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

He came off the couch with surprising grace for his bulk and offered his hand. His left hand, McCoy noticed, held a briefcase, from which a chain led to his wrist.

"Thank you, Sir," McCoy said.

"Now that you have paid due and appropriate homage to my new and ex-alted rank, you may revert to calling me 'Pluto,' " Hon said.

"I didn't know Army field-grade officers got up at this time of the morn-ing," McCoy said.

"I haven't been to bed," Pluto said, and then looked at Pickering. "When you have a moment, Sir?"

"I could have come to the dungeon," Pickering said.

They both looked at McCoy.

Whatever is in Pluto's briefcase is none of my business.

"Why don't you show Ken where he'll be sleeping?" Pickering said to Hart.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Lieutenant Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker was sitting in one of the wicker arm-chairs in the bedroom when McCoy came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.

"You do get around, Lieutenant, don't you?" Stecker said, smiling. "You're living proof that if you join The Corps, you really will see the world

"Good morning, Sir."

"How are you, Ken?" Stecker asked, offering his hand without rising out of the chair. "The General said you had some trouble with shots?"

"They gave me one in the tail. I have no idea what it was."

"You all right? Fever? Sweaty? Sick to your stomach?"

"Just a sore tail," McCoy said, touched at Stecker's concern. "The bath made it better."

It's been a long time, McCoy had thought as he soaked in the large, old-fashioned tub, since I've had a bath-as opposed to a shower. Here he had no choice. The showerhead was at the end of a long, flexible cable. The moment he lifted it from its cradle and turned it on, it developed a powerful leak, spray-ing water on the ceiling and over the top of the shower curtain. He quickly turned it off, gave in to the inevitable, and took a bath.

Stecker nodded, then pointed to a table set against the wall. McCoy saw there a silver coffee service and a napkin-covered tray.

"I see you live pretty well around here," Stecker said.

"I'm a nice guy. I'm entitled," McCoy said.

"I'm having a little trouble believing how well," Stecker said. "Under the napkin, your choice of breakfast rolls. And there's real cream in that pitcher. And if you want, for example, ham and eggs-fresh eggs-all you have to do is push that doorbell and someone will come and ask you if you want them over easy or sunny-side up."

"Colonel," McCoy said, smiling. "This is what they call 'the lap of lux-ury.' You'd be surprised how easy it is to get used to."

Stecker chuckled.

"You want some breakfast, Ken?"

"I'd like some coffee," McCoy said, then walked to the table and poured two cups of coffee, carrying one of them to Stecker.

"The General said something about you setting up for the First Division coming here from the 'Canal?" McCoy asked, but it was a statement.

"That's what I'm here for," Stecker said. "But since the division's move-ment here is still classified, there's not really much I can do. And since the Army's handling the major logistics, quarters and rations, I really don't know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing."

"He also told me you were setting up my little operation," McCoy said.

"He's decided I'm some sort of an expert on guerrilla operations, which I am not. But what I have been doing is coming up with the supplies-medicine, small arms, and ammo-I think you should take with you. But it's your show, McCoy. I'm just trying to make myself useful. If you don't like what I'm sug-gesting, or you want something else..."

"Colonel, I know less about guerrilla operations than anybody I know. My expertise here is in paddling rubber boats, which is a lot harder than it looks."

"Hart told me," Stecker said, laughing, and then growing serious. "I wanted to talk to you about that. About how we pack the stuff you'll be taking with you."

"In small packages, nothing that can't be handled by one man," McCoy said. "Getting the stuff off the submarine into a rubber boat is tough, and then getting it out of the boat and onto land is harder. Ideally, small, waterproof packages that can be handled by one man, and that float."

"Koffler's working on something that may help. You know what plastic is?"

McCoy shook his head, no.

"I was surprised to hear that Koffler's out of the hospital. He's back on duty?"

"Back on duty and married."

"I heard about him getting married," McCoy replied. "The last time I saw him, he looked like death warmed over. And not old enough to even think about getting married."

"He's the youngest staff sergeant I ever saw," Stecker said. "General Pickering promoted him so he'd be eligible to get married. Anyway, his wife has been giving him lots of tender, loving care. Howard's still pretty weak. Apparently, the medicine they give to kill intestinal, and blood, parasites is some kind of poison. Poisons, plural. It hit Howard harder than it hit Koffler."

"Howard had a nurse girlfriend," McCoy said, making it a question.

"He still does, according to Major Hon. But they decided not to get mar-ried, because the minute they do, she gets shipped home."

"Why?"

"Some regulation. It's apparently designed to keep innocent Marines from the clutches of lonely nurses. But speaking of Mrs. Koffler... you're having dinner with them."

"What?"

"She wants to show her appreciation to you and Hart for getting him off Buka."

"I'll pass, thank you, Colonel."

"Is there any reason you couldn't go tonight? I know the General has noth-ing for you to do then. And he told me he thought a home-cooked meal would be good for you."

"That sounds like an order."

"The General feels sorry for her."

McCoy's eyebrows rose in question.

"You don't know the story?"

McCoy shook his head, no.

"According to the General, Koffler got her... in the family way the night before they dropped him on Buka," Stecker said. "That happened to be the night they had a memorial service for her husband, who was killed in Africa."

McCoy's eyebrows rose again, but he said nothing, waiting for Stecker to go on.

"They kicked her out of the Royal Navy..."

"Royal Australian Navy," McCoy corrected him, thinking out loud.

"... when they learned she was pregnant. And her family has... Ken, her father wouldn't even come to the wedding. They've just about kicked her out of the family. That's pretty vicious. She's a nice girl, and the General likes her."

"Let the General have dinner with her."

"He already has."

"I wasn't the only one on the Buka Operation. Hart was there. God, Pick Pickering was flying the airplane that picked us up. He and Charley Gallo-way."

"Young Pickering is somewhere in the States. Galloway is in Hawaii. Hart and you are here, and the General thinks a good home-cooked Aussie meal would do all of you some good."

"What? Roast kangaroo?"

"I knew you would be delighted," Stecker said.

"What were you saying about Koffler and... what did you say?"

"Plastic."

"What is it?"

"Have you seen the airtight, waterproof stuff they're packaging equip-ment in lately?"

McCoy shook his head helplessly.

"That aluminum-backed tar paper?"

"No. Not that. Plastic. Hart will tell you all about it over dinner. It'll give you something to talk about."

[FOUR]

Apartment 3C

The Amhurst Apartments

Brisbane, Australia

1915 Hours 14 November 1942

Despite a map General Pickering had drawn for him, it took McCoy a long time to find the Amhurst Apartments, a four-story brick building overlooking the harbor. They were driving the Studebaker President.

"Not bad for a nineteen-year-old staff sergeant," McCoy said to Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.