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

Once its gear unfolded from the boat-shaped fuselage, the Catalina banked', lined up with the runway, lowered its flaps, and dropped toward the ground. It touched down, bounced back into the air, and then touched down again and stayed down. When it completed its landing roll, stopped, and began to turn, there was shouting and applause; and any vehicles with horns blew them.

Henderson Field was now in operation, and the men who made it so were delighted with themselves, with Naval Aviation, and with the world in general.

In fact, everyone in sight seemed pleased-with the exception of the Marine Aviator who had been on the radio. He started down from the tower as the Catalina taxied toward it. Pickering followed him.

The pilot parked the Catalina and shut the engines down. A moment later, he emerged from a door in the fuselage, wearing a large grin.

He was a Lieutenant, one grade senior in rank to the Marine Aviator First Lieutenant who greeted him, "What's wrong with it? I want to get you out of here as soon as I can. Before the Japs start throwing artillery at us."

"Nothing's wrong with it, Lieutenant," the Naval Aviator said.

"You said you couldn't land it on water." "I said, I was 'exceedingly reluctant' to land it on water," the Navy pilot said. "My name is Sampson, Lieutenant William Sampson, USN, in case you might want to write that down in some kind of log. I believe this is the first aircraft to land here."

"You sonofabitch!" the Marine Aviator said.

If it was Lieutenant Sampson's notion to remind the Marine Lieutenant that it was a violation of Naval protocol to suggest to a senior Naval officer that his parents were unmarried, he abandoned it when he saw Pickering... when he saw specifically the silver eagle on Pickering's cap.

He saluted. "Good afternoon, Colonel."

Pickering returned the salute. He did not correct Lieutenant Sampson's mistake.

"Welcome to Guadalcanal," Pickering said. "Do you have business here? Or was your primary motive turning yourself into a footnote when the official history is written?"

"I'm Admiral McCain's aide, Sir. I have a bag of mail for General Vandergrift."

"I've got a Jeep," Pickering said. "I'll take you to him."

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

A Jeep bounced up to them, and an officer in Marine utilities, wearing a Red Cross brassard on his arm got out from behind the wheel.

"Have you got any space on that airplane to take critically wounded men out of here?"

"I can take two, Sir," Sampson replied. "That's all."

"When are you leaving?"

"Just as soon as I can deliver something to General Vandergrift."

"I can have them aboard in ten minutes," the doctor said.

"My crew will help you, Sir," Sampson said, and then looked at Pickering, who gestured toward the derelict Japanese Ford truck and his Jeep.

(Three)

G-2 SECTION

HEADQUARTERS, 1ST MARINE DIVISION

NEAR LUNGA POINT, GUADALCANAL

1710 HOURS 12 AUGUST 1942

Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, did not hear Major General Alexander A. Vandergrift enter the map room of the G-2 section.

The title "map room" was somewhat grandiose: A piece of canvas (originally one of the sides of an eight-man squad tent) had been hung from a length of communications wire, dividing the G-2 Section "building" in two. The G-2 building was another eight-man squad tent, around which had been built a wall of sandbags. When there was time, it was planned to find some timbers somewhere and build a roof structure strong enough to support several layers of sandbags. At the moment, the roof was the tent canvas. Because of the sandbag walls, an artillery or mortar shell landing outside the tent would probably not do very much damage. But the canvas tenting would offer no protection if an artillery or mortar shell hit the roof.

Pickering was on his knees, working on the Situation Map. Specifically, he was writing symbols on the celluloid sheet that covered the Situation Map. This in turn was mounted to a sheet of plywood leaning against the sandbag walls. When there was time, it was planned to find some wood and make some sort of frame, so that the Situation Map would not have to sit on the ground.

In his hand, Pickering held a black grease pencil. He was marking friendly positions and units on the map. In his mouth, like a cigar, was a red grease pencil, which he used to mark enemy positions. A handkerchief, used to erase marks on the map, stuck out of the hip pocket of his utility trousers. He was not wearing his utility jacket. The Map Room of the G-2 Section was like a steam bath, and Captain Pickering had elected to work in his undershirt.

General Vandergrift walked to a spot just behind Pickering so that he could examine the map over Pickering's shoulders. Vandergrift's face, just starting to jowl, showed signs of fatigue. He stood there for more than a minute before his presence broke through Pickering's concentration. And then, startled, Pickering looked over his shoulder. A split second later, he realized who was standing behind him.

He rose quickly to his feet and came to attention.

"I beg your pardon, Sir."

Vandergrift made an "it doesn't matter" wave of his hand.

"Is that about it?" he asked, with another gesture at the map.

"Yes, Sir."

"Where's Colonel Goettge?" Vandergrift asked. "For that matter, where's the sergeant who normally keeps the Situation Map up to date?"

"Colonel Goettge is out with a patrol, Sir. I suppose I'm in charge."

"Say again?"

"Colonel Goettge is out with a patrol, Sir. He and the sergeant and some others."

Vandergrift's eyes tightened.

"I thought that's what you said," he said. "Tell me about it."

If I knew him better, I could answer that question without beating around the bush: "I think Goettge's gone off the deep end, General"

But that's not the way it is. He doesn't know me. All he knows is that I am a rich man, highly connected politically, who was sent over here to serve as Frank Knox s eyes and ears, and didn't even do that somewhat ethically questionable task well. A wiser man than I am would not take advantage of his position-no one had the authority to tell me to stay on the McCawley-to make a gesture of contempt for Navy Brass by staying with the Marines here.

What standing I have in his eyes, if any, is because Jack NMI Stecker told him that I was a pretty good Marine Corporal a generation ago.

I would not tolerate criticism of one of my officers from an ordinary seaman; why should General Vandergrift tolerate my unpleasant, and very likely uninformed opinion of one of his colonels?

Christ! I wish I knew this man better!

Although he had had only brief contact with General Vandergrift, Fleming Pickering had already formed strong opinions about him. The first was that he was competent, experienced, and level-headed. The second was that if the opportunity came, they could become friends.

Vandergrift reminded Pickering of a number of powerful commanders he had known and respected. The first of these was his own father, whose first command, at twenty-one, had been of a four-master Brigantine. And there was the master of the Pacific Emerald, on which Fleming Pickering, also at twenty-one, had made his first voyage with his brand-new third mate's ticket; this man had taught Pickering just about all there was to know about the responsibility that went with authority. Pickering had himself earned his any-tonnage, any-ocean Coast Guard Master Mariner's ticket at twenty-six. Since then, he'd come to know well maybe a half dozen other masters in command of Pacific and Far East Shipping Corporation vessels whom he held in serious respect. (Most of the others he employed were better than competent, but not up to the level of the six.)

And Vandergrift reminded Pickering of Pickering himself. Pickering had long believed that there were only very few men who were born to accept responsibility and discharge it well. Such men had a strange ability to recognize similar characteristics in others; they formed a kind of fraternity without membership cards and titles. Thus he had the strong conviction that he and General Vandergrift were brothers. "Sir," Pickering said, "two days ago, a Japanese warrant officer, a Navy warrant officer, was captured by 1st Battalion, 5th Marines. During his interrogation, he said there were a large number of Rikusentai..." "What?"