Command Decision (5 page)

Earlier in his own career Kane had had to make the same essential choice for himself. He had judged that the future lay inside. He had lived through the bitterness of seeing some of the men who stayed out of doors appointed to superior commands which he himself had blueprinted. The lesson had not escaped him, nor had the fact that Garnett was urged upon him and Dennis stubbornly denied him.

He had taken Dennis, and the victory of getting him, as proof of his own power at first. But with Garnett’s consolatory appointment to the Secretaryship of the United Chiefs of Staff the decision had returned to haunt Kane. Confirmation that he was big enough to demand, and get, Dennis had automatically reduced Dennis in his eyes.

For Dennis never would have taken the job with the United Chiefs anyway, and but for Kane’s own choice would by now probably have been safely sidetracked in the Pacific. Whereas Garnett, in the Pentagon, and conscious of Kane’s known refusal of him, was dangerous. His sudden arrival in London on business that Kane instantly recognized as insufficient for an emissary of such weight had given Kane considerable anxiety.

***

Dennis, jumping to attention at Evans’s announcement, saw instantly that Kane was worried about something. He carried his hard, spare figure more jauntily than ever. The ruddy face under the jet-black hair was frozen in the fixed, unnatural smile which the army had once used to adorn recruiting posters. His air of affable, almost exuberant cordiality would have persuaded any stranger, as it was worn to persuade Dennis, that he hadn’t a care in the world. Not until he saw Garnett step through the door after Kane did Dennis understand.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” he said. “If I’d known you were visiting us I’d have been at the gate.”

“Don’t speak of it, Casey, don’t speak of it. Cliff Garnett here wanted to see a real operational headquarters at work so I brought him straight down from London without waiting on protocol. You remember Cliff, of course?”

At another time Dennis might have laughed. Every regular in the army knew that Garnett was the fifth successive General Officer of his name. The Garnett legend had begun at Chapultepec. He and Dennis had been classmates. They had worked together as young men and, with their brides, lived across the fences from each other in the dismal family quarters at Hawaii, in the Philippines, in the Canal Zone. They had run neck and neck for the first silver bar in the class. Dennis had got it. Later they had drifted apart a little. But within the narrow confines of the Corps itself they had remained as aware of each other as vice-presidents in a small firm. Garnett had got his star first but Dennis had the Fifth Division. At least, he reflected, he had had it until now.

“Hello, Casey. You fellows are certainly doing a wonderful job over here.”

He muttered something which he hoped sounded satisfactorily responsive and studied Garnett himself. The Pentagon had washed away the deep tan that had always been Garnett’s peacetime pride. Once he had been assiduous about exercise; now his tailor would have been shocked at the tightness of that excellent uniform. He was not yet fat, but desk work and deprivation of exercise showed quickly on him. Dennis noted with amusement that he had already managed to procure one of the little British sword canes which so delighted some American generals in London. Then with a start Dennis realized he’d been away from the higher echelons too long. Garnett hadn’t had time to procure that toy: Kane had given it to him.

But Kane was now ostentatiously introducing him to a major whom the General presented as his new aide. The handshake was too firm; the face and eyes had already taken on the unctuous familiarity of the job.

“I’m very happy to meet the commander of our famous Fifth Division,” said Major Prescott.

“Have you replaced Major Tailor?”

“For the moment, anyway, sir,” said Prescott. “He went home to do a book and movie on General… that is, on this Air Army, so I’m sort of taking over.”

“And here, Casey,” said Kane, “is my friend Elmer Brockhurst.”

Dennis had been too intent on Garnett to notice that the correspondent had entered, chatting familiarly with Prescott, and now confronted him with an outstretched hand below his faint smile. Dennis ignored the hand.

“General Kane, I’ve refused this man the station for worming operational information out of my people.”

He saw anger flash and then fade, deep under Kane’s blank simulation of a smile.

“Now, my boy, that’s one of the things I’ve come down here about. You and Brockie were both trying to do right and…”

He had been looking about the room as he spoke and his eyes had fallen for the first time on Captain Jenks, waiting at rigid attention. With instant decision Kane left the Brockhurst matter in the silent air which he had known to close over hotter issues than this, and making straight for the Captain he extended a hand, face and voice exuding paternal cordiality.

