"You sonofabitch!" Major Lunsford said, tossed the microphone to Spec7 Peters/Captain Weewili, and stormed down out of the control tower to see if he could find someone who could turn on the generator to power the runway lights without fucking that up, too.

"Birddog Three, Woolworth," Captain Weewili called. "Roger your request for runway lights. They should be on by the time you get here. The winds are negligible, and you are cleared for a straight-in approach to Two-seven. Report when you have the lights in sight."

"Roger, Woolworth."

"And have we got a surprise for you!"

"I heard," Lieutenant Craig replied.

Major George Washington Lunsford was waiting when Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig taxied the L-19 to the door of Hangar Two and shut it down.

"Where the fuck have you been, you sonofabitch?" he greeted him. "You've had everybody scared shitless."

Lieutenant Craig knew Major Lunsford well enough to know that if he really had his ass in a crack, Major Lunsford's greeting would have met the requirements of military courtesy and protocol in every minute detail. What he had here was a concerned friend.

"I tried to call," he said. "All I can do is talk into the microphone. I can't make the radio work."

"What's going on at Outpost George?"

"I just came from there. Aside from their shit-for-brains commo officer not having brought one-not-fucking-one- undead battery for their radios with them, they're in pretty good shape. Doubting Thomas has tracked the Simbas about fifteen klicks into the bush, and asked for twenty shooters and a jeep to be sent to him. They're on the way. I'm going to take off from here at oh dark hundred, to arrive over his position at first light and drop batteries to him."

Lunsford nodded but didn't respond.

"The Beaver's missing," he said.

"They should be in Leopoldville by now. They didn't get there?"

"Leopoldville?" Lunsford asked.

"The last I heard-Portet put out an 'anybody listening'-they were on their way to Leopoldville. He told me Supo decided he wanted to see Mobutu before he went to Costermansville."

"You talked to him?"

"Yeah. I asked him if he wanted the message relayed, and he said no. Supo would send word on a landline. They didn't get there?"

"I don't know," Lunsford said. "Since I didn't know they were going to Leopoldville, I didn't call Leopoldville to ask if they got there."

Lunsford shook his head, then marched purposefully toward the terminal building, which served as the command post for the Congolese soldiers guarding the field.

The guard outside was squatting on the ground, his rifle between his knees.

"The next time you don't get to your feet and salute me when you see me, I'm going to stick that rifle up your ass," Lunsford said in Swahili.

The guard quickly started to get to his feet as Lunsford walked past.

The officer in charge of the guard detachment was asleep in an office chair. Lunsford pushed it, hard, with his foot. The chair spun around as it moved across the floor.

"I hope I didn't disturb you, Lieutenant," Lunsford said politely.

The lieutenant got to his feet.

"I thought the colonel was gone for the day," he said.

"Have there been any messages for me?"

"I don't think so," the lieutenant said.

"Why don't we look?" Lunsford asked, and walked to a teletype machine, marked with the logotype of Sabena, the Belgian airline, but now connected to the Army network in Leopoldville. There was a large pile of teletype paper on the floor behind it.

Lunsford ripped it off the machine and started reading it.

"Here it is," he said finally, after he'd pulled about half of the coiled teletypewriter paper through his hands. "Sent from Leopoldville at two-fifteen this afternoon." He read from it in English: "Quote 'Immediately inform Lieutenant Colonel Dahdi that I am in Leopoldville and will come to Stanleyville tomorrow. Please meet me there and delay departure of supply aircraft until my arrival. Supo. Colonel Commandant.' End quote." He looked at Craig. "I wonder what the hell that's all about?"

Craig shrugged.

The lieutenant was now standing at rigid attention.

"I should kick his ass around the block," Lunsford said, "but I don't think it would do any good."

He switched to Swahili. "Lieutenant, I don't think that Colonel Supo will be pleased that I had to find for myself a message at night that was supposed to be delivered to me at two-fifteen this afternoon. He will be here tomorrow."

The lieutenant winced.

"Well, for the good news," Geoff said. "I see the 707 made it in."

Lunsford looked at him.

"Lieutenant, have you ever heard that when you deliver a message that you feel will greatly surprise the individual to whom you are giving it, you should make him sit down first? So that he won't fall over and break his head, or his ass, or both?"

