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  "He has a plane, sir. He said they'll leave right after breakfast. That should put them in here about noon. What I've got to do now is arrange permission for them to land at Cairns and get them some place to stay. I think I can probably get them in here."

  "They will stay in the VIP quarters," General Wilson said. "And I'll arrange for permission for his plane to land at Cairns. Or Tom will. Right, Tom?"

  "Yes, sir," Prentiss said, then looked at Castillo as he took a notebook from his shirt pocket. "What kind of a plane is it?"

  "A Learjet."

  "Got the tail number?" Prentiss asked.

  Castillo gave it to him.

  "Your grandfather has a Learjet?" General Wilson asked.

  "Yes, sir. And until a year ago, when my grandmother made him stop, he used to fly it himself. My cousin Fernando will be flying it tomorrow."

  "Your father painted a very colorful picture of his life as a wetback," Wilson said. "The benefits of a serape and sandals; how to make tortillas and refry beans. He said he played the trumpet in a mariachi band. And until just now I believed every word."

  "Sir, according to my grandfather, what my father did before he joined the Army-he was booted out of Texas A amp;M and was one step ahead of his draft board-was fly Sikorskys, the civilian version of the H-19, ferrying people and supplies to oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico."

  "Can I get you another one of those, sir?" Miller asked, nodding at the general's empty glass.

  "Yes, please," General Wilson said. "This time, put a little water and some ice in it, please."

  "Yes, sir," Miller said.

  "General, may I ask a favor?" Castillo asked.

  "Absolutely."

  "Sir, I stood still for that picture because I was ordered to. My general is not a great believer in publicity. I don't know how he'll react when he sees that story-but I do know that he will. My grandfather is much the same way, sir; he doesn't like his name in the newspapers. Is there some way you can turn the IO off?"

  Wilson nodded. "Okay, he's off. I understand how you feel." He paused and then smiled. "I guess you really can't cast in bronze 'Get the fuck out, Harry,' can you?"

  "That might raise some eyebrows, sir," Castillo said.

  "Anything else I can do for you?"

  "No, sir. That's about it. Thank you."

  "Who is your general, Charley? You don't mind if I call you Charley, do you?"

  "Not at all, sir. General McNab, sir. He's deputy commander of the Special Warfare Center at Bragg."

  "He was three years ahead of me at the Point," Wilson said. "Interesting man."

  "Yes, sir, he is that."

  "May I use your telephone?"

  "Yes, sir, of course," Castillo said.

  As he walked to the wet bar, General Wilson said, "When there is more than one call to make, you should make the one to the most important person first. You may wish to write that down."

  General Wilson appeared clearly pleased with his humor, causing Castillo to wonder, Is he a little plastered? On two drinks?

  "Yes, sir," Castillo and Miller, both sounding confused, said almost in unison.

  The explanation came almost immediately.

  "Sweetheart," General Wilson said into the phone, "Tom found him. We're with him right now in the Daleville Inn.

  "He doesn't look like his father, darling, but he has Hor-hay's sense of humor.

  "So that means two things, baby. First, there will be two more for supper tonight. And Hor-hay's parents are coming in tomorrow.

  "Yes, really. Young Castillo called them just now. Can you do a really nice lunch for them? And dinner, too?

  "No, I thought they'd be more comfortable in the VIP house.

  "We'll be there shortly.

  "Is Randy there?"

  General Wilson looked at Miller and asked, "What's your class?"

  "Ninety, sir," Miller said.

  General Wilson said into the receiver, "Tell Randy he'll have another classmate there tonight. Lieutenant H. Richard Miller, Jr.

  "Yeah. His son.

  "That's about it, sweetheart. We'll be over there shortly."

  He put the receiver in its base and pointed to the telephone.

  "Your turn, Tom," he ordered. "First, call protocol and reserve one of the VIP houses for a Mr. and Mrs. Castillo for tomorrow night and the next night. If there's someone already in there, have them moved, and then call Cairns and clear Mr. Castillo's airplane to land there tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir," Captain Prentiss said.

