11th Air Assault Division {Fest]
Harmony Church Fort Benning, Georgia
1015 Hours 14 October 1964
Brigadier General George Rand was sitting at his desk, looking out at the driving rain. His feet were on the windowsill, and a now-cold china mug of coffee rested untouched in his hands. He turned and looked over his shoulder when he heard the knock.
"Captain Oliver, General," Lieutenant Howard F. Mitchell, General Rand's aide-de-camp, said.
"Come in, Johnny," Rand called, and swung himself around from his window.
"Sir, we just heard from Colonel Seneff," Oliver said.
"He's on the ground and can't move," Rand said.
"He's through the mountains with his battalion, Sir. The other two battalions are following. They should be at the LZ in forty-five minutes."
"An hour late," Rand said.
"They came through, Sir. Through a hurricane."
"The edges of a hurricane. "
"Through weather which caused the Air Force to ground everything they have," Oliver insisted.
"Anybody down?"
"No, Sir. There were five aborts, but the backup ships took care of that."
"Thank God," Rand said.
"The Army today proved that not even a hurricane can stop a battalion-strength airmobile assault on a target one hundred miles inside the enemy's lines." Rand smiled at him.
"You sound like a press agent, Johnny," he said, "You ever think about becoming a PIO?" Public Information Officer.
"No, Sir," Oliver chuckled.
"Well then, how about becoming an administrative assistant?" Rand asked.
"Sir? "
"To the Deputy Commanding General of the 11th Air Assault Division?" Oliver hesitated.
"Sir, are you pulling my leg?"
"No. Not at all. Last night General Bellmon was talking about you. He said that your year's tour as his aide is about up, and he's really going to miss you. That started me thinking."
"Sir, with respect, I don't want to go from one aide's job to another."
"I didn't say aide. I have an aide. We're still writing the TO and E around here. It seems to me I need somebody who knows his way around a headquarters, is a dual-qualified aviator, and, most important, knows his way around Vietnam.
Maybe administrative assistant is the wrong title. We could work on that."
"What would I do, Sir?"
"What you did today, make yourself useful. Probably as important, sit on me when I become a too-confident aviator. "
"Sir, what I would like to have is a company. I had one, for a little while, in Nam."
"Aviation companies are now commanded by majors," Rand said. "The only way you're going to get a company is to become a major. Let me throw this in the pot, Oliver. If we go to Vietnam-and there's no doubt in my mind, as of two minutes ago, that we are going-General Wendall will have some leeway in promoting outstanding officers. What I'm saying is that if you came to work for me, you'd probably get to put a gold leaf on your collar faster than any other way I can think of."
"I hadn't really given much thought, Sir, to what I'll do after my tour with General Bellmon is over."
"Well; think about it. Let me talk about it to him. And think about my wife."
"Sir? "
"My wife would be a lot more at ease if she thought you were driving me around. She hasn't said it out loud, but I know she thinks they shouldn't let old men like me fly around by themselves. "
"Sir, I'm flattered by the offer-"
"So think about it," Rand repeated. "Have you mentioned Colonel Seneff getting through to General Cronin?"
"No, Sir. I sort of thought you would like to do that yourself. "
"Indeed, I would," General Rand said, standing up.
The photograph in all three newspapers was identical. It showed a helmeted Belgian paratrooper, in camouflage uniform, a bloody bandage across his nose and upper face, carrying a blonde girl of about ten in his arms.
Bellmon and Oliver read the lead story and all the sidebars.
"Nothing about anybody named Portet, Craig, or Lunsford that I can find." Oliver said.
"Lunsford?" Bellmon asked.
"He's a Green Grunt captain, Sir. A pal of mine. He's been running around in the woods over there with the Simbas."
"Well, if there was bad news, we would have heard," Bellmon said. "Portet I'm not worried about." When he saw the look on Oliver's face, he added, "What I meant to say is if Jack Portet got to Europe, which I doubt, I think he's sitting at Camp Mackall under a quarantine-he wasn't involved in the jump. And if he did get to Europe, he's probably in the bar of the King Leopold Hotel in Brussels. But I was hoping I would see something about the Craigs." He stood up and put the newspapers back together.
