The Assassination Option (Clandestine Operations 2)

“If that’s a roster of some kind,” Cronley said, “I don’t think we’re on it.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the lieutenant said. “I didn’t see the patch.”

What the hell is he talking about?

“‘Hell on Wheels’ comrades are in the rear rank of those greeting General White,” the lieutenant said. “Senior officers and personal friends are in the first rank. If you’ll follow the sergeant, please?”

Aha! He saw the 2nd Armored patch on Tiny’s shoulder. That’s what he’s talking about!

They followed the sergeant with the clipboard toward the reception area.

There they were met by a Constabulary major.

They exchanged salutes.

“Hell on Wheels comrades in the rear rank, by rank,” the major said, pointing to two ranks of people lined up.

“Yes, sir,” Tiny said. “Thank you, sir.”

I think I have this ceremony figured out.

Majors and up and personal friends are in the front row.

Anybody who served under General White in the 2nd “Hell on Wheels” Armored Division is a “comrade”—which, considering our relationship with the Soviet Union, seems to be an unfortunate choice of words—and is in the rear row.

Tiny belongs in the front row, and I don’t belong here at all, but this is not the time to bring that up.

What I’ll try to do is pass myself off as a comrade.

They found themselves about three-quarters of the way down the rear rank, between a major wearing a 2nd Armored Division patch and a first sergeant. Cronley guessed there were forty-odd, maybe fifty-odd, people in each rank.

They had just taken their positions when a Douglas C-54 transport with MILITARY AIR TRANSPORT SERVICE lettered along its fuselage taxied up. In the side window of the cockpit was a red plate with two silver stars on it.

The band started playing.

That’s “Garry Owen.” The song of the 7th Cavalry Regiment.

I know that because I was trained to be a cavalry officer and they played it often enough at College Station to make us aware of our cavalry heritage.

And where I learned that the 7th Cavalry, Brevet Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer commanding, got wiped out to the last man at the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

I’ve never quite figured out how getting his regiment wiped out to the last man made Custer a hero.

The mobile stairs were rolled up to the rear door of the C-54.

The door opened.

A woman with a babe in arms appeared in the doorway, and then started down the stairs.

She was followed by fifteen more women, and about that many officers and non-coms, who were quickly ushered into the buses waiting for them.

Clever intelligence officer that I am, I deduce that the airplane’s primary purpose was to fly dependents over here. Dependents and officers and non-coms who were needed here as soon as possible. General White was just one more passenger.

Is there a first-class compartment on Air Force transports?

The procession came to an end.

The band stopped playing.