"Yes, sir."
"Good hunting, General," the President said. "I don't think I have to tell you to keep me posted, do I?"
"No, sir." [TWO] Office of the Commanding General United States Army Central Command MacDill Air Force Base Tampa, Florida 1710 8 February 2007 By the time of the First Desert War, Allan Naylor was a well-respected major general, obviously destined for greater responsibility and the rank that would come with it. He had been selected to be General H. Norman Schwarzkopf's J-3, the Joint Staff's operations officer.
It was the J-3's responsibility to know what assets-usually meaning which units-were available to his general, and lists were prepared and updated daily that showed the names of the units and of their commanding officers.
One day, as they prepared to strike at Iraqi forces, Naylor had noticed on that day's list, under NEWLY ARRIVED IN THEATRE, the 2303rd Civil Government Detachment.
Lieutenant Colonel Bruce J. McNab was listed as the commanding officer.
Naylor felt a little sorry for McNab for several reasons, including that lieutenant colonel was a pretty junior rank for those who had graduated from the Point, and that command of a civil government detachment was not a highway to promotion. But Naylor also had decided that the lowly status was almost certainly Scotty McNab's own fault. He had always been a troublemaker. And Naylor had heard somewhere and some time ago that McNab had gone into Special Forces-another dead end, usually, for those seeking high rank-and this meant that McNab had somehow screwed up that career, too, the proof being that he now held only the rank of a light bird and was commanding a civil government detachment.
Two days later, the list, under CHANGES, noted: "Change McNab, Bruce J. LTC Inf 2303 CivGovDet to COL, no change in duties."
Naylor had thought that McNab had been lucky the Desert War had come along. Now he would be able to retire as a full bird colonel.
And then the shooting war began, and Major General Naylor gave no further thought to Colonel McNab.
Two days after that, Naylor learned from the public relations officer that in the very opening hours of the active war, the co-pilot of one of the Apache attack helicopters sent in to destroy Iraqi radar and other facilities had performed these duties with extraordinary skill and valor.
The Apache had been struck by Iraqi fire, which wounded both the pilot and co-pilot, blinding the former. A lesser man than the co-pilot would have landed the Apache and waited for help. This one, in the belief the pilot would die unless he got prompt medical attention, flew the battered, smoking, shuddering Apache more than a hundred miles back across the desert to friendly lines, ignoring the wounds he had himself received, and the enormous risk to his own life.
"The G-One, General," the public relations officer said to Naylor, "has approved the Impact Award of the Distinguished Flying Cross for this officer. Can General Schwarzkopf find time to make the presentation personally?"
"Why is that important?"
"The public relations aspect of this, General Naylor, is enormous. Once we release this story-especially with General Schwarzkopf personally making the award-it will be on the front page of every newspaper in America."
"Why enormous?"
"The co-pilot is a twenty-one-year-old second lieutenant, General. He just got out of West Point. And there's more, General, much more!"
The first thing General Naylor thought was: Then Charley Castillo probably knows him. He also just got out of the Point.
That was immediately followed by: What the hell is a twenty-one-year-old second lieutenant months out of Hudson High doing flying an Apache over here?
"What more?" Naylor had asked.
"This kid's father won the Medal of Honor in Vietnam, General, flying a Huey helicopter."
"Colonel, you don't win the Medal of Honor. You receive, are a recipient of, the Medal of Honor," Naylor corrected him in a Pavlovian reaction, and then said, "Let me see that thing."
The name of the officer who had performed so heroically was Second Lieutenant Carlos G. Castillo.
"Where is this officer?" he asked softly.
"In your outer office, sir."
"Get him in here," Naylor ordered.
The hand with which Lieutenant Castillo saluted General Naylor was wrapped in a bloody bandage. Much of his forehead and right cheek carried smaller bandages.
"Good afternoon, sir. Allan said if I had a chance, to pass on his regards."
"Right about now, you were supposed to be starting flight school, basic flight school. How is it you're here, and flying an Apache?"
"Well, when I got to Rucker, it came out that I had a little over three hundred hours in the civilian version of the Huey, so they sent me right to Apache school. And here I am."
Naylor had thought: And damn lucky to be alive.
Questions of personal valor aside, standing before me is a young officer who is blissfully unaware that he has been a pawn in what is obviously a cynical scheme on the part of some senior aviation officers who wanted to garner publicity for Army Aviation-"Son of Vietnam Army Pilot Hero Flies in Iraq"-and turned a blind eye to his lack of experience, and the very good chance that he would be killed.
Goddamn them!
They probably would've liked it better if he had been killed. It would have made a better story for the newspapers: "Son of Hero Pilot Dies Like His Father: In Combat, at the Controls!"
Sonsofbitches!
Ten minutes later, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf agreed with Major General Naylor's assessment of the situation.
"What do you want to do with him, Allan? Send him back to Fort Rucker?"
"That would imply he's done something wrong, sir."
"Then find some nice, safe flying assignment for him," Schwarzkopf said. "Anything else?"
"No, sir. Thank you, sir."
That then posed the problem of where to find a nice, safe flying assignment for Second Lieutenant Castillo out of the reach of glory-seeking Army Aviators. "McNab."
"Allan Naylor, Scotty. How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. How may I serve the general?"
"Tell me, Scotty, are there any Hueys on your T O and E?"
"Somebody told me you're the J-Three. Aren't you supposed to know?"
We may be classmates, but I'm a major general, and you're a just-promoted colonel.
A touch more respect on your part would be in order.
"Answer the question, please."
Scotty McNab affected an officious tone, and said, "Rotary-wing aircraft are essential to the mission of the 2303rd Civil Government Detachment, sir. Actually, sir, we couldn't fulfill the many missions assigned to us in the area of civil government without them. Yes, sir, I have a couple of Hueys."
"Colonel, a simple 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' would have sufficed," Naylor snapped.
"Yes, sir."
By then Naylor had been half-convinced that McNab's disrespectful attitude was induced by alcohol. He had an urge to simply hang up on him, but that would not have solved the problem of finding Second Lieutenant Castillo a nice, safe flying assignment.
"I'm about to send you a Huey pilot, Colonel. A Huey co-pilot."
"What did he do wrong?"
"Excuse me?"
"What did this guy do to get banished to civil government?"
"As a matter of fact, Colonel, this officer was decorated not more than an hour ago by General Schwarzkopf with the Distinguished Flying Cross," Naylor said sharply. He heard his tone, got control of himself, and went on: "The thing is, Scotty, this officer is very young, has been through a harrowing experience, has been wounded, and what I was thinking…"
"Got the picture. Send him down. Glad to have him."
"Thanks, Scotty."
"Think 'Civil Government,' General. That's what we're really all about." Not long after the shooting war had ended, Schwarzkopf's aide-de-camp arrived in Naylor's office, and announced: "General Schwarzkopf asks you to be in his office at 1500, when he will decorate Colonel McNab, General. You're friends, right?"