"OK," he said to Felter, "I'll go."

Felter nodded. "Now, I would suggest, before Pappy and his wife get here, is the time to tell Ursula about Karl-Heinz," he said. "Do you agree?"

Geoff nodded.

"Jack, would you ask her to comeback in here?" Felter said.

Jack left the office and started down the corridor as Ursula came the other way.

"The Hodges are here," Ursula said. "I thought I should tell them."

"Go ahead." He continued down the corridor and reached the living room as Major General and Mrs. Robert F. Bellmon came in from the glass door to the patio.

"Mother, Daddy," Marjorie said, grabbing his hand and marching him over to them, "this is Jack."

"Hello, Jack," Barbara Bellmon said cordially.

"How do you do, Sir?" Jack said, putting out his hand.

"I've been hearing a good deal about you lately," General Bellmon said.

Private Portet and Major General Bellmon smiled stiffly at each other.

(Two) The Dependent Housing Area U.S. Army Aviation Center Fort Rucker, Alabama 0715 Hours 27 April 1964 Quarters 3404-A and 3404-B were halves of a frame single story building. They shared an interior wall and Were mirror images of each other, each with three bedrooms, two baths, a living-dining area, and a kitchen. There was a carport on each end of the building.

Major and Mrs. Pappy Hodges, whose children were grown, occupied 3404-B. 3404-A housed a young captain and his wife and three small children. The young Captain did not approve of Major and Mrs. Hodges for a number of reasons. Major Hodges, for instance, refused to cut the grass on their shared lawn until the Housing Officer sent him a formal notice of failure to meet expected standards of quarters maintenance. He also suspected, but could not prove, that an at least two occasions Major Hodges had soaked his supply of barbecue charcoal with a hose so that it would be difficult to ignite, and as Major Hodges put it, "stinkup the area." The young Captain was delighted to hear the old bastard was getting transferred.

The table in the dining area of Quarters 3404-B was covered with maps when First Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig, wearing a flight suit, walked in. Not only aerial navigation charts from the Jeppesen Company, but also ground maps from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and an enormous map, the largest of all, published by the Michelin Tire Company.

Major Hodges was leaning over the Michelin map (Africa, Central & South, Madagascar, 1:4,000,000, 63 miles to 1 inch) watching with close attention as Private Jack Portet made marks an it.

"This aught ta be fun," Pappy Hodges said. "It's been a long time since I flew sameplace looking far a burned-out area near a ninety-degree bend in a river." Geoff Craig glanced at the map, saw the notations Jack Portet had made on it, and then looked at Jack.

"1 thought he was kidding," he said.

"Welcome to flying in the Congo," Jack said.

Hodges started to fold the map.

"Louise!" he called, raising his voice. "We're going!" Louise Hodges appeared in a moment, in a bathrobe, holding a cup of coffee.

"You sure you don't want any breakfast?" she asked.

"I'll get a doughnut in the snack bar at Cairns," Pappy said.

"Are they sending a staff car, or what?"

"I'm going to ride out with Geoff," Pappy said.

He stuffed the maps, one by one into his Jepp case (which was a large leather case, like a salesman's ,sample case, in which the loose...leaf notebooks and other Jeppesen materials were carried), closed it, kissed his wife perfunctorily on the cheek, and then picked up the Jepp case and his other luggage.

"Have a nice flight," Louise Hodges said.

"Yeah," Pappy said and walked out of the living-dining area.

Louise Hodges saw the looks an the faces of Geoff and Jack.

"This isn't the first time he's left me on three days' notice," she said. "You get used to it. You don't like it any better, but you get used to it."

They smiled, somewhat awkwardly, and started to follow Pappy Hodges out of Quarters 3404- B.

"Geoff," Louise Hodges called. "Don't worry about Ursula.

Marjorie and I will see that she gets packed and an the plane."

"Thank you," Geoff said.

Geoff's Oldsmobile wagon was parked in the driveway 'behind Jack's Jaguar. Ursula and Marjorie were in the back seat. Geoff opened the rear door of the Oldsmobile so Pappy could put his luggage in, and they gat in the front seat.

