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

"They're not here, Sir. They should be on tomorrow's plane, unless Major Brownlee was able to scrounge a ride on an Air Corps B-17. He was going to try."

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, Ed, but how is it the Major waited while the Captain got to fly?"

"I tried to give him my seat, Sir, but the Navy wouldn't let me."

"You hear that, George?" "Yes, Sir."

"Drive up to Koffler and tell him to bring Captain Sessions's stuff to the house."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Hello, George," Sessions said. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"If I thought I deserved it, Captain, I'd say thank you."

"You wouldn't have it if it wasn't deserved," Sessions said.

Hart started the engine, drove to the edge of the quai, and waited for Koffler to appear. Then he rolled down the window.

"Koffler, nobody else is coming. Bring all of Captain Sessions's gear out to the house."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Sessions waited until they were under way, then said, "I can't believe that kid is Koffler."

"Don't let that baby face fool you," McCoy said. "He's one hell of a Marine."

"Speaking of Marines," Pickering said. "What do you think of the two OSS Marines?"

"The Major's all right. Nice guy. Bright. Got his head screwed on cor-rectly. Speaks perfect Spanish."

"And the Captain?"

"The Captain is named Macklin," Sessions said evenly.

"Not..." McCoy said.

"One and the same, Lieutenant McCoy."

"Shit," McCoy said.

For a moment, Pickering was confused. He was also somewhat surprised at the deep bitterness of McCoy's obscenity. And then he remembered hearing Jack Stecker and McCoy talking about an officer named Macklin. There had been some trouble with him in China, where Banning sided with McCoy against him, and again in Quantico, where Macklin tried to keep McCoy from getting commissioned.

"Is this the same officer you and Jack Stecker were talking about, Ken?" Pickering asked. "The one who gave you trouble on the rifle range at Quan-tico?"

"I'm still hoping Sessions is pulling my chain," McCoy said. "He has a strange sense of humor."

"I wish I was kidding about this, Ken," Sessions said. "General, this is the officer, using the term very loosely, with whom McCoy, and I, and Major Banning had trouble in China."

"Does Banning know it's the same man? More important, does Colonel Rickabee?"

Sessions went into his tunic and came out with a soggy envelope. "Colonel Rickabee asked me to give you this, Sir," he said. It was a glossy photograph of the abrupt note Secretary Knox had sent Rickabee.

After he read it, his first reaction was that Knox must have written it in anger, and that was uncharacteristic of him.

Was Knox boiling because Rickabee had the audacity to object to this man Macklin ? Or is there something else ?

Well, Frank Knox can tell Rickabee he doesn't "desire" any "further dis-cussion " of this, but he can't tell me that. Just as soon as we get to the house, I'll call Pluto in the dungeon and tell him to send Knox a Special Channel Personal. If Banning, Sessions, and McCoy all think this man is no good, so far as I'm concerned, it's three strikes and he's out!

"May I keep this, Ed?" Pickering asked politely.

"Of course, Sir."

"Let me think about this."

By the time they reached Water Lily Cottage, he'd had time to control his temper, consider his options, and choose one. It was so simple that he was a little afraid of it. He decided to say nothing now. He'd ask a few more ques-tions and have a couple of cups of coffee and a cigar before finally making up his mind.

"Did I understand you to say, Ed, that Major Brownlee strikes you as a competent officer?" Pickering asked conversationally.

"Yes, Sir. First class. And he impressed Colonel Rickabee the same way, Sir."

"Really?"

"Yes, Sir," Sessions said. "We had a hurry-up briefing session with some Philippine experts from ONI, and the Colonel sat in on it. He quickly came to the same conclusion I did, that Brownlee should have been the briefer, rather than the briefee. The Colonel told me to find out who in Gl had sent Major Brownlee to OSS instead of to us, and have him shot."

"That good, eh?" Pickering chuckled.

Fascinating!

Captain Ed Sessions had heard references to "the cottage." So he was not sur-prised when Hart pulled the Studebaker up against the verandah of a rambling frame house, and Pickering announced,

"Here we are, Ed. Our home away from home."

But he was surprised at the size of the place, and then even more surprised when the rear door of the Studebaker was pulled open by a plump, gray-haired, motherly woman in her late fifties, who was wearing a flowered dress and a frilly apron. She held an enormous umbrella over her head.

"Welcome to Australia, Captain Sessions," she said, and thrust two more umbrellas into the backseat.

Pickering sensed Sessions's surprise.

"Captain Sessions, this is Mrs. Hortense Cavendish," he said, laughter in his voice. "She's in charge around here. You disobey her at your peril."

Inside Water Lily Cottage, Sessions found that a hotel-like buffet of scrambled eggs, sausages-"They call those bangers, Ed," McCoy offered helpfully-ham, and three kinds of biscuits and toast was laid out in a large dining room.

"God, war is hell, isn't it?" Sessions asked.

"Since I went through boot camp," Pickering said solemnly, "I have al-ways disagreed with the Marine Corps belief that you need practice to be mis-erable and hungry."

Over breakfast, Pickering explained that when he first came to Australia, MacArthur's SWPOA Headquarters was in Melbourne.

"So I rented a house," he said, "presided over by Mrs. Cavendish. By the time El Supremo moved his headquarters here, Mrs. Cavendish had concluded that if it were not for her, all of us, in unwashed clothing and needing haircuts, would die of starvation in unmade beds. So she signed on for the duration, and came up here when I rented this place."

"Some people have all the luck," Sessions said.

"She has a husband and two sons in the service," Pickering went on, the timbre of his voice changing. "One each Royal Australian Army, Navy, and Air Force. All in Africa."

"Oh," Sessions said.

When he finished his breakfast, Pickering lit a cigar and then somehow summoned Mrs. Cavendish. Sessions heard the dull ring of a bell and decided there must be a button on the dining-room table, or else the floor.

"Can I bring something else, General?" Mrs. Cavendish asked.

"Would you please make a fresh pot of-"

"It's already through," she interrupted.

"And then leave us for a while? And if Koffler is out there, send him home."

"Certainly, Sir."

Sessions desperately wanted to climb into bed and the shower, and not necessarily in that order; but he knew that would have to wait until Pickering finished whatever he had in mind. Pickering puffed thoughtfully on his cigar until the coffee was delivered and the buffet and dirty dishes removed.

"Are you going to want me for this, Sir?" McCoy asked, starting to rise out of his chair.

"Stick around, Ken, and you, too, George."

McCoy lowered himself back into his chair and reached for the silver cof-feepot.

"One more time, Ed," Pickering said to Sessions. "Both you and Rickabee are favorably impressed with Major Brownlee?"

"Yes, Sir. I suppose you could say he's everything Captain Macklin is not."

"I would have liked to make the judgment on my own," Pickering said.

"But your opinion, and Colonel Rickabee's, is the next-best thing. And I want this in place before they get here. You said tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yes, Sir. They had seats on today's plane. But maybe sooner, if Major Brownlee was able to get the Army Air Corps to carry them on a B-17."

"OK. The participation of the OSS-which means Major Brownlee and Captain Macklin-in the mission to have a look at General Fertig and his guer-rilla operation has been directed. That's a given. That poses certain problems, but also resolves some."