you, I'm sorry," Felter said. "I wanted to look at those plans before I saw you. I certainly intended no disrespect."
"Hell, Felter, I'm just pulling your leg," Evans said. "I know if you wanted to sneak in here, you wouldn't have flown in, in a White House Special Missions jet. . . and wearing fireman's suspenders."
They were nearly at the head of the stairs from the basement by then, and General Evans's aide-de-camp, carrying the OPLANs, rushed past them to open the door.
And then he walked quickly down the corridor and opened the private door to General Evans's office.
General Evans gestured for Felter to sit down on a couch facing a coffee table, and then walked behind-the desk and sat down.
A woman master sergeant appeared at a door.
"Get us some coffee, will you please, and then call General Dyess and ask him to keep himself available?" General Evans ordered courteously. He turned to his aide. "Find something to do, Eddie. Colonel Felter and I are about to start singing bawdy songs and I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed." General Evans waited until the coffee was delivered, and until the aide had closed the door after him. Then he said, "OK, Colonel, what the hell is going on?"
"The President's asked me to keep an eye on the Congo," Felter said, "and authorized me to take certain precautionary, contingency, actions."
"Any special reason? Or is something going on over there I'm not important enough to be told about?"
"I would like to think this is in response to a report I gave him on what I think is liable to happen over there." Felter said, "but more likely, he's reacting to Senator Goldwater."
General Evans grunted.
"You mean that 'change sides' speech?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you telling me that nothing is going on over there?"
"Nothing, Sir, that your man in the Congo hasn't already told you."
"I gather you've met Colonel Wills?"
"I just came from the Congo, Sir. I spent a day with him when I was there, Sir. Good man."
"Yes, he is. He's retiring, I guess you know, in August?"
"Yes, Sir, he told me."
"And I don't have any funds to replace him," General Evans said. "Did you know that?"
"No, Sir," Felter said, "I didn't." He, paused, just perceptibly.
"I think funding can be found, Sir."
"Can I count on that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then there is something going on over there. Or you think there will be."
"I have a gut feeling, nothing more. The communists tend to try to fill a vacuum."
"But enough of a feeling to come down here and look at the OPLANs?"
"Yes, Sir," Felter said. "Sir, before we go any further. If you have no objections, I'd like to get Lieutenant Colonel Lowell in here."
"Why?" General Evans asked simply.
"Do you know Lowell, Sir?"
"I met him when he reported in," Evans said. "And I know that the opinion of the Army is about equally divided about him. There are those who believe that he's a no-good sonofabitch who should have been thrown out of the Army years ago. And there are others for whom he is sort of a reincarnation of Georgie Patton with traces of Ernie Harmon and I. D. White thrown in for good measure. I haven't had a chance to make up my mind about him."
"Sir," Felter said, "how do you feel about the old saw that says the truth is usually equidistant from the extremes?" General Evans did not respond to that.
"I've also heard that you two are great buddies, Felter," he said. He waited a moment and then went on. "But I do know enough about you to know you would not let that color your judgment." He picked up a telephone.
"Sergeant, go find Lieutenant Colonel Lowell. Get him over here right now."
"Thank you, Sir
," Felter said.
"Or does he already work for you, Colonel? Is that why he was sent here?"
His tone of voice was cold, as if he had just thought of the possibility, considered it likely, and didn't like it at all.
"No, Sir. I understand his assignment here may have been influenced by General E. Z. Black-who is an admirer-but I had nothing to do with it. He knows nothing about why I'm here."
"OK," General Evans said.
"Sir, I'm going to need a contact here. And Lowell possesses unique qualifications. He's an aviator, with contacts with them. He has close contacts within the Green Berets. And he's a fine staff officer."
"I have a dozen other officers meeting those qualifications," Evans said. "You left out he's a pal of yours."
"I also omitted mentioning his father-in-law is Generalleutnant Graf von Greiffenberg."
"I thought he was a bachelor."
"Mrs. Lowell was killed some years ago, Sir," Felter said.
"But he and his father-in-law have remained close."
"The Germans are involved in this?"
"Yes, Sir, but I'm not in a position to discuss that further at this time." Evans looked at him a moment and then nodded his head as if he'd just made up his mind.
"OK." One of his telephones rang. He picked it up and said his last name, grunted, and hung up.
"Lowell's on his way. Take him a couple of minutes. While we're waiting, why don't you tell me what you think of the OPLAN 515/1, Evacuation of American Natitonals from Leopoldville, Democratic Republic of the Congo?"
"I wasn't quite through it, Sir, when you came down," Felter said. "I was curious that it calls for a platoon of airborne infantry."
"It originally called for two companies," General Evans said.
"Plus a third in reserve. A light battalion, in other words. That got shot down in Washington. The State Department apparently feels that many men would be provocative. JCS as usual, caved in to their superior wisdom."
"Two PFCs in uniform would be provocative," Felter said.
"And just about as effective as a platoon."
"You're preaching to the already converted, Felter," General Evans said. "But that was the decision. Unless you can get some minds changed. . . ."
