"I think I'd like to remember him the way he was," Mrs. Withers said. "I don't think I'd like to see him. . . ."

"Goddamn," Mr. Withers said.

"There are two other things I have to tell you," Hanrahan said. "The first is that the Congolese government is decorating Sergeant Withers for his valor. Specifically, he's being awarded the Congolese Medal for Gallantry, in the grade of Chevalier."

"What about the U.S. Army?" Mr. Withers asked.

"He's been recommended for the Silver Star. But that often takes some time to work its way through the bureaucracy."

"And what's the other thing?" Mr. Withers asked.

"As I told you, as I think your son told you, he was on a classified assignment," Hanrahan said.

"I don't understand that," Mrs. Withers said.

"His being in the Congo, for some reason, was a secret," Mr. Withers said. "Right?"

"That's correct, sir," Hanrahan said.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Withers repeated.

"It doesn't really matter, Clarissa, when you think about it, does it?" Mr. Withers said.

"I guess not," she said.

"But you said, General?" Mr. Withers said.

"So far the Adjutant General's Department has not been officially notified of what happened," Hanrahan said. "They're in charge of handling all the details when something like this happens. But with your permission, sir, we'd like to bury Sergeant Withers. Send Special Forces soldiers to carry the casket, fire the volleys over the grave, that sort of thing."

"I'd like to carry Clarence's casket, ma'am," Sergeant Major Tinley said.

"What's the problem, then?" Mr. Withers asked.

"Well, I'm going to do everything I can to stop the normal procedure, " Hanrahan said. "But sometimes . . . what's likely to happen, I'm afraid, is that the AG will send an official notification team from Third Army Headquarters."

"I get the picture," Mr. Withers said. "I was in the goddamned Army."

"Delmar, watch your language," Mrs. Withers said.

"With your permission, I'd like to leave Sergeant Major Tinley here to make sure that everything goes smoothly," General Hanrahan.

"Run the bastards off is what you mean," Mr. Withers said. "Well, he's the man to do it. Clarence said the Tin Man was the one meanest badass he'd ever met in his life."

"And I'd be happy to stay as long as you need me," Chaplain Martin said. "Actually, we've set up sort of a command post in the motel."

"Maybe, Reverend," Mrs. Withers said, "you could go see Reverend Pollman. First Presbyterian Church of Laurinburg. It's right on Maple Avenue-you can't miss it."

"I'd be happy to, ma'am," Martin said.

"I'd like to thank all of you for coming here like this, so early," Mr. Withers said. "And I expect we'll be seeing more of you in the week."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before we go?"

"You're not going to go without me fixing you all breakfast," Mrs. Withers said. "And I won't take no for an answer."

"Yes, ma'am," Hanrahan said. "That would be very nice."

XXI.

[ ONE ].

Stanleyville Air Field Stanleyville, Oriental Province Republic of the Congo 1250 8 April 1965 Captain James J. Dugan and First Lieutenant Paul W. Matthews had been recruited-more than a little hurriedly-respectively from the 1st Infantry Division at Fort Riley, Kansas, and Headquarters, 3rd United States Army at Fort McPherson, Georgia, for "a classified overseas flight status assignment involving a substantial personal risk." They had literally no idea where in the world they were going until fifteen minutes after the Intercontinental Air Cargo Ltd. Boeing 707 had taken off from Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina.

Then the captain had come into the cabin and told them they were bound, via Casablanca, Morocco, to Stanleyville, in the former Belgian Congo. There, they would be met by a U.S. Army officer, most probably Major G. W. Lunsford, who would explain to them what they would be expected to do.

It was fairly obvious to both that it would involve flying L-19 aircraft, as two of that type aircraft, wings and landing gear removed, were on skids in the fuselage of the 707, sharing space with crates of radios, ammunition, and other military supplies of one sort or another.

Plus three expensive suitcases and what looked like six months' supply of disposable diapers and other infant accoutrements.

Although both Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews would have endured a fair amount of torture rather than admit this, they had both felt a flush of excitement during their recruitment, which had happened very much the same for both of them, although a day and more than a thousand miles apart.

There had been a message for them to call the Office of the Commanding General, which rarely happens to junior officers. When they had called, they were ordered to report to the airfield at a certain time.

There-in Dugan's case-the assistant division commander had been waiting for him, and in Matthews's case the Third Army's assistant chief of staff, G3.

