“Everything. All I know is that you play it riding on horses.”
“Sir, it would help if I knew why you want to know.”
“The general has decided to play polo,” MacMillan said. “What the hell is a seven-goal player?”
“One hell of a polo player,” Lowell said. “Sir.”
“The general is a seven-goal polo player,” MacMillan said. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a handicap,” Lowell explained. He explained the handicap system and the game of polo. MacMillan asked several questions, but Lowell never had to explain something twice.
“Between now and 0600 tomorrow morning, Lowell, I want you to make up a list of all the equipment we’re going to need to field a polo team. Everything, from boots to horseshoes. I’ve found horses in Austria. There’s a warehouse full of equipment at Fort Riley, and I’ve got an old buddy there who’ll ship us what we need. But I’ll need to know what. Decide exactly what you’ll need. And then triple the quantities.”
“Sir, I’m charge of quarters tonight.”
“No, you’re not. As of an hour ago, you’re working for me. I’ve already fixed it with headquarters company. The general wants a polo team, Lowell, and you and I are going to see that he gets one.”
Two days after that, Craig Lowell found himself a passenger in one of the Constabulary’s Stinson L-5s, flown by the Constabulary aviation officer himself, Major Robert Robbins. Robbins flew him to the Alps near Salzburg, Austria, where military government held nearly five hundred horses captured from the Germans. There had originally been thousands, but the draft animals had been quickly released to the German and Austrian economies to till the land.
The horses still held were obviously not livestock but thoroughbred animals. They were kept as valuable property, which the Germans had presumably obtained illegally and which the authorities intended to return to their rightful owners.
A week after that, a ten-truck convoy of open flatbed trailers appeared at the horse farm and loaded the seventy animals Craig Lowell had chosen for the trip back to Germany. There wasn’t a polo pony among them. But there were some fine saddle horses (a German groom told Craig they had come from Hungary in the last days of the war) which could, with work, be trained for polo.
It was a five-day trip to Bad Nauheim. The horses survived the journey. The German grooms had had a good deal of experience in moving animals under worse conditions. When they arrived in Bad Nauheim, Captain MacMillan had everything waiting, from stables and food to a polo field in the municipal park and accommodations for the grooms. In the stables were two dozen wooden crates shipped from Fort Riley, Kansas, by air. Each crate was stenciled: PRIORITY AIR SHIPMENT. VETERINARY SUPPLIES. PERISHABLE. DO NOT DELAY.
The crates were full of saddles, horseshoes, tack, polo mallets, riding breeches, everything Craig Lowell had asked for and more. The day after the horses arrived, players began to arrive from all over the Constabulary. And two days after that, Private Craig Lowell met Major General Peterson K. Waterford and informed him that their mutual acquaintance, Bryce Taylor, was ill of terminal cancer.
(Six)
The problem of how to get Pvt. Lowell onto the polo field as a commissioned officer remained. MacMillan went through his service record. Lowell had been thrown out of college. College graduates, under certain circumstances, could be directly commissioned. MacMillan toyed with the idea of making certain “corrections” to Lowell’s service record but decided against it; he was only nineteen years old, and there was no way he could correct that, too. Two “corrections” of that magnitude would be too noticeable.
Next, MacMillan went and had a talk with Major William C. Emmons, the Constab’s finance officer. They were friends in the sense that they both had been stationed at Fort Riley before the war. MacMillan could not honestly remember ever having seen Specialist Six Emmons at Riley, but they had talked, and they remembered other people together. Sergeant MacMillan had had little to do with the pencil-pushers in the old days, and the pencil-pushers had had little to do with the troops. On Pearl Harbor Day, Major Emmons had been a Specialist Six, a PFC with three three-year hash marks, drawing the same pay as a first sergeant (Pay Grade Six) because of his specialist’s skill in the intricacies of army finance. A month later, he had been directly commissioned as a first lieutenant of the Finance Corps, and had spent the entire war in the Prudential Insurance Company Building in Newark, N.J., in command of an army of civilian clerks who made up and mailed out allotment checks and insurance checks to dependents and the deceased’s next of kin. He had ultimately risen to major doing that.
