the radio, the incredulity in Craig’s voice was clear.
“Yeah, it’s over. The good guys won. Colonel Coizi’s taking me back to George in the jeep. Any chance you could pick me up there and get me out of here?”
“I’ve got one of the new pilots with me. I’ll have to take him to Woolworth and then come back for you.”
“Please,” Thomas said.
“On my way,” Geoff replied. “Birddog out.”
“Hunter out,” Thomas said, and turned off his radio.
[ TWO ]
Apartment 8-D, The Immoquateur
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
1625 9 April 1965
Master Sergeant William Thomas, Special Forces Detachment 17, was sitting, in his underwear, on a chaise lounge on the balcony of the apartment. There was a bottle of Martel cognac on the floor beside him, but no glass. It was therefore apparent to Major George Washington Lunsford when he stepped onto the balcony that Doubting Thomas had been imbibing from the neck of the Martel bottle, and equally apparent that he had done so a great many times.
“Getting a head start on the cocktail hour, are you?” Lunsford asked.
He had more or less expected Thomas to hit the bottle. “Doubting Thomas” had earned the sobriquet in Vietnam, not as any kind of reference to Saint Thomas, who had doubted Jesus’s resurrection until he had proof of it, but rather because he was given to sometimes nearly immobilizing pre- and post-operation introspection. Why are we doing this? Why is Bill Thomas doing this? Why did we do this? Why did Bill Thomas do this?
But the operative word is “nearly,” Lunsford thought. Thomas has never failed to perform, most often superbly, whatever he’s been ordered to do. But before he did it, and after, he was often emotionally torn up.
No one had ever mocked him—beyond the sobriquet—and Lunsford had often wondered whether this was because Thomas was a genuinely tough sonofabitch, whom anyone with sense would not intentionally cross, or because everyone seemed to understand, even respect, his doubts, even if they didn’t share them themselves.
“I think I’ll pass on the cocktail hour, thank you just the same, Major, sir,” Thomas said, carefully pronouncing each syllable.
“Take a look at this, will you?” Lunsford said, handing him a sheet of typewriter paper. Thomas took it, and with a visible effort, focused his eyes on it. “I need to get it out on the next satellite. ”
SECRET
HELP0025 1600 ZULU 9 APRIL 1965
VIA WHITE HOUSE SIGNAL AGENCY
FROM: HELPER SIX
TO: EARNEST SIX
AFTER ACTION REPORT #2
REFERENCE MAP BAKER 08
1. REFERENCE MY HELP 0022 6 APRIL.
2. AT APPROXIMATELY 1600 ZULU 8 APRIL 1965 MSGT WILLIAM THOMAS WHILE ADVISING A CONGOLESE RECONNAISSANCE UNIT LOCATED THE SIMBA FORCE WHICH OVERRAN OUTPOST GEORGE. AT THE TIME OF DETECTION THE SIMBA FORCE CONSISTED OF APPROXIMATELY FORTY-FIVE (45) ARMED MALES AND FIFTEEN (15) ARMED FEMALES AND WAS APPROXIMATELY FIFTEEN (15) KILOMETERS DUE EAST OF OUTPOST GEORGE. THEY WERE HERDING SIX (6) HEAD OF CATTLE STOLEN FROM THE DESERTED CATTLE RANCH AT OUTPOST GEORGE.
3. AT APPROXIMATELY 0400 ZULU 9 APRIL 1965 A CONGOLESE REACTION FORCE OF APPROXIMATELY TWENTY (20) MEN COMMANDED BY LT COL HENRI COIZI AND ADVISED BY MSGT THOMAS MADE THEIR PRESENCE KNOWN TO THE SIMBA FORCE AND CALLED FOR THEIR SURRENDER. THE SIMBA FORCE RESPONDED WITH AUTOMATIC SMALL ARMS FIRE, AND THE REACTION FORCE ENGAGED. A FIREFIGHT LASTING APPROXIMATELY FIFTEEN (15) MINUTES ENSUED.
4. LOSSES TO THE REACTION FORCE: ZERO (0) KIA; ZERO (0) WIA
5. LOSSES TO THE SIMBA FORCE THIRTY EIGHT (38) MALE KIA; ZERO (0) FEMALE KIA UNKNOWN WIA.
6. WEAPONS RECOVERED FROM SIMBA FORCE: 41 RIFLES OF VARIOUS MANUFACTURE, INCLUDING M- 14 KNOWN TO BE IN POSSESSION OF SFC WITHERS AT OUTPOST GEORGE; 34 HANDGUNS OF VARIOUS MANUFACTURE, INCLUDING 1911A1 .45 PISTOL KNOWN TO BE IN POSSESSION OF SFC WITHERS AT OUTPOST GEORGE. IN ADDITION, FIVE HEAD OF CATTLE WERE RECOVERED.
HELPER SIX
SECRET
“That about cover it, Bill?” Father asked when Thomas looked up at him.
“Why not?”
“Is it accurate, or isn’t it? Should I have it sent as is, or not?”
“You left out that Colonel Coizi hung the sergeant who ran off on Withers,” Thomas said.
“We weren’t involved in that,” Father said, “or were we?”
“What they did was make a noose of commo wire—”
“We weren’t involved, were we, Bill?”
“Coizi made me watch,” Thomas said. “They made a loop of commo wire and hung that from a tree. Then they backed a truck up under it, put the poor bastard on the truck, put his head in the noose, and drove the truck away. It didn’t break his neck, and it wasn’t even doing a