A Major Hodges would be shortly arriving, they were told, to ask them to volunteer for a classified overseas mission. They were as free to reject the assignment, they were told, as they were to accept it. Major Hodges was acting on the verbal order of the chief of staff of the United States Army, who had personally telephoned the general to set this up. The matter was considered Top Secret.

Major Hodges arrived flying a Mohawk that had U.S. Army markings, but none of the to-be-expected markings indicating to which unit the aircraft was assigned. This was because Pappy Hodges had been at the Grumman Aircraft Plant at Bethpage, Long Island, picking up a new Mohawk when he got the call from Colonel Sanford T. Felter telling him that Finton had found two black aviators, one at McPherson and the other at Riley, and that Pappy was going to have to go to McPherson and Riley as soon as possible to see if the two met the requirements.

Requirement one would be their willingness to volunteer for a classified overseas assignment. Requirement two was professional qualifications. Since all Army fixed-wing aviators had learned to fly in the L-19, they obviously met that requirement, Felter said.

"Father needs black pilots right now," Felter had said. "We're not in a position to be choosy. The 707 leaves in four days, and if these two fellows can see lightning and hear thunder, I want them on it."

The four days they had spent after volunteering for a classified overseas flight duty assignment involving a substantial personal risk, and before boarding the 707 at Pope Air Force Base, had given both Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews ample time to reflect on, and wonder whether, their impetuosity hadn't gotten their ass in a narrow crack.

That started before they arrived at Pope Air Force Base and were taken to a hangar guarded by Special Forces noncoms. Seeing that the hangar held an aircraft of an airline neither of them had ever heard of-Intercontinental Air Cargo, Ltd.- which was being flown by a captain who had a French accent and a Cuban who spoke very little English, did not restore their morale to any appreciable degree.

At the very last minute, after the 707 had been towed out of the hangar, three other passengers were escorted into the cabin by the captain with the French accent. One was an enormous black woman who had a sleeping blond-headed infant in her arms, and the third was a good-looking blonde, who had to be the infant's mother.

There was just time, before the engines were started, to ask a few discreet questions of the blonde. She said she was an Army wife about to join her husband, a first lieutenant.

"And where is that?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to say," she said.

She had a slight German accent.

Obviously, if the Army was permitting a lieutenant to have his wife and infant child accompany him, wherever they were going couldn't be all that rough.

They had no way of knowing, of course, that the Army was permitting Mrs. Geoffrey Craig to join her husband because there was very little they could do to stop her, and could only hope that the situation vis-a-vis lieutenants' wives of Special Forces Detachment 17 could be controlled somewhat better than it had been so far.

They had not, of course, been privy to the telephone conversation between Captain Jean-Phillipe Portet of Intercontinental Air, Ltd., in Miami, and Colonel Sanford T. Felter, General Staff Corps, in Washington, D.C.

"Ursula Craig put an interesting question to me last night, Sandy," Jean-Philippe Portet had said.

"She wants to know," Felter asked immediately, "since Marjorie is over there, why she can't be? I was waiting for that."

"Close, but not quite. She asked me if I would take her and Mary Magdalene on the 707, or should she make other arrangements. "

"Ursula Craig escaped from East Berlin by crashing through the Berlin Wall in a truck. She's not going to consider sneaking into the Congo without a visa much of a problem," Felter said. "Especially since Geoff-I'm sure-made sure she has access to lots of cash."

"If she wanted to go to Leopoldville-"

"I don't suppose we could get Hanni or Porter Craig-better yet, Helene Craig-to reason with her?" Felter interrupted.

"That failed," Jean-Phillipe said. "As I expected it would. Helene went berserk. Hanni finally managed to convince her that Ursula and the baby would be safe in Leopoldville."

"That's a thought," Felter said. "If we could get Marjorie out of Costermansville, to Leopoldville, that would be an improvement on what we have now," Felter said. "They could both stay at your place, right?"

"Of course. But how do we get them to do that?"

"What we don't don't do is order Marjorie to Leopoldville, or tell Ursula she can't go over there. That would guarantee both of them in Costermansville." do is order Marjorie to Leopoldville, or tell Ursula she can't go over there. That would guarantee both of them in Costermansville."

"So what do we do?"

