Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 16

"Don't be silly" Mrs. Waterford said. "There's more in the car. Would you help Sergeant Dawson fetch it while I say h.e.l.lo to Greta?"

"Of course," he said. He raised his voice. "Greta, it's Marjorie Waterford, again."

Frau Generalmajor Gunther von Hamm looked no more elegant than her husband. Her clothing was worn and patched.

Her face was gray, and her eyes sunken.

"Oh, Marjorie," she said. "You constantly embarra.s.s us. We can make out."

"I know you can," Marjorie Waterford said, kissing her cheek. "Give what you can't use to someone who can." She reached-into the bag she was carrying and came out with a bottle of scotch whiskey, "1 don't know about you, but I desperately need a little of this."

It took Generalmajor Gunther von Hamm, who had been at Samur with Major General Peterson K. Waterford, and Master Sergeant Dawson three trips to unload all the groceries and conveniences from Dawson's car."

"Have one of these, Tom," Mrs. Waterford said, when they had finished. "You look like you can use it."

"Not now, Miss Marjorie, thank you just the same," he said.

"Have one, Tom," she said, smiling, but firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Marjorie Waterford understood that Tom Dawson was uneasy drinking with general officers and their ladies, but she was afraid that Gunther von Hamm would think he was refusing to drink with a former enemy. He wasn't, but Gunther was very sensitive, and having to accept the food and cigarettes and soap that she had brought was enough of a blow to his pride without being snubbed by an enlisted man. Marjorie told them that Porky was starting up a polo team, and that seemed to please Gunther, for it brought memories of happier days. But the von Hamms' news for the Waterfords was not at all pleasant. "Elizabeth von Greiffenberg killed herself ten days ago," Greta von Hamm said.

"Oh, no!" Marjorie Waterford said.

"We just found out yesterday," Gunther von Hamm said.

"Poison."

"That's terrible," Marjorie said. She felt especially bad because Elizabeth von Greiffenberg's husband, Colonel Count Peter-Paul von Greiffenberg, had been commandant pf the POW camp in which her son-in law had been held. He had been killed right at the end of the war, shot down in cold blood by the Russians. "She was not stable," Gunther said.

"I feel personally responsible," Marjorie said. "I should have done something to help her."

"What could you do, more than you have done?" Greta said, kindly.

"Something," Marjorie said.

"She wouldn't see you," Greta said. "She told me to leave her alone when I was there. She. . . she. . ."

"Was not stable," Gunther von Hamm filled in for her.

"What about the girl?" Marjorie asked."

Greta von Hamm shook her head.

"No one knows where she is," she said. "What everyone is afraid of is that she went to East Germany, where there are relatives."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Marjorie Waterford said. "The poor thing.

How old is she? Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," Greta said.

"Excuse me, Miss Marjorie," Master Sergeant Dawson said.

"We've got to get going."

"Yes," Marjorie Waterford said. "We do. It's a long ride, and we don't want to get arrested for speeding, again, do we, Tom?"

(Four) Mannheim, Germany 11 May 1946 There were four Stinson L-5s lined up on the Eighth Constabulary Squadron's airstrip. They had the legend us ARMY and a serial number painted on the tail. The star-and-bars which identified all U. S. military aircraft was painted on the side of the fuselage. Immediately below the rear pa.s.senger seat was the "Circle C" insignia of the U. S. Constabulary.

A Horche sedan, which it was alleged had belonged personally to Field Marshal Rommel himself, pulled onto the airstrip behind a pair of MPs on Harley Davidson motorcycles with red lights flas.h.i.+ng and sirens wailing. The open convertible was trailed by two jeeps each equipped with a machine gun and manned by three soldiers in chrome-plated helmets.

The convoy pulled up beside the nearest L-5. The driver of the Horche jumped out and opened the rear door.

