W Griffin - The Corps I - Semper Fi

"I've got until midnight tomorrow," McCoy said.

"Between now and midnight tomorrow," Stecker said, "get yourself a campaign hat."

McCoy chuckled.

"That's funny?"

"I just came from the Navy Yard in Philly," McCoy said. "The first thing the first sergeant said to me there was 'get rid of the campaign, hat.' "

"That was there, this is here," Stecker said. "What were you doing in Philly? You ship home the long way around?"

"I shipped home to Diego on a tincan," McCoy said. "Diego shipped me to Philly via Portsmouth."

"Prisoner-chasing?" Stecker asked, and when McCoy nodded, went on: "Then you must just have bought the LaSalle."

He enjoyed the look of surprise on the kid's face, but left him wondering until after Doan delivered the coffee and left. "My clerk doesn't miss much," he said.

"Just bought it," McCoy said.

"Like it?"

"Except that it drinks gas, I like it fine," McCoy said.

"What kind of a rice bowl did you have going for you in China?" Stecker asked, and again enjoyed the look of surprise on the kid's face. "To bring home enough money to buy a car like that?"

"I spent a lot of time on back roads, drawing ration money," McCoy said.

"Motor transport?"

"Sort of," McCoy said.

"What do you mean, 'sort of?"

"That's my skill," McCoy said.

"And you made corporal on one hitch, driving a truck?"

"Yeah," McCoy said.

"Why don't I believe that?" Stecker asked.

"I don't know," McCoy said. 'it's the truth."

"You must have got along pretty good with the motor officer," Stecker said. The translation of that was, "You must have had your nose pretty far up his ass."

"Most of the time, I worked for an officer at regiment," McCoy said.

"I did a hitch, '35-'37, with the Fourth Marines," Stecker said. "I guess I still know some of the officers. Who did you work for?"

"Captain Banning," McCoy said.

Stecker was very pleased to hear that. It reconfirmed his first judgment of the young corporal. (His second, more negative judgment sprang from questions about his making corporal in one hitch in motor transport.) Ed Banning was the China Marines' S-2. If this kid had been made a corporal by Banning, that was a whole hell of a lot different from making it as an ass-licker.

"Ed Banning and I were in Nicaragua together in '29," Stecker said. "He was a lieutenant then. He was a good officer."

"He is a good officer," McCoy agreed.

"Well, what can I do for you, Corporal?" Stecker asked.

"Got a problem, Gunny," McCoy said, and added wryly: "And when I was a young Marine, at Parris Island, they told me whenever I had a problem I couldn't deal with myself, I should take it to the gunny."

Stecker smiled at him. The kid had a sense of humor.

"Just think of me as your father, son, and tell Daddy all," Stecker said.

"I need to get that LaSalle registered on the post," McCoy said.

"What's the problem? Unsafe? Or inadequate insurance?"

"No, I'm sure it'll pass the safety inspection, and I'm insured up to my ass."

Those were two of the three problems with a corporal getting a POV (Privately Owned Vehicle) registered on the post. Stecker now asked about the third:

"You lost your driver's license. Speeding or drunk driving?"

"I'm in the Platoon Leader's Course," McCoy said. "And a fat-bellied PFC over in Vehicle Registration got his rocks off telling me that means I can't have a car on the post."

Now Stecker was surprised. The Platoon Leader's Course was designed to turn college kids, not China Marine corporals, into second lieutenants. But now that he thought about it, he'd heard that starting with this class, they were going to slip some young Marines in with college kids. It was sort of an experiment, to see if they could hack it. The Marines in the course would be like this one, on their first hitch, or maybe starting their second, kids without enough experience to get a direct commission, but who had been judged to be above average.

"He's right." Stecker said. "You can't. No cars, civilian clothes, personal weapons, or dirty books or pictures."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"You should have read the instructions. Corporal." Stecker said, "the part where it said, 'don't take no POV's, civvies, weapons or dirty pictures.' "

"I don't have any instructions." McCoy said. "I don't even have any orders. I'm traveling VOCO (Verbal Order Commanding Officer)."

"He must have been pretty sure you were selected." Stecker said.

"He was on the board," McCoy said. "And as fast as this has gone, I've been wondering if the Corps didn't ship me home from China for this officer shit."

"Officer shit?" Stecker parroted. "You don't want to be an officer?"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Gunny," McCoy said. "But I walked over and had a look at the school before I came over here. It reminded me that I'm a China Marine, not a college boy."

"You better not tell anybody that when you start the course," Stecker said. "One of the things they expect is enthusiasm. You better act as if your one great desire in the whole world is to pin a gold bar on your shoulder, or you'll get shipped out so quick it'll take your asshole six weeks to catch up with you."

McCoy chuckled. "That's what I mean about being a Marine, and not a college boy. I know about second lieutenants. Would you want to be second lieutenant. Gunny?" McCoy challenged.

Stecker thought, No, I wouldn't want to be a second lieutenant. I really don't want to be an officer, period.

"Then you shouldn't have applied," Stecker said.

"The ways were greased," McCoy said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that an officer I knew in China asked me at nine o'clock one morning if I had ever heard of the Platoon Leader Program. I was through with the selection board before lunch three days later," McCoy said.

"But if you don't want to be an officer, then I guess you've wasted his effort, and the Corps' money and time coming here at all," Stecker said.

"Don't get me wrong, Gunny," McCoy said. "I'm going to go through that course. The minute I report in, I'm going to be the eagerest sonofabitch to get a commission they ever saw."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought that over, driving down here," McCoy said. "Asked myself what the fuck I was doing, why I hadn't told them what they could do with a gold bar in Philly. The answer is, why not? I'm a good Marine. I'll probably make as good a temporary officer as most of the college kids, and probably better than some of them. And since they greased the ways like they have-at least a couple of officers think I would make a good second lieutenant-who the hell am I to argue with them?"

"You seem pretty sure you won't bilge out of the course," Stecker said.

"Gunny, I'm a good Marine. I'll get through that course. My problem is what do I do with my car when I'm over there being eager as hell?"

"Where you from?"

"Pennsylvania, Norristown."

"If you left now, you could drive there, leave the car, catch a train, and be back here by midnight tomorrow. If you were a little late, so long as it was before reveille on the second, I could take care of that."

"I got no place to leave it."

"I thought you said your home was in Norristown."

"I said I’m from Norristown,' " McCoy said. "My home is the Corps."

"Then I guess you'll have to park it outside the gate," Stecker said.

"Yeah, and have it either stolen or fucked up, the roof cut."

"Hey, you're a Marine corporal, wants to be a Marine officer, you don't know a regulation's a regulation?"

McCoy looked at him, and Stecker saw anger, regret, and resignation in his eyes. But he didn't say anything, and he didn't beg.

"Thanks for the coffee, Gunny," McCoy said. "And your time."