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. Then Charley Castillo probably knows him. He also just got out of the Point.

That was immediately followed by: What the h.e.l.l is a twenty-one-year-old second lieutenant months out of Hudson High doing flying an Apache over here? What the h.e.l.l 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 receive, are a recipient a recipient of, the Medal of Honor," Naylor corrected him in a Pavlovian reaction, and then said, "Let me see that thing." 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 b.l.o.o.d.y bandage. Much of his forehead and right cheek carried smaller bandages.

"Good afternoon, sir. Allan said if I had a chance, to pa.s.s 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 d.a.m.n lucky to be alive. And d.a.m.n 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 p.a.w.n 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.

G.o.dd.a.m.n 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!"

Sonsofb.i.t.c.hes!

Ten minutes later, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf agreed with Major General Naylor's a.s.sessment 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 a.s.signment for him," Schwarzkopf said. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir."

That then posed the problem of where to find a nice, safe flying a.s.signment 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 cla.s.smates, 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 a.s.signed 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 att.i.tude 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 a.s.signment.

"I'm about to send you a Huey pilot, Colonel. A Huey co-pilot 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?"

"Colonel McNab is to be decorated? With what? For what?"

"With the Distinguished Service Cross, General. And afterward, the President's going to call to offer his congratulations on his promotion. The Senate just confirmed his star."

"Jack, are we talking about Colonel McNab of Civil Government?"

"Well, sir, that's what they called it. But that's not what it really was."

"Excuse me? If it wasn't Civil Government, what was it?"

"Sir, maybe you better ask General Schwarzkopf about that."

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At 1445, General Naylor went into General Norman Schwarzkopf's office and confessed that he was more than a little confused about Colonel McNab's 2303rd Civil Government Detachment and what he had been told was to happen at 1500.

"You weren't on the need-to-know list, Allan," Stormin' Norman said. "I told McNab I thought you should be, but he said if he ever needed anything from you, he'd tell you what he was up to. And it was his call. My orders were to support him, but he didn't answer to me. He took his orders from the CIA."

"Sir, what was he up to?"

"He ran Special Operations for the campaign. And did one h.e.l.l of a job. They grabbed two intact Scud missiles and a half-dozen Russian officers-including two generals-who were showing the Iraqis how to work them. Embarra.s.sed the h.e.l.l out of the Russians. There was a lot more, but you don't have the need-to-know. I'm sure you understand."

Naylor understood, but that was not the same as saying he liked being kept in the dark.

At 1500, Colonel Bruce J. McNab, followed by Second Lieutenant Castillo, marched into General Schwarzkopf's office, came to attention, and saluted. Allan Naylor could not believe his eyes.

Colonel McNab was a small, muscular, ruddy-faced man with a flowing red mustache. He wore aviator sungla.s.ses, a mostly unb.u.t.toned khaki bush jacket with its sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts, knee-length brown socks, and hunting boots. On his head was an Arabian headdress, circled with two gold cords, which Naylor had recently learned indicated the wearer was an Arabian n.o.bleman. An Uzi submachine gun hung by a strap from his shoulder.

Castillo was similarly dressed, except he had no gold cords on his headdress, and he had a Colt CAR-15 submachine gun slung from his shoulder.

"What the h.e.l.l are you two dressed up for, Scotty?" General Schwarzkopf asked.

"Sir, I researched what Lawrence of Arabia actually wore during his campaigns in the desert-and it was not flowing robes-and adopted it for me and my aide-to-be."

"It's a good thing the press isn't here," Schwarzkopf said. "They'd have a field day with you two."

Schwarzkopf offered his hand to Castillo.

"Good to see you again, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"And speaking of Lieutenant Castillo," McNab said, and handed Schwarzkopf two oblong blue medal boxes. "These are for him. I'm sure he'd rather get them from you, sir."

"What are they?"

"The Silver Star for the business with the Russian generals. And the Purple Heart, second and third awards."

"I sent him to you, Scotty," Naylor heard himself say, "to get him out of the line of fire."

"Didn't work out that way, General," McNab said. "Charley's a warrior."

"I have General McNab for you, sir," Command Sergeant Major Wes Suggins, the senior noncommissioned officer of the United States Central Command, announced to General Naylor from the office door.

Naylor gave him a thumbs-up gesture and s.n.a.t.c.hed the secure telephone from his desk.

"Good evening, sir," Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, commanding general of the Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, said cheerfully. "And how are things on beautiful Tampa Bay?"

"General, I want you in my office at oh-seven-thirty tomorrow," Naylor said.

"Perhaps, if I may make the suggestion, sir, your quarters would be a better place to meet, sir," McNab said. "I suspect we are going to say unkind things to one another, and that sometimes adversely affects the morale of your gnomes."

"Oh-seven-thirty, General," Naylor said, coldly furious. "My office, and leave your wisea.s.s mouth at Bragg."

"I hear and obey, my general," McNab said cheerfully.

Naylor slammed the secure telephone into its cradle.