W. Griffin - The shooters

When he called Blue Flight to ask that the lieutenant be directed to report to him at his office, in Class A uniform at 1300, they said that might be a little difficult, as the lieutenant was involved in a cross-country training flight in the Mohawk under simulated instrument conditions, and that he might be back at Cairns a little before noon, and then again he might not. No telling.

Like the C-12 Huron, the Grumman Mohawk also was a twin-turboprop aircraft, but not a light transport designed to move senior officers in comfort from one place to another. It was, instead, designed as an electronic surveillance aircraft, normally assigned to military intelligence units. The only people it carried were its two pilots.

The military intelligence connection gave it a certain elan with Army Aviators, as did the fact that it was the fastest airplane in the inventory. The pilots assigned to fly it were most often the more experienced ones.

So, Edmonds concluded, there was something extraordinary in a lieutenant being trained by Blue Flight to fly the Mohawk.

The only thing Colonel Edmonds could think of to explain the situation was that they might be using the Mohawk as an instrument flight training aircraft. Yet when he really thought some more about that, it didn't make sense.

He looked up at the sky and saw a triple-tailed Mohawk approaching, and he followed it through touchdown until he lost sight of it. And then suddenly there it was, taxiing up to the tarmac in front of Base Ops.

He remembered only then that it was said of the Mohawk that it could land on a dime. This was accomplished by reversing the propellers' pitch at the instant of touchdown-or a split second before.

Ground handlers laid ladders against the Mohawk's bulbous cockpit. The two men in the aircraft unbuckled their harnesses and climbed down and then started walking toward Base Operations.

One of them was an older man, and the other-logically, the lieutenant whom Edmonds was looking for-was much younger.

As they came closer, Colonel Edmonds had doubts that this was the officer he was looking for. He was a tall, fair-skinned, blue-eyed young man who didn't look as if his name was Carlos Guillermo Castillo. One would expect someone with a name like that to have a darker skin and more than likely dark eyes.

Edmonds now saw the older man was Chief Warrant Officer-4 Pete Kowalski, who was not only a master Army Aviator but vice president of the Instrument Examiner Board. Edmonds was surprised that Kowalski was teaching a lowly lieutenant.

Both saluted Colonel Edmonds as they got close to where he stood by the Base Ops door.

"Lieutenant Castillo?" Colonel Edmonds asked.

Castillo stopped and said, "Yes, sir."

Maybe this isn't the right Castillo. It's not that unusual a name.

"Carlos Guillermo Castillo?" Edmonds challenged.

"Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant, I'm Colonel Edmonds, the information officer. Between now and 1300, we have to get you into a Class A uniform and out to the Castillo Classroom Building on the post."

"Sir?"

"Where you will be photographed with the commanding general standing by the building named after your father," Edmonds explained.

"Sir, with respect, what's this all about?"

"I'm reasonably confident that the photograph will shortly appear in several hundred newspapers across the country."

"Colonel, I'm Special Forces," Castillo said. "We try to keep our pictures out of the newspapers."

Edmonds thought, What does he mean, he's "Special Forces"?

He's a pilot; he's Aviation.

He may be assigned to support Special Forces, but he's Aviation.

"Be that as it may, Lieutenant," Edmonds said, "you will be photographed with the commanding general at the Castillo Building at 1300."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have a car here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, in that case, I will follow you to your BOQ. But in case we become separated, which BOQ is it?"

"Sir, I'm in the Daleville Inn."

The Daleville Inn was a motel in a village crammed with gasoline stations, fast-food emporiums, hock shops, trailer parks, and used-car lots. It lay between Cairns Army Airfield and Fort Rucker.

"You're not in a BOQ? Why not?"

"Sir, I thought I would have a quieter place to study if I were in the Daleville Inn than I would in a BOQ. When I went through chopper school here, the BOQs were a little noisy."

"But isn't that a little expensive?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

Edmonds shook his head in amazement, then said, "Well, let's get going."

"Mr. Kowalski, what do I do?" Lieutenant Castillo asked. "I'm between two masters."

"Lieutenant," CWO Kowalski said, smiling, "you being a West Pointer, I'm surprised nobody told you that you always obey the last order you got from a senior officer. You go get your picture taken with the general."

"Thank you," Castillo said.

"Call me when you've had your picture taken, and we'll go flying again," Kowalski said. "I'll take care of the paperwork here."

"And did I pass the check ride?"

"Well, I'm reasonably sure that after another couple of hours-if you don't do something really stupid-I will feel confident in certifying you as competent to fly the Mohawk on instruments."

Colonel Edmonds was a pilot. He knew what the translation of that was.

Castillo had passed-without question-his check ride. Otherwise Instructor Pilot Kowalski would not have said what he did. What the two of them were going to do later was take the Mohawk for a ride. Play with it. Maybe fly down to Panama City, Florida, and fly over the beach "practicing visual observation." Or maybe do some aerobatics.

"Would you like to come in, sir, while I shower and change?" Lieutenant Castillo asked when they had reached the Daleville Inn.

"Thank you," Edmonds said.

He's a West Pointer. He will have an immaculate Class A uniform hanging in his closet. And he will probably shave again when he showers. But there is no sense taking a chance.

Lieutenant Castillo did not have a motel room. He had a three-room suite: a living room with a bar, a bedroom, and a smaller second bedroom that had been turned into an office by shoving the bed in there against a wall and moving in a desk.

I don't know what this is costing him, but whatever it is, it's a hell of a lot more than his per diem allowance.

If he somehow managed to get permission to live off post and is getting per diem.

And why don't I believe him when he said he moved in here to have a quiet place to study? Probably because there are half a dozen assorted half-empty liquor bottles on the bar. And a beer case on the floor behind it.

He's spending all this money to have a place to entertain members of the opposite sex. They've been cracking down on that sort of thing in the BOQs.

Well, why not? He's young and the hormones are raging.

When Castillo went into the bedroom to shower and change, Colonel Edmonds looked around the living room. On a shelf under the coffee table he saw a newspaper and pulled it out.

It was a German newspaper.

What the hell is that doing here?

Maybe he's studying German. I read somewhere that Special Forces officers are supposed to have, or acquire, a second language.

That would explain the German newspaper, but it doesn't explain what he said about his branch being Special Forces, not Aviation. What in the hell was that all about?

When Lieutenant Castillo appeared ten minutes later, freshly shaven and in a Class A uniform, Colonel Edmonds was glad that he had accompanied him to his room.

While technically there was nothing wrong with the uniform-it was crisply pressed and well fitting-it left a good deal to be desired.

The only insignia on it were the lieutenant's silver bars on the epaulets, the U.S. and Aviation insignias on the lapels, and the aviator's wings on the breast. There were no ribbons indicating awards for valor or campaigns. And there was no unit insignia sewn to the shoulder.