  "While he's doing that," General Wilson said, "may I help myself to another little taste?"

  "Yes, sir, of course," Miller said.

  Castillo thought: He's getting plastered. Does he have a problem with the sauce?

  "Tonight," General Wilson said, "my daughter's broiling steaks for her fiance, Randy-Randolph-Richardson, and some other of his-your-classmates. I presume you know him?"

  "Yes, sir, I know Lieutenant Richardson," Miller said.

  "Righteous Randolph," Castillo said, and shook his head.

  "I somehow suspect that my announcement that you're about to get together with some of your classmates is not being met with the smiles of pleasure I anticipated."

  "Sir, with all respect," Castillo said carefully, "I don't think our having supper with Lieutenant Richardson is a very good idea. Could we pass, with thanks, sir?"

  "I've already told my wife you're coming."

  "Yes, sir, I understand," Castillo said. "Nevertheless, sir, I think it would be best if we did that some other time."

  General Wilson stared at Castillo for a long moment. There was no longer a question in Castillo's mind that the general was feeling the drinks.

  "Okay," Wilson said, "what happened between you?"

  Neither Castillo nor Miller replied.

  "That question is in the nature of an order, gentlemen," General Wilson said, and now there was a cold tone in his voice.

  "A book fell off a shelf, sir," Miller said. "Striking Cadet First Sergeant Richardson on the face. He alleged that his broken nose had actually been caused by Cadet Private Castillo having punched him. An inquiry was held. I was called as a witness and confirmed Cadet Private Castillo's version. Richardson then brought us before a Court of Honor."

  "For violating the honor code? 'A cadet will not lie, cheat, or steal, nor tolerate those who do'?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And?"

  "We were acquitted, sir."

  "As a purely hypothetical question," Wilson said, "why would a cadet private take a punch at a cadet first sergeant?"

  Neither replied.

  "Your turn, Castillo," General Wilson said.

  "Sir, in the hypothetical situation the general describes, I could imagine that a cadet private might lose his temper upon learning that a cadet first sergeant had gone to his tactical officer and reported his suspicions that a cadet lieutenant had arranged for a car to pick him up at the Hotel Thayer with the intention of going to New York for the weekend."

  "Had the cadet lieutenant done so?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Who was he? A friend?"

  "Me, sir. When my tac officer called me on it, I admitted it, and he had no choice but to bust me, sir."

  "For just sneaking into the city on a weekend? I did that routinely."

  "I was on academic restriction at the time, sir," Castillo said.

  "Oh, God, you are your father's son," General Wilson said.

  "Sir?"

  "We had a captain who had the unpleasant habit of grabbing the nearest soldier and having him clean his bird. I'm not talking about shining it up for an IG inspection. I'm talking about getting rid of the vomit and blood and excreta with which they were too often fouled. Your father told the captain that the next time he grabbed our crew chief to do his dirty work, he was going to shove him headfirst into a honey bucket. You know what a honey bucket is, presumably?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "The captain did, and your father did, a
nd the captain had him brought up on charges of assault upon a senior officer. The company commander-a wise, senior major-just about told your father that if he would take an Article 15, he could expect no worse punishment than being restricted to the company area for two weeks. That was meaningless, actually, as we were in the boonies, and there was nowhere to go.

  "Your father demanded trial by court-martial. And he exercised his right to defense counsel of his choice. Me. He could not be dissuaded from that, either. He told me when they put his accuser on the stand, I was to get into great detail about his shoving the captain's head in the honey bucket.

  "I was convinced your father was going to go to the Long Bihn stockade. But-your dad was one of those natural leaders who are able to get people to do whatever they are asked to do, even if it sounds insane-I did what he asked."

  He stopped when Miller handed him his fresh drink.

  "I'm not at all sure I need this," General Wilson said. "But thank you."

  And then he laughed.

