"What happened to Captain Thomas?" the small man asked, pleasantly enough, smiling, putting out his hand. "I'm Colonel Felter."
"Sir, I've taken Captain Thomas's place," Oliver said as another man emerged from the airplane and jumped to the ground from the wing root. He was tall, mustachioed, and very handsome. And he was wearing a tweed jacket, a tattersall shirt and a foulard, and a Trolean hat with a large brush in the band.
"Sir," Major Picarelli said, "an Air Force plane is about to land, to pick up a Colonel Felter. Is that you?"
"Uh huh," the small man said. "Craig, this is Bob's new aide. "
"How are you, Captain?" the handsome man said, offering his hand first to Oliver and then to Major Picarelli. "I'm Colonel Lowell. You want to give me a hand tying this thing down?"
"Yes, Sir." This is the guy the Bellmons talked about, the one who did a BOOTSTRAP at Norwich. I wonder who the little colonel is.
And whose airplane is this?
As Oliver was shoving wheel chocks in place, a Learjet in Air Force marking whooshed in from the sky and landed.
There was the sound of the thrust reversing, and then it turned off the runway and taxied rapidly toward Base Operations.
"Sir," Oliver said to Colonel Lowell, "I don't believe General Bellmon expects you."
"No," Lowell said. "The original idea was that I would take Colonel Felter to Atlanta and have the Air Force meet him there. But then I decided to hell with that, let them come here and get him." Colonel Felter then took a step forward. He didn't look, Oliver decided, like your typical John Wayne movie-type colonel: he was slight, short, and balding, and he wore a suit that looked as if it came from a rack in a Sears, Roebuck bargain basement. But he certainly acted like a colonel. "Captain," he said, "is there a phone around here? I want to talk to General Bellmon." Before Oliver could reply, Felter added, to Lowell, "With that damned airplane here, I can't take the time to go into the post."
"Yes, Sir, there's a phone just inside Base Operations," Oliver said.
The Learjet stopped right in front of Base Operations, ignoring the signals of a ground handler, who wanted it to park somewhere else. The door unfolded from the fuselage, and an Air Force master sergeant got out, looked for and found Felter, and marched over to him and saluted.
"Anytime you're ready, Colonel Felter," he said.
"I've got to make a quick phone call," Felter said. "I'll be right with you."
"We have a telephone aboard, Sir," the master sergeant said.
"I want to use one here," Felter said, and walked toward Base Operations.
Major Picarelli, Oliver noticed, had apparently decided not to make AOD-type noises about whether the civilian airplane had permission to land at Cairns Army Airfield. Oliver ran after Colonel Felter, got there in time to push the door open for him, then told the sergeant behind the counter to hand him the post phone book.
"General Bellmon is in the PX, Sir," Oliver explained to Felter. "I'll get him on the line for you."
"This is General Bellmon," Bellmon's voice, all business, came on the line a minute or two later.
"Hold on for Colonel Felter, please, Sir," Oliver said, and handed Felter the telephone.
"I'm out at your airfield, Bob," Colonel Felter said, which Oliver found fascinating, as colonels do not customarily refer to general officers by their first names. "Craig flew me up from McDill." Oliver couldn't make much of the one side of the conversation he could hear, and then the conversation was over.
Colonel Felter handed him the telephone.
"Johnny, I'm glad you were available," General Bellmon said. "Could I impose on you further and ask you to take care of Colonel Lowell? Bring him to the house, or wherever he wants to go?"
"Yes, Sir, of course," Oliver said.
"I've been meaning to warn you about those two," Bellmon said. "I just never found the time."
Warn me about them? What the hell does that mean?
"I can handle it, Sir."
"Call me and let me know what happens, please, Johnny."
"Yes, Sir."
The line went dead.
Felter put out his hand.
"Thank you very much, Captain," he said. "Merry Christmas."
"My pleasure, Sir," Oliver said. "Merry Christmas to you, too." Felter nodded at Major Picarelli, then walked back out of Base Operations. He walked directly to the Learjet and climbed the stairs. The Air Force master sergeant followed him aboard, and the door closed. The engine starter whined, and a moment later the Learjet started taxiing away.
"Can I mooch a ride from you, Captain?" Colonel Lowell asked.
"I'm at your service, Sir," Oliver said. "Where would you like to go?"
"Into Ozark, if that's not too much of an imposition," Colonel Lowell said.
"Not at all, Sir," Oliver said.
