“I am going to see you out of here, Slaight. If it takes me my full tour of duty as commandant, I am going to see you out of here, mister. I am going to stand at the main gate next to the MP shack, and I am going to personally supervise your departure. I am going to get you, mister. When I am through, you’re going to have no place left to hide. You will not know which way is up. Lurp patrols in Nam are going to look like a good deal, compared to the state you’ll be in, Slaight. Just wait and see.”
“If that’s the way you want to play the game, General, then I guess that’s the way we’ll play it.”
Silence. Hedges ground his teeth. Slaight could see his jaws working. He walked forward and stood two feet from the chair in which Slaight was still seated. Slaight took the signal, and stood.
“You’d better have your ducks lined up, mister. You’d better know what you’re doing if you decide to go up against Charles Sherrill Hedges.”
Slaight stared at Hedges. He still refused to lock eyes.
“Have I made myself understood, mister?”
“Perfectly, General. Perfectly.”
“Then you drive your goddamn communist ass out of my office, Slaight. The next time I see you, Slaight, it’s going to be from the rear, when your ass is on its way out that gate.”
Slaight grabbed his hat and saluted.
“Good afternoon, General,” he said. At the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Hedges had clenched his right fist and was shaking it in the air after him.
In the hall outside the commandant’s office, Slaight passed the cadet first captain, the brigade commander, the highest ranking cadet. Pete Locke, from an army family. His father was retired and lived in Arlington, Virginia. Slaight and Locke exchanged nods. They didn’t know each other. Locke was on his way in. Slaight presumed it was their daily meeting, the com and the first captain, getting together for a few minutes before supper to discuss tomorrow’s business. He was looking forward to meeting Captain Bassett at the O Club bar. He presumed wrong.
“Have a seat, Locke,” said Hedges, indicating the chair Slaight had just vacated.
“Pete, I want that kid out of here. I don’t care what it takes, I want him out.”
“I’m not sure I understand you, sir,” said the first captain.
“I said I want Slaight out, goddammit! Do I have to spell the word for you? That Aptitude Board we’re running on him probably won’t work. He moved from the middle fifth of the class to the second fifth because of the damned efficiency report his battalion C.O. filed on him for AOT this summer. But I want him out, Pete. Demerits, honor … I don’t give a damn what it takes. I want him out, and I want him out by Christmas. Now get cracking.”
First Captain Locke saluted and left. He had known the com was out for Slaight’s ass, but this. Never had an officer told him, in so many words, to “get” another cadet on honor, which is exactly what Hedges had just done. He paused in the corn’s outer office. He saw one of the buttons light up on Hedges’ secretary’s phone … she had been dismissed for the day, as had his aide. Behind the closed door to the corn’s office, Locke heard Hedges dial the phone. He counted the digits. It was a long-distance call. Then he heard Hedges’ muffled voice:
“Bill Beatty, please. General Hedges calling.”
So! He was calling that guy in the Pentagon again! Locke walked downstairs, wondering what to do. The com had put him in a difficult—no, an impossible—situation. If he tried to “get” Slaight on an honor violation, that in itself could be interpreted as an honor violation. On the other hand, if he didn’t he would be disobeying an order from the commandant. He decided he’d better pay a visit to this guy Ry Slaight over in the Third Regiment and see what was up.
Inside, tie loosened and feet resting atop his desk, Hedges talked long-distance to William Beatty in Washington.
“Bill, everything is go. You can start the ball rolling on Rylander next week. I’ve got Slaight scared stiff, and if we don’t get him with this Aptitude Board, we’ll drive his ass out of here some other way. Let me assure you. We’ll have him in greens with PFC stripes on his sleeves by the first of next year. Then he’s in your court. I’m sure you know what to do with him. A passing acquaintanceship with our friend Charlie over in Southeast Asia probably wouldn’t hurt.” Chuckling merriment danced across the long-distance wires between West Point and the Pentagon. Matters were firmly in hand. Soon, Hedges could take the steps necessary for his final move: across the street, through the courtyard, and up the stairs and into the supe’s office. To stay.
First Captain Peter Locke surprised Slaight when he walked into Room 226, New South Barracks, just after supper. Lugar looked up, and at the sight of the tall, good-looking six-striper, almost snapped to attention. It took supreme concentration to treat a guy like Lock as … classmate, an equal. He had one of those young Gregory Peck faces, the dark handsome good looks of a born general. It had always seemed there was an unwritten requirement that first captains and other high-raking cadets be attractive … not just good-looking, but … idols. Statues to the American ideal of cadet. Pete Locke filled the bill. At 6 ‘1”, 185 pounds, a letter man in soccer and lacrosse, he was the ideal first captain. There was a certain awkwardness—intimidation—in his presence. Slaight couldn’t recall ever having laid eyes on Peter Locke, except standing in formation way out in front of the Corps of Cadets with his brigade staff … and that afternoon, on his way in to see the com. Locke walked in and introduced himself.
“Maybe we should go somewhere and talk,” he began.
