"Fuck him my mother's upstairs."

The paratrooper ran back out of the building. The elevator indicator showed that It was on the ninth floor. Then It started to come down.

The paratrooper came running back into the building. Jack wondered if he was going to give him any trouble.

"I got a radio," he said. "They are leaving us." Jack felt something warm on his hand, looked down, and Saw blood.

The elevator mechanism chimed pleasantly and the door opened. Jack stepped over the dead Simba. The Belgian paratrooper followed him inside and crossed himself as Jack pushed the door button.

The door closed and the elevator started to rise.

It stopped at the fourth floor.

The Simba in parts of a Belgian officer's uniform did not have time to raise his pistol before a burst from Jack's assault rifle cut into his midsection.

The noise in the closed confines of the elevator was painful on his hearing. Jack's ears rang enough for him to doubt whether he would be able to hear anything but the loudest of sounds for a long time. The paratrooper with Jack jumped in a crouch into the corridor and let loose a burst down the corridor. It was empty.

The Simba he had shot had backed into the corridor wall and collapsed to the floor, leaving a foot-wide track of blood down the wall. Jack thought he saw life leave the Simba's eyes.

He took the Simba's pistol, a World War II-era Luger, from the simba's hand, stuffed it in the chest pocket of his tunic, and walked back into the elevator. The paratrooper backed into it. The chime sounded melodiously again, the doors closed and the elevator started up again.

When the door opened they were on the tenth floor. There was no one there.

Neither Jack nor the paratrooper moved.

The chime sounded again and the door closed.

Jack reached out with the muzzle of his FN and rapped the upper edge of the door. The door started to open again.

Copying what the paratrooper had done on the fourth floor, Jack leaped in a crouch into the corridor. But the corridor was empty.

He ran to the door of the Air Simba apartment. There were bullet holes in it, and it was battered as if someone had tried to force his way in. He put his hand on the doorknob. It was locked.

He banged on it with his fist.

"Hanni!" he shouted. "Hanni, c' est moil C' est Jacques!" there was no answer.

He raised the butt of the FN and smashed at the door in the area of the knob. The butt snapped off behind the trigger assembly. He felt tears well up in his eyes. He pulled the trigger to see if would still work, and there was another painful roar of sound, and a cloud of cement dust as the bullets struck the ceiling.

He raised his boot and kicked at the door beside the knob with all his might. There was a splintering sound and the lock mechanism tore free.

Jack kicked it again and it flew open. The Belgian paratrooper rushed into the apartment in his now-familiar crouching stance.

There was not the expected burst of fire.

Jack ran into the room. Hanni was standing in front of the bedroom door, white-faced.

"Bonjour, Madame," the Belgian paratrooper said.

Hanni saw Jack.

Oh, my God! It is you! I thought I was losing my mind!"

"Hanni!" Jack croaked.

The bedroom door opened. Jeanine appeared.

"Jacques!" she screamed.

And there was somebody with her. Black. Wearing an animal skin.

"Don't shoot!" Hanni screamed. "He's a friend!"

"Jacques, don't!" Jeanine said when Jack trained what was left of the FN at him.

"Who the hell is he?"

"Captain George Washington Lunsford," the man in the animal skin said. "United States Army, at your service, Sir." He walked into the room with his hands above his shoulders.

"Jacques, for God's sake," Hanni said, "he saved our lives Put the gun down." Jack saw Ursula Craig holding the baby in her arms in the bedroom. Beside her, a large knife in each hand, was Mary Magdalene. Jack went to the bedroom. Mary Magdalene dropped the knives and enveloped him in her massive arms. As her huge body heaved with sobs, and tears ran down her cheeks, she repeated over and over, "Mon petit Jacques.. .mon petit Jacques."

"I hate to break that up," Lunsford said, "but there are savages all over the building and I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I had my rifle." Jack freed himself.

"You OK, Ursula?"

"I am now," she said.

Jack, turned to Lunsford.

"Captain, I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm grateful."

"He knew what the Simbas would do once they saw the paratroopers," Hanni said. "He came to protect us."

"If I go get my rifle," Lunsford said, nodding at the Belgian paratrooper, "does he know what's going on, or-"

"re suis a votre service, mon capitaine," the paratrooper said, came to attention, and then added proudly, "I speak good the English."

Lunsford went into the bedroom and came back with his rifle.

"Does the radio work?" certain, man capitaine," the Belgian said.

"Can you get on it and tell somebody important where we are and to come fetch us."

"Oui, mon capitaine."

"Close the door," Lunsford ordered Jack. "We'll put the women back in the bedroom until the cavalry gets here."

"Yes Sir," Jack said.

Stanleyville International Airfield, Stanlyville, Democratic Republic of the Congo . . . Hours 25 November 1964 The first four vehicles of what Operation Dragon Rouge referred to as Van der Wade Column One made contact according to schedule with Belgian forces at 1100.

There were four armed jeeps. Captain Karl-Heinz Wagner, of ::r- 7-~mgese Special Gendarmerie, was in command. According to Dragon Rouge, when they approached the outskirts of Stanleyville near the airfield, they fired three green signal rockets and then waited for the Belgians fired two orange rockets before proceeding.

