Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 03 - Secret Honor

Don Cletus Frade turned the Lodestar on final, which put him over the incredibly clear and blue waters of Lake

Nahuel Huapi, with the village of Bariloche to his right and the Andes Mountains in the background. "Flaps, twenty per cent," he ordered.

Lieutenant Colonel Richard J. Almond, U.S. Army Air

Corps, reached for the flap control, moved it, and when the indicator showed twenty percent, called back: "Flaps at twenty."

Almond was in the right seat of the Lodestar, in civilian clothing except for his Air Corps A-2 leather flight jacket.

Frade was wearing his Marine-issued leather flight jacket, which differed from the Air Corps model in several details, including its fur collar. Almond's jacket had a leather collar.

Frade's jacket insignia still included a leather patch with- now faded-gold wings and the legend, "Frade, C. 1/LT

USMCR" stamped on it.

"Gear down," Frade ordered.

Colonel Almond reached for the wheel-shaped control and pushed it forward. When the green bulb indicating the gear was down appeared on the instrument panel, Almond reported: "Gear down and locked."

Cletus Frade reached for the throttle quadrant with his right hand.

"One twenty-five," Colonel Almond reported the airspeed, then turned and looked up at First Lieutenant Anthony C.

Pelosi, Corps of Engineers, Army of the United States, who was standing between them, supporting himself with one hand on the back of the pilot's chair and the other on the back of the copilot's seat.

"You want to go strap yourself in, Lieutenant?" Almond said, expressing what was actually an order in the form of a suggestion.

"Go fuck yourself," Lieutenant Pelosi responded and didn't move.

It took a moment for Colonel Almond to really compre hend what had just been said to him. But as they were about to land on a gravel strip in remote Argentina with a pilot at the controls who had no more than thirty hours' total time in this type of aircraft, this was not the time to do anything about even such an outrageously obscene refusal of an order from a superior.

"One ten," Almond called to Frade, then, "One hundred."

At ninety miles per hour indicated, Frade gently retarded the throttles and eased back a hair on the Lodestar's wheel, whereupon the airplane stopped flying and the wheels made a gentle contact with the ground. "Dump the flaps," he ordered as the Lodestar rolled down the gravel strip.

Colonel Almond adjusted the flaps. "Zero flaps," he reported. It was a gentle chastisement. The proper command

Frade should have given his copilot was "Zero Flaps" not

"Dump the flaps."

Frade slowed the aircraft to taxi speed long before they had reached the end of the gravel runway.

"Nice landing, Clete," Almond said, giving credit where credit was due.

Frade nodded. He stopped the Lodestar, turned it around on the runway, taxied back to the end of the runway, and then turned the airplane around again.

They were now ready to take off.

But instead of reaching for the throttle quadrant, Frade shut the left engine down, put the right on LOW IDLE, and applied the parking break.

"Get out of the aisle, Tony," Clete said as he unfastened his shoulder and lap harness:

"Yes, sir," Pelosi said.

Pelosi politely and respectfully says "Yes, sir" to Frade, and "Go fuck yourself" to me? That will cost you, Lieu tenant, just as soon as we get back to Buenos Aires. Who the hell do you think you are?

Almond had a second thought: Well, that just may give me the reason to get rid of him. He's entirely too close to Frade.

Remove a small problem before it causes large trouble.

All I have to do is report that obscene insubordination and say that he is obviously unsuitable for service here. And

Frade can't protect him; it would be his word against mine.

Almond followed Pelosi and Frade into the cabin and to the rear door. Captain Maxwell Ashton III, Signal Corps,

Army of the United States, and Trade's bodyguard, or what ever he was, the Argentine who followed him around like a puppy, carrying a shotgun, started to unfasten their seat belts as they passed.

This was the third time Almond had provided Frade with flight instruction in the Lodestar. The first two sessions, they had been alone (except for Frade's shadow) and the instruction had really been in basic aircraft handling. Loss of an engine immediately after takeoff, that sort of thing. They had used the El Palomar field for that, and had made perhaps thirty touch-and-go landings.

Frade was an apt pilot and had been a quick student. All he had needed was a little instruction.

For their third session, Frade asked for a cross-country flight. Almond had readily agreed. It would give him a chance to see the country from the air, something he didn't know how else he would manage. And when Frade sug gested they take Ashton and Pelosi, to give them a chance to see the country from the air, he agreed to that, too, and left notes for them in the boxes at the embassy, telling them to arrange their schedules so they would have two days free starting that Friday evening.

Pelosi had the door open by the time Frade reached it, and one by one everyone in the plane jumped to the ground.

It was piss-call time.

Frade tucked himself into his trousers and turned to smile at Almond. "Tell me, teacher, if that was an official check ride, would you have passed me?"

"Yes, Clete, I think I would," Almond said.

"In other words, you think I'm qualified to fly that bird all by my lonesome?"

"Well, I would recommend, of course, that you have a co pilot; but sure, you're qualified to be pilot-in-command."

"When you get back to the States, make sure you tell

Colonel Graham that," Clete said.

"Excuse me? Who?"

Clete didn't respond.

"Let me have your.45, Enrico," he said.

Enrico Rodriguez reached around, took what looked to

Almond like a Colt Model 1911A1.45 ACP pistol from the small of his back, and handed it butt-first to Clete.

What the hell is he doing?

Clete ejected the clip from the pistol, examined it, and put it back in place.

He was counting cartridges to make sure there wasn't one in the chamber and the pistol was safe. 1 wonder why he did that?

Colonel Almond erred. Clete had counted the cartridges remaining in the magazine-six-to be sure that the seventh was chambered in the pistol.

He pulled the hammer back, then looked around. He pointed to the side of the runway, where, twenty-five yards away, there was a makeshift runway marker, a large tin can painted yellow.

He raised the pistol and fired.

Even with the muted roar of the left engine, the unex pected sound was shocking. Almond's ears rang.

What the hell was that all about?

"My God, Clete!" Almond exclaimed.

The can came to rest. Clete fired again and the can jumped into the air again. It landed again, and Clete fired a third time, sending the can another ten yards across the field.

"That's all," Clete said. "My uncle Jim was always saying,

'Quit while you're ahead, Clete, quit while you're ahead!' "

Holding the pistol to his side, he looked at Almond and went on: "That's sound advice for you, you sonofabitch," he said. "I hope you're smart enough to take it."

"Excuse me? What the hell is going on here? If this is some sort of joke, I don't like it."

"When you get back to the States, Almond, you will tell

Colonel Graham, won't you, that you checked me out in this aircraft?"

"Who the hell is Colonel Graham?"

"This would be a very bad time for you to try to be clever with me, Almond," Clete said.

"Would you please move that pistol away from me?"

Almond said.

"I'm not pointing it at you," Clete said. "My uncle Jim taught me never to point a pistol at anyone I didn't intend to shoot. And I haven't really made up my mind whether I'm going to shoot you or not, or let you go to the States and have a little chat with Colonel Graham."