Major Emmons not only knew the army game and understood MacMillan’s problem, but offered a solution to it. It was understood between them that MacMillan owed Emmons a Big One. There was no swap, no tit for tat, just an understanding between them that when Major Emmons wanted something, Captain MacMillan, senior aide to the commanding general, would make a genuine effort to see that he got it.
Pvt. Craig Lowell, who was either playing polo or training the polo ponies from sunup to sundown, had no idea that the wheels of army administration were grinding in his behalf.
HEADQUARTERS
UNITED STATES CONSTABULARY
APO 109 NEW YORK NY
SPECIAL ORDERS 19 May 1946
NUMBER 134
EXTRACT
35. PVT LOWELL, Craig W. US32667099 MOS 7745 Hq & Hq Co U.S. Constab APO 109 relvd, trfd in gr WP Svc Co Hq U.S. Constab APO 109 for dy with U.S. Constab Finance Office. No tvl involved. PCS. AUTH: Ltr, Hq U.S. Constab, 7 Jan 46, Subj: “Critical Shortage Enl Finance Personnel.”
BY COMMAND OF
MAJOR GENERAL WATERFORD
Charles A. Webster
Colonel, AGC
Adjutant General
HEADQUARTERS
OFFICE OF THE FINANCE OFFICER
UNITED STATES CONSTABULARY
APO 109 US FORCES
19 May 1946
1. Reference is made to Letter, Subject as Above, Hq USFET, dated 3 April 1946.
2. The Finance Section, this Hq, is three (3) officers, MOS 1444 (Fiscal Accounting Officer) below authorized Table of Organization and Equipment strength, and has been advised that no replacement officers will be assigned from the Zone of the Interior for a minimum of six (6) months.
3. The Finance Section, this Hq, had been authorized to directly commission two (2) suitably qualified enlisted men as 2ND LT. FIN C USAR, to fill this critical shortage of personnel.
4. Reference Para 2 above: Request authority to directly commission one (1) additional qualified enlisted man as 2 LT FIN C USAR for a total of three (3).
William C. Emmons
Major, Finance Corps
Division Finance Officer
1st Ind
HQ U.S. CONSTAB APO 109 19 MAY 46
TO: COMMANDING GENERAL USFET APO 757 US FORCES
1. The Commanding General United States Constabulary is personally aware of the critical shortage of qualified commissioned financial officers, and of the serious threat this shortage poses to the operational status of this division.
2. The Commanding General strongly recommends approval.
BY COMMAND OF
MAJOR GENERAL WATERFORD
Charles A. Webster
Colonel, AGC
Adjutant General
2nd Ind
HQ USFET APO 757 22 MAY 1946
TO: COMMANDING GENERAL U.S. CONSTABULARY APO 109
Authority granted herewith to directly commission as 2nd Lt, Finance Corps, U.S. Army Reserve, one (1) additional highly qualified enlisted man.
BY COMMAND OF GENERAL CLAY
Edward K. MacNeel
Colonel, AGC
Adjutant General
3rd Ind
HQ US CONSTAB APO 109 23 MAY 1946
TO: FINANCE OFFICER, US CONSTAB
For compliance.
BY COMMAND OF
MAJOR GENERAL WATERFORD
Charles A. Webster
/> Colonel, AGC
Adjutant General
HEADQUARTERS
UNITED STATES CONSTABULARY
APO 109 NEW YORK NY
SPECIAL ORDERS 24 May 1946
NUMBER 137
EXTRACT
16. PVT LOWELL, CRAIG W. US32667099 Svc Co U.S. Constabulary, APO 109, is relvd prs asgmt and HON DISCH the mil service UP AR 615–365 (Convenience of the Govt) for purp of accept comm as officer. EM auth transp at govt expense from New York NY to home of record (Broadlawns, Glencove, LI NY) PCS. S–99–999–999.
17. 2ND LT LOWELL, CRAIG W. FinC, 0–495302, having reported on active duty Svc Co U.S. Constabulary is asgd dy with Service Company, Finance Section. Off auth transport at Govt Expense from home of record (Broadlawns, Glencove, LI NY) to New York NY. PCS. S–99–999–999.