"Not that they'll do them any good," Bellmon said. "But Marjorie and my wife will be interested in these. I'm going home."
"Yes, Sir. Is there anything else you need from me, Sir?"
"Just the one thing, Johnny. I alluded to it before and you ignored me."
"Sir? "
"When I said I was going to miss you around here," Bellmon said. "By ten tomorrow morning, I want the names of six company-grade officers from whom I can pick your replacement. "
Sir, it's just the first of December."
"You'll report to General Rand 1 January. Spend the time between now and then in transition, easing out of here, and easing in up there. So far as I know, you will be the Army's first executive assistant to an assistant division commander.
You owe me for that, by the way. 'Administrative assistant' would have sounded as if you were in charge of the Red Cross fund drive."
"Yes, Sir," Oliver chuckled. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
[THREE]
Office of the Commanding General
The Army Aviation Center & Fort Rucker, Alabama
1600 Hours 1 December 1964
Captain John S. Oliver knocked at the open door jamb of General Bellmon's office, who waved him inside.
"The New York Times," Oliver said, laying a stack of newspapers on Bellmon's desk, "the Atlanta Constitution, and the Baltimore Sun."
"You are a very resourceful young man, Oliver," Bellmon said as he spread the newspapers on his desk. "How did you manage this?"
"I called the departing-passenger lounge at the Atlanta airport and had them page the senior officer headed for Fort Rucker. I got two lieutenant colonels and a captain with delusions of grandeur."
Bellmon chuckled. "Did you really?"
"Yes, Sir, and I just expressed to the senior Lieutenant Colonel your deep appreciation for the favor of bringing the newspapers. "
"I'm going to miss you around here, Johnny," Bellmon said.
The headlines on all three newspapers said essentially the same thing.
BELGIAN PARATROOPS JUMP ON STANLEYVILLE;
100S OF HOSTAGES REPORTED KILLED; MOST SAVED
USAF DROPS BELGIAN PARACHUTE BATTALION ON STANLEYVILLE; MOST HOSTAGES FREED
MOST OF 1600 HUNDRED STANLEYVILLE HOSTAGES FREED BY JOINT US-BELGIAN PARACHUTE RAID IN CONGO
An hour later, Bellmon called Oliver in Annex #1. "I just talked to Felter," he said. "The Craigs and Portet's mother and sister are safe in Kinshasa. Your friend. . . what was his name?"
"Lunsford, Sir?"
"Captain Lunsford came through it all right. They're flying him to Walter Reed."
"Well, thank God for that," Oliver said. "And Jack?"
"What's the matter, Captain, don't you read the newspapers?"
"Sir? "
"You should really pay more attention to newspaper photographs. "
"Sir, I don't understand."
"That Belgian paratrooper with the bandaged face?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"That was Jack. The little girl was his sister. Marjorie spotted it thirty seconds after I assured her Jack was at Fort Bragg, waiting for the security quarantine to be lifted."
"I'll be damned," Oliver said.
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[FOUR]
123 Brookwood Lane
Ozark, Alabama
1730 Hours 1 December 1964
"Well, I'm happy for Marjorie," Liza said. "You don't think Jack is badly hurt?"
"We would have heard, I think, if he was. I expect he's already on his way home. Here, I mean. I think they'll get him out of the Congo as quickly as they can, even if his home is really there." Liza grunted her agreement.
"Speaking of which," Johnny said.
"What which?"
"Home. Homes. Residence. Real estate."
"What are you talking about?"
"Why don't we go up to Columbus tomorrow and find a house? General Bellmon told me I was to 'ease in' up there between now and the first of the month." Fort Benning abuts Columbus, Georgia.
She walked into the kitchen without a word. Oliver followed her.
"What did I say wrong?" he asked.
"It's what you didn't say," she said, her back to him.
"What I was waiting to hear was, 'Well, I submitted my resignation today.' "
"Jesus, honey, you're being unfair!"
"I haven't changed," she said. "I told you how I felt from the beginning." "Liza, for God's sake! I love you."
"If you loved me you'd get out of the Army and let us build a life together. You're a damned fool, that's what you are. Don't tell me you love me!"
