W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps IV - Battleground

"Sir?"

"There was talk-serious talk-about court-martialing Lenny Martin for being conveniently absent when you flew that F4F out of here to rendezvous with Task Force XIV. 'Dereliction of Duty' was the way they put it."

Captain Leonard Martin had been the senior officer of VMF-211 present (and thus in command) when Galloway reported that he and the maintenance sergeant, Technical Sergeant Stefan "Big Steve" Oblensky, had repaired one of the shot-up F4Fs and that he intended to fly it out to the Saratoga.

Captain Martin had reminded Tech Sergeant Galloway that BUAIR engineers had officially classified the F4F as totally destroyed and that therefore, it was obviously unsafe to fly. He had also pointed out that even if there had been an officially flyable aircraft available, orders would have to be issued before it could be flown anywhere. And obviously, since the location of Sara was a closely guarded secret, Tech Sergeant Galloway had a practically nonexistent chance of finding it.

Quite unnecessarily, he had informed Tech Sergeant Galloway that his intended flight was against regulations and thus forbidden. And then, as he shook Tech Sergeant Galloway's hand, he had mentioned idly, in passing, that he had business at Pearl Harbor and would not be at the airfield at the time Galloway said he wanted to take off.

"Sir, is Captain Martin-still in trouble?"

"Not anymore, Charley. He was shot down at Midway."

"Shit!" Galloway said bitterly, adding, "I hadn't heard that."

"He was flying a goddamned Buffalo. We lost all of them but one."

"He was a good guy," Galloway said, softly.

"Most of them were," Dawkins said.

Galloway looked at him with a question in his eyes, and then put it in a word: " 'Most'?"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Dawkins said. "But I was thinking-speaking ill of the dead-that it is possible to be both a dead hero and a prick. But you've touched on something else that needs to be discussed."

"I'm afraid you've lost me, Sir."

"The other officer presently assigned to VMF-229, Captain, is First Lieutenant, USMCR, William C. Dunn. He was also at Midway with VMF-211. Flying an F4F. He has- confirmed-both a Kate and a Zero."

"Dunn?" Galloway asked, thoughtfully. "I don't think I remember..."

"Nice-looking young kid. He came aboard after you were returned to the States in such glory," Dawkins said dryly. "He took what we think was a 20mm round, an explosive shell, in his windscreen. It almost turned him into a soprano. He managed to get the airplane back to Midway, totaling it on landing. It was full of holes, in addition to the 20mm, I mean."

"Sounds like a good man," Charley said.

"Very possibly he is," Dawkins said carefully. "But there is some question, I'm afraid -serious question, about whether he took the round that filled his crotch with shrapnel and fragments while he was engaging the enemy, or after he'd already decided to fly back to Midway."

"You're saying he ran?"

"Listen carefully. What I said was 'serious question.' The officer-there was more than one, but the officer who made the most serious accusations-decided, on reflection, not to bring charges against him."

"Who was that?"

"I don't think giving you his name would be appropriate," Dawkins said.

"What has... you said 'Dunn'?... got to say for himself?"

"Dunn says that he has no memory of flying back to Midway at all."

"What do you think?"

"I believe that Dunn doesn't remember flying back to Midway."

"How come I get this guy?"

"I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt," Dawkins said.

Galloway started to say something and changed his mind. Dawkins saw it.

"Say it, Charley."

"Nothing, Sir."

"Say it, Charley," Dawkins repeated.

"Actually, I was thinking two things, Sir. The first was that when a good Marine gets an order, even one he doesn't think he can handle, he says 'Aye, aye, Sir' and does his best."

"You mean you don't think you can handle a squadron?"

"I can handle a squadron. But there are squadrons and squadrons, and it looks like mine is staffed with sixteen enlisted Marines who are almost certainly the ones their squadron commanders figured they could do without; plus pickled aircraft that I have to unpickle with somebody else's rejects; plus, of course, an officer one jump ahead of a court-martial."

"Is that all one thought? You said you had two?"

"I was thinking, Colonel, that you wouldn't screw me unless you had no choice. But if the brass is making you set me up to fuck up so I can be relieved, why don't we just jump to that? Give the squadron to somebody else, and just let me fly. I didn't ask for the bars; all I ever wanted to do is fly fighters. I mean, I'll take a bust back to sergeant..."

"That's quite enough, Captain," Dawkins said furiously. "Shut down your mouth. How dare you suggest, you sonofabitch, that I would be party to something like that?"

"Sorry, Sir," Galloway said after a long moment, during which he realized that Dawkins was waiting for a response.

"You're going to have to learn, Galloway, to engage your brain before opening your mouth," Dawkins said more calmly. "Just for your information, I was given the option of not giving you VMF-229. I'm giving it to you because you're the best man I have available to take the job."

"Yes, Sir."

"I wish I had an operational squadron I could just turn over to you, fully equipped with flyable aircraft, qualified mechanics, and whatever else is called for. I don't. All I have to give you is what I told you, airplanes sitting on a wharf and a handful of half-trained kids to get them up and running. I'll do my damnedest to get you anything else you think you need, but the shelves are pretty goddamned bare."

They looked at each other without speaking for a long moment.

"Can I have Oblensky, Sir?"

"What?"

"Tech Sergeant Oblensky, Sir," Galloway said. "I know he's here. I asked."

Dawkins looked unhappy. He made three starts, stopping each time before a word left his mouth, before asking, "Do you think it is a good idea, Captain, theoretically or practically, for a non-commissioned officer to be assigned to a squadron commanded by an officer with whom he served as a non-com? Who was his best pal when they were sergeants together?"

"From what you've told me about the men you're going to give me, Sir," Galloway said, "I'll either have to have Big Steve, or somebody like him, or get those airplanes flyable myself."

"Captain Galloway, if I hear that you have been seen with a wrench in your hand, you will spend the rest of this war with a wrench in your hand. Clear?"

"Does that mean I get Oblensky, Sir?"

"I finally have something in common with the Commandant, Galloway. Acting against my better judgment, I'm going to give you something I don't think you should have."

"Thank you, Sir."

"That will be all, Captain Galloway. Thank you."

Chapter Eight

(One)

HEADQUARTERS

MARINE AIR GROUP TWENTY-ONE (MAG-21)

EWA, OAHU ISLAND, TERRITORY OF HAWAII

1135 HOURS 27 JUNE 1942

PFC Alfred B. Hastings, who was seventeen and had been in the Corps not quite five months, had just about finished drying with a chamois a glistening yellow 1933 Ford convertible coupe, when he noticed that his labor had attracted the attention of an officer.

The Ford was parked in the shade of Hangar Three. When Hastings was finished, his orders were to return the car to the other side of the hangar, to a parking space lettered MAINTENANCE NCO.

For a long moment, PFC Hastings pretended he did not see the officer, who was a captain and an aviator. He did that for two reasons. First, he had slipped out of the sleeves of his coveralls and tied them around his waist, which left him in his sleeveless undershirt and thus out of uniform. Second, despite the dedicated efforts of his drill instructors at the San Diego Recruit Depot to instill in him a detailed knowledge of the Customs of the Service as they applied to military courtesy, he was not sure what was now required of him.