Lunsford nodded.

"Work it out, Aunt Jemima," he ordered, switching to English. "Either you take one of the L-19s, or Craig does."

"Sir," Major Smythe said, flustered. "I haven't understood a word of this conversation. You've all been speaking French."

"In that case, Geoff, you take it," Lunsford ordered in English. "You keep the H-13 hot to trot, Jemima, in case we need it."

"Yes, sir," Smythe said. "May I respectfully remind you, Sir, that it is the aviation officer who normally makes flight assignments? "

"In other words, you want to fly the L-19?"

"Yes, sir, that would be my recommendation."

"Okay. Geoff, you you keep the H-13 hot to trot." keep the H-13 hot to trot."

[ FOUR ].

The Hotel du Lac Costermansville, Kivu Province Republic of the Congo 2125 6 April 1965 The mess of the military commandant of Kivu, Oriental, Equator, and Kasai Provinces was organized according to the customs of the Force Publique, which in turn was closely patterned after that of the Royal Belgian Army. Seating, in other words, was by rank. Seating was under the control of Colonel Supo's sergeant major, who shuffled people around until protocol was satisfied, and only then sent Colonel Supo's orderly to find the colonel and tell him his officers were assembled for dinner.

Colonel Supo sat in the middle of a long table, from the ends of which two other tables formed a U. Unless there was a distinguished guest, the seat to Colonel Supo's right was reserved for the next senior officer present. To Supo's left was the next junior officer. Seating by rank moved from right to left across the head table, and then down the tables forming the legs of the U.

Mrs. Marjorie Bellmon Portet was considered a distinguished guest, and sat at Colonel Supo's right. Her husband, in his role as acting general manager of Air Simba, was similarly considered a distinguished guest, but tonight, since he had elected to dress for dinner in the uniform of a first lieutenant of the U.S. Army, he found himself far down the right leg of the table. Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi found himself seated where Colonel Supo's Chef de Cabinet normally sat, to Colonel Supo's left. The Chef de Cabinet had personally assumed command of the relief column headed for Outpost George.

Next to him sat Major Tomas. He usually sat in that chair, in defiance of protocol, because Colonel Supo's sergeant major knew that Colonel Supo thought very highly of Major Tomas, and had informed his sergeant major that Major Tomas, like he himself, had once been a sergeant major, and there is of course an exception to every rule.

Tonight, Lieutenant Colonel Jemima sat next to Mrs. Portet, and next to Colonel Jemima sat Major Alain George Totse, Colonel Supo's intelligence officer.

Everyone in the dining room, except Mrs. Portet rose, without orders, when Colonel Supo entered his mess. Colonel Supo, who like everybody else was wearing paratrooper's camouflage fatigues, bowed to Mrs. Portet, kissed her hand, and sat down. Everyone else then sat down.

Waiters filled one of the two wineglasses before each plate with a Chardonnay from South Africa.

Major Totse (as the second senior, bona fide, Congolese officer present) rose, glass in hand, and everyone, this time including Mrs. Portet, also got to their feet.

"The President of the Republic of the Congo," he said.

Everyone took a sip of the Chardonnay.

"The President of the United States," Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi said, raising his glass.

Everyone took another sip of wine.

"Colonel Jean-Baptiste Supo," Major Totse offered.

Everyone but Colonel Jean-Baptiste Supo took a sip of wine.

"Our comrade, Sergeant Chef Clarence Withers. May he be in God's hands," Major Totse intoned.

Everyone took a sip of wine.

"To our comrades serving with Sergeant Withers," Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi offered. "May they be in the hands of God."

Everyone but the Americans sat down, without sipping their wine.

After an awkward moment, the Americans also sat down.

Half a dozen waiters began serving the first course, and pouring a very nice South African Merlot into the glasses of anyone who expressed an interest.

"Inasmuch as we are pressed for time," Major Totse said, "Colonel Supo hopes you will forgive him for intruding on our dinner with his appreciation of the situation."

The sergeant major ushered in two Congolese paratroopers pushing a map board. The map was of the eastern Congo, from a little north of Costermansville to a little south of Albertville on Lake Tanganyika.

