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

Banning chuckled.

"Corporal Koffler. He’s got the right idea. He slept from ‘Diego to Hawaii; and except to eat, he’s been asleep most of the way here."

"I saw you get on the plane at Pearl," Captain Toller said. "I mean to say, I saw a very annoyed lieutenant commander and an even more annoyed captain being told to give up their seats in favor of passengers with higher priorities. And then you two came aboard."

Banning didn’t reply. He was not particularly surprised by the question. The bumped-from-the-flight captain and lieutenant commander had glowered at him with barely contained indignation when they climbed down from the airplane into the launch and he and Koffler climbed aboard. Getting bumped by a Marine major was bad enough; but to be bumped by a Marine corporal with a higher priority was a little too much of a blow to a senior officer’s dignity.

It was a question of priorities. Lieutenant Colonel F. L. Rickabee had set up their travel; and he apparently had easy-and probably unquestioned-access to the higher priorities. Special Detachment 14 had occupied most of the seats on the Mariner from San Diego to Pearl. The Air Shipment Officer at Pearl had been almost apologetic when he explained that seats were in even shorter supply from Pearl onward, and that all he could provide on this flight were two seats. The others in Special Detachment 14 would have to follow later. A lot of people with high priorities had to get to Australia.

Banning had decided to take one of the two available seats himself, not as a privilege of rank, but because he was hand-carrying a letter from the Secretary of the Navy himself to Captain Fleming Pickering, and because he thought that, as commanding officer, he should get there as soon as possible. He had taken Koffler with him because he suspected that his most important personnel requirement immediately on reaching Australia would be for a typist. Koffler had boarded the Mariner carrying his portable typewriter as well as his rifle.

Banning had no intention of satisfying Captain Toller’s curiosity about Corporal Koffler’s presence on the Mariner. For one thing, it was none of Captain Toller’s business why Koffler was aboard the Mariner. And for another, it would only exacerbate the Captain’s annoyance if he told him the unvarnished truth.

"It’s a strange war, isn’t it?" Captain Toller went on, "when getting a major and his corporal to the theater of operations is of more importance to the war effort than getting a lieutenant commander and a captain there."

Banning resisted the temptation to, politely of course, tell the Captain to go fuck himself.

"Our orders are classified, Sir," Banning said. "But out of school, apropos of nothing at all, may I observe that there are very few people in the Naval Service, commissioned or enlisted, who were raised in Yokohama and speak Japanese fluently?"

Captain Toller nodded solemmly.

"I thought it might be something like that," he said. "I wasn’t trying to pry, Major, you understand. Just curious."

"Your curiosity is certainly understandable, Sir. But I think I’ve said more than I should already."

Captain Toller put his finger in front of his lips in the gesture of silence, and winked.

"Thank you, Sir," Banning said politely.

There was now a range of mountains off the right wing tip. When there was a break in their tops, Banning could see what was obviously a near-desert area on the far side. Below them, the terrain was either green or showed signs of fall cultivation.

I should have remembered that the seasons here are the reverse of those in America.

The plane began to let down an hour or so later. When the pilot corrected his course, Banning for a moment could see they were approaching a populated area. And then an enclosed body of water appeared.

Port Phillip Bay,Banning decided, pleased that he had taken the trouble to look at some maps.

He went to Koffler and pushed at him with the toe of his shoe. And then pushed twice more, harder, before Koffler sat up.

"Yes, Sir?"

"We’re here," Banning said.

"Already?" Koffler asked.

The Mariner touched down several minutes later with an enormous splash, bounced airborne again; and then, with an even larger splash, it made final contact with the waters of Port Phillip Bay and slowed abruptly.

A launch carried them from the Mariner to a wharf. U.S.navy was stenciled on the wharfs sides. There was a bus, an English bus, now painted Navy gray. But when Banning started toward it, someone called his name.

"Major Banning?"

A tall, handsome, distinguished-looking man in a Navy captain’s uniform was smiling at him.

"Yes, Sir."

"I’m Fleming Pickering," the Captain said, offering his hand. "Welcome to Australia."

Steve Koffler came up to them, staggering under the weight of his duffel bag, rifle, and typewriter.

"I’ll get your bags, Sir," he said, and walked back toward the launch.

"He’s with you?"

"Yes, Sir. I thought I was probably going to need a typist."

"Good thinking," Pickering chuckled. "But I didn’t know you would have him with you, so that’s one problem I hadn’t thought of."

"Sir?"

"Putting him up," Pickering said. "You’ll be staying with me. But having a corporal there would be a little awkward."

"I understand, Sir."

"Don’t misunderstand me, Major," Pickering said. "I have nothing whatever against Marine corporals. In fact, I used to be a Marine corporal; and therefore I am well acquainted with what splendid all-around fellows they are. But you and I are in the Menzies Hotel, in an apartment directly over MacArthur and his family. We’ll have to get him into another hotel for the time being."

"Sir, I have a letter for you from Secretary Knox."

"Wait till we get in the car," Pickering said, and gestured toward a 1939 Jaguar drop-head coupe.

"Nice car."

"Yes, it is. I hate like hell having to give it back. It belongs to a friend of mine here. It annoys the hell out of MacArthur’s palace guard."

Major Ed Banning decided he was going to like Captain Fleming Pickering, and his snap judgment was immediately confirmed when Pickering picked up Steve Koffler’s duffel bag and Springfield and started toward the Jaguar.

"It’s been a long time since I had a duffel bag in one hand and a Springfield in the other," Pickering said, smiling. "You go help the Corporal with your bags, while I put these in the car."

"Your tax dollars at work," Captain Pickering said, chuckling, to Major Banning, when Banning came out of the bathroom in a bathrobe. He handed Banning a green slip of paper.

It was a check drawn on the Treasurer of the United States. It was payable to the bearer, and was in the amount of $250,000.

They were in Pickering’s suite in the Menzies Hotel. First they’d installed Corporal Koffler in a businessmen’s hotel (Pickering had handed him some money and told him to get something to eat, and to try to stay out of trouble). Then they’d come to the Menzies, where Pickering had made him a drink, then called the valet to have Banning’s uniforms pressed.

"The Commander-in-Chief dresses in worn thin khakis, no tie, and wears a cap I think he brought home from World War I. Naturally, if you know MacArthur, he consequently expects everyone else around him to look like a page from The Officer’s Guide."

"Sir, what is this?" Banning asked, pointing to the check.

"Your expense money. Or our expense money. It’s from the Secretary’s Confidential Fund. It was in the letter you brought. Knox says that it’s unaccountable, but I think it would be wise for us to keep some sort of a record of where we spend it. Koffler’s hotel bill, for example. In the morning we’ll go around to the Bank of Victoria, deposit it, and arrange for you to be able to write checks against it. And you’d better take some cash, too. Six thousand-odd dollars of that is mine."