Games of State - Tom Clancy [65]
But Rodgers was also sincere-- sincere in his desire to land the Colonel for Striker. And Rodgers was not a man who gave up on anything, especially when he knew the subject's weaknesses as well as his strong points.
A ten-year veteran of the Air Force's Special Operations Command, August was a childhood friend of Rodgers who loved airplanes even more than Rodgers loved action movies. On weekends, the two young boys used to bicycle five miles along Route 22 out to Bradley Field in Hartford, Connecticut. Then they'd just sit in an empty field and watch the planes take off and land. They were old enough to remember when prop planes gave way to the jet planes, and Rodgers vividly remembered getting juiced up whenever one of the new 707s would roar overhead. August used to go berserk.
After school each day, the boys would do their homework together, each taking alternate math problems or science questions so they could get done faster. Then they would build model airplanes, taking care that the paint jobs were accurate and that the decals were put in exactly the right place. In fact, the only fistfight they'd ever had was arguing about just where the white star went on the FH-1 Phantom. The box art had it right under the tail assembly, but Rodgers thought that was wrong. After the fight, they limped to the library to find out who was right. Rodgers was. It was halfway between the fin and the wing. August had manfully apologized.
August also idolized the astronauts and followed every glitch and triumph of the U.S. space program. Rodgers didn't think he ever saw August as happy as when Ham, the first U.S. monkey in space, came to Hartford on a public relations visit. As August gazed upon a real space traveler, he was euphoric. Not even when the young man told Rodgers that he'd finally coerced Barb Mathias into bed did he seem so utterly content.
When it came time to serve, Rodgers went into the Army and August went into the Air Force. Both men ended up in Vietnam. While Rodgers did his tours of duty on the ground, August flew reconnaissance missions over the north. On one such flight northwest of Hue, August's plane was shot down and he was taken prisoner. He spent over a year in a POW camp, finally escaping with another man in 1970. He spent three months making his way to the South, before finally being discovered by a Marine patrol.
August was unembittered by his experiences. To the contrary, he was heartened by the courage he had witnessed among American POWs. He returned to the U.S., regained his strength, and went back to Vietnam and organized a spy network searching for other U.S. POWs. He remained undercover for a year after the U.S. withdrawal, then spent three years in the Philippines helping President Ferdinand Marcos battle Moro secessionists. He worked as an Air Force liaison with NASA after that, helping to organize security for spy satellite missions, after which he joined the SOC as a specialist in counterterrorist activities.
Although Rodgers and August had seen one another only intermittently in the post-Vietnam years, each time they talked or got together it was as if no time had passed. One or the other of them would bring the model airplane, the other would bring the paint and glue, and together they would have the time of their lives.
So when Colonel August said he thanked his old friend sincerely, Rodgers believed it. What he didn't accept was the part that included "no."
"Brett," Rodgers said, "look at it this way. Over the past quarter century, you've been out of the country more than you've been in. 'Nam, the Philippines, Cape Canaveral--"
"That's funny, General."
"--now Italy. And at a nowhere-near-state-of-the-art NATO base."
"I'm moving onto the luxurious Eisenhower at sixteen hundred hours to parlay with some French and Italian hotdogs. You're lucky you caught me."
"Have I caught you?" Rodgers asked.
"You know what I mean,"