ALOYSIUS, CHAIRMAN of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, rang the doorbell of a small duplex apartment a couple of blocks from the campus of Georgetown University. In a few moments, a slight man in his early eighties, wearing rimless glasses, and an ancient, moth-eaten, wool sweater, opened the door, holding a copy of volume one of Shelby Foote’s
Civil War
in his left hand, his thumb marking his place near the middle of the book.
“Come in, general. It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Professor Strube,” General Aloysius said.
“I have started researching the topics you asked me about, general, but I am only in the preliminary stages,” Professor Strube said as soon as they sat down in his study where bookshelves, crammed to over-flowing with classic tomes of American and world history, covered all the windows.
“I’m not trying to rush you, professor. I mainly wanted to visit with you in broad terms about the unique historical circumstance in which we find ourselves.”
“Such turmoil as we now endure will either make us stronger or rip our form of government to pieces,” the old scholar said. “A lot depends on how the military responds,” he added, looking Aloysius straight in the eye.
“That’s why I love talking with you, professor. You don’t cut me any slack or pull your punches. I get tired of everybody sucking up to me.”
The chairman paused for a minute, lost in thought.
“I have no doubt that the military will follow the President’s lead, for the most part. But there are always those in the wings whose ambitions can override their good judgment,” Aloysius said.
“I don’t envy your position, Sherman, but you must keep tight reigns on those under your command. I am certain we will not descend into anarchy. That’s not the question. Rather, I fear a splintering of the union the likes of which we haven’t seen in a hundred and fifty years.”
“Let’s hope and pray that it doesn’t come to that,” the warrior said, slumping slightly in his chair as if a great weight had descended on him.
“Bascom Whitfield may be the next Abraham Lincoln,” Strube said.
“Or the next Jefferson Davis,” Aloysius said.
The two men visited for an hour before the chairman excused himself, donned his overcoat and walked out into the darkness of evening.
He marched deep into the night, ineluctably drawn to the National Mall. As he walked lap after lap, he detoured along the way to the memorials of fallen American soldiers from World War II, Korea and Vietnam, constantly glancing to see if the lights illuminating the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial or the Capitol, were still shining, wondering how long it would be before they gasped their last breaths and flickered out forever.
CHAPTER 5
“WHAT IN THE hell are we supposed to be able to advise the President of United States about?” Leadoff Pickens asked Ert over breakfast at the Ritz Carlton on their second morning in Washington.
“He wants to know he has someone around him he can trust. That goes a long way,” Ert replied as he leaned his elbow on the table and looked down at his bowl of oatmeal. “Besides, we have spent our lives studying people and making decisions based on our observations. Our instincts have always served us well. Why should we doubt them now?”
Leadoff paused a few beats and began the interrogation again. “You said you and he went back a ways. What’s the story?”
“Bass and I were at A&M together in the 1970s,” Ert said. “We met at new student orientation in an auditorium filled with a thousand new recruits, ninety percent guys. I sat down next to him, shook his hand and asked him if he wanted to ditch orientation and drive up to Austin to look at some college girls. Fifteen minutes later, we were in my ‘65 Ford pickup on the highway to the state capital. We were running buddies for the next four years,” Ert said.
“Sounds like a real intellectual
Civil War
in his left hand, his thumb marking his place near the middle of the book.
“Come in, general. It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Professor Strube,” General Aloysius said.
“I have started researching the topics you asked me about, general, but I am only in the preliminary stages,” Professor Strube said as soon as they sat down in his study where bookshelves, crammed to over-flowing with classic tomes of American and world history, covered all the windows.
“I’m not trying to rush you, professor. I mainly wanted to visit with you in broad terms about the unique historical circumstance in which we find ourselves.”
“Such turmoil as we now endure will either make us stronger or rip our form of government to pieces,” the old scholar said. “A lot depends on how the military responds,” he added, looking Aloysius straight in the eye.
“That’s why I love talking with you, professor. You don’t cut me any slack or pull your punches. I get tired of everybody sucking up to me.”
The chairman paused for a minute, lost in thought.
“I have no doubt that the military will follow the President’s lead, for the most part. But there are always those in the wings whose ambitions can override their good judgment,” Aloysius said.
“I don’t envy your position, Sherman, but you must keep tight reigns on those under your command. I am certain we will not descend into anarchy. That’s not the question. Rather, I fear a splintering of the union the likes of which we haven’t seen in a hundred and fifty years.”
“Let’s hope and pray that it doesn’t come to that,” the warrior said, slumping slightly in his chair as if a great weight had descended on him.
“Bascom Whitfield may be the next Abraham Lincoln,” Strube said.
“Or the next Jefferson Davis,” Aloysius said.
The two men visited for an hour before the chairman excused himself, donned his overcoat and walked out into the darkness of evening.
He marched deep into the night, ineluctably drawn to the National Mall. As he walked lap after lap, he detoured along the way to the memorials of fallen American soldiers from World War II, Korea and Vietnam, constantly glancing to see if the lights illuminating the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial or the Capitol, were still shining, wondering how long it would be before they gasped their last breaths and flickered out forever.
CHAPTER 5
“WHAT IN THE hell are we supposed to be able to advise the President of United States about?” Leadoff Pickens asked Ert over breakfast at the Ritz Carlton on their second morning in Washington.
“He wants to know he has someone around him he can trust. That goes a long way,” Ert replied as he leaned his elbow on the table and looked down at his bowl of oatmeal. “Besides, we have spent our lives studying people and making decisions based on our observations. Our instincts have always served us well. Why should we doubt them now?”
Leadoff paused a few beats and began the interrogation again. “You said you and he went back a ways. What’s the story?”
“Bass and I were at A&M together in the 1970s,” Ert said. “We met at new student orientation in an auditorium filled with a thousand new recruits, ninety percent guys. I sat down next to him, shook his hand and asked him if he wanted to ditch orientation and drive up to Austin to look at some college girls. Fifteen minutes later, we were in my ‘65 Ford pickup on the highway to the state capital. We were running buddies for the next four years,” Ert said.
“Sounds like a real intellectual
Similar Books
Alpha Girl
Kate Bloomfield
London's Most Wanted Rake
Bronwyn Scott
Deadly in New York
Randy Wayne White
Public Display of Affection
Emily Cale
Deadly Diamonds
John Dobbyn
The Long Result
John Brunner
Hold Tight Gently
Martin Duberman
The Final Rule
Adrienne Wilder
Grace: A Christmas Sisters of the Heart Novel
Shelley Shepard Gray
Sweet Surrender
Mary Moody