The Colonels Read online

  PRAISE FOR W. E. B. GRIFFIN’S ALL-TIME CLASSIC SERIES

  BROTHERHOOD OF WAR

  A sweeping military epic of the United States Army that became a New York Times bestselling phenomenon.

  “A MAJOR WORK…MAGNIFICENT…POWERFUL…If books about warriors and the women who love them were given medals for authenticity, insight, and honesty, Brotherhood of War would be covered with them.”

  —William Bradford Huie, author of The Klansman and The Execution of Private Slovik

  “Brotherhood of War gets into the hearts and minds of those who by choice or circumstance are called upon to fight our nation’s wars.”

  —William R. Corson, Lt. Col. (Ret.) U.S.M.C., author of The Betrayal and The Armies of Ignorance

  “Captures the rhythms of army life and speech, its rewards and deprivations…A WELL-WRITTEN, ABSORBING ACCOUNT.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “REFLECTS THE FLAVOR OF WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE A PROFESSIONAL SOLDIER.”

  —Frederick Downs, author of The Killing Zone

  “LARGE, EXCITING, FAST-MOVING.”

  —Shirley Ann Grau, author of The Keepers of the House

  “A MASTER STORYTELLER who makes sure each book stands on its own.”

  —Newport News Daily Press

  “GRIFFIN HAS BEEN CALLED THE LOUIS L’AMOUR OF MILITARY FICTION, AND WITH GOOD REASON.”

  —Chattanooga Times Free Press

  THE CORPS

  W.E.B. Griffin’s bestselling saga of the heroes we call Marines…

  “THE BEST CHRONICLER OF THE U.S. MILITARY EVER TO PUT PEN TO PAPER.”

  —The Phoenix Gazette

  “A BRILLIANT STORY…NOT ONLY WORTHWHILE, IT’S A PUBLIC SERVICE.”

  —The Washington Times

  “GREAT READING. A superb job of mingling fact and fiction…[Griffin’s] characters come to life.”

  —The Sunday Oklahoman

  “THIS MAN HAS REALLY DONE HIS HOMEWORK…I confess to impatiently awaiting the appearance of succeeding books in the series.”

  —The Washington Post

  “GRIFFIN’S BOOKS HAVE HOOKED ME…THERE IS NO ONE BETTER.”

  —Chattanooga Times Free Press

  “W. E. B. GRIFFIN HAS DONE IT AGAIN!”

  —Rave Reviews

  “ACTION-PACKED…DIFFICULT TO PUT DOWN.”

  —Marine Corps Gazette

  BADGE OF HONOR

  W.E.B. Griffin’s electrifying epic series of a big-city police force…

  “DAMN EFFECTIVE…He captivates you with characters the way few authors can.”

  —Tom Clancy

  “TOUGH, AUTHENTIC…POLICE DRAMA AT ITS BEST…Readers will feel as if they’re part of the investigation, and the true-to-life characters will soon feel like old friends. Excellent reading.”

  —Dale Brown, bestselling author of Day of the Cheetah and Hammerheads

  “COLORFUL…GRITTY…TENSE.”

  —The Philadelphia Inquirer

  “A REAL WINNER.”

  —New York Daily News

  “NOT SINCE JOSEPH WAMBAUGH have we been treated to a police story of the caliber that Griffin gives us. He creates a story about real people in a real world doing things that are AS REAL AS TODAY’S HEADLINES.”

  —Harold Coyle, bestselling author of Team Yankee and Sword Point

  “FANS OF ED MCBAIN’S 87TH PRECINCT NOVELS BETTER MAKE ROOM ON THEIR SHELVES…Badge of Honor is first and foremost the story of the people who solve the crimes. The characters come alive.”

  —The Times (Gainesville, GA)

  “GRITTY, FAST-PACED…AUTHENTIC.”

  —Richard Herman, author of The Warbirds

  TITLES BY W. E. B. GRIFFIN

  HONOR BOUND

  HONOR BOUND

  BLOOD AND HONOR

  SECRET HONOR

  BROTHERHOOD OF WAR

  BOOK I: THE LIEUTENANTS

  BOOK II: THE CAPTAINS

  BOOK III: THE MAJORS

  BOOK IV: THE COLONELS

  BOOK V: THE BERETS

  BOOK VI: THE GENERALS

  BOOK VII: THE NEW BREED

  BOOK VIII: THE AVIATORS

  BOOK IX: SPECIAL OPS

  THE CORPS

  BOOK I: SEMPER FI

  BOOK II: CALL TO ARMS

  BOOK III: COUNTERATTACK

  BOOK IV: BATTLEGROUND

  BOOK V: LINE OF FIRE

  BOOK VI: CLOSE COMBAT

  BOOK VII: BEHIND THE LINES

  BOOK VIII: IN DANGER’S PATH

  BOOK IX: UNDER FIRE

  BOOK X: RETREAT, HELL!

