The Aviators

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Excuse me?"

  "Lieutenant Newell is flying," Oliver said. "And Mrs. Newell told me she was taking the kids shopping."

  "Are you saying they are already in occupancy?" Mattingly asked.

  "Yeah, they've been in there for two weeks."

  "I wasn't aware of that. It's more than a little unusual. "Who authorized that?"

  "I suppose Colonel Lowell did," Oliver said. He was already annoyed with Mr. Mattingly. "Jose Newell asked him when he could move in, and Colonel Lowell said the sooner the better. So they moved in." He gestured for Mattingly to head for the parking lot.

  "The thing is," Mattingly said as he pulled the Pontiac's door closed and looked askance at the top, which was down, what we like to do is conduct a survey of the property together with the lessee so there is no question later as to the condition of the property when the lessee assumed responsibility for it. "

  "Lieutenant Newell will stipulate the property is in perfect condition, Mr. Mattingly," Oliver said.

  "Well, there's nothing to be done, I suppose," Mattingly said. "But there would be no problem in my having a walk around, would there?"

  "You mean walk around the house? Sure, why not?" When they reached Ozark and pulled in the driveway, Mattingly took from his pocket a leather bound notebook and what looked like a sterling silver mechanical pencil, and almost immediately started taking notes.

  "Well, I see you were wrong," he said. "The Newells are at home."

  "No," Oliver said, confused, "they're not."

  "Then how many automobiles do they have?" Oliver chuckled. "The Olds and the Volkswagen belong to the Craigs," he said. "I'm trying to sell them for them."

  "The Craigs?"

  "The previous occupants."

  "Do you happen to know, Captain Oliver, anything about the previous occupants?"

  "Yeah. They're friends of mine. What do you want to know?"

  "I don't suppose you'd happen to know-what I'm driving at, Captain, is that the chairman of the board of Craig, Powell, Kenyon and Dawes, of which Sutton Holdings is a subsidiary-his name is Porter Craig. I wondered if there was any connection."

  "Pretty close one," Johnny said. "Porter Craig is Geoff Craig's father."

  "I wonder why I wasn't informed?" Mattingly said.

  Probably because you're such a stuffed shirt, and whoever sent you down here wanted to pull your chain.

  "I can't imagine," Oliver said. "Probably he's a little embarrassed. Mr. Porter Craig, I mean-about having a son in the Army. You know: 'Soldiers and Dogs, Keep Off the Grass'?'

  Mattingly looked at Johnny with very sad eyes.

  "I suppose I do come across as rather a horse's ass, don't I? I have immediately offended you, and I'm sorry."

  "Hey, I didn't say that!"

  "No, but you were thinking it.""

  "OK, the thought did run through my mind that you are just a little stuffy," Oliver said. "But not that you were a horse's ass."

  "Well, thank you," Mattingly said. "I suppose I've had my comeuppance."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "They apparently have that opinion of me-I know they do, and now there's proof-in the office. They told me that word had come down from New York to send me, specifically, down here. Well, I don't mean to blow my own horn, but I generally deal with industrial and commercial properties, not something like this. . . ." The poor little bastard is crushed.

  "Did they mention anything about me?" Oliver asked.

  "As a matter of fact they did. They told me you were one of Colonel Lowell's subordinates, and that you had a real estate problem, and that I was to do whatever was necessary to straighten it out for you. To take whatever problems there are off your hands, as it were. "

  "I do," Johnny said.

  "Let me guess," Mattingly said. "A house not quite as large as this? Or perhaps a mobile home?"

  "Actually, it's a truck stop," Johnny said. "My part of a trck stop."

  "Oh, really?" Mattingly said with visible relief. "I have some expertise in that area. Is there somewhere we could go to talk?"

  "My BOQ," Johnny said.

  "Your what?"

  "My room," Johnny said.

  "Oh, I'd like that," Mattingly said. "I've never been in a barracks."

  Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., could not quite conceal his fascination with Johnny Oliver's spartan BOQ, but Oliver decided it was just that, fascination, not snobbery. He was surprised to realize that he felt a good deal of sympathy for Mattingly. He was obviously the sort of guy who had been, since he was a little kid, the one the gang picked on. And he had never learned how to deal with it.

