{"product_id":"the-hunting-trip-isbn-9780399183706","title":"The Hunting Trip","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e–bestselling author of the W. E. B. Griffin novels comes a rollicking story of love, war, and adventure.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As the author of the electrifying W. E. B. Griffin novels of the military, police, and spies and counterspies, William E. Butterworth III has been delighting readers for decades—but he has a special treat for them now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the tender age of sixteen, Philip W. Williams III is expelled from boarding school for committing a prank, and on the train home wonders where his life will take him now. It never enters his mind that he will become a special agent of the U.S. Army Counterintelligence Corps in postwar Germany, play a key role in the defection of a Soviet officer and then work for the CIA, marry a ferocious Austrian ballet dancer, become a renowned bestselling novelist, and meet the love of his life on a hunting trip. Yet all of this, and much more, awaits him, in a raucous series of adventures that will have readers laughing, cheering, and propulsively turning the pages to discover what happens next.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003ePRAISE FOR THE HUNTING TRIP\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Writing as W. E. B. Griffin, Bill Butterworth has given us an unrivaled array of novels about men at war, both on famed battlefields and in the shadows. This time out, his target was pure—no, make that blushingly impure—enjoyment. The result? A ripping, rollicking, very tall tale of Cold War derring-do that’s more fun than a long weekend in Vegas with your worst enemy’s credit card.” —Ralph Peters, author of \u003ci\u003eCain at Gettysburg\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eLines of Fire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A fascinating, informative, and very funny novel by that American writing phenomenon known as William E. Butterworth III. This one will keep you wondering, is it fact or fiction?” —Fannie Flagg, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eFried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The only thing funnier than a Yankee in the Deep South is a Yankee bestselling author writing about it. The Hunting Trip is hilarious.” —Winston Groom, bestselling author of\u003ci\u003e Forrest Gump\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eBetter Times Than These\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Quite entertaining. It might come as a surprise to many W. E. B. Griffin fans that Butterworth's literary output is actually quite varied: under different names, he’s written mysteries, YA fiction, romance, and nonfiction. This thinly veiled roman à clef extends his range still further and will attract fans of military-based fiction.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003eWilliam E. Butterworth III\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of more than 150 books, most notably the W. E. B. Griffin novels—more than fifty\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers in the Brotherhood of War, Corps, Honor Bound, Men at War, Badge of Honor, Presidential Agent, and Clandestine Operations series. He lives in Alabama and Argentina.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe is a member of the Special Operations Association, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the American Legion, the Army Aviation Association, the Armor Association, and the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) Society, and has honorary memberships in many other military and intelligence associations. He has been vested into the Order of St. George of the U.S. Armor Association, and the Order of St. Andrew of the U.S. Army Aviation Association, and been awarded honorary degrees by Norwich University (the nation’s first and oldest private military college) and Troy State University. He was the graduation dinner speaker for the class of 1988 at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER THREE\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e[ FOUR ]\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eU.S. Army Reception Center\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eFort Dix, New Jersey \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eMonday Morning October 7, 1946\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On Phil’s first day in the Army, he was issued about fifty pounds of uniforms and given inoculations against every disease known to medical science. In the morning of his second day, he was given the Army General Classification Test, known as the AGCT, to see where he would best fit into the nation’s war machine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the afternoon, he faced a Classification Specialist, who took one look at Phil, his AGCT score, and then arranged for him take the test again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Secondary school dropouts” are not supposed to score 144 on the AGCT Test. All it took to get into Officer Candidate School was an AGCT Score of 110. The second time Phil took the test, this time under supervision to make sure no one was slipping him the answers, he scored 146. