Special ops by by W. E. B. Griffin

Author:by W. E. B. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Guevara, Special forces (Military science), Historical fiction, Fiction:War, General, Adventure fiction, Historical, War & Military, Men's Adventure, Fiction, Ernesto, Special operations (Military science), Congo (Democratic Republic)
ISBN: 9780515132489
Publisher: New York : Putnam's, 2001.
Published: 2002-01-29T21:32:23.886000+00:00

[ FOUR ]

Conference Room

Office of the Chief of Staff

U.S. Army Aviation Center and Fort Rucker, Alabama

1545 23 January 1965

Before the first of the eight officers who had been ordered to report to the office of the chief of staff actually entered the conference room itself, they had a chance to examine each other and wonder what the hell was going on.

The only things they had in common were that they were all black/Negro/colored/whatever and rated Army aviators. There were two majors, both of whom had the star of a senior aviator mounted above the shield of their wings. There were two captains and four first lieutenants.

“What the hell is this?” one of the majors inquired, “the Rucker Black Caucus?”

The other major gave him a dirty look but said nothing.

“If one more goddamned white liberal asks me if I have experienced racial prejudice, I’ll throw up in his lap,” the other captain asked. He, too, was a senior aviator.

There was laughter, in which Captain Smythe did not join.

“Is that what this is?” one of the lieutenants asked.

“Christ, I hope not,” the major who made the Black Caucus crack said. “I’m supposed to be giving Caribou right-seat check rides, and this is really going to fuck up a lot of scheduling.”

The chief of staff entered at that point. He was a tall, slim, crew-cutted full-bird colonel who everyone knew had been selected for promotion to brigadier general. He was one of the very few people whose wings were topped by a star within a wreath, identifying him as a master Army aviator.

The only other master Army aviator with whom Captain Smythe was familiar was Major Hodges, the president of the instrument examiner board, who had given him his final check ride on finishing Mohawk Transition; his annual instrument rating check ride; and, most recently, his check ride leading to his certification as a Mohawk instructor pilot.

All eight had risen to their feet when he entered his outer office.

“As you were, gentlemen, good afternoon,” the chief of staff said. “I will not entertain questions, primarily because I don’t have any answers. But I will tell you this, and with whatever emphasis is required to make you understand, it’s not bovine excreta. You will not discuss what transpires here this afternoon between yourselves, or with your superiors—if they have questions, refer them to me—not your subordinates, your girlfriends, and especially not your wives. Are we all clear on that?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, Les,” the chief of staff said. “You first.”

“Yes, sir,” the major of the Black Caucus crack said. He stood up.

“When Major Levitt leaves, he will inform you who is next,” the chief said.

The chief of staff walked into his office, and Major Levitt walked into the conference room, closing the door behind him.

Captain Smythe decided entry into the conference room would be by rank, which would make him either third or fourth to enter. This logical presumption proved to be in error. He was the last man to enter the conference room.

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