  "Well, as I said," he went on, smiling, "I did my best to carry out my client's instructions. I asked the captain over and over about the details of the assault upon him. Finally, the president of the court had enough. 'Wind it up, Lieutenant, you've been over and over this. One more question.' So I said, 'Yes, sir.' And I tried to think of a good final question. I came up with a doozy. Not on purpose. It just came out of my mouth. 'Captain,' I said, 'please tell the court what you found in the honey bucket when you allege Mr. Castillo shoved your head in it.'"

  "Jesus Christ!" Miller said, and laughed delightedly.

  "That caused some coughing on the part of the members of the court," General Wilson went on. "Then the captain replied, very angrily, 'Shit is what I found in the honey bucket. I damned near drowned in it.' "Well, the court broke up, literally became hysterical. The president banged his gavel and fled the room. The other members followed him. The trial was held in a Quonset hut, and we could hear them laughing in the other end of the building for a long time.

  "Finally, they came back in. I announced that the defense rested. The lieutenant prosecuting gave his closing argument, which was of course devastating, and I gave mine, which was ludicrous. Then the court retired. They were out thirty minutes, and then they came back and found your father not guilty of all charges and specifications."

  "That's a great story," Castillo said, smiling.

  "Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to savor his victory. Two weeks later, he was dead."

  General Wilson took a sip of his scotch, then went on: "I had a purpose in telling that story. For one thing, it has been my experience that there is more justice in the Army than people are usually willing to recognize. We are supposed to be judged by our peers. In the Army, we really are. Soldiers who understand soldiering judge their fellow soldiers. They almost always return verdicts that are just, even if they sort of stray from legal niceties. I would suggest that court of honor which found you two not guilty and the court which found Charley's father not guilty based their decision on the circumstances rather than on the cold facts.

  "I suspect your fellow cadets liked Cadet Lieutenant Castillo and thought Randy had gotten what he deserved from him. And I suspect that the officers on the court liked your father, admired his sticking up for our crew chief, and that the captain got what he deserved, too, and that it would serve neither justice nor good order and discipline to make things any worse than they were.

  "Furthermore, that's all water long under the dam. Vietnam and West Point are both long ago. Tonight, when you see Randy, I'm sure that what passed between you will seem-as indeed it is-no longer important. You might even be glad you had a chance to get together with him. He really can't be all bad. Beth is absolutely crazy about him."

  Castillo and Miller did not respond.

  "Beth is of course off-limits. But there will be other young women there tonight and-presuming they are neither engaged nor married-the hunting may interest you. And I promised my wife you would be there. My quarters-Number Two-are on Red Cloud Road. Can you find that?"

  "Yes, sir," Miller said. "I know where it is."

  "Well, having talked too much, drunk too much, and pontificated too much, Tom and I will now leave. We will see you in about thirty minutes, right?"

  "Yes, sir," Miller and Castillo said in chorus.

  "Thank you for your hospitality, gentlemen," General Wilson said.

  "Our pleasure, sir," Miller and Castillo said, almost in chorus.

  General Wilson was almost at the door when he stopped and turned.

  "Two things," he said.

  "Yes, sir?" they said.

  "One, the dress is informal"-he pointed at Miller's sweatshirt-"but, two, not that informal."

  "Yes, sir," Miller said.

  Wilson looked at Castillo.

  "Did I pick up that you're Class of '90 too, Charley? You and Miller and your good friend Randy are all classmates?"

  "Yes, sir," Castillo said.

  "Then how in hell did you manage to get to the Desert War flying an Apache?"

  "That's a long story, sir."

  "It can't be that long."

  "Sir, I had just reported to Fort Knox to begin the basic officer course when I was told I had been selected to fill an 'unexpected' slot in Rotary Wing Primary Class 90-7. I suspect it was because of my father. When I got here, they found out I had two-hundred-odd hours of Huey time, so they gave me my wings, transferred me to RW Advanced Class 90-8, and the next thing I knew, there I was flying over the Iraqi desert with Mr. Kowalski at oh dark hundred in an Apache with people shooting at us. The distinction I really have, sir, was in having been the least qualified Apache pilot in the Army."

  "Warrant Officer Kowalski? The Blue Flight Instructor Pilot?"

  "Yes, sir. There we were, probably the best Apache pilot in the Army and the worst one."