"This is the location of Outpost George," Totse began, pointing to the map with a pointer. "It was constructed several years before independence on a cattle ranch owned by a Monsieur Delamm, to accommodate his Cessna Model 172 aircraft. The buildings of the now-deserted farm are approximately two point four kilometers west of the landing strip.

"Route Nationale Number Five, which is shown in red, runs in this area from Costermansville to below Albertville. It passes approximately point-five kilometers from Outpost George here, and is visible from Outpost George.

"To the west of Route Nationale Five, the terrain is gently rolling grassy hills, without much other vegetation. To the east of Route 5, however, there is heavy bush to the shore of Lake Tanganyika. That is a distance of approximately fifty miles. The road was built inland because-like the airfield at Outpost George-it could be easily bulldozed on the gently rolling hills. To go any farther east, it would have been necessary to remove the bush, which made no sense.

"Colonel Supo believes there are a number of Simbas in this area. The bush makes it a good place for them to hide from our patrols, and they can easily leave the bush, cross Route Five, and help themselves to the cattle from the ranches west of Route Five. Furthermore, since this area borders on Lake Tanganyika, it offers them a chance to retreat across Lake Tanganyika into Tanzania should the Army somehow locate them. Similarly, if the Soviets or Red Chinese make good on their promise to supply the Simbas, doing so across Lake Tanganyika would be the most convenient way.

"Colonel Supo believes that Outpost George was very likely attacked by a band of Simbas on a cattle-thieving mission. They had accidentally happened across it, and more because they thought a Congolese Army detachment would have equipment and supplies-and if nothing else, weapons-they could use, had overwhelmed it for that reason, rather than as an attack on an outpost per se."

Colonel Supo said something to Major Totse in Swahili, and Totse made the translation.

"Colonel Supo regrets that the price was the loss of the valiant Sergeant First Withers, but suggests it was not in vain. They will learn they cannot attack outposts without immediate retaliation."

Totse let that sink in a moment.

"The reaction force under Lieutenant Colonel Obesti will reach Outpost George at approximately 0900 tomorrow. They will have with them supplies of aviation fuels to replace those we must conclude were destroyed by the Simbas, and radios to replace those we presume were also lost. A larger detachment than was previously stationed at George, under the command of a captain, will replace the detachment that was at George.

"If it proves possible to land in the L-20 very early tomorrow-Colonel Supo believes it unlikely but possible that the Simbas may have rendered the runway unusable-it will have aboard two trackers, who will immediately begin to locate both the Simbas and the Congolese soldiers of the original Outpost George detachment. The trackers will carry with them radios to communicate both with Station George and the reaction force.

"If the runway has been rendered unusable-which Colonel Supo believes unlikely, as the Simbas probably did not have the equipment to cause it serious damage-then it will be necessary to await the arrival at Station George of the reaction force, which will make the runway usable. If the L-20 can land, this will give the trackers a two-hour advantage.

"Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi and Major Tomas proposed to Colonel Supo that Major Dahdi and the two trackers be parachuted onto Outpost George as the first order of business tomorrow, but Colonel Supo decided against that proposal."

Colonel Supo said something in Swahili, and Major Totse translated: "Colonel Supo is highly appreciative of the offer, but felt that there was a possibility that the Simbas might be on the site, or have it under observation, and he could no more afford to lose the two trackers than Colonel Dahdi could afford to lose Major Tomas."

When he had finished, Totse looked at Supo.

"Does that about cover it, sir?"

Supo replied in Swahili, and Totse translated: "Colonel Supo would be pleased to hear from Colonel Dahdi and his officers any recommendations or suggestions."

"Anybody got anything to say?" Father Lunsford asked.

One by one, starting with the junior American officer present-Lieutenant Jacques Portet-the Americans shook their heads, no.

Supo spoke again.

"Colonel Supo again apologizes for interfering with our dinner, and suggests we now finish it," Totse translated.

The entree was broiled fish, large firm white filets, served with asparagus and steamed potatoes.

[ FIVE ].

County Highway 17 Laurinburg, North Carolina 1725 6 April 1965 "What is this stuff?" General Hanrahan asked, gesturing out the window of the olive-drab Chevrolet sedan at tiny green buds sprouting through the earth in the fields on both sides of the dirt road.

