"I bet you eat snakes and everything," Geoff went on cheerfully, enjoying his brother-in-Law's discomfort. "Come, let me take you away from all this sordid military brutality."
"You should try to remember that you're an Officer," Wagner flared, and was immediately sorry.
Geoff laughed delightedly, snatched up Wagner's luggage, and motioned for Wagner to precede him out of the coffee shop.
The encounter naturally caused some discussion among the Green Beret noncoms in training after they had gone, and then one of them pointed out the window. Lieutenant Wagner and the character in the Santa Claus hat were on the parking lamp, walking toward a glistening civilian twin-engine airplane. A tall, mustachioed civilian was leaning against the fuselage.
When Lieutenant Wagner reached the civilian, he came to attention and saluted. The civilian returned the salute, and then offered his hand, smiled, and motioned Wagner into the airplane.
"I wonder what the hell that was all about?" one sergeant asked.
"With Otto, no telling," a second sergeant replied. "Nice airplane."
"Cessna 31OH," a third sergeant said. "Now where the hell is Otto going on Christmas Eve in a civilian Cessna 31OH?"
"Ven ve vish you to know," the second sergeant said, "ve vill tell you."
(Three)
Schloss Greiffenberg Marburg an der Lahn, West Germany 1900 Hours 24 December 1963
Generalleutnant Graf Peter-Paul von Greiffenberg, retired, was alone in the library of the Schloss listening to the Christmas Eve program on Radio Vienna when the rather burly young man in a well-cut business suit opened the door and stood in the doorway until he was noticed.
"Oh, come in, Willi," the fourteenth Graf von Greiffenberg said. "Frolic he Weihnachten!" The Graf Was a tall, thin man in his early sixties. He was wearing an ancient tweed jacket, frayed at the cuffs, and mussed gray flannel trousers.
"Frolic he Weihnachten, Herr Generalleutnant Graf!" Major Wilhelm von Methes-Zach of the Bundeswehr Intelligence Service said, bobbed his head, and advanced on von Greiffenberg, who was sprawled in a Charles Eame's chair. He bobbed his head again before handing the Graf a dozen small printed telephone message forms. "The messages since noon, Herr Generalleutnant Graf."
"Thank you," the Graf said. "There's a bottle of Marnier Lapastolle on the bar. "Pour some, will you? For both of us. I always feel depraved to drink alone."
"The Herr Generalleutnant Graf is most kind," the Major said.
Von Greiffenberg went through the messages one by one, his lips unconsciously pursed in thought and then bobbing his head at each one as he read it and agreed with the "disposition taken or recommended" block. Then his lips tightened, his eyes grew very cold, and the vein over his temple throbbed.
"Your cognac, Herr Generalleutnant Graf," Major Wilhelm von Methes-Zach said as he handed von Greiffenberg a crystal brandy snifter.
"Be so good," von Greiffenberg said, thrusting one of the telephone message forms at him, "to explain this one." Von Methes-Zach took the small sheet of paper and read it.
"I took that call myself, Herr Generalleutnant Graf," Methes Zach said. "Colonel Felter asked if he could be put through to you, and I told him that it was of course impossible on Christmas Eve. He was calling from Brussels. He said that he would come to Frankfurt and asked if it would "be possible for you to fit him into your schedule on the twenty-sixth. I told him that I would pass the word to your secretary and that he should call again on Thursday-that's the twenty-sixth-to see if you would have time for him."
"That's all?" Major von Methes-Zach was a very bright young officer, and although he had not been assigned to Generafleutnant Graf von, Greiffenberg very long, he had been around him long enough to sense that something was amiss.
"Colonel Felter is American, Sir," he said. "He speaks remarkably good-Berliner German."
"Sonofabitch," the fourteenth Graf von-Greiffenberg. said in English, and then switched to German. It was a brief, colorfully obscene and profane outburst (the Graf had been cavalry officer), the gist of which was that he had proof of the deterioration of the aristocracy and the officer corps standing before him, and that the reason behind such incredible ineptness and stupidity was quite obviously that von Methes-Zach's ancestors had been canines who copulated with swine.
Von Methes-Zach had been warned that the old man had an awesome temper, but he was not prepared for anything like what he had just heard. Von Methes-Zach stood at attention, white faced.
The Graf got his temper under control "Sorry," he said. "Obviously Colonel Felter's name means nothing to you, Willi?"
"No, Herr Generalleutnant Graf, I regret that it does not."
"Phrased somewhat euphemistically," the Graf said, "Colonel Felter has interesting contacts at the very highest levels of the American intelligence community."
"I regret that I was not aware of that, Herr Generalleutnant Graf."
"You are now. And there's something else, Willi. If it were not for Colonel Felter, I would still be-presuming I were still alive-a clerk in the supply office of Camp No 263, near Kyr Shymya, Siberia. I had been reported dead. Even General Gehlen believed that to be the case. Colonel Felter finally convinced Gehlen that 1 was alive, and Gehlen, in his good time, got me out."
