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

It had not been possible, however, to merge this list with a similar list prepared for nonretired officers, and announce that Captain A, who had never retired, and who had five years, nine months, and eleven days of service as a captain, therefore outranked Captain B, a retread, who had five years, nine months and one day of service as a four striper. When this happened, Captain B would very often make it known that the list be damned, when he retired, Captain A was a lowly lieutenant commander, a none-too-bright one, as he recalled; and he had no intention of taking orders from the young pup now.

And it wasn't a question of simply reminding Captain B that he was back in the Navy and expected to take orders, although Dapper Dan Wagam had done just that several times. Even when there was no question of seniority, a good many of the retreads seemed to have an uncontrollable urge to question the orders they had been given. Even when he himself was giving the orders, he'd come to expect from these guys a moment of smug hesitation, then something like, "Well, in my experience, we did... or did not..." Or, "In the Old Navy, they..." When they believed that they were being forced by an unappreciative Navy to take orders from some young pup still wet behind the ears, their obedience ceased being cheerful and willing. "After all," they were quick to point out, "we were asked to return to duty."

It often lent an entirely new meaning, Wagam had concluded, to the word "grudging."

And since he was on the bridge of a desk, rather than at sea, Admiral Wagam had, he believed, more than his fair share of the retreads. Indeed, very few of them were actually being sent to sea, although virtually all of them had volunteered-often two or three times a week-to take a command.

When his sister's son, First Lieutenant David F. Schneider, USMC, showed up, Admiral Wagam was trying to recover from yet another bad day. For one thing, he was frustrated that he'd failed to solve logistical problems there was no satisfactory solution for-there was simply not enough available tonnage for OPERATION PESTILENCE; and consequently, the First Marine Division was going to assault a hostile shore inadequately supplied. And for another, he'd been forced to handle no less than three retreads who truly believed that their professional reputations were being demeaned by the duties he had assigned them.

But Admiral Wagam was as gracious to David Schneider as he could be under the circumstances. He realized his problems were certainly not David's fault; but more to the point, his sister was hell on wheels when she felt one of her children had been slighted....

So he personally showed David around the office, to give the boy some understanding of what he was up to.

He did not, of course, mention OPERATION PESTILENCE, which was classified TOP SECRET.

And then he took him to dinner in the Flag Officer's Mess and introduced him around. It would have been nice if David could have written his mother that he had been introduced to Admiral Nimitz, but Nimitz apparently had elected to eat in his quarters.

Nimitz was probably eating alone, or as alone as the CINC-PAC ever got to be, Admiral Wagam thought, as opposed to having a working dinner. If it had been a working dinner, he probably would have been invited.

And then he sent him on his way:

"David, I'd like to send you back to Ewa in my car, but I'm going to need it."

"I understand."

"There's a bus that runs between here and Ewa. Among other places, it stops at the Main Club."

"I can manage, Uncle Dan."

"I would suppose there will be a number of officers from MAG-11 at the club. Ask around. The odds are you can find a ride back with one of them."

"Thank you."

"Give your mother my love when you write."

"Yes, Sir, I'll do that."

Chapter Thirteen

(One)

First Lieutenant William C. Dunn, Executive Officer, VMF-229, was sitting at the bar with Lieutenant (j.g.) Mary Agnes O'Malley, Nurse Corps, USN, having an after-dinner cognac. Dunn had learned that an after-dinner cognac-for that matter, any kind of alcohol at any time-seemed to trigger in Mary Agnes lewd and carnal desires. As they sipped their cognacs, her arm was resting on his upper leg, and her hand was gently stroking his inner thigh. She was fully aware what this did to him. And he knew that once there was proof positive, so to speak, that she had flipped his HORNY ON switch, and the mechanism had been activated, she would look into his eyes with pleasure and understanding, and purse her lips in promise of what was to come. And probably even give it a friendly little pat on the head. Good doggie.

Dunn had recently been giving a good deal of thought to his relationship with Mary Agnes O'Malley.

For starters, he was the envy of most of his peers, even the noble minded who chose to believe she wasn't really giving him any. The ratio of young bachelor officers in the Naval Establishment around Pearl Harbor to good-looking, socially acceptable females-or for that matter, to any kind of females-was probably two-hundred-fifty to one. Phrased another way, the odds against a first lieutenant hooking up with a good-looking, firm-breasted, blonde-headed nurse who fucked like a mink were probably on the order of a thousand to one.

What did every red-blooded Marine Aviator want? A nymphomaniac whose father owned a liquor store. Mary Agnes's father didn't own a liquor store, but there didn't seem to be any question that if she wasn't really a nympho, she was pretty damned close.

But Bill Dunn kept remembering from college some great philosophical truth-he forgot who said it-to the effect that the only thing worse than not realizing one's dreams was to realize them: Here he was with a good-looking woman who couldn't wait to get him in bed every night. There she would eagerly perform sexual acts he had seen before only in stag movies. And he was unhappy with the situation.

Even the sex, once the novelty wore off, was becoming a chore. He was regarding it lately as his duty, his more and more reluctant holding up of his end of the bargain.

The sad truth was that Mary Agnes O'Malley was dumber than dog shit. It was a realization he'd come to somewhat belatedly, probably because intellectual attainment was not high on his original list of priorities. But it didn't take him long to begin to think that it was entirely within the realm of possibility that an original idea and a cold drink of water would actually kill her.

Mary Agnes O'Malley read Photoplay and Screen Life magazines for intellectual stimulation; she was a veritable fountain of information regarding the private life of movie stars. She had read somewhere, for instance, that actor Tyrone Power had entered the Corps and was in flight training. Her dream was that Power would be assigned to Hawaii and Dunn would introduce them. She spoke of this often.

If that happened, Lieutenant Power-or Captain Power, whatever he was-would probably set the minimum time record for the Marine Aviator getting his ashes hauled after arrival in the Territory of Hawaii.

But in the meantime, Mary Agnes made it plain that Lieutenant Bill Dunn was all that her heart-and other anatomical parts-desired. This was not because she found him a charming companion, or even an outstanding lover, but because he looked, as she often told him, just like an actor named Alan Ladd.

Dunn knew that if he really wanted to break it off with Mary Agnes, he could do it relatively easily. He could just call her and say that he had the duty and could not make it over to Pearl. She was dumb, but she was capable of understanding that. He was convinced that if he did this five nights in a row, say, no matter how determined she was not "to cheat" on him, she would have a snifter or two of Hennessey VSOP, her blood would start to boil, and some other soul would find himself sneaking up the back stairs to Room Eleven, Female Officer's Quarters Fourteen.