Williamson went to the map and started pointing. "On our way here, Sir, we conducted as much of an aerial observation as we could from the aircraft. It seems to me the Simba-"

"Don't refer to these criminals by using that word!"

"Sorry, Sir," Williamson said. "It seems to me, Colonel," he went on, "that the most logical route on which the insurgents can advance is this way." The presentation lasted three minutes. The true test of an intelligent man is the degree to which he agrees with you, and Lieutenant Williamson's suggestions about how to blunt Olenga's attack - by attacking them from high ground nine miles from . .vu -could have been taken from Colonel Leonard Mulamba's personal notebook.

"There are three major positions," Mulamba said. "They are supposed to have been prepared by now. Whether they have been or not remains to be seen. With your permission, Captain Wagner, I would like to send these gentlemen out there to see that they are."

"My men are at your orders, Colonel," Wagner said.

Mulamba called for his administrative officer and told him to secure officer's insignia for the three black Green Berets.

"These gentlemen will be considered members of my personal staff and presumed to be acting on my orders," he said. "Go with the Major please, gentlemen, he'll take care of you." When they were gone he looked at Wagner.

"There is an unfortunate story going around, Captain," he slid, "that the foreign volunteers think they have a license to steal. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't like it, but I don't see how I can stop it without shooting half the mercenaries." Karl-Heinz considered his reply and then added: "Three-quarters of them."

Colonel Mulamba's response surprised Wagner.

"That would indicate that you are neither a liar nor a fool. I will now entertain your suggestions vis-a-vis the employment of those who have so nobly rushed to the aid of my country in its hour of distress. An employment, it is to be hoped, that would keep them at some distance from the temptation to help them yes to other people's property."

Fifteen minutes later Mulamba and Wagner had agreed that the white mercenaries would be used as a reserve blocking force, stationed six miles from Bukavu. And when Olenga's assault was turned, they would be the lead element of the counterattacking force.

(Seven) 23 September 1964 URGENT FROM US EMBASSY LEOPOLDVILLE DEM REPCONGO TO SECSTATE WASHDC STANLEYVILLE SITUATION UPDATE AS OF 2400 ZULU 22 SEPTEMBER 1964 INTELSOURCE RATING ONE PAREN 1 PAREN REPORTS ASSAULT ON BUKA VU BY ESTIMATED 4000 SIMBAS UNDER PERSONAL COMMAND OLENGA TURNED BY ANC UNDER COMMAND COLONEL LEONARD MULAMBA MORNING 22 SEPTEMBER BEFORE SIMBA FORCE REACHED BUKAVU. SAMESOURCE REPORTS OLENGA FORCES SUFFERED SEVERE REPEAT SEVERE LOSSES PERSONNEL AND MATERIEL. ANC LOSSES NEGLIGIBLE. SAMESOURCE REPORTS CAPTURE OF SMALL QUANTITIES SMALL ARMS AND AMMUNITION MANUFACTURED BY CHICOM, CZECHOSLOVAKIA AND PAREN AMMO ONLY PAREN EASTGERMANY. SAMESOURCE REPORTS AMMO BEARS MAY AND JUNE 1964 HEADSTAMPS. MATERIEL EN ROUTE LEOPOLDVILLE.

CONTACT REESTABLISHED INTELSOURCE RATING ONE PAREN 1 PAREN STANLEYVILLE.

SAMESOURCE REPORTS STANLEYVILLE NEWSPAPER PAREN LE MARTYR PAREN CARRIED 21 SEPTEMBER STORY PARTIALLY FOLLOWING: QUOTE THE PRESIDENT OF THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO INFORMED THE PUBLIC THAT MR. PAUL CARLSON A MAJOR OF AMERICAN NATIONALITY WAS CAPTURED 20 SEPTEMBER DURING BATTLE OF YAKOMA. MR.

CARLSON IS IN GOOD HEALTH. A MILITARY TRIBUNAL WILL STUDY HIS DOSSIER BEFORE HE APPEARS IN FRONT OF A COURT OF JUSTICE. ENDQUOTE.