“Forget it, man,” said Slaight. “Anything you’ve got to say to me, you can say to him.” He nodded his head at Lugar. Leroy Buck wandered in, wearing his gray cadet bathrobe. “Him, too,” said Slaight.
“Well, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve got yourself in with the com, but today, it just got too deep for me,” said Locke.
“How so?” asked Slaight.
“The com told me—I guess he ordered me—to ‘get’ you today. He said he wants you out by Christmas. He told me he didn’t care how I did it. He mentioned demerits and …” Locke paused, gazing at the toes of his shoes, gleaming black mirrors under the overhead lights.
“And?”
“And he mentioned honor. That’s what got me. He was telling me to get you on an honor violation, and he didn’t care how. I decided then and there, I had to come over and tell you about it. Nobody … nobody has ever come to me and talked about ‘getting’ someone on honor. Least of all, the com.”
“Jesus. Thanks, man,” said Slaight. He offered Locke a Coke from a garbage can full of ice glommed from the mess hall after supper. Locke accepted and sat down.
“Look, Slaight, I don’t know what you’ve done, but nothing in my experience warrants the kind of thing the com was talking about today. I mean, I’ve seen him go to some lengths to make examples of guys … Charlie Napier is a good case. Six months for shacking up. You wouldn’t believe what I went through over that.”
“I’d believe you,” said Slaight, studying Locke’s face. He was tired … all firsties looked permanently tired … but Locke’s face showed a deeper dimension of fatigue, lines, like a pair of firstie’s winter uniform gloves, ragged out, resewn, and ragged out again.
“Anyway, you sure manage to take up a lot of his time. I have to report to the com twice a day, you know. Once before lunch, and once just before supper. For the past couple of months, it seems like every time I report, he’s muttering something about you, or talking to some guy in the Pentagon on the phone.”
“What guy?” Slaight tried unsuccessfully to contain his eagerness.
“He was on the phone to him again today when I left. Somebody called William Beatty. I’ve heard of him. I know we’ve got classmates who are friends with this Beatty. But I have no idea why he’s always talking to Beatty on the phone about you.”
“What makes you think the subject is me?” asked Slaight.
“I’ve been in his office when he took
calls from Beatty. Every single time, they talked about you. It was all very circumspect, naturally. I could never fathom the real nature of their conversations, and to tell the truth, never really tried. Being first captain, you learn one thing real quickly. Sometimes, the less you know, the better off you are.”
“Know exactly what you mean,” said Slaight.
“Do you feel like telling me what this is all about?” asked Locke.
“This is one of those areas with a big sign outside, and it says, ‘you don’t want to know,’” said Slaight.
“Can I ask you this? Does it involve honor?”
“No way,” said Slaight. “You know Hedges charged me with a violation not long ago, don’t you?”
“Yes. I saw the report of the subcommittee.”
“He shot his wad with that one. What’s going on between me and Hedges now is personal. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. Personal. Pisses me off that he tried to drag you in on it.”
“Well, all I can tell you is this. I’ve never seen anyone, last year or this year, go up against Hedges and win.”
“That’s okay,” said Slaight. “I’m not sure winning is the point any more.”
“If it isn’t winning, then what is the point? Why don’t you just knuckle under and get Hedges off your back?”
“I’m not sure what the point is. But I’m way past knuckling under, straightening up, and flying right … all that shit.”
“I see,” said Locke. “Well, I’ll tell you what. You’d better keep your nose clean. He’s going to have every tac in town watching every move you make. If you sneeze at a parade, he might call it ‘gross disrespect,’ and put you on the area. Once he’s got you walking the area, it’s all over for you. He’ll get you on demerits, for sure.”
“Thanks for the warning, man.” Slaight stood up. Locke’s brawny lacrosse attack-man shoulders almost filled the door.
“Hey,” said Slaight. “Anything I can do for you … ask.”
“Sure thing,” said the first captain, disappearing around the corner downstairs.
Slaight grabbed one of the phone booths and called the news to lawyer Bassett.
“Take a weekend leave and get yourself out of there for a while,” said Bassett.
“Now? This weekend? We’ve got stuff to do.”
“You wanted total legal advice. I’m your lawyer. There it is. Get out of here. See you Monday.”
35
Slaight spent the weekend with Irit in New York. Saturday afternoon, they browsed the galleries along Madison Avenue near her boutique and stopped off at Parke Bernet to see some antique jewelry on display, due to be auctioned in a few weeks. That night, she talked him into doing something she’d been working on for weeks: She got Slaight to call his father.
From Irit’s penthouse, Slaight told his father the whole story, from beginning to end, right up to the visit from the first captain. His father asked a few questions, but mostly he uh-huhed, uh-huhed, and grunted yeses and noes as Slaight plowed the same old ground, the same recitation of people, places, facts, the questions, the unresolved answers. When he was finished, his father surprised him.
“I find it all hard to believe, son, but I believe you. And I’ll stand behind you, all the way, whatever you do. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
Slaight didn’t know what to say. It had been so long since he and his father had done more than exchange good mornings over the breakfast table when he was home on leave … well, he just didn’t know what to do. His father broke the silence.
“What are you going to do now, son?”
