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  The driveway to General Wilson's quarters was lined with automobiles, half of them ordinary Fords and Chevrolets, the other half sports cars. Miller said that was how you told which lieutenants were married and which were not. It was impossible to support both a wife and a Porsche on a lieutenant's pay, even a lieutenant on flight pay. Miller himself drove a Ford; Castillo, a Chevrolet coupe.

  There was a handmade sign on the front door of Quarters Two. It had an arrow and the words "Around in Back" in bold type.

  Around in back of the house was the patio. This consisted of a concrete pad enclosed by an eight-foot slat fence painted an odd shade of blue. On the patio were two gas-fired barbecue stoves, two picnic tables, two round tables with folded umbrellas, four large ice-filled containers, and about twenty young men and women.

  All the young men-including Miller and Castillo-were dressed very much alike: sports jackets, slacks, open-collared shirts, and well-shined shoes. It was not hard to imagine them in uniform.

  The young women were similarly dressed in their own same style: skirts and either sweaters or blouses.

  Castillo's eye fell on one of the latter, a blonde standing by one of the smoking stoves. Even across the patio, Castillo could see her brassiere through the sheer blouse. He had always found this fascinating, and was so taken with this one that he didn't notice a couple walking across the patio until Miller whispered, "Heads-up, here comes Righteous Randolph."

  The female with Righteous Randolph, also a blonde, was every bit as good-looking as the one cooking steaks. She wore a skirt topped with a tight sweater.

  "And good evening to you, Righteous," Miller said.

  "You're Miller and Castillo, right?" the blonde asked.

  "Guilty," Miller said.

  "I couldn't believe Randy when he said you would have the gall to show up here," the blonde said.

  "Charles, my boy," Miller said. "I suspect that our invitation to mingle with these charming people has been withdrawn."

  "Odd, I'm getting the same feeling," Castillo said. "I suspect we withdraw. With Righteous's permission, of course."

  "You're right, sweetheart," the blonde said. "They think it's funny, and they're oh, so clever."

  "And hers, too, of course," Castillo said.

  "You two are really disgusting," Lieutenant Randolph Richardson said.

  Castillo was already behind the wheel of his Chevrolet and Miller was having his usual trouble fastening the seat belt around his bulk when Captain Prentiss came running down the drive.

  "Where the hell are you going?" Prentiss demanded.

  "We tried to tell the general-you were there-that our coming here was probably going to be a mistake," Castillo said. "A stunning blonde, who I strongly suspect is the general's daughter, just confirmed that prognosis."

  "My feelings are crushed beyond measure," Miller said. "Righteous Randolph just told us we are really disgusting. I'm about to break into tears, and I didn't want to do that for fear of bringing discredit upon the Long Gray Line."

  "Gentlemen," Prentiss said. "General Wilson's compliments. The general requests that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

  "What the blonde said was she couldn't believe we'd have the gall to show up here," Castillo said.

  "Gentlemen," Prentiss repeated. "General Wilson's compliments. The general requests that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

  "That sounds pretty goddamn official, Tom," Miller said.

  "As goddamn official as I know how to make it, Lieutenant," Prentiss said.

  He pulled open the passenger-side door.

  A trim blonde who was visibly the mother of the one on the patio was waiting at the open door of Quarters Two.

  "You're Miller and Castillo, right? Dick and Charley?"

  "Yes, ma'am," they said.

  "I'm Bethany Wilson," she said with a smile. "Where were you going?"

  Prentiss answered for them.

  "Beth apparently believes they are responsible for the general's condition," he said. "And greeted them with something less than enthusiasm."

  "If anyone is responsible for the general's condition, you are, Tom," Mrs. Wilson said. "What did Beth say?"

  "The one responsible for the general's condition is the general," General Wilson said, coming to the door from inside the house.

  "Good evening, sir," Miller and Castillo said.

