Special Ops

by W. E. B Griffin

  He had no idea what Lieutenant Colonel Lowell said to Sergeant Portet, but it had Jack chuckling.

  Finally, Jack put the telephone in its cradle.

  “The condition of your nose permitting, Sergeant Portet, you are about to take an R and R in the vicinity of Key Largo, Florida,” Hanrahan said.

  “An R and R?” Jack questioned curiously.

  “It stands for Rest and Recuperation Leave,” Hanrahan said.

  It is sometimes called I&I, which stands for Intercourse and Intoxication. I am looking at the only Special Forces sergeant in history who doesn’t know that.

  But on the other hand, there are a number of Special Forces sergeants who have never heard a shot fired in anger. This one, according to Father Lunsford, behaved damned well when he was being shot at.

  General Hanrahan had more or less the same thought when, a few minutes later, he opened his door to a tanned young man in expensive civilian clothing:

  This one behaved well, too, although to look at him, you would never suspect that he’s a Green Beret officer, and a Vietnam veteran who’s entitled to wear a Combat Infantry Badge, the Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts.

  Geoffrey Craig had been a sergeant with an eight-man A Team on an isolated hilltop. They had fifty of the Mung tribesmen with them. The Vietcong had attacked with a battalion. Geoff and twenty-odd Mung had lived through the assault, and he had come off the hilltop with a Silver Star, his third Purple Heart, and a battlefield commission.

  “Hey, Geoff,” Hanrahan said, putting out his hand. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Good morning, sir,” Geoff Craig said. “I hope going by the headquarters was the right thing to do?”

  “Absolutely. Come on in. Have you had your breakfast?”

  “Coffee and a fried egg sandwich, sir.”

  “Patricia will be happy to remedy that,” Hanrahan said, then asked, “I thought Pappy Hodges was with you?”

  “He has friends here, sir. We’re to meet him at Pope at eleven hundred. Will that give us time to get Portet in from Mackall?”

  “He’s here. And so is Marjorie Bellmon.”

  “I saw the car,” Craig said, inclining his head toward the driveway, where a red Jaguar convertible was parked.

  Hanrahan hadn’t noticed the car when Marjorie arrived.

  “She drove up last night,” Hanrahan said.

  And won’t that give my neighbors something to talk about over their morning coffee. “Did you see the Jaguar, with the enlisted man’s sticker, in the Hanrahan driveway? I wonder what that’s all about?”

  “Jack told us that Ursula and the baby came through that nightmare all right,” Patricia Hanrahan said as he walked into the kitchen. “I’m so happy for you, Geoff.”

  “Thank you. They’re at Ocean Reef with my father and mother. And Jack’s folks. That’s where we’re headed,” he said, and went to Jack Portet, who stood up as he approached. They embraced each other briefly and wordlessly, but the affection between them was clear.

  “And Miss Marjorie,” Geoff said, turning to her. “You’re a long way from the bank, aren’t you?”

  “If I wasn’t so glad to see you, I’d tell you to go to hell,” Marjorie said. “Ursula and the baby are really all right?”

  “Absolutely. No small thanks to your boyfriend. You heard about his John Wayne act?”

  “Why don’t you shut up, Geoff?” Jack Portet said.

  “No, I haven’t,” Marjorie said.

  “Quickly changing the subject—” Jack said.

  “Cutting to the chase,” Geoff said, interrupting him, amused. “He’s about to be invested in the Order of Leopold, in the grade of Chevalier, for conspicuous gallantry in action—”

  “Jesus!” Jack said.

  “But the gratitude of the King of the Belgians toward our modest hero is nothing like that of my parents. You are really going to have a good time in Florida, Marj, basking in the reflected glory of our Jacques.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Stanleyville,” Marjorie said.

  “I heard whispers about that, come to think of it,” Geoff said. “But it’s no longer a problem. All is forgiven, so to speak.”

  “And I can’t go to Florida,” Marjorie said.