"Thank you very much for your courtesy, Major," Lowell said to Major Picarelli, and shook his hand.
"My pleasure, Sir," Major Picarelli said.
"My car is right outside, Colonel," Oliver said.
"Thank you very much" Lowell replied.
They stepped into Oliver's Pontiac convertible and drove off Cairns Airfield, and then through Daleville.
"Colonel, I'm brand new at this aide business, so this may be the kind of a question a good aide shouldn't ask, but what's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"That fancy civilian airplane, the Air Force jet, Colonel Felter. . . ?"
"The airplane is mine," Colonel Lowell said.
Jesus Christ! Oliver thought, that's a third-of-a-million dollar airplane. Does he really mean it's his, or what?
"Colonel Felter is one of General Bellmon's oldest friends," Lowell went on. "You mean he hasn't mentioned him?"
"No, Sir," Oliver said.
"He's one hell of a soldier," Lowell said, "who at the moment works in the White House. He carries the title, and the clout, which is more important, of Counselor to the President. The jet came here because the President wanted to see him, and if you're the President, you can dispatch LeaIjets like taxicabs." Oliver digested that for a moment.
"Where are we going in Ozark, Sir?" Oliver asked several minutes later as he turned onto the road through Fort Rucker that led to Ozark.
"One twenty-seven Melody Lane," Lowell replied.
"Know where it is?"
"No, Sir."
"I'll give you directions. My nephew, more or less, lives there. Lieutenant Geoff Craig. You know him?"
"No, Sir."
"He's in flight school," Lowell offered. "Just back from a tour as a Beret in Nam. I thought maybe you knew him there."
"Sir?" Oliver asked, confused. How did this guy know I was in Nam?
"Oh, Barbara's told me all about you, Oliver. I know how you got your CIB. And, of course, that we are fellow graduates of Norwich." Oliver looked at him in surprise.
"So tell me, Oliver," Lowell said. "What's the status of Bobby's balls?"
"They were rather swollen the last time I saw them, Sir."
"Was there a prognosis? How long will he be immobile?"
"He told me, that was what-four days ago? that the medics told him they would go down in a couple, three, days."
"Mrs. Bellmon told me she was very touched by that visit of yours to see Bobby," Lowell said.
"I hope it doesn't get back to the General," Oliver said.
"She is also heartsick that Bobby Won't be home for Christmas," Lowell said. "She didn't say anything; but I know her that well. She's thinking it is, in effect, his last Christmas as her baby boy. He graduates in June. No telling where he'll be next year this time."
"Nam, very possibly," Oliver agreed.
"Have you got hot and heavy plans for tomorrow, Oliver?" Lowell asked.
"No, Sir."
"Well, at two tomorrow afternoon, I have to pick up my cousin Porter and his wife-Geoff's parents-in Atlanta. And bring them here. If 1 left here early tomorrow, 1 could pick up Bobby at West Point first. 1 think if 1 did
that, that would be a very nice present for his mother."
"How are you going to get him out of the hospital?" Oliver asked.
Lowell waved his hand, signifying that was a minor problem that could easily be solved.
"I was going to ask Geoff to come along and work the radios," Lowell said. "The problem with that being I'm not sure he can work the radios. . ."
"Sir, if you're asking me to ride along, I'd be happy to."
"OK," Lowell said. "Then the first thing I'll do when 1 get to the house is call Barbara's brother. . . . You meet him when you were up there?"
"No, Sir. I know about him, though."
"Well, I'll call him and ask him what he thinks. And if we can go get Bobby, we will."
One hundred twenty-seven Melody Lane was the largest house on its street in the subdivision. It was a long and rambling frame house behind a wide lawn. There was a three car carport. And, as Oliver pulled into the driveway, he saw in one of the spaces Marjorie Bellmon's MGB convertible..
Marjorie yelped with pleasure when she saw Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell, and then she kissed him and hugged him.
Then she saw Oliver.
"Oh, poor Johnny!" she said. "And you were supposed to be off duty."
"No problem," Oliver said.
"Well, 1 wanted you to meet the Craigs anyway," she said.
"So it won't be entirely a waste. Geoff, this is my father's new aide, John Oliver." Geoff Craig bore a strong familial resemblance to Craig W. Lowell.
"How do you do, Sir," he said, "I'm sorry you got hung up with this. 1 would have gone to the airfield. . ."
"No problem," Oliver said.
