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

"Hear, hear," Pickering said again, and they all sipped their drinks.

"And finally, to victory!"

"Hear, hear," Pickering repeated a third time. He sipped his drink.

"If I may, General-it seems we left them out," Pickering said. "To Gen-eral Wendell Fertig, and U.S. Forces in the Philippines."

"I had, I hoped, included Fertig and his men in my toast," MacArthur said, a tone of annoyance in his voice. "But, by all means, we should toast our irregular forces in the Philippines, and their commander."

Pickering, restraining the urge to smile, thought: God, he's magnificent. He's unable to call Fertig "General" but USFIP has instantly become, in the regal sense, "our"-read "my"-"irregular forces."

MacArthur took a sip from his glass, set it down, and turned to Pickering.

"I heard from your friend Morrissette, too," he said. "Complaining of inadequate communications between the OSS in Washington and here. He asked if there wasn't some special communications channel to which his peo-ple could be given access." He paused significantly, and smiled. "I politely replied that the only special communications channel I knew of was controlled by you, Fleming."

"Then I shall doubtless be hearing from Morrissette again," Pickering said.

"And what will you tell him?"

"A wise old friend once told me that the greatest danger involved with the OSS was letting the camel's nose work its way under the tent flap, General," Pickering said. "If the question comes up, I shall keep that wise observation in mind."

"You are suggesting that you have had personal proof that what this wise, old-but unnamed-friend warned you about the dangers of the intrusive nose of an ugly dromedary was true?"

"I would be very surprised if my wise, anonymous old friend didn't know that already," Pickering said.

"I understand that you took at least one more officer on your operation than you had originally planned for?"

"Just one more, General."

MacArthur chuckled.

"Excuse us, Jean, and gentlemen," MacArthur said. "A private joke be-tween myself and my young but growing wiser friend here." He touched Pick-ering's shoulder in a gesture of affection and then went on. "So are you going to subject this young man to an OSS debriefing?"

"I don't see how I can avoid it," Pickering said. "Colonel Stecker will take him to see the OSS Station Chief here-"

"Colonel John J. Waterson," MacArthur interrupted. "Class of '22 at West Point. He resigned in 1934, as a passed-over-for-promotion captain. He was commissioned in the reserve in 1939, and called to active duty in Septem-ber 1941. I rather doubt if he's ever heard a shot fired in anger."

There are several reasons for that little biographical sketch, Pickering thought. The first being that he wants me to know that Charley Willoughby has done his homework vis-a-vis Waterson-Know Thine Enemy is the first rule for an intelligence officer. And the second is to make sure that I understand that Waterson had something less than a brilliant career when he was in the Army, and is not a real warrior, in the sense that El Supremo and Stecker and I-and, for that matter, Weston and Hart-are.

"... Colonel Waterson, in the morning," Pickering finished.

"Before Captain Weston leaves SWPOA," MacArthur said icily, "I would very much like for General Willoughby to have the opportunity to speak with him. Would that be possible, do you think, Fleming?"

"General Pickering, Captain Weston and I spent two hours with General Willoughby and his people this afternoon," Colonel Stecker said.

That announcement surprised him. He obviously didn't know. I would have thought Willoughby would have come right to him after hearing what Weston had to say.

"Did you really?" MacArthur said, and warmth came back into his voice and eyes. "I wonder why Charley didn't mention that to me?"

Probably, Pickering thought, now that I think about it, Charley Wil-loughby didn't come to see you immediately because he knew you would not want to hear what Weston told him, that Fertig has done an amazing job, and that just as soon as we can get some supplies to him, he is going to really cause the Japanese a good deal of trouble.

"Probably because he's boiling down what Weston had to tell him into a more convenient form, so as not to waste your time, General," Pickering said.

"Yes, of course, that must be it," MacArthur said. He changed the subject. "You were telling us about Captain Weston's beard, that you had ordered him to keep it?"

"Until after he deals with the OSS, General. I thought it might-"

"Impress them with the fact that they are dealing with a warrior?" MacArthur interrupted.

"Well, at least with a Marine whom the fortunes of war have placed where he had more important things to worry about than five o'clock shadow."

"You and I share a sense of humor, Fleming," MacArthur said. "I don't know how Jean feels about it."

"I think his beard is handsome!" Jean MacArthur said.

"My grandfather wore a beard," MacArthur said. "My father, General Arthur MacArthur, Jr., did not. It is family lore that he could not grow one, possibly because at the time of the battle, Missionary Ridge-where he won the Medal of Honor-he was just eighteen years old. Family lore also holds that after he was brevetted colonel-he was then nineteen, the youngest officer ever to hold that rank-he tried to grow one to make himself look older. He failed. Humiliated by that, he was clean-shaven the rest of his life, except for his mustache; and I suppose that I have patterned myself after him in that re-gard as well."

"You would look distinguished with a mustache!" his wife said.

He gave her a look that could have been mild annoyance or amusement, or both, and turned to Jim Weston.

"Captain," he said. "Perhaps an odd question: What did you think, or more precisely, what is your assessment of the reception of the matches by the Filipinos?"

"Matches, Sir?" Weston asked, baffled.

"Yes, matches. Matchbooks."

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

MacArthur turned to Pickering.

"I was led to believe, Fleming," he said coldly, "that matches were among the supplies your people took into the Philippines."

"I don't think Captain Weston saw your matches, General. They probably weren't off-loaded from the Sunfish before he was sent aboard. We sent a case, or two cases. I told McCoy to see that at least one case went with the first rubber boat."

"I see."

"Darling," his wife said. "I have some. Should I get them?"

"If you please, if for no other reason than to satisfy Captain Weston's curi-osity."

"Dinner is served," the white-jacketed orderly announced.

"It will have to wait," MacArthur snapped. "Mrs. MacArthur is not quite ready. Bring another round of drinks in the meantime."

"Yes, Sir."

The drinks were served before Jean MacArthur returned with a handful of matchbooks. She gave one to Weston, and then, like a hostess serving cookies, gave one to Pickering, Stecker, and Hart.

Weston looked at the matchbook in his hand. On it was printed "I SHALL RETURN! MacArthur."

"It was an idea my psychological-warfare people came up with," MacAr-thur said. "It rather embarrassed me, but they are supposed to know what they are doing, and I gave in."

"I never saw these before, Sir. But with respect, I think your psychologi-cal-warfare people are right."

"How is that, Captain Weston?"

"They're like General Fertig's gold, Sir. Proof that the United States hasn't forgotten them. And they'll drive the Japanese crazy."

"How is that, Captain?"

"The Filipinos think you, and for that matter, your father, are sort of like gods." Major General Arthur MacArthur, General Douglas MacArthur's fa-ther, was formerly the Military Governor of the Philippines; he ruled with both wisdom and compassion, and was instrumental in the transformation of the captured Spanish colony into the Commonwealth of the Philippines. "They're not going to use these matches. They'll carry them around like religious relics. And the Japs won't be able to do anything about it."