  “Why not?” Jack asked, shocked. “I want you to meet my parents. ”

  “Well, I have a job, for one thing.”

  “Screw the job. Let’s get married.”

  Geoff Craig laughed.

  “That will certainly rank high on the list of never-to-be-forgotten romantic proposals,” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but I think you are supposed to make propositions of that nature on your knees.”

  “Let’s get married, Marjorie,” Jack repeated. “As soon as we can.”

  She looked at him but didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Okay.”

  He got up from the table and dropped to his knees.

  Marjorie, sobbing, fled the room. Patricia Hanrahan chased after her.

  “Somehow, Jack, I get the feeling you didn’t handle that very well,” General Hanrahan said.

  [ FOUR ]

  Office of the Commanding General

  The Army Aviation Center

  Fort Rucker, Alabama

  1545 3 December 1964

  Captain Richard Hornsby, a rather good-looking, very natty young man of twenty-five, who was wearing for the first time the insignia—a shield bearing two stars on his lapels, and an aiguillette hanging from his epaulette—identifying him as the aide-de-camp of a major general, looked up from his desk, first with idle curiosity and then with greater interest as a sergeant wearing fatigues entered his office.

  For one thing, the sergeant had a large bandage covering his nose. For another, he was a Green Beret, and there were no Green Berets, as far as Hornsby knew, stationed on Fort Rucker.

  “Can I help you, Sergeant?” Captain Hornsby asked.

  “Sir, I’d hoped to see Captain Oliver,” the sergeant said.

  “Captain Oliver has been reassigned,” Hornsby said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to see General Bellmon, please, sir.”

  Captain Hornsby’s last instructions in that regard, that very morning, were “Dick, an important, very important part of your job will be to shield me from people who want to see me who really don’t have to. You’ll be astonished at the number of idiots who want to waste my time.”

  The sergeant didn’t look like an idiot, but the odds were, whatever he wanted, Hornsby could do it, and without disturbing General Bellmon.

  “The general’s tied up at the moment, Sergeant. Perhaps I can help. What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s a personal matter, Captain,” the sergeant said, a little uncomfortably. “I think if you tell him I’m out here—my name is Portet—he’ll see me.”

  “Think of me as the guardian of the portals, Sergeant,” Captain Hornsby said, not unkindly. “I have the duty of deciding who can have some of the general’s time, and as I’m sure you can understand, there’s a hell of a demand for his time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But whatever it is, Sergeant, I think it’s even money that I could be of some help.”

  The sergeant didn’t respond for a moment, and then he shrugged.

  “Captain, would you believe me if I told you that if I told him I came to see him and you wouldn’t let me in, he would be pissed?”

  “No, Sergeant, I don’t think I would,” Captain Hornsby said, just a little testily.

  Sergeant Portet opened his mouth as if to say something else.

  The door to General Bellmon’s office opened and General Bellmon came through, holding a sheaf of paper in his hands. Only after a moment did he raise his eyes and see the sergeant.

  “Can I have a couple of minutes, General?” Sergeant Portet asked.

  “Sir, I explained to the sergeant that you’re tied up,” Captain Hornsby said.

&n
bsp; “Go on in,” General Bellmon said, nodding with his head toward his office. He handed the sheaf of paper to Hornsby and added, “We’ll get to this in a minute, Dick,” then went into his office, closing the door behind him.

  “Welcome home, Jack,” General Bellmon said, offering his hand.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We saw your picture in the paper,” Bellmon said. “What happened to your nose? Is it serious?”

  “Not serious. I took a dive off a truck in Stanleyville,” Jack said. “General, I want to marry Marjorie.”

  “Actually, Marjorie saw it first. She said, ‘That’s my Jack, and that’s his sister.’ It was on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

  “Yes, sir. General, I want to marry Marjorie.”

  Bellmon took a moment to reply.

  “I’ve been expecting this, Jack, but now that I’m faced with it, I find myself collecting my thoughts.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Presumably, you’ve asked her?”

