The Generals (18 page)

“General,” Geoff said, “I had Colonel Mennen’s word when I took the commission. He told me that I would be allowed to resign as soon as I came home.”

“What’s the second circumstance?” Lowell asked.

“Good of the service,” Hanrahan said. “In lieu of court-martial. Queers, thieves, weirdos. Lieutenant Craig doesn’t qualify.”

“Then I’ll have Sandy Felter get the CIA to request his services,” Lowell said, immediately. “And then he can resign from the CIA.”

“No,” Hanrahan said, a little sharply. “This is what I had in mind when I thought the worst possible scenario would involve you.”

“Look, Paul, he’s paid his dues,” Lowell said. “Mennen made him a promise. Screw whoever was responsible for your instructions.”

“I am reliably informed that the source of my instructions was the White House.”

“Then we’re back talking about Sandy,” Lowell said.

“Possibly,” Hanrahan said. “That opens two possibilities. First that Sandy was responsible for the order. That seems to me likely. We don’t have enough Special Forces types, and letting go the ones we have doesn’t make sense. If Sandy is responsible, I doubt if he would go along with you sneaking around the rules.”

“Sandy owes me,” Lowell said, flatly.

“He doesn’t owe Lieutenant Craig.”

“
I
owe Lieutenant Craig,” Lowell said. “I’m the one who sent him to you, remember?”

Hanrahan looked as if he was going to reply, but stopped himself.

“It doesn’t bother you at all, does it, Craig, to circumvent the rules that apply to everybody else when you want something?”

“Not a goddamn bit,” Lowell said. “If I had followed the rules that apply to everybody else, Paul, Colonel Sandy Felter would be eating beans and rice in a Cuban slammer instead of whatever they serve in the Senior White House Mess.”

Hanrahan gave him a look that could have been resigned or contemptuous.

“It’s not really a subject for debate,” Hanrahan said. “He has been declared essential—all of us have. Since you are Special Forces qualified, Craig, that includes you, too. So I cannot accept his resignation. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but that’s the way it is.”

“
I’m
essential?” Lowell said. “I suppose that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing? The fate of the nation depends upon my passing ‘An Introduction to Social Theory’?”

Hanrahan was unable to restrain a smile.

“How is college?” he asked. “Learning anything interesting?”

“For Christ’s sake, Paul,” Lowell said. “It isn’t as if we’re trying to get him out of hazardous service. He’s paid his dues, to reiterate. And I presume there is a rotational roster for Vietnam service…. on which he would obviously be on the bottom?”

“Before he goes overseas, he would have to work his way up the roster, and then he would go either to Europe or Panama before he went back to Vietnam.”

“What would he be doing?” Lowell asked.

“Well, first, he has to go to Officer’s Basic Course at the Infantry School, and then we’ll probably assign him here as a training officer.”

“He already knows how to eat snakes,” Lowell said. “Is that the best you can do for him?”

At that moment, Lieutenant Geoffrey Craig understood that he had been fucked by the fickle finger of fate. He was not going to be allowed to resign.

“What do you have in mind, Craig?” Hanrahan asked, slightly sarcastic.

“You have been given twenty-two slots at Rucker,” Lowell said. “Give him one of those.”

“I have been given twenty-two slots at Rucker?” Hanrahan parroted. He had, but he was surprised that Lowell knew about it.

“Twelve for Mohawk training,” Lowell said. “Ten for Helio-Courier
*
. In addition to the pilots you will get from the regular program.”

“How do you know about that?” Hanrahan said.

“Who did you think gave them to you?” Lowell said, “the tooth fairy?”

“You’re still working for Triple H Howard?” Hanrahan asked. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t surprised.

“Perish the thought, sir. In cheerful, willing obedience to my orders, I pass my days in innocent academic pursuit.”

“Well, if that’s the case, Craig, thank you,” Hanrahan said. “It’s important, I think, that at least some of our pilots think of themselves as Green Berets first and airplane drivers second.”

“They wanted to form a company, and assign that to you,” Lowell said, “under the ‘administrative control’ of XVIII Airborne Corps. You know what that would have meant. I talked Howard out of that, too.”

