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

"There was a chance for Ellen and me to talk last night," Pickering continued. "So it was fortunate that she came in when she did. I'm sure everybody would have been confused had she come in this afternoon." He stopped for a time to gather his thoughts. "Her coming," he went on after a moment, "might cause us a few minor problems. But let's deal with who's in charge first. Pluto, that's you. You're doing a fine job, and there's no one better qualified. Unfortunately, you're a lowly first lieutenant. I've been- punching pillows is what it feels like-trying to get you promoted to at least captain. For reasons that escape me, that has so far proven impossible. I left word with Ed Banning that he is to continue trying."

"That's very good of you, Sir, but..."

"Oh, bullshit... sorry, Ellen. Nonsense, Pluto. You're well deserving of promotion, and we all know it. But anyway, you are outranked not only by Ed Banning, obviously, but by Ellen as well."

"Sir?"

"What is it they said you are, Ellen?"

"An assimilated Oh Four, Captain."

"You know what that means, Pluto?" Pickering asked.

"Yes, Sir. Mrs. Feller is entitled to the privileges of a major, Sir. Or a Navy lieutenant commander."

"OK. That may come in handy for billeting, or whatever. And I don't give a damn who anyone at the Palace thinks is running things. But between you and Ellen, so far as MAGIC is concerned, you're in charge, Pluto. I have also left word with Ed Banning making that clear."

"Yes, Sir."

"You remain, Sergeant Moore," Pickering said, "low man on the totem pole, outranked by everybody."

"Yes, Sir. I understand."

"But since I suspect that moron at Headquarters Company will have you on a guard roster the moment he hears I've left, I want you to clear your things out of that barracks and move in here. I had to take a six month's lease on this place, and there's no sense letting it go to waste."

"Yes, Sir."

"Mrs. Feller will also be living here. I have assured her that you are a well-bred gentleman who will not be bringing any wild Australian lasses home for drinking parties late at night."

"No, Sir."

"There's only two bedrooms, Pluto," Pickering said. "I'm afraid you're stuck with the Commerce Hotel. The important thing, I think, is to keep Moore out of the hands of Headquarters Company-without calling attention to him."

"Absolutely, Sir," Hon said.

"Take Mrs. Feller to the bank later today or tomorrow and see that she is authorized to draw on our account," Pickering said. "And on that subject, Banning has been spending a lot of money. I have asked for more, and it should be coming quickly. If, however, one of the officer couriers does not bring you a check within the next week, radio Haughton. The one thing I do not want to do is run out of money for Banning and Feldt."

"Yes, Sir."

"Can you think of anything, Pluto? Or you, John?"

"No, Sir," Moore replied immediately.

"No, Sir," Hon said, a moment later.

"Ellen?"

"Credentials for me, Captain."

"Oh, yeah. There's a Major Tourtillott who handles that sort of thing. Ellen needs what you and Banning and Moore have. Anywhere in the building, at any time. If Tourtillott gives you any trouble, see Colonel Scott, who works for Sutherland. If he gives you trouble, radio Haughton."

"Yes, Sir," Hon said.

"The liaison officer, Captain," Ellen Feller said.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you. That's important. I suggested to Frank Knox that he send a liaison officer between here and CINCPAC. Ellen tells me that Colonel Rickabee found one. He should be coming in soon. He is not, repeat, not, to be made a member of your happy circle. He's not cleared for MAGIC, or for what Banning is doing. I mention that solely because Rickabee's name may come up. Or because I'm afraid the poor bastard may be another orphan around here and may seek company in his misery."

"I understand, Sir," Hon said. He looked at his watch. "Captain, what time is your plane?"

Pickering looked at his watch.

"Christ," he said. "And I didn't give you the coffee I promised."

"No problem, Sir."

"Moore can drive me to the airport, Pluto. You don't have to go."

"I'd like to see you off, Sir, if that would be all right."

"Why thank you, Pluto," Pickering said. He looked at Ellen. "Sorry to have to leave you in the lurch like this."

'Take care of yourself, Fleming," Ellen Feller said.

Why does the way she said that make me suddenly think that they have been making the beast with two backs?... Even after the modest declaration she just gave about how my-husband-and-I-were-missionaries-in-China and Fleming-and-I-are-just-old-friends?

Because you're a dirty-minded young man, Pluto Hon, who hasn't had his own ashes hauled in so long you probably wouldn't know what to do with an erection.

"Where's your bags, Sir?" Hon asked.

"I'll get them," Moore said.

"I'll carry my own damned bags, thank you," Captain Pickering said.

(Four)

HEADQUARTERS, VMF-229

EWA USMC AIR STATION

OAHU, TERRITORY OF HAWAII

1555 HOURS 25 JULY 1942

Corporal Alfred B. Hastings, USMC, followed Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, into his office.

"Whatever it is, Corporal Hastings, fuck it," Captain Galloway said. "Your beloved commanding officer has had it for today."

Galloway's cotton flight suit was sweat soaked. His hair was matted on his skull, and his hands and face were covered with a film of oil. He looked exhausted. He settled himself like an old man in the chair behind his desk.

"It's the colonel, Sir," Hastings said. "He said for you to phone him the minute you got in."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, Sir, but he's called three times."

Galloway pointed to the telephone on his desk. Hastings took the handset from the cradle, listened for a dial tone, handed the handset to Galloway, and then dialed a number.

"This is Captain Galloway, Sergeant. I understand the colonel wants to speak at me."

Hastings left the room. He returned a moment later with a bottle of Coke, which he set on Galloway's desk. Galloway covered the microphone with his hand.

"Bless you, my son," he intoned solemnly.

"Yes, Sir," Hastings said, smiling.

"Galloway, Sir," Charley said to the telephone. "I just got in."

"And how many hours is that today, Captain Galloway?" Lieutenant Colonel Clyde W. Dawkins asked, innocently. "I haven't checked my log book, Sir."

"But you can tell time and count, right? Up to say five hours and forty-five minutes?"

What the hell has he done? Gone and checked the goddamned board?

"Was it that much, Sir?"

"You know goddamned well it was," Dawkins said. "On the other hand, if you're dumb enough not to believe me when I say I don't want you flying more than four hours, maybe you are too dumb to count."

"Yes, Sir."

"But that is not the reason, at least the main reason, I wanted this little chat with you, Captain Galloway."

"Sir?"

"Knowing as I do your penchant for obeying only those orders you find it convenient to obey, I suppose it's hoping too much to expect you to have a white uniform for formal occasions?"

"Sir, I have a set of whites."

"Just in passing, I believe the regulation says you are required to have two sets. Is the one set you have suitably starched and pressed for wear at a formal occasion, for example, taking cocktails and dinner with an admiral?"

Charley took a quick mental inventory of his closet in the BOQ. His whites, never worn, were there, still in the bag they'd come in. If they weren't pressed, he had an iron. "Yes, Sir," he said.

"Good. The admiral will be pleased. He is sending his car for us at 1830. Try not to spill tomato juice on your whites between now and then. With you owning only one set, that would pose a problem."