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Why do I know telling him to do that was a mistake?
The answer came immediately.
“Good evening, sir,” the voice of the commanding general of XVIII Airborne Corps, Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, boomed over the speaker. “My delay in getting to the telephone was caused by an irresistible summons of nature. My apologies, sir.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me, General,” Naylor said, his annoyance audible in his voice.
“You’re most welcome, sir,” McNab said, brightly.
“Goddammit, Scotty, do you always have to be such a wiseass?” Naylor flared.
Naylor was immediately sorry and embarrassed.
“If the general has in any way offended the general, sir,” McNab said, sounding very much like a West Point plebe answering the wrath of an upperclassman, “the general is sorry. Sir.”
When Naylor glanced at the others, Sergeant Major Suggins was studying the ceiling, General McFadden the floor, and General Potter his wristwatch.
Sonofabitch!
“Scotty, do you know where Abéché, Chad, is?” Naylor asked.
“One moment, sir,” McNab said.
Everyone heard what sounded like fingers snapping. Ten seconds later, General McNab went on.
“Sir, Abéché, Chad, is in a remote section of the country. The coordinates are 13.50.49 north latitude . . .”
“I know where it is, Scotty,” Naylor interrupted. “The question was, ‘Do you know?’ A simple ‘Yes, sir’ would have sufficed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is a possibility that the 727 stolen from Luanda, Angola, is, or was, there.”
“There’s a 9,200-foot runway, more than enough for a 727. What’s your source?”
Naylor did not answer the question. Instead, he asked, “How soon could you get someone in there to find out for sure, Scotty?”
“Sir, black or out in the open?”
“Under the circumstances, General, I don’t believe we’ll have time to enter into any diplomatic negotiations with anyone, ” Naylor said.
Everyone heard, faintly but clearly, General McNab issue an order. “Tommy, sound boots and saddles for Gray Fox.”
Then, more clearly, they heard General McNab say, “I understand, sir. Sir, how much support may I expect?”
“What do you need, Scotty?”
“I’d like something available to back up the C-22.”
C-22 is the USAF designation for the Boeing 727-100. Ostensibly, all of them are assigned to the Air National Guard. One, however—with a number of modifications—is kept in a closely guarded hangar at Pope Air Force Base, which adjoins Fort Bragg.
“You intend to fly into Abéché?” Naylor blurted.
“No, sir. What I have in mind is Royal Air Maroc flying over Abéché at 35,000 feet,” McNab said, his tone suggesting he was talking to a backward child. “Royal Air Maroc, you know, has permission to overfly all those unfriendly countries between Morocco and Saudi Arabia.”
What he did not say, but which everyone at the table understood, was that McNab intended to parachute people from his 727 onto the Abéché airfield.
“You think that’ll do it, Scotty?”