"Mrs. Hodges isn't coming with us?" Marjorie asked when Jack had the car running and was backing into the street.

"She's smart," Geoff said. "She's staying home."

"Thanks a lat," Ursula said softly as Geoff backed out of the drive.

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean anything but that there will be nothing to see at the airfield. You could have just stayed home." There was something to see at Cairns that Geoff didn't expect.

There were two staff cars flying large checkered flags parked, beside the Beechcraft L-23D an the parking ramp. One 'was' the aviation-radio-equipped car of the President of the Army Aviation Board and the other was the gleaming Chevrolet, with its two starred plate uncovered, of the Commanding General, the United States Aviation Center and Fart Rucker.

"Where's the band?" Geoff asked.

"I wander what the hell that's all about?" Pappy Hodges asked. "I thought this was supposed to be sort of a secret."

It took fifteen minutes to go through the weather briefing, preflight the airplane, and load the luggage. The Commanding General and the President of the Board waited patiently, which was also surprising.

Then they shook hands and Geoff kissed Ursula and got aboard.

A minute later the L-23D taxied toward the active runway.

General Bellman looked around. He saw Private Portet walking toward Hangar 104, and that Marjorie was with Ursula Craig.

"Johnny," General Bellmon said to his aide, "that young man is Private Portet. Will you run after him and tell him I would like a word with him? There. I'll come to you."

"Yes, Sir," Captain Oliver said.

General Bellmon turned to Colonel McNair.

"I don't think you have to hang around, Mac," he said.

"They're as good as gone." There was the sound of engines being brought to takeoff power, and a moment later the L-23D appeared on its takeoff roll. It rose into the air, retracted its gear, and began a slow climbing turn to the north. Then it was out of sight."

"Can I interest you in a hot doughnut and coffee, General?" Colonel McNair asked.

"No, but you could call Felter and tell him they're off, if you would please, Mac. If they say they never heard of him, tell them you're me. And tell him I was here to see them off." Colonel McNair smiled.

"Yes, Sir," he said. "I'll tell him we were both here."

General Bellmon walked to where his aide was standing with Jack Portet.

"Well, they seem to have gotten off all right," he said. "But I don't mind saying that I am still not used to the notion of flying a little airplane like that between continents."

"It reminds you of the sailor's prayer when you're halfway between Newfoundland and Scotland," Jack Portet said. "'God, your ocean is so big-and my airplane is so little.'" There was no question in Captain Oliver's mind that Private Portet was at least implying that he had flown the Atlantic.

"Johnny, would you ask Marjorie to come over here a minute? And will you keep Mrs. Craig company for a moment?" Bellmon ordered.

Marjorie walked quickly over to where her father stood with Jack. There was concern on her face.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"I have something to tell Jack," General Bellmon said. "And I wanted to tell him to his face. And I thought you should be here too." Marjorie put her hand on Jack's arm.

"Go. ahead," she said. "Tell us."

"Orders are being cut transferring Jack to the J-3 Section at STRICOM at McDill Air Force Base. I wanted you both to know that I had nothing to do with the transfer. As a matter of fact, I asked Colonel Felter if it was necessary. He said that it was, that the sooner everybody involved in this is gone, the sooner it will no longer be the subject of idle conversation."

"Damn him!" Marjorie said.

"That sonofabitch!" Jack said.

"He provokes that reaction in me sometimes," General Bellmon said. "I find that I have to frequently remind myself that what he is doing is almost always-of enough importance to justify the ruthlessness with which he 'does it."

"When?" Marjorie asked.

"It'll take two, three days for the orders to comedown," General Bellmon said. "And it will take Jack another seventy-two hours, or ninety-six, to clear the post. In the meantime Colonel McNair said that Jack can consider himself to be on pass."

"Well, thank you, Daddy, for trying."

"Yes," Jack said thoughtfully. "Thank you, General." Bellmon took a quick look at his watch.

