A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [75]
“I’ll give you my opinion,” Quinn replied. “In my opinion, Jeremiah Duncan was the greatest Marine I ever met.”
“And men tended to follow him blindly.” That was V. Vincent Zacco’s first mouse turd, Quinn thought as he stared at the counsel’s beaver-squirrel-rat glint. “Let me take that a bit further. Didn’t he have the officers’ helmets wired so he could move you around like robots?”
Quinn laughed out loud. “Duncan made suggestions. The man on the scene made the decision. Our network gave us unity. We moved like a chorus line. Blindly? Hell, this was one of the best trained and informed group of men in any of the services. As far as the missing colonel in the chain of command was concerned, we obviously didn’t need him.”
Lightner’s cigarillo ash grew longer on his frozen face. Zacco switched quickly to the savagery and overkill of the raid.
“The facts on the ground were clear,” Quinn said. “We were compelled to fight in a walled-in, tight area. Our first strike was not only to take as many of them out as possible, but to inflict confusion. We weren’t high on enemy blood, sir. We just didn’t want anyone to get a lucky shot at the SCARAB.”
“So,” Zacco shot back quickly, “many Iranians came out to the middle of the courtyard and tried to surrender.”
“Yes, but maybe you’d like to tell me what we were supposed to do with prisoners.”
“So you massacred them!”
“Not exactly, sir. We were ordered to shoot over their heads and drive them away from the plane, then keep them pinned down.”
Christ! Quinn thought, how could Duncan have made decisions knowing he’d be grilled by Congress later on.
Sol Lightner’s ever kindly Kris Kringle expression was tainted by his warthog eyes above his hanging jowls.
Zacco then attacked the speed at which the raid was put together. Was it not a sloppy affair, throwing in men not trained properly for the particular mission?
“The very cornerstone of the unit was advance preparation and development of a line of skills. This was guaranteed by drill after drill after drill. Duncan and his pilots checked out the SCARAB for nearly two hours every time it was flown. The systems were pushed every which way in training. The great strength of the SCARAB herself has been proved by her murderous flight to and from the target.”
Quinn had warded off every attack with the ease of a fencing master.
“Shouldn’t we take a little break?” the senator said, knowing his doberman had worked the questioning in to the critical areas, ones that Quinn could not talk around.
“I’d like to continue,” Quinn pressed, “as long as I feel okay.”
He felt that even in his state he had more stamina than the lawyer, who was near yelping in frustration.
“I take it that you and General Duncan were quite friendly.”
“We worked very closely. A lot of formality was dropped. However, our relationship was by the book.”
“You visited his home often?”
“General Duncan’s office traveled with him, in his head, in his briefcase, in the trunk of his car. The office was open for business twenty-four hours a day. He called, I came.”
“And you had dinner together?”
“He fed his dogs as well.”
“At the table?”
“What the hell has this got to do with the raid on Urbakkan?”
“I’m coming to that,” Zacco rumbled, sensing his first taste of blood. “You saw movies together, shot a round of golf with him now and then?”
“May I intercede?” Brickhouse interceded. “General Duncan found Quinn O’Connell to be the best young prospect for a high command that he had ever seen. I’d say, with the amount of responsibility Jeremiah laid on, probably they were closer as friends—and don’t forget, in this kind of unit, the very fine line between officer and enlisted man often blurs.”
“I am suggesting,” Zacco said, “you two were close enough that if you survived him, which you have, you’d do anything to protect his record.”
Quinn saw foul men and their foul tactics. He could do little but glare as he watched Senator Lightner cock his head waiting