"That was the President," Felter said. "All he said was, 'Colonel Felter, this is the President. Execute Operation Dragon Rouge.'"

(Two) Camp McCall U.S. Government Reservation, North Carolina 8 November 1964 The would-be Green Berets had been parachuted into remote comers of the Camp McCall reservation, given a few rations, a compass, and a map, and told that their graduation depended on their being able to make their way from where they were to point A on their maps within seventy-two hours and without being discovered.

They had been involved in this exercise for nearly sixty-five hours, and the Major in charge of their training told Captain Stacey and Lieutenant Foster that he really had no idea where they would be.

"They have a radio," he explained, "radios, plural, in case somebody gets hurt or something. And they are supposed to report in once a day. But the clever ones-and this group includes some clever ones-generally figure out that if they go on the radio, we can fix their location by triangulation and bag them. So their radios malfunction. Get the picture?" "May I make a suggestion, Sir?" Lieutenant Foster asked.

"Shoot," Captain Stacey said.

"Get a helicopter with a PA system and fly back and forth calling his name and telling him to let off a flare."

"They would probably figure that was a trick, too," the Major said.

"The alternative to giving that a try is calling General Hanrahan on the radio and telling him you have no idea where these guys are," Captain Stacey said.

"Or waiting another seven hours until their time is up."

"We don't have another seven hours," Captain Stacey said, the discussion was interrupted by the cacophony of simulated fire the sputter of blank cartridges, the puff of smoke grenades; and the astonishingly lifelike-and thus terrifying-sound of artillery (incoming whistle, momentary pause, and the deafening explosion) going off.

"Our pigeons," the Major said, "are apparently returning to the roost."

"Foster, go get him, will you please?" Captain Stacey said, the enormous bullet headed former Notre Dame All-American moved with a quick grace to the door of the shed and stepped out into the darkness.

"Portet!" he called in a booming voice. "Yo, Jack!"

"I'd just love to know what's going on," the Major said."

"I bet you would," Captain Stacey said.

"And You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No," Stacey said, smiling. "I'm not."

"Then No, Sir, I'm not."

"No, Sir, I'm not."

"Prick." Sir respectfully suggest the Major has been out here eating snakes too long," Stacey said, "without adequate sexual release. There is obviously something Freudian in what you just said.

"The door opened and Portet walked in. "He was filthy: His face and hands were scratched and marked with insect bites. His utilities were soaking wet and he looked exhausted. He looked at Foster curiously.

He's going to look like hell in civilian clothes, Stacey thought.

To bad, it, can't be helped.

"Well, if it isn't Prince Charming," he said.

"Sergeant," the Major said, "I have been ordered to turn you over to these officers."

"For what?" Jack said. He was too tired to be polite.

"If you didn't have heavy plans-for-the weekend," Stacey's eyes lit up.

"Don't ask, Jack," Stacey said quickly. And then, as if it was an arrest. "Just come along quietly; Lieutenant Foster will read your Miranda rights to you in the car."

(Three) The Hotel Continental 3, Rue Castiglione Paris, France 10 November 1964 The Hotel Continental sits on the corner of the Rue Castiglione (which runs from the Place Vendome-where the Ritz Hotel is located-to the Tuileries Gardens) and the Rue de Rivoli (which runs along the Tuileries Gardens from the Place de la Concorde).

It is an old and elegant hotel, with something of a military history. General of the Armies John J. Pershing lived there during World War I. And in World War II Hitler's last message to Paris before its liberation, "Brennt Paris?" (Is Paris burning" was addressed to General von Choltitz, who lived in the Continental. Von Choltitz there decided to ignore his Fuhrer's order to reduce Paris to rubble, aware that the penalty for doing so was death.

Tonight, the hotel was full of senior military officers in their most colorful dress uniforms. It was the birthday of the United States Marine Corps and the occasion was being marked with the traditional Marine Corps Ball. The senior Marine present in Paris (a major general attached to the United States European Command at Camp des Loges just outside Paris) and his lady had issued invitations not only to all Marine officers in the area, but to all the general, flag, and field-grade officers assigned to EUCOM regardless of service, and to a list (prepared for him by the U.S. Embassy protocol officer) of foreign officers, including all the military attaches of the friendly embassies. The Deputy Commandant of the Royal Marines and his lady had flown m from London for the occasion, and the band of the United States Seventh Army had been shipped in by train from Heidelberg to provide the music. The invitation specified dress uniform. The unofficial word went out from the office of the full general commanding EUCOM that he expected to see his officers there, and in dress uniform.

