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

"You must be Macklin," the Major said, in a heavy Bostonian accent.

"I am Captain Macklin. May..."

"Where's the Major?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where is Major Brownlee?"

"You mean he's not here?"

"If he was here, Captain, I wouldn't have asked where he is," Pluto re-plied.

"Sir, may I ask who you are?"

"My name is Hon," Pluto said. "Have you any idea, Captain, where Major Brownlee is?"

"With all respect, Sir, I am on a classified mission, and until-"

"I know all about your mission, Captain," Pluto cut him off. "And I asked you where Major Brownlee is."

"Sir, Major Brownlee, to the best of my knowledge, should be in Aus-tralia. He was under orders to report to General Pickering."

"Well, I don't think he did, or General Pickering wouldn't have sent me down here in his car to meet him. When was the last time you saw him?"

"In Hawaii, Sir. At Hickam Field. He obtained passage for himself on a Flying Fortress."

"When was that?"

"Three days ago, Sir."

"Before or after Sessions left?"

"Several hours afterward, Sir."

Staff Sergeant Koffler, carrying Macklin's luggage, walked up.

"Steve, how fast is a B-17 compared to a Coronado?" Pluto asked.

"About eighty miles an hour faster. Why do you want to know?"

"Major Brownlee left Hawaii on a B-17 a couple of hours after Sessions, and he's not here yet."

"That doesn't sound right," Koffler said.

"I didn't think so, either."

My God, this Oriental major calls this sergeant by his first name, carries on a personal conversation with him, and seems blissfully oblivious to the fact that he hasn't said "Sir" once to him.

"You are some sort of expert, are you, Sergeant, on aircraft?"

Koffler shrugged modestly.

"Oh, yeah," Pluto said. "Steve is our resident expert. If it flies, he knows how fast and how far. And he's also a pretty good radio operator."

"Tell that to the General, please," Koffler said.

"You're not going, Steve," Pluto said. "Give it up." He turned to Macklin. "You might as well get in, Captain, since Brownlee's not here."

"My orders are to report to General Pickering," Macklin said. "Would you take me to him, please?"

"My orders from General Pickering are to set you up in the SWPOA BOQ. When he wants to see you, he'll send for you."

=TOP SECRET=

PROM: SUPREME HEADQUARTERS SWPOA

0925 26N0V42

BY SPECIAL CHANNEL

TO: CINCPAC HAWAII

EYES ONLY-CINCPAC

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL

FOLLOWING PERSONAL FROM BRIG GEN PICKERING TO ADM NIMITZ

DEAR ADMIRAL NIMITZ:

MAJOR JAMES C. BROWNLEE m USMC EN ROUTE USMC SPECIAL DETACHMENT 16 TO PARTICIPATE IN

FERTIG OPERATION BELIEVED TO HAVE DEPARTED HICKAM FIELD AS SUPERCARGO ABOARD USARMY

AIRCORPS B17 APPROXIMATELY 1830 21 NOVEMBER 1942 HAS NOT ARRIVED HERE.

REQUEST ANY AND ALL INFORMATION REGARDING THIS OFFICER'S LOCATION BE FURNISHED VIA SPECIAL

CHANNEL AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

RESPECTFULLY PICKERING

END PERSONAL FROM BRIG GEN PICKERING TO ADM NIMITZ

BY DIRECTION:

HON SON DO MAJ SIGC USA

T O P S E C R E T

[SEVEN]

Headquarters, U.S. Forces in the Philippines

Davao Oriental Province

Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines

0705 Hours 28 November 1942

Second Lieutenant Percy Lewis Everly, USFIP, walked down the dirt trail through the bush very slowly, followed by the other nine members of the pa-trol.

His loose-fitting dirty white cotton blouse and trousers-cut off at the knees-were sweat-soaked and filthy. His calves were bloody where they had been scratched by thorns; flies and other insects were feeding on the suppurat-ing wounds.

He carried a Thompson.45 ACP submachine gun in his hand. The leather straps of three Japanese Arisaka rifles and their leather accoutrements crossed his chest.

Behind him came two Filipino soldiers, carrying between them what at first looked like a body suspended from a pole on their shoulders. It was not a body, but the tunic and trousers of a Japanese soldier, stripped from his body and pressed into use as makeshift bags. The tunic held two five-gallon tin cans of gasoline (a total weight of seventy pounds). In the trousers was an estimated fifty pounds of rice, twenty pounds of Japanese canned goods, perhaps ten or fifteen more pounds of ammunition for the Arisakas, and an even dozen gre-nades. The load bearers also carried U.S. Army Caliber.30-06 Enfield rifles.

Behind them came three more pairs of what Everly somewhat unkindly thought of as coolies-two more Filipinos and four Marines, also carrying captured food and equipment suspended in Japanese uniforms converted into bags.

How the slight Filipinos managed their loads, Everly had no idea. It seemed to be a matter of pride with them to carry at least as much as the Ma-rines. Bringing up the rear was a Filipino making his painful way using a forked stick as a crutch. He had sprained-Everly suspected broken-his ankle in a fall just before they ambushed the Japanese vehicles. Somehow, he had managed to keep up with the others. They had been walking all night, in the light of a half-moon.

Everly walked up to the small building on stilts that was both the G-2 Sec-tion, Headquarters, USFIP, and the quarters he shared with Captain James B. Weston.

He turned and faced his men.

"Just drop that stuff where you are," he ordered. "Somebody'll take care of it. Somebody go get the Chief and have him look at Zappo's leg. Get some-thing to eat and some sleep."

There were nods in acceptance of the orders, but no one responded out loud. They just lowered their loads onto the ground.

Everly looked at the steps leading to the verandah of the house. Although he really disliked doing this-it was a mortal sin for a Marine, permitting weapons to touch the ground-he decided there was no way he could negotiate the stairs loaded down as he was.

He put the butt of the Thompson on the ground, leaning the barrel against his leg, and started to remove the leather straps around his chest. When he had the first one off and tried to lower it gently to the ground, the Thompson fell off his leg.

"Shit!" he said, and angrily pulled the other straps over his head and let the rifles fall. Then he picked up the Thompson and brushed the dirt from it as well as he could.

Then he slowly climbed the ladderlike stairs to the verandah. Captain Weston was not in the "office" or their "quarters," the two rooms into which the house was divided.

"Fuck it," Everly said aloud to himself. "He'll be back."

He walked to his bed (constructed of bamboo poles, with a combination spring and mattress made of woven leaves) and lay down. He lay immobile for a minute or two, then sat up and took his boondockers and socks off. The socks were in tatters, and the sole of the right boondocker would not last much lon-ger; it was about to tear free of the nearly rotten leather.

He lay back down and considered that problem a moment. He had big feet, eleven-and-a-halfs, and so far no Japanese he had come across had feet nearly that big. The Filipinos were well shod, courtesy of the Japanese Imperial Army, but the footgear of all the Marines was just about shot.

They were going to have to find a shoemaker. Or something else would have to be done.

The house shook, signaling that someone was climbing the stairs. Everly didn't move his head, but looked at the open door.

"Welcome home," Weston said.

Everly did not reply. He disapproved of Weston's beard. An officer should be shaved, not wearing a goatee like General Fertig, or a full beard like Weston.

"How did it go?"

"We got some stuff. Including fifteen gallons of gas-"

"I saw that," Weston interrupted.