W.E.B. Griffin - THE CORPS VI - CLOSE COMBAT

All the same, since getting hit was beyond his control, he didn't dwell on it. Or tried not to dwell on it.... He kept imagining three, four, five-something like that-scenes where he'd get it. Sometimes, he could keep one or another of these out of his mind for as much as an hour.

He looked again at the weird R4D, glad at the moment for the diversion. "Holy shit!" he said again.

When the airplane first came to Henderson, he asked Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky about it. The maintenance sergeant of VMF-229 was usually a pretty good guy; but that time Oblensky's face got hard and his eyes got cold, and he told him to butt the fuck out; if The Corps wanted to tell him about the airplane, they would send him a letter.

The Easterbunny pushed himself to his feet as the weird R4D, its unusual landing gear extended, turned on its final approach. He shot a quick glance at the sky, then held his hand out and studied the back of it. He'd come ashore with a Weston exposure meter, but that was long gone.

He set the exposure and shutter speed on his Leica 35mm camera to fl1 at 1/100th second. He'd also come ashore with a Speed Graphic 4 x 5-inch view camera, but that too was long gone.

He shrugged his shoulder to seat the strap of his Thompson.45 ACP caliber submachine gun, so it wouldn't fall off, and took two exposures of the R4D as it landed and rolled past the Pagoda, and then another as it taxied back to it.

As he walked toward the aircraft, he noticed Big Steve Oblensky driving up in a jeep. Jeeps, like everything else on Guadalcanal, were in short supply. How Oblensky managed to get one-more mysteriously, how he managed to keep it-could only be explained by placing Oblensky in that category of Marine known as The Old Breed-i.e., pre-war Marines with twenty years or more of service. They operated by their own rules.

For instance, Bobby Easterbrook had taken at least a hundred photos of Old Breed Marines wearing wide-brimmed felt campaign hats in lieu of the prescribed steel helmet. None of the brass, apparently, felt it worthwhile to comment on the headgear, some of which the Easterbunny was sure was older than he was.

Another sergeant was in the jeep with Oblensky, a gunnery sergeant, a short, barrel-chested man in his late twenties; another Old Breed Marine, even though he was wearing a steel helmet. Oblensky was coverless (in The Corps, the Easterbunny had learned, headgear of all types was called a "cover") and bare-chested, except for a.45 ACP in an aviator's shoulder holster.

"Why don't you go someplace, Easterbunny, and do something useful?" Technical Sergeant Oblensky greeted him.

"Let me do my job, Sergeant, OK?"

Three months ago, I would never have dreamed of talking to a sergeant like that.

"You know this feather merchant, Ernie?" Technical Sergeant Oblensky inquired.

"Seen him around."

"Easterbunny, say hello to Gunny Zimmerman."

"Gunny."

"What do you say, kid?"

"Except that he keeps showing up where he ain't wanted, the Easter-bunny's not as much of a candy-ass as he looks."

I have just been paid a compliment; or what for Big Steve Oblensky is as close to a compliment as I could hope for.

The rear door of the R4D started to open. Bobby Easterbrook put the Leica to his eye and waited for a shot.

First man out was a second lieutenant, whom the Easterbunny recognized as one of the VMF-229 Wildcat pilots. He was wearing a tropical-weight flight suit. It was sweat stained, but it looked clean. Even new.

That's unusual, the Easterbunny thought. But what's really unusual is that an R4D like this is being flown by pilots from VMF-229, which is a fighter squadron. Why?

Neither of the Old Breed sergeants in the jeep saluted, although the gunny did get out of the jeep.

"We got some stuff for the squadron," the Second Lieutenant said. "Get it out of sight before somebody sees it."

That put Oblensky into action. He started the jeep's engine and quickly backed it up to the airplane door. He took a sheet of canvas, the remnants of a tent, from the floor of the jeep, set it aside, and then climbed into the airplane. A moment later, he started handing crates to Zimmerman.

Very quickly, the jeep was loaded-overloaded-with crates of food. One, now leaking blood, was marked BEEF, FOR STEAKS 100 LBS KEEP FROZEN. And there were four cases of quart bottles of Australian beer and two cases of whiskey.

Oblensky and Zimmerman covered all this with the sheet of canvas, and then Oblensky got behind the wheel and drove quickly away.

Another officer, this one a first lieutenant, climbed down from the cargo door of the airplane; and he was immediately followed by a buck sergeant. They were wearing khakis, and web belts with holstered pistols, and both had Thompson submachine guns slung from their shoulders.

Gunny Zimmerman walked up and saluted. The Easterbunny got a shot of that, too. When the Lieutenant heard the click of the shutter, he turned to give him a dirty look with cold eyes.

Fuck you, Lieutenant. When you've been here a couple of days, you'll understand this isn't Parris Island, and we don't do much saluting around here.

The Lieutenant returned Gunny Zimmerman's salute, and then shook his hand.

"Still alive, Ernie?" the Lieutenant asked.

"So far," Gunny Zimmerman replied.

"Say hello to George Hart," the Lieutenant said, and then turned to the sergeant. "Zimmerman and I were in the 4th Marines, in Shanghai, before the war."

"Gunny," Sergeant Hart said, shaking hands.

"You were in on this?" Zimmerman asked, with a nod in the direction of the weird airplane.

"I couldn't think of a way to get out of it," Sergeant Hart said.

The Lieutenant chuckled.

"I volunteered him, Ernie," he said.

"You do that to people," the gunny said. "Lots of people think you're dangerous."

"Dangerous is something of an understatement, Gunny," Sergeant Hart said.

The Lieutenant put up both hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

I read this lieutenant wrong. If he was a prick, like I thought, he wouldn't let either of them talk like that to him. And what's this "4th Marines in Shanghai before the war " business? He doesn't look old enough to have been anywhere before the war.

Now a major climbed down the ladder from the airplane. He was dressed in khakis like the Lieutenant, and he was wearing a pistol. The Easterbunny took his picture, too, and got another dirty look from cold eyes.

And then Major Jake Dillon climbed down. He was also in khakis, but he carried a Thompson, not a pistol; and he smiled when he saw him.

"Jake," the first Major said, and pointed to Corporal Easterbrook.

"Give me that film, Easterbrook," Major Dillon ordered.

The Easterbunny rewound the film into the cassette, then opened the Leica, took it out, and handed it to Major Dillon. Dillon surprised him by pulling the film from the cassette, exposing it, ruining it.

"This we don't want pictures of," Dillon said conversationally, then asked, "Where'd you get the Leica?"

"It's Sergeant Lomax's," Easterbrook replied. "It was Sergeant Lomax's. Lieutenant Hale took it when he got killed, and I took it from Hale when he got killed."

Major Dillon nodded.

"There's some 35mm film, color and black-and-white, in an insulated container on there," he went on, gesturing toward the airplane. "And some more film, and some other stuff. Take what you think you're going to need, and then give the rest to the Division's public relations people."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"I want to talk to you, to everybody, but not right now. Where do you usually hang out?"

"With VMF-229, Sir."

"OK. See if you can locate the others, and don't get far away."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky came up in the now empty jeep.