Steinbrenner and General Fortney. “Unhappily, gentlemen, the prospects for maintaining peace in Baraza are deteriorating with each updated report. Our last intelligence from our agents in Baraza, you recollect, we rated as being from a 4 to 3 in dependability, meaning fairly reliable. Enough for us to become concerned, and to suggest that we investigate the situation further. We have investigated further. It has cost us the life of an outstanding CIA agent to obtain today’s report, and this one we have evaluated at 2, only a shade under positively reliable, and that makes the situation sufficiently serious to warrant consideration of military countermeasures.”
“Monty,” said the Secretary of Defense, “what’s in that last report?”
“You’ll find a complete copy on your desk when you get back to the Pentagon,” said Scott. “What’s in it? Briefly, the information that Soviet Russian officers are just outside the Barazan frontier, mainly in the high country, whipping together and preparing a Russian-sized division-that would make it somewhat smaller than our divisions-of native Barazan Communists. Maybe as many as 13,000 men. The infantrymen are equipped largely with American small arms, M14 rifles, AR-10 Armalite rifles, 3.5-inch rocket-launching bazookas. However, most of this Communist division is both mechanized and armored, having been supplied with Soviet-manufactured tanks, mortars, Gaz jeeps, medium artillery. They have even hurriedly constructed several hidden airfields, and delivered a limited number of MIG-17 jet fighters and some twin-engined light jet bombers. We know that the buildup and equipping of this native Communist force is nearing completion, and all that remains is to find out precisely when- at what date-the rebels intend to strike. We expect to discover this date sometime between tomorrow and the end of the week. Several of Kwame Amboko’s own security agents have infiltrated the enemy camp, and if one of them gets out alive, Amboko hopes to relay his vital information to us by then.”
Steinbrenner’s attention went to Dilman. “Do you trust Kwame Amboko, Mr. President?”
“Completely,” said Dilman.
“I don’t,” snapped General Fortney. “He’s sure to come up with something alarming, merely to drag us into that swampland of his and use us to liquidate his political opposition. Mr. President-”
“General,” Dilman interrupted, “I trust him… Go on, Mr. Scott.”
The CIA Director patted his Vandyke beard. “Of course, the CIA will also evaluate Amboko’s sources, as we evaluate the findings of our own agents. If Amboko’s findings match ours in rating, are found to be nearly positively reliable, I am afraid you will have to act swiftly.”
Chafing, General Fortney exploded, “Wait a minute there, hold your horses, Scott! You trying to egg us on into a shooting war, based solely on some inciting literature you double-domes over at CIA are producing? Not on your life!” He leaned on the desk, across from Dilman. “Mr. President, there’s too much at stake to put our country’s future completely in the hands of CIA. There’re plenty of us who’ve been keeping an eye on Mr. Scott’s Spy Palace over in Langley. What do we see? A bunch of collegiate amateurs. Why didn’t CIA tell us Red China was coming into the Korean War? Where was the CIA when we fell on our faces in the Bay of Pigs in Cuba? How come they let us fly U-2 planes over Russia when we had a big summit conference pending? Is that the outfit you want us to listen to-to listen to and then send us charging into Baraza?”
“Pardon me, Mr. President, if I may reply,” said Montgomery Scott, maintaining his composure with difficulty. “General Fortney, I daresay the CIA has done as much as, if not more than, the Pentagon to safeguard this nation and its interests. We gave you advance intelligence on the Arbenz gang in Guatemala, we told you about Sputnik before it went up, we predicted and alerted you to the rise of both Khrushchev and then Kasatkin, we supplied the information that has so far enabled us to thwart the Communists in India and Brazil. I suggest you pay heed to our CIA intelligence on Baraza, although I am not suggesting you act until our report is confirmed by Amboko’s own statement as to the date of the expected Communist attack.”
General Fortney scowled, muttering to himself, as he fingered the four stars on his right shoulder.
“We have two courses of action,” said Dilman. “Either we sit back and wait for the Communists to make their actual attack, or we anticipate it and prepare for them, holding a mobile force in full battle readiness, and letting Soviet Russia know we mean business and will brook no evidence of bad faith. I don’t like the first course, sitting back and waiting, because then if we have to move, we may be too late, and it may cost us too many American lives to recover lost African territory. I prefer the second course. I want a full division alerted and ready to move on fifteen minutes’ notice, if required. Have you such a force, Secretary Steinbrenner?”
