Word of Honor (39 page)

COMMAND GROUP. He pulled into a visitor parking slot and shut off the engine. The building was a two-story rectangular redbrick affair, nearly indistinguishable from a 1950s elementary school.

Tyson straightened his tie, took his attach6 case, and got out of the car.

His knee was stiff, and he was aware that he was dragging his leg. He entered through glass doors into a hallway of painted cement block, further reinforcing his impression of an institution of lower education. The asphalt tile floor, however, was polished to a luster found only in military establishments.

Tyson approached a sort of ticket window on the righthand wall. A duty sergeant, another young woman, looked up from her desk and came to the window. "Yes, Sir?"

Tyson passed his orders through the opening. The young sergeant looked at the name. "Oh.

"Am I expected?"

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"Yes, Sir, we've been expecting you." She hesitated and noted his civilian attire but said nothing. Tyson thought that reporting without uniform was the least of his problems today. The woman slid a sign-in book across the counter along with a black government ballpoint pen. Tyson hesitated, then took the pen and signed in. The pen clotted and skipped.

The duty sergeant said, "Welcome to Fort Hamilton, Lieutenant." She handed him back his orders. "Please proceed to the adjutant's office, up the stairs to the right."

"Thank you."

"Yes, Sir."

At least, he thought as he walked, no one here said, "Have a good day."

That alone might be recompense for this whole niess. He climbed the stairs and came to an open door above which was a sign that said ADJUTANT. He entered a small outer office staffed by four young soldiers: two male, two female. He found the sight of all these female personnel more than slightly disorienting. Still, the presence of women lent a little reality to what he remembered as an unnatural environment.

One of the young men, a specialist four, stood at his desk. "Can I help you?"

"Lieutenant Benjamin Tyson to see the adjutant."

He looked over Tyson's shoulder as though trying to spot the officer, then looked at Tyson. "Oh! Yes."

"Right. " Tyson was aware that the other people in the room were stealing glances at him. Tyson handed the young man his orders. The man said,

"Please follow me, Lieutenant. "

Tyson followed him into a small office that was marked CAPTAIN S. HODGES, ASSISTANT ADJUTANT. The office was sparsely furnished and sparsely populated. In fact, there was nobody there.

The soldier said, "I'll let the adjutant know you're here. You can wait here in the captain's office." The man went through a communicating door into another office.

Tyson went to the window behind the desk. He could see the great bridge, its massive gray steel piers rising up from the north end of the post and completely dominating the skyline. Across the Narrows, a mile away where the bridge

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was anchored on the far shore of Staten Island, was Fort Wadsworth, which, like Hamilton, held an old coastal artillery battery, built to protect the sea approaches to New York Harbor. National defense, reflected Tyson, had been simpler in the last century; an enemy warship sailed toward the Narrows, and just in case there was any doubt if it was friend or foe, the ship considerately flew the enemy flag. The coastal guns fired. The ship fired back. The stone forts were picturesque, and so were the ships.

Defending New York Harbor, he thought, must have been a piece of cake.

The communicating door to the next office opened, and an officer strode into the room. "Tyson?"

Tyson turned from the window. His eyes took in the pertinent information to be gleaned from the uniform: The name tag said Hodges, rank of captain; branch, Adjutant General Corps; awards and decorations, none. Tyson noticed the West Point ring. The man was in his middle twenties, his bearing was too stiff, and he wore a rather unpleasant, almost nasty expression. Tyson did not like the way the man had addressed him and had the urge to bury his fist in the captain's supercilious face. Tyson hesitated, then with great and obvious reluctance, came to a position of attention and saluted.

"Sir, Lieutenant Tyson reports."

Hodges returned the salute perfunctorily, then ruffled the papers in his hand. "It says here you are to report in uniform. I I

"I don't own a uniform."

"Do you know a barber?"

"Yes ... yes, sir. "

"How dare you report like that?" He jabbed a finger in Tyson's direction.

Tyson did not reply.

"Well?"

"No excuse, sir."