"I can't get out of the Army. I'm a soldier. I couldn't go into the real estate business. Think that through, for Christ's sake! Can you see me selling houses?"
"As a matter of fact I can. But you don't have to sell houses. You've got a million dollars. . ."
"Not yet, I don't," he said lamely.
"You'll have it soon enough. You can do anything you want to do. My God, we could go to the Virgin Islands!"
"The Virgin Islands? What the hell would we do in the Virgin Islands?"
"There was a story in Real Estate Monthly. . ."
"Jesus! "
"Lie on the beach. Make babies. You'd find something that would interest you. We would be together. In six months you'd wonder why you stayed in the Army as long as you did. "
"In six months I'd be a drunk. A rich drunk, maybe, but a drunk."
"Thanks a lot," Liza said. "I didn't realize you thought I was that much of a bore."
"Honey!"
Get out, Johnny. Just go." He looked at her back. He saw it start to heave. She was crying. He went to her and touched her and she spun around and there was fury in her face.
"Just get the hell out!" she shouted, and he felt her spittle on his face.
"Liza! "
"Just go. For Christ's sake, just go!" He looked at her a moment, then nodded and walked out of the house.
[FIVE]
Walter Reed
U. S. Army Medical Center Washington, D.C.
0930 Hours 12 December 1964
Brigadier General James R. McClintock, Medical Corps, U.S. Army, a tall, silver-haired, hawk-faced man of forty-six, arrived in the ward unannounced. He was wearing a white smock over a uniform shirt and trousers. The smock bore an embroidered caduceus, the insignia of the U.S. Army Medical Corps; but it did not have pinned to it, as regulations required, the small oblong black piece of plastic he had been issued, and on which was engraved his rank and name and branch of service.
He did not have to look down at his chest to remind himself who he was, General McClintock often informed his aide-decamp when the question of the missing name tag came up.
And if there was a question as to his identity in the minds of the staff, the aide should tell them.
General McClintock was alone when he stepped off the elevator. Usually he was trailed by at least his aide, and most often by a small herd of medical personnel. And these people were usually smiling nervously. In addition to being an internist of international repute, General McClintock had a soldier's eye. When he visited a ward, in other words, he was just as likely to spot a military physician whose hair was too long, or whose shoes needed a shine, as he was a misdiagnosis or something wrong with a patient's chart.
He walked across the highly polished linoleum floor to the nurses' station. There were three nurses and two enlisted medical technicians inside. The nurses looked busy, so General McClintock addressed one of the medical technicians:
"Hand me Captain Lunsford's chart, will you, son?"
"Yes, Sir," the technician, a Specialist Six, responded.
Specialist Six was an enlisted grade corresponding to Sergeant First Class. He knew who General McClintock was, and consequently his response was far more enthusiastic and militarily crisp than was usually the case. So much so that it caught the attention of the senior nurse, Major Alice J. Martin, ANC, who had been standing with her back to the counter, talking on the telephone. She glanced over her shoulder, hung the phone up in midsentence, and walked quickly to the counter.
"May I be of help, General?" she asked.
"I thought I'd have a last look at Captain Lunsford before he's discharged," McClintock said.
He took the chart from the medical technician. The chart was actually an aluminum folding clipboard. With all the forms clipped in various places inside, it was nearly three inches thick. Then he nodded and smiled and said, "Thank you." Major Martin headed for the opening in the nurses' station.
"That won't be necessary, Major," he said. "I won't need you. Thank you. "
"Sir, he has visitors," Major Martin said, more than a little annoyed and disappointed not to be able to exercise her prerogative of accompanying the chief of internal medical services while he saw a patient on her ward.
"Well," General McClintock said, "he's about to have at least one more."
"He's in 421, General," Major Martin said.
"Yes, I know," General McClintock said. "Thank you."
He walked down the corridor, his rubber-soled shoes making faint squeaking noises on the waxed linoleum.
When he pushed open the door to 421, there were three men inside. Among these was the patient himself, who was sitting on the bed, dressed in civilian clothing, smoking a very large light-green cigar. The patient started to move off the bed when he saw General McClintock, but McClintock, smiling, quickly put up his hand to stop him.
"Stay where you are, Captain," McClintock said.
The Aviators Page 51