“Why, Captain Jenks, delighted to see you, my boy.”

Brockhurst watched Dennis almost visibly frosting over as Kane shook hands with the Captain and then, throwing an affectionate arm around his dirty coveralls, led him back to General Garnett.

“Cliff, this is one of our real heroes. I had the pleasure of decorating him with the D.F.C. while Casey was in the hospital a while ago. He’s a Squadron Commander and already has sixteen missions. It is sixteen, isn’t it, Captain?”

“Nineteen now, sir.” Jenks was embarrassed but he was visibly absorbing assurance from General Kane’s patronage.

“Nineteen, eh,” chuckled Kane. “I guess that name on your ship hardly applies any more. Captain Jenks named his Fortress the
Urgent Virgin
, Cliff. Maybe you saw her. Elmer here got us a wonderful spread on her in
Coverage
—three pages and nine pictures.”

Brockhurst now realized that this was indeed the boy on whom he had done the special article. He had begun the assignment with zest and ended it holding his nose. In twelve years of newspaper work he had never seen anyone, from actresses to presidents, as camera conscious as that kid.

At the time he had shrugged and blamed the uniform. Since then he had begun to wonder. The effect of the uniform was illusory; it only intensified what was in the man. Kane’s cunning and Dennis’s inhuman austerity seemed sound examples. He attuned his ears as Kane went on.

“What brings you up to Division Headquarters today, my boy? Are you helping General Dennis here?”

Jenks hesitated: “Not exactly, sir.”

“It’s a disciplinary matter, sir,” said Dennis. “Captain Jenks and I will attend to it later.”

He indicated the door to Jenks, but Kane did not remove the firm arm around the Captain’s shoulder.

“This is what you wanted to see, Cliff, real field problems. Now Casey, you and Captain Jenks carry right on just as if we weren’t here. If there’s one thing I pride myself on it’s not interfering with the vital work of my divisions.”

Dennis looked pointedly from Kane to Brockhurst.

“This is not a matter for the press, sir.”

Evans, watching intently from his post by the door, scowled to himself. Garnett looked like one of the finicky ones to him, and if Dennis were trying to get himself fired he could not have chosen a better way. Kane’s courtship of the press was as notorious throughout the Division as in the Savoy. Evans saw him flush angrily before he addressed Dennis.

“Brockie is a friend of mine, General.” He let this sink in before turning his affability on Jenks again.

“Well, what’s the disciplinary trouble, my boy? Some of those high-spirited young pilots of yours getting out of hand?”

Jenks shuffled his foot through a perceptible silence.

“Perhaps General Dennis will explain, sir.”

“Captain Jenks is under arrest for refusal to fly the mission as ordered this morning, sir,” said Dennis.

2

Dennis had hoped to spare his visitors the pain of the preliminaries in the Jenks case. It would be bad enough for Kane if and when it got up to his level. To have it aired, prematurely, before the press and a visitor, especially a visitor of Garnett’s level, shocked his entire training. He could see that Kane, too late, felt the same way. The truth had hit him like a quirt. He reddened and removed his arm hastily from Jenks’s shoulder before regarding the Captain with reproachful appeal.

“My boy… Captain Jenks… I don’t believe it.”

Of all of them Jenks had had the most preparation. He had known it would have to come out, whether here or later. He spoke quietly, managing an air of patient grievance.

“It’s true, sir, as far as the General went.” Then, boldly, he counterattacked. “Do you know what the target was, General Kane?”

Kane palpably did not. Caught squarely he hesitated and then turned on Brockhurst, his voice weighted with gravity.

“Brockie, I’m afraid there
is
a question of military security if you don’t mind…”

Brockhurst did mind, acutely, but he knew that he could get what he wanted when he had Kane alone. He lingered just long enough to let Kane feel his displeasure and then walked out the anteroom door. As it closed behind him Dennis tried swiftly to cover for Kane, though he well knew that Garnett would not have missed the effect of the Captain’s question. The boy was shrewd; he was going to make the maximum trouble.

“The target was Schweinhafen, sir,” said Dennis.

“
Schweinhafen!
You’ve begun Operation Stitch?”

This was worse and worse. Inwardly Dennis now cursed Jenks for the first time. It was shocking to have Kane in such a position before Garnett, but there was no help for it.