“I don’t know, Dad. But I’ll tell you one thing. Hedges isn’t going to run me out of here. I’ll walk the area till my feet wear off, I’ll drive around to his office every day till I graduate, but he’s not going to get me.”
“Do you have a plan, son?”
“Not really. But I’ll follow the advice of my lawyer, Captain Bassett. And I’ve got a few other sources to touch. We’re not finished yet. If it comes down to it, and I think it will when they convene that Aptitude Board, I’ve got some dirt to throw at them they don’t know about yet.”
“Son?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Don’t go throwing dirt around like you’re saying. Your grandpa always used to say it ends up getting all over the guy doing the throwing, no matter how smart he figures he is.”
“I’ll remember that. Hey, Dad, can I ask you one last question before we hang up?”
“Sure, son. What is it?”
“All this time … I mean, I’ve been at West Point over three years now, and I’m twenty-one years old … all this time, how come you never told me about the war? How come?”
“I never figure you’d … understand, son. That’s all. I didn’t want you growing up with a bunch of romantic notions about war, and I thought if I told you what I’d done, you’d want to be like me, do the things I did, act the way I acted. No man in his right mind is proud about going to war, son. You’re sad. I didn’t want you to grow up, I guess. I didn’t want you to end up sad. You understand what I am saying to you?”
Slaight could hear the plaintive tone in his father’s voice.
“Yeah, Dad. I understand.”
“I see you do, son. Talking to you tonight … I can see that all I did was make you more curious.” His father paused, and Slaight could hear him lighting a cigarette, the top of his Zippo lighter snapping shut, an exhalation of breath.
“Listening to what you had to say tonight, son, I see that you know more about what men are capable of doing to each other than I knew when I was twice your age. I knew about war, I knew about killing with rifles and artillery and the rest of it. But I didn’t know this other stuff ….” His father coughed. “I didn’t know this other stuff. There are all kinds of war, son. All kinds of violence, the little everyday wars people fight.”
In his mind’s eye, Slaight could see his father at home, sitting in the big overstuffed chair near the fireplace. He was glad Irit talked him into calling his dad.
“What do you mean, Dad? What did Ma teach you?”
“Well, she let me know about those people from Kansas City who stabled their horses with us. She finally made me understand what they really stood for. All those years we stabled their horses and trained their kids, and I organized their hunts and the jumping every spring … and I never knew. I was never really one of them, but because of riding and our stables out at Wild Acres, they took me … us … in. They made me believe I was one of them. Finally your mother made me realize the truth. We were just tolerated, was all. It’s a quiet violence, that social stuff. Son, I hope you’re able to cope with what you learn about those men up at West Point, because I’ll tell you the truth. Wouldn’t have been for your mother, I never would have coped.” His father paused again, and Slaight waited.
“No matter what happens, son, try to understand those men and what they’re doing to you. If you can do that, you’re halfway home. Whatever you do, try to keep in mind they’re only human. God made them. God made you. Don’t let your hatred for them and what they’re doing consume you. Don’t let them get to you, son, because if they do, you’ll end up like them. Please. For your old dad. Try not to hate. Try your damnedest. Someday, you’ll be thankful you didn’t.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll try.”
“Whelp.” His father always said “whelp” instead of “well.” “Whelp, better be going. You take care of yourself. And take care of your girl friend. She seems like an awfully good woman.”
They said good-bye.
Monday morning, Slaight found lawyer Bassett deep in the bowels of Thayer Hall. He looked up from his desk, glasses falling to the tip of his nose.
“What are you here for? Wanna know about life insurance? Great idea. Get some.” They laughed. Old Bassett had a sense of humor that cut through the bullshit at its thickest.
“Any news?”
“Yeah. Your Aptitude Board is one week from today. Got
official notice this morning. Something’s up, Slaight. Hedges is too confident. He’s been sitting on something for a long time. I can feel it. You know that long, dead period between your meeting with him during re-orgy week and your next meeting in late October? And now he’s willing to give you a full seven days’ advance warning, seven days to line up your ducks for the Aptitude Board. He’s got something big going, Ry. Something bigger than the Hand thing. I just feel it, that’s all. When I was working down on Wall Street, sometimes you could feel an opposing attorney getting ready to make an unexpected move. They’d get … cocky … Hedges is cocky. They always make some little mistake that tips you off. Well, I’ve been watching Hedges for quite a while now. This seven-day warning is it. He’s getting ready to move. Move fast. Move heavy. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s got more going here than the David Hand murder.”
“So what do we do?”
“We don’t do anything. You get on the phone to your friend the sergeant major out in Santa Fe. Have him hit the NCO grapevine in the Pentagon. See what’s going on. Hedges has his hands tied up here. He’s committed on your Aptitude Board, and he committed when he told the first captain to get you on honor. But all his options are still open down in the Pentagon. I can’t be sure … but if he’s moving, it’s down there. Tell the sergeant major to pull out all the stops. We need a handle on what’s going on at Department of the Army level. We need it by midweek. There’s more at stake here than the death of one cadet, Slaight, and we need to know what it is.”
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