SAMESOURCE REPORTS ENGLISH SPEAKING WHITE MALE APPROXIMATELY THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OF AGE TRANSPORTED BOUND HAND AND FOOT TO CENTRAL PRISON STANLEYVILLE BY TRUCK 21 SEPTEMBER. INDIVIDUAL SHOWS SIGNS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE. ATTEMPTS TO MAKE CONTACT SO FAR UNSUCCESSFUL.

USEMBASSY BELIEVES CARLSON IS ALMOST CERTAINLY PAUL EARLE CARLSON MD PAREN SURGEON PAREN THIRTY-SIX YEAR OLD US NATIONAL BORN CULVER CITY CALIFORNIA. DR CARLSON OPERATED MEDICAL CLINIC IN WASOLA PAREN SMALL CITY IN NORTHERN CONGO NEAR BORDER CENTRAL AFRICAN REPUBLIC PAREN CLINIC SPONSORED BY EVANGELICAL COVE CHURCH OF CALIFORNIA. CARLSON ACCOMPANIED IN WASOLA BY WIFE LOIS AND CHILDREN WAYNE PAREN NINE PAREN AND LYNETTE PAREN TWO PAREN. FAMILY WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN BUT NOT REPEAT NOT BELIEVED TO BE IN STANLEYVILLE. DR CARLSON HAD NO REPEAT NO OFFICIAL RELATIONSHIP OF ANY KIND WITH ANY US GOVERNMENT AGENCY IN REPCONGO. LIEUTENANT COLONEL MICHAEL HOARE OF KATANGESE SPECIAL GENDARMERIE HAS ADVISED USAMBASSADOR VIA GENERAL MOBUTU THAT HE HAS NEVER HAD ANY CONTACT OF ANY KIND WITH DR CARLSON AND THAT CARLSON HAS HAD NO REPEAT NO CONNECTION OF ANY KIND WITH ANY MILITARY FORCES UNDER HIS CONTROL. STANLEYVILLE INTELSOURCE FURTHER REPORTS GBENYE GAVE 21 SEPTEMBER SPEECH IN WHICH HE SAID QUOTE THOUSANDS OF AMERICAN TROOPS ENDQUOTE ARE INVOLVED IN QUOTE BATTLE OF BUKAVU ENDQUOTE. SAMESOURCE BELIEVES OLENGA DEFEAT AT BUKAVU WILL DANGEROUSLY RAISE TENSIONS IN ST ANLEYVILLE. AMBASSADOR CONCURS.

. . . lNELLY DEPUTY CHIEF OF MISSION.

Golden Hawk Compound CAMP Mackall Military Reservation, North Carolina . . September 1964 During War II, Camp Mackall had been a division training camp. As quickly as possible, the Army had thrown up on a cost-plus-basis frame barracks buildings, mess halls, theaters, a hospital, and all the other housing and facilities necessary to house fifteen thousand men while they were being trained to function as a United States infantry division.

Colonel Ed Mitchell, Commanding Officer of the 7th Special Forces Group, once heard which division-had there been more than one?- had trained at Mackall, but he promptly forgot what he had been told. But he thought of it now, as General Red Hanrahan's ancient H-19 Sikorsky flew him and his Sergeant Major low over Mackall's pine trees to Golden Hawk Compound.

There was nothing left of the War II installations except concrete pads here and there where once barracks furnaces had rested, some battered roads, and a sewage system that was cheaper to leave than tear down. The frame buildings were all gone. It was hard even to make out where they had been.

Mackall was a "dormant U.S. military reservation, under the supervision of the Commanding General, Fort Bragg, and available, if needed, as a maneuver ground." It was also where, quietly, the U. S. Army Center for Special Warfare trained Green Berets-the campus of the John Wayne School for Boys. It was where the Green Berets learned to eat snakes, make fire by rubbing sticks together, and blow things up.

There were a few rough buildings set up, kitchens, showers, that sort of thing. But these were pretty rudimentary.

There was also room-where no one else could see-to erect mockups of areas they might find themselves operating.

Mockups, for example, of a villa near a river from which twenty seven, Berets were going to extract nine members of the Foreign Service of the United States from illegal detention by indigenous forces in rebellion against their government.

Mitchell had radioed ahead, so they knew he was coming.

And when the H-19 fluttered to the ground they were all there.

