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

Lieutenant Pluto Hon had driven to The Elms in a 1941 Studebaker President, which had the letters USMC on its hood and the Marine Corps insignia- stencilled on its doors.

One of the sixteen enlisted men assigned to Special Detachment 14 was Staff Sergeant Allan Richardson, who was a scrounger of some reputation. Richardson had learned that shortly after the war broke out, a transport under charter to the U.S. Navy and loaded with equipment intended for the Chinese had been diverted to Melbourne. The cargo, which included a large number of Studebaker trucks and twenty President sedans, had been off-loaded and turned over to the only U.S. Navy group then in the area, a small Hydrographic Detachment. Richardson reasoned-correctly-that since Special Detachment 14 needed vehicles and had none, and since it was, furthermore, under the control of Captain Pickering, all it would take to get the needed vehicles would be a call from Captain Pickering to the Commanding Officer of the Hydrographic Detachment, a Lieutenant (j.g.). As a general rule of thumb, Lieutenants (j.g.) tend to comply with requests of Naval Captains.

Captain Pickering made the call. Special Detachment 14 got all the trucks and sedans it needed, plus one additional President. Two days after he made the telephone call on behalf of Staff Sergeant Richardson, Richardson gave Pickering the extra President, now bearing USMC insignia.

Pickering's rank entitled him to a staff car. Nevertheless, in order to avoid worrying about a driver, he had borrowed a Jaguar drophead coupe from a pre-war business associate for his personal transportation. Consequently, he promptly turned the Studebaker over to Lieutenant Pluto Hon. Pickering was immensely fond of Lieutenant Hon; he also felt himself to be in Hon's debt, for many courtesies rendered.

It did not surprise Pickering at all that Commander Lentz was waiting at NATS Melbourne, a small frame building plus a warehouse on Port Philip Bay. What surprised Commander Lentz was Captain Pickering's automobile; he was expecting either a Navy or an Army staff car, with a driver; and so a frown crossed his face when the Jaguar drophead coupe with Victorian license plates pulled into his OFFICIAL VISITORS parking space.

But Commander Lentz noticed the gold braid and the four gold stripes on Pickering's sleeves when he stepped out of the car, and he was suddenly all smiles.

"Captain Pickering? Commander Lentz, Sir."

"How are you, Commander?" Pickering replied, returning Lentz's salute with a far more crisp salute than was his custom.

Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, stood at attention beside his seabag.

"Welcome to Australia, Sergeant," Pickering said.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Put your gear in the back," Pickering said, and then turned to Commander Lentz. "Do I have to sign for him or anything?"

"No, Sir. Nothing like that. I hate for you to have to have driven all the way down here, Sir. I would have been happy to arrange..."

"No problem," Pickering interrupted him. "Thank you for your diligence in finding somebody to take care of the sergeant, Commander."

"My pleasure, Captain."

Pickering got behind the wheel, and after John Moore got in beside him, he drove off.

"My name is Pickering, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir."

'That's a long flight. I suppose you're tired, Sergeant? Sergeant what, by the way?"

"Moore, Sir."

"Are you tired?"

"I'm all right, Sir," Moore said, although that wasn't the truth. He had had trouble staying awake waiting for Captain Pickering.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Sergeant," Pickering said. "I'm one of the good Naval officers."

"Sir?"

"Major Banning, your new CO, identifies good Naval officers as those who have previously been Marines. I was a Marine Corporal in what is now known as World War I."

Moore looked at him directly, for the first time, and saw that Pickering was smiling. He smiled back.

"And I have a boy about your age in the Corps," Pickering said. "What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-two, Sir."

"How long have you been in the Corps?"

"About four months, Sir."

"You made buck sergeant in a hurry," Pickering said. But it was more of a question than a statement.

"When they took me out of boot camp to send me here, they made me a sergeant, Sir. I was originally supposed to go to Quantico and get a commission."

"Oh, really? You went to college, then?"

"Yes, Sir. Pennsylvania."

"Well, I'm sorry about the commission. But the Corps needed your skill here and now. What is that?"

"Sir?"

"Why did they take you out of boot camp and rush you over here?"

"Captain, I was told not to talk about anything connected with my transfer here."

"I understand, but, for all practical purposes, I'm Major Banning's commanding officer."

"Captain, with respect, I don't know that."

Pickering chuckled. "No, you don't. Good for you, Sergeant."

"Are we going to Special Detachment 14 now, Sir?"

"They're in Townesville, in Queensland, sort of on the upper right-hand corner of the Australian continent. What we're going to do is get you a hotel room. Have you got any money?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You're sure? Don't be embarrassed."

"I've got money, thank you, Sir."

"OK. So we'll get you a hotel. You can have a bath, and get something to eat, and in the morning, we'll get you together with Major Banning."

"Yes, Sir."

"I suppose I'd better have a set of your orders, and your service records, if you have them."

"Yes, Sir, they're in my bag."

Chapter Nine

(One)

THE ELMS

DANDENONG, VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA

1845 HOURS 28 JUNE 1942

Major Ed Banning and Lieutenant Pluto Hon were on the wide veranda of The Elms when Pickering drove up. It was a pleasant place to watch darkness fall.

They both stood up as soon as the Jaguar drophead stopped. Banning set his drink on the wide top of the railing, and Hon stooped and set his on the floor.

"Good evening, Sir," they said, almost in unison.

Charley Cavendish, in a striped butler's apron, came from inside the house.

"I'd have been happy to go to town for you, Sir," Charley said.

"I know. Thank you, Charley. It was no trouble. I hope you have been taking care of these gentlemen? Lemonade, tea, that sort of thing?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Major Banning," Pickering said dryly, "the Marine Corps, in its infinite wisdom, has seen fit to increase your troop strength with a Sergeant John M. Moore. I just put him in a hotel. Here's his paperwork."

"How did you wind up with Sergeant Whatsisname, Captain?" Major Banning asked, as he took the service record envelope from Pickering.

"Moore is his name," Pickering said. "I wound up with him, Major, because you have failed in your obligation to keep Melbourne NATS up to date on your telephone numbers. I know this because a Lieutenant Commander named Lentz called up here and chewed me out about it."

"What?" Banning asked incredulously.

"At the time, he thought I was a Marine and one of your subordinate officers," Pickering said.

"And you didn't tell him?"

"Not at first," Pickering said, "but I think I ruined his supper when I dropped `we Naval officers' into the conversation later on."

"Captain, I could have gone down there and picked him up," Pluto Hon said. "You should have called me."

"Then I wouldn't have had a chance to rub all my gold braid in the Commander's face," Pickering said. "Besides, it was no trouble."

"Well, I'm sorry that this guy bothered you, Captain," Banning said.

"He didn't really bother me. And I was interested to learn how much trouble he had finding Special Detachment 14. That's the way it's supposed to be."

Banning had meanwhile torn open the envelope and was scanning through Moore's service record with a practiced eye.