"Yes, sir. I talked him into going to the Point."

"You're saying he got special treatment?"

"I'm saying: what I said before, General, was that Aviation is worse than the Marines about getting publicity."

"Because of his father, his father's MOH, they rushed him through training and sent him over here?"

"Where he is way over his head," Naylor said.

"He seems to have done pretty well," Schwarzkopf said.

"He's over his head, sir," Naylor argued.

"You don't think he deserves the DFC?"

"Yes, sir, I think he does. And he was wounded. What I want to do is get him out of there before he kills himself trying to do something else he's not capable of doing."

"Jesus, Allan. People get killed," General Young said.

"And some sonsofbitches are willing to bet on how many," Schwarzkopf said. "I think I know what Allan's thinking. The Class of '50, right?"

"That's in my mind, sir. My brother was in the Class of '50."

"And didn't come back from Korea?" Schwarzkopf asked.

"Tom had been an officer six months when he was killed, sir."

"And your son is here, too, right, with Freddy Franks?"

"Allan's Class of '88, sir. He's had two and a half years to learn how to be a tank platoon leader."

"I take your point. I always thought it was insanity to get the Class of '50 nearly wiped out in Korea," Schwarzkopf said. "You can't eat the seeds. If you do, you don't get a crop." He paused. "Okay, Allan, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this. Handle it any way you want."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, I told Colonel Wallace to embargo this story until you gave him permission to release it."

"You think that's important?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Okay. It's squashed. There will be other impact awards. So far, Phase I-knock on wood-seems to be going well."

"Thank you, sir."

"I don't want to hear one more goddamned word about a how-many-casualties pool. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Generals Naylor and Young said, almost in unison.

General Schwarzkopf momentarily locked eyes with each of them and walked out of the office.

"So what do we do with this young officer?" General Young asked.

"You're the personnel officer, Oz. You tell me."

"Okay. There aren't many options. Or at least good ones," General Young said. "If he got out of West Point six months ago, and is an Apache pilot, we can presume two things: one, that he can fly helicopters:"

"If my memory serves, it takes longer than six months to get qualified in an Apache, after you've got X many hundred hours and X many years flying Hueys."

"I think you're right. Can I go on?"

"Sorry."

"We can presume he can fly helicopters-the Huey, at least, since you have doubts that he should be flying the Apache-and is qualified in no other useful skill, like being an Infantry or Armor platoon leader."

"Okay."

"And if he stays in Aviation, and all those terrible things you think Aviation brass is doing to him are true-and I think you're probably right-and is an Apache pilot, they will continue to put him in an Apache cockpit:"

"Where he will get killed, and probably get a lot of people with him killed," Naylor interrupted.

"Allan, by now you should have vented your temper," General Young said. "The problem is a given. Now, let's find a solution."

"Sorry, Oz."

"Schwarzkopf has given you a blank check. At one end of that range of options is a message saying this young man is grounded, by order of H. Normal himself."

This time when Naylor heard "H. Normal" it didn't seem at all funny.

"I don't think we want to do that," General Young went on, "for a number of reasons that should be self-evident. So what's left? We have to get him out of Aviation, but where can we send him? I have a suggestion which I sort of thought you would think of first. You set it up."

"What did I set up?"

"The 2303rd Civil Government Detachment," Young said, "commanded by Colonel Bruce J. McNab. A classmate of ours. Who we can talk to. You, or me, or both of us."

"And I told you when I set it up that I didn't like it; that what it was was Green Beanie McNab playing James Bond. General Schwarzkopf was told to do it by Colin Powell personally, and he told me to do it and not to ask any more questions than I had to. But we both know that whatever Scotty McNab's involved with, it doesn't have very much to do with civil government."

"We don't think it has much to do with civil government," Young said. "Unless you know something I don't?"

Naylor shook his head, and then asked, "What would Castillo do there?"

"There's six, maybe eight Hueys on McNab's TO amp;E," Young said, referencing the Table of Organization amp; Equipment. "He could fly one of those."

"For all I know, Scotty is planning to fly into Baghdad in one or more of those Hueys and try to kidnap, or assassinate, Saddam Hussein."

"I frankly wouldn't be surprised. But, to repeat, you or me, or both of us, could have a word with him, and make sure he understands this young officer is not to be put in harm's way for the benefit of Army Aviation public relations."

"If McNab's doing something covert:" Naylor said, thoughtfully. "I said that about Hussein to be clever, but, now that I think about it, I'm not so sure it's that far off the mark-he's certainly got some cover operation up and running to hide it. A perfectly legitimate military operation, possibly even having something to do with civil governments."

"Probably," Young agreed.

"From which he can detach whatever number of people he needs to conduct whatever, almost certainly illegal, operation he wants to do without attracting much attention."

Young nodded in agreement.

"Oz, how about you transferring Castillo to the 2303rd Civil Government Detachment and I will get on the horn to Colonel Scotty McNab and tell him that whatever he does with Castillo is not to be even remotely connected with what he is doing covertly?"

"Done," Young said. "But I think I'd better talk to Scotty, not you."

"Why?"

"Because it takes you out of the loop," Young said. "Over the years, Allan, you've spoken to me of Lieutenant Castillo. Often."

"Have I?"

"Yeah. And I got the feeling you're really fond of him."

"Guilty."

"This way, I received the impact recommendation and wondered how this young officer could be flying an Apache six months out of West Point, drew the same conclusions you did, went to H. Normal, got his permission to fix it, and am doing so."

"I owe you a big one, Oz," Naylor said.

"Don't worry. I'll get it back," General Young said.

[EIGHT]

Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, J-3

United States Central Command

Ministry of Defense and Aviation Air Force Base

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

1530 1 March 1991

"Sir," Master Sergeant Jack Dunham said, a strange look on his face, "there's an officer out there:"-he gestured toward the closed door-": who said, and I quote, sir, 'Be a good fellow, Sergeant, present the compliments of Colonel Bruce J. McNab to the general and ask the general if I might have a few moments of his valuable time.' "

Major General Allan Naylor replied, "Why do I have the feeling, Jack, that you think Colonel McNab could not melt inconspicuously into a group of, say, a dozen other colonels?"

"I've got twenty-four years' service, General, and I never saw:"

Naylor chuckled and smiled.

"My compliments to Colonel McNab, Sergeant, and inform him that I would be delighted to see him at his convenience."

"Yes, sir," Dunham said, then went to the door and opened it and said, "General Naylor will see you, Colonel."

"Good show!" a voice boomed in an English accent, and through the door came a small, muscular, ruddy-faced man sporting a flowing red mustache. He was wearing aviator sunglasses. His chest, thickly coated with red hair, was visible through a mostly unbuttoned khaki jacket, the sleeves of which were rolled up. General Naylor was sure the khaki "African Hunter's Safari Jacket" had not passed through the U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps, and neither had Colonel McNab's khaki shorts, knee-length brown stockings, or hunting boots.