"Well, at least let me offer you a drink. That's Ursula," he said, pointing at a wholesome-looking blonde. She smiled shyly. "How do you do?" she said, and Oliver detected a German accent. "Thank you for bringing Colonel Lowell."
"What'll it be?" Geoff Craig pursued. "We have everything. "
"Nothing, thank you," John Oliver replied. "I'm just waiting for the answer to a phone call Colonel Lowell is making."
"Well, at least take off your coat," Geoff Craig said.
"I'm fine, thank you," Oliver said.
"Uncle Craig, order him," Marjorie said.
"Take off your coat, sit down, and let Geoff fix you a drink," Lowell said as he reached for the telephone. "Operator, I want to speak to Brigadier General Lewis Waterford at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. "
"What's that all about?" Marjorie asked.
"We're going to see if we can't go get Bobby tomorrow," Oliver said.
"Can you?" she asked. "Mother would be ecstatic."
"We're about to find out."
"Take off the goddamn coat," Lowell said. "And relax. You're among friends." Oliver unbuttoned the coat, revealing the sweater.
"Marjorie said I'd like you, Captain," Geoff Craig said.
He took Oliver's arm and led him to a well-stocked bar.
"Choose!" he said.
"Thank you," Oliver said.
Obviously this is much nicer than sitting alone in that room, reading Playboy and drinking by myself. Then why am I uncomfortable?
Because these people are a family, and behaving like one, and that is a societal arrangement with which I have virtually no experience.
[TWO]
Lawson Army Airfield Fort Benning,
Georgia 1235 Hours 4 January 1964
The Cessna O-lE "Birddog" making its approach to Lawson was a high-winged, single-engine, two-passenger, fixed landing-gear aircraft primarily intended to direct artillery fire, but it was often used, as it was being used now, as an aerial jeep, carrying a single passenger from here to there more quickly than he could be taken in a wheeled vehicle.
The pilot of the O-lE touched the mike button.
"Lawson, Army Four Oh Four understands I am number two to land after the Caribou on final." Lawson, at the edge of Fort Benning, served as Benning's airfield.
The tower came right back, with more than a hint of impatience in his voice.
"Four Oh Four, you are number two. Number two. Watch out for turbulence behind the caribou."
"Four Oh Four, Roger," the Cessna O-IE pilot said.
Compared to the O-IE, the DeHavilland CV -2 Caribou was enormous. The Caribou was a transport aircraft, which was not, in fact, by other standards, all that big, being only a bit larger and more powerful than the Douglas C-47, the standard Army Air Corps transport in World War II. Large flaps and two Pratt and Whitney R-2000 l450hp engines permitted the 'Bou to almost leap into the air from very short landing strips.
In the rear of the 'Bou's fuselage there was a door that converted to a ramp large enough for the two jeeps which could be carried aboard.
Landing on short fields was accomplished by rapidly reversing the pitch of the propellers, so that instead of pulling the aircraft through the air, they exerted exactly as much force-2900 horsepower-in the other direction. That much force stopped the 'Bou as if an invisible hand had grabbed it.
That much force also caused turbulence on the runway behind the 'Bou. And since it was fairly standard practice for 'Bou pilots to reverse their propellers the instant their wheels touched down-even when landing on wide, long, concrete
runways-the Lawson tower considered it prudent to warn Army 404 about possible turbulence.
The warning was unnecessary. The pilot of 404 had once seen an aircraft identical to the one he was flying land too close behind a Caribou. The same invisible hand that brought the Caribou to a short stop had grabbed the little O-lE, thrown it fifty feet in the air, turned it over, and then slammed it down onto the runway on its deck.
The pilot of 404 made a very slow final approach to the active runway, making sure that the turbulence had dissipated before he touched down. And then he braked harder than he liked, to get off the runway as quickly as possible and make it available to the long line of aircraft that was behind him in the landing stack.
In January 1964, Lawson Army Airfield was the second busiest airfield in the United States. In terms of landings and takeoffs, it was second only to O'Hare Field in Chicago, and ahead of even Atlanta, LaGuardia, and LA. The airplanes at Lawson were smaller, of course, than the transports sitting down at O'Hare; but O'Hare had more runways, and at O'Hare several hundred rotary-wing aircraft were not sharing the facility with their fixed-wing brothers.
Lawson had been designed and built in War II primarily for the C-47 aircraft used in the training of parachutists. For military parachuting-the theory and practice of vertical envelopment-had had its birth and first tests at Benning.
And now another theory of war was being tested here.
The Aviators Page 11