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

"No, Sir."

"That will be all, Corporal," Banning said solemnly.

"Aye, aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Steve Koffler said, did an about-face, and marched to the door of the hut. When the door had closed, Banning pushed himself back on the legs of his folding chair and laughed.

"Oh, God," he said, finally.

"What was that all about, Sir?" Howard asked, smiling.

"I’d forgotten what fun it is sometimes to be a unit commander," Banning said. "That’s a good kid; but, my God, how wet behind the ears! Anyway, I need a clerk, and he can type. He can also paint signs. The square peg in the square hole."

"He really isn’t what you think of when somebody says, ‘Para-Marine Corporal,’ is he?"

"Until I started talking to him and somebody said, ‘Corporal,’ I usually thought of one I had in the 4th. I used to send him snooping around the Japanese for weeks at a time and never thought a thing about it. I’m not sure that kid could be trusted to go downtown in ‘Diego and get back by himself."

"He might surprise you, Sir. He is wearing parachutist’s wings. He had the balls to jump out of an airplane. I’m not sure I would."

Banning’s smile vanished as he looked at Howard.

"Talking about balls, Lieutenant. The 14thSpecial Detachment is accepting company-grade volunteers."

"Are you asking me to volunteer, Sir?"

"No. I’m just telling you I need a couple of lieutenants. Whether you would care to volunteer is up to you."

"Sir, there’s something about me I don’t think you know," Joe Howard said.

"Major Stecker told me all about that. We’re old friends, and we both think you’re wrong about what happened at Pearl Harbor."

"Sir, with respect, you weren’t there."

"For Christ’s sake, Howard, anybody with the brains to pour piss out of his boots gets scared when shells start falling. Or sick to his stomach when he sees somebody blown up, torn up, whatever. What the hell made you think you would be different?"

"Sir-"

"You have two options, Lieutenant. Of your own free will, you volunteer for this outfit, or a week from now you’ll report to New River, North Carolina, where you’ll be given a company in the 2ndBattalion, 5thMarines."

Howard’s face worked for a moment. He did not need Banning to remind him of his options. He had been thinking of them carefully. And since getting Barbara’s letter this morning, he had been thinking of little else.

"Actually, Sir, there’s a third option. Colonel Carlson said he would like to have me in the 2ndRaider Battalion."

"That’s right, you’ve been working with them, haven’t you? You tell Colonel Carlson about this low opinion you have of yourself?"

"Yes, Sir. I mean, I told him about what happened to me at Pearl."

"And he still wants you?"

"Yes, Sir. He said ... just about the same thing that you and Major Stecker said, Sir."

"Well, make up your mind, Howard. If you don’t want in here, I’ve got to find somebody else."

"Sir, I’d like to go with you, if that would be all right. But I’ve already told Colonel Carlson I’d volunteer for the Raiders."

"Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle Colonel Carlson. You’re in. Your first job is to teach our new detachment clerk to fill out the appropriate forms to send a TWX to Washington. As soon as he knows how, send one. Here’s the address. The message is to transfer Staff Sergeant Hazleton out and you in."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"You may first have to get Corporal Koffler a typewriter," Banning said.

"Yes, Sir. I thought about that. I know where I can get one. Actually, two, an office Underwood and a Royal portable. And some other stuff we’re going to need."

"Aren’t they going to miss you where you’re working?"

"No, Sir. Major Stecker arranged with 2ndTraining Force for me to work for you for a week. By the time the week is over, I suppose I’ll have orders transferring me here."

"Did Major Stecker tell you what they’re going to have us doing?"

"No, Sir. I don’t think he knows."

"I’d like to tell you, but I don’t think I’d better until we get you officially transferred."

"I understand, Sir."

"We won’t be able to tell the men what we’re going to do, or even where we’re going, until we get there. That may be a problem."

There was no question in Howard’s mind where they were going. They were going to the Pacific. Anywhere in the Pacific would be closer to Barbara than New River, N.C.

"I understand, Sir."

"OK, Howard. Go get our new detachment clerk a typewriter. As a wise old Marine once told me, the Marine Corps floats on a sea of paper."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

(Six)

TOP SECRET

Eyes Only-The Secretary of the Navy

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAVY

Melbourne, Australia

Tuesday, 21 April 1942

Dear Frank:

I suspect that you have been expecting more frequent reports than you have been getting. This is my second, and it was exactly a month ago that I sent the first. So, feeling much like a boy at boarding school explaining why his essay has not been turned in when expected, let me offer the following in extenuation:

Your radio of 1 April, in addition to relieving me of my enormous concern that I was not providing what you hoped to get, also told me that it is going to take 7-9 days for these reports to reach you, if they have to travel from here to Hawaii by sea for encryption and radio transmission from there. I see no solution to shortening this time frame, other than hoping that some sort of scheduled air courier service between here and Pearl Harbor will be established. Encryption here, for radio transmission via either Navy or MacA.’s facilities, would mean using their codes and cryptographers, and the problems with that are self-evident.

The only way I see to do it is the way I am preparing this report, all at once, to be turned over to an officer bound for Pearl. This one is being given to Lt. Col. H. B. Newcombe, U.S. Army Air Corps, who has been here visiting General Brett, and is returning to the United States. He is flying as far as Pearl on a converted B-17A Brett has placed into service as a long-range transport.

Let me go off tangentially on that: The service range of the newer B-17s is 925 miles. That is to say, they can strike a target 925 miles from their base and return to their takeoff field. That limitation is going to have a serious effect on their employment here, where there are few targets within a 925-mile range of our bases.

The B-17A on which this will travel has had auxiliary fuel tanks installed; these significantly add to its range, but eliminate its bomb-carrying capacity. This one, which everyone calls the "Swoose," never even had a tail turret; and it was built up from parts salvaged off the B-17s lost in the early assaults on the Philippines. The Air Corps phrase for this is "cannibalization, " and it applies to much that we are doing here.

In addition to the difficulty of transmission, the week-to-nine-day transmission time seems to me to render useless any "early warning" value my reports might have. By the time my reports reach Washington, you will have already learned through other channels most of what I have to say.

So what these letters are going to be, essentially, are after-action reports, narrating what has happened here from my perspective, together with what few thoughts I feel comfortable offering about the future.

MacA. and his wife and son are still occupying the suite immediately below this one in the Menzies Hotel. That I am upstairs doesn’t seem to bother the Generalissimo, in fact quite the contrary seems true; but it does greatly annoy what has become known as "The Bataan Gang," that is, those people who were with him in the Philippines.