"Ursula and Mary Magdalene know what happened in Stanleyville-they were there," Felter said. "I think they'd much rather be in Leopoldville. Maybe they can talk Marjorie into going there."

"So I should take them?"

"What choice do we have?"

As the 707 made its approach to Stanleyville, both Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews noticed that both the blonde and the enormous black woman seemed disturbed, nervous; the black woman held the baby to her tightly, her lips pursed tightly, and the blonde woman seemed very tense.

Both officers suspected that the women were probably afraid of flying generally, and landing in some strange airport compounded that fear.

Once the 707 had stopped in front of the terminal, Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews could see evidence of small-arms fire on the terminal building. And there were no Americans in sight, just Congolese paratroopers. Even more disconcerting, in the open door of a hangar just behind the terminal, a Congolese paratrooper was painting a somewhat crude coffin with what looked like flat black paint.

A movable stairs mounted on a badly shot-up pickup truck was pushed to the side of the 707 by a dozen or more Congolese paratroopers. The truck had no tires; it was rolling on its rims.

A stocky Congolese paratroop officer came quickly up the stairs.

"Lieutenant Colonel," Lieutenant Matthews, who made sort of a hobby of knowing the rank insignia of foreign armies, said softly to Captain Dugan. Dugan nodded.

The Congolese lieutenant colonel made his way past the L-19s and the crates and infant accoutrements toward the cockpit.

He saw them.

"The aircraft is now at the terminal," he said in heavily sarcastic English. "The captain has extinguished the FASTEN SEAT BELTS sign. What the hell are you two waiting for?"

Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews unfastened their seat belts and stood up.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" the Congolese lieutenant colonel said, in what sounded like Yankee English, to the blonde. "What are you two, gluttons for punishment?"

Then he said something in a language neither officer had ever heard before to the enormous black woman, who smiled at him and replied. It was the first time either officer had seen the woman smile.

"Good afternoon, Major Lunsford," the blonde said. "How nice to see you again."

Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Major Lunsford?" Captain Dugan wondered. Captain Dugan wondered.

"Oh, Jesus, honey, don't do that," Lunsford said, and put his arms around her and the baby.

"I'm all right, Father," she said.

"Father?" Lieutenant Matthews wondered. Lieutenant Matthews wondered.

"Trust me, honey," Lunsford said. "Things are changed from the last time you were here."

He saw Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews looking at them.

"What do I have to do, stick a boot up your ass to get you off the airplane?"

Captain Dugan and Lieutenant Matthews descended the ladder. A slight Congolese paratroop captain waited at the bottom.

Lieutenant Matthews saluted him, and a moment later Captain Dugan did so, too.

The Congolese returned the salute.

"You don't have to do that," Captain Weewili said, smiling. "I'm actually a Spec7."

[ TWO ].

5 Degrees 27 Minutes 08 Seconds South Latitude 29 Degrees 11 Minutes 19 Seconds East Longitude (The Bush, Near Lake Tanganyika, Kivu Province, Congo) 1550 8 April 1965 It was not the almost impenetrable jungle that Hollywood Tarzan Tarzan movies have taught us to envision when "African jungle" is mentioned. It was closer to "virgin forest." More trees-many of them ancient and enormous-than vines. A vast assortment of bushes-hence the term "the bush"-and a two- or three-inch-thick padding underfoot of rotting leaves and branches. It was warm-they were five degrees south of the Equator-but not oppressively so, and they were about five thousand feet above sea level, so while the humidity was high, it was not as oppressive as, say, the Florida panhandle, where Special Forces troops are trained in "jungle warfare." movies have taught us to envision when "African jungle" is mentioned. It was closer to "virgin forest." More trees-many of them ancient and enormous-than vines. A vast assortment of bushes-hence the term "the bush"-and a two- or three-inch-thick padding underfoot of rotting leaves and branches. It was warm-they were five degrees south of the Equator-but not oppressively so, and they were about five thousand feet above sea level, so while the humidity was high, it was not as oppressive as, say, the Florida panhandle, where Special Forces troops are trained in "jungle warfare."

Sergeant First Jette had not spoken more than a dozen words to Major Tomas since they had left Outpost George and crossed Route 5 and gone into the bush. When it had been necessary to communicate-not often: "Stop." "That way." "Listen." "Move."-he had done so with hand movements.

The Simbas were herding half a dozen head of cattle ahead of them, and the trail had not been at all hard to follow.