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

Second Lieutenant Hart saluted First Lieutenant McCoy.

There was nothing wrong with the salute. It was crisp and accompanied by a smile.

"Give me your bag, Mr. McCoy," Hart said. "You must be a little weary."

McCoy returned Hart's salute and handed over his bag. Hart picked it up effortlessly-the sonofabitch really has a build-and then gestured down the wharf. McCoy looked and saw General Pickering's Studebaker staff car.

"You're cleared through the arrival processing, Mr. McCoy," Hart said. "The General arranged it."

"Thank you," McCoy said, and started walking toward the Studebaker.

There's nothing really wrong with Hart. He didn't ask for that gold bar; and for that matter, I'm the guy who recruited him for General Pickering from Parris Island.

And, oh, shit, I know for a fact he's not a candy-ass. When I told him I was going to leave him alone overnight on the beach at Buka, all he said was "OK." That took balls.

What's wrong around here, McCoy, is you. You've got a bad case of candy-ass yourself. "It isn't fair that I'm back here."

"I don't think the discipline of the entire Marine Corps would collapse if you called me 'Ken,' George."

"That would presume I have forgiven you for leaving me on that beach all by my lonesome, Mr. McCoy. I'm not quite at that point yet."

"Well, in that case, go fuck yourself, Mr. Hart."

"Hey, before I forget it: When you see Koffler, and he thanks you for his wedding present, just say 'You're welcome.' "

"You bought him a wedding present, and said it was from me?"

"Two sets of pajamas, from the Officers' Sale Store."

"How much?"

"Now that you mention it, four-fifty each, plus two bits to have the fly sewn shut on the bride's. Nine and a quarter."

McCoy stopped, took out his wallet, and handed Hart a ten-dollar bill.

"Thanks, George," he said, and then thought aloud: "How did you know you'd get your money back?"

"You ever hear what they say about bad pennies, they keep turning up?"

In other words, you didn't. You 're really a nice guy, Hart.

"How's the General?" McCoy asked.

"Ask him yourself," Hart said, and effortlessly waved McCoy's bag to-ward the Studebaker.

Brigadier General Fleming W. Pickering was in the process of stepping out of the front passenger seat.

"Jesus Christ," McCoy muttered. "It's five o'clock in the morning. What's he doing up at this hour?"

"I think he wants to talk to you before you get out to Water Lily," Hart said. "As a matter of fact, I know he does. He told me."

"I'd welcome you to Australia, Ken," General Pickering said as McCoy came near. "But I'm afraid you'd throw something at me. Sorry about this; it was necessary."

McCoy saluted crisply.

"Good morning, Sir."

"How was the flight?"

"I've had better, Sir," McCoy said.

"You all right? You're walking funny."

"I had a shot where I sit, Sir. It's a little sore. I'll be all right."

"Get in the back, Ken," Pickering said. "I want to talk to you before we get to the cottage."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"George, take twenty minutes or so to drive us home."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"I didn't think. Ken, are you hungry?"

"I'm all right, Sir."

"Somehow, I suspect that's not the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"I'm all right, Sir. I can wait until we get to the cottage."

"If you're sure," Pickering said doubtfully. "I'd really like to get this out of the way."

"I'm all right, Sir," McCoy repeated.

"OK, then get in."

A general officer, McCoy thought, is holding the door for me.

There were two reminders that Pickering was a general officer-first when Hart removed the covers from the red-starred general officer's plates on the car, and again when they passed the guard at the gate to the Navy base. He started saluting the car long before they reached the guard shack.

Pickering returned the guard's salute casually, then extended a cigar case to McCoy. McCoy took one.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Cuban," Pickering said. "The Pacific Commerce called here. Unfortunately for her master, I remembered he was a cigar smoker. I pulled rank on him and relieved him of his stock. So he smokes his thumb on the long voyage to San Francisco, and you and I and El Supremo have something to smoke."

Typical General Pickering, McCoy thought. If he got cigars from one of his ships, it was because he asked for them politely, not demanded them, and the captain gave him all he had, not so much because Pickering owns Pacific and Far East Shipping, but because the captain, like everybody else I've ever known who works for him, would give him the shirt off his back.

"Two questions, Ken," Pickering said. "How would you feel about going back to the Philippines? I mean by rubber boat off a submarine?"

"I'm a Marine, Sir. I go where I'm ordered."

"That's not what I asked."

"Every time I start feeling sorry for myself, Sir, I remind myself I'm not on Guadalcanal, living in the mud, with people trying to kill me."

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself right now?"

"I thought I was going to have four or five months in the States."

"With Ernie, you mean," Pickering said. It was not a question. "How is she?"

"Just fine, Sir."

She was fine when she put me on the plane, but when Ed Sessions showed up at her apartment with my plane tickets, she lost it. I'd never seen her cry before.

Pickering grunted.

"You coming back must have been tough on her. But she's a tough little lady."

You didn't see her cry.

"Yes, Sir. She is. I have a package for you-it's in my bag-from Mr. Sage. I was going to send it with an officer courier, but then..."

"How do you get along with him?"

"If I were him, I don't think I'd like me, either. Ernie deserves better than this, than me."

"Better than this, maybe. But if I had a daughter, I wouldn't be laying barbed wire to keep you away from her."

McCoy chuckled. "Thank you, Sir."

"Second question: How do you get along with Colonel Jack Stecker?"

What kind of a question is that? How do I get along with him ? He's a light colonel and I'm a first lieutenant. He'll tell me what to do, and I will do it.

"Colonel Stecker is a fine Marine, Sir."

"And he was a fine buck sergeant in the First World War. My question was, 'How do you get along with him?' "

"I say 'Aye, aye, Sir' to him a lot."

"Am I hearing, 'He's a fine Marine, but I don't like him'?"

"No, Sir," McCoy replied quickly and sincerely.

"Does the name Fertig mean anything to you?"

"He didn't surrender in the Philippines?" McCoy asked.

"Right."

"I picked up on a little about him in Washington," McCoy said.

"Right. He's a reserve Army officer, a captain..."

The way I heard it, he's a light bird, McCoy thought, but said nothing.

"... who has a radio, an obsolete code machine, and says he is establish-ing a guerrilla force. He's got some people with him, including some Marines. El Supremo is a little embarrassed about him-after he announced there was absolutely no possibility of guerrilla activity in the Philippines, this fellow Fer-tig shows up-but Nimitz, and more important, Leahy and Frank Knox think he may have potential."

"Yes, Sir."

"What I want to do is send you and Jack Stecker into the Philippines- specifically, onto Mindanao. You'll take Fertig some supplies, a radio, some codes, medicine, small arms, et cetera."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"But your primary mission will be to evaluate him, the people around him, and his, their, potential. Between you and Stecker, I think you have the experi-ence and the knowledge to come up with some valid answers."

The last poop I had was that Eighth and Eye was giving Colonel Rickabee a bad time about transferring Stecker to Management Analysis. Did they fi-nally get off their fat asses?