sk.dreamcatcher-第46部分

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　　　　'I'm　not　prepared　to　speak　to　that　just　now；'　Kurtz　said。
　　　　No；　Owen　thought；　of　course　you're　not。　He　wondered　immediately　if　Kurtz　could　read　his　thought。　There　was　no　way　of　telling；　certainly　not　from　those　pale　eyes。
　　　　'We　are　going　to　take　out　the　rest　of　the　grayboys；　I　can　tell　you　that　much。　Your　men　will　crew　the　gunships　and　your　men　only。　You　are　Blue　Boy　Leader。　Got　that？'
　　　　'Yes；　sir。'
　　　　Kurtz　did　not　correct　it。　In　this　context；　and　given　Underhill's　obvious　distaste　for　the　mission；　sir　was　probably　good。　'I　am　Blue　One。'
　　　　Owen　nodded。
　　　　Kurtz　got　up　and　drew　out　his　pocket…watch。　It　had　gone　noon。
　　　　'This　is　going　to　get　out；'　Underhill　said。　'There　are　a　lot　of　U。S。　citizens　in　the　Zone。　There's　simply　no　way　to　keep　it　quiet。　How　many　have　those　。　。　。　those　implants？'
　　　　Kurtz　almost　smiled。　The　weasels；　yes。　A　good　many　here；　a　few　more　over　the　years。　Underhill　didn't　know；　but　Kurtz　did。　Nasty　little　fellows　they　were。　And　one　good　thing　about　being　the　boss：　you　didn't　have　to　answer　questions　you　didn't　want　to　answer。
　　　　'What　happens　later　is　up　to　the　spin　doctors；'　he　said。　'Our　job　is　to　react　to　what　certain　people　…　the　voice　of　one　of　them　is　probably　on　your　tape　…　have　determined　is　a　clear　and　present　danger　to　the　people　of　the　United　States。　Got　it；　buck？'
　　　　Underhill　looked　into　that　pale　gaze　and　at　last　looked　away；
　　　　'One　other　thing；'　Kurtz　said。　'Do　you　remember　the　phooka？'
　　　　'The　Irish　ghost…horse。'
　　　　'Close　enough。　When　it　es　to　nags；　that　one's　mine。　Always　has　been。　Some　folks　in　Bosnia　saw　you　riding　my　phooka。　Didn't　they？'
　　　　Owen　chanced　no　reply。　Kurtz　didn't　look　put　out　by　that；　but　he　looked　intent。
　　　　'I　want　no　repeat；　Owen。　Silence　is　golden。　When　we　ride　the　phooka　horse；　we　must　be　invisible。　Do　you　understand　that？'
　　　　'Yes。'
　　　　'Perfect　understanding？'
　　　　'Yes；'　Owen　said。　He　wondered　again　how　much　of　his　mind　Kurtz　could　read。　Certainly　he　could　read　the　name　currently　in　the　front　of　Kurtz's　mind；　and　supposed　Kurtz　wanted　him　to。　Bosanski　Novi。