“You want a medal? You got one. I suppose I should have detected your Machiavellian hand in that. I would have thought, however, that your overwhelming modesty would have kept you from telling me about it.”

“I thought I should make the point that you owe me, too,” Lowell said. “You can pay me back by giving Geoff one of the Rucker slots.”

“Don’t you think it would be nice if we asked him if he wants to go to flight school?”

“He’s a nice young lieutenant,” Lowell said. “Nice young lieutenants don’t question their superiors. They know we’re never wrong, and have their best interests at heart.”

“Oh, God!” Hanrahan laughed. He looked at Geoff. “Well, would you like to go to flight school, Lieutenant? I should warn you if you do, when you get to Rucker, and they find out you’re related to this character, you will become known as ‘Hanrahan’s Revenge.’”

“Yes, sir,” Geoff said, in a moment. “I would like that, sir.”

“I own a house down there,” Lowell said. “I think Ursula will like it.”

(One)
Room BF-746
The Pentagon
Arlington, Va.
0915 Hours, 27 June 1965

The conference room of the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, U.S. Army, provides a table around which eleven people may sit. There are chairs for an additional ten persons around the wall. The DCSOPS Conference Room is equipped with two Vu-Graph machines; one 3.25-inch-by-4-inch slide projector; a 35-mm slide projector; a 16-mm motion picture rear-projection screen; two tape recorders; a lectern with a microphone; and closed-circuit television.

The meeting today was chaired by DCSOPS himself. Other participants included the Chief of Staff, CONARC; DCSPERS; the commanding generals, Fort Rucker, Alabama, Fort Benning, Georgia, and the 11th Air Assault Division (Test), based at Fort Benning; a major general representing Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MAC-V); and the Director of Army Aviation.

All the chairs at the table were filled; and most of the chairs around the wall by the one assistant the Notice of Conference to Be Held had authorized each participant to have. There were two stenographers in attendance. One was at the head of the table with her Steno-Type machine. The other, who was behind the rear-projection screen, wore earphones.

The subject today was the Manning Chart, 11th Air Assault Division (Test). A Table of Organization & Equipment (TO&E) stipulates the number of officers and enlisted men assigned to a unit, and their ranks. A manning chart names the individuals.

The conference today would deal with the names of the three general officers, seven colonels, and forty-five lieutenant colonels who would man the 11th Air Assault Division (Test) as of 1 July 1965. At a lower level of command the names of the majors, captains, lieutenants, and enlisted men would be provided.

The newly appointed and newly promoted Vice Chief of Staff of the Army had been invited to the conference—more of a courtesy than anything else—but he was not really expected to show up.

He did, as the conference had just been called to order.

“Keep your seats, gentlemen,” he said. He refused DCSOPS’s offer of his chair at the head of the table. “And you stay where you are, Dick. I’ll sit at the other end.”

DCSOPS’s briefing officer, a smartly attired, intelligent-looking colonel, went to the lectern, tapped his finger on the microphone to make sure it was working, and spoke: “If I may have your attention, please, gentlemen. The first chart shows just about everything. The subsequent charts will show the individual command structures.”

He pushed two buttons on the lectern. The lights dimmed, and an organizational chart of the 11th Air Assault Division (Test) appeared on the rear-projection screen. At the top was an oblong box. It was labeled
DIVISION HEADQUARTERS
and it contained the names of the major general who would be the commanding general, and of the brigadier general who would be his assistant division commander.

A black line went from the oblong box to the right, where there were three boxes for the General Staff and Special Staff. Each was filled with the names of the colonels and lieutenant colonels who would man those slots.

Another black line descended downward from the Command Box, and then split off so as to connect to boxes labeled with the names of the subordinate units. There was Division Artillery (under the third general officer, a brigadier); an Aviation Group; a Signal Battalion; an Engineer Battalion; five Brigades; an Air Cavalry Squadron; and a Support Command.

Each box contained the names of the colonels or lieutenant colonels who would fill the slot. Where applicable, there were “ghost boxes” without names showing. There were, for example, four Signal Companies within the Signal Battalion, four Engineer Companies with the Engineer Battalion, and so on.