"I don't think that's possible, Sir."
"I'm disappointed in you, Felter. Rumor has it that you have the Commander in-Chief's ear."
"Purely for planning purposes, General Not to go as far as submitting it anywhere else for comment, it might be interesting to get into the logistics of beefing up Five Fifteen Slash One to a battalion-sized force."
"Huh!" General Evans snorted.
"All the Americans in the Congo are not in Leopoldville, Sir. There's some all over the Kivu Province. We have a consulate in Stanleyville, too. I think we have to be concerned about their welfare, too."
"I take your point, Colonel."
"May I suggest that Colonel Lowell might be helpful in drawing up the plan?"
"I thought you might have something like that in mind," Evans said dryly.
"When I spoke with Colonel Dills, he told me that one of his problems is getting around the Congo. It's as big as the United States east of the Mississippi, you know. No roads, and not much scheduled air transport."
"He's supposed to have access to the planes assigned to the embassy," General Evans said. "But you know how that works.
The tea-and-crumpet crew gets priority."
"The Ambassador mentioned that he was short of aircraft, but that his request for another L-23 was turned down."
"Drop the other shoe, Colonel."
"I told him I thought I could arrange for another L-23 and crew," Felter said, "with the understanding that it go to Colonel Dills. I made the point, I think, that I don't want Colonel Dills to have to justify his use of the airplane."
"And he went along?"
"After some discussion he seemed to understand that if Colonel Dills had his own airplane, he wouldn't be competing with the embassy staff for one of theirs. And that I was not in a position to get him an aircraft for general embassy use."
"What do you want from Colonel Dills, Felter? Which means, what do you want from me?"
"I want copies of everything Dills sends you."
"You can get that anyway."
"If you could make Dills's reports available to Lowell, I could probably get them quicker."
"OK."
"And there may be, from time to time, certain things I'd like to have Colonel Dills do for me," Felter said. "Things I would prefer did not get into either diplomatic or military channels."
"Requests which would pass through Lowell?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Such as?"
"Take people here and there to have a look at things."
"Spooks? Goddamn it, Felter. I don't want Dills involved in, something like that."
"I understand Special Forces is going to conduct some training exercises overseas," Felter said. "I thought maybe you would want some of them to take place in the Congo."
"And without letting the JCS know about the foreign training areas having been changed, of course?" Evans said sarcastically.
"I don't think you routinely advise the JCS about training missions involving so few people," Felter said. "I'd really be surprised if they ever became cognizant of these missions."
"And who would get burned if they found out? They'd come after me," Evans said. "And I'd have to tell them."
"Tell JCS I was responsible."
"Tell your Green Berets to be very discreet, Colonel Felter," General Evans said, "and pray we don't get caught." The telephone rang again and Evans picked it up.
"Send him in," he said, and hung up-.
The door opened. Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell, in a superbly tailored tropical worsted uniform, entered the room. He marched within twenty-four inches of General Evans's desk, saluted crisply, and formally announced: "Lieutenant Colonel Lowell reports to the Commander-in-Chief as ordered, Sir."
Evans returned the salute. He noticed with approval that Lowell wore his double-starred Combat Infantry Badge above his Senior Aviator's wings. Whatever faults he might have, Lowell had his priorities in order.
"I believe you know Colonel Felter, Colonel?" General Evans said.
"Yes, Sir. I have that privilege. Good afternoon, Sir."
"I also heard you're old buddies."
"Yes, Sir," Lieutenant Colonel Lowell said. "The Colonel and I go back to when he had hair." He walked quickly to Colonel Felter, wrapped his arms around him, and picked him off the floor.
"Damn, I'm glad to see you, Mouse!" he cried happily.
"For God's sake, Craig!" Felter said furiously, struggling to free himself. General Evans, with a valiant effort, suppressed a smile.
It wasn't exactly the decorous behavior to be expected of two senior field-grade officers, but if the story were true- and Evans believed it to be-that Lowell had plucked Felter off the beach at the Bay of Pigs ten minutes before that operation went down the tubes, it could be overlooked.
V
(One)
U.S. Army Reception Center Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri 5 January 1964
Recruit Jacques Emile Portet, US 53 279 656, had been in the United States Army not quite seventy-two hours. He had nevertheless already formed two conclusions about the experience: that he didn't like it and that it was the intention of the United States Army to as quickly as possible send him to Indochina where he would be killed.
He had gotten in a fight with the system within hours of having taken one step forward (signifying his willingness, however reluctantly, to accept the opinion of his friends and neighbors, those faceless sonofabitches, that he should be inducted into the Army) and raised his hand to swear that he would not only defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, but that he would obey orders of the officers and noncommissioned officers appointed over him.
He and the other inductees with him had been taken
by Greyhound bus from Saint Louis to Fort Leonard Wood, where they had been given a welcoming speech, which included a long litany of what the Army could and would do to anyone who decided to go home, or talk back to a sergeant, or consume controlled substances, or have in their possession lethal weapons or pornographic material.
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