  Johnny gave him the large envelope his sister had given him, and Mattingly sat down at Johnny's desk, perched a pair of half glasses on his nose, and started to read, very slowly, through it. From time to time he frowned, and several times he made grunting noises.

  "Can I offer you a drink? It's a little early-"

  "No alcohol, thank you," Mattingly said. "It makes me ill "

  "Coffee?"

  "Coffee would be nice. "

  "I'll go next door to the annex and get us some."

  "Thank you," Mattingly said and returned his attention to the legal documents.

  You have your orders, Oliver. March!

  "Cream and sugar?" he asked.

  "If it's real cream, please. No sugar."

  "I'll see what I can do." He really doesn't understand why he pisses people off!

  When he returned from the annex with two mugs of coffee and a can of condensed milk, Mattingly was scribbling furiously on a lined pad.

  "All I could get was the canned cow," Oliver said.

  "The what? Oh, the condensed milk. No, thank you. It reminds me of boys' camp. I'll just have it black." He took a sip, burned his lips on the hot mug, and spilled coffee on his lined pad.

  So you're a slob, too. What do you do for an encore?

  Johnny got a paper towel and mopped up the mess.

  "I tend to be a bit messy," Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., said.

  "Really?"

  "Now you're mocking me," Mattingly said resignedly.

  "Sorry."

  "What you have given me, Captain Oliver, raises more questions than it answers. For example, there is a release from all trust obligations, but I haven't the trust documents, so there is no way I could tell what you would be signing away."

  "Oh. "

  "And 'all' could mean one trust or a dozen," Mattingly said. "How many trusts are involved?"

  "I haven't the foggiest."

  "Oh, dear. Well, that would be a starting point."

  "What I'd like to know is whether I'm being offered a reasonable price," Johnny said.

  "Well, we're a good way down the pike yet from that." The unlisted telephone rang.

  "Yes, Sir?"

  "Another Chinook just went in, Johnny," General Bellmon said.

  "Oh, shit. How bad?"

  "No fatalities. They lost it on landing. I'd like you to go out there with me."

  "Yes, Sir. You want me to pick you up?"

  "I'll pick you up," Bellmon said, and the line went dead.

  Oliver looked at Foxworth T. Mattingly.

  What the fuck am I going to do with him?

  "Something's come up, Mr. Mattingly. I'm going to have to break this off." Oh, shit! Jose and Charley are flying a thousand-hour Chinook.

  He furiously dialed the telephone.

  The phone rang a long time before somebody picked it up.

  "Board Pilots' Lounge."

  "Who was flying the Chinook that went in?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't-"

  "This is Captain Oliver, General Bellmon's aide. Don't give me that 'I'm sorry I can't' bullshit."

  "Charley Stevens and Jose Newell," the voice said.

  "Are they dead?" Oliver asked softly.

  "No. They've got them on stretchers-the ambulance isn't here yet." Oliver hung up without saying another word. He found Mattingly's eyes on him. They were very
sympathetic.

  "If I can make a suggestion-" Mattingly said.

  "I don't have time to fuck with this right now," Oliver said, and quickly started to slip out of his civilian clothing.

  "Is there anything I can do?" Mattingly asked.

  Oliver pulled his shirt over his head, hearing cloth rip as he did so.

  "Can you drive?"

  "Why, yes, of course. Is there somewhere I can drive you?"

  Oliver found his car keys and tossed them to Mattingly.

  "Ask somebody how to find the Dothan Road," he said.

  "Leave the keys at the Southern ticket counter. "

  "Why, I'll just call a cab," Mattingly said. "I certainly don't want to inconvenience you at a time when-"

  "There are no cabs, asshole. And it's too far to walk."

  "Oh, I see. Well, in that case-"

  "Take the damned car," Johnny said.

  "You're very kind." Oliver quickly put on a shirt and trousers and tied a necktie. He was vaguely aware that Mattingly was scribbling furiously on his lined pad again.

  Oliver took the first blouse that came to hand and shoved his arms into the sleeves. When he had buttoned it, Mattingly was standing by the desk, extending a pen to Johnny.

  "What's this?" Oliver asked as he looked around the room for his hat.

  "It's a simple authorization appointing me as attorney-in fact to represent you in this matter."

  "I just told you, I don't have the time to fuck around with this now."