They were in dyed-black fatigues, their heads wrapped with cloth, their faces darkened with greasepaint. They were armed with a wide assortment of weapons, none of them issued by the United States government. And they were probably the best soldiers in anybody's army in the world, Colonel Ed Mitchell thought as he climbed out of the chopper and told them to stand at ease.

"I'll get right to the point," he said. "It's on hold. Permanent hold. I have orders to stand down."

"Shit!" someone said.

"What the fuck!" someone else said.

"It has been decided at the highest level of government," Colonel Mitchell said, "that in the present circumstances Golden Hawk would exacerbate the situation, even if successful."

"What 'present circumstances,' Colonel?"

"The ANC seems to be getting its act together," Colonel Mitchell said. "They have recaptured four cities from the Simbas.

The major Simba attack on Bukavu, their second attempt, has been confined with severe losses to the Simbas."

"They still got our people, don't they?"

"Permission has been granted for a plane under charter to the National Red Cross to fly to Stanleyville," Colonel Mitchell said. "It is hoped that it will bring out not only our, diplomatic personnel but all United States nationals in the area."

"That's right, first you let the cocksuckers piss all over you and then you say 'thank you' when they're willing to sell you a towel to wipe your face."

"That will be quite enough, Lieutenant," Colonel Ed Mitchell said. He quite agreed with the lieutenant, a very large, bullet head black man who had been an All-American tackle at Notre Dame. But it was neither the time nor place to do so publicly.

"As We're soldiers-we do what we're told." He fixed the Lieutenant with an icy stare until the man came to attention and said, "Yes, Sir." ... At this very moment," Mitchell went on, "under the chairmanship of Jomo Kenyatta, Premier of Kenya, representatives of several African nations are meeting in Nairobi. They constitute The Congo Reconciliation Commission, and it is hoped they will be able to negotiate a peaceful solution to the situation." Three people said, "Bullshit!" but Colonel Mitchell did not seem to have heard them. It is recognized," Mitchell went on, "again at the highest levels" of our government, that efforts to reach a peaceful solution might not be successful. Therefore, Golden Hawk is not cancelled, just put on hold. No equipment will be turned in; everyone remains assigned to Golden Hawk. But training is suspended. General Hanrahan's sending a bus out here carrying some people to watch the store while you people take a seventy-hour pass. Check in with Group when that's over." He turned to his Sergeant Major.

"You got anything, Sergeant Major?"

"I shouldn't have to say this, but keep your mouths shut," the Sergeant Major said. He turned to Mitchell. "That's all, Sir."

"You guys have done a good job," Mitchell said. "I know it, General Hanrahan knows it. That's all I have."

"Ten-hut!" the Sergeant Major barked, then, "Dismissed."

"Captain Stacey," Colonel Mitchell said, "I'd like to see you and Sergeant Portet for a minute, please." He walked to the far side of the H-19 with his Sergeant Major at his heels. Captain Stacey and Portet followed him, both looking a little uneasy.

Like the others, Jack Portet was wearing dyed-black fatigues and a head cloth, and his face was covered with grease paint. "I'm surprised to see you dressed up like that, PFC Portet," Colonel Mitchell said, "since I thought I made it pretty clear you were here solely to fill in the blanks in the intelligence summary."

"Sir," Captain Stacey said, "I told Portet to suit up. I thought he would blend in better if he looked like one of us."

"And that's why he made the last three night jumps, right? To blend in better?"

"Sir," Stacey said, uncomfortable but sure of the righteousness of his position, "Portet speaks the languages. He knows the terrain. And he was jump qualified when he came here."

"But not free-fall qualified, right?" Colonel Mitchell said, looking at Jack Portet. "You did the minimum five static-line jumps at Benning and got your wings of silver, but that's all, am I correct?"

"Yes, Sir," Jack said.

"Let me guess," Colonel Mitchell said. "At the last minute, Captain Stacey was going to come to me and say he'd like to have you along-because you speak the languages and know the terrain. And I would agree that you would be useful, but I would say that your going along was obviously impossible, because you weren't free-fall qualified or a qualified Green Beret, period. Whereupon Captain Stacey would say that he'd found time in his busy schedule to give you a little on-the-job training, that in fact you'd been free-fall jumping at night right along with the big boys. And they had found time in their busy schedules not only to qualify you with the weaponry but teach you to make fire by rubbing sticks together. And in fact he considered you fully qualified. Is that about the scenario you had in mind, Captain Stacey?" Captain Stacey came to attention.

