you pass him, he’s gone from Rucker, right? So what’s the problem?”
“They also know that Jack, who last week was a PFC, and is now Bellmon’s son-in-law, suddenly shows up as an officer and gets himself rated in just about everything in a Mickey Mouse course.”
“Okay,” Felter said. “And?”
“And now Enrico shows up, to go through another Mickey Mouse course to get himself rated.”
“Go on,” Felter said.
“I happen to know there have been bitches to Bellmon,” Pappy said.
“General Bellmon (a) has orders to give us whatever we need and (b) knows why all of this was necessary,” Felter replied.
“And, being the good guy Bob Bellmon is, he’s prepared to swallow the gossip that he’s giving special treatment to his son-in -law. That hurts him.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lowell said.
“And Bellmon, of course, can’t tell the people who asked him what the hell is going on what’s behind it, and since they don’t know, they can’t explain it to the guys who have been bitching to them, who are understandably pissed. And sooner or later, probably sooner, one of them—maybe three or four of them—are going to go to the IG about it. Then what?”
“Oh, goddamn it!” Lowell said. “I never thought of that.”
The inspector generals of the Army, almost invariably experienced senior officers, are in a sense ombudsmen. They investigate complaints of unfairness, illegality, and so on. They are on the staff of the local commander, but have the authority— and the duty—should the local commander not rectify a situation to their satisfaction, or be at fault himself, to take the issue to higher headquarters, and ultimately to the inspector general of the Army, who takes his orders only from the chief of staff of the Army.
The problem was not that anything Felter had done, including what Pappy called the “Mickey Mouse special courses,” was illegal—he was acting with the authority of the President, the Commander-in-Chief; that was all the authority he needed.
But the inspector general at Rucker would certainly investigate allegations that officers were being rated as aviators without following the regulations prescribing precisely how this should be done, and further, perhaps reluctantly, but with no less dedication, that the commanding general’s son-in-law had been given special treatment.
That meant that at least the IG at Rucker would have to be told of Operation Earnest. It was possible, perhaps even likely, because of the allegations of special treatment of Bellmon’s son-in-law, that he would feel he had to make a report to the IG of the Third U.S. Army, in whose area Fort Rucker was located, and/or to Continental Army Command (CONARC), which supervised all training within the Continental United States. And the IGs at Third Army and CONARC might feel they were obliged to bring the IG of the Army into the loop.
The rule of thumb—too often proven true—for classified matters is that the more people who knew a secret, the greater the chance it would be compromised. It was not that any of the IGs would have loose mouths, but there were other people involved: The junior officers, noncoms, and civilian clerks who would handle the paperwork would also learn what was going on, and experience proved this would be tantamount to unlocking the door on a secret.
“I’m not finished,” Pappy said. “The L-23 Jack and I picked up at Wichita was supposed to go to the commanding general of III Corps at Fort Hood,” Pappy said. “He’s found out he’s not going to get it, and he’s highly pissed.”
“How do you know that?” Lowell asked.
“His aviation officer is an old pal of mine,” Pappy said. “He called me up and said, ‘Pappy, my boss found out you stole his airplane from Wichita, and he wants it back.’”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he said, ‘Bullshit’ and hung up.”
“Great,” Lowell said.
Felter stopped his spoon halfway between his bowl of clam chowder and his mouth.
“This will have to be nipped in the bud,” Felter said calmly. “At both ends. Finton, call Mary Margaret and have her call the chief’s office and ask for an appointment for me at his earliest convenience, and have her prepare a letter, on White House stationery, with the ‘Counselor to the President’ signature block on it, addressed to the commanding generals of Rucker and III Corps stating that Colonel Lowell is dealing with a classified operation at my direction.”
“I’ll go back to the office and do it myself, sir,” Finton said.