  "The general's condition, in case you're wondering," he said, "is that he cannot-never has been able to-handle any more than one drink in a ninety-minute period. As you may have noticed, I had four drinks in about forty-five minutes at your apartment. And then I came home. And fell out of the car, before at least a dozen of my daughter's guests. Then, to prove to the world that all I had done was stumble a little, I got onto my wife's bicycle and went merrily down the drive-until I collided with the car of another arriving guest. At that point, Tom finally caught up with me and got me into the house."

  He looked between Miller and Castillo and said, "You may smile. It certainly wasn't your fault, but I would consider it a personal favor, Lieutenant Miller, if you did not tell your father about this amusing little episode."

  "I beg the general's pardon, but I didn't hear a thing that was said," Miller said.

  "Quickly changing the subject," Mrs. Wilson said, "what can I get you to drink? Or would you rather just go out to the patio and join the other young people?"

  "There's one more thing, dear," General Wilson said. "Dick and Charley don't get along well with Randy."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Do I get to hear why?"

  "No," General Wilson said. "You were saying something about offering them drinks? Then I suggest we show them the scrapbook-there's a number of pictures of your dad, Charley, and yours too, Dick-and then, throwing poor Tom yet again into the breach, Tom can cook us some steaks to eat in here."

  "Sir," Prentiss said, "I'm sorry that I didn't-"

  "Didn't what?" Wilson interrupted, and looked at Castillo. "Charley, you're an aide. Would you dare to tell your general to go easy on the sauce?"

  "No, sir, I would not," Castillo replied.

  "There you go, Tom. Nobody's fault but mine. Subject closed."

  [-IV-] 2002 Red Cloud Road

  Fort Rucker, Alabama 0755 6 February 1992 Captain Tom Prentiss walked to the kitchen door of Quarters Two and lightly tapped one of the panes with his ring. Brigadier General Harry Wilson, who was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, gestured for him to come in. He entered.

  "Did you have to knock so loudly?" General Wilson inquired.

  Prentiss exchanged smiles with Mrs. Bethany Wilson, who stood at the stove.

  "Good morning, ma'am."

  "Good morning, Tom," she replied, her tone teeming with an exaggerated cheeriness.

  General Wilson glared at her over his coffee mug. Miss Beth Wilson, who was sitting across the table from her father, rolled her eyes.

  "The general is not his chipper self this morning?" Prentiss said to him. "We are not going to have our morning trot up and down Red Cloud?"

  "For one thing, it's Saturday. For another, in my condition, I could not trot down the drive to Red Cloud, much less up and down Red Cloud itself."

  "Well, Harry," Mrs. Wilson said, turning from the stove, "you know what they say about the wages of sin." She looked at Prentiss. "Your timing is perfect. You want fried or scrambled?"

  "I was hoping you'd make the offer," Prentiss said. "Scrambled, please."

  "You know where the coffee is," she said.

  "Bring the pot, please, Tom," General Wilson said. "Unless you have an oxygen flask in your pocket."

  "I can have one here in five minutes, sir," Prentiss said.

  He took the decanter from the coffee machine and carried it to the table.

  "And how are you this morning, Miss Beth?" Prentiss said.

  Beth Wilson flashed him an icy look, but didn't reply.

  "Does oxygen really work, Tom?" Mrs. Wilson asked.


  "Yes, ma'am, it does."

  "You heard that? Or you know from personal experience?"

  "I respectfully claim my privilege against self-incrimination under the fifth amendment to the constitution," Prentiss said.

  "Seriously, Tom," General Wilson said, "how much trouble would it be to get your hands on an oxygen flask before we go to meet the Castillos?"

  "You want it right now, sir?"

  "You heard what she said about the wages of sin," General Wilson said. "I'm about to die."

  "Let me make a call," Prentiss said, and started to get up.

  "Eat your breakfast first," Mrs. Wilson said. "Let him suffer a little."

  "Oh, God!" General Wilson said. "Is there no pity in the world for a suffering man?"

  His wife and his aide-de-camp chuckled.

  His daughter said, "You all make me sick!"

  "I beg your pardon?" General Wilson said.

  "You're all acting as if it's all very funny."