Major General Peterson K. Waterford, attired in a highly varnished helmet liner with glistening stars forward and Constabulary insignia on the sides, stood up, clutching his riding crop. He acknowledged the salutes of the personnel in the area by touching his riding crop to the brim of his helmet liner.

Then he descended from the Horche and marched toward the closest Stinson L-5. Major Robert Robbins saluted for the second time.

"Good morning, General," he said.

"Morning," the general said, touching his helmet liner with his riding crop. He climbed into the rear seat of the aircraft.

Major Robbins took a red plate on which two silver stars had been mounted and slipped it into a holder on the fuselage, then climbed into the front seat.

Everything was in readiness. The plane had been gone over from propeller to tail wheel. Robbins threw on the master switch, primed the engine, and pushed the starter switch down.

The starter motor groaned, and ground. The propeller went unevenly through several rotations, once sending a puff of blue smoke from the exhaust past the c.o.c.kpit. The starter motor groaned and ground again. The propeller jerked spasmodically through its arc. The engine refused to start.

"Tell me, Major," General Peterson K. Waterford asked, icily, "do you suppose that Captain MacMillan remembered to wind up his aircraft?"

"Yes sir. I'm sure, sir, that the backup aircraft is operational."

"Good, good," General Waterford said, with transparently artificial joviality.

"I'm very embarra.s.sed about this, General," Major Robbins said.

"Nonsense," the General said. "We all break our rubber bands from time to time, don't we, Robbins?"

"Captain MacMillan's aircraft is right next to us, General.

But I don't see how we'll be able to take Captain MacMillan with us, sir."

"I do, Major," the general said. "We'll let Captain Macmillan drive, while you stay here and get another rubber band for this one. "

General Waterford climbed out of the plane, s.n.a.t.c.hed his two-starred plate from the fuselage, and strode purposefully to the adjacent L-5. He handed it to MacMillan, who stood by the aircraft. He looked him up and down.

"Does your airplane work, Mac?"

"Yes, sir, I believe it will," Captain MacMillan said.

"And have you been briefed on our destination?" the general asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest we proceed," the general said. He climbed into the back seat and strapped himself in again..

Major Robert Robbins came to the airplane and started to get into the pilot's seat.

"I told you that I was going to go with Captain MacMillan," the general said.

"Sir, may I respectfully point out to the general that Captain MacMillan is a recent graduate of flight school?"

"I have it in reliable authority that whatever else Captain MacMillan may be, Major, he is not a fool."

"Yes, sir."

"If he believes himself to be safe flying this thing, I will accede to his judgment," the general said. "What are we waiting for now, MacMillan?"

MacMillan got in the pilot's seat.

He pushed the starter b.u.t.ton and the engine coughed and caught immediately. The major stood just beyond the wing tip, nearly at attention, looking uncomfortable, waiting for MacMillan to taxi away. The general folded down the upper portion of the window-door and beckoned to him. The major, holding one hand on his hat to keep the prop wash from blowing it away, went to the window.

"I've never believed that l'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace c.r.a.p, Robbins," he said. "The boy scouts have got it right. Be prepared, Robbins. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Robbins, remember that! Be prepared!" He closed the window. MacMillan looked over his shoulder at his pa.s.senger.

The general made a "wind it up" signal with his index finger.

MacMillan taxied onto the runway, checked. the magnetos, pushed the throttle forward. The little airplane slowly gathered speed. MacMillan edged the stick forward,- so that the tail wheel lifted off. When he reached flying speed, he inched back on the stick. The little L-5 began to fly.

He made a circling turn, still climbing.

"To h.e.l.l with that," the general's voice came over the intercom. "Fly up the autobahn." MacMillan nodded his head to show he had heard the order.

"And don't get too high," the general said.

MacMillan nodded again. He leveled off at about seven hundred feet.

"What did you do to Robbins's airplane, Mac?" the general inquired. "Nothing, I trust, that he can blame you for."

"I didn't do a thing to it, General," MacMillan said.

