“Damn it Colonel, what in the world were you thinking? Never mind answering. It’s obvious what motivated you. I already know you were thinking with your pecker. But there must be more to it. I need to hear your side of the story so I can recommend what to do with you to the CinC.”

Though he didn’t look the part because of his short stature and thin frame, Major General Albert Montero was a no-nonsense, tough warrior with a fairness streak under the silver stars on his shoulders. He was clearly upset with the man sitting in front of his desk but not yet ready to sacrifice him to the SAC fist.

The previous morning General Link, the Commander in Chief of the Strategic Air Command, called him on the scramble phone about the situation.

“Al, this is Jim Link. We have a problem—a huge one—involving one of your senior officers. I can’t discuss it over the scramble phone, so I’m sending a copy of a classified CIA Memo through my Command Post to yours. It’s Top Secret, Eyes Only. It’s so sensitive you need to personally pick it up. I’ve talked to General Dover and he has a copy. He’ll give you further instructions.”

Montero didn’t like that kind of call from the CinCSAC, two levels up the chain of command. The next would be from his boss, the 8th Air Force Commander, Lieutenant General Benjamin Dover. In a few minutes Dover was on the secure line, as tough and terse as Montero expected.
“Al, I know you haven’t had a chance to see the memo but I won’t waste words. Read it, get the bastard to your office, see what he has to say, investigate and make a recommendation—through me—to the CinC on what to do with him. And don’t go easy on him.”

“Yes, sir. What’s my deadline?”

“End of the month. Shoot for Friday for your initial verbal report over the scramble phone, the following Friday for your second verbal if you need it, and no later than the 31st for the final written one. Hand carry it to me. Make it faster if you can. Keep your investigation within a tight circle of your most trusted officers—maximum two. It’s not to be discussed outside that group except with the CinC or me—nobody else. Obviously the son-of-a-bitch can’t discuss it either.”
“I understand and I’ll act quickly.”

“Good. I’ll cut orders naming you as Hearing Officer and the others as Investigating Officers. Let me know, after you read the memo, who you pick. This is so sensitive even the appointment orders will be classified. The investigation and report are to be Top Secret.”

Montero was caught off guard by this information. So were Link and Dover. After reading it he knew why the furor—it was bad, extremely bad. They had a brief, Top Secret CIA Memo passed down from the Defense Department’s highest levels. The memo was short on details, but severe in its message and Montero’s task was to put flesh on its bones. He knew who he needed to assist in the investigation. First, long-time trusted colleague Colonel Andy Beck, his vice-commander. Then, Colonel Pete Evans, Director of Missile Operations. Evans was a logical choice because the investigation involved another missileman. Montero sincerely cared about his ICBM units and their people, but he was a bomber pilot and knew little about the details of missile operations. He relied heavily on Evans as his eyes, ears and confidant about his three missile wings and their personnel. Evans was as trusted as Beck. The admiration between the general and his missile D.O. was unique, flowing freely both ways. After all, it was Montero who called in some favors to get Evans promoted to full colonel after being passed over.

Montero called Evans into his office. In contrast to the general, he was tall and muscular. His thick, short-cropped brown hair and steel blue eyes added to his physical stature. He looked every inch the warrior. Montero got straight to the point.

“Pete, do you know Colonel David Oswald?”

“Yes, sir. Why do you ask?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First I need to know if you’re friends or have any kind of close relationship.”

“No, sir. We’re definitely not friends. We go back before the Air Force, but if there was ever any closeness it disappeared decades ago. You’ve aroused my curiosity. What gives?”

“I had to ask for reasons that’ll become obvious. Oswald is in severe trouble and you, Andy Beck and I are appointed to investigate it. This thing is extremely sensitive—Top Secret—not to be discussed beyond us three. Read this and you’ll understand. The investigation starts now with us discussing the memo and it must be finished before you retire at the end of the month.”

Pete opened the red-bordered Top Secret file and carefully read the document.

“This is really bad,” he gasped. “I’m thoroughly shocked.”

“So was I. So were Generals Dover and Link.”

With the team formed, Montero had to contact Oswald. He directed Base Operations to dispatch a T-39 to bring him to Tarrant AFB so he could confront him face-to-face.

“Ruth, get me Colonel Oswald on the scramble phone.”

The connection was rapidly made. Oswald, the Vice-Commander of the 300th Strategic Missile Wing at Pulaski AFB, Arkansas, answered in his typical sucking-up manner.

“Good morning, General. This is Dave Oswald. How can I help you?”

“Colonel, I’m sending a T-39 to pick you up this afternoon. You’ll be here two weeks—maybe more, so pack accordingly.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask what’s happening?”

“You’ll find out when you get here.”