  BADGE OF HONOR

  BOOK I: MEN IN BLUE

  BOOK II: SPECIAL OPERATIONS

  BOOK III: THE VICTIM

  BOOK IV: THE WITNESS

  BOOK V: THE ASSASSIN

  BOOK VI: THE MURDERERS

  BOOK VII: THE INVESTIGATORS

  BOOK VIII: FINAL JUSTICE

  MEN AT WAR

  BOOK I: THE LAST HEROES

  BOOK II: THE SECRET WARRIORS

  BOOK III: THE SOLDIER SPIES

  BOOK IV: THE FIGHTING AGENTS

  BOOK V: THE SABOTEURS

  BOOK VI: THE DOUBLE AGENTS

  PRESIDENTIAL AGENT

  BOOK I: BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT

  BOOK II: THE HOSTAGE

  BOOK III: THE HUNTERS

  The Colonels

  BROTHERHOOD OF WAR BOOK IV

  BY W. E. B. GRIFFIN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr. Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE COLONELS

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 1983 by W. E. B. Griffin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-4406-3609-7

  JOVE®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

&nbsp
; 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  When available, a caparisoned stallion, with boots reversed in stirrups, to be led in the procession, is authorized for military funerals of officers and noncommissioned officers assigned to Armor or Armored Cavalry, or for officers and noncommissioned officers formerly assigned to Cavalry.

  A ground crew—two sergeants in fatigues and field jackets—was pulling camouflage netting off Big Bad Bird II when the three-quarter-ton truck rolled up to the small clearing in the pine forest and discharged its passenger.

  The passenger was a tall, handsome, mustachioed major wearing pinks and greens, a uniform which, in three days, he would no longer be authorized to wear. The uniform was superbly tailored. It had, in fact, come from the London tailors which had outfitted General George Smith Patton, Jr. There had been a joke (paraphrasing J. P. Morgan’s comment about his yacht) that if you had to ask what uniforms from Hartwell & Hay cost, you couldn’t afford one.

  The major’s green tunic was heavy with ribbons and devices testifying to his service, the ribbons ranging downward in importance from the Distinguished Service Cross, the nation’s second highest award for valor, to the red-and-white ribbon of the Enlisted Man’s Good Conduct Medal. There was an Expert Combat Infantry Badge with a star signifying a second award. There was a set of Senior Army Aviator’s wings. There was a four-inch-wide ribbon around his neck, holding a three-inch gold medal awarded by the Greek government.

  The major was carrying a small, folded, somewhat frayed guidon in his hands.

  A chief warrant officer, a gray-haired, florid-faced, middle-aged man in an Ike jacket, jumped to the ground from the cabin of Big Bad Bird II. His eyes went up when he saw how the major was dressed. He walked to him. He did not salute.

  “My,” he said, “don’t you look splendid.”

  “I thought I told you to stay out of this, Dutch,” the major said.

  “If this one went in, that would really be the end of it,” the chief warrant officer replied.

  “That wasn’t your fault, Dutch,” the major said.

  “So you said.”

  The camouflage netting was now clear of Big Bad Bird II. One of the sergeants, a stocky master sergeant in his early thirties, dragged it to the side. The other, also a master sergeant, but younger and leaner, walked up to the major and the chief warrant officer. His eyes ran over the major’s tunic, but he said nothing.

  “I had an unpleasant thought on the way out here,” the major said. “Is there any gas in that thing?”

  “Shit,” the sergeant said, as if that thought had occurred to him for the first time. He trotted to Big Bad Bird II, climbed up the fuselage, and leaned in the cockpit window.

  Big Bad Bird II was a Sikorsky H-19 helicopter, a twelve-passenger, single-rotor aircraft. The H-19 was the first really successful transport helicopter (it had been used in the waning days of the Korean War) and was now about obsolete. It had been replaced by the Sikorksy H-34, which was larger and more powerful, although with roughly the same lines. The H-19 was now used only for training.

  Big Bad Bird II was an unusual H-19. For one thing, it had been painted black rather than olive drab. For another, on each landing strut there had been mounted a rocket-firing mechanism. It was the only armed helicopter in the U.S. Army. There had been another, but it had blown up a few days earlier: hence Big Bad Bird II. On the fuselage was a skillfully done cartoon of Woody Woodpecker, leering as he threw beer bottles.

  The master sergeant standing on the fuselage steps withdrew his head from the cockpit.

  “You’ve got about forty-five minutes fuel, Major,” he called down.

  “That’ll be enough,” the major replied.

  He walked to the helicopter and looked up at the rotor head, moved to the rear, checked the blades on the tail rotor, and then walked to the front again. By then the sergeant had the engine compartment open, and the major examined the engine.