  “Yes, sir. This morning. In General Hanrahan’s house.”

  “What did you do, drive straight back here?”

  “No, sir. We’re in Colonel Lowell’s Cessna.”

  “Lowell loaned you his Cessna?”

  “No, sir. He sent it after me. I’m headed for Florida. My parents are there. I want to take Marjorie with me, to meet them.”

  “I have no objection to that,” Bellmon said. “Where in Florida?”

  “Someplace called Ocean Reef,” Jack said.

  “I’ve been there. Lowell owns a house there. So does his cousin. Lieutenant Craig’s father?”

  “Yes, sir, but speaking of objections . . .”

  “Is Lieutenant Craig there, with his parents?”

  “No, sir. I mean he’s here at Rucker. He and Pappy . . . Major Hodges . . . were flying the Cessna. I’m going to fly it to Florida. His wife and the baby are there. His parents, too, I think.”

  “I see,” General Bellmon said. “Well, all’s well—including this nightmare—that ends well, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No objections, Jack, to you and Marjorie getting married. I really don’t have much choice, do I?”

  “I’d like to have your approval, sir.”

  “Well, you have it, Jack,” General Bellmon said. “And I know Mrs. Bellmon shares my high opinion of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “When were you thinking of getting married?”

  “I thought right away, sir.”

  Bellmon’s voice was cold when he asked: “Is there some reason you feel you should get married right away?”

  “Yes, sir, now that you bring it up, there is.”

  “Well, those things happen. It certainly won’t be the first time in recorded history, will it? Has she seen a doctor?”

  “Sir?” Jack asked, confused, and then comprehension dawned.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, General,” he said. “What I was thinking was that I realize this whole situation is a little awkward for you—”

  “What situation is a little awkward?” Bellmon asked.

  “I’m an enlisted man, and she’s a general’s daughter,” Jack said.

  “Why should that be awkward?” Bellmon challenged.

  Jack looked at him helplessly.

  “What I thought was that it would be easier for everyone all around if we got married right away, in a quiet ceremony, in Florida, just my family, and of course you and Mrs. Bellmon. . . .”

  “Is this what Marjorie wants?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.”

  “You don’t think she’ll have an opinion?”

  Jack didn’t reply.

  “Mrs. Bellmon and I were married in the Cadet Chapel at West Point,” Bellmon said. “As were our parents. Both sides.”

  “I didn’t go to West Point,” Jack argued. “But if that’s what she wants, why not?”

  “Mrs. Bellmon will probably think of Chapel One here at Rucker,” Bellmon said. “With a reception at the club.”

  “General, I’m a sergeant. I don’t belong to the officers’ club.”

  “Incidentally, I did notice the stripes. Congratulations. When did that happen?”

  “Just before we went to Europe.”

  “And what are those, Belgian paratrooper’s wings?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I guess you earned them the hard way, didn’t you?”

  Jack didn’t reply.

  “Jack, I am not the rambling idiot I sound like,” Bellmon said. “I had no idea that facing the fact of Marjorie getting married would scramble my brains like this.”

  “General, I love her, and I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will,” Bellmon said.

  He put out his hand.

  They shook solemnly.

  “Where is she?” Bellmon asked.

  “At your house, asking permission to come to Florida with me.”

  “There would be room in the Cessna for Mrs. Bellmon, wouldn’t there be?” Bellmon asked, distractedly, obviously thinking out loud. “I could get an L-23 over the weekend, take Bobby. . . .”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said hesitantly.

  Bellmon looked at him.

  “You’re implying Mrs. Bellmon wasn’t invited?” Bellmon asked.

  Jack didn’t reply.

  “Since you’re about to join the family, Jack,” Bellmon said, “let me tell you about my wife and Colonel Lowell. Anything she wants, she can have. I think he does it to piss me off. We have an open invitation to Ocean Reef—my wife does. If one of the houses isn’t available, they put us up in a hotel.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said.