  "There are elements of humor mingled with the gloom," General Wilson said.

  "Randy said he did it on purpose," Beth said.

  "Randy did what on purpose?" her mother asked.

  "Castillo did it on purpose. Castillo got Daddy drunk on purpose, hoping he would make an ass of himself."

  General Wilson said, "Well, Daddy did in fact make sort of an ass of himself, but Charley Castillo wasn't responsible. Daddy was."

  "Actually, I thought you careening down the drive on my bike was hilarious," his wife said.

  General Wilson raised his eyebrows at that, then said, "It's not the sort of behavior general officers should display before a group of young officers, and I'm well aware of that. But the sky is not falling, and I am being punished, as your mother points out, for my sins."

  "Randy says he was always doing that, trying to humiliate his betters," Beth said.

  "You knew him at the Point, Tom," General Wilson said. "Was he?"

  "Well, he was one of the prime suspects, the other being Dick Miller, in 'The Case of Who Put Miracle Glue on the Regimental Commander's Saber.'"

  "Really?" Mrs. Wilson asked, as she laid a plate of scrambled eggs before him.

  Prentiss nodded. "He couldn't get it out of the scabbard on the Friday retreat parade. Talk about humiliation!"

  "And then he lied about it!" Beth said. "Randy told me all about that."

  "What they did was claim their right against self-incrimination, Beth," Prentiss said. "That's not the same thing as lying."

  "Randy said he lied," she insisted.

  "I was there. Randy wasn't," Prentiss said. "I was the tactical officer supervising the Court of Honor. The court knew they did it, but they couldn't prove it. Nobody actually saw them."

  "So they let him-them-go?" Beth said.

  "They had no choice. Nobody saw them do it."

  "Was that the real reason?" she challenged. "It wasn't because his father won that medal?"

  "You get that from Randy, too?" General Wilson asked softly.

  "Randy said that the only reason they weren't thrown out of West Point was because Castillo's father had that medal…that the only reason he was in West Point to begin with was because his father had that medal."

  "Sons of Medal of Honor recipients are granted entrance to West Point," General Wilson said. "Staying in the Corps of Cadets is not covered."

  "And he said that no one had the courage to expel the son of a black general," Beth went on, "no matter what he'd done."

  "And what does Randy have to say about Lieutenant Castillo's Distinguished Flying Cross?" General Wilson asked, softly.

  "He said it's impossible to believe that someone could graduate in ninety and be through flight school and flying an Apache in the Desert War when Castillo says he was unless a lot of strings were pulled."

  "I am in no condition to debate this with you now, Beth," General Wilson said. "But just as soon as the Castillos leave, you, Randy, and I are going to have to talk. While the Castillos are here, I don't think it would be a good idea if you were around them."

  "You're throwing me out?" Beth said somewhat indignantly.

  "I'm suggesting that you spend the day, and tonight, with a friend. Patricia, maybe?"

  "I've got a date with Randy tonight. Where am I supposed to get dressed?"

  "Doesn't Patricia have a bedroom? Take what clothing you need with you. I don't want you around here when the Castillos are here."

  "Yes, sir," she snapped, and jumped up from the table.

  "Tom, would you take her to the Gremmiers'?"

  "Yes, sir," Prentiss said, then added a little hesitantly, "General, I was sort of hoping I could get Beth to help me at the VIP house; make sure everything's right. And I know Mrs. Wilson is…"

  "Get her to help you at the VIP house, then take her to the Gremmiers'," Mrs. Wilson ordered.

  "I'm perfectly capable of driving myself," Beth said.

  "We're probably going to need both cars," General Wilson said. "End of discussion."

  [-V-]

  Magnolia Cottage

  Fort Rucker, Alabama 0845 6 February 1992 Camp Rucker had been built on a vast area of sandy, worn-out-from-cotton-farming land in southern Alabama in the opening months of World War II. It was intended for use first as a division training area, and then for the confinement of prisoners of war. An army of workmen had erected thousands of two-story frame barracks, concrete-block mess halls, theaters, chapels, headquarters, warehouses, officers' clubs, and all the other facilities needed to accomplish this purpose, including a half-dozen small frame buildings intended to house general officers and colonels.