18. 2ND LT LOWELL, CRAIG W. FinC, 0–495302, Finance Sec Hq U.S. Constab, is detailed to Armor Branch for pd of one yr for dy w/troops. (Auth: Letter, Hq War Dept, Subj: “Asgmt of newly comm off of tech services to combat arms for dy w/trps.) No tvl included.
19. 2nd LT LOWELL, CRAIG W. 0–495302 FinC (Det/ARM) Finance Sec Hq U.S. Constab, trfd in gr WP Hq Sq 17th Armd Cav Squadron APO 117 for dy w/troops. In Compl with Msg, Hq U.S. Constab, Subj: “Asgmt of Armor/Armored Cav Off to Provisional Horse Platoon.” Off is further placed on TDY, WP Hq 40th Horse Platoon (Prov) for dy. TDN. TCS. S–99–999–999.
BY COMMAND OF
MAJOR GENERAL WATERFORD
Charles A. Webster
Colonel, AGC
Adjutant General
(Seven)
40th Horse Platoon (Prov)
U.S. Constabulary
Bad Nauheim, Germany
Private Craig W. Lowell drove up to the stables of the 40th Horse Platoon in his black, privately owned jeep and blew the horn. In a moment, the left of the huge matching doors, large enough to pass the jeep, was opened by one of the German grooms, and Lowell drove through it.
After Lowell had passed through the door, the groom closed it again and walked to where Lowell had stopped next to the stairwell leading to the second floor of the stables. He then helped Private Lowell unload what he had beneath a scrap of tent canvas in the back seat.
There was a Zenith Transoceanic portable radio still in its carton. There were two jumbo-sized boxes of Rinso; a half dozen bars of Ivory soap; three cartons of Camel cigarettes; two boxes of Dutch Masters cigars; a case of Coca-Cola; a case of Schlitz beer, in cans; a carton of Hershey chocolate bars (plain) and a carton of Hershey chocolate bars (with almonds); and six large cans of Nescafé instant coffee.
Private Lowell had been shopping at the PX.
“Put the radio, the beer, and the cigars in my room,” Private Lowell directed the groom, in German. “You know what to do with the rest of it.”
“Jawohl, Herr Rittmeister,” the groom said. Literally translated, “Rittmeister” meant “Riding Master.” It had also been a rank in the German cavalry, corresponding to captain, as well as a rank in the minor German nobility. All the grooms had taken to referring to him as the “Herr Rittmeister” and Lowell thought it rather amusing.
Before he went to his apartment, he inspected both wings of the stable, all the horses in their stalls, the tack room, and the dressing room where the polo players kept their riding equipment. He had had a little trouble at the very beginning with the grooms, but that had quickly passed when they learned that not only did the young soldier speak fluent German, but he knew horses. Lowell found nothing to complain about in the condition of the animals, the cleanliness of the stables, or the saddle-soaping of the tack and saddles, and he saw that the open lockers in the dressing room each contained two complete, freshly laundered and pressed riding costumes.
Then he went up the stairs to his apartment. He had known about the rooms over the stables from the very beginning and had immediately concluded that they offered much nicer accommodations than his tiny room over the pro shop at the golf course.
The morning after the first time he had played polo with General Waterford, he had made his move.
“Captain,” he had said to MacMillan. “There’s a place I can sleep over the stables. Could I move over there?”
“Where are you sleeping now?”
“Over the pro shop.”
“Go ahead.”
All the grooms were supposed to be equal. They were hired by the army as laborers for a minimum wage, given one hot meal a day, and provided with died-black army fatigues as work clothes. One of them, Ludwig, was more equal than the others, sort of a straw boss.
Ludwig arranged for the furnishing of the two rooms and bath over the stables. Overnight, a bed (as opposed to a GI steel cot) appeared. As did two upholstered chairs, a desk, a table, an insulated box full of ice, two floor lamps, a desk lamp, a lamp that clipped onto the headboard of the bed, and a carpet for the floor. The next night, there was an extension telephone sitting on a small table between one of the upholstered armchairs and the bed. Private Lowell could now take calls without having to rush downstairs to the telephone in the stable office.