No rented dinner jackets, no class A's with white shirts and black bow ties. Dress uniform, and In the case of general and flag officers, dress mess uniform.

There was some grumbling of course. Goddamned Marines.

And dress mess? In dress mess you looked like a goddamned pansy tenor, in a Sigmund Romberg operetta. But there were also many who were privately were pleased. The Marines always threw a good party, and since you had to lay out all the god damned money to buy the sonofabitch, you might as well get some wear it. And besides, there weren't all that many opportunities. Brigadier General and Mrs. Harris McCord, USAF, arrived at the Continental shortly after 10:00 P.M. General McCord privately thought whoever had designed the full-dress uniform for officers of the USAF had gone a little overboard. But at the same time he thought, What the hell, why let the Marines, Army and the Navy have all the sartorial glory. He checked his cap and his cape, and Mrs. McCord her silver fox stole, and then he stood on the parquet floor near the ladies room while she touched up her hair and face.

She came out and took his arm, and walked to the Grand ballroom and handed over their invitation to a Marine buck sergeant in dress blues. He glanced at it and then boomed, "Brigadier General and Mrs. Harris McCord, United States Air Force.

They went down the reception line and shook the hands of the United States Ambassador, the EUCOM Commander, the senior Marine in the area, the senior sailor, and the senior Air Force Officer.

McCord did not get the expected "Good evening, from the senior Air Force officer.

The senior Air Force officer said quietly, "Harry, I don't know what the hell it's all about, but we got an operational immediate message, a courier is en route with orders. I'm probably going to need to hang loose. And don't go anywhere but here and home."

"Yes Sir"

Weather was bad and the courier's flight was delayed, so it could not land at Orly until half past four the next morning. It was not until half past five the next morning that EUCOM had its orders. A few minutes later Brigadier General McCord had his.

TOP SECRET duplication Forbidden for Distribution By Officer Courier Only: THEJOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF WASHINGTON D.C. . . SEPTEMBER 1964 Commanding General, United States Strike Command Commanding General, European Command Commanding General, United States Air Force, Europe Commanding General, Seventh United States Army 1. By Direction of the President; by Command of His Royal Highness, the King of the Belgians; and at the request of the government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a Joint Belgian-American Operation, OPERATION DRAGON ROUGE, will take whatever military action is necessary to effect the rescue of American, Belgian, and other European nationals currently being held hostage in Stanleyville, Democratic Republic of the Congo, by forces in rebellion against the legal and duly constituted government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

2. By Direction of the President, Sanford T. Felter, Counselor to the President {Colonel, General Staff Corps, ,USA) is designated Action Officer, and will be presumed, in connection with- military matters, to be speaking with the authority of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

3. OPERATION DRAGON ROUGE is assigned an AAAA-I Priority with regard to the requisitioning of personnel, equipment, and other U.S. military assets.

4. Addressees will on receipt of this directive immediately dispatch an officer in the grade, of colonel or higher to the United States Embassy, Brussels, Belgium, where they will make themselves available to Colonel Felter or -such officers as he may designate to represent him.

FOR THE CHAIRMAN, THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF.

Forbes T. WHIS Brigadier General, USMC Executive Officer, JCS TOP SECRET.

By then, weather had really turned to shit and flying was out of the question. It was necessary for General McCord to drive to Brussels. He arrived there in a freezing rain shortly after noon.

. . . . Belgium . . . 11 November 1964 Major General Harris McCord thought he had yet another example if one were needed-that life is full of little ironies.

The night before-in anticipation of having a nip or two, and tripping the light fantastic with his wife, and perhaps having a breakfast at dawn in one of the quaint old restaurants near the Sacre-Coeur church in Montmartre, he had been in military uniform, complete to real medals (rather than ribbons with more silver embellishments than a Christmas tree. All dressed up to party.

As he was about to engage in what promised to be a long exercise, he was wearing a somewhat baggy tweed jacket, well-worn flannel slacks. Just before he had left Paris, he had been told to wear civilian clothing. What he had on was all that had come back from the dry cleaners. He was led to the too-fancy conference room in the U. S. Embassy and met his peers, most of whom he knew at least by sight, all in civilian clothing, and all waiting for Colonel Sanford T. Felter. The whole damned continent had been socked in, Felter's plane had had to sit down in Scotland to wait for it to clear to bare minimums.

He had heard of Felter, of course, but he had never seen him before, and was not very impressed when Felter walked into the room.

