W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps 03 - Counterattack

"He’s a nice boy, according to both my wife and Doc Mclnerney," the Admiral said. "And actually, he’s the reason I asked you to come to see me."

Pickering’s surprise was evident on his face.

"Doc and I went through flight school here together," Admiral Sayre said. "We’re still pretty close. When your boy was sent here, Doc called me and told me about him. And you. I frankly found it comforting."

"Sir?"

"He spoke highly of your boy-Pick, they call him, don’t they?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And he said that the only favor you asked of him was that the Marine Corps didn’t make him a club officer. I thought that spoke well of you, Captain. And, as I said, I found that rather comforting."

"Comforting, Sir?"

"Your son is in hot pursuit of my daughter," Admiral Sayre said. "I’m not supposed to know that, but I do."

Pickering didn’t reply.

"You don’t seem surprised to hear that," the Admiral said. Pickering knew more than his son thought he knew about the boy’s romantic affairs. There had been an astonishing number of them, and they could more accurately be described as "carnal" than "romantic."

"Pick is attracted to the ladies, Admiral," Pickering replied. "And vice versa. Actually, from what I’ve seen, more the latter than the former. I can only presume your daughter is not only extraordinarily good looking, but something special. Pick is seldom reported ‘in pursuit’; usually the phrase is ‘in flight from.’" The Admiral chuckled.

"I have seen him," he said. "Good-looking young Marine officers driving Cadillac convertible automobiles do seem to attract the ladies, don’t they?"

"I’ve noticed," Pickering said, chuckling.

"Once Martha told him, rather forcefully, that she’s not interested, I would have thought that he would have looked elsewhere."

What is this? Did he call me in here to tell me to keep my son away from his precious daughter?

"Pick’s not her type? Has he been making an ass of himself?"

"No. He’s been a perfect gentleman," Admiral Sayre said. "And I have the feeling that Martha is more attracted to him than she’s willing to admit to herself or anyone else."

"Admiral-"

"My daughter’s a widow," Admiral Sayre interrupted. "Her husband, Admiral Culhane’s boy, an aviator, was killed at Wake Island."

"Oh," Fleming Pickering said, and then added, "I’m sorry to hear that."

"He was a really nice kid," Admiral Sayre said. "It’s a damned shame."

"Are you saying this . . . relationship . . . between Pick and your daughter is serious?" Pickering asked.

Hell, of course it’s serious. Chasing after a widow, especially a widow whose husband has been dead only a couple of months, and especially after she told him to get lost, is simply not Pick’s style.

"I don’t know," Admiral Sayre said. "But since Colonel Doolittle was kind enough to drop you in my lap, I thought I should introduce myself and mention it."

"Colonel Doolittle?" Pickering asked, trying to sound confused.

"Oh, come on, Pickering. Doc and Jimmy and I used to race airplanes together. And I thought that, doing what you’re doing, you would have learned by now that whenever two people know something, it’s no longer a secret. I know what’s going on at Eglin, and my Officer of the Day recognizes Jimmy Doolittle when he sees him in a cockpit window."

"I think, Admiral, if that invitation is still open, I will have a drink."

(Five)

The San Carlos Hotel

Pensacola, Florida

1725 Hours 28 February 1942

"Good afternoon, Sir," Second Lieutenant Richard J. Stecker, USMC, said to the Navy Captain. "May I help you, Sir?" The Captain was in the act of hanging up the telephone in the penthouse suite of the San Carlos Hotel.

Dick Stecker, a good-looking, trim young man wearing a fur-collared leather jacket over a flight suit, was torn between surprise, anger, and alarm at finding a fucking four-striper nosing around the suite. But he was a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point and a regular officer of the United States Marine Corps, and West Pointers and regular Marine officers do not demand of U.S. Navy captains, Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my hotel room?

"You must be Lieutenant Stecker," Captain Pickering said.

"Yes, Sir."

"It has been reported to me that these quarters are not only infested with females of notorious reputation, but awash, as well, in cheap whiskey," Pickering said sternly.

Lieutenant Stecker looked stunned.

Another Marine second lieutenant, similarly dressed, stepped around Lieutenant Stecker to see what the hell was going on, and then yelped in delight:

"Dad! God, am I glad to see you! What are you doing here?"

He ran across the room and wrapped his father in a bear hug.

"I’m catching a plane out of here in the morning," Pickering said.

"You’ve been on the base?" Pick asked uneasily.

He does not want anyone to know that his father is a Navy captain. Good boy!

"Just to get off an airplane," Pickering said. "I was hoping I could bunk with you tonight."

"Hell, yes! But what are you doing down here?"

"I was over with the Army Air Corps at Eglin Air Force Base," Pickering said. "It’s right down the coast."

"Doing what?"

"None of your business, Lieutenant."

"You’re involved with the B-25s," Pick Pickering challenged.

"What B-25s?" Pickering asked innocently.

"As if you didn’t know," Pick said. "They’ve got an airfield over there with the dimensions of an aircraft-carrier deck painted on it. And they’re trying to get B-25s off it."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Pickering said. "But if I were you, I’d watch my mouth. You haven’t seen those posters, ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’?"

Pick’s look was both hurt and wary.

"That sounded pretty official," he said after a moment. "You’re my father, for Christ’s sake!"

"Pick, you and I are officers," Pickering said.

"See, wiseass?" Dick Stecker said. "Learn to keep your mouth shut."

"I’d still like to know what the hell they think they’re doing over there," Pick Pickering said.

"You keep wondering out loud about it, you can read all about it in the newspapers. In your cell at Portsmouth. I’m serious, Pick."

Their eyes met.

"I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Dad," he said. "Sorry."

"Forget it," Pickering said.

"Don’tforget it," Dick Stecker said. "Write it on your goddamned forehead."

"Well, the both of you can go to hell," Pick said cheerfully. "You can stand here and feel self-righteous. I need a shower."

"Can I make you a drink, Captain Pickering?" Dick Stecker asked. "You name it, we’ve got it."

"At least one of the occupants of this rooftop brothel is an officer and a gentleman," Pickering said. "Scotch, please. With soda, if you have it."

"Yes, Sir. Coming right up."

"I saw your dad a while back. In San Diego."

"Yes, Sir. Dad wrote me that he’d seen you; that you were in the Corps in War One together."

"Is that what you call it now? ‘War One’?"

"Yes, Sir. Isn’t that what it was, the First World War?"

"At the time, it was called ‘the war to end all wars,’ " Pickering said.

Dick Stecker handed him a drink.

"Thank you," Pickering said. "Is my being here going to interfere with any serious romantic plans you two had for tonight?"

"No, Sir. Not at all."

"When I had them let me in here, I was a little surprised not to find an assortment of local lovelies," Pickering said.

"Yes, Sir," Stecker said uncomfortably, then blurted, "You’re asking about Martha Culhane, aren’t you, Captain?"

"I am. But I would rather Pick didn’t know I knew about her. Something about her. If this puts you on a spot, the subject never came up."