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

When the lieutenant colonel drew close, the officers and the noncoms came to attention, and the captain saluted and smiled.

"Good morning, sir," the captain said.

"Good morning," the lieutenant colonel said, with a salute that was far short of parade-ground perfect. "Are you in charge here, Captain?"

"I'm the senior officer, sir," the captain said.

"That's what I asked," the lieutenant colonel said, reasonably, with a smile. He examined the lieutenants and picked one out. "Are you Lieutenant McCoy?"

The lieutenant came to attention. "No, sir," he said.

"I was told I could find Lieutenant McCoy here," the lieutenant colonel said.

"He's on the line, sir," the captain said. "There's a stoppage on one of the weapons." He gestured in the direction of the pit where the lieutenant colonel had seen the armorer working on the machine gun.

The lieutenant colonel started to walk toward it. The captain followed him. When they were out of hearing of the group in the shade of the range house, the lieutenant colonel stopped and turned to the captain.

"I think I can find Lieutenant McCoy myself, Captain," be said softly. "What I suggest you do is put one officer and one noncom in the observation tower, and then send the others over to the troops. If I were, say, a PFC, I would resent being ordered to sit in the sun while my sergeant stood in the shade. Much less my officers."

The captain came to attention, with surprise on his face.

"Aye, aye, sir," he said.

The lieutenant colonel walked to the machine-gun pit where there was a malfunctioning weapon.

One of the two troops saw him coming and said something to the third man, who was, the lieutenant colonel saw, just about finished reassembling the weapon. The man started to straighten up. The lieutenant colonel saw the gold bars of a second lieutenant on his dungaree shirt. The two Marines came to attention.

"Finish what you're doing," the lieutenant colonel said, in Chinese.

"Yes, sir," McCoy replied in English, and went on with his work.

"You two can stand at ease," the lieutenant colonel ordered, and then switched to Chinese: "What was wrong with it?"

"Dirt," McCoy replied, again in English. "We just drew these guns. They've been in storage since the First World War. What stopped this one was petrified Cosmoline. It was too hard to wash out with gasoline, but then firing shook it loose. It jammed the bolt as it tried to feed."

"Your record, Lieutenant, says that you are fluent in Cantonese," the lieutenant colonel said in Chinese.

"I don't speak it as well as you do, sir," McCoy said, in Cantonese. He got the machine gun back together, opened the action, and stood up. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

The lieutenant colonel ignored the question.

"Isn't there an armorer out here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "But I like to explain what went wrong, instead of just fix it."

"Where did you learn about machine guns?"

"I was in a heavy-weapons company with the Fourth Marines in Shanghai, sir," McCoy said.

The lieutenant colonel was pleased with what he had found. The service record of Second Lieutenant McCoy had said that he was an Expert with a.30- and a.50-caliber Browning machine guns and that he was fluent in Cantonese. He was now satisfied that both were the case.

"You're the range officer, I understand?" the lieutenant colonel said.

"Yes, sir."

"If you would feel comfortable in turning over that responsibility to one of the other officers, I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"I'll ask one of the other officers to take over for me, sir," McCoy said.

"I'll wait for you in the pickup," the lieutenant colonel said, smiling and pointing toward the Chevrolet.

When McCoy got to the pickup truck, the lieutenant colonel was inside. He signaled for McCoy to get in. After McCoy was inside, he put out his hand. His grip was firm.

"My name is Carlson, McCoy," he said. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm an old China Marine myself."

"Yes, sir." McCoy said.

"How'd you get your commission, McCoy?" Carlson asked.

"When I came home from China, I applied for officer school and they sent me," McCoy said.

"You like being an officer?"

"It pays better," McCoy said.

Carlson chuckled.

"Most second lieutenants, faced with a malfunctioning Browning, would get an armorer to fix it," Carlson said. "Not dirty their hands on it themselves."

"Most second lieutenants wouldn't have known what was wrong with it," McCoy said.

"I was hoping you would say you don't mind getting your hands dirty if mat's the quickest solution to a problem."

"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "That, too."

"I've been given command of a special battalion, McCoy," Carlson said. "What we'll be doing is something like the British Commandos. Amphibious raids on Japanese-held islands; probably, later, working behind Japanese lines. I'm recruiting officers for it."

"I heard something about that, sir," McCoy said.

"What did you hear?"

"I heard suicide troops, Colonel," McCoy said. "That you didn't want married men."

"Well, let me correct that," Carlson said. "Not suicide troops. Only a fool would volunteer to commit suicide, and the one thing I don't want is fools. I don't want married then because I don't want people thinking about wives and children… because that would raise their chances of getting killed. I want them to think of nothing but the mission. If they do that, they stand a much better chance of staying alive. You follow the reasoning?"

"Yes, sir," McCoy said.

"And the training is going to be tough, and there's going to be a lot if it, and a married man would get trouble from his wife because he didn't come home at night and on weekends. My philosophy is that well-trained then stand a better chance of staying alive. You follow me?"

"Yes, sir."

McCoy had seen enough of Lieutenant Colonel Evans F. Carlson to make a fast judgment, but one he was sure of. He judged that Carlson was a good officer. McCoy had noticed, for instance, that the officers and noncoms were now doing what they were supposed to be doing, instead of standing around bullshitting in the shade of the range building; and he was sure that Carlson had straightened them out. And McCoy was impressed with Carlson, the man. There was a quiet authority about him. He didn't have to wave his silver lieutenant colonel's leaf in somebody's face to command respect.

His eyes were soft, but intelligent. He certainly didn't look crazy. Or even like he'd gone Chink. McCoy had no idea what a Communist looked like.

McCoy was worried about the intelligent eyes. They made him think that there was very little that got by Lieutenant Colonel Carlson. He wondered how long it would be before Carlson began to suspect-if he didn't already suspect-that the big brass would send somebody to keep an eye on him, to see if he was crazy, or a Communist, or whatever. And once he figured that out, it wouldn't be a hell of a jump for him to figure out that the spy was Second Lieutenant McCoy.

Shit! Why didn't they send somebody else? I like this guy.

(Two)

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

17 January 1942

The blind then evacuated from Corregidor aboard the Pickerel were taken from the wharf to the Naval hospital by ambulance.

There they were given thorough physical examinations to determine if they had any medical condition that required immediate attention. None did. One of them-who had for some unaccountable reason regained his sight-even demanded immediate return to duty, but that was out of the question. He was told that because his shrapnel wounds had not completely healed, he would be evacuated to the United States with the others.

Actually, it had been decided that this man's case indicated the necessity of a psychiatric examination. His temporary blindness was psychosomatic in nature, and that was sometimes an indication of psychiatric problems. But telling him that was obviously not the thing to do; it might even aggravate the problem.