4

They　were　on　the　verge　of　going；　four　gunship　crews　with　Owen　Underhill's　men　from　the　bus　replacing　the　ANG　guys　who　had　brought　the　CH…47s　this　far；　they　were　cranking　up；　filling　the　air　with　the　thunder　of　the　rotors；　and　then　came　Kurtz's　order　to　stand　down。
　　　　Owen　passed　it　on；　then　flicked　his　chin　to　the　left。　He　was　now　on　Kurtz's　private　corn　channel。
　　　　'Beg　pardon；　but　what　the　fuck？'　Owen　asked。　If　they　were　going　to　do　this　thing；　he　wanted　to　do　it　and　get　it　behind　him。　It　was　worse　than　Bosanski　Novi；　worse　by　far。　Writing　it　off　by　saying　the　grayboys　weren't　human　beings　just　did　not　wash。　Not　for　him；　anyway。　Beings　that　could　build　something　like　Blue　Boy　…　or　fly　it；　at　least　…　were　more　than　human。
　　　　'It's　none　of　mine；　lad；'　Kurtz　said。　'The　weather　boys　in　Bangor　say　this　shit　is　moving　out　fast。　It's　what　they　call　an　Alberta　Clipper。　Thirty　minutes；　forty…five；　max；　and　we're　on　our　way。　With　our　nav　gear　all　screwed　up；　it's　better　to　wait　if　we　can　。　。　。　and　we　can。　You'll　thank　me　at　the　other　end。'
　　　　Man；　I　doubt　that。
　　　　'Roger；　copy。'　He　flicked　his　head　to　the　right。　'Conklin；'　he　said。　No　rank　designations　to　be　used　on　this　mission；　especially　not　on　the　radio。
　　　　'I'm　here；　s　。　。　。　I'm　here。'
　　　　'Tell　the　men　we're　on　hold　thirty　to　forty…five。　Say　again；　thirty　to　forty…five。'　　　　　　
　　　　'Roger　that。　Thirty　to　forty…five。'
　　　　'Let's　have　some　jukebox　rhythm。'
　　　　'Okay。　Requests？'
　　　　'Go　with　what　you　like。　Just　save　the　Squad　Anthem。'　'Roger；　Squad　Anthem　is　racked　back。'　No　smile　in　Conk's　voice。　There　was　one　man；　at　least；　who　liked　this　as　little　as　Owen　did。　Of　course；　Conklin　had　also　been　on　the　Bosanski　Novi　mission　in　'95。　Pearl　jam　started　up　in　Owen's　cans。　He　pulled　them　off　and　laid　them　around　his　neck　like　a　horse…collar。　He　didn't　care　for　Pearl　jam；　but　in　this　bunch　he　was　a　minority。
　　　　Archie　Perlmutter　and　his　men　ran　back　and　forth　like　chickens　with　their　heads　cut　off。　Salutes　were　snapped；　then　choked　off；　with　many　of　the　saluters　sneaking　did…he…see…that　looks　at　the　small　green　scout　copter　in　which　Kurtz　sat　with　his　own　cans　clamped　firmly　in　place　and　a　copy　of　the　Derry　News　upraised。　Kurtz　looked　engrossed　in　the　paper；　but　Owen　had　an　idea　that　the　man　marked　every　half…salute；　every　soldier　who　forgot　the　situation　and　reverted　to　old　beast　habit。　Beside　Kurtz；　in　the　left　seat；　was　Freddy　Johnson。　Johnson　had　been　with　Kurtz　roughly　since　Noah's　ark　grounded　on　Mount　Ararat。　He　had　also　been　at　Bosanski；　and　had　undoubtedly　given　Kurtz　a　full　report　when　Kurtz　himself　had　been　forced　to　stay　behind；　unable　to　climb　into　the　saddle　of　his　beloved　phooka　horse　because　of　his　groin…pub。
　　　　In　June　of　'95；　the　Air　Force　had　lost　a　scout　pilot　in　NATO's　no…fly　zone；　near　the　Croat　border。　The　Serbs　had　made　a　very　big　deal　of　Captain　Tommy　Callahan's　plane；　and　would　have　made　an　even　bigger　one　of　Callahan　himself；　if　they　caught　him；　the　brass；　haunted　by　images　of　the　North　Vietnamese　gleefully　parading　brainwashed　pilots　before　the　international　press；　made　recovering　Tommy　Callahan　a　priority。
　　　　The　searchers　had　been　about　to　give　up　when　Callahan　contacted　them　on　a　low…frequency　radio　band。　His　high…school　girlfriend　gave　them　a　good　ID　marker；　and　when　the　man　on　the　ground　was　queried；　he　confirmed　it；　telling　them　his　friends　had　started　calling　him　The　Pukester　following　a　truly　memorable　night　of　drinking　in　his　junior　year。
　　　　Kurtz's　boys　went　in　to　get　Callahan　in　a　couple　of　helicopters　much　smaller　than　any　of　the　ones　they　were　using　today。　Owen
　　　　Underhill；　already　tabbed　by　most　（including　himself；　Owen　supposed）　as　Kurtz's　successor；　had　been　in　charge。　Callahan's　job　was　to　pop　some　smoke　when　he　saw　the　birds；　then　stand　by。　Underhill's　job　…　the　phooka　part　of　it　…　had　been　to　yank　Callahan　without　being　seen。　This　was　not　strictly　necessary；　so　far　as　Owen　could　see；　but　was　simply　the　way　Kurtz　liked　it：　his　men　were　invisible；　his　men　rode　the　Irish　horse。
　　　　The　extraction　had　worked　perfectly。　There　were　some　SAMs　fired；　but　nothing　even　close　…　Milosevic　had　shit；　for　the　most　part。　It　was　as　they　were　taking　Callahan　on　board　that　Owen　had　seen　his　only　Bosnians：　five　or　six　children；　the　oldest　no　more　than　ten；　watching　them　with　solemn　faces。　The　idea　that　Kurtz's　directive　to　make　sure　there　were　no　witnesses　might　apply　to　a　group　of　dirtyface　kids　had　never　crossed　Owen's　mind。　And　Kurtz　had　never　said　anything　about　it。
　　　　Until　today；　that　was。
　　　　That　Kurtz　was　a　terrible　man　Owen　had　no　doubt。　Yet　there　were　many　terrible　men　in　the　service；　more　devils　than　saints；　most　certainly；　and　many　were　in　love　with　secrecy。　What　made　Kurtz　different　Owen　had　no　idea　…　Kurtz；　that　long　and　melancholy　man　with　his　white　eyelashes　and　still　eyes。　Meeting　those　was　hard　because　there　was　nothing　in　them　…　no　love；　no　laughter；　and　absolutely　no　curiosity。　That　lack　of　curiosity　was　somehow　the　worst。
　　　　A　battered　Subaru　pulled　up　at　the　store；　and　two　old　men　got　carefully　out。　One　clutched　a　black　cane　in　a　weather…chapped　hand。　Both　wore　red…and…black…checked　hunting　overshirts。　Both　wore　faded　caps；　one　with　CASE　above　the　bill　and　the　other　with　DEERE。　They　looked　wonderingly　at　the　contingent　of　soldiers　that　descended　upon　them。　Soldiers　at　Gosselin's？　What　in　the　tarnal？　They　were　in　their　eighties；　by　the　look　of　them；　but　they　had　the　curiosity　Kurtz　lacked。　You　could　see　it　in　the　set　of　their　bodies；　the　tilt　of　their　heads。
　　　　All　the　questions　Kurtz　had　not　voiced。　What　do　they　want？　Do　they　really　mean　us　harm？　Will　doing　this　bring　the　harm？　Is　it　the　wind　we　sow　to　bring　the　whirlwind？　at　was　there　in　all　the　previous　encounters　the　flaps；　the　flashlights；　the　falls　of　angel　hair　and　red　dust；　the　abductions　that　began　in　the　late　sixties　…　that　has　made　the　powers　that　be　so　afraid？　Has　there　been　any　real　effort　to　municate　with　these　creatures？
　　　　And　the　last　question；　the　most　important　question：　Were　the　grayboys　like　us？　Were　they　by　any　definition　human？　Was　this　murder；　pure　and　simple？
　　　　No　question　in　Kurtz's　eyes　about　that；　either。


