W.e.b. Griffin - The Corps II - CALL TO ARMS

"Honey," Ernie Sage said. "You just sit, and I'll serve you."

"'Honey'?" her mother parroted. McCoy flushed.

"It's a sticky substance one spreads on bread," Pickering said.

"It's also what I call him," Ernie Sage said. "It's what they call a 'term of endearment."'

"Gee, Aunt Elaine," Pickering said. "Ain't love grand?"

"Ginger- peachy," Elaine Sage said. "I understand it makes the world go round." She smiled at Ken McCoy. "We get the sausage from a farmer down the road," she said. "I hope you'll try it."

McCoy looked at her; their eyes met.

"Thank you," he said.

Intelligent eyes, she thought. And then she amended that: Intelligent and wary, like an abused dog's.

(Two)

Pennsylvania Station

New York City

0925 Hours, 6 January 1942

When the buses from the Navy Yard reached Penn Station, the recruits had been formed into two platoon-sized groups and marched into the station and down to the platform by the corporals. Koznowski and Zimmerman walked to one side. Commuters coming off trains from the suburbs had watched the little procession with interest. Some had smiled. The nation was at war; these were the then who would fight the war.

Two coach cars had been attached to the Congressional Limited, immediately behind the blue-painted electric locomotive and in front of the baggage car and railway post office, so that they were effectively separated from the rest of the train.

On the platform there, Staff Sergeant Koznowski had delivered another little lecture, informing the group that under the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service, to which they were now subject, anyone who "got lost" between here and Parris Island could expect to be tried by court-martial not for AWOL (Absence Without Leave) but for "missing a troop movement," which was an even more severe offense.

They were to sit where they were told to sit, Staff Sergeant Koznowski said, and they were not to get out of that seat for any reason without specific permission from one of the corporals. He also said that there had been incidents embarrassing the Marine Corps where recruits had whistled at young civilian women. Any one of them doing that, Staff Sergeant Koznowski said, would answer to him personally.

He had then stood by the door and personally checked the names of the recruits off on a roster as they boarded the cars. When the last was aboard, he turned to Sergeant Zimmerman.

"Let's you and me take a walk," he said. "Fucking train ain't going anywhere soon."

It was more in the nature of an order than a suggestion, so Sergeant Zimmerman nodded his agreement, although he would have much preferred to get on the car and sit down and maybe put his feet up. The malaria had got to him, and while he no longer belonged in the hospital, he was still pretty weak.

What Koznowski wanted to do, it immediately became apparent, was look at the young women passing through the station. Zimmerman had nothing against young women, or against looking at them, but if you were about to get on a train, it seemed futile. And he was tired.

They had been standing just to the right of the gate to the platform on which the Congressional Limited of the Pennsylvania Railroad was boarding passengers for about twenty minutes when Koznowski jabbed Zimmerman, painfully, in the ribs with his elbow.

"Look at that candy-ass, will you?" he said softly, contemptuously, barely moving his lips.

A Marine officer, a second lieutenant, was approaching the gate to the Congressional Limited platform. He was very young, and there was a young woman hanging on to his right arm, a real looker, with her black hair cut in a pageboy.

The customs of the Naval Service proscribed any public display of affection. The second lieutenant was obviously unaware of this proscription, or was ignoring it. The good-looking dame in the pageboy was hanging on to him like he was a life preserver, and the second lieutenant was looking in her eyes, oblivious to anything else.

Zimmerman was uncomfortable. It was his experience that the less you had to do with officers, the better off you were. And what the hell, so he had a girl friend, so what? Good for him.

Staff Sergeant Koznowski waited until the second lieutenant was almost on them, if oblivious to them.

"Watch this," he said softly, his lips not moving. Then he raised his voice. "Ah-ten-hut!" he barked, and then saluted crisply. "Good morning, sir!"

He succeeded in his intention, which was to shake up the candy-ass second lieutenant. First, the second lieutenant was rudely brought back to the world that existed outside the eyes of the good-looking dame in the black pageboy. Then, his right arm moved in Pavlovian reflex to return Staff Sergeant Koznowski's gesture of courtesy between members of the profession of arms, knocking the girl on his arm to one side and causing her to lose her purse.

Staff Sergeant Koznowski coughed twice, very pleased with himself.

But the second lieutenant did not then, as Staff Sergeant Koznowski firmly expected him to do, continue through the gate mustering what little dignity he had left, and possibly even growing red with embarrassment.

"I'll be goddamned," the second lieutenant said, as he looked at Staff Sergeant Koznowski and Sergeant Zimmerman. And then he walked toward them.

"Oh, shit!" Staff Sergeant Koznowski said softly, assuming the position of "attention."

The second lieutenant had his hand extended.

"Hello, Ernie," he said. "How the hell are you?"

Sergeant Zimmerman shook the extended hand, but he was speechless.

The good- looking dame in the black pageboy, having reclaimed her purse, walked up, a hesitant smile on her face.

"Honey," the second lieutenant said, "this is Sergeant Ernie Zimmerman. I told you about him."

There was a moment's look of confusion on her face, and then she remembered.

"Of course," she said, and smiled at Zimmerman, offering her hand. "I'm Ernie, too, Ernie Sage. Ken's told me so much about you."

"Yes, ma'am," Zimmerman said, uncomfortably.

"Stand at ease, Sergeant," the second lieutenant said to Staff Sergeant Koznowski.

The conductor called, "Bo-aard!"

"You're on the train?" the second lieutenant asked.

"Yes, sir," Zimmerman said.

"Save me a seat," the second lieutenant said. "I'm going to be the last man aboard."

The good- looking dame chuckled.

"We had better get aboard, sir," Staff Sergeant Koznowski said.

"Go ahead," the second lieutenant said.

Staff Sergeant Koznowski saluted; the second lieutenant returned it. Then, with Zimmerman on his heels, Koznowski marched through the gate and to the train.

"Where'd you get so chummy with the candy-ass, Zimmerman?" Koznowski asked, contemptuously.

"You ever hear of Killer McCoy, Koznowski?" Zimmerman asked.

"Huh?" Staff Sergeant Koznowski asked, and then, "Who?"

"Forget it," Zimmerman said.

When they were on the train, and the train had rolled out of Pennsylvania Station and through the tunnel and was making its way across the wetlands between Jersey City and Newark, Staff Sergeant Koznowski jabbed Zimmerman in the ribs again.

"Hey," he said. "There was a story going around about some real hardass in the Fourth Marines in Shanghai. That the 'Killer McCoy' you were asking about?"

Zimmerman nodded.

"Story was that he cut up three Italian marines, killed two of them."

"Right."

"And then he shot up a fucking bunch of Chinks," Koznowski said.

Zimmerman nodded again.

"True story?" Koznowski asked, now fascinated.

"True story," Zimmerman said.

"What's that got to do with that candy-ass second lieutenant?" Koznowski asked.

"That's him," Zimmerman said.

"Bullshit," Koznowski said flatly.

"No bullshit," Zimmerman said. "That was Killer McCoy."