Each of the participants at the conference had contributed to the manning chart. Most of them knew it from memory, and the briefing officer knew that.

“If there are no questions, gentlemen, I will go on to the next slide,” the briefing officer said.

“Why don’t I see Lieutenant Colonel Lowell’s name on there anywhere?” the newly promoted to four-star general, newly appointed Vice Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army asked.

The briefing officer raised the lights in the room.

“Lieutenant Colonel Lowell’s name will be on the Headquarters and Special Staff Chart, sir,” DCSPERS said. “He is the Deputy Assistant G-3, sir.”

“Bullshit!” the Vice Chief of Staff said. The vulgarity hushed the room. General Triple H Howard was fully aware of the shock value of an obscenity, especially from someone who rarely spoke one.

There was a long pause.

“I am waiting, General, for your reasoning,” General Howard said.

“Sir, Colonel Lowell is singularly well qualified by rank and experience to be the Assistant G-3. It was further felt that in this assignment, he will be in a position to evaluate the division with an idea to being able to suggest further modifications to the TO&E, and in other ways.”

There was another almost painful pause.

“That’s it?” General Howard finally asked.

“Colonel Lowell was considered for various commands, sir,” DCSPERS went on, somewhat uneasily, “and it was the consensus—he has commanded nothing larger than a tank company, sir, as I’m sure you’re aware—that others were more highly qualified.”

“Bullshit!” General Howard repeated. “I don’t know what is the source of your animosity toward this officer, General, but I have had enough of it. The tank company which Lowell commanded was, in fact—and you could have learned this from General Jiggs—of battalion strength. And he commanded it with such skill that it is now being taught on the sand tables at the Point and at Leavenworth. He is a senior aviator as well. For the good of the service, not to mention in simple decency toward him, it is my desire that he be given a command within the 11th Air Assault Division. You have exactly one hundred and twenty seconds to make a recommendation, failing which, or in case I disagree with your recommendation, I will make the appointment myself.”

(Two)

Now the Army had an Airmobile Division. The question remained what to name it. The Airborne establishment thought it would be nice to just drop the parenthetical (Test) from the name it now had, making the new division the 11th Air Assault Division, which would thus retain the traditions of the 11th Airborne Division.

There were those who felt that would produce the wrong image and suggest that Air Mobility was simply a version of Airborne. It was not. It was a new idea; and the Airmobile people, who had to wage a long and bloody bureaucratic campaign against Airborne to get an airmobile Division in the first place, were not now just going to hand it to them.

The Infantry establishment, agreeing with this opinion, thought it would be nice to add the parenthetical term “Airmobile” to the Second “Indianhead” Division then stationed at the Infantry Center, Fort Benning.

There were those who objected to this, some unwilling to tarnish the proud name of the Second Infantry Division by associating it with this wild Airmobile concept, and some Aviation types unwilling to turn it over to Infantry.

Several four-star generals involved themselves in the dispute. Generals E. Z. Black and Triple H Howard—coincidentally Cavalrymen—thought they saw the solution. The First Cavalry Division (Dismounted) was in Korea, where it was really nothing more than an ordinary infantry division. They were willing to admit that the Army really didn’t need a horse-borne Cavalry Division at this time, but a Cavalry Division that moved like Cavalry, using aircraft, was something else again.

Four-Star General I. D. White was heard from. When the new insignia for Armor was proposed, a modern tank replacing the World War I tank, it was I. D. White who insisted (it was reported, with something less than his usual calm courtesy) that Cavalry sabers be superimposed over the tank. General White offered the opinion that renaming the First Cavalry Division (Dismounted) the First Cavalry Division (Airmobile) would not offend him in the least. An Airmobile Division was in the classic sense Cavalry anyway, and the First Cavalry (Airmobile) could carry on the traditions of the Cavalry very nicely.

While Generals Howard, Black, and White were personally very nice fellows, there was no other group of officers in the Army willing to go up against them when they agreed with each other on something as important as this.

“Never Get Between a Cavalryman and His Horse” was a military truism dating back to the Roman Legions.

The order was finally published.