"Tobacco?" Captain Zabrewski guessed from the front seat.

"Maybe soybeans," Chaplain (Lt. Col.) T. Wilson Martin suggested. "They grow a lot of soybeans in North Carolina."

"Not a bad-looking farm," Zabrewski said, and then the tone of his voice changed. "Check out the guy on the tractor at three o'clock."

All eyes moved to the left off the highway. At the far end of the field was a man riding a very large tractor.

They reached the house several minutes later. It was a rambling structure, mostly of concrete block construction but with additions of frame. It was neatly painted, and there was a neatly trimmed lawn running the length of the covered porch.

There were three barns, one of which looked as if it was about to fall down, the other two in much better shape.

Tony, General Hanrahan's driver, stopped the car on a concrete pad, large enough for half a dozen cars, in front of the house. Hanrahan was out of the car before Tony could open it for him.

Hanrahan walked briskly up the three steps to the porch and rang the bell. Chaplain Martin and Captain Zabrewski came after him as soon as they could. Sergeant Tony Calzazzo, the driver, looked indecisive for a moment, then leaned on the fender of the staff car.

There was no answer to the doorbell.

Without realizing that he was doing it, Hanrahan made a hand signal ordering flankers forward left and right. Captain Zabrewski immediately dropped off the porch and started to move around the house to the left. After a moment's hesitation, Chaplain Martin started to do the same.

"Heads up," Sergeant Calzazzo called softly.

Hanrahan turned and saw the tractor that had been in the far side of the field. It was now approaching the house.

Hanrahan walked off the porch onto the concrete pad and waited for the tractor driver to appear. Without really thinking about it, Chaplain Martin took up a position beside him, and Zabrewski and Calzazzo took up positions behind them. Calazzo came to the position of Parade Rest.

The tractor driver was a tall, lithe man in washed-nearly-white blue jeans and a light blue shirt. He had a straw cowboy hat on his head.

He stopped the tractor, looked at the four men, shut off the tractor, and crawled down from it.

"Mr. Withers?" Hanrahan asked.

The man nodded.

"My name is Hanrahan, Mr. Withers-"

"I know who you are, General," the man said. "There's a picture of you and Clarence on the mantel-when you handed him his flash when he came out of Camp Mackall."

The flash is the embroidered insignia of the fully qualified Special Forces soldier, worn on the green beret.

"Yes, sir," Hanrahan said. "Mr. Withers-"

"Why don't we go in the house?" Withers said. "I suspect I'm going to need a drink."

"Mr. Withers," Chaplain Martin said, "I'm Chaplain Martin. . . ."

"I was in the Army," Withers said. "I know a chaplain when I see one."

He walked up the stairs to his porch, then opened the unlocked door and held it, motioning them all to enter. When they had, he followed them inside.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asked. "Let's have it."

"About as bad as it gets, Mr. Withers," Hanrahan said.

"I didn't think they'd send a general out here to tell me Clarence broke his leg, or got shot," Withers said.

He walked away from them, into the house, and returned almost immediately with a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon and a stack of short squat glasses.

"You hold the glasses, Sergeant," he said to Tony Calzazzo, "and I'll pour."

"Yes, sir," Tony said.

Very soon everyone had a glass of whiskey.

"If you're a teetotaler, Chaplain," Withers said. "You don't have to drink that."

"I'm not a teetotaler," Chaplain Martin said simply.

"Clarence bought this out at Fort Bragg," Withers said, tapping the Wild Turkey. "My daddy taught me to drink good whiskey, and I taught Clarence, and he always brought me a couple of bottles when he came home. This is the last one. I was going to save it until he came home. Now I don't have to, right?"

"It looks that way, Mr. Withers," Hanrahan said.

He drained his whiskey glass.

"Goddamn, I'm going to miss him," Withers said. "He was a good boy, and his mama and I were so proud of him."

"You had every right to be," Hanrahan said. He raised his glass. "Gentlemen, I give you Sergeant First Class Clarence Withers."

He drained his glass, and the others followed suit.

"Did you know him, General? I mean, really know him, aside from giving him his flash?"

"Yes, I did," Hanrahan said.