W. Griffin - The shooters

"Jesus Christ!" Miller said, and laughed delightedly.

"That caused some coughing on the part of the members of the court," General Wilson went on. "Then the captain replied, very angrily, 'Shit is what I found in the honey bucket. I damned near drowned in it.' "Well, the court broke up, literally became hysterical. The president banged his gavel and fled the room. The other members followed him. The trial was held in a Quonset hut, and we could hear them laughing in the other end of the building for a long time.

"Finally, they came back in. I announced that the defense rested. The lieutenant prosecuting gave his closing argument, which was of course devastating, and I gave mine, which was ludicrous. Then the court retired. They were out thirty minutes, and then they came back and found your father not guilty of all charges and specifications."

"That's a great story," Castillo said, smiling.

"Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to savor his victory. Two weeks later, he was dead."

General Wilson took a sip of his scotch, then went on: "I had a purpose in telling that story. For one thing, it has been my experience that there is more justice in the Army than people are usually willing to recognize. We are supposed to be judged by our peers. In the Army, we really are. Soldiers who understand soldiering judge their fellow soldiers. They almost always return verdicts that are just, even if they sort of stray from legal niceties. I would suggest that court of honor which found you two not guilty and the court which found Charley's father not guilty based their decision on the circumstances rather than on the cold facts.

"I suspect your fellow cadets liked Cadet Lieutenant Castillo and thought Randy had gotten what he deserved from him. And I suspect that the officers on the court liked your father, admired his sticking up for our crew chief, and that the captain got what he deserved, too, and that it would serve neither justice nor good order and discipline to make things any worse than they were.

"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."