5

The　snow　lightened；　the　day　brightened；　and　exactly　thirty…three　minutes　after　ordering　the　stand…down；　Kurtz　gave　them　a　go。　Owen　relayed　it　to　Conklin　and　the　Chinnies　revved　hard　again；　pulling　up　gauzy　veils　of　snow　and　turning　themselves　into　momentary　ghosts。　Then　they　rose　to　treetop　level；　aligned　themselves　on　Underhill　Blue　Boy　Leader　…　and　flew　west　in　the　direction　of　Kineo。　Kurtz's　Kiowa　58　flew　below　them　and　slightly　to　starboard；　and　Owen　thought　briefly　of　a　troop　of　soldiers　in　a　John　Wayne　movie；　bluelegs　with　a　single　Indian　scout　riding　his　pony　bareback　off　to　one　side。　He　couldn't　see；　but　guessed　Kurtz　would　still　be　reading　the　paper。　Maybe　his　horoscope。　'Pisces；　this　is　your　day　of　infamy。　Stay　in　bed。'
　　　　The　pines　and　spruces　below　appeared　and　disappeared　in　vapors　of　white。　Snow　flew　against　the　Chinook's　two　front　windows；　danced；　disappeared。　The　ride　was　extremely　rough　…　like　a　ride　in　a　washing　machine　…　and　Owen　wouldn