"Bulls.h.i.+t," General Waterford said. "That was too good to be an innocent happenstance."

"He did look a mite embarra.s.sed, didn't he, General?" MacMillan said.

The general chuckled.

"I wouldn't be surprised, when they examine the engine," MacMillan said, "if they find that somebody forgot to tighten the spark plugs."

"You sneaky b.a.s.t.a.r.d you. But what if it had gotten up in the air, and then the engine had stopped? With me in it?"

"I double-checked it myself, General," MacMillan said.

"You're d.a.m.ned near as devious as I am," the general said, and then changed the subject: "Everything laid on at Nauheim, Mac?"

"Yes, sir; I was up there this morning. Everything's greased. " The autobahn, a four lane superhighway, was now below their left wheel. They reached Rhine-Main in a matter of minutes; then, on their right, the rubble of Frankfurt am Main appeared, and then disappeared." Thirty miles further along, MacMillan banked again to the right.

"I led the most powerful tactical force ever a.s.sembled up that G.o.dd.a.m.ned highway," the general said in his earphones.

"I was in the van of Combat Command A, and they were in the van of the division, and the division was in the van of the whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned Ninth United States Army."

MacMillan nodded his head, once again.

"The only thing I forgot was a brilliant and unforgettable remark for posterity," the general said. "You're one up on me there, MacMillan. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for that."

"Yes, sir," MacMillan said.

"Every time Bobby Bellmon tells the story of leaving you in the POW camp, I think about that 'f.u.c.k it, Colonel. Have the bugler sound the charge.' Great line, Mac. I would have had to clean it up, of course-you can't say 'f.u.c.k it' in history books-but I should have thought of something like that."

"There it is, sir," MacMillan said, gesturing to the right front.

They were over the munic.i.p.al park in Bad Nauheim. There were a pair of goalposts set in a flat area, and a line of army trucks parked to the left of the field. MacMillan came in low and slow, and touched down. He slowed and taxied back up the field. A herd of horses grazed on the gra.s.s.

He braked to a stop at the head of the line of the army trucks.

A young lieutenant trotted up to the little Stinson. He wore golden ropes through his epaulets, and the two-starred s.h.i.+eld of a major general's aide-de-camp on his lapels.

He saluted, and opened the L-5's door.

"I trust the general had a pleasant flight," he said.

"Once I got into an airplane they remembered to wind up, I did," the general said.

"Anything go wrong, Davis?" MacMillan asked.

"Everything is laid out, MacMillan," the aide-de-camp replied, coldly. There was no love lost between Captain MacMillan and Lieutenant Davis. Davis was painfully aware that before MacMillan had shown up, he was in line to become General Waterford's senior aide-de-camp. He had naturally expected to be named senior aide after doing his time as junior aide, and he had been cheated out of it. He was still the junior aide, doing dog robbers' tasks. Like most general officers, General Waterford used his aides-de-camps in dual roles. The junior aides saw to the general's personal comfort and attended to his social duties. The senior aide attended the general officially. The idea was that being close to the commanding general in all sorts of situations would give him insight into the problems and functioning of a high command which would be useful in his own career.

Davis had dog-robbed without complaint, biding his time until he would become senior aide. But MacMillan had been named senior aide, and Davis still did the dirty work.

"Well, Davis," the general said. "Where are my polo players?"

"Right this way, General," MacMillan replied for Davis.

"I think the general will be reasonably pleased with what I've come up with."

"I better be, Mac," the general said. "I better be." With MacMillan and Davis just behind, General Peterson K. Waterford, slapping his riding boot with his crop at every third step, marched across the field. A line of a dozen men came to attention at his approach. They were wearing GI riding breeches, except for one middle-aged man who wore officer pink riding breeches.

They came to attention without command. "Good to see you, Charley," the general said to the middle-aged officer at the end of the line. "Fat and all. Well, we'll get that off you in no time."

"Nice to see you again, General," the middle-aged officer said.