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

"If we try to check out of the BOQ," Stecker said, "Captain Mustache is likely to think it over and order us to stay here. And if he does that, it's also going to start him thinking about 'don't piss in the potted palms' lectures and sending the OD over to see if we're in bed. The whole Boy Scout routine. You follow my reasoning?"

"Yes," Pickering said.

"We'll just have to forget collecting the allowance in lieu of quarters," Stecker said.

"I understand," Pickering said.

"One other potential problem," Stecker said. "Have you got a car?"

Pickering nodded.

"Well, let's go hear what Captain Mustache has to say. He can blow this whole idea out of the water. But if he says what I think he'll say, I think we can pass the next six months in relative comfort. We started drawing flight pay the moment we reported in… why not spend it?"

On the walk back to the Marine detachment office, Stecker saw Pickering's Cadillac convertible.

"How'd you like to have that to use for pussy bait?" he asked.

Pickering smiled, but said nothing about the ownership of the car.

Captain Mustache put them at ease before his desk when they reported to him, but he did not offer them seats.

"I've been on the phone about you two," he said. "What you are are exceptions to the rule, pebbles that shouldn't have dropped through the sieve but did. Both of you should be running around in the boondocks at Quantico with a rifle platoon. But you're here, and it has been decided that it's easier to leave you here."

He's even using the same words that Sleeker did, Pickering thought.

"When you are addressed by a superior officer," Captain Mustache said, "it is the custom to acknowledge that by saying something like 'Yes, sir.' That lets the superior officer know you're alive."

"Yes, sir," Pickering and Stecker said.

"There was a price for my curiosity," Captain Mustache said. "I presume you are familiar with the term 'in addition to his other duties'?"

"Yes, sir," Pickering and Stecker said in chorus.

"My primary duty here is as a flight instructor," Captain Mustache said. "In addition to that duty, I am the Marine detachment commander. And as of about twenty minutes ago, in addition to that duty, I have been given the responsibility for you two. Someone has to be responsible for your well-being and to answer for it if you misbehave. For example, if you should disturb the peace and tranquility of Pensacola by getting drunk and having yourselves thrown into jail, I will be the officer who will get you out of jail, prepare court-martial charges, and arrange to have your asses shipped out of here. Do I make my point, or will a more detailed explanation be necessary?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

"Which, gentlemen? Do you understand me? Or would you like a more detailed explanation?"

"I understand you, sir," Stecker said.

"You make your point, sir," Pickering said.

"Splendid," Captain Mustache said. "Getting through this course is going to be hard," he went on. "A year ago it was thirteen months. We're going to try in six months to teach you everything that was taught in that course. And what that means is that you'll have to work your asses off. And what that means is that there will be very little time for you to carouse and make whoopee. Do I make my point?"

"Yes, sir," Pickering and Stecker said in chorus.

"Splendid! I will not belabor the point," Captain Mustache said. "Take the rest of the day getting settled. If you have personal automobiles, get them registered. Take a ride around the base and orient yourselves. Report at oh-six-thirty tomorrow at Aviation Reception; the uniform is greens."

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

"That will be all, gentlemen," Captain Mustache said.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," the two of them said, did an about-face, and marched out of the room.

"We're home free," Stecker said. "And we have all day to find us someplace decent to live."

"I've already got a place," Pickering said, as he headed toward his car.

"Big enough for the both of us?" Stecker asked.

"Two bedrooms, a living room, a patio," Pickering said.

"On Pensacola's world-famous snow-white beaches, no doubt?"

"Actually, it's on the roof of the San Carlos Hotel," Pick said. "The penthouse."

Stacker's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He walked to the Cadillac, bent over, and looked inside.

"And this, it would follow, is yours?"

"Yeah," Pickering said.

"I don't suppose that it's run through your mind that a second lieutenant driving a new Cadillac convertible and living in a penthouse is going to stand out like a syphilitic pecker at a short-arm inspection?" Stecker asked.

"Seven months from now, if I don't kill myself between now and then, I will be living in a tent on some Pacific Island. At that time some people will be trying to kill me. A phrase from classic literature occurs to me: 'Live today, for tomorrow we die.'"

"You're a man after my own heart, Pickering," Stecker said. "Let's go register our cars and then go have a look at our penthouse."

"I told you, I was in the hotel business," Pickering said.

"I've got a deal on the penthouse… a professional discount. It doesn't cost as much as you might think."

"I don't give a damn what it costs," Stecker said. "I recently came into some money."

Pickering didn't reply.

Stecker took out his wallet, and from it a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded the paper and handed it to Pickering. It was a short, typewritten note.

Dear Twerp,

If at some time in the future, you should get a large check from Uncle Sam, I would be highly pissed if you did anything foolish with it… like putting it in the bank. Drink all the whiskey and screw all the girls while you have the chance.

Love, Jack.

Pickering read the short note and then looked at Stecker.

"That's from my big brother," Stecker said. "Ensign Jack NMI Stecker, Jr. Annapolis '40. He went down with the Arizona."

"I'm sorry," Pickering said, very softly.

"Yeah," Stecker said. "Me, too. He was one of the good guys."

Their eyes met for a moment.

"You did say our penthouse has two bedrooms, didn't you?" Stecker asked. "Plus a living room? And a patio? What about a bar?"

"Two bars," Pickering said. "One in the living room, and another one, a wet bar, on the patio."

"I think that's just the sort of thing Jack had in mind," Stecker said.

(One)

Headquarters, 2nd Joint Training Force

Camp Elliott, California

O815 Hours, 9 January 1942

Captain Jack NMI (No Middle Initial) Stecker, USMCR, was a large man, tall and erect. His uniform was perfectly tailored and sharply creased. It bore the insignia of his grade, the double silver bars of a captain, both on the epaulets of the blouse and on his shirt collar. His high-topped dress shoes were highly polished. But there were no ribbons pinned to the breast of the blouse. For what he considered good reason, Captain Stecker had put his ribbons in one of the bellows pockets of his blouse.

Captain Stecker was quite surprised that the technical sergeant functioning as Colonel Lewis T. Harris's sergeant major apparently had no idea who he was. Equally surprising was that he could not recall having ever seen the technical sergeant before.

The technical sergeant wore the diagonal hash marks of sixteen years of satisfactory enlisted service on the sleeve of his blouse. Captain Jack NMI Stecker had worn a Marine

uniform since 1917. It bordered on the incredible that they had never run into each other before someplace. The Marine Corps, between major wars, was a small outfit. By the time someone had put in a couple hitches, he knew practically everybody else in the Corps.

There was supposed to be an exception to every rule, Stecker decided, and this was apparently it.