  “And the way it works, Jack, is that women do weddings. All the man has to do is show up sober at the church.”

  He smiled at his own wit, then touched Jack’s arm and prodded him toward the door.

  Captain Hornsby rose from his desk as they came into the outer office.

  “If anybody wants me, I’ll be at my quarters,” General Bellmon said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Dick, call the post chaplain. Give him a heads-up. Mrs.

  Bellmon will probably call him tomorrow about a wedding.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  [ FIVE ]

  Base Operations

  Cairns Army Airfield

  Fort Rucker, Alabama

  1710 3 December 1964

  When Major Daniel McCarthy, the AOD (Airfield Officer of the Day) returned to the Base Operations building from his first quick tour of the field—he had come on duty at 1615—there was a black Oldsmobile 98 with a blue sticker FORT RUCKER ALA 1 parked in the spot marked COMMANDING GENERAL.

  McCarthy was made a little nervous, and was annoyed with the AOD he had relieved, who had said nothing about the general being on the program for the evening.

  He got quickly out of the staff car—which had a large black-and -white checked flag flying from a mast on the rear bumper— and entered the building.

  The sergeant on the desk pointed to the flight planning room, and Major McCarthy walked quickly to the door and pushed it open.

  The general, a civilian, and a sergeant were bent over one of the worktables. Mrs. Bellmon and the general’s daughter were standing before a huge map of the southern portion of the United States, which filled a wall.

  There were other pilots in the room, obviously trying to stay out of the general’s way.

  Major McCarthy recognized the sergeant, despite the bandage over his nose. He had recently taken his annual instrument exam, and the sergeant had been in the office of the Instrument Board. McCarthy remembered someone telling him that he was a drafted airline pilot who had opted for two years’ service as an enlisted man, rather than three or more years as an officer/pilot.

  That explained what he was doing, making a flight plan, but it didn’t mesh with McCarthy’s memory that the drafted airline pilot h
ad been a just-out-of-basic-training private, not a Green Beret sergeant with two sets of parachutist’s wings.

  “Good evening, General,” McCarthy said. “Major McCarthy, the AOD. Can I be of some help?”

  Bellmon turned and looked at him.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Major,” he said, smiling. “But maybe the girls would like a Coke or a cup of coffee in the lounge.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” Major McCarthy said. He turned to the women. “Would you like to come with me, ladies?”

  “I’d like to see what’s Jack’s doing,” Marjorie said. “Would I be in the way?”

  “Help yourself,” Jack said, and she walked to the table.

  Barbara Bellmon smiled at Major McCarthy.

  “I’ll pass on the coffee, but thank you, Major.”

  Jack drew a straight line on a plastic-covered map of the area. It ran directly from Cairns Field to Hollywood, Florida, north of Miami. The route passed east of Crestview and Panama City, Florida, and then would take them over Appalachacola and the Gulf of Mexico, reaching land again northeast of Clearwater, Florida, and then across the Florida peninsula to Hollywood on the Atlantic coast.

  “You’re not going IFR?”—instrument flight rules—General Bellmon asked, surprised, and just a little disapproving.

  Jack shook his head, no.

  “They’d vector me into Georgia,” he explained, drawing a course with his finger on the map. “And then down the peninsula. That’d add a couple of hundred miles, and this way I’ll pick up a tailwind.”

  “That’s what?” General Bellmon asked, and made a compass of his fingers to measure the distance on the map. “That’s two hundred and something miles over the water.”

  General Bellmon obviously did not approve of the flight plan, and Major McCarthy was surprised that the sergeant, ex-airline pilot or not, did not immediately concur with the general’s judgment.

  “Daddy, Jack knows what he’s doing,” Marjorie said.

  You said that because he’s your knight in shining armor, but the fact is that he probably does, General Bellmon thought. He’s got more hours in the air than I do.

  “I’m sure he does,” Bellmon said, smiling with a visible effort, “and he’s the pilot.”