He was short and slight and in a baggy gray suit.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," Felter said. He threw a leather briefcase on the table, then took a key from his pocket and opened the padlock which he had chained-more accurately shackled to his wrist.

. . . . in civilian clothing had followed him into the room, and impatiently gestured for them to find seats. McCord looked closely -as Felter worked the combination lock on the briefcase. He had something in his lapel buttonhole that represented a medal. McCord didn't know what one it was, if it came in a box that contained the medal itself, the pin mounting the medal, and a pin intended for the button lapel. Whatever it was called, Felter was wearing one, and he looked at it until he was sure what it was.

It was the Distinguished Service- Cross, the nation's second-highest award for valor. McCord had heard (and he almost completely accepted) the military folklore that winners of the DSC were people entitled to the Medal of Honor who had somewhere along the line pissed off somebody important.

The DSC, McCord decided, not only proved that he was a bona fide hero, but that he was clever. With a DSC in your lapel you didn't have to prove to anybody that you were a warrior, even if you were a little Jew who looked like a middle-level bureaucrat.

"Colonel Bradeen I know," Felter said, flashing half a smile al a tall stocky, barrel-chested man McCord knew to be an armor colonel on the 7th Army staff.

"How are you, Sandy?" Colonel Bradeen said.

"My name is McCord, Colonel," General McCord said, and went to Felter and offered his hand.

"I'm glad you were available, General," Felter, said.

As the others introduced themselves to Felter, McCord considered that. Felter knew who he was, and there was an implication that he- had asked for him by name. That was flattering unless you were rank conscious and thought that general officers should pick colonels rather than the other way around.

"For those who don't know him," Felter said, "this is Colonel Joseph Pellman, USMC, of JCS." Who, General McCord thought, has obviously been sent by JCS to keep an eye on Felter. The brass on JCS must have really shit a brick when "by direction of the President" Felter was put in charge.

"I think the best way to handle this, gentlemen," Felter said, "is to, give you a quick sketch of what's going on in the Congo, specifically in Stanleyville, and then to tell you what we intend to try to do to set it right.

"There are sixteen -hundred people-Europeans, white people-in Stanleyville. A four-column relief force-in other words, four different columns-"-under the overall command of Colonel Frederick Van der Waele of the Belgian Army has been charged with suppressing the rebellion, which includes, of course, the recapture of Stanleyville. "There have been some successes, as you probably know from your own sources, but Van der Waele probably will not be able to make it to Stanleyville before the end of the month.

"That poses two problems. The first is the rebels' announced, intention to kill the hostages-a threat we consider bona fide before Van der Waele can get to them. The second is that we have noticed that since 20 October unmarked Ilyushin-I8 jet aircraft-at least two and probably as many as four are flying arms and ammunition from Algeria into the base in northern Uganda on a regular basis. Should they decide to do so, it would be easy for them to move the arms and ammunition to Olenga's forces. The possibility of their doing so, increases as Van der Waele's mercenaries and ANC approach Stanleyville.

The President has decided, in consultation with the Belgian President Spaak, that the first priority is to keep those sixteen hundred people alive. The Belgians have made available the First Parachute Battalion of their Para commando Regiment. I'm familiar with it. The First Battalion was trained by the British Special Air Service people in War Two, and they pride themselves on being just as good. The regiment is commanded by Colonel Laurent, who is a fine officer and who I suspect will lead the First Battalion himself.

It is be carried to Stanleyville in USAF aircraft, where, after the airfield is softened up with some B- 26s, they will make a landing and seize the airport. Part of the force will parachute onto the airport "to make the airport ready to receive the aircraft, and the balance will enter Stanleyville, find the Europeans and bring them to the airport. They will be loaded aboard the aircraft and then everybody leaves. No attempt will be made to seize Stanlleyville. I don't want any questions right now. I just wanted to give the rough idea.

"These gentlemen," Felter went on, turning to indicate them, are Lieutenant Colonel Lowell, Captain Stacey, Lieutenant Foster and Sergeant Portet. They're Green Berets. Colonel Lowell is on the ...COM staff and wrote Dragon Rouge. Captain Stacey and his men have been practicing a somewhat smaller operation for Stanleyville, now called off. But they know the town ....and the dispositions and the probable location of the Europeans. I brought them along to share their expertise." Foster, General McCord thought, looked like a bright guy, very much like what he expected Green Berets to look like. Stacey General McCord decided, looked like a typical young beret, a bard charger, tough, mean and lean. The black guy looks :f he could chew railroad spikes and spit tacks. The sergeant, there was something wrong with the Sergeant. His hands and face were scratched and blotchy and swollen. He could hardly see out of his eyes. And whatever was wrong with his face was also on his hands.