"I should think not." Captain Hodges seemed to realize that Tyson was actually standing behind Hodges's desk while Hodges was standing in front of it. He said, "Stand over here. " He switched places with Tyson, then sat in his swivel chair. He said, "Before you report to the adjutant, I want you in proper uniform and your hair cut to regulation length. "

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"I'd like to see the adjutant now."

Hodges's face reddened. "What?"

"Captain, I have until midnight to report for active duty. This is an unofficial call. I would like a word with the adjutant. "

Hodges seemed to be processing the protocol of such a request. He stared at Tyson.

Tyson stared back.

Hodges nodded to himself as though coming to the conclusion that it might not be a bad idea for Tyson to make a negative impression on the adjutant.

He stood. "Wait here." Hodges disappeared into the adjoining office.

Tyson let out a long breath. He had sudden and vivid fantasies of perpetrating ingenious acts of violence on the person of Captain S. Hodges.

But in a way he had provoked the man by his appearance. Tyson may as well have shown up barefoot in dirty jeans and wearing shoulder-length hair and a T-shirt that said FUCK THE ARMY. Still Hodges had not displayed even a modicum of the military courtesy that was due an officer of lower rank.

Tyson looked around the sparse office. Hanging on the walls were Hodges's West Point diploma, his commission, and a few certificates of completed courses. Tyson also noticed a framed paper with typing on it and came closer to it. It was headed, "An Excerpt from General MacArthur's Farewell Speech at West Point." Tyson read:

The shadows are lengthening for me. The twilight is here. My days of old have vanished tone and tint; they have gone glimmering through the dreams of things that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears, and coaxed and caressed by the smiles of yesterday. I listen vainly for the witching melody of faint bugles blowing reveille, of far drums beating the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.

But in the evening of my memory, always I come back to West Point. Always there echoes and re-echoes Duty-Honor--Country.

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Today marks my final roll call with you, but I want you to know that when I cross the river my last conscious thoughts will be of The Corps, and The Corps, and The Corps. I bid you farewell.

Tyson turned away from the wall and stared through the window. "Yes, all right. I see." Captain Hodges, young West Pointer, about ten years old at the time of the Tet Offensive, considered Benjamin J. Tyson a disgrace to the Corps, to the nation, and to humanity.

Tyson thought about that, putting himself in Captain Hodges's place, and found himself disliking Benjamin Tyson. I understand, he thought. And I'm relieved to have finally found some overt moral outrage. He suspected he would run into more professional soldiers like Captain Hodges before this was ended. The Army was much tougher on its own than civilians could ever be.

The door opened and Hodges snapped, "The colonel will see you now. "

Tyson replied, "Thank you, Captain."

Hodges stood at the door as Tyson entered the adjutant's office. Tyson strode in and stopped, as was customary, in the center of the room facing the desk. He saluted. "Sir, Lieutenant Tyson reports. I I The colonel returned the salute from a sitting position but said nothing.

Tyson heard Hodges's footsteps retreating behind him and heard the door close. Tyson, while keeping head and eyes straight ahead, managed to see the person to whom he was reporting. The adjutant was a rather stocky man, about fifty years of age, and what was left of his hair was gray. His face was doughy, and his jowls hung like pancake batter. Tyson realized he didn't even know the man's name, and what was more, he didn't care to.

At length the colonel said, "Sit down, Lieutenant."

Tyson sat in a chair opposite the desk. "Thank you, sir. "

Tyson did not overtly look around at the office, nor would he do that in civilian life. He did note, however, that the room was spartan: a steel-gray desk, a number

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of vinyl chairs, blinds on the windows, and gray asphalt tile on the floor. The walls were the same cream-painted cement block as the rest of the building. Tyson recalled his office at Peregrine-Osaka with more fondness than he'd felt for it while he was there. This office, however, did have something his did not: The wall behind the desk was covered with military memorabilia, photos, certificates, and other symbols of recognition and accomplishment. Tyson realized that he could finally hang his framed military certificates in his new office. He also realized he wasn't going to.

