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“What did this guy do to get banished to civil government?”
“As a matter of fact, Colonel, this officer was decorated not more than an hour ago by General Schwarzkopf with the Distinguished Flying Cross,” Naylor said sharply. He heard his tone, got control of himself, and went on: “The thing is, Scotty, this officer is very young, has been through a harrowing experience, has been wounded, and what I was thinking ...”
“Got the picture. Send him down. Glad to have him.”
“Thanks, Scotty.”
“Think ‘Civil Government,’ General. That’s what we’re really all about.”
Not long after the shooting war had ended, Schwarzkopf’s aide-de-camp arrived in Naylor’s office, and announced: “General Schwarzkopf asks you to be in his office at 1500, when he will decorate Colonel McNab, General. You’re friends, right?”
“Colonel McNab is to be decorated? With what? For what?”
“With the Distinguished Service Cross, General. And afterward, the President’s going to call to offer his congratulations on his promotion. The Senate just confirmed his star.”
“Jack, are we talking about Colonel McNab of Civil Government?”
“Well, sir, that’s what they called it. But that’s not what it really was.”
“Excuse me? If it wasn’t Civil Government, what was it?”
“Sir, maybe you better ask General Schwarzkopf about that.”
At 1445, General Naylor went into General Norman Schwarzkopf’s office and confessed that he was more than a little confused about Colonel McNab’s 2303rd Civil Government Detachment and what he had been told was to happen at 1500.
“You weren’t on the need-to-know list, Allan,” Stormin’ Norman said. “I told McNab I thought you should be, but he said if he ever needed anything from you, he’d tell you what he was up to. And it was his call. My orders were to support him, but he didn’t answer to me. He took his orders from the CIA.”
“Sir, what was he up to?”
“He ran Special Operations for the campaign. And did one hell of a job. They grabbed two intact Scud missiles and a half-dozen Russian officers—including two generals—who were showing the Iraqis how to work them. Embarrassed the hell out of the Russians. There was a lot more, but you don’t have the need-to-know. I’m sure you understand.”
Naylor understood, but that was not the same as saying he liked being kept in the dark.
At 1500, Colonel Bruce J. McNab, followed by Second Lieutenant Castillo, marched into General Schwarzkopf’s office, came to attention, and saluted. Allan Naylor could not believe his eyes.
Colonel McNab was a small, muscular, ruddy-faced man with a flowing red mustache. He wore aviator sunglasses, a mostly unbuttoned khaki bush jacket with its sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts, knee-length brown socks, and hunting boots. On his head was an Arabian headdress, circled with two gold cords, which Naylor had recently learned indicated the wearer was an Arabian nobleman. An Uzi submachine gun hung by a strap from his shoulder.
Castillo was similarly dressed, except he had no gold cords on his headdress, and he had a Colt CAR-15 submachine gun slung from his shoulder.
“What the hell are you two dressed up for, Scotty?” General Schwarzkopf asked.
“Sir, I researched what Lawrence of Arabia actually wore during his campaigns in the desert—and it was not flowing robes—and adopted it for me and my aide-to-be.”
“It’s a good thing the press isn’t here,” Schwarzkopf said. “They’d have a field day with you two.”
Schwarzkopf offered his hand to Castillo.
&nbs
p; “Good to see you again, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“And speaking of Lieutenant Castillo,” McNab said, and handed Schwarzkopf two oblong blue medal boxes. “These are for him. I’m sure he’d rather get them from you, sir.”
“What are they?”
“The Silver Star for the business with the Russian generals. And the Purple Heart, second and third awards.”