"I've got to go to work." Jack saluted. Bellmon returned it, then marched off.

"Jesus, I'm going to have to watch myself," Jack said.

"What?"

"I saluted him just now without even thinking about it."

XI.

(One) Pietermaritzburg, South Africa 2 May 1964 Major Michael Hoare called Karl-Heinz Wagner at the job on Friday and asked if he would like to spend Saturday in the country, shooting tin cans. Karl-Heinz quickly accepted.

"And now that I have you in my net," Hoare said, laughing, "I'll tell you that we'll ride out there in style, in a Porsche, which I just happen to be in a position to offer you dirt cheap." Karl-Heinz suspected that neither the tin-can shooting nor selling him a Porsche was really what Hoare had in mind. A gut feeling, nothing more, but he would have bet on it.

Hoare showed up at the apartment on time and at the wheel of a nice little all-black Porsche convertible, freshly waxed, and with new Michelin tires all around. Hoare told him that not only didn't the Porsche have many miles on it, but had been well cared for during its four years of life.

Then Hoare motioned him behind the wheel.

"I'd love to drive it, Mike," Karl-Heinz said, "but you better understand that I can't afford it."

"Drive it anyway," Hoare said. "See how the rich people live. "

When Hoare was sure that Karl-Heinz had been behind the wheel long enough to appreciate the good shape the car was in, he told him, "Seriously, Karl, I bought this right, which means I could let it go right, for far less than it's really worth."

"Seriously, Mike," Karl-Heinz replied, gently mocking him, "unless you want to swap it even for my Volkswagen, there's no way I could afford this right now. See me in six months when I have my head above water."

"I would have thought you'd be doing all right with Hessische Schwere Konstruktion."

"I'm still a trainee. The pay scheme was set up for kids right out of university. And when I came over, I was wearing all that I owned. I've got the payment on the Volkswagen to make, and the payment on my furniture, and the payment on my clothes. . ."

"How long will you be a trainee?"

"For six months."

"Then it gets better?"

"Some," Karl-Heinz said, then chuckled. "My training as an engineer taught me to blow things up, not build things." Hoare laughed understandingly.

"You ever miss the service?" he asked.

Karl-Heinz's mind's eye was suddenly filled with a very sharp memory. He had been on a hilltop in 'Nam and they had sent. in a Caribou-a DeHavilland of Canada twin-engine, short takeoff and landing cargo aircraft to pick him up. Charlie had waited until the Caribou was on the ground and then started throwing in mortar rounds. The Caribou pilot had turned it around and immediately started to take off. The rear door was open, and Karl-Heinz had decided to run for it, otherwise he would have had to wait another day to get off the hilltop.

He had made it, but just barely, taking a running dive through the open door and landing on his stomach.

"Father" Lunsford ( First Lieutenant George Washington Lunsford, named after the Father of His Country) had been in the back, a blood-soaked bandage on his neck announcing he had been dinged and was being med-evaced. Father had leaned down and waved the neck of a bottle of a Dewar's Scotch under Karl Heinz's nose.

"Get off your belly, you Kraut honky," Father had greeted him cheerfully, "and Father will give you a little nip." Father Lunsford had been in the airport in Brussels, dressed up to fit the Nigerian passport he was carrying in a sort of black felt overseas cap, a wildly printed flowing cotton coat, and a turtleneck sweater. There were eight other men on the plane, in an assortment of costumes (including that of a priest), all of them well-built, in good shape, with varying shades of black skin.

Karl-Heinz had known before Father Lunsford had told him that they were fellow graduates of the John Wayne School for Boys at Camp Mackall, North Carolina. Father Lunsford had also told him that he'd made captain and was now commanding one of the three A-Teams that had just been ordered into the Congo.

Yes, I miss the service, Karl-Heinz thought.

"Sometimes," he said, "I miss the soldiering. But not the Volksarmee."

"Aren't armies about the same?" Hoare asked.

"I don't want you to think I'm a nut," Karl-Heinz said.

"Why should I think that?"