Only a few nervous giggles broke the pause.
"It's an absolutely true story," General Bellmon said. "So when this officer finally got back on the ground, he understandably sought out General Hanrahan to report the outrage perpetrated against his body by two of Hanrahan's playful thugs.
" 'Why, hello, there, Colonel,' General Hanrahan greeted him. "Nice of you to drop by to see me. I presume that now that you're parachute qualified, you're here to volunteer to be a Green Beret?"
The laughter was now loud.
"There's a moral to this story, of course," General Bellmon went on. "And that is, Never trust a Green Beret!"
"I have had occasion recently to reflect on that great moral truth," Bellmon went on. "Actually, it usually pops into my mind whenever I see General Hanrahan, but this was special. General Hanrahan is a frequent visitor to Fort Rucker, there's nothing I can do about it. The Chief of Staff told me that I have to keep in mind that even if he rarely, acts like it, he is in the U.S. Army, and it would look bad in the press if it got out that I had issued shoot-on-sight orders to the guards at the gates."
More laughter. But Oliver saw raised eyebrows on some of the senior brass that suggested that they too sensed there was something behind the funny story. Even in jest, a general officer rarely talked about having another general officer shot on sight. When Oliver looked at General Hanrahan, he didn't seem offended; the General was smiling broadly.
"During the past year, as you all know, Captain John S. Oliver has had the toughest job on the post-he's been my aide-de-camp. When General Hanrahan unfailingly mentioned Captain Oliver's all-around competence and high inelegance, I simply chalked that up as Captain Oliver's due.
For he has indeed been a fine aide, and I like to think a friend, too. We will all miss him. The Command Group, my familly, everybody on the post."
There was a round of applause and heads turned, looking fur Johnny.
"As those of you who have been around a couple of years how, there's sort of a new custom: At this Christmas Dinner, with everybody gathered together, I announce my departing aide's new assignment. There are many places in the Army where an officer of Captain Oliver's experience, devotion to duty, and extraordinary competence should be assigned. I made several recommendations along that line.
Captain Oliver, will you please stand up?" Oliver stood up.
"you remember what I just said about never trusting a Green Beret, Johnny?" Bellmon asked.
"Yes, Sir."
"Attention to orders," Bellmon said, and read from a sheet of paper: "Headquarters, Department of the Army, 29 November 1964. General Order 297, Paragraph 23. Captain John S. Oliver Armor, is relieved of present assignment and transferred Headquarters, John F. Kennedy Center for Special Warfare, Fort Bragg, North Carolina, effective 1 January 1965."
There was a scattering of applause and several audible snorts.
"General Hanrahan tells me that you will be assigned as the Aviaation Officer on his Special Staff," Bellmon went on. "And I'm sure you will serve him as well and faithfully as you have served me, and that he will in time become as fond of you as is the Bellmon family."
There was more applause.
"But if I were you, I wouldn't get near the open door of a C-130 in flight," Bellmon continued. "Now if you'll come up here, Johnny, we have a few little things to prepare you for your new assignment. There's a snakebite kit, and a Bowie knife, and an earring, and a book entitled One Hundred and One Tasty Rattlesnake Recipes. . . ."
Captain Johnny Oliver looked at Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell.
"He really is still pissed, isn't he?" Lowell said softly.
Oliver looked at him a moment and then started walking toward the head table.
General Hanrahan got to his feet as Oliver approached the head table. He smiled and handed Oliver a green beret.
"Put it on, Johnny," Mrs. Barbara Bellmon said. Oliver did so and turned to face the room.
There was applause, in which General Bellmon joined. But when Oliver looked at him, there was no laughter in his eyes.
[THREE]
Foster Garden Apartments Fayetteville,
North Carolina
1400 Hours 25 January 1965
"I am going downstairs to borrow a cup of sugar and whatever else I can get from that Puerto Rican nurse with the great hips," Major George Washington Lunsford announced. "You want to come? Or are you going to just sit there and get shitfaced again?"
"I may come down in a while," Captain John S. Oliver said.
"Hey, if you're not already too shitfaced, why don't you rent a plane and fly over and see the Merry Widow? Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder."
"Why don't you mind your own fucking business, asshole?"
Sticks and stones may break my bones," Father Lunsford lisped credibly, placing one hand on a thrust-out hip, "but names will never hurt me. "
Oliver laughed.
"Better," Lunsford said. "Come down, Johnny. A little piece-eye eee-and quiet will work wonders. "
For the absolutely last time, I will try to get her on the phone," Oliver said. "And then I'll come down to Chez Great Hips."
"If you don't come down, I will send the fat girl up after you," Lunsford said.
Oliver chuckled and reached for the phone.
The telephone rang for seven, eight. . . eleven rings: He put the receiver back into the cradle.
"Fuck it. I don't know what the hell I would say if you did answer the goddamned phone."
He went to the kitchen for ice.
The door buzzer rang.
That sonofabitch did send the fat girl up here!
He, went to the door, opened it, and said after a moment, "What's this?"
"What does it look like?" Liza Wood said. "It's a goddamned camp follower and her fatherless child."
He didn't know what to do, so he scooped Allan up and growled in his neck.
"Horsey, Johnny," Allan said.
Johnny Oliver swung Allan so that he was on his shoulders, then put his arms around Liza and held her tight against him, and the three of them bounced up and down together.
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