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

"Would you like to tell me what's bothering you, Lewis?" Sessions asked.

"It shows, does it?" Lewis replied. "That something is bothering me?"

"Has it to do with Macklin?"

"What do you think? I think it's despicable, what you did to him. I never thought I would see a Naval officer so humiliated."

"Am I missing something here?" McCoy asked.

"McCoy doesn't know," Sessions said.

"I don't know what?" McCoy asked.

"Then I hastily offer my most humble and sincere apologies, Mr. McCoy," Lewis said. "Until just now I thought it was your idea."

"What the hell are you talking about?" McCoy said, and the ice was back in his voice and eyes.

"It was General Pickering's idea," Sessions said. "McCoy didn't know anything about it."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" McCoy said. "What didn't I know about, Ed?"

"Hart showed up here, Mr. McCoy-"

"Knock off that 'Mr. McCoy' shit," McCoy interrupted. "I don't think you're funny."

"Five minutes after Captain Macklin and I got here, Ken," Lewis said, "Lieutenant Hart showed up here. He told Captain Macklin he had orders to stay with him until we were picked up to go to the terminal tomorrow morning, and that Captain Macklin couldn't leave the BOQ, or use the telephone, with-out Colonel Stecker's express permission."

"Shit," McCoy said. "I was hoping the bastard would go over the hill."

"I think Pickering was one step ahead of you on that," Sessions said. "Right after the meeting broke up and Lewis and Macklin left-and you went to take a leak-Pickering told Moore to relieve Hart in the dungeon; then he told Stecker to call Hart and tell him to go to the BOQ, sit on Macklin, and see that he was at the terminal at 0900 tomorrow."

"You don't really think Bob Macklin would have purposely missed the plane, do you?" Lewis challenged Sessions.

McCoy drained his drink, and made another one.

"The bartender has just gone off duty," he said. "If you guys want any more, pour your own."

"Because he's Annapolis, you mean?" Sessions replied. "Yes, I do. That sleazy bastard is capable of anything. Including missing a shipment," Sessions said.

"I was sort of hoping he would," McCoy said matter-of-factly. "Christ knows, I don't want to take him with me. Actually I was counting on him figur-ing out some way to get out of going. I wrote my girl that I was taking good Marines with me."

Sessions chuckled.

"And once again the wise general officer outwits the junior officer," he said.

"I don't suppose it would do any good if I said I think you two are giving Macklin the short end of the stick?" Lewis asked.

"I trust him about half as far as I can throw him," McCoy said. "Picker-ing said he hopes I don't have to shoot him, but he didn't tell me I can't. Does that answer your question?"

I wonder, Sessions thought, if Lewis is capable, drunk or sober, of fully understanding that; that both Pickering and McCoy were seriously discussing the benefits and drawbacks of eliminating, by shooting, an obstacle to the mis-sion who happens to be named Macklin.

"Has it occurred to you, Ken, that there are people who aren't like you, people who are afraid?" Lewis said, his tone of voice now conciliatory and reasonable.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" McCoy said.

"I'm trying to suggest that Bob Macklin is afraid of what's liable to hap-pen on this mission. He's trying hard to get himself under control, and if he hasn't, that's not really his fault. Some people seem to be born with courage, but some people aren't."

"And you don't think I'm scared? Just between you and me, I'm scared shitless about this mission," McCoy said, and then, his voice turning incredu-lous, "Did you really think I think it's a lot of fun?"

"You don't act as if you're afraid."

"An officer's first duty is to take care of his men. Don't tell me it's any different on a submarine."

"Meaning what?" Lewis challenged.

"If I look scared, then Zimmerman and Koffler get scared, OK? The one thing I can't afford is to have Zimmerman and Koffler thinking they're in the deep shit because their officer is pissing his pants." He looked at Lewis for a moment, and then warmed to his subject. "Or are you trying to tell me the officers on a submarine don't break their asses to make sure the white hats don't see how scared they are?"

"What makes you so sure submarine officers are frightened?"

"They're either scared or mentally retarded," McCoy said. "Don't bull-shit me, Lewis. I've been on two of the goddamned things. The worst part of the Makin raid was getting there and back, in that steel underwater coffin. And the worst part of the Buka Operation was getting there in a submarine. When I saw the Gooney-bird coming in to take us off of Buka, the first thing I thought was, 'Thank Christ, I don't have to get back in that fucking submarine.' "

"Some of them aren't frightened," Lewis argued.

"OK. In any group of ten officers, you can count on two being stupid. You can also count on those two getting you in trouble. But you were scared. You're too smart not to have been scared," McCoy said. "But you were obvi-ously a good enough officer to keep the white hats from seeing it. Otherwise, they would have thrown your ass out of the submarines."

"The point Mr. McCoy is making, Lieutenant Lewis," Sessions said, "is that what he has against Captain Macklin is not that Captain Macklin has far less then the normal issue of testicles, but that Captain Macklin considers his first duty is to take care of Captain Macklin, and fuck anybody else."

"That's a pretty harsh judgment, wouldn't you say?"

"I associate myself fully, Lieutenant Lewis, with Mr. McCoy's somewhat obscene, but right on the fucking money, assessment of Captain Macklin. I've seen the sonofabitch at work."

"What would you two say if I told you that I never spent a minute in a submarine that I wasn't afraid?" Lewis asked, and was immediately horrified to hear what he had blurted.

Neither McCoy nor Sessions seemed surprised to hear the confession.

"Did you let the white hats see it?" McCoy asked.

"I hope not," Lewis said.

"Take it from me, you didn't. If you had, the other officers would have seen to it that you never went down in one again."

Jesus Christ, Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, USN, thought. Can he be right?

"May I ask a question, gentlemen?" Sessions asked. "What the hell are we arguing about?"

"Who knows?" McCoy said. "Who cares? Slide the bottle over here, will you?"

[THREE]

Office of the Director

Office of Strategic Services

National Institutes of Health Building

Washington, D.C.

0930 Hours 13 December 1942

What could have been a smile crossed the lips of L. Stanford Morrissette, Dep-uty Director, Special Projects, Office of Strategic Services, as he read the mes-sage contained in the manila folder with TOP SECRET stamped across it.

"One moment, please, Colonel, if you don't mind," he said to Colonel F. L. Rickabee, Deputy Chief, USMC Office of Management Analysis, "I be-lieve this should be brought to the attention of the Director."

"My time is your time, Mr. Morrissette," Rickabee said.

Morrissette picked up the receiver of a red telephone-one of three tele-phones on his desk-and dialed 0.

"Mo, Bill," he said. "Colonel Rickabee, of the Marine Corps, is in my office with something I thought you'd like to see. Can you spare us a minute?"

The reply of the Director was obviously in the affirmative, for Morrissette stood up as he replaced the red handset in its cradle and gestured toward the door.

"He's right down the corridor, Colonel," he said. "I think I should warn you the Director thinks the savages of yore, who killed messengers delivering bad news, had the right idea."

"In my line of work, you get used to that," Rickabee said.