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

Pickering laughed, deep in his throat.

"As I was saying," Stecker said, "flight training has continued here ever since. Pensacola is known as the Mother-in-Law of Naval Aviation."

"I heard that," Pickering said.

"You do keep interrupting, don't you?" Stecker said, in mock indignation.

Pickering threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Between wars, Pensacola trained three categories of individuals as Naval aviators," Stecker went on, seriously. "Commissioned officers of the Navy and Marines; enlisted then of the Navy and Marines; and Naval aviation cadets."

"Enlisted men? As pilots, you mean?"

"Since the question is germane, I will overlook the interruption," Stecker said. "Yes, enlisted men. There was argument at the highest levels whether or not flying airplanes required the services of splendid, well-educated, young officers such as you and me, Pickering, or whether a lot of money could be saved by having enlisted then drive them. The argument still rages. For your general fund of Naval information, there are a number of Naval aviation pilots-petty officers-in the Navy, and 'flying sergeants' in the Corps. And while we are off on this tangent, most Japanese pilots, and German pilots, and a considerable number of Royal Air Force pilots, are enlisted men."

"I didn't know that," Pickering said.

"Much as I would like to add to your obviously dismally inadequate fund of service lore by discussing the pros and cons of enlisted pilots," Stecker said, "we have to face that salty captain with the mustache in"-he looked at his watch- "thirty-two minutes, and I respectfully suggest you permit me to get on with my orientation lecture."

"Please do," Pickering said, unable to contain a chuckle.

"Marine and Navy officers who applied for flight training had to have two years of service before they could come here. Since promotion to lieutenant junior grade or first lieutenant was automatic after eighteen months of service, this meant that even the junior officer flight student wore a silver bar, and there were some who were full lieutenants-or captains, USMC- and even a rare lieutenant commander or major.

"Rank hath its privileges, and it is presumed that anyone with two years of service as a commissioned officer does not need round-the-clock off-duty supervision. Officer flight students are given their training schedule and expected to be at the proper place at the appointed time. What they do when they are off duty is their own business."

"And that includes us?" Pickering asked.

Stecker put his index finger in front of his mouth and said, "Ssssh!" Then he went on: "The enlisted flight students are selected from the brightest sailors and Marines in the fleet. They pose virtually no disciplinary problems for Pensacola. And, like the officers, it is not necessary for Pensacola to teach them that a floor is a deck in the Navy, or that patting the admiral's daughter's tail is not considered nice."

A remarkably detailed image of Martha Sayre Culhane's tail popped into Pickering's mind.

"The third category, Naval aviation cadets, is a horse of an entirely different hue. In addition to teaching them how to fly, Pensacola must also teach them what will be expected of them once they graduate and are commissioned. Actually, before they come here, they have been run through an 'elimination program' at a Naval air station somewhere, during which they have been exposed to the customs and traditions of the Naval service, including close-order drill, small-arms training, and things of this nature; and, importantly, they are given enough actual flight training to determine that they were physically and intellectually capable of undergoing the complete pilot training offered at Pensacola."

"As fascinated as I am by your learned discourse," Pickering said, "so what? What has this got to with this cell they've put us in?"

"There was a fourth category of students," Stecker said. "Newly commissioned ensigns and second lieutenants. Such as we, Pickering. Since it came down from Mount Sinai graven on stone that ensigns and second lieutenants cannot find their ass with both hands, they were run through courses intended to teach them not to piss in the potted palms at the Officers' Club and otherwise to behave like officers and gentlemen."

" 'Was'?" Pickering asked.

"For a number of reasons, including complaints from the fleet and the Fleet Marine Force that Aviation was grabbing all the nice, bright ensigns and second lieutenants the fleet and the Fleet Marine Force needed, they stopped sending new second lieutenants here. If you want to become a Naval aviator in the future, you will have to start as an aviation cadet, or have completed two years with the fleet or with troops in the Corps."

"But we're here," Pickering asked, now genuinely confused.

"That's precisely the point of my lecture," Stecker said. "We have fallen somehow through the cracks; there has been a hole in the sieve. I know why I'm here… I qualified for aviation training last fall, before they decided to send no more second lieutenants through Pensacola. My guess is that the word didn't reach the Navy liaison officer at West Point. All he knew was that there was a note on my record jacket that I was to be sent here when I got my commission. And when I got my commission, he cut the orders. But what about you? How'd you manage to get here? You should be running around with an infantry platoon in the boondocks at Quantico, or at Camp Elliott."

Pickering decided it was the time and place to be completely truthful.

"I should be working in the Officers' Club at the Marine Barracks in Washington," he said. "That's where they sent me when I graduated from the Platoon Leader's Course at Quantico."

"Why?" Stecker asked.

"I grew up in the hotel business," Pickering said. "I worked for Foster Hotels. I know how to run a restaurant-bar operation."

"That would seem to be pretty good duty."

"I didn't join the Corps to run a bar for the brass," Pickering said.

"How'd you get out of it? And manage to get yourself sent here?"

"I had some influence," Pickering said. "With a general."

"Which general?" Stecker asked. Pickering sensed disapproval in Stecker; his eyes were no longer smiling.

"Mclnerney," Pickering said. "Brigadier General Mclnerney. You know who he is?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Stecker said. "He and my father were in France together in the First World War. Belleau Wood."

"Then maybe my father knows your father," Pickering said. "That's where my father met Mclnerney. They were both corporals. Mclnerney got me assigned as his aide to keep me out of the Officers' Club, and then he sent me down here."

Stecker nodded absently, and Pickering sensed that he was making a decision.

"This is how I see it," Stecker said, finally. "They don't know what to do with us. The easiest thing is what they've done, nothing. Let us go to flight school, which is easier than writing letters to Headquarters, USMC, and asking what to do with us. And since there are probably just the two of us, and one of us is a regular, I don't think they're going to start up a series of 'don't piss in the potted palms' classes just for us. Because it's easier for them, they'll treat us as if we were officers sent here as first lieutenants or captains from the Fleet Marine Force."

"All of which means what?"

"Until somebody tells us we're restricted to post, as officers and gentlemen we can assume we're not restricted to the post. And I don't think they're going to appoint somebody to come all the way over here at midnight every night to see if we're in our bunks."

"You mean, we just go tell that corporal 'thanks but no thanks, you can keep your room'?"

"How are you fixed for money?" Stecker asked.

"All right," Pickering replied.