Phil said, “What can I do?” Major Scott smiled, “I like a man who gets to the point. [1]

Major Scott continued, “Intelligence tells us that over the last month or so, more and more horses—some Lipizzaners, some not—have been pouring into the Hostau stable from the eastern part of Czechoslovakia, which is being overrun by the Red Army. Things appear to be getting desperate. One report says, and I quote, ‘In the path of the Russian armies, nothing is safe. Men and boys are killed, women and girls are raped and murdered. Animals that can be eaten are sent back to the starving Soviet Union, where famine continues,’ end quote.”

Phil sat straight up. “You don’t think the Russians would harm the Lipizzaners, do you?”

The major flipped a few pages of his notebook and found what he was looking for. “We have this report from just a week ago, twenty-four March. Quote, ‘A German convoy was intercepted by Soviet tanks an hour from the Austrian border. Inside the trucks were more than twenty Lipizzaners. The Russian soldiers found the sometimes-temperamental steeds too difficult to control, so they slaughtered eighteen of the most high-spirited ones, then harnessed the others to ammunition carts,’ end quote.” The G-2 closed his notebook and put it back into his pocket.

“General O’Daniel tells me, Lieutenant Larimore, that you know of his love of horses. He’s been riding horses his whole life. Loved the cavalry, loves the hunt, and loves the steeplechase. He’s not an Olympian like Patton, but he wants to do something. He’s suggesting one of our Piper Cubs carry a soldier, an expert equestrian, behind enemy lines to either confirm or refute this information. If confirmed, the general will propose to senior command that these steeds be saved. Unfortunately, his superiors will not officially sanction such a mission. Fortunately for us, they are not forbidding it either. But should the mission fail, the Army’s official comment would be that any participants were just plain lost in western Czechoslovakia—or worse, that they were AWOL or attempting to defect.”

The gravity of the situation fully rested on Phil’s shoulders. He leaned back and sighed deeply.

“Let me be clear, Lieutenant,” the major continued, “if you volunteer for this mission, the plane that’ll transport you will have all the markings painted out, and you will not be in uniform. You can carry a sidearm and keep your dog tags with you, but you can bring no other identification. No papers. No wallet. Being an unauthorized mission, if you are captured, any future career in the Army would likely be kaput. You’d also be at risk, should the political backlash from the Russians become too heated. The Army might be forced to declare you AWOL or a turncoat. Worse yet, should you not survive, there may be no benefits for your family, including no life insurance benefit.”

The possibilities are going from bad to worse, Phil thought.

“Even if you’re successful, officially, this mission never happened. There will be no record of it whatsoever.”

Colonel McGarr leaned forward. In a soft, almost fatherly voice, he said, “Lieutenant, this is a completely volunteer effort. If you say no, that’s fine with me. I need you here, and I need you in our final few days of attack so that we can end this godforsaken war. We need to finish what we started long ago.”

The colonel leaned back and took a puff on his cigar. “But if you decide to go, you’ll have my full, albeit unofficial, support. As the major says, there will be no written record either way.”

“How long do I have to decide?” Phil asked.

“I need to know now,” the G-2 answered. “We have the plane prepared and a volunteer pilot ready to go. The scheduled takeoff is 0400 hours tomorrow. The horse farm is about 160 to 170 air miles from here. Weather is predicted to be cloudy and cold with limited visibility, but the moon is just past full. The pilot says the partial cloud cover and the moonlight diffused through the cloud cover will be perfect. He says he can bounce in and out of the clouds so that you’ll be protected from AA fire and won’t have to worry about the Luftwaffe. But you’ll be flying through mountains, which increases the turbulence and the risk.”

He paused a moment to take a sip of his scotch. “For obvious reasons, I don’t want you or the pilot to know any of the ground arrangements. We’ve promised this to the Czech resistance with whom we’ve made arrangements for your care on the ground.”

Phil knew the G-2 didn’t want him to have any information that could be tortured out of him or the pilot. A concerning thought crossed his mind as he remembered his days flying the Piper Cub at the Gulf Coast Military Academy. “You said it’s about 160 miles from here?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the maximum range of the Cub, isn’t it?”

The major was silent for a moment. “Actually, one-eighty or one-ninety. Should be enough.”

Phil chuckled. “Sure hope so, because we’ll be on fumes when we’re trying to find the landing strip.”

The major nodded. “Not much room for error on several fronts. But I’ll tell you this much: Once there, you’ll be escorted through a forest to the farm. While you’re scouting, fuel will be delivered to refill the plane.”

The colonel took a deep breath and let it out. “Lieutenant, once you’re on the ground, don’t dillydally around. Do your scouting, and then get the hell outta there. We want you back by sunset.”

Phil didn’t have to think twice. “I’ll go!” he announced with a grin. “A chance to save the Lipizzaners. How could I say no?”

McGarr slammed the table. “I knew you’d do it!” he exclaimed. “More scotch all the way around!” he commanded his valet. The men clinked their glasses.

In Phil’s mind’s eye, he could see his friend, Ross Calvert, smiling from ear to ear and slapping him on the back. He still wanted to believe that his friend was alive and doing well in a POW camp somewhere in Germany.

Phil could almost hear his buddy laughing at him and saying, Hell—being a POW ain’t that bad, Phil. You’ll enjoy your time off in a camp. And if I can survive, so can you! [2]

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW

~~~~~

[1] Larimore, At First Light, 225.

[2] Ibid, 225-227.

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