“I have,” said Steinbrenner, moving restively in his chair. “There is only one modernized force I can recommend that could swiftly and economically, yet successfully, pull off an operation of this kind. It has artillery battalions together with a guided missile, our new Demi John, and it has units incorporating the latest airborne cannon, and mobile rocket platforms with their movable launching ramps, along with standard, air-transported infantry units, and fighter-bombers, to give us diversified airborne firepower. This group is trained for speed and flexibility. It cuts in fast, sets up faster, opens full blast, and then zooms away before the enemy can zero in on it. This is our elite and most advanced division, Mr. President-you know-the Dragon Flies.”
“The Dragon Flies,” repeated Dilman thoughtfully. “Excellent. I want them put on battle alert.”
“Mr. President-!” It was General Fortney again, his scarred face glowering. He stood up and demanded heatedly, “Isn’t anyone in this office going to listen to some reason? Do you mean to say that it’s worth the risk of a nuclear war with the Soviet Union, worth sending American soldiers into some black hole that isn’t on half the maps, so’s we can uphold a piece of parchment that says they’re a democracy when everyone knows they’re only primitive tribesmen who haven’t even learned how to read yet? Baraza isn’t worth the loss of a single American life, not one, let alone thousands, and if such a war spreads, maybe millions. Only yesterday, when I was talking to the Secretary of State-”
“General Fortney,” said Dilman, “you must be mistaken. There is no Secretary of State.”
Momentarily, Fortney lost his poise, stood bewildered, then recovered his equilibrium. “Okay,” he said shortly, “let the Senate settle that. I’m not interested in politics. I simply had to see Eaton about some old diplomatic problems-whom else was I to see? Anyway, I can’t condone any rash decision that will commit my most highly trained force, the best-equipped military outfit in the United States, the most technically proficient, to some unimportant jungle hell spot. If you want me to make ready a couple of ordinary infantry divisions, as a token gesture to the AUP-”
“General Fortney,” said Dilman firmly, “I want to make ready the Dragon Flies.”
“Mr. President, you can’t do that,” General Fortney insisted emphatically. “Do I have to spell it out for you because”-he looked disdainfully at the others in the room-”because no one else here has the guts to spell it out for you?” He stared at Dilman once more. “Okay, I’ve got the guts. I’ll spell it out, I sure will.”
General Fortney’s cold eyes seemed to fasten harder on Dilman. His thin lips by now seemed bloodless. He said, “No matter what you’ve heard, do you know what the Dragon Flies are, what they really are? They are a fighting force that is 100 per cent-not 99 per cent not 89 per cent, but 100 per cent-Caucasian white. This is a division composed from top to bottom, from Lieutenant General C. Jarrett Rice at the top to the lowest one-striper on the bottom, of militarily educated, all-white, fighting veterans. And in case this gets anyone’s dander up here, it is not all-white for discriminatory reasons-if Rice and I could’ve included colored boys, we’d have welcomed them- this group is what it is because when it was created, developed, and ever since then, it required fighting men with advanced technical know-how, good education, plenty of savvy, to handle this newfangled complicated airborne rocketry hardware, and we’ve found such men only among the white troops and white population. That’s the way it worked out, and that’s the way it is.”
Dilman’s expression neither evinced surprise nor conceded compromise. Not a muscle in his dark face moved. He waited.
“Now you know the military facts of the situation,” General Fortney continued relentlessly, “and knowing them, maybe you’ll have some second thoughts. Because I tell you, Mr. President, it’s my duty to tell you-you send that 100 per cent white elite corps of ours into that 100 per cent black hellhole, send our white lads in to fight and die for a pack of ignorant tribesmen and savages, and, Mr. President, you’ll have yourself a nationwide rebellion on your hands right here at home. You think the Congress of this country, or the people out there, will sit still and allow such an action for one solitary second? You bet your life they won’t… Look, don’t think I’m not considering you, too. You’ve got yourself enough problems with that impeachment trial under way. Why ask for more? Why try to commit suicide? Even one hint in public that you’re putting the Dragon Flies on combat alert for Africa, and you’re politically dead and buried. It’ll look just one way-like you are absolutely determined to sacrifice only American whites for African blacks, all the while keeping your Negro brethren who are in uniform safe at home-”
“General Fortney, if I may interrupt, sir.” It was General Jaskawich speaking for the first time. “If we are being