"Yes, Sir," he said. "That's about it, Sir."

"And what had you planned to say to me if PFC Portet had turned up dead? Or something minor, like breaking his leg? Did you even consider the possibility of how embarrassing it would have been for me to get on the telephone and tell Colonel Felter and say, Colonel, you know that Congo expert you sent me?

Well, one of my A-Team leaders went bananas and jumped him at night, and he now has a fifty-foot pine tree up his ass. Dead, you see. Sorry 'bout that'?"

"I accept full responsibility, Sir," Captain Stacey said.

Colonel Mitchell glowered icily at him for a full thirty seconds.

"The question is of course now moot," Mitchell finally said, since you're probably not going. The question is what we do with PFC Portet. When I spoke with Colonel Felter, and he told me the hand-wringers and pansies had won, I asked him what about Portet. And he said that he wants him here at Bragg and that I should find something useful for him to do. Any suggestions, Captain Stacey?"

"No, Sir."

"Captain Stacey's usually active imagination has apparently stalled, Sergeant Major. Does that surprise you?"

"Yes, Sir, it does."

""How's that, Sergeant Major?"

"Well, I would have thought, Sir, that the Captain would have suggested that we run PFC Portet through the basic course, Sir. I mean, now that he's sort of already had the advanced course."

"How does that strike you, Captain Stacey?" MitchelL asked: "for that matter, how does it strike you, PFC Portet?"

"Could we do that?" Stacey asked. "Would the school stand still for it?"

"I have reason to believe that General Hanrahan would suggest to the Deputy Commandant that under the circumstances an exception could be made for PFC Portet," Mitchell said. "If for no other reason than that his starting the basic course would let him keep those sergeant's stripes he's been wearing." He turned to Portet. "What about it, son? Do you want to cut off those stripes and have the Sergeant Major find you a broom or a mop or would you like to come back out here next Monday and join one of the basic classes?"

"I think I'd like to come back out here, Sir," Jack said. "Thank you."

"Between now and Monday morning, Stacey," Colonel Mitchel said, "I expect you to have a quiet word with the cadre. They can make him eat all the snakes they want, but he is not, repeat not to make any more night jumps. I really don't want to have to tell Felter that he's in the base hospital in a cast. There is still a chance, slight, but a chance, that Golden Hawk will go. If it goes, I want Sergeant Portet to go with it."

XXI.

(One) Stanleyville, Democratic Republic of the Congo 24 September 1964 The ground floor of the Immoquateur Apartments held half a dozen shops. For no apparent reason three of them had been spared and were open for business. The others had been looted, their plate-glass windows shattered, and patriotic signs (including one reading KIL! ALL! AMNERICAN! MERSANAYS!) painted on their walls.

Access to the apartments on the upper floors of the building was by two passenger elevators in a small and narrow lobby in the left of the building, and by a service elevator at the end of a corridor running from the end of the lobby to the Congo River side of the building. The design had taken into account the belief held by many Congolese that if anything of value is left unattended, the previous owner no longer has use for it.

In the Good Old Days there had been a guard armed with a Billy club at both passenger and service elevators. Their function had been to ensure that any Congolese seeking to board an elevator had business in the building.

There were still two elevator guards in the Immoquateur, but they were now supplied with FN 7mm assault rifles, and they were both on duty at the passenger elevators, since the service elevator was no longer functioning. The elevator-maintenance crew of the Stanleyville branch of Otis S.A. du Congo were not available.

They had been apprehended trying to make their way out of Stanleyville in an Otis truck. Soon afterward they had been taken to the Lumumba Monument, where a summary court had found them guilty of treason to the People's Republic of the Congo.

They had been executed on the spot, mercifully by small-arms fire. After being left in front of the Lumumba Monument overnight, pour encourager lesaures their bodies had been taken to Congo River and thrown in: There were more crocodiles in the river these days, and closer to the city, than there had been in many years. Guard duty at the Immoquateur Apartments was a desirable job, The guards could count upon a generous tip from the Europeans living there every time they entered or left the elevator.