  "I will want to hear that story more in detail, Charley. But you're wrong. The distinction you have is the Distinguished Flying Cross you earned flying a shot-up Apache a hundred miles or so across the Iraqi sand at oh dark hundred." He paused. "Thirty minutes, gentlemen. Thank you again for your hospitality."

  Captain Prentiss opened the door for General Wilson, they went through it, and Prentiss pulled it shut behind him.

  After a moment, Miller moved aside the venetian blind of the front window to make sure General Wilson was really gone. He turned to Castillo and said, "I think that's what they call a memorable experience."

  "Yeah. I suspect the general had more to drink than he usually does."

  "I got the feeling from Prentiss that he doesn't drink at all. This upset him. And why not? 'Get the fuck out, Harry. You're shaking so much you'll get us both killed.' As opposed to the heroic bullshit on the whatever you call it on that building."

  Castillo nodded. "When I got that Apache back across the berm, and they started pulling Kowalski out of the Apache-he wasn't hurt as bad as it looked, but all I could see was blood where his face was supposed to be, and there was blood all over the cockpit-I started to shake so bad they had to hold me up. Then I started throwing up stuff I had eaten two years before." Castillo paused, then went on, "I understand that. I think he thinks he did the wrong thing by getting out. He didn't."

  "You never told me about that before," Miller said softly.

  "You don't want to think about it; you put it out of your mind. Jesus, Dick, think about what they went through. They'd been picking up bloody bodies for hours. What's amazing is they were still doing it. Better men than thee and me, Richard. All it took was one shot-up helicopter and Kowalski and I were out of it."

  Miller looked at him for a long moment without responding. Then he forced a laugh to change the subject and said, "And your father shoved some chickenshit captain down a honey bucket. He must have been quite a guy."

  "And got away with it," Castillo added, grinning.

  "You're not going to tell your folks about that?"

  "Not Abuela. Grandpa, sure
. If I don't, Fernando will, and I definitely have to share that story with Fernando."

  Miller nodded, then said, "We are to be reunited with Righteous Randolph. I've bumped into him a half dozen times here. I'm invisible to him. As far as he's concerned, I am a disgrace to the Long Gray Line."

  "Just you? I'd hoped never to see the miserable sonofabitch again. I think he was born a prick."

  "I just had a very unpleasant thought," Miller said.

  "I didn't know you had any other kind."

  "Charley, you're not thinking of nailing Wilson's daughter, are you?"

  "Where did that come from?"

  "Answer the question."

  "For one thing, she's a general's daughter. I learned, painfully, the dangers of nailing a general's daughter with Jennifer."

  "That didn't slow you down with the next one, Casanova. What was her name? Delores?"

  "Daphne," Castillo furnished. "Hey, General Wilson is not only a nice guy, but he was my father's buddy. I'm not going to try to nail his daughter. What kind of a prick do you think I am?"

  "I know damned well what kind: The kind who will forget all those noble sentiments the instant you start thinking with your dick. And/or that it might be fun to nail Righteous Randolph's girlfriend, just for old times' sake. Don't do it, Charley."

  "Put your evil imagination at rest."

  "In case I didn't say this before: Don't do it, Charley. I'm serious."

  [-III-] 2002 Red Cloud Road

  Fort Rucker, Alabama 1735 5 February 1992 The quarters assigned to the deputy commanding general of the Army Aviation Center and Fort Rucker, Alabama, were larger, but not by much, than the quarters assigned to officers of lesser rank.

  Castillo thought the dependent housing area of Fort Rucker-more than a thousand one-story frame buildings, ninety percent of them duplexes, spread over several hundred acres of pine-covered, gently rolling land-looked like an Absolutely no money down! Move right in! housing development outside, say, Houston or Philadelphia.

  His boss, Brigadier General Bruce J. McNab, lived in a spacious, two-story brick colonial house on an elm-shaded street at Fort Bragg. The reason for the difference was that the senior officer housing at Bragg had been built before World War II, while all the housing at Rucker had gone up immediately before and during the Vietnam War.