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe next morning, he faced another Classification Specialist, this one an officer, who explained to him the doors his amazing AGCT score had opened for him in the nation’s war machine. Heading the list of these, the captain told Phil, was that he could apply for competitive entrance to the United States Military Academy at West Point. If accepted, he would be assigned to the USMA Preparatory School, and on graduation therefrom be appointed to the Corps of Cadets at West Point.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat suggested to Phil that he was being offered the privilege of jumping from the frying pan into the fire. He had had experience with a military academy, specifically the Bordentown Military Academy, and it had not been pleasant. He had been sent home after seven weeks of military service, so to speak, after having been found guilty of having talked a fellow cadet, PFC Edwin W. Bitter, into stuffing three unrolled rolls of toilet tissue down the muzzle of the saluting cannon. When the cannon had fired at the next morning’s reveille formation, it looked for a minute or so as if Southern New Jersey was experiencing a blizzard in early October.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the Greyhound bus back to north New Jersey later that October day, ex-Cadet Private P.W. Williams had been enormously relieved that his military service was over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother option, the captain explained, was for Phil to apply for the Army Security Agency. The ASA was charged with listening to enemy radio communications, copying them down, and if necessary, decrypting them. Personnel selected to be “Intercept Operators,” the captain said, had to have the same intellectual qualifications as officer candidates, that is to say an AGCT score of 110 or better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eReasoning that places where radio receivers were located were probably going to be inside, and that Interceptor Operators would probably work sitting down, Phil selected the ASA for his career in the nation’s war machine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was given yet another long form to fill out, this one asking for a list of his residences in the last twenty years, and other personal information. He had no way of knowing of course that ASA Intercept Operators were required to have Top Secret security clearances, or that the form was the first step in what was known as the “Full Background Investigation Procedure,” which was necessary to get one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe next day, Phil was transferred from the Reception Center to a basic training company.\u003cbr\u003e There he and two hundred fellow recruits were issued blankets, sheets, a pillow and pillow case, a small brown book entitled \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eTM9-1275 M-1 Garand Manual\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e and an actual U.S. Rifle, Cal. 30, M-1 Garand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were told that until graduation day, when they actually became soldiers, they would live with their Garands. And, yes, that meant sleeping with it. And memorizing its serial number.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe idea was for the recruits to become accustomed to the weapon. They wouldn’t actually fire it until the sixth week of their training. Until then, they would in their spare time, after memorizing the serial number, read TM9-1275 and learn how the weapon functioned. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first indication that Phil had an empathy for Mr. Garand’s invention—or vice versa—came that very evening at 8:55 p.m., or, as the Army says that, twenty fifty-five hours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt that hour, Sergeant Andrew Jackson McCullhay, one of Phil’s instructors, walked down the barracks aisle en route to the switch that would turn off the lights at twenty-one hundred.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he passed the bunk to which PVT WILLIAMS P had been assigned, he saw something that both surprised and distressed him. PVT WILLIAMS P had somehow managed to completely disassemble his U.S. Rifle, Cal. 30, M-1 Garand. All of its many parts were spread out over his bunk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the gentle, paternal tone of voice for which Basic Training Instructors are so well known, Sergeant McCullhay inquired “Expletive Deleted!! Head, What the Expletive Deleted!! have you done to your Expletive Deleted!! rifle?”\u003cbr\u003e “Sergeant, sir,” PVT WILLIAMS P replied, “I have disassembled it.”\u003cbr\u003e “So I see,” Sergeant McCullhay replied. “Now show me, Expletive Deleted!!\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eHead, how you’re going to get your Expletive Deleted!!\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eGarand back together before I turn the Expletive Deleted!!\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003elights off in four minutes and fifteen Expletive Deleted!!\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eseconds.”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir, Sergeant,” PVT WILLIAMS P replied and proceeded to so with two minutes and five seconds to spare.