The adjutant inquired, "Have you been to Hamilton before?"

The man's voice was gravelly, and the stink of cigar smoke that permeated the room was a clue why. Tyson replied, "No, Sir."

"Had no trouble finding us, did you?"

"No, sir. " Tyson looked at him. He saw that the man wore the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel, not the eagles of a full colonel. Tyson's eyes went to the black name tag over the right pocket: Levin. Tyson looked at the desk nameplate. LTC Mortimer Levin.

Colonel Levin said bluntly, "Are you surprised to find a Jew sitting here?"

Tyson thought of several possible replies but none that would do him any good, so he said, "Sir?" which was the military way of responding to a superior officer without responding.

Colonel Levin grunted and stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth. "This, I take it, is a social call."

"Yes, Sir. I meant to report in. But I had second thoughts after meeting Captain Hodges."

"I'm sure he had second thoughts after meeting you."

Tyson cleared his throat. "Colonel, I'm considering registering an official complaint, under . . . I believe it's Article 138 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, with respect to my treatment by Captain Hodges."

"Are you?" The colonel nodded appreciatively. "A good defense is an aggressive offense. Well, don't try to confuse the issues, Tyson. Why don't you just invite Captain Hodges to meet you in the basement of the gym? That's where I

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like to see officers talk over their differences. Five rounds, sixteen-ounce gloves, referee must be present."

Tyson looked the colonel in the eyes and saw the man was not being glib or facetious. Tyson replied, "I may do that. "

"Good. Listen, Tyson, it is my duty as adjutant to say welcome to Fort Hamilton and to arrange for you to meet Colonel Hill, the post commander.

But in candor, Lieutenant Tyson, Colonel Hill does not want you here and would rather not meet you. So don't embarrass everyone by asking to meet him. And don't show up at social events that by custom you will be invited to. Please arrange to mess separately. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. "

Levin tugged at his jowl and seemed to be thinking. He looked at Tyson.

"Let's say you are reporting in now so you don't have to come back later in uniform. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Levin shuffled some papers on his desk and found what he was looking for.

"Your special instructions said you were to bring your passport. Did you do that?"

Tyson hesitated, then replied, "Yes, sir."

Colonel Levin extended his hand across the desk. "May I see it?"

Tyson reached into his breast pocket and drew out his passport. He put it in Colonel Levin's open hand.

Levin laid it on the desk and flipped through it. "You've been around."

"Yes, sir. "

Levin dropped the passport into his top drawer and shut it. He folded his hands on the desk and regarded Tyson.

Tyson said, "By what authority are you taking my passport?"

Levin shrugged. "Beats me. Those are my orders. Take it up with the State Department or the Justice Department. You can have it back for authorized travel." He added, "I have instructions from the Pentagon assigning you temporarily to my office. So for the time being I am your commanding officer. However, I don't think You will want to share space with Captain Hodges, so I will try to find something for you to do away from this building."

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"Yes, Sir."

Levin took a deep asthmatic breath and said, "Is there anything you might be interested in doing on this post?"

Tyson found himself replying in an irritated voice. "Not a thing."

Levin's doughy face seemed to harden, then soften again. He finally lit his cigar and blew a puff of smoke into the air. "The Army," said Levin, "gave me a few special instructions. I am to assign you a duty commensurate with your abilities and experience. " Levin tapped the thick personnel file.

"You were an infantry officer."

"For less than two years-a long time ago. Most recently I was a vice-president of a large aerospace corporation."

"Is that a fact?" Levin tapped his cigar into a coffee mug. "We'll find something for you. By the way, do you know how much you make? Now, I mean."

"No, Sir. "

"You make $1,796 a month. Does this recall to duty impose an undue financial hardship on you?"

"One might say that. In fact, Sir, if this tour of duty lasts very long I may have to sell my house."

Levin rubbed his jowls, then said, "I don't think this tour of duty will last very long. But please keep me informed regarding your financial situation."