  “What I need now is a set of cans,” the major said. “And a roll of masking tape.”

  The master sergeant nodded and walked to his truck. The major climbed into the pilot’s seat and disconnected the helmet he had found on the seat. He looked down at the ground, saw the sergeant, and tossed the helmet to him. The sergeant caught it, laid it on the ground, and then climbed halfway up the fuselage to hand him a set of headphones and a roll of gray masking tape.

  “What are you going to do with the tape?” the sergeant asked.

  “Stick this in the copilot’s window,” the major said. He shook the guidon open. It was a small yellow flag, yellow for Armor, onto which the numerals “73” had been stitched. Below them was a hand-lettered legend, in grease pencil: T/F LOWELL.

  The major had commanded Task Force Lowell of the 73rd Heavy Tank Battalion (Reinforced) during the Korean War. Of all his military souvenirs, this meant the most to him.

  The sergeant nodded and ripped off strips of tape. The major leaned across the copilot’s seat and taped the guidon over the window. Then he put the earphones on his head and flipped the Master switch and the radio buss. He listened to the traffic between the ground controller and the aircraft participating in the funeral ceremony. He listened for five minutes, and then he looked down from the cockpit again.

  The two sergeants and the chief warrant were standing by a fire extinguisher mounted on what looked like oversize bicycle wheels. None of them were looking at him. The major whistled to catch their attention. Then he made a “wind it up” gesture with his index finger.

  One of the master sergeants took the black fire extinguisher nozzle and pointed it at the engine compartment.

  The major primed the engine, adjusted the throttle and the richness, and lifted up on the Engine Start toggle switch. The starter whined, and the machine shook as the 700-horsepower Curtiss-Wright radial engine labored. Then it caught, and the three blades overhead began to turn. The major watched the dials, making minor adjustments, until the engine smoothed out and the needles moved into the green.

  Then he looked out the window by his side at the three men on the ground. He winked, put his hands on the controls, and advanced the throttle by twisting it. Simultaneously he raised the control itself. Big Bad Bird II shuddered and then went light on the wheels. First one wheel left the ground, then another, and then the machine was in ground effect hover. When he was two feet off the ground, he lowered the nose and moved across the small clearing, gaining speed. As he came to the trees at the end of the field, he pulled it up to fifty or sixty feet, and then made a 180 degree turn.

  He was able to see the men on the ground. They were doing something very unusual for two master sergeants and a warrant officer. For their hands were raised in formal salutes. The major, touched, moved the joystick between his legs, and the helicopter swung from side to side.

  He flew the treetops to Parade Ground No. 2, as low as he dared, popping up every once in a while for a quick look. The funeral cortege was still making its way from the chapel on the main post. The head of the snake, the tank with the casket on it, as well as the family, the other mourners, and the brass, were already in the bleachers at the parade ground; but the tail of the snake was still moving.

  He would wait until everyone was in place.

  He saw the T34s, Russian tanks, still wearing red stars, parked at the end of the parade grou
nd. They were now American tanks, of course, used by a special unit at Fort Riley to provide realism for maneuvers. But nevertheless, it was still surprising to see them lined up for a funeral ceremony.

  There were five T34s. They had been ordered to Fort Rucker in a high-level public relations ploy against the air force. The air force, which according to the Key West Agreement of 1948, had a monopoly on all aerial weapons systems and armed aircraft, had been reluctant to develop an antitank helicopter. In fact, it had announced that such a device was impractical.

  So in violation of the Key West Agreement the army had developed its own rocket-armed helicopter—the Big Bad Bird—and had planned to shoot up the Russian T34s before television cameras. Once that had happened, the air force would be forced to accept a fait accompli, and the army would be able to proceed with the development of the weapons system.

  The plan hadn’t quite worked: during a dry run before the demonstration, one of the rockets had misfired, setting off a chain of accidents that destroyed the Big Bad Bird and the young pilot flying it. What was left of the pilot was in the casket now on the back of the M48 Patton tank.

  The army ploy had crashed with the Big Bad Bird. The crash had been filmed by the television networks, and now all the brass could do was to salvage what they could by staging a large funeral for the pilot. Once they had been caught doing something forbidden by the Key West Agreement, they could not repeat the violation by putting rockets on another helicopter—or at least so the brass understood.

  The brass, the major thought, were wrong again.

  “Unidentified helicopter operating in the vicinity of Parade Ground No. 2, you are ordered to immediately leave the area.”

  That was the traffic controller at the parade ground. He didn’t want anything to interfere with the flight of the aircraft that would pass over the casket in final tribute.

  The major lifted Big Bad Bird II high enough to get another look at the parade ground. The tail of the snake had arrived.