\u003cbr\u003e “I’ll be a Expletive Deleted!! !” Sergeant McCullhay said. “Expletive Deleted!! Head, you’re a Expletive Deleted!! genius!”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir, Sergeant,” PVT WILLIAMS P said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had already learned the most important rule of all in the Army: \u003ci\u003eNever Argue With A Sergeant.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Sergeant McCullhay was genuinely impressed with the speed with which PVT WILLIAMS P had reassembled his stripped Garand, especially after he timed himself at the task. When, that same night, he told his buddies at the Sergeant’s Club what he had seen, they didn’t believe him. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of his fellow non-commissioned officers made a challenge: “I’ve got ten Expletive Deleted!! dollars that says your kid can’t completely disassemble and reassemble a Expletive Deleted!! Garand in less than five minutes.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs a result of this challenge—it was a challenge, not a “bet” or a “wager,” as betting and wagering are violations of Army Regulations and those who do so are subject to court-martial—PVT WILLIAMS P was awakened after midnight by Sergeant McCullhay. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe and the Garand rifle with which he had been sleeping were taken to McCullhay’s room in the barracks where five non-commissioned officers were waiting to challenge Sergeant McCullhay’s assertions \u003ci\u003evis-à-vis\u003c\/i\u003e the speed with which PVT WILLIAMS P could dis- and re- assemble a Garand.\u003cbr\u003e After PVT WILLIAMS P had done so, which made Sergeant McCullhay fifty dollars richer than he had been earlier in the evening, the sergeant was in a very good mood. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You can get in your bunk now, Expletive Deleted!! Head,” he said. “And you can skip the Zero Five Hundred Roll Call and Physical Training. I wouldn’t want you to hurt your beautiful Expletive Deleted!! hands doing Expletive Deleted!! push-ups.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e[ FIVE ]\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eU.S. Army Reception Center\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eFort Dix, New Jersey \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eMonday, November 18th, 1946\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During the next five weeks, whenever and wherever Sergeant McCullhay could find gullible souls wishing to challenge what he claimed for PVT WILLIAMS P’s dis- and re-assemble times for the Garand, PVT WILLIAMS P did so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the side of three different roads during fifteen-mile hikes. Half a dozen times in the Regimental Mess Hall. Once in the back of the Regimental Chapel while the chaplain was warning the trainees about loose women. And once while wearing a gas mask in the tear gas chamber. \u003cbr\u003e But then it was actually time for the trainees to fire the U.S. Rifle, Cal. 30 M-1 Garand.\u003cbr\u003e This took place on one of the 100-yard KD ranges. Some weeks later, PVT WILLIAMS P learned that KD stood for “Known Distance.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere were twenty firing positions on the range and, 100 yards distant from them, twenty bull’s eye targets. The targets were on frames that rose and fell on command from behind an earthen berm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe procedure was explained in detail before the trainees were issued the one round of ammunition, \u003ci\u003eCartridge, Rifle, Cal. .30, Anti-Personnel\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003ew\/168 grain projectile \u003c\/i\u003ewith which they would fire their first shot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnce twenty shooters were in the prone position, with a \u003ci\u003eStrap, Leather, Rifle\u003c\/i\u003e attaching them firmly to their rifles, and had a cadre-man laying beside them, the Range Officer would issue over a loudspeaker several commands:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The flag is up!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhereupon a red flag in the target area would be hauled to the top of a flagpole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The flag is waving!” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhereupon another flag, this one checkered, would be waved in the target pit, and the bull’s-eye targets would be raised.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The flag is down! Commence firing !” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhereupon the checkered flag would drop out of sight and the shooters were free to fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis required that the cadre-man hand his shooter the one cartridge he was trusted to have, and for the shooter to then insert the cartridge into the chamber of his Garand, and then to close the action of the Garand, which would make the Garand ready to fire once the safety on the front of the trigger guard was pushed out of the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe trick here was to get one’s thumb out of the way after depressing the magazine guide in the open action of the Garand before the bolt slammed closed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePVT WILLIAMS P had no problem with this, but eleven of the twenty shooters on the line already had what was known as “M-1 Thumb,” a physical injury, the symptoms of which were a black (or missing) thumbnail, and smashed tissue in the thumb-nail area.