"Furthermore, that's all water long under the dam. Vietnam and West Point are both long ago. Tonight, when you see Randy, I'm sure that what passed between you will seem-as indeed it is-no longer important. You might even be glad you had a chance to get together with him. He really can't be all bad. Beth is absolutely crazy about him."
Castillo and Miller did not respond.
"Beth is of course off-limits. But there will be other young women there tonight and-presuming they are neither engaged nor married-the hunting may interest you. And I promised my wife you would be there. My quarters-Number Two-are on Red Cloud Road. Can you find that?"
"Yes, sir," Miller said. "I know where it is."
"Well, having talked too much, drunk too much, and pontificated too much, Tom and I will now leave. We will see you in about thirty minutes, right?"
"Yes, sir," Miller and Castillo said in chorus.
"Thank you for your hospitality, gentlemen," General Wilson said.
"Our pleasure, sir," Miller and Castillo said, almost in chorus.
General Wilson was almost at the door when he stopped and turned.
"Two things," he said.
"Yes, sir?" they said.
"One, the dress is informal"-he pointed at Miller's sweatshirt-"but, two, not that informal."
"Yes, sir," Miller said.
Wilson looked at Castillo.
"Did I pick up that you're Class of '90 too, Charley? You and Miller and your good friend Randy are all classmates?"
"Yes, sir," Castillo said.
"Then how in hell did you manage to get to the Desert War flying an Apache?"
"That's a long story, sir."
"It can't be that long."
"Sir, I had just reported to Fort Knox to begin the basic officer course when I was told I had been selected to fill an 'unexpected' slot in Rotary Wing Primary Class 90-7. I suspect it was because of my father. When I got here, they found out I had two-hundred-odd hours of Huey time, so they gave me my wings, transferred me to RW Advanced Class 90-8, and the next thing I knew, there I was flying over the Iraqi desert with Mr. Kowalski at oh dark hundred in an Apache with people shooting at us. The distinction I really have, sir, was in having been the least qualified Apache pilot in the Army."
"Warrant Officer Kowalski? The Blue Flight Instructor Pilot?"
"Yes, sir. There we were, probably the best Apache pilot in the Army and the worst one."
"I will want to hear that story more in detail, Charley. But you're wrong. The distinction you have is the Distinguished Flying Cross you earned flying a shot-up Apache a hundred miles or so across the Iraqi sand at oh dark hundred." He paused. "Thirty minutes, gentlemen. Thank you again for your hospitality."
Captain Prentiss opened the door for General Wilson, they went through it, and Prentiss pulled it shut behind him.
After a moment, Miller moved aside the venetian blind of the front window to make sure General Wilson was really gone. He turned to Castillo and said, "I think that's what they call a memorable experience."
"Yeah. I suspect the general had more to drink than he usually does."
"I got the feeling from Prentiss that he doesn't drink at all. This upset him. And why not? 'Get the fuck out, Harry. You're shaking so much you'll get us both killed.' As opposed to the heroic bullshit on the whatever you call it on that building."
Castillo nodded. "When I got that Apache back across the berm, and they started pulling Kowalski out of the Apache-he wasn't hurt as bad as it looked, but all I could see was blood where his face was supposed to be, and there was blood all over the cockpit-I started to shake so bad they had to hold me up. Then I started throwing up stuff I had eaten two years before." Castillo paused, then went on, "I understand that. I think he thinks he did the wrong thing by getting out. He didn't."
"You never told me about that before," Miller said softly.
"You don't want to think about it; you put it out of your mind. Jesus, Dick, think about what they went through. They'd been picking up bloody bodies for hours. What's amazing is they were still doing it. Better men than thee and me, Richard. All it took was one shot-up helicopter and Kowalski and I were out of it."
Miller looked at him for a long moment without responding. Then he forced a laugh to change the subject and said, "And your father shoved some chickenshit captain down a honey bucket. He must have been quite a guy."
"And got away with it," Castillo added, grinning.
"You're not going to tell your folks about that?"
"Not Abuela. Grandpa, sure. If I don't, Fernando will, and I definitely have to share that story with Fernando."
Miller nodded, then said, "We are to be reunited with Righteous Randolph. I've bumped into him a half dozen times here. I'm invisible to him. As far as he's concerned, I am a disgrace to the Long Gray Line."
"Just you? I'd hoped never to see the miserable sonofabitch again. I think he was born a prick."
"I just had a very unpleasant thought," Miller said.
"I didn't know you had any other kind."
"Charley, you're not thinking of nailing Wilson's daughter, are you?"
"Where did that come from?"
"Answer the question."
"For one thing, she's a general's daughter. I learned, painfully, the dangers of nailing a general's daughter with Jennifer."
"That didn't slow you down with the next one, Casanova. What was her name? Delores?"
"Daphne," Castillo furnished. "Hey, General Wilson is not only a nice guy, but he was my father's buddy. I'm not going to try to nail his daughter. What kind of a prick do you think I am?"
"I know damned well what kind: The kind who will forget all those noble sentiments the instant you start thinking with your dick. And/or that it might be fun to nail Righteous Randolph's girlfriend, just for old times' sake. Don't do it, Charley."
"Put your evil imagination at rest."
"In case I didn't say this before: Don't do it, Charley. I'm serious."
[-III-] 2002 Red Cloud Road
Fort Rucker, Alabama 1735 5 February 1992 The quarters assigned to the deputy commanding general of the Army Aviation Center and Fort Rucker, Alabama, were larger, but not by much, than the quarters assigned to officers of lesser rank.
Castillo thought the dependent housing area of Fort Rucker-more than a thousand one-story frame buildings, ninety percent of them duplexes, spread over several hundred acres of pine-covered, gently rolling land-looked like an Absolutely no money down! Move right in! housing development outside, say, Houston or Philadelphia.
His boss, Brigadier General Bruce J. McNab, lived in a spacious, two-story brick colonial house on an elm-shaded street at Fort Bragg. The reason for the difference was that the senior officer housing at Bragg had been built before World War II, while all the housing at Rucker had gone up immediately before and during the Vietnam War.
The driveway to General Wilson's quarters was lined with automobiles, half of them ordinary Fords and Chevrolets, the other half sports cars. Miller said that was how you told which lieutenants were married and which were not. It was impossible to support both a wife and a Porsche on a lieutenant's pay, even a lieutenant on flight pay. Miller himself drove a Ford; Castillo, a Chevrolet coupe.
There was a handmade sign on the front door of Quarters Two. It had an arrow and the words "Around in Back" in bold type.
Around in back of the house was the patio. This consisted of a concrete pad enclosed by an eight-foot slat fence painted an odd shade of blue. On the patio were two gas-fired barbecue stoves, two picnic tables, two round tables with folded umbrellas, four large ice-filled containers, and about twenty young men and women.
All the young men-including Miller and Castillo-were dressed very much alike: sports jackets, slacks, open-collared shirts, and well-shined shoes. It was not hard to imagine them in uniform.
The young women were similarly dressed in their own same style: skirts and either sweaters or blouses.
Castillo's eye fell on one of the latter, a blonde standing by one of the smoking stoves. Even across the patio, Castillo could see her brassiere through the sheer blouse. He had always found this fascinating, and was so taken with this one that he didn't notice a couple walking across the patio until Miller whispered, "Heads-up, here comes Righteous Randolph."