A Simba officer, a captain, came down the exposed aggregate concrete sidewalk on the Immoquateur and entered the lobby. An 7mm rifle hung from his shoulder, and one hand firmly grasped he grip of a dress sword, the other was grasping even more tightly the neck of a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label Scotch, from which he had obviously been taking much sustenance. The guards told him that by 'order of Lieutenant' General Olenga himself, the Immoquateur was off limits to everyone except those on official business. The Simba Captain said that he had official business. The guards said that if he had business, then he must have a pass and could they see it. The Captain produced an official-looking document Which the guards studied carefully and in turn, blissfully unaware that they were holding it upside down. Then the senior of them moved and pushed the elevator button, causing the door to slide open.

The Captain got in the elevator and pushed the buttons for floors two, four, six, and eight. The elevator stopped obediently at each floor. He rode to the eighth floor, got out, went to, the fire escape, and climbed to the top floor, the tenth.

There was no doorknob on the stair side of the doors. Once these had closed, there was no way to open them from the stair way. The building had been designed so that someone entering the fire stairs on one floor could not exit on another; it was necessary to go all the way to the ground floor.

The Captain took a thin, oddly shaped flat piece of brass (it had been a 7mm cartridge case) from the pocket of his white dress shirt and, slipped it between the tenth floor door and the door frame. He felt the spring-loaded part, of the door lock slide out of the way. Then he drew his dress saber (according to engraving on the blade, it had once belonged to a student at the Ecole Poly technique in Paris) and slipped it into the opening between the door and the door frame, intending to use it as a lever to pry the door open.

The tip of the saber snapped off.

He tried slipping the sharpened edge of the blade into the opening. It fitted, but whenever he tried to twist it, it slipped out.

He considered his predicament a moment and then picked up the saber with both hands and struck the door as hard as he could.

The first blow dented the door; the second blow dented it more; the third blow snapped the saber blade off six inches from the handle. And the noise sounded like he was inside a drum.

He took the FN 7mm assault rifle from his shoulder, snapped off the safety, and made sure the lever was on single shot. Then he held the rifle close to the door and fired. The noise was deafening, and there was a spray of parts of the bullet, some of which ricocheted off the steel stairs and concrete walls and struck his legs and arms.

But there was now an inch and a half cut in the steel of the door. The Captain picked up the flattened cartridge case and put it back in the door lockwork. After that he put what was left of the saber blade into the hole in the door. When he pulled on it, the door opened enough for him to get his fingers on the edge and then pull it all the way open.

He went into the tenth-floor corridor and stationed himself around a corner where he could if necessary quickly train the FN on anybody getting out of the elevator. The elevator floor-indicator was working. The elevator went to the second floor and stayed there for several minutes, then went to the third floor and stayed there. There was time, he decided. What they were doing was investigating the sound of the gunshot floor by floor, very cautiously and very carefully.

He went down the corridor and knocked on the door of an apartment. There was no answer so he knocked again. When there was no answer after the third knock, he slipped the piece of flattened brass into the lock and pulled the door open.

He went inside, closed the door, and turned around.

Bile rose in his throat.

A huge black woman, a large butcher knife in one hand, a bone-handled carving knife in the other, was advancing at him, stalking him, obviously about to attack.

"Je suis ami," he said. "Jesus H. Christ, lady-wait a minute!"

"Mary Magdalene!" a female voice called. "Attends!"

The black woman didn't lower the knives, but she Stopped her careful advance.

"Madame Portet?" the Captain asked.

"Who are you?" "My name is Lunsford, ma'am," he said, and then Ursula stepped into a doorway with her baby in her arms. A blonde girl stood behind her, looking at him with-wide, frightened, eyes.

"Mrs. Craig, do you remember me? I'm Captain Lunsford. I'm a buddy of Geoff's. We were together in 'Nam." Ursula couldn't speak. Tears ran down her face. But she nodded.

She looked awful, Lunsford thought. Her hair was Parted down the middle, then drawn tightly over her head and pulled together with a rubber band. Her face was white and her eyes looked sunken. He wondered if she had been raped. There bad been a lot of rape. It was forbidden by Olenga and the punishment was death. The result was that a lot of Simbas had been shot, either on the spot or ceremoniously before the Lumumba Monument.

But it hadn't stopped the raping.

"You want to tell her to put those knives down?" Father Lunsford said.