Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 14

"And I believe it," MacMillan said, firmly. "For Christ's sake, if I had volunteered six months later, they wouldn't have taken me. I didn't have a high enough. Army General Cla.s.sification Test score."

"That's my point. They had almost as high qualifications for jump school as they did for OCS."

"Your G.o.dd.a.m.n right they did," MacMillan said, righteously.

"Then apply some logic. Extend the argument," Hanrahan said. "If a man is good enough to be a lieutenant, we should be using him as a lieutenant, not an a.s.sistant squad leader. If we're going to spend people, which is the name of the game, Mac, keep the price high. Every airborne sergeant we spent, dead before he hit the ground, probably could have kept twenty legs alive if he had been a leg sergeant."

"Jesus!" MacMillan said.

He walked to the window and looked out. Hanrahan saw that he was disturbed and was pleased. To get his point across, he was going to have to really shake MacMillan up.

MacMillan finally turned from the window and leaned against the sill, supporting himself on his hands.

"You're trying to tell me the whole airborne idea was wrong?"

"There were two mistakes in War II, Mac," Hanrahan said, gently. "Airborne and bombers."

"Somebody did something right. We won," Mac said, sarcastically.

"The navy did what it was supposed to do," the colonel said. "And so did the artillery. But the ones who really came through, on both: sides, were the tankers." Mac just looked at him.

"You ever wonder why we didn't jump across the Rhine near Cologne? You know why we didn't jump on Berlin?" Hanrahan pursued.

"You tell me, Red," Mac said. "I'm just a dumb paratrooper who apparently doesn't know his a.s.s from a hole in the ground."

"Because when the tanks crossed the Rhine, they brought their support with them, and they brought firepower with them.

Not some lousy 105 howitzers with fifty rounds a gun. The big stuff and all the ammo they needed for them. And we didn't jump on Berlin because the 2nd Armored was already across the Elbe."

"The Russians took Berlin."

"Correction. Three mistakes in War II. Ike giving Berlin to the Russians. 2nd Armored could have taken it. Eisenhower ordered them to hold in place."

"He did?" MacMillan had apparently never heard that before. "What for?"

"Political considerations," Hanrahan said, watching his tongue very carefully. He thought it was entirely possible that MacMillan had never considered why World War II was fought.

The more he thought about that, the more sure he was he was right. MacMillan had fought in World War II, fought superbly, risked his a.s.s a hundred times, simply because he was a soldier and somebody had issued an order.

"I didn't know that," Mac said. The colonel said nothing.

"What are you telling me l should do, Red? Go to armor? I'm infantry. Airbprne infantry."

"No, you shouldn't go to armor. First of all, they wouldn't take you. And if they did, they'd eat you up worse than airborne would."

"They'd eat me up? I'm airborne. But the way you talk, you don't think of yourself as airborne," Mac said.

"I haven't been airborne since I left the 508th Parachute Infantry," Hanrahan said.

"I notice you're wearing two combat jump stars on your wings," MacMillan replied.

"I went into Greece twice," Hanrahan said. "Once out of a B~25, the other time out of a B-24. A combat jump is defined as a jump into enemy-held territory."

"I never thought about that," MacMillan said. "You know what I think of when I think of a combat jump? A whole regiment, a whole division."

"I've known you long enough to say this," Hanrahan said. "Without you thinking I'm just making an excuse for leaving the 508."

"Say what?" Macmillan asked.

"Mac, we jumped in four guys, five guys at a time. Sometimes just one guy. But we did more damage to the enemy than a battalion of parachutists, maybe a regiment. Maybe even, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, a division."

"You and three, four other guys?" Mac asked, in disbelief.

"We had more Germans chasing us around Greece than you would believe. And every German that was chasing us wasn't fighting someplace else. That's the name of the game, neutralizing the enemy's forces, Mac, not 'Geronimo,' not 'Blood on the Risers."

MacMillan was made uncomfortable by the discussion. He realized that he really thought, at first, that jumping all by yourself out an Air Corps bomber wasn't really a combat jump. But then he carried that further. At least when the regiment had Jumped, he hadn't been alone. Hanrahan's jumping had been more dangerous than even his own jumping in as a pathfinder had been, and the pathfinders had gone in a couple of hours before the rest of the division had jumped. Hanrahan, MacMillan realized, with something close to awe, had jumped into Greece knowing that there would be no regiment jumping after him.