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter the cartridge was chambered, the shooter was to disengage the safety by pushing it forward in the trigger guard. Then he was to align his sights on the bull’s-eye, take a deep breath, exhale half, check his sight alignment, and then slowly, gently squeeze the trigger until the weapon fired. He then, after inspecting the now-open chamber of his rifle to make sure it was indeed open, would lay his weapon down and wait for further instructions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the sixty seconds allotted for the firing of the trainee’s first shots had expired, the range officer would announce, repeating the command twice, to make sure everyone heard him: “The flag is down! Cease firing!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhereupon the red flag would come down from its pole, and the targets disappear downward into the berm, where they would be marked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If the bullet had struck any part of the target at all, including the frame, a “peg” would be inserted in the bullet hole. This was a ten-inch black dot exactly the size of the bull’s-eye in the center of the target. When the target was raised, the shooter could see where his bullet hit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn case the target pullers could find no bullet hole anywhere, they would raise and wave a red flag, called “Maggie’s Drawers,” to tell the shooter he had completely missed the target.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the range officer completed the series of commands ending with “Commence fire,” the cadre-man next to PVT WILLIAMS P handed him the cartridge he was to fire with a little paternal, or perhaps brotherly, advice: “Expletive Deleted!! Head, if you Expletive Deleted!! up your Expletive Deleted!! thumb loading this, I will kick your Expletive Deleted!! from here to Expletive Deleted!! Trenton.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSergeant Andrew Jackson McCullhay feared that “M-1 Thumb” would keep PVT WILLIAMS P from being able to manipulate M-1 parts with the extraordinary facility that was making him so much money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePVT WILLIAMS P loaded his rifle without harm to his thumb, lined up the sights and squeezed the trigger. The recoil, while not pleasant, was not nearly as bone-shattering as Sergeant McCullhay had led him to believe it would be. He checked to see that the action was indeed open, and then laid the rifle down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sixty-second firing period expired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe range officer proclaimed the flag to be down, and ordered “Cease Fire!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe targets dropped down behind the berm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne by one, they rose again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first several to rise had pegs on them, which showed where the bullet had stuck. Some were actually within a foot or so of the bull’s-eye, but most were scattered all over the target. Two marksmen had shot the frame.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePVT WILLIAMS P’s target rose, but he could see no peg on it, and he braced for the shaming Maggie’s Drawers which would soon flutter to announce his lousy marksmanship to the world.\u003cbr\u003e No Maggie’s Drawers fluttered before his target, although they proclaimed the shame of seven other marksmen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What the Expletive Deleted!!?”Sergeant McCullhay asked rhetorically, and then raised his voice. “Tell the Expletive Deleted!! in the pit to mark Expletive Deleted!! Number Seven.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA minute or so later, the Range Officer appeared at Firing Point Number Seven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The pit reports Number Seven is in the X Ring,” he reported. “Obviously a fluke. Have your shooter fire again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis time PVT WILLIAMS P had the entire flag-is-up-and-down procedure all to himself. He was given a cartridge, loaded it without damage to his thumb, lined up the sights, etcetera, etcetera, and in military parlance, “squeezed off another round.”\u003cbr\u003e This time the pit again reported “In the X Ring.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePVT WILLIAMS P had no idea what the X Ring was, but he was shortly to learn that it was sort of a bull’s-eye within the bull’s-eye, a three-inch circle in the center of the ten-inch bull’s-eye.\u003cbr\u003e “I’ll be a Expletive Deleted!!” Sergeant McCullhay exclaimed.\u003cbr\u003e “Very possibly, Sergeant,” the Range Officer said. “But let us not jump to a hasty conclusion. One in the X Ring may be a fluke. Two in the X Ring may indeed be an extraordinary coincidence. But we should investigate further. Give your shooter another round, Sergeant. No! Give him a clip.”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir,” Sergeant McCullhay said, and handed PVT WILLIAMS P a metal clip holding eight cartridges.