Methes-Zach's pink face flushed red. He had learned about General Gehlen early in his intelligence career. Gehlen was a German intelligence officer on the Russian Front during World War II. When defeat was imminent, he had arranged for his files, and what was left of his organization, to be turned over to the U.S. Army. The Americans had provided funds for "the Gehlen Organization," which provided much, if not most of U.S. intelligence data vis-a-vis the Russians until the Gehlen Organization was turned over to German control.
"1 regret I was unaware of any of this, Herr Generalleutnant."
"So do I. One test of a good officer, Willi, is how much and how quickly he salvages what he can from a disaster. Do you know how Colonel Felter plans to come to Frankfurt?"
"No, Sir."
"Or where he plans to stay?"
"No, Sir."
"Get on the telephone to the duty officer in Frankfurt," the Graf said. "Tell him to call in as many people as he needs. I want Colonel Felter located. When he is located, the duty officer is to personally go to him, offer both my compliments and my profound apologies for the ineptness of my, aide, and ask Colonel Felter if he would do me the great honor of being my guest here for as long as he can stay in Germany."
"Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant Graf."
"Finish your brandy, Willi," the Graf said. "It's Christmas Eve. And I'm sorry I snapped at you."
IV
(One)
227 Melody Lane Ozark, Alabama 1745 Hours 24 December 1963
First Lieutenant Karl-Heinz Wagner's fears that Geoff and Ursula's house would be full of people were more than-justified.
Because of the cars that overflowed the driveway and the street in both directions from the long, rambling frame house, Geoff had to park his Oldsmobile station wagon halfway down the block. Most of the car bumpers carried Fort Rucker registration decals, and one, an Oldsmobile station-wagon almost identical to Geoff's, was particularly discomforting: It carried the number 1, which meant that it was the-personal automobile-for the Commanding General of Fort Rucker.
And there were several other single and double-digit registration
stickers, indicating the presence of other senior officers.
Karl-Heinz Wagner, who had received his officer training in a different society, was uncomfortable in the company of those greatly superior in rank.
They entered the house through a sliding glass door from the carport. A ruddy-faced man in a sports coat and open collared woolen shirt stood just inside beside a striking, silver-haired gentleman.
"Ah, the prodigals," the woman said" smiling, when she saw them.
Colonel Lowell wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.
She didn't object, but the ruddy-faced man obviously didn't
like
IV
(One)
227 Melody Lane Ozark, Alabama 1745 Hours 24 December 1963
First Lieutenant Karl-Heinz Wagner's fears that Geoff and Ursula's house would be full of people were more than-justified.
Because, of the cars that overflowed the driveway and the street in both directions from the long, rambling frame house, Geoff had to park his Oldsmobile station wagon halfway down the block. Most of the car bumpers carried Fort Rucker registration decals, and one an Oldsmobile station wagon, almost identical to Geoff's, was particularly discomfiting: It carried the number 1, which meant that it was the personal automobile from the Commanding General of Fort Rucker.
And there were several other single-and double-digit registration stickers, indicating the presence of other senior officers. Karl-Heinz Wagner, who had received his officer training in a different society, was uncomfortable in the company of those greatly superior in rank.
They entered the house through a sliding glass door from the carport. A ruddy-faced man in a sports coat and open collared woolen shirt stood just inside beside a striking, silver haired woman.
"Ah, the prodigals," the woman said" smiling, when she saw them.
Colonel Lowell wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She didn't object, but the ruddy-faced man obviously didn't like it.
"You've met Geoff, Bob?" Colonel Lowell asked.
"Yes, certainly," the ruddy-faced man said. "Merry Christmas, Craig."
"Merry Christmas, Sir," Geoff said.
"I love your Christmas outfit," the woman said, "especially all those green balls on your chest."
"Bob, this is Ursula's brother, Karl-Heinz Wagner. Karl, I'd like you to meet my very good and very old friends, General and Mrs. Bellmon."
Karl-Heinz Wagner came to attention and stiffly offered his hand. "It is a great honor, Sir."
"I'm very glad to finally meet you, Wagner," General Bellmon said in German, offering his hand. "I've heard a good deal about you."
His German was fluent and easy. High German, Karl-Heinz thought approvingly.
"The Herr General speaks German very well," Karl-Heinz blurted.
"I spent three years in a POW camp."
"My husband, Karl," Mrs. Bellmon said, "is notorious for saying the first thing that pops into his mind."
"Where is the booze?" Lowell asked. "I have just gone through a harrowing experience."
"What was her name?" Mrs. Bellmon asked.
"I let the fledgling birdman here," Lowell explained, "fly my airplane. I am too old for emotional trials like that."
"I thought you were in rotary-wing school, Craig" General Bellmon asked Geoff.
"Since it is against some absurd regulation against students taking unofficial instruction," Lowell said, "I will rephrase. You did not hear me say that Geoff flew my airplane."
"There's a reason for the regulation," General Bellmon said.
"Nobody heard you say anything about who flew what," Barbara Bellmon said firmly. "Nobody who expects to go home with me, at least."
General Bellmon threw up his hands in surrender.
