V.

[ ONE ].

Quarters One Fort Rucker, Alabama 1825 18 December 1964 Second Lieutenant Robert F. Bellmon entered his parents' home via the kitchen door and found Jacques Portet standing on the kitchen table, and his sister fussing with Jack's trousers' cuffs.

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby demanded.

"Ask the lieutenant," Marjorie said.

"Jack, what the hell is going on?"

"That's 'what the hell is going on, sir?' " Jack said. "See if you can remember that in the future."

"Oh, Jesus!" Marjorie said disgustedly. But there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Those are officer's trousers," Bobby observed in surprise, having seen the black stripe down the trousers' seam that differentiates officer's trousers from those of enlisted men.

"Splendid!" Jack said. "Perception is a characteristic to be encouraged in junior officers."

"Marjorie?" Bobby asked, sounding young and confused.

"The damned fool took a commission," Marjorie said.

"Took a commission?" a commission?"

"As a first lieutenant," Jack said. "You don't have to stand at attention in my presence, Bobby, but a little respect would be in order."

"You can get off the table," Marjorie said. "And put your other pants back on."

Jack jumped nimbly off the table.

"Stick around, Bobby," Jack said. "I need a favor."

He walked out of the kitchen, and Marjorie followed him.

Two minutes later, he walked back in. He laid a uniform tunic and a handful of plastic-boxed insignia on the table.

"I don't know where that stuff goes, Bobby," Jack said. "Would you show me?"

"You're really an officer?" Bobby asked.

Jack nodded.

Bobby regained his composure.

"Then let me offer my congratulations, Jack."

He put out his hand, and Jack took it.

"Thank you," Jack said. "Your sister is less than thrilled, as you may have noticed."

"What's that all about?" Bobby asked.

"She wanted me safe and sound at the Instrument Examiner Board," Jack said.

Major General Robert F. Bellmon entered the kitchen a few minutes later. Bobby was bent over the kitchen table, pinning the crossed rifles of Infantry to the lapels of Jack's tunic.

"Hello, Jack," he said, offering his hand.

"Good evening, sir," Jack said. "I'd hoped to have this finished before you got home."

"What's going on?" Bellmon said.

"Bobby's pinning my new insignia on for me," Jack said. "I don't know where it all goes."

Bellmon looked at the tunic and then at Jack.

Jack handed him a copy of his orders.

"Felter?" he asked when he had read them.

"Yes, sir," Jack said. "Colonel Felter thought it would solve a lot of problems if I was commissioned."

"And he arranged it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Does Marjorie know?"

"Marjorie's pissed," Bobby said. "She called him a 'damned fool.' "

Bellmon shook his head, then looked at Jack.

"May I show these to Bobby?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, of course."

Bellmon handed the orders to Bobby, then turned to Jack.

"There's no question in my mind that, with your professional qualifications and character, you'll make a fine officer, Jack," he said, and put out his hand. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Jack said.

"And it will solve a lot of problems about your marriage, won't it?" Bellmon said.

"That may be on hold, sir," Jack said.

Bellmon looked at him for a moment.

"Marjorie'll come around," Bellmon said. "I think what she had in mind was you being out at the Instrument Examiner Board, and not in Vietnam, and is honest enough to admit it."

"Yes, sir. I think that's it."

"You start working for Felter, you may both wish you were in Vietnam," Bellmon said, then added: "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I just found out that Johnny Oliver is also going to work for Colonel Felter, and I'm a little less than thrilled about that."

"Yes, sir, I'd heard."

"Well, first things first," Bellmon said, and went to a cupboard and took out a bottle of Martel cognac and three snifter glasses. He poured drinks and handed glasses to Jack and Bobby.

"A successful career, Jack," he said.

"Hear, hear," Bobby said, then touched glasses.

"When you have Lieutenant Portet's insignia where it should be, Bobby, call Captain Hornsby, and tell him to provide places at the head table tonight for Lieutenant Portet and his lady," General Bellmon said.

"Yes, sir," Bobby said.

[ TWO ].

Dining Room A The Officers' Open Mess Fort Rucker, Alabama 2115 18 December 1964 Dining Room A of the officers' open mess was usually the cafeteria. It was on the main floor of the club, separated from it by folding doors. When it was in use for a more formal purpose, such as the Commanding General's Christmas Dinner-Dance, the glass-covered steam trays of the cafeteria serving line were hidden by folding screens, and the plastic-topped tables rearranged and covered with linen.

The tables tonight had been arranged in a long-sided U, with a shorter line of tables in the middle of the U. Seating was determined by protocol, modified slightly by the unanticipated presence of Brigadier General Paul Hanrahan and First Lieutenant Portet and his lady.

The commanding general and his lady sat, naturally, at the head of the table, in the center of the U. To their left sat the chief of staff and his lady, and to the right, Brigadier General Hanrahan. No one sat across from the general officers and their ladies.

People were seated on both sides of the legs of the U, their proximity to the head of the table determined, for the most part, by their rank, and sometimes by their seniority within that rank.

A corkboard the size of a sheet of plywood mounted on the wall of the small office of General Bellmon's aide-de-camp had been used. Every invitee was represented by a small piece of cardboard on which had been typed his name, grade, and date of rank. These were thumbtacked to the corkboard onto a representation of the arrangement of the tables in Dining Room A, and rearranged as necessary.

