W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps VII - Behind the Lines

And then, as Houser watched, the left wing of the H8K began to emit smoke, almost immediately followed by the yellow glow of an explosion; and a moment after that, the wing crumpled. The H8K turned into the crumpled wing, then began to tumble. It struck the surface of the sea, causing a simulta-neous flash and explosion. There was an enormous cloud of black smoke, sud-denly cut off as the plane went beneath the water and the fire died.

"Jesus H. Christ," Chief Buchanan said, "talk about the goddamned Cav-alry to the rescue!"

Commander Houser had not known that the Chief was still on the bridge. But when he thought about it, he was not surprised. If Buchanan had his way, he, not the skipper, would have been the last man to leave the bridge.

"Belay the dive," Houser ordered.

The talker was gone, so Buchanan relayed the order orally, dropping to his knees and shouting down the open hatch. Then he rose to his feet.

"They're dipping their wings, Skipper," Chief Buchanan announced, quite unnecessarily.

"It would appear so," Houser replied.

The aircraft closed quickly. Then, at what the pilots obviously estimated to be the maximum range of a.50 caliber bullet, they turned sharply to the left and right. The maneuver served to turn their wings so that their undersides-and their American identifying insignia-were visible to the personnel in the con-ning tower.

There were now three people on the bridge. The talker had been the first to return.

Commander Houser turned to him.

"One quarter ahead," he ordered.

"One quarter ahead," the talker parroted.

"Mr. Weston to the bridge," he said.

"Mr. Weston to the bridge," the talker parroted.

Weston immediately climbed through the hatch again.

"I don't know where your coach is, Cinderella," Commander Houser said, "but the outriders are here." He pointed to the two fighters.

The fighters were almost on them, now down on the deck. They were air-craft the like of which Weston had never seen before. Obviously fighters, they were low-wing monoplanes, whose wings seemed to be bent, coming straight out from the fuselage, and then tipping upward.

The plane on the portside flashed past the Sunfish with its cockpit canopy open, close enough for Weston to see the pilot. He was a bareheaded, blond young man, earphones cocked jauntily on his head, wearing aviator sunglasses. He smiled as he waved a cheerful hand in greeting.

But more important to Jim Weston, late G-2 of USFIP and onetime Naval Aviator, were the big, bold letters across the aft portion of the fuselage: MARINES.

Tears ran down Weston's face and disappeared under his beard.

"Aircraft ninety degrees to starboard, estimate three miles, two thousand feet," Chief Buchanan bellowed. "A great big sonofabitch!"

Before Commander Houser could bring his binoculars to bear on the new aircraft, there was another call.

"Aircraft, dead aft, estimate three miles, two thousand feet. Make that two aircraft. More fighters."

"They're Corsairs," Commander Houser announced, "I didn't know they had them out here," and then faced his talker.

"Make turns for steerageway, prepare to stop engines."

"Make turns for steerageway, prepare to stop engines," the talker par-roted.

"Boat crew on deck, prepare to inflate and launch rubber boat," Houser ordered, and then as the talker repeated it, turned to Weston.

"I think that great big sonofabitch, as Chief Buchanan so vulgarly de-scribed it, is your carriage, Cinderella," he said. "It looks like a Coronado."

"God, look at that," Weston said as a Corsair approaching the Sunfish from the rear, flashed past on the deck at what must have been 350 knots, and then soared high in the sky.

"Jim, is there anything you want to take with you?" Houser asked gently.

Weston thought that over for a moment.

"My hat, Sir."

Houser turned to his talker.

"Mr. Weston's campaign hat to the bridge," he ordered.

"Mr. Weston's campaign hat to the bridge," the talker dutifully repeated.

The Coronado, growing larger by the moment, slowed as the pilot lowered his flaps and dropped her closer to the water. Above it, two of the Corsairs circled protectively, as two others rose into the sky at a rate of climb that had Jim Weston shaking his head in awed disbelief.