Ursula came trotting over and kissed her brother. She looks good, Karl-Heinz thought. She seemed to glow. And then he noticed that she was expensively dressed in a black woolen dress. There was a string of pearls around her neck, and he quickly judged they were genuine. As was the large, square-cut diamond in her engagement ring.
"Come say Merry Christmas to Geoff's mother and father;" she said.
"With the Herr General's permission?"
"Of course," Genera! Bellmon said, and then, added "Karl, a word of advice. I hope you'll take it as coming from a friend, of the family. A good friend of the family: We save that with the Herr General's permission sort of business for times when we are on duty and in uniform."
"On the other hand, Karl," Colonel Lowell said, "if you fail to call him General he will have you Shot!"
Barbara Bellmon laughed delightedly.
"Come on, Casanova," she said to Lowell. "we'll get you a drink."
There were some other junior officers and their wives in the house, and Karl-Heinz learned they were classmates of Geoff's. And some were in uniform which made him feel easier about being in uniform himself. There was a buffet, an awesome display of ham and turkey and roast beef and cheese and shrimp.
Karl-Heinz had a couple stiff drinks of cognac, which put him at ease, and then a hand clapped his back.
"Dutch, you old sonofabitch!"
It was an officer he had known in Vietnam a Green Beret, who asked if he had been sent to flight school, too.
"No, I am here because this is my brother-in-law's house and l have been invited for Christmas."
"Geoff Craig is your brother in-law? I'll be dammed, I didn't know that. Come on, I got the wife, I want you to meet her."
Finally he realized that he was glad that he came, and that Colonel Lowell had offered him-no choice in the matter. Otherwise he would have spent Christmas in the BOQ, alone, watching television.
Gradually the party petered out. Karl-Heinz noticed that contrary to what he understood the Customs of the Service to be, people left before the Commanding General did. But at one o'clock General Bellmon was sitting on a couch with his &wife and Colonel Lowell and showed no Inclination to leave.
And then Ursula moved among the fifteen or so people remaining, handing-each a stem fluted-glass, which Geoff their filled with champagne. As he did that, he asked each person to hold off drinking it until the speech.
Finally Geoff called for everyone's attention.
"My cousin, the Colonel," he said, and there was the expected laughter, and he waited for it to subside before going on, has told me of the Army custom of raising a glass on such occasions to absent friends."
"Hear, hear," General Bellmon said and stood up. The others quickly followed suit.
"Absent friends," Geoff said, and raised his glass.
"Absent friends," everybody parroted, and sipped the champagne.
"New friends," Geoff said, and raised his glass again. That wasn't expected, but the others raised their glasses again.
"And finally," Geoff said, "to friends-to-be."
"What the hell does that mean?" General Lowell asked, curiously, on the edge of disapproval.
"I was worried no one would ask," Geoff said. "What it means is that in about six months. I can't think of anything clever to say. Ursula's pregnant, and we couldn't think of a better way to make the announcement than here and now."
(Two)
Der BechewaLd Near Marburg an der Lahn, West Germany 25 December 1963
Lothar Hasberger, the six-foot-two, 230-pound, forty-five year-old Jagermeister-Chief Hunter and Game Warden-of the Bechewald, a nine-hundred-hectare forest in the hills above Marburg, was dressed in the traditional garb of his profession knickers and stout shoes, a leather coat, and a hat with a long feather. He was armed with a Mauser sporting rifle, based on the Mauser Model 1898 rifle. It had been rebarreled, converted to 7x57mm, restocked, and equipped with an Ernst Leitz, Wetzlar telescopic sight with a magnification power of four, and a pillar and post sight.
Beside him in the back seat of an ex-U.S. Army World War II jeep was Major Wilhelm von Methes-Zach of the Bundeswehr Intelligence Service. He was wearing a tweed jacket, a sweater, a shirt and tie, knickers, and boots reaching over his ankles. He was armed, in addition to the Walther 9mm automatic pistol which he always carried, with a Circassian-walnut-stocked Franz Deiter (Ansbach, Austria) Drilling. It had two .30-06 rifle barrels, and there was a 16-bore shotgun barrel beneath the rifle barrels. An Ernst Leitz, Wetzlar 2o5-power telescopic sight with crosshair optics was mounted low over the barrels. The Drilling (from the German Drei, and meaning three-barreled) had cost Major von Methes-Zach the equivalent of nearly four thousand American dollars.
The driver of the jeep, the fourteenth Graf von Greiffenberg, and the man beside him, Colonel Sanford T. Felter, were dressed nearly identically in plaid woo
len shirts, U.S. Army field jackets and trousers, and L.L. Bean & Company lace-up hunting boots.
They were armed identically, with Sturm, Ruger and Company Super-Blackhawk .44 Magnum caliber single-action revolvers. Several years before, Generalleutnant Graf von Greiffenberg had asked Colonel Felter if the legendary recoil of the .44 Magnum cartridge was really all that bad; if it "really should be on wheels." Felter had told him that-it took a little getting used to, since the revolver had a tendency to rise on firing, but that he personally liked his Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 Magnum revolver.
The New Breed Page 9