There is always a shock when driving to Stanleyville through the jungle. The virgin jungle suddenly gives way to civilization.

Now the shock was even greater. Just as they left the jungle, a jet aircraft flashed over their heads on takeoff, so low that they could feel the vibration of the engine, and then a moment later smell the fuel -the not completely burned JP-4 fuel. And before they saw halfway down the length of the runway, there was another aircraft on it, this one landing with an awesome roar as the pilot changed the pitch of his props for braking.

The airfield held as many of the large transports as it possibly could. Captain Karl-Heinz Wagner saw the Belgian paratroopers setup a perimeter defense of the airfield. He also saw a U.S. Army T-23, a glistening VIP transport dwarfed by the C-130s, across the runway from the terminal building, and he wonder what the hell that was doing there.

The command post, he decided, would probably be set up in the airport terminal building, so he headed there. His orders were to report to the Belgian paratrooper commander, Colonel Laurent, and inform him that the head of the column was thirty to forty-five minutes behind him. And then to prepare for Van der Waele's forces to relieve the paratroopers.

As he neared the terminal building, he saw paratroopers loading body bags aboard one of the C-130s which had shut down only two of its engines. And there was a bunch of Europeans standing at the rear of the airplane, waiting for the bodies to be loaded. He signaled. to his driver to pull up beside a Belgian major.

"What's happened?" Wagner demanded.

"About what?" "How many were killed?"

"We don't know yet," the Major said. "When we first landed, the bastards lined up all the whites they could find and made human shield out of them. They were marching them toward the airfield when we showed up. Then they opened up on them." There would be no point, Karl-Heinz decided, strangely calm in asking the Major if he had a casualty list. Even if there was a preliminary one, it would not be complete.

"Command post in the terminal?" he asked.

The Major nodded. Karl-Heinz motioned for his driver to move on.

Colonel Laurent had his command post set up in the Sabena station manager's office.

"Sir, Captain Wagner-I'm the lead element of Column One. Wagner said, saluting.

Colonel Laurent, who looked exhausted, casually returned the salute.

"The column is about half an hour behind me, Sir," Wagner said.

"You have another officer with you, Captain Wagner?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Turn over to him. You have five minutes."

"Sir?" Colonel Laurent made a come-here gesture with his hand to the man standing just outside the office. He was wearing a U.S Army tropical-regions flight suit without insignia, and there was a Model 1911 A 1 Colt pistol in an Army holster hanging from his web belt around his waist. When he came close, Colonel Laurent said, "This is Wagner, Major."

"You're Karl-Heinz Wagner?" the man asked.

Wagner nodded.

"Glad to see you made it," the man said. "I've been sent to get you. Get your gear."

"who are you?"

"My name is Hodges."

"Fetch me where? Who are you?"

"You want to get your gear? I'll tell you on the way," Pappy Hodges said.

"Fuck you," Karl-Heinz said. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You know what DP means, Lieutenant?"

"No," Wagner snapped. "I don't!"

"It means Direction of the President. I've got a DP TWX that says I am to locate you and get you out of here."

"My sister and nephew are here," Wagner flared.

"ah, shit, I'm sorry," Pappy Hodges said. "I don't know what the fuck's the matter with me. I should have told you first thing. Hanni and the baby and the Portets were on the first plane to Leopoldville out of here. They're all right. Geoff Craig is with them.

"They're all right?" Karl-Heinz Wagner asked very softly.

"They're all right," Pappy repeated. "You know the Portet kid?"

Heinz shook his head no.

"He's got a busted nose," Pappy said. "He fell off a truck. They evacuated him, too."

"I can't go to Leo?" Karl-Heinz asked.

"You've got five minutes to turn over."

"What about Colonel Hoare?"

"Wagner, you're in the U.S. Army, not the Katangese Gendarmmerie. You get a DP, Lieutenant, you say Yes, Sir and you ---"

Wagner looked at him.

"Yes, Sir," he said after a moment.

"We're in that L-23 across the runway," Hodges said. "I don't want to have to come looking for you. Five minutes, Lieutenant." The left engine of the L-23 was already turning over when Karl Heinz ran across the runway to it. He jumped up on the wingroot and climbed in. Pappy Hodges leaned over him to make sure the door was properly closed and then started to taxi across to the end of the runway.

A hand touched Karl-Heinz's shoulder. He turned and found a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label being thrust at him.

"Here you go, you fucking Kraut," Captain George Washington Lunsford said. "A little liquid courage for the flight." Father Lunsford looked awful. He was wearing a flight jacket that had Geoff Craig's wings and first lieutenant's bars on it. And he was obviously quite drunk.

"What's up, Father?" Karl-Heinz asked.

"Well, I don't suppose there will be flags flying and bands playing, but we're going home, pal. Back to the land of the Big PX. And about fucking time, too." Karl-Heinz took the bottle from him and took a healthy pull.

Pappy Hodges turned the L-23 onto the runway and without slowing pushed the throttles to the firewall "If we're going home, why aren't we going to Leo?" Karl Heinz asked when they were airborne.

"Because there's a Presidential Special Missions jet waiting for you at Kamina."