  After the war and the repatriation of the POWs, the camp was closed, only to be reopened briefly for the Korean War, where it again served as a division training base. Then it was closed for good.

  Several years after the Korean War, with Camp Rucker placed on the list of bases to be wiped from the books, the decision was made to greatly expand Army Aviation. United States Senator John Sparkman (Democrat, Alabama)-to whom a large number of fellow senators owed many favors-suggested that Camp Rucker would be a fine place to have an Army Aviation Center. His fellow senators voted in agreement with their esteemed colleague.

  Thus, the facility was then reopened and declared a fort, a permanent base. Another army of workmen swarmed over it, building airfields and classrooms and whatever else was needed for a flying army. They also tore down most of the old frame buildings-most, not all.

  Chapels and theaters remained, and the warehouses, and the officer's clubs, and the post headquarters building, and four of the cottages originally built in the early 1940s to last only five to ten years for the housing of general officers and senior colonels. Two of these four-including Building T-1104, which had been renamed "Magnolia Cottage"-were near the main gate, outside of which was Daleville.

  They were fixed up as nicely as possible, air-conditioned, furnished with the most elegant furniture to be found in Army warehouses, provided with a kitchen, and became VIP quarters in which distinguished visitors to the post were housed.

  When Captain Tom Prentiss pushed open the door of Magnolia House and waved Beth Wilson into the living room, they found the place was immaculate. There were even fresh flowers in a vase in the center of the dining table.

  "Looks fine to me," Beth Wilson said.

  Prentiss didn't reply directly. Instead, he said, "I've got to make a telephone call. Have a seat."

  "That sounds like an order," she snapped.

  "Not at all. If you'd rather, stand."

  He used the telephone in the small kitchen and, not really curious, she nevertheless managed to hear Prentiss's side of the conversation:

  "Tom Prentiss. I'm glad I caught you at home. I need a big favor.

  "Could you come to Magnolia House right now? It shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

  "No, don't worry about that. He's not here.

  "I stand in your debt, sir."

  Beth Wilson wondere
d what that was all about, but was not going to ask.

  When Prentiss hung up the phone, she said, "Will you tell me what you want me to do, so I can do it and get out of here?"

  "There doesn't seem to be anything that needs doing," Prentiss said. "But we're going to have to wait until somebody comes here."

  She locked eyes with him.

  He went on: "You upset your dad with that recitation of what your boyfriend had to think about just about everything. I suppose you know that?"

  "Is that really any of your business?"

  "Let me explain where I'm coming from," Prentiss said coldly. "I admire your father more than I do anyone else I've ever met. If you were to look in a dictionary, there would be a picture of your dad in the definition of officer and gentleman."

  "Maybe you should have thought of that when you let Castillo get him drunk and make a fool of himself."

  "You're right. I should have," Prentiss said. "But your question, Beth, was 'Is it any of my business' that you upset your father by quoting your boyfriend to him and making him damned uncomfortable. And the answer is, 'Yeah, it is my business.' It's my duty to do something to straighten you out."

  "Straighten me out?"

  "Yeah, and your boyfriend, too. He's next on my list."

  "I can't believe this conversation," Beth said. "And I don't think my parents are going to like it a bit when I tell them about it."

  "I'll have to take my chances about that," Prentiss said.

  "I'm leaving," she said. "I don't have to put up with this."

  "I can't stop you, of course, but if you leave, you'll walk. And it's a long way from here to Colonel Gremmier's quarters."

  He walked out of the living room and went through the dining room into the kitchen.

  Beth started for the door, then stopped.

  That arrogant bastard is right about one thing. I can't walk from here to the Gremmiers'.

  So what do I do?

  She was still staring at the door three minutes later when it opened and a middle-aged man wearing a woolen shirt, a zipper jacket, and blue jeans came through it.

  He looked at her and said, "I'm looking for Tom Prentiss."