"So what are you going to do, in this peacetime army we're about to have?" he asked.

"I'm going back to Greece," Hanrahan said.

"Why do you want to do that?" MacMillan replied, surprised. "I didn't even know we had any troops there."

"Because I like being a lieutenant colonel, for one reason, and they tell me that if I'm in Greece, I can keep it, at least for a while. I hope I can keep it long enough to keep it, period."

"What are you going to do in Greece?" MacMillan asked.

"Train the Greeks to do their own fighting," Hanrahan said.

"We send in an experienced company-grade officer and a couple of really good noncoms, make them advisors to a company, or even a battalion. That's where it's going to be, Mac: for the price of three or four people, you get a company."

"Special people, huh? Regular soldiers, who really know what they are doing?"

"Special people, but stop smiling; you can't go."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"Because you're a hero, MacMillan. I keep trying to tell you what that means. It would be embarra.s.sing for the army if we lost a Medal of Honor winner on some Greek hill in a war we aren't even admitting we're fighting."

"f.u.c.k the medal, I'll give it back."

"Don't be an a.s.s, Mac," Hanrahan said. "That medal is, your guarantee of a pension at twenty years as a major, maybe even a light bird."

"I don't want to sound like d.a.m.ned fool, but I don't want to spend the next fifteen years as somebody' s dog robber," MacMillan said. "I'm a' soldier." "For the next couple of years, until things simmer down and get reasonably back to normal, all you have to do is keep your a.s.s out of the line of fire."

"Like doing what, for example?"

"Army aviation," Hanrahan said.

"You've got to be kidding," MacMillan said. "Army aviation, s.h.i.+t!"

Hanrahan lost his temper. His voice was icy and contemptuous when he replied, "Engage your brain, Mac, before opening your mouth."

MacMillan colored and glared at him. Hanrahan did not back down.

"OK," MacMillan said, after a long pause. "I'm listening. Tell me about Army aviation."

"Those little airplanes, and helicopters, too, are going to be around the army from now on. And it's going to get bigger, not smaller,and smaller. The Air Corps is going to go after bigger and bigger bombers, and the army is going to have to fend for itself with light airplanes."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"It's a very good place for you to be," Hanrahan said. "There aren't very many aviators around who know their a.s.s from a hole in the ground about the army. And don't underestimate your medal. You can be a very big fish in a small pond."

"You know, I don't believe any of this conversation," MacMillan said.

"I'm not finished," the colonel said. "I've got you a s.p.a.ce - at Riley."

"The Ground General School? Doing what?"

"For a fourteen-week course, after which you will be an army liaison pilot," the colonel said.

"You've got to be kidding," MacMillan said. "All those guys are is commissioned jeep drivers."

"Some of them are; and some of them are just as good soldiers as you are," Hanrahan said, coldly. Then he lightened his voice. "They get flight pay, which is the same dough as jump pay. What have you got to lose?"

"I'm supposed to spend the next ten, fifteen years flying one of those little airplanes? An aerial jeep driver?"

"By then, you'll be a captain. With a little bit of luck, a major." He looked at MacMillan. "Airborne is dead, Mac. You either go to army aviation or you spend your time as a talking dummy for the PIO guys, giving speeches to the VFW. Believe me."

MacMillan looked at Hanrahan for a full minute before he finally said anything.

"Army aviation?" he asked, incredulous.

Hanrahan nodded his head.

"Oh, G.o.dd.a.m.n," MacMillan said. "Wait till Roxy hears about this."

"Happy landings, Mac," Hanrahan said.

(Two) Sandhofen, Germany 16 February 1946 It was Major General Peterson K. Waterford's custom to receive newly a.s.signed junior officers in his office at Headquarters, United States Constabulary. The headquarters was established in a, Kaserne designed, it was rumored, by Albert Speer himself, and intended to provide the officer cadets of the SS with far more luxurious accommodations than those provided to officer cadets of the army, navy, and air force.

The office now occupied by General Waterford was the most impressive he had ever occupied. His red, two starred major general's flag and the cavalry yellow flag of the Constabulary were crossed against the wall behind a desk. (The insignia of the Constabulary, sewn into the middle of the flag, was a "c" pierced by a lightning bolt, giving the irreverent cause to refer to the United States Constabulary, the police force of the United States Army of Occupation, as "the Circle C Cab Company.") The desk itself was twelve feet long and six feet wide. It was forty-four feet from the forward edge of the desk to the door to the office.