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePVT WILLIAMS P loaded the clip into his Garand and squeezed off eight rounds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t Expletive Deleted!! believe this,” the Range Officer said, when the pit crew had marked PVT WILLIAMS P’s target and reported what they had found. “Bring the target to the line.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe target was removed from the frame and brought to the line. It showed beyond any question that PVT WILLIAMS P had fired a total of ten shots. All of them had gone into the bull’s-eye. Six of them had gone into the X Ring.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Son,” the Range Officer said, “I predict a brilliant career for you as an Army Marksman.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e[ SIX ]\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e1000 Scharwath Road\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSouth Orange, N.J.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eDecember 13th 1946\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During the sixth week of his Basic Training, Phil turned, depending on which birth certificate one looked at, either eighteen or seventeen. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd eight weeks and five days after getting the boot from Saint Malachi’s School, Phil finally made it home to South Orange.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn his sleeves were the single stripes of a private first class, to which rank he had been advanced the previous day after being adjudged the “Distinguished Graduate” of his Basic Training Company. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd on his chest was a silver medal, looking not unlike the Iron Cross of Germany. It was the Expert Marksman Badge. Hanging from it were three small pendants, one reading Rifle, a second Sub-Machine Gun, and the third, Pistol.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe saw his mother on that Saturday. On Sunday, he went to New York to see his father. His father took him to lunch at his favorite watering hole, which was on West 52nd Street not far from Radio City Music Hall. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJack, one of the two proprietors of the establishment, on seeing the marksmanship medals on Phil’s chest, said, “I wish you’d seen me before you enlisted, Phil. I’d have steered you to the Corps. They really appreciate good shots.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was well-known that the proprietors of what the cognoscenti called “Jack and Charley’s” bar had served in the Marine Corps and had never quite gotten over it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil didn’t argue with Mr. Jack, as he had been taught to call him, but he thought he was better off where he was. From what he’d heard of Marine Corps recruit training, he didn’t want anything to do with it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter lunch, he went to Pennsylvania Station and took the train to Trenton, where he caught the bus to Fort Dix.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The next Monday morning, Phil learned that rather than being shipped off to a remote corner of the world to fill an empty slot in the manning tables of an infantry regiment, he would be retained at Fort Dix as cadre.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was just the man, Training Division officers decided, to teach the dis- and re- assembly of the U.S. Rifle, Cal. 30, M-1 Garand to the stream of recruits that flowed incessantly through the battalions and regiments of the division. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis training was conducted in three two-hour periods over as many days. On Monday mornings, Phil would go to the Basic Training Company where this training was scheduled, do his two-hour bit, and then have the rest of the day off. He would do this for the next two days, and then have the rest of the week off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDuring the week, Phil spent most of his off-duty time on the KD ranges. It was like Coney Island for free. He didn’t get to win any stuffed animals, of course, but on the other hand the Garand was a much nicer weapon than the Winchester pump-guns firing .22 shorts at Coney Island, and instead of five shots for a dollar, he had all the ammunition he wanted at no charge at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis weekends were free. He spent most of them in Manhattan, in a relentless but ultimately failing attempt to get a tall, thin, blond seventeen-year-old named Alexandra Black, who lived in the apartment directly above his father’s, to part with her pearl of great price. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eClose, but no brass ring, so to speak, which caused Phil to suspect that he and Alexandra were the only seventeen-year-old virgins in the world.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e On the Thursday of his fifth week as the dis- and re-assembly cadre instructor, one of the officers, Captain Barson Michaels, head of the Fort Dix Skeet and Trap Shooting Club, needed someone to operate for him the “trap” at the Post skeet range while he practiced, and his eye fell upon PFC Williams.