"As soon as we wind it up- here, Colonel Lowell will be available to explain any question~ you might have about- the OPLAN for Dragon Rouge. Stacey and Foster are going to liaise with the Belgians, Felter said. "Sergeant Portet, General McCord" I'm more or less going to give to you.. He's a former airlines pilot with extensive experience in the Congo, including of course, Kamina. and Stanleyville. And equally important, because' he was involved in getting the B-26Ks to the Congo, he knows most of the Cubans Dick Fulbright hired to fly them."

"Glad to have all the help I can get," McCord said.

I wonder if he caught whatever it is, is wrong with his face and hands in the Congo? I wonder if it's contagious?

"From Seventh Army, Jim," Felter said to Colonel Bradeen, we want stocks of whatever the Para commandos may not have. I understand they're in good shape, but I want supplies ready if I need them. Get on that right away. As soon as I know where and when to take them, I'll let you know. But I want the stuff already on trucks when I call for it."

"You'll have it," Bradeen said.

"Today is Armistice Day," Felter said. "So that the press would not get suspicious of activity at the War Ministry on a holiday, I have scheduled the first staff conference for tomorrow morning at eight. It's at 8, Rue de la Loi, in downtown Brussels. Civilian clothing. I feel obliged to say this: If word of this gets out, it will mean the massacre of civilians. And there are people here in Brussels watching to see what if anything the Belgians are going to do." He looked around the room. "I have rough OPLANS here. Study them overnight, take what action-,-in your case, General McCord, that probably will mean making sure we have the necessary aircraft available, and without calling attention to it, you know will be necessary, and be prepared to offer fixes for what is wrong with the OPLAN tomorrow morning. That will be all for now, gentlemen. Thank you. But keep yourselves-available." Felter and three of the Green Berets started to leave the room.

Lowell opened a well-stuffed briefcase. Felter caught the Sergeant's attention and nodded toward General McCord. The Sergeant walked over to General McCord.

"Colonel Felter said I am to make myself useful, Sir," Jack Portet said.

McCord resisted the temptation to offer his hand.

"You've been into Stanleyville, Sergeant?" "Yes, Sir."

"as a matter of idle curiosity, I've looked at the Jepps" General McCord said. "I know we can get B26s in."

"Yes Sir, easily. I've seen them there."

"I should have looked closer," McCord said."

"How many can we use at once?"

"Portet's swollen face wrinkled in thought. "No more than six at once Sir. To be safe, I would say no more than five." And as if he were no longer able to resist an awful temptation. He brought his hand up and scratched at the open blotches on his face with a hand that was similarly disfigured with suppurating/ "What's wrong with your face, son?" General McCord asked. "And hand?"

"Nothing , Sir. A little rash."

"Rash, my ass. How long has it been that way?

"It occurred on the plane from the States, Sir. It's some kind of rash probably. Nothing to worry about."

"Where were you in States? Bragg?"

"Yes Sir. "

"Come with me, Sergeant," McCord said.

He had seen the Military Attache's office on the way to the conference room, and he led Jack there.

There was a captain on duty, who glanced up and was not very impressed with what he saw. Two messy Americans- in mussed clothes, one of them with what looked like a terminal case of acne on his face.

"Yes." he asked.

"I am General McCord," McCord said, which caused the Captain to come to his feet and to stand to attention.

"Yes Sir".

"Will you be good enough to get me the Commanding Officer of the nearest U. S. military medical facility on the telephone?"

"Don't" Jack said, "I'll be alright. I don't want to get put in the hospital now."

"I expected as much from a Green Beret," McCord said. "But I'll be very, surprised if they let you get on the airplane, and jump on Stanleyville. It looks to me as if the whole work of the Belgians is to keep Americans out of it. "My stepmother and my sister are in Stanleyville, General. I'm going in."

McCord looked - at him. Before he could frame a reply, the Captain handed him a telephone.

"Colonel Aspen, Sir." "Colonel, this is General McCord. This may sound a little odd: But I want you to dispatch, immediately, one of your best medical officers. I am in the U.S. Embassy and I have a young sergeant with me who, if my diagnosis is correct, has been rolling around in poison oak," There was a pause~ "No, Colonel, he cannot come there. I don't want to argue about this. I expect to see either you or one of your doctors here within twenty minutes." He hung up the phone and turned to smile at Jack.

"They give you a shot," he said. "It clears it up in a couple of hours. I had it in survival school in Utah a couple of years ago."