W. Griffin - The shooters

"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."

The female with Righteous Randolph, also a blonde, was every bit as good-looking as the one cooking steaks. She wore a skirt topped with a tight sweater.

"And good evening to you, Righteous," Miller said.

"You're Miller and Castillo, right?" the blonde asked.

"Guilty," Miller said.

"I couldn't believe Randy when he said you would have the gall to show up here," the blonde said.

"Charles, my boy," Miller said. "I suspect that our invitation to mingle with these charming people has been withdrawn."

"Odd, I'm getting the same feeling," Castillo said. "I suspect we withdraw. With Righteous's permission, of course."

"You're right, sweetheart," the blonde said. "They think it's funny, and they're oh, so clever."

"And hers, too, of course," Castillo said.

"You two are really disgusting," Lieutenant Randolph Richardson said.

Castillo was already behind the wheel of his Chevrolet and Miller was having his usual trouble fastening the seat belt around his bulk when Captain Prentiss came running down the drive.

"Where the hell are you going?" Prentiss demanded.

"We tried to tell the general-you were there-that our coming here was probably going to be a mistake," Castillo said. "A stunning blonde, who I strongly suspect is the general's daughter, just confirmed that prognosis."

"My feelings are crushed beyond measure," Miller said. "Righteous Randolph just told us we are really disgusting. I'm about to break into tears, and I didn't want to do that for fear of bringing discredit upon the Long Gray Line."

"Gentlemen," Prentiss said. "General Wilson's compliments. The general requests that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

"What the blonde said was she couldn't believe we'd have the gall to show up here," Castillo said.

"Gentlemen," Prentiss repeated. "General Wilson's compliments. The general requests that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

"That sounds pretty goddamn official, Tom," Miller said.

"As goddamn official as I know how to make it, Lieutenant," Prentiss said.

He pulled open the passenger-side door.

A trim blonde who was visibly the mother of the one on the patio was waiting at the open door of Quarters Two.

"You're Miller and Castillo, right? Dick and Charley?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said.

"I'm Bethany Wilson," she said with a smile. "Where were you going?"

Prentiss answered for them.

"Beth apparently believes they are responsible for the general's condition," he said. "And greeted them with something less than enthusiasm."

"If anyone is responsible for the general's condition, you are, Tom," Mrs. Wilson said. "What did Beth say?"

"The one responsible for the general's condition is the general," General Wilson said, coming to the door from inside the house.

"Good evening, sir," Miller and Castillo said.

"The general's condition, in case you're wondering," he said, "is that he cannot-never has been able to-handle any more than one drink in a ninety-minute period. As you may have noticed, I had four drinks in about forty-five minutes at your apartment. And then I came home. And fell out of the car, before at least a dozen of my daughter's guests. Then, to prove to the world that all I had done was stumble a little, I got onto my wife's bicycle and went merrily down the drive-until I collided with the car of another arriving guest. At that point, Tom finally caught up with me and got me into the house."

He looked between Miller and Castillo and said, "You may smile. It certainly wasn't your fault, but I would consider it a personal favor, Lieutenant Miller, if you did not tell your father about this amusing little episode."

"I beg the general's pardon, but I didn't hear a thing that was said," Miller said.

"Quickly changing the subject," Mrs. Wilson said, "what can I get you to drink? Or would you rather just go out to the patio and join the other young people?"

"There's one more thing, dear," General Wilson said. "Dick and Charley don't get along well with Randy."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Do I get to hear why?"

"No," General Wilson said. "You were saying something about offering them drinks? Then I suggest we show them the scrapbook-there's a number of pictures of your dad, Charley, and yours too, Dick-and then, throwing poor Tom yet again into the breach, Tom can cook us some steaks to eat in here."

"Sir," Prentiss said, "I'm sorry that I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" Wilson interrupted, and looked at Castillo. "Charley, you're an aide. Would you dare to tell your general to go easy on the sauce?"

"No, sir, I would not," Castillo replied.

"There you go, Tom. Nobody's fault but mine. Subject closed."

[-IV-] 2002 Red Cloud Road

Fort Rucker, Alabama 0755 6 February 1992 Captain Tom Prentiss walked to the kitchen door of Quarters Two and lightly tapped one of the panes with his ring. Brigadier General Harry Wilson, who was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe, gestured for him to come in. He entered.

"Did you have to knock so loudly?" General Wilson inquired.

Prentiss exchanged smiles with Mrs. Bethany Wilson, who stood at the stove.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Good morning, Tom," she replied, her tone teeming with an exaggerated cheeriness.