One of the things that would be useful to him in his later career that Johnny Oliver had learned during his tour as aide-de-camp was that General Robert F. Bellmon looked forward to the official parties (there were half a dozen a year) with slightly less enthusiasm than he would look forward to a session with the post-dental surgeon where the agenda was the removal, without anesthesia, of all of his teeth.

This was not evident to the guests, or to their wives. Bellmon had decided that the parties, which were more or less an Army tradition, were part of his duties, and his duty was very important to him. He and Mrs. Bellmon, and the chief of staff and his wife (and both aides-de-camp, who took turns discreetly whispering the invitees last name, read from invitations), stood in the foyer for forty-five minutes, shaking hands with, and smiling at, and more often than not coming up with a personal word of greeting for everybody who showed up.

Once, sometime during Johnny Oliver's year's tour as aide-de-camp, General Bellmon had come to his office late at night and found Oliver standing before the corkboard rearranging the guests for an official affair.

"It began, these official damned dinners, with the Brits," Bellmon told him. "Regimental 'dining in' once a month. Good idea. Once a month they got together, shoptalk was forbidden, and they got a little tight. And it worked here, before the war, when there was rarely more than a regiment on a post. Thirty, forty officers on a post, including all the second lieutenants. This is out of hand, of course. But how the hell can you stop it? If it wasn't for these damned things, a field-grade officer could do a three-year tour on the post and never get to see the commanding general except maybe at an inspection, or a briefing. And the wife never would. The most important element in command, Johnny, is making the subordinate believe he's doing something important. If he doesn't feel he knows knows the commanding officer . . ." the commanding officer . . ."

Johnny Oliver had also learned that sometimes getting to personally personally know the commanding general could get out of hand. Officers' wives were the worst offenders, but not by much. One of the aides' functions at official dinners was to rescue the general from people who had backed him into a corner, either to dazzle him with their charm and wit, or to make a pitch for some pet project of theirs, ranging from getting use of the post theatre for amateur theatrics, to revamping the entire pilot training program. know the commanding general could get out of hand. Officers' wives were the worst offenders, but not by much. One of the aides' functions at official dinners was to rescue the general from people who had backed him into a corner, either to dazzle him with their charm and wit, or to make a pitch for some pet project of theirs, ranging from getting use of the post theatre for amateur theatrics, to revamping the entire pilot training program.

"General, excuse me, sir," Captain Oliver had often said, to separate General Bellmon from pressing admirers, "General Facility is calling."

General Facility was a white china plumbing apparatus hung on the gentlemen's rest room tiled wall.

Nobody in the men's room would bend his ear while the general was taking a leak. But from what Oliver had seen of the women, especially with a couple of drinks in them, the general would not be equally safe in the ladies' room.

When Johnny Oliver entered the club, Captain Richard Hornsby, the new aide-de-camp-wearing, Oliver knew, his dress mess uniform for the first time-was standing, where Oliver had stood so often, behind General Bellmon, with a clipboard and a stack of invitations in his hand. He smiled, and softly said, "Captain Oliver and Lieutenant Bellmon."

General Bellmon put out his hand.

"Good evening, sir," Johnny Oliver said.

"Good evening, Captain," Bellmon said. "An officer is judged by the company he keeps. Try to remember that."

Then he withdrew his hand and offered it to his son.

"Good evening, sir," Bobby said.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," Bellmon said. "I'm glad you could make it."

Barbara Bellmon violated protocol. After she took Captain Oliver's hand, she pulled him to her and kissed his cheek.

"We're going to miss you, Johnny," she said.

"Me, too," John Oliver said.

"So will I, Oliver," the chief of staff said.

"Thank you, General," Oliver said, touched by the comment.

"Well," Mrs. Chief of Staff said, "you're only going to Benning. We'll see you."

Next in the reception line was Brigadier General Paul R. Hanrahan. Oliver knew that he was in the reception line only because Bellmon had insisted that he be there. If it was true that it was a good thing for officers remote from the command post to shake the hand, and look in the eye, of the commanding general, it therefore followed that it was a good thing for officers to do the same thing with visiting (and in Hanrahan's case, near-legendary) general officers.

"Hello, Johnny," Hanrahan said.

"Good evening, General."

"Do me a favor?"

"Yes, sir. My privilege."

"Keep an eye on Colonel Lowell, amuse him, see if you can keep him out of trouble."

"I'll do what I can, sir," Oliver chuckled.

The two bachelors entered Dining Room A. Captain Oliver spotted Lieutenant Colonel Craig W. Lowell at almost the instant Lowell spotted him. Lowell was standing near the bar, holding a drink in his hand. He looked, Oliver thought, splendiferous splendiferous in his uniform. He was in the center of a group of people, predominantly female. Oliver remembered what Mrs. Bellmon had said about Lowell attracting the ladies as a candle draws moths. in his uniform. He was in the center of a group of people, predominantly female. Oliver remembered what Mrs. Bellmon had said about Lowell attracting the ladies as a candle draws moths.

Lowell beckoned to Oliver with his index finger. The three of them walked over.