"Yes, sir, I've heard that. Should I sit down?"

"I think that would be a very good idea," Lunsford said. "Sit down, Lieutenant."

At first, Geoff had thought Lunsford was making a joke. When he saw that he was serious, he looked around and found a small chair, and sat down on it.

When he had, Lunsford told him that his wife, son, and Mary Magdalene were in the Immoquateur, probably having their dinner.

[ FOUR ].

Gregory & Gregory Funeral Home 730 North Main Street Laurinburg, North Carolina 1350 8 April 1965 "I'm James L. Gregory," the somberly dressed, pale-skinned man said to Captain Stefan Zabrewski. "How may I be of service, sir?"

"There has been a death," Zabrewski said.

"May I offer my most sincere condolences?" Mr. Gregory said.

"And we're here to arrange for the funeral," Zabrewski said.

"And your relationship to the deceased?"

"I'm a friend," Zabrewski said. He nodded at Sergeant Major Tinley. "We're both friends."

"I see."

"SFC Withers's parents live here," Zabrewski said. "On a farm. Outside of town."

"SFC Withers?"

"The man who's dead," Zabrewski said.

"I see. Oh, I see. see. I take it you're speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Delmar Withers?" I take it you're speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Delmar Withers?"

"Yes, sir."

"They're fine people," Gregory said.

"Yes, sir."

"Normally, the family makes the arrangements. . . ."

"We're trying to spare them that," Zabrewski said.

"I understand."

"When did . . . What did you say, SFC?"

"Sergeant First Class, yes, sir."

"When did Sergeant Withers pass?"

"The day before yesterday."

"And you're just coming to us now?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where did he pass?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, sir."

"Really? Why not?"

"I'm afraid that's classified information, sir."

"I see. And where are the remains?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, either," Zabrewski said. "But Withers is on his way either to the States or to Pope Air Force Base right now, or shortly will be. He should get here the day after tomorrow, or the day after that."

"I presume the documentation is in order?" Gregory asked.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"I'm presuming Sergeant Withers passed outside the United States?"

"That's right."

"Well, as I'm sure you can understand, there are certain procedures that have to be followed. We'll need, of course, a certificate of death, as issued by the appropriate authorities. If death occurred in a foreign county, that will need verification by the Consul General-the United States United States Consul General-serving the country in which death occurred. Then there will have to be a copy of the autopsy, again verified by the Consul General, stating the cause of death, and that the remains are not infected with any of the contagious diseases. . . ." Consul General-serving the country in which death occurred. Then there will have to be a copy of the autopsy, again verified by the Consul General, stating the cause of death, and that the remains are not infected with any of the contagious diseases. . . ."

"Captain Zabrewski, sir," Sergeant Major Tinley asked politely. "May I have a word with you, sir?"

Zabrewski was visibly surprised, but recovered quickly.

"Certainly, Sergeant," he said. "Will you excuse us, please, Mr. Gregory, for a moment while we step into the corridor?"

"I'll just step outside for a few minutes," Gregory said, nodding at a door. "And when you're finished, you could just tap on the door."

"That's very kind of you, sir," Captain Zabrewski said. "Thank you very much."

When there was no tap on the door ten minutes later, Mr. Gregory cracked the door to see if he could be of some assistance.

Neither the captain nor the sergeant major was where he had left them, nor, when he looked, anywhere in the building.

Apparently, Mr. Gregory concluded, some sort of military emergency had come up.

[ FIVE ].

Office of the Corps Surgeon Headquarters XVIII Airborne Corps Fort Bragg, North Carolina 1445 8 April 1965 "Sir, General Hanrahan is here," SFC Stuart T. Cameron, the administrative NCO of the Office of the Corps Surgeon, announced.

Colonel Frederick A. Emmett, Medical Corps, rose to his feet.

"Please come in, General Hanrahan," he said.

Hanrahan, trailed by Zabrewski and Tinley, marched into his office.

"Thank you for waiting for me, Doctor," Hanrahan said.

Hanrahan did not believe it was necessary for medical officers to carry rank; he never addressed them by their rank; he called them all "Doctor," except those he personally admired and/or liked, whom he addressed as "Doc."

"My pleasure, General," Colonel/Doctor Emmett said.

"We have a little problem I hope you can help us with," Hanrahan said.