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“Lunch?” asked Alton.
“I was thinking about it,” said Cole.
“Anybody expecting you?”
“No, sir.”
“Any urgent appointments this afternoon?”
“Unless they need more debriefing time, sir.”
“Come with me, Coleman.”
A half hour later they were in a Thai restaurant in Old Town Alexandria across the street from the Torpedo Factory. The whole way, Alton had kept up a low-key interrogation. Where were you raised? Any family? Was your father military? Go
od service record—what was your best assignment so far? It was what passed for smalltalk between a general who outranked almost everybody but God and a lowly captain who still had no clue what his assignment at the moment even was.
Only after they ordered did Alton start in on talk that didn’t sound so small anymore.
“So how do you see this whole thing going down, Coleman?”
“Down, sir?” asked Cole. He wasn’t playing dumb, he just wasn’t sure what the general was asking.
“The public crucifixion of Major Malich, Captain Coleman, and the U.S. military.”
“Oh, that,” said Cole. “Well, I’d say it’s right on schedule, sir. We’re at the innuendo stage right now. I give it till tomorrow before the first calls for a congressional investigating committee surface.”
“They’re already calling for that,” said Alton.
“I mean, a committee to investigate Major Malich and me, sir. In particular.”
“And investigate the entire Army,” said Alton. “You and Malich being there yesterday, that’s going to cause the whole Army a shit-load of trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you two hadn’t had to be heroes, if you’d just driven away, your faces wouldn’t be all over the news and you wouldn’t be under suspicion for anything.”
“That didn’t seem like an option at the time, sir,” said Cole.
“Damn straight,” said Alton. “Not an option. You don’t stand by and do nothing while your country is being assaulted and innocent people are getting killed. Well, more or less innocent people.”
Cole didn’t know where he was going with this.
“I didn’t like our President much, to tell you the truth, Coleman. Didn’t trust him. Thought he was a clown. A puppet of the SecDef, God rest his soul. A SecDef who thought he could transform military culture. The two of them, thinking you could wage war like they did it in Vietnam, one hand tied behind our backs. Boots on the ground, kicking down doors, that’s what would have cleaned things up in record time! You can’t subdue an enemy that doesn’t believe you beat them! Not this namby-pamby stuff about going in and making nice-nice with the locals.”
Cole didn’t know how to answer. It was obvious Alton was one of the old school, one of the guys who had no use for the new doctrines. But Cole’s whole military career was built on the new doctrines—small forces that get to know not just the terrain but the people, so that locals start helping you. And Cole believed in it—the idea that you toss out the enemy regime, but do it without alienating the people. Get them to see you as their liberators and protectors, not their conquerors and occupiers. But Alton liked it the old way. And Cole couldn’t see a thing to be gained by arguing with him.
“It’s useful to know the local language,” said Cole.
“The only thing you need to know how to say,” said Alton, “is ‘Put up your hands or I’ll blow your ass to hell.’ ”
Cole tried a little levity. “I can say that in four Middle Eastern languages, sir.”
Alton shook his head. “New model Army. Pure bullshit. But I went along! Civilian control of the military! The Constitution! I believe in it, God help me but I do. The SecDef wants to cripple our Army and the President says to go along, then my job is to implement the emasculation. The gelding.”
“We did some things,” said Cole softly, “that took some balls to do.”
“I’m not talking about you! Or Malich! You did what you were trained and ordered to do and you did it brilliantly. You’re the real thing. Alvin York, Audie Murphy. The guys who get it done. The five percent who actually do the killing and the winning.”
