XX.

[ ONE ].

Near Kigali, Rwanda 1845 6 April 1965 "Kigali, Air Simba Seven-two-seven understands I am number one to land on One-eight," Jack said into the microphone, then turned to Major Darrell Smythe, who was in the copilot's seat of the Boeing. "Put the gear down, please, Major, sir, and then go get in the back and try to look like an African."

Jack hadn't wanted to press one of the Air Simba pilots into making the flight to Dar es Salaam without knowing the purpose, and he couldn't tell them the purpose for a number of reasons, which left him with the choice of flying the C-46 alone-he had done so before, but it wasn't a smart thing to do-or taking one of the Army aviators along in the left seat. Smythe had the most twin-engine experience of all the Army aviators, and he had been drafted by Lunsford.

"Gear down and locked," Smythe reported a moment later, and then unstrapped himself and got out of the copilot's seat.

"Kigali," Jack reported, "Seven-two-seven turning on final."

Smythe stood in the narrow aisle between the pilot's and copilot's seats, and waited until Jack was lined up with Runway 18.

"In the interests of precision, Lieutenant, may I remind you that I already look like an African, but now I will try to look like a native native African." African."

"I stand corrected, Major, sir," Jack said as he reached for the throttle quadrant. "And may I say, sir, that you make a very credible native African in that costume. All the Tutu maidens are excited by the very sight of you."

"Fuck you, Lieutenant," Smythe said, and turned and walked into the fuselage.

Just as Smythe sat down beside Major George Washington Lunsford, there was a chirp of the tires and a just perceptible bump as Jack touched down.

Majors Smythe and Lunsford were dressed identically in loose white cotton jackets and trousers, except that Smythe wore crude sandals and dirty white socks, and Lunsford was barefooted. The sandals were necessary because Smythe's feet were soft and not callused, and he could not walk barefoot as Father could. The socks were necessary because an African with feet that were not heavily callused would attract attention.

The native costumes were necessary because the airport that served Costermansville was across the Rwandan border in Kigali. The Rwandan border was closed to Congolese military personnel, and to everyone else whose passport didn't have the proper visa.

Majors Lunsford and Smythe and the ASA intercept team and their Green Beret protectors-all wearing somewhat soiled white cotton shirts and trousers-had crossed the border into Rwanda in the bed of an Air Simba Ford pickup truck, sitting atop the crates of equipment the intercept crew was taking with them.

There also had been two cases of Simba beer in the truck. One of them had been enough to get past happily smiling Rwandan border guards on the way in, and the other, Jack was reasonably confident, would get them past happily smiling border guards on their return.

The border guards were accustomed to Air Simba aircrews crossing the border to get to and from the Kigali airport, and many of them knew Jack by sight and reputation-he could always be counted on for a case of beer.

They hadn't even looked into the crates, which was fortunate, because the teams' weaponry, a supply of Composition C-4, and half a dozen thermite grenades had been packed on top of the communications equipment. The state-of-the-art, highly classified communications equipment could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, even if that meant torching it at the Rwanda border guard station, and to do that, the thermite grenades had to be right on top, rather than hidden someplace.

It had all gone off without a hitch on the way to Dar es Salaam, and there was less chance-the crates and the intercept crew were now in Tanzania-that anything would go wrong on the way back.

And nothing did.

And just across the bridge that spanned the river, and was actually the border, Jack stopped the Ford, and Aunt Jemima and Father got out of the truck bed and got in the seat with Jack.

Father was happily puffing on a fat, black cigar-his first since they'd left Costermansville-when Jack pulled the Ford up to the basement loading dock of the Hotel du Lac, on which First Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig, Spec7 William Peters, and Mrs. Jacques Portet were standing, obviously waiting for them.

"Something's wrong," Father announced. "Look at them."

They did not look happy.

Geoff Craig came down the landing dock steps as Father, Jack, and Aunt Jemima got out of the truck. Craig wordlessly handed a sheet of paper to Father, who read it, said, "Shit!" and handed it to Jack, who read it and handed it to Aunt Jemima.