General Waterford lined newly arrived officers up before his enormous desk, and gave them a thirty-minute pep talk and "Welcome to the U. S. Constabulary" handshake, before sending them down for duty to the regiments and battalions and companies and platoons. Twenty or thirty company-grade officers every week or so were gathered in the general's outer office by Lieutenant Davis, his junior aide-de-camp. They were given a cup of coffee, while the aide briefed them on what was expected of them when they pa.s.sed through the door onto which was fastened a gleaming bra.s.s nameplate which read, MAJOR GENERAL PETERSON K. WATERFORD, COMMANDING GENERAL.

The aide-de-camp explained that the reception was designed to make them feel part of the outfit, to give them an understanding of the great privilege it was for them to be in the Constab, and under the command of Major General Peterson K. Waterford himself.

Lieutenant Davis briefed groups of junior officers so often that he hardly paid any attention to individual officers at all.

The only reason that First Lieutenant MacMillan had caught First Lieutenant Davis's eye at all was because of what MacMillan wore on the tunic of his pinks and greens when he reported at the prescribed time to be received by the general.

Everybody else in the room was wearing the ribbons representing the decorations they had been awarded. The general desired that every officer and trooper of the United States Constabulary wear his authorized ribbons. The general's desire was made known in the mimeographed Memo to Newly a.s.signed Officers furnished each newcomer.

Lieutenant MacMillan was not wearing any ribbons at all when he showed up in General Waterford' s outer office. He did, however, have three metal qualification devices pinned to his tunic. On top was the Expert Combat Infantry Badge. Below the CIB was a set of paratrooper's wings, with five stars signifying jumps in combat, and below them he wore a set of aviator's wings.

General Waterford said nothing about MacMillan's defiance vis-a-vis the wearing of authorized ribbons, but when all the hands had been shaken, and the newcomers had been dismissed and were leaving his office, Major General Waterford said: "Lieutenant MacMillan, will you please stay a moment after these gentlemen have gone?" It was Lieutenant Davis's firm belief that Lieutenant MacMillan's first step in the Constab had been into a bucket of s.h.i.+t. He was going to have his a.s.s eaten out, in General Waterford's legendary manner, for not having worn his ribbons.

And it had started out that way, too. "Lieutenant MacMillan," the general said. "I am somewhat surprised to see that you are not wearing your ribbons."

MacMillan came to attention but said nothing.

Oh, you poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Lieutenant Davis thought.

"If I had your decorations, Lieutenant MacMillan, I would wear them proudly," the general said. MacMillan responded to that with a slightly raised quizzical eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, Lieutenant MacMillan," the general said. "I know all about your decorations, and how you came by them. It has also been brought to my attention that under stress, you are p.r.o.ne to use foul and obscene language to senior officers."

"Sir?" MacMillan asked.

"f.u.c.k it, Colonel" the general said. "'Have the bugler sound the charge.'" MacMillan looked really confused now. The general allowed him to sweat for a full sixty seconds before walking up to him with his hand extended. "Bobby Bellman's my son-in-law, Mac. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir," MacMillan said.

"Take a good look at this officer, Davis," the general had said. "There are very few men who get so much as a Bronze Star without getting their a.s.s shot up. MacMillan has never been so much as scratched. But if he were wearing all his ribbons, the way he's supposed to, he would be wearing that little blue one with the white stars."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Davis said.

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm going to-do with you, Mac," the general said. "Bobby wrote and asked me to take care of you, and you know I'll do that. And I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll have a Medal Honor winner doing nothing more, than flying a puddle jumper."

"Sir," MacMillan said, "if the Lieutenant may be permitted to make a suggestion?"

Waterford gestured with his hand, "come on."

"How about a company of armored infantry, sir?"

Waterford shook his head. "Bobby said you'd ask for one," he said. "But I don't think so."

"Yes, sir," MacMillan said.

"What did you do before, Mac? Before you started jumping out of airplanes?"

"I was a dog robber, sir."

"A dog robber? For whom?"

"Colonel Neal, in the old 18th Infantry."

The general looked thoughtful for a minute. Then he said, "Why not? That's a good idea."