A tall officer in somewhat mussed khakis pulled Weston out of the rubber boat and through the door in the side of the Coronado. Almost immediately, the engines of the aircraft revved up as the pilot turned into the wind.

Inside were plushly upholstered chairs. After the tall officer in the mussed khakis made sure that Weston was safely strapped into his, he sat down beside him. Weston saw that the passenger compartment was otherwise empty, except for one other officer, a lieutenant commander of the Navy Medical Corps, sit-ting forward.

"Welcome back to the world, Captain Weston," the tall officer said. "My name is Pickering."

It was only then that Jim Weston saw that the silver insignia on his collar points were five-pointed stars.

"General, it's really lieutenant," Weston said.

"Oh, no, it isn't," Pickering said, and handed him a sheet of paper.

HQ USMC WASHINGTON

VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL

SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA

ATTENTION: BRIG GEN F. W. PICKERING, USMCR

0905 2 JANUARY 1943

NEXT OP KIN, MRS DOUGLAS WILLIAMS (AUNT) CEDAR RAPIDS IOWA WAS BEEN NOTIFIED OF RETURN TO ACTIVE DUTY OF FIRST LIEUTENANT JAMES B. WESTON, USMC BY THE UNDERSIGNED 26 DEC 1942. THERE MAY BE SOME ADMINISTRATIVE PROBLEMS IN THIS REGARD AS WESTON WAS PREVIOUSLY DECLARED MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD IN ACTION AND DEATH BENEFITS ETCETERA HAVE BEEN PAID. WILL ADVISE.

FOLLOWING QUOTED FOR YOUR INFORMATION:

EXTRACT, GENERAL ORDER 1 HQ USMC WASH DC DATED 1 JAN 1943

PARA 13.1/LT JAMES B. WESTON, USMC, DETACHED FROM HQ USFIP AND ASSIGNED USMC SPECIAL DETACHMENT 16 WITH DUTY STATION BRISBANE AUSTRALIA.

PARA 14. FOLLOWING OFFICERS PROMOTED TO GRADE OF CAPTAIN, USMCR, WITH DATE OF RANK 25 DECEMBER 1942

MCCOY, KENNETH R USMC OFFICE OF MANAGEMENT ANALYSIS

WESTON, JAMES B USMC SPECIAL DETACHMENT 16

FOR YOUR INFORMATION, CAPT WESTON IS AUTHORIZED THIRTY (30) DAY RECUPERATIVE LEAVE, NOT CHARGEABLE AS LEAVE, AT LOCATION OF HIS CHOICE IN CONTINENTAL US AS SOON AS HIS MEDICAL CONDITION PERMITS. SECNAV HAS AUTHORIZED AAA AIR PRIORITY FOR RETURN TO US VIA PEARL HARBOR.

BY DIRECTION:

BANNING, MAJ USMC

All four engines of the Coronado began to roar as the pilot shoved the throttles to takeoff power. In less than a minute, they were airborne.

The Navy doctor came aft as the Coronado was still climbing out. General Pickering left his chair and walked forward.

"Good morning, Captain," the doctor said, and then put a stethoscope to Weston's chest, took his pulse, pinched his skin, looked into his eyes, told him to open his mouth, pulled at his teeth, and then patted him encouragingly on his shoulder.

Then he stood up and walked to General Pickering.

Weston considered this a moment, then unstrapped himself and got out of his seat and walked forward.

The doctor stopped whatever he was saying in midsentence.

"If you're talking about me, I'd like to hear it," Weston said.

"Tell him, Doctor."

"You are malnourished," the doctor said. "But you don't have malaria, which is surprising. We'll do some tests, of course, when we reach Brisbane, but I can't see any indications of parasitic infestation, or other illness. And once we get some balanced nutrition into you, I think your gums will firm up quickly; you won't lose any teeth, in my opinion."

"Is that where we're going, Brisbane?"

"Right," General Pickering said. "The fighters will give us cover, these and some others from Henderson Field, until we're out of range of Japanese aircraft."