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

They found a small table across from the bar.

"Dave, do you have any idea where Charley Galloway is?" Jim Ward asked, as soon as the waiter had taken their order.

"I believe he’s in Washington," Schneider said. "Specifically, with Major Dillon."

"No, he’s not," Caroline said. "We just called Jake. Jake said he hadn’t heard from him since Tuesday morning, when he left the Willard. He spent Monday night there with Jake."

Reserve officer or not, Mustang or not,Lieutenant Schneider thought angrily, Major Jake Dillon should know better than to offer an enlisted man the freedom of his hotel suite.

"He called Caroline from Pensacola-" Jim Ward said.

"Pensacola?" Schneider interrupted.

"Pensacola. He called on Wednesday. He told Caroline he was going to the West Coast," Jim Ward said.

"Actually, he said he had a week to get out there," Caroline McNamara said, "and suggested we could drive out there together."

Jim Ward looked a little uncomfortable when she said that, Schneider noticed.

And well he should. There is absolutely no suggestion that his aunt finds anything wrong with the idea that she has been asked to drive cross-country alone with a man to whom she’s not married. Having a shameless aunt like that should embarrass anybody.

"That sounds like he’s on orders," Jim Ward said. "But when Caroline showed up here, and no Charley Galloway, I checked. No orders have come down on him that anyone knows about."

"I can’t imagine what’s going on," Schneider said. "Did anyone in the squadron office know he was in Pensacola?"

"All the squadron knows is that he went to Washington on the verbal orders of Colonel Hershberger. That was eight, nine days ago," Jim Ward said.

"Is there a Lieutenant Jim Ward in here?" the bartender called, holding up a telephone.

Jim Ward got up and walked to the bar and took the telephone. Less than a minute later he was back at the table, smiling.

"Our wandering boy has been heard from," he said. "That was Jerry O’Malloy. He’s the duty officer. I asked him to let me know the minute he heard anything about Galloway."

"And?" Caroline McNamara asked excitedly.

"Charley just called the tower. He’s twenty minutes out," Ward said, then turned to look at Schneider and added, "In an F4F."

"In a what?" Caroline asked.

"A Wildcat," Jim Ward said. "A fighter plane. I wonder where he got that, and what he’s doing with it?"

"Well, I intend to find out," Lieutenant David Schneider said, and started to get up.

"Sit down, Dave. I told O’Malloy to have Charley call me here the minute he gets in."

"I’m going to be at Base Operations when he lands," Schneider said.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"You know damned well what’s the matter with me. For one thing, and you know it as well as I do, he is absolutely forbidden to fly fighters."

"And for another?" Ward asked coldly.

"I would prefer to discuss that privately with you, if you don’t mind."

"Sit down, Dave," Jim Ward said.

Schneider looked at him in surprise.

"You heard me, sit down," Jim Ward repeated firmly. "I don’t know what Charley is doing with an F4F, but I do know that it’s none of your business or mine. That’s between him and the squadron commander."

Schneider sat down.

"When he calls, I’ll ask him what’s going on," Jim Ward said. "In the meantime, we’ll pursue the legal principle that you’re innocent until proven guilty."

"I don’t like the way this sounds," Caroline said. "What’s going on? What’s wrong?"

"Never worry about things you can’t control," Jim Ward said. "So far as we know, nothing is wrong."

Charley Galloway did not telephone. Half an hour later, he walked up to the table, leaned down, said, "Hi, baby," to Mrs. McNamara, and kissed her on the lips.

He was wearing his fur-collared leather flight jacket over tropical worsteds. He had jammed a fore-and-aft cap in one pocket of the flight jacket, and thin leather flying gloves in the other. He almost needed a shave, and there was a light band around his eyes where his flying goggles had protected the skin from the oily mist that often filled a Wildcat cockpit. It was obvious that he had come to the club directly from the flight line.

"Where have you been, honey?" Caroline asked. "I was getting really worried."

"That’s a long story," he said.

"Charley," Jim Ward asked uncomfortably, "should you be in here?"

"He knows damn well he shouldn’t," Dave Schneider flared. "What the hell do you think you’re doing, Galloway?"

"Are you talking to me, Lieutenant?" Charley asked pleasantly. He shrugged out of the leather jacket and dropped it on the floor.

"Yes, I am."

"Then please use the words ‘Captain,’ and ‘Sir,’" Charley said. He faced Dave Schneider, smiled broadly, and pointed to the twin silver bars on each of his collar points.

"Jesus!" Jim Ward said. "Are they for real?"

"I got them from the Commandant himself, believe it or not," Charley said. "Together with a brief, but memorable, lecture on the conduct expected of me now that I was going to be an officer and a gentleman."

"What about the West Coast?" Caroline asked softly.

"I’m going to be given a fighter squadron, baby," Charley Galloway said. "As soon as I can get out to the Pacific and organize one. They’re going to fly me at least as far as Pearl. I’ve got six days to get to San Diego."

"Oh, God!"

"Can I go with you?" Jim Ward asked softly.

"With Aunt Caroline and me? Hell, no," Charley Galloway said indignantly. "Didn’t you ever hear that three’s a crowd?"

"That’s not what I meant, Captain, Sir."

"If, in the next three weeks or a month, you can scare up an IP here who is willing to check you out in that Wildcat I just brought up here, you can come along later. I’ve got authorization to steal five pilots from here," Galloway said. Then he faced Dave Schneider. "That’s an invitation to you too, Dave. You’re a real horse’s ass sometimes, but you’re not too bad an airplane driver."

(Five)

Melbourne, Australia

19 May 1942

The Martin PBM-3R Mariner made landfall on the Australian continent near Moruya, in New South Wales, seventy-five miles southeast of the Australian capital at Canberra. The PBM-3R Mariner was the unarmed transport version of the standard PBM Mariner, a deep-hulled, twin-engined gull-winged monoplane.

Aboard were a crew of six, nineteen passengers, and eight hundred pounds of priority cargo, including a half-dozen mail bags.

When the excitement of finally making landfall had died down-for most aboard, it was their first view of Australia- Captain D. B. Toller, Civil Engineer Corps, USN, permitted his curiosity to take charge. He walked to the forward part of the cabin, just below the ladder leading to the cockpit, and sat down beside a Marine Corps major.

"All right if I sit here?"

"Certainly, Sir."

"I’m Captain Dick Toller, Major," he said, offering his hand.

"Ed Banning, Sir."

"Well, we’re finally here. Or almost. This has been a long flight."

"Yes, Sir, it has. I’ll be glad to get off this thing and stretch my legs."

"Now, if I’m asking something I shouldn’t, just tell me to mind my own business," Captain Toller said. "But I’m really curious about something."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Him," Captain Toller said, nodding his head to a small area to the left of the ladder of the cockpit, where Corporal Stephen M. Koffler was curled up asleep, under blankets he had removed from his duffel bag. Koffler had rolled around in his sleep and wound up with his arm around his Springfield 1903 rifle. It looked as if he was holding it protectively, affectionately, as a child holds a teddy bear.