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe “trap,” Phil learned, was an electro-mechanical device which, when triggered, would throw a frangible clay disc into the air at great speed. Captain Michaels showed Phil how to load stacks of the discs, which were called “birds,” into the trap, and handed him the trigger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“When I call ‘pull,’ Hotshot,” Captain Michaels ordered, “you push the button, which is the trigger, whereupon the trap will fire, the bird will fly, and I will shoot at it. Got it?”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir, Captain Michaels, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerhaps forty-five minutes later, during which time PFC Williams had flawlessly carried out his orders, and most of the carton of birds had flown, Captain Michaels, perhaps because he had heard a probably Expletive Deleted!! story that the kid was some sort of Annie Expletive Deleted!! Oakley in pants with an M-1, decided he could afford to be a nice guy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You ever fire a shotgun, PFC Hotshot?”\u003cbr\u003e “No, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e “Let me show you how it’s done, and then you can have a try at it.”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Michaels then handed Phil a shotgun. It was the first shotgun he had ever had in his hands. He later learned that it was a Remington Model 11, but at the time all he knew about it was that it was a semi-automatic weapon into which one fed—through the side, not the top—shotgun shells.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was given a sixty-second course in its operation—“\u003ci\u003eDrop the shell in, push that little button and you’re ready to go.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Michaels put Phil in position.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Any time you’re ready, Son.”\u003cbr\u003e Phil called “pull.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Michaels pushed the trap’s trigger. The bird flew. Phil fired. The unscathed bird kept flying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Michaels then imparted to PFC Williams the First and Great Commandment of Skeet and Trap Shooting, to wit: “\u003ci\u003eShoot where it’s going to be, Hotshot, not where it’s at\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe second bird at which Phil fired disappeared in a cloud of dust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the third and the fifth—not the fourth—and the sixth, and the seventh, \u003ci\u003eund so weiter \u003c\/i\u003euntil the twenty-second, which he also missed and then the twenty-third, -fourth and –fifth, which were also reduced to puffs of dust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You sure you never did this before, Hotshot?”\u003cbr\u003e “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I’m sure I never did this before.”\u003cbr\u003e “I’ll be a Expletive Deleted!! ” Captain Michaels said, his mind full of images of the greenbacks he was going to take from his pals at the next skeet shoot after betting this innocent young enlisted man could beat them.\u003cbr\u003e “Get another box of shells, my boy, and we’ll have another go at it.”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil went “straight”—that is, broke all of the twenty-five birds—in his second “round” of twenty-five birds.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Phil repeated the feat the next Saturday morning—in fact went fifty-two straight—at the weekly competition of the Fort Dix Skeet and Trap Shooting Club, following which Captain Michaels handed him two twenty-dollar bills with the explanation he’d made a small bet for him. As PFC Williams was being paid fifty-eight dollars a month at the time, this was a small fortune.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil blew just about all the forty bucks that same night on Alexandra Black in Manhattan. But to no avail. Worse, that night as she gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek goodnight, Alexandra told him that she had met a very nice boy from Yale and didn’t think she and Phil should see each other any more.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Even worse, the next Monday morning, Phil was summoned by his first sergeant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“How come you know General Schwarzkopf, PFC Expletive Deleted!! Head?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGeneral H. Norman Schwarzkopf, Sr., who invented the New Jersey State Police and later returned to the Army for service in World War II, was a pinochle-playing crony of Phil’s grandfather, the corporate counsel for the Public Service Corporation of New Jersey. The other General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, his son, the one who would win the first Desert War, was at about this time a second lieutenant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“First Sergeant, sir, he’s a family friend.”\u003cbr\u003e “Well, he got you a Top Secret security clearance. I never saw one of the Expletive Deleted!! come through so Expletive Deleted!! quick.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy in the world\u003c\/i\u003e, Phil wondered, \u003ci\u003ewould General Schwarzkopf get me a Top Secret Security Clearance?