SECRET.

HELP0022 1730 ZULU 6 APRIL 1965.

VIA WHITE HOUSE SIGNAL AGENCYFROM: HELPER FIVETO: EARNEST SIXREFERENCE MAP BAKER 081. AT 1425 ZULU 6 APRIL 1965, OUTPOST FOX RELAYED A RADIO REPORT FROM OUTPOST GEORGE STATING THAT UNUSUAL ACTIVITY IN THE BUSH HAD BEEN DETECTED AND CONGOLESE SOLDIERS ANTICIPATED AN ATTACK. WEATHER CONDITIONS AT THAT TIME PRECLUDED BOTH REINFORCEMENT OF OUTPOST GEORGE OR AN AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE THEREOF.2. AT 1530 OUTPOST FOX RELAYED A RADIO REPORT FROM OUTPOST GEORGE STATING THAT CONGOLESE SOLDIERS HAD DISAPPEARED LEAVING THEIR UNIFORMS BUT TAKING THEIR WEAPONS.3. THERE HAS BEEN NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION WITH OUTPOST GEORGE.4. AT 1615 THE WEATHER HAVING CLEARED SUFFICIENTLY TO MAKE AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE, AN L-19 FLYING OVER GEORGE REPORTED SIGHTING ONE APPARENTLY DISMEMBERED BODY; NO OTHER SIGN OF LIFE; AND EVIDENCE THAT GEORGE, INCLUDING GASOLINE SUPPLIES, HAS BEEN BURNED. UNDERSIGNED FORBADE THE L-19 TO LAND.5. IN VIEW OF THE FOREGOING IT MUST BE PRESUMED THAT TECHNICAL SERGEANT CLARENCE D. WITHERS, RA23380767, SFDET17 IS MISSING IN ACTION AND MUST BE PRESUMED DEAD.6. A CONGOLESE COMPANY STRENGTH TRUCK BORNE RECONNAISSANCE FORCE WILL DEPART OUTPOST EASY FOR OUTPOST GEORGE AT FIRST LIGHT AND AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE WILL RESUME AT FIRST LIGHT. FURTHER INFORMATION WILL BE FURNISHED AS AVAILABLE.HELPER FIVE FOR HELPER SIXSECRET.

"What was Colonel Supo's reaction?" Father asked.

"He wants to see you four hours ago," Geoff Craig said.

"Let's go," Lunsford said, and walked quickly up the stairs of the loading dock.

[ TWO ].

Office of the Commanding General The John F. Kennedy Center for Special Warfare Fort Bragg, North Carolina 1555 6 April 1965 "Administratively, Sandy," General Paul R. Hanrahan, "how is this going to be handled?"

"Normal routine, I would suppose," Felter replied. "The Adjutant General sends the telegram-"

"The AG doesn't know yet, does he?"

"That just came in, Red," Felter said.

"Hold off on telling him, would you, please? At least until we know for sure."

"Don't get your hopes up, Red," Felter said. "I'll wait until I hear from you. You are talking about no later than tomorrow?"

"No later than tomorrow," Hanrahan said.

"Break it down," Felter said.

"White House Secure disconnecting," a male voice said.

"Ski!" Hanrahan called, raising his voice.

Captain Stefan Zabrewski, who had been standing just outside General Hanrahan's office from the moment the White House Signal Agency announced they had a secure call from Colonel Felter for General Hanrahan, stepped into the door.

"General?"

"One of the outposts was run over. It looks like SFC Withers has bought the farm."

"Shit!" Captain Zabrewski said, and then " 'Looks like', General? "

"He messaged that the Congolese with him had taken off. Then he went off the Net. An L-19 flew over, and saw a dismembered body."

"Goddamn!"

"Get me his address, the other personals," Hanrahan ordered.

"Have the sergeant major put Padre Martin on ten minutes' notice in Class A's."

"Yes, sir."

"I will probably require an L-23 to send Wilson. I want us to do it, not some candy-ass AG notification team. And if it's anywhere this side of Nome, Alaska, I'll go myself."