When he got to his room, he saw that his laundry had been delivered, and that his other OD uniform was crisply pressed and hanging in the wardrobe. His riding costume was hanging beside it, and his boots, freshly polished, were at the foot of the bed. He took off his Ike jacket, pulled his necktie down, took a cold beer from the ice-filled insulated box, and then unpacked the Zenith Transoceanic portable radio.
He read the instruction book that came with it, opened the back, installed the large, heavy storage battery that had come as an accessory, and turned it on. He tuned in AFN-Frankfurt, the American radio station, and picked up Burns and Allen. With his feet on an upholstered footstool, a can of beer in his hands, and half listening to George’s running battle with Gracie, he began to study the Transoceanic’s operating instructions.
There was a knock at the door.
“Who’s that?” he called, in German.
“Captain MacMillan.”
“Come in,” Lowell said. Shit. The last person Lowell expected to see at the door of his apartment was Captain Rudolph G. MacMillan. He had thought it was one of the grooms, who made predictable trips to his room to report on the condition of the horses in the certain knowledge they would be offered both a beer and a package of cigarettes.
Lowell had come to the conclusion that he was the only member of the Army of Occupation who was buying cigarettes on the black market. Every other mother’s son was selling not only their ration, but having them shipped from the States to sell as well.
Lowell had considered writing his mother and telling her to send him a case of cigarettes. He did not. His mother would not understand. He would either get a carton of cigarettes, or, more likely, a cigarette case, suitably monogrammed. It wasn’t worth the effort. He could afford to buy three cartons a week here and dispense them judiciously among the German grooms, in exchange for having his dirty clothing washed and pressed and his boots polished, and for having the assurance that the animals and tack were in impeccable condition when they were led to the field for the officers to ride. This was a better job than being caddy master. He intended to do what he could to keep it.
MacMillan made no secret of his dislike for him, and it was entirely possible that when he saw the apartment, he would order Lowell to move back into the barracks with the other peasants.
MacMillan came into the room and looked around.
“Very nice,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Lowell said.
“You got another one of those beers?” MacMillan asked.
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said. “Of course.”
MacMillan walked around the apartment, opening the door to the bathroom, and then the door to the wardrobe.
“Very nice,” he repeated. “Even an icebox. Like I said, Lowell, you’re a survivor.”
He was caught now. There was nothing to do but take a chance.
“My company commander think
s I’m sleeping on straw in a sleeping bag,” he said, handing MacMillan a can of Schlitz, then a metal church key, and finally a glass.
“Very classy,” MacMillian said. “Crystal, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Bohemian, about 1880, according to the markings. I looked it up in the library.”
“You’re interested in crystal?” MacMillan asked. His concern was evident. An interest in crystal was tantamount to a public announcement of homosexuality. MacMillan didn’t think that was likely, but now that he thought about it, it wasn’t beyond possibility either. Shit.
“Not really. When I was offered this by one of the grooms, he told me it was quite good. I was checking up on him more than anything else. The beer tastes the same.”
MacMillan chuckled. Lowell thought that it was entirely possible that MacMillan was going to permit him to continue living in comfort.
“You got hot plans for tonight?” MacMillan asked.
“I was going to lie here and listen to my radio,” Lowell said, nodding toward the new Transoceanic. “I just bought it.”
“How would you like to come to my house for supper?” MacMillan said. When Lowell was obviously reluctant to reply, MacMillan went on. “Come on, Roxy’s been wanting to have you over.”
“That’s very kind of you, Captain,” Lowell said. “And I appreciate it, but…”
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” MacMillan snapped.
“Look, I mean it. I do appreciate what you’re doing. Take care of the lonely troops. I really appreciate it. But I’m sure that as seldom as you get to spend a night at home, Mrs. MacMillan would really rather spend it alone with you, instead of entertaining one of your troops.”
MacMillan didn’t say anything.
“Honest, Captain. I’m used to being alone, and I like it. And I really appreciate the thought.”
“Take a shave,” MacMillan ordered. “I’ll wait. That a fresh uniform?”
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said.
“Wear it,” Captain MacMillan ordered.
The Lieutenants Page 18