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then he remembered that early in his military career he had opted for the Army Security Agency to avoid going to West Point, and that he had been then required to fill out a multi-page form wanting to know every detail of his life. The form had asked for references, and as he was hard-pressed to think of any, he had given General Schwarzkopf as one of these.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Just as soon as you pass the Morse Test, PFC Expletive Deleted!! Head, you will pack your duffle bag and head for Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, for Army Security Agency training,” the first sergeant said.\u003cbr\u003e “The what test, First Sergeant, sir?”\u003cbr\u003e “There are three requirements to get into the ASA PFC Expletive Deleted!! Head,” his first sergeant explained. “You have to type thirty Expletive Deleted!! words a minute, hold a Top Expletive Deleted!! Secret clearance and pass the Expletive Deleted!! Morse Test. You know, Dit Expletive Deleted!! Dot Expletive Deleted!! Dit?”\u003cbr\u003e “Yes, sir, First Sergeant.”\u003cbr\u003e “You got two out of Expletive Deleted!! three, and as soon as you take the Morse Test, you’ll have all Expletive Deleted!! three. And then sayonara, PFC Expletive Deleted!! Head, don’t let the door knob hit you in the Expletive Deleted!! Expletive Deleted!! on your way out.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil saw a problem concerning a military career as an Intercept Operator in the ASA. He had learned that while such personnel did in fact perform their duties indoors sitting out of the sun, snow, and rain, they did so while wearing earphones for eight hours at a stretch, day after day.\u003cbr\u003e That didn’t seem like much fun compared to working three half days as a week and spending the rest of his duty time on the KD and skeet and trap ranges. Besides, there was a possibility, however slim, that Alexandra might become disillusioned with the nice boy from Yale she had met.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore the Expletive Deleted!! Yalie had appeared on the scene, Phil had been tantalizing close to achieving what was the greatest ambition of his entire seventeen years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“First Sergeant, do I have a choice in this?”\u003cbr\u003e “Indeed you do, PFC Expletive Deleted!! Head. You can get the Expletive Deleted!! out of my sight now, or delay doing so for thirty Expletive Deleted!! seconds, after which I will shove my boot so far up your Expletive Deleted!! that you’ll have Expletive Deleted!! shoe laces coming out of your Expletive Deleted!! nose.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  After giving the subject a great deal of thought, Phil purposefully failed the Morse Test. Failed it twice, as the tester suspected he wasn’t really trying on his first try. And then a third time when his failure came to the attention of various officers in the change of command.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil saw for the first time in his life the unexpected ramifications that can occur when there is a bureaucratic misstep. This took place immediately after he failed the Morse Test for the third time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaptain Barson Michaels, who looked kindly on Phil as a result of their time together on the skeet and trap ranges, turned to him, and said, not unkindly, “What the hell are we going to do with you now, Phil?”\u003cbr\u003e “Make him take the Expletive Deleted!! Morse Test once an hour until he passes the Expletive Deleted!! thing,” another officer in the room suggested.\u003cbr\u003e “There has to be another option,” Captain Michaels said. “I know this young soldier, Lieutenant. He’s given the test his best shot, so to speak.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe winked at Phil, which suggested to Phil that Captain Michaels understood and sympathized with Phil’s reluctance to become an ASA Intercept Operator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The regulation is clear,” the lieutenant argued. “Complete background investigations, which cost a Expletive Deleted!! arm and a leg, are not to be initiated until all testing has been satisfactorily completed. It’s the same with the CIC. No background investigation until the soldier passes the tests. Do you want to tell the Inspector General who Expletive Deleted!! that up here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePhil had never heard of the CIC.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What are the tests required for the CIC?” Captain Michaels inquired.\u003cbr\u003e “Two years of college. PFC Williams has two years and two months of high school. I thought of the CIC, Captain,” the lieutenant said.\u003cbr\u003e “The U.S. Army moves on a trail of paper, Lieutenant,” Captain Michaels said. “You may wish to write that down. That suggests to me that the CIC may have clerk-typists to care for its Special Agents.”\u003cbr\u003e “They call them CIC","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300236841189,"sku":"NP9780399183706","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399183706.jpg?v=1767739876","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-hunting-trip-isbn-9780399183706","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}