“Began yesterday with Posenleben, sir.”

“POSENLEBEN!” This time they could all see Kane wilt a little under the third blow. “What happened?”

“Excellent results, sir. Over three-quarters total destruction and…”

“I mean what did you lose?”

“Forty, sir.”

“
Forty!
Good God! Does the press know it?”

“They haven’t released it, sir. I put a security blackout on the whole thing as we agreed.”

“Well, that’s something.” He had completely forgotten the presence of Jenks and was slowly regaining some of his composure when the horror of the next thought struck him.

“You didn’t signal Washington, did you?”

This time Dennis had to check his own indignation before speaking.

“Of course not, sir. Routine report to your headquarters only.”

Kane knew they were all studying his agitation now but he had no energy to waste on appearances. As always in crisis he was sorting out the ramifications of the problem in the order of their urgency and importance. Washington was the thing that could not wait. Next he would have to prepare to handle the press. After that would be time enough to hush up the Jenks matter and make whatever explanations might be necessary to Garnett and Dennis.

“Were the claims high, Casey?”

“Very, sir. I was too busy with bomb damage assessment to count them myself but…”

“Have them tabulated at once, by groups, on heavy board, ready to photograph.”

While Dennis was transmitting the order into the Ops room Kane thought rapidly but he knew he was not thinking clearly. There were so many sides to this mess. Jenks, the operation, the press, Washington, Garnett—each place his mind touched seemed hotter. The difficulty fired in him a surging wrath at the injustice of it. No man alive worked harder than he did; this kind of luck haunted him, every stroke of it compounding every other one. He could see that he was going to have to stop and explain to Garnett as he went along. It was unsafe not to. Garnett was already firing his first question at the returning Dennis.

“Would someone mind explaining to a visitor what this Operation Stitch is?”

Dennis hesitated appropriately and then, as Kane kept his abstracted silence, spoke briefly.

“Kind of a three-horse parlay, Cliff. Posenleben, Schweinhafen and”—he glanced pointedly at Jenks and Prescott—“one other.”

“I thought I was reasonably familiar with your directive,” said Garnett. “But I don’t remember those.”

Kane still ignored it. Dennis spoke dryly.

“Some things aren’t in directives, Cliff.”

“Evidently.” Garnett turned squarely to Kane. “I’m surprised that the United Chiefs haven’t been informed of this, General Kane.”

Evans, listening delightedly behind his impassivity, had difficulty in suppressing a start. That guy might look like an actor but nobody spoke to major generals that way by accident. Locking his face muscles he waited for Kane to blast the Brigadier out of the room. Kane turned to Garnett with a rueful, disarming smile.

“I was going to send them a provisional plan but I didn’t know General Dennis intended implementing it so soon.”

Evans saw Dennis stiffen and saw the color change under the thin blond hair at the back of his neck. But it was the Major with the face like a toad’s belly who spoke, ingratiatingly, to Garnett.

“The whole idea was General Dennis’s sir.”

“And I’ll explain it myself, Major,” said Dennis abrasively. “General Kane, do you wish to detain Captain Jenks further, sir?”

Kane wished that Captain Jenks had been stillborn. He had just begun to figure out the line for Washington and the press when this was thrust back into his face. But Garnett was watching this, too, closely.

“Did you go on the mission yesterday, Jenks?”

“I did. It was a bloody massacre. Today will be worse.”

With a spasm Kane realized that this was probably true.

“Any news from today, General Dennis?”

“Strike signal from Colonel Martin, sir. It said: ‘Primary plastered.’”

“I mean about losses.”

“Ted indicated fighting. No details yet, sir.”

Unexpectedly Evans now saw Garnett wheel on Dennis.

“So Ted is flying missions?”

“He led the Division today. Yesterday too.”

He knew only too well what was coming. Garnett’s sister was married, unhappily, to Ted Martin. Dennis had been Martin’s best man. No matter how scrupulously everyone behaved, the alignment of sympathies was obvious. Garnett, with good, reason, worried about the marriage. Dennis hated being dragged into it. But now that Prescott had pulled Kane a little to one side for some detailed reminder Dennis could see Garnett gathering himself for the chance.