  "I doubt if they'll give me access to the documents we need without it," Mattingly persisted. "As a matter of fact, I'm sure they won't."

  "Then it will just. . ." Oliver said, and then: "Oh, to hell with it." He leaned over the table and quickly glanced at what Mattingly had written, in a tiny but very legible hand.

  Fort Rucker, Alabama May 23, 1964 The undersigned herewith appoints Foxworth T.

  Mattingly as his counsel of record, with all appropriate powers provided in the law, to represent him in the matter of the property commonly know as "Jack's Truck Stop" of Burlington, Vermont, this authority to last until properly revoked.

  Johnny scrawled his name.

  "Close the door when you leave," he said, and left the room. Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., caught up with him in the parking lot of the BOQ as General Bellmon's Oldsmobile drove up.

  "Now what?" Oliver snapped.

  "It has to be notarized," Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., said. "Witnessing your signature. "

  "Where the hell am I going to get a notary? Give it to me and I'll mail it to you with Newell's lease."

  "I just remembered that a commissioned officer of the regular military establishment has the de jure authority to act as a notary public for another member of the military service," Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., said as Bellmon skidded to a stop.. Oliver ran to the car and got in beside Bellmon.

  Foxworth T. Mattingly rapped imperiously on the door glass by General Bellmon's head. Bellmon rolled the window down. "Pardon me, are you a commissioned officer of the regular military establishment?"

  "I suppose you could say that,. yes," Bellmon said, torn between gross annoyance, impatience, and incredulity.

  "Oh, good!" Mattingly said. "Then perhaps you would be willing to affix your signature to this, attesting that you know the signer, and that this is his signature?" Bellmon looked at Oliver.

  "I'm sorry, Sir," Oliver said.

  "You want me to witness your signature?" Bellmon snapped.

  "Sir, please-" Bellmon snatched the paper from Mattingly's hand and scrawled his signature.

  "And under it, please print your name, rank, serial number, and the date," Mattingly said. Bellmon sighed audibly and did as he was told.

  "Is that all?" he asked, sarcastically polite.

  "I think so, thank you very much," Mattingly said. "Goodbye, Captain Oliver. It was very nice to have met you." Bellmon rolled the window up as he backed out the parking spot, sending gravel spinning under his wheels.

  "Curiosity overwhelms me, Oliver," he said. "Who was that obnoxious little turd?"

  "A lawyer Colonel Lowell sent me to help with a personal problem, Sir."

  "Well, if Lowell sent him, he's probably going to charge you two hundred dollars an hour. And be worth every dime of it. Anything I can do to help with the problem?"

  "No, Sir," Oliver said. "Thank you. But it's not important."

  "Don't be bashful, if I can help, say so."

  "Yes, Sir, I will. Sir, I called Cairns. There have been no fatalities."

  "Who was it?' You find out?"

  "Yes, Sir. Newell and Stevens."

  "God, and his wife and kids just got here!"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "You hear how it happened?"

  "No, Sir," Oliver replied. "I just asked who."

  "It comes at a particularly rotten time," Bellmon said as they drove past Post Headquarters at what Johnny saw was precisely twice the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit.

  "Just when I was beginning to think we might be out of the woods. "

  "Sir? "

  "We lost one of the thousand-hour Chinooks," Bellmon said. "That leaves two. One of the remaining two just passed the thousand-hour mark. The other has almost nine hundred hours, Mac McNair told me this morning. If that's the one that went in, we're finished. The Air Force will say we can't base any logistics data on one aircraft. And since we have wrecked two of the three, the Army is obviously not qualified to conduct the tests, period. They will volunteer to take the tests over, McNamara probably will go along and let them, and we will hear from Wright-Patterson in two. years or so, if ever. "

  "Damn," Oliver said.

  "So what I'm hoping is that the one that went in is the one that they've already put a thousand hours on."

  "You think they'll ground all of them again, Sir?"

  "Absolutely, and they won't even bother with a TWX. The Chief of Staff will tell me so personally on the telephone."

  "Are you going to call the Chief of Staff, Sir?" Oliver asked, curious.

  "Yes, I am. I have been ordered to do so. He called me right after we came home from Washington the last time. I have to call him whenever there is a Chinook accident worth more than a thousand dollars or involving personnel injury of any kind."