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

"Instead, you didn't see me. You saw that general's star, and that im-pressed you, right? I might look a little strange in my straw hat and beard, but the cogent fact, right, was that I was wearing a general's star? And you gave me the benefit of the doubt?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Let me give you a little lecture in military law, Lieutenant Weston. Inas-much as I am what the books call 'the senior officer of the line present,' which means that I am serving in one of the branches of the Armed Forces which engages in combat... that includes the infantry, the cavalry, the artillery, the engineers, the air corps, and oddly enough, even the signal corps, but excludes the medical corps, the chaplain's corps, the finance corps, et cetera.... You following me?"

"Yes, Sir, I think so."

"Inasmuch as I am a lieutenant colonel of the line, the Congress of the United States, in its wisdom, has given me command over all lieutenant colo-nels of the line, regular or reserve, junior to me, by date of rank, and every other officer in an inferior grade-a lieutenant commander in the Navy, for example, or, should one wander in here, a full bird colonel of the medical corps. Or, to put a point on it, a Marine Corps first lieutenant who has in fact wandered in here."

"Yes, Sir," Weston said because he could think of nothing else to say.

"My order to you that as of this moment you and your men are under my command is perfectly valid."

"Yes, Sir, I suppose it is."

"You took it a lot easier when you thought I was a brigadier general, didn't you? No question. Just 'Yes, Sir, General'?"

That's not wholly true. But he's made his point.

"Yes, Sir, General," Weston said with a smile.

"I had a Moro silversmith hammer these out for me," Fertig said, flipping one of his silver-starred collar points again, "because the Filipinos I intend to recruit will follow a general. They would not follow a lieutenant colonel. And I did not wish to deliver my little lecture about the small print in military law to every American serviceman I come across."

"I understand, Sir."

"In the absence of any other officer able or willing to assume command of American Forces in the Philippines, I have done so. I'll deal with the subject of my self-promotion with my superior headquarters at some later time."

"Yes, Sir."

"Any questions, Lieutenant Weston?"

"No, Sir."

"That's strange. I thought an intelligent, curious young man like you would be interested to know the current strength of United States Forces in the Philippines."

"Yes, Sir. I am."

"Right now, the officer corps is three officers strong. It consists of myself, and you, and Captain Charles Hedges. He is my chief of staff. At the moment, he's out looking for a radio and mobile rations, which means swine that can be taken along with us under their own power should the Japanese get too close for comfort."

"And enlisted men?"

"Counting the ones that came in with you, sixteen Americans. So far as the Philippine Element of USFIP is concerned, I have eleven commissioned officers and approximately 225 enlisted men. Sometime in the near future, we hope to equip each of the enlisted men with a firearm. At the moment, approxi-mately half are armed with machetes."

"Yes, Sir."

"Reliable intelligence has reached our G-2 Section-which at the moment means me-that there are other small units such as yours who have declined to surrender, here on Mindanao and elsewhere in the islands. Efforts are being made to contact them and place them under the command of USFIP."

"Yes, Sir."

"Reliable intelligence indicates that two such units, with a total strength of 165, are on their way here from Cebu at this moment. More are expected shortly. It is my belief that USFIP will grow rapidly in size, like a snowball rolling down a hill in Vermont."

Weston smiled at the analogy.

"One of our problems is officers," Fertig said. "Of your men, are there any you could in good conscience recommend for a direct commission?"

"Everly," Weston said without hesitation.

"Just the one?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You are authorized to offer him a commission as a second lieutenant, infantry, U.S. Army Reserve. If he accepts, I will swear him in."

"He's what they call an Old Breed Marine, General," Weston said, smil-ing. "A China Marine. I don't know what he'll think about becoming an Army lieutenant."

Fertig ignored the reply.

"Our second problem is establishing radio communications with Aus-tralia. I don't suppose that you are a radioman, or any of your men?"

"No, Sir. But I have a degree in Electrical Engineering."

"Interesting! Fascinating! That would ordinarily be enough for me to name you Signal Officer of USFIP," Fertig said. "But I already have one. Or will shortly, as soon as I commission him. Probably this afternoon, after you have a word with your man Everly. I'll commission them together. He's cur-rently a private soldier named Ball. But he's a radio operator."

There was a disconcerting aura about the whole conversation, at once amusing and frightening. It was simultaneously insane and utterly practical.

It might sound insane, but obviously, this man intends to do exactly what he says he's going to do. And there is a method to his madness.

"When our reinforcements attach themselves to us," Fertig said, "obvi-ously it would be best if they didn't quite understand how recently our officers were commissioned. Or received their assignments in the command structure. Or promoted."

"I take the General's point," Weston said.

"I would hate to think that you were mocking me, Weston."

"No, Sir," Weston replied immediately and sincerely. "That was not my intention, General."

Fertig looked into his eyes again.

"Good. It would be awkward if I thought my G-2, an officer I personally promoted to captain, was mocking me. It would suggest he did not have faith in me."

"Has the General given any consideration to the assignment of Lieutenant Everly?" Weston asked.

"For the time being, he should be your deputy," Fertig said seriously. And then a smile curled his lips. "Maybe between-what was it you said?-an Old Breed China Marine and an airplane-less pilot, we can come up with a half-decent intelligence officer."

"We'll try, Sir," Weston said.

"Do have a razor in your kit, Weston?"

"No, Sir."

"Then you may use mine. I think one bearded officer is enough for USFIP."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"You may go in my quarters, Captain, and have a shave. And then I sug-gest you have a word with your man Everly," Fertig said.

"Aye, aye, Sir," Weston said, and stood up. "By your leave, General?"

"That's the first time anyone said 'aye, aye' to me. Nice. You are dis-missed, Captain."

Weston saluted, did an about-face, and then walked into General Fertig's quarters.

Inside the house, Weston found, neatly laid out on a rattan table, a round, mag-nifying mirror in a chrome frame, a leather-covered box holding seven old-fashioned straight razors, a leather strop, a shaving brush, and a wooden jar of shaving soap. The soap was gray, obviously not what originally filled the jar.

There are two ways to look at this, Weston thought, amused. One way, United States Forces in the Philippines is so fucked up we don't even have soap. On the other hand, USFIP is resourceful enough to make its own soap, and the goateed madman on the porch is confident enough to be worried about the appearance of his officers.

And since I have never held a straight razor in my hand before, I am liable to die for my country of a slit throat, acquired while I was attempting to set a good example for the enlisted men.

There was a battered aluminum bowl half full of water. He dipped the shaving brush into it, attempted to make suds in the soap dish, and was aston-ished at his success. The bubbles were gray, but they were bubbles.