"Yes, sir."

Captain Zabrewski returned in less than four minutes.

"Sir, RFD Laurinburg, North Carolina," he reported. "Next of kin, his parents."

"Thank God, he wasn't married with half a dozen kids," Hanrahan said, and then: "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"I understand, sir," Zabrewski said, very softly.

"Where's Laurinburg?"

"About fifty miles, sir."

"Activate the chaplain," Hanrahan ordered. "Change that ten minutes' notice to I want him here in Class A's, when I get back from changing into mine. Same thing for Tony."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure Tony has a road map. He's a good kid, but I've been lost with him before."

"Yes, sir. Sir, may I come along?"

"You don't have to, Ski. You understand that?"

"I knew Withers, sir."

"Okay," Hanrahan said.

[ THREE ].

Office of the Military Commandant of Kivu, Oriental, Equator, and Kasai Provinces The Hotel du Lac Costermansville, Kivu Province Republic of the Congo 1910 6 April 1965 "Forgive our appearance, sir," Major George Washington Lunsford said as he entered the office of Colonel Jean-Baptiste Supo with Major Darrell J. Smythe and Lieutenants Geoffrey Craig and Jacques Portet. "We just got the word."

What could have been a smile flickered on the face of Colonel Supo as he returned Lunsford's salute.

"Totse, Tomas, and I have been at the map," Supo said, speaking French. "Deciding how best to deal with the situation."

Majors Alain George Totse and Doubting Thomas/Tomas were on their knees on the floor, on which a large map of Oriental and Kivu Provinces was laid out.

"The heavy question, boss," Doubting Thomas said, "is whether we can get the L-20 into George. It's one of the shorter strips."

"Why do we want to put an L-20 into George?" Lunsford asked as he dropped to his knees to look at the map.

"Because we can be there thirty minutes after first light," Tomas said. "And the reaction force-if there's no ambush- can't get there before nine-thirty, maybe later."

"Why the L-20?" Lunsford pursued.

"The sooner we get trackers on the site," Colonel Supo said, "the better. As Tomas has set it up, there would be six people in the L-20. The two trackers, myself, yourself, Tomas, and the pilot."

"You're going to the site, sir?"

"Yes," Supo said simply. "The question then is can we all go in the L-20, with two L-19s available for reconnaissance, or will it be necessary to make three trips in L-19s, which will then not be immediately available for reconnaissance?"

"I can put the Beaver in there," Jack Portet said. "Getting it out again with six people on it will be a little hairy."

"The trackers and Major Tomas will stay at George," Colonel Supo said. "Major Tomas leads me to believe he has some tracking experience himself."

"Yes, sir, he does," Lunsford agreed. "Sir, with respect, you don't think the Simbas will be at George, knowing we'll land there to see what happened?"

"They are neither sophisticated nor courageous," Supo said flatly. "As, apparently, neither were the soldiers I left with Captain Withers."

Lunsford didn't reply directly.

"What time's first light?"

"I figure we can get off the ground from the airstrip at five minutes to six," Doubting Tomas said. "I'd give my left nut for a D-model Huey for this."

"It will take us fifteen minutes to get to the airstrip," Lunsford said. "That means we'll have to leave the hotel no later than 0530. Order breakfast at 0500. Sound reveille accordingly."

Without really thinking about it, Jack and Doubting Thomas understood this to be an order; both said, "Yes, sir."

"I could bring the H13 out there," Geoff Craig said. "Once we're sure the landing zone isn't hot."

"Don't send it anywhere else," Lunsford ordered. "But don't start out there until you get the word." He paused and looked at Colonel Supo. "I am presuming, sir, that all of this meets with your approval?"

Supo nodded, indicating he approved.

"There is one other thing," he said. "The reaction force."

"Yes, sir?"

"I think it unlikely that there are Simbas in sufficient numbers in the area to give them the courage to attack the convoy," he said. "But the possibility exists. Would it be possible to provide some degree of aerial surveillance of the Force while it is en route to Site George?"