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

"What would you suggest, Mo?"

"(a) That we Urgent Radio Waterson telling him to go to Pickering and tell him that Macklin has been relieved and a replacement is on the way and (b) get a replacement on the way."

"We can't do that, Mo," Donovan said.

"Why not?"

"What you will do, Mo, is Urgent Radio Waterson and tell him to keep his opinion of Captain Macklin to himself. The last thing I want Douglas MacArthur to find out is that we sent Pickering this idiot."

"Knowing what we now know about him, you'd rather send Captain Macklin on Operation Windmill than suffer a little embarrassment? Mis-takes happen, Bill. We made one."

"The decision has been made, with the approval of the President, to send two OSS agents on Pickering's mission to Fertig. If we say, 'Hold it a minute, fellows, there's been a minor little mistake here, one of the agents we sent is paranoid,' we're going to look like fools. I don't want to look like a fool before the President, Knox, and MacArthur. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Not to understand, I suppose," Morrissette said. "But to believe. What about the other people on this mission? Have you considered the threat to them, to the mission itself, of taking this man along?"

"Subject closed, Mo," Donovan said. "Having considered everything in-volved, it is my decision that Captain Macklin goes on the mission. Clear? Send Waterson an Urgent Radio to that effect."

"May I speak frankly?"

"Certainly."

"This stinks, Bill, to high heaven."

"I don't like it any more than you do. It's a question of the greater good."

"What is 'the greater good'?"

"That the OSS operate in the Pacific. I believe, and I hope you do, that we can make a bona fide, substantial contribution to the war effort over there. All we have to do is get around MacArthur standing in our way."

"By doing this? Sending a man like Macklin on a mission? A mission that very possibly will fail because of him?"

"The mission will either be a success or a failure. If it's a success, we will have made the point that the OSS is useful."

"And if it fails?"

"We died trying," Donovan said. "Proving that we are willing to make the sacrifices called for. We'll try again and again until we are successful. What we are not going to do is admit that our internal procedures are so sloppy that we actually sent a lunatic like this Macklin on a mission."

'We died trying' ? 'We are willing to making to make sacrifices' ? What's this 'we' business, Bill? We're talking about other men's lives here, not yours and mine."

"That's what war is all about, Mo, other men's lives. When we are permit-ted to operate in the Pacific, we will save a great many other men's lives."

"And the lives of the people on this mission are the price we pay for the ability to operate?"

"You don't seem to be considering the possibility that the mission will be successful. I'd bet on it. I am betting on it. Whatever else might be said about Fleming Pickering, he's not a fool."

"Has it occurred to you that Fleming Pickering, either now, or certainly later, is going to make sure the President knows about this?"

"Let me worry about Fleming Pickering," Donovan said, somewhat im-patiently. "Is there anything else, Mo?"

"I'll prepare an Urgent Radio for Waterson," Morrissette said. "A draft, for your signature."

"You can sign it, Mo."

"I can, but I won't," Morrissette said, and turned and walked out of Dono-van's office.

[FIVE]

Headquarters,

1st Marine Division

Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands

0945 Hours 4 December 1942

The Sergeant Major of the United States First Marine Division, a large-boned, heavily muscled man who had been a Marine for twenty-six of his forty-three years, pushed open the canvas flap (once part of a tent) that separated the Office of the Commanding General from the rest of the command post.

A tall, dignified man in his early fifties, just starting to jowl, sat on a fold-ing wooden chair before a small table on which sat a U.S. Army field desk. He did not to seem to notice his presence.

"General," the Sergeant Major said respectfully.

Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift, USMC, Commanding Gen-eral of the 1st Marine Division and all forces on Guadalcanal, turned and looked over his shoulder. The General was dressed like the Sergeant Major, in somewhat battered and sweat-stained utilities.

"Colonel Carlson, Sir," the Sergeant Major said.

General Vandegrift nodded and made a let him come in gesture with his hand.

Colonel Evans Carlson, USMC, Commanding Officer of the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion, pushed the canvas flap out of his way and entered Vande-grift's office as Vandegrift rose to his feet.

Carlson, a large man, was wearing utilities even more battered than Van-degrift's. He carried a Thompson.45 ACP Caliber submachine gun slung from a canvas strap over his shoulder, and he wore a web-harness from which were suspended two canteens, a compass case, a first-aid packet, and a Colt Model 1911A1.45 ACP pistol.

He looked malnourished and exhausted, Vandegrift thought.

"Colonel Carlson reporting the return of the 2nd Raiders, Sir," he said as he saluted.

The 2nd Raider Battalion had been behind the enemy's lines since 9 No-vember 1942-nearly a month. The Japanese, who had somewhat belatedly come to realize that the outcome of the battle for Guadalcanal would very likely determine the future of the war, had, at a terrible cost in ships, materiel, and life, managed to move reinforcements for the 17th Army ashore at Gavanga Creek.

Despite all the Marines could do to wipe out the force, 3,000 Japanese had broken through the lines and set out through the mountainous jungle toward Matanikau. Carlson and approximately two hundred Marine Raiders had gone after them. They had subsisted on rice, on anything edible they could find in the jungle, and on what they could capture from the Japanese.

"Welcome home, Red," Vandegrift said, crisply returning the salute.

"Sir, I regret to report the loss of sixteen KIA and eighteen WIA" (Killed In Action; Wounded In Action).

"None missing?" Vandegrift asked.

"No, Sir. We brought our wounded with us, and marked the graves of the KIA."

Vandegrift nodded.

"Enemy losses were four hundred eighty-eight KIA, Sir. I would estimate time and half that number WIA."

Vandegrift tried not to let his surprise show-nor what he immediately recognized as suspicion. Carlson's Raiders were good Marines, well trained, well equipped, and highly motivated. But Carlson had just reported that his two hundred men had killed more than twice their number of the enemy, and wounded three times their number.

"And you estimate 488 KIA?"

"No, Sir. The KIAs are confirmed. There were that many bodies, Sir."

"Well done, Colonel," Vandegrift said. "I want to hear all about it, of course. But to save you the effort of telling the tale twice, I think it might be smart to wait until the 1300 staff meeting. That all right with you?"

"Yes, Sir. I really need a bath and a change of clothes."

"And, I'm sure, something to eat. Why don't you get a shower and a clean uniform, and come back here and have lunch with me?"

"Thank you, Sir," Carlson said. "I accept, with thanks." He paused, smiled, and went on. "And, Sir, I would also report the return of one AWOL to duty."

Vandegrift frowned.

Carlson smiled. "Gunny Zimmerman, Sir," he said.

"Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman?" Vandegrift asked. "Of VMF-229?"

"Yes, Sir," Carlson said.

"Tell me, Colonel, how did Gunny Zimmerman wind up with the 2nd Raider Battalion?"

"Well, Sir. He was with the 2nd Raiders from the beginning. He made the Makin Island raid, Sir."

"And then he was transferred to VMF-229?"

"Yes, Sir. They needed a heavy-machine-gun artificer. And Zimmer-man's about as good with Brownings as anyone in The Corps."