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

The first document in the stack was stamped SECRET. It was entitled, "Report of the Activities of Evans Carlson, late Major, USMC, during the period April 1939-April 1941."

Halfway down the stack was Captain James Roosevelt's letter to the Major General Commandant of the Marine Corps. At the bottom of the stack, also stamped SECRET, were transcripts of telephone conversations between Lieutenant Colonel Rickabee or Captain Edward Sessions and Second Lieutenant K. J. McCoy.

"I wondered what McCoy was doing at Elliott," Banning said when he had finished reading everything and was tapping the stack on his chest of drawers to get it in order.

"Any other questions?" Rickabee asked.

"You want an honest response to that?" Banning asked.

"Please," Rickabee said.

"This is a despicable thing to do to Carlson," Banning said.

"Yes, it was," Rickabee said. "And that was one of the more printable terms used by the Commandant to describe it."

"Was?"

"Was," Rickabee confirmed. "Just as soon as the Commandant saw it, it was over. Except for cleaning up the mess, of course."

"How did it happen?" Banning asked. "How did it get started in the first place?"

"The goddamned Palace Guard got carried away with its own importance," Rickabee said. "Wesley took it upon himself to save the Corps from Carlson. He enlisted General Lesterby in that noble cause, and then the two of them went to Forrest with their little idea. When Forrest balked, they led him to believe they were acting for the Commandant."

"Jesus Christ!"

"And that goddamned Wesley suckered me, too," Rickabee said. "There was no question in my mind that he was working for the Commandant. Otherwise-"

"It's hard to believe," Banning said. But when he heard what he had said, he offered a quick clarification. "I mean, a colonel and a major general. Jesus Christ!"

"I think the real reason the Commandant's mad at Forrest is that Forrest was apparently willing to believe the Commandant was capable of something like that. Fortunately, I'm only a lieutenant colonel, and lieutenant colonels are supposed to be stupid. The Commandant treated me with condescending contempt, and spelled out very slowly and carefully what he wants me to do about cleaning up the mess."

"That involves me? You said something about Diego," Banning asked.

"The Commandant told me-this was during the eighteen-hour period General Forrest thought he was being retired in disgrace, and there was nobody to deal with but me-that the worst thing you can do to a commander is let him know his superiors question his ability. If necessary, the Commandant is prepared to go to California and apologize to Carlson and assure him of his personal confidence in him. But he hopes that Carlson doesn't know we sent an officer out there to spy on him, and that an apology won't be necessary."

"Apologies being beneath the dignity of the Commandant?" Banning asked, sarcastically. "You don't suppose he could be worried that President Roosevelt will find out about this half-cocked spying operation?"

Rickabee hesitated a moment before he replied. "I'm sure he is," he said finally. "And the damage to the Corps if that happens is something I don't even like to think about. If the President found out, the Commandant would have to go. And that would be bad for the Corps, for all the reasons that come quickly to mind."

Banning grunted.

"But having granted that, Ed, no, I don't think apologizing would bother the Commandant at all. But making the apology would be an admission that there was doubt in Carlson's loyalty and ability-doubt high enough within the Corps to have the Commandant personally involved. What the Commandant wants to know is whether Carlson knows, or strongly suspects, what's been going on. That's where you come in."

"How?"

"The forward element of the First Raider Battalion will leave Quantico one April for Diego, and sail for Hawaii as soon as shipping can be found for them. The Second Battalion, Evans Carlson's, is supposed to complete their training at Camp Elliott on Fifteen April. There will be an inspection of the Second Raider Battalion by officers from Headquarters, USMC. You will be part of that delegation, charged, as an experienced regimental S-Two, with having a look at Carlson's intelligence section. Not, if I have to say it, as somebody assigned to us. You'll prepare the usual report, which will make its normal passage through channels. You will also be prepared, immediately on your return, to tell the Commandant personally whether or not you think Carlson suspects anything."

"Lovely job," Banning said, dryly.

"Check with McCoy, of course. And there's somebody else out there you probably should talk to. You remember Master Gunnery Sergeant Stecker?"

"Did a hitch with the Fourth? Has the Medal of Honor?"

"He's a captain, now, in Diego. At Second Joint Training Force headquarters. He works for Colonel Lou Harris, and Harris has had him greasing Carlson's ways. If approached discreetly, you might ask him if Carlson has smelled a rat."

"I don't know if he would talk to me. He's a starchy sonofabitch."

"He's a good Marine," Rickabee said. "Use your judgment, Ed."

"I get the picture, sir," Banning said. "When do I go?"

"Your leave is over two April," Rickabee said. "I've got orders for you. You are assigned to the office of the Inspector General, Headquarters, USMC, on that date, and to the inspection team for the Second Raiders. They will have left Washington one April. You've got a rail priority, and Sergeant Gregg-you remember him?"

Banning shook his head. "No." "Gregg got you a compartment on the Twentieth-Century Limited to Chicago, and then on whatever they call that train with the observation cars-"

"I know what you mean," Banning said. "I can't think of the name."

"Well, anyway, after you cruise through the Rockies in luxury to Los Angeles, you take a train called the Lark to San Diego. The inspection team will return to Washington by air. You'll travel with them."

"Aye, aye, sir." Banning said.

"By the time you get to Washington, have your mind made up," Rickabee said. "The Commandant has a tough call to make, and he'll have to make it pretty much on what you decide."

Banning grunted, and nodded his head thoughtfully.

"I knew the good life was too good to last," he said.

(One)

Company B, 2nd Raider Battalion

Camp Elliott, California

26 March 1942

The then of Baker Company were spread out on both sides of the dirt road-hardly more than a pad)-in the hills above Camp Elliott when the jeep drove up. The platoon leader and Gunnery Sergeant Esposito were standing up. And a few of the then were sitting up, but most of them were flat on their backs, still breathing heavily. Gunny Esposito had elected to have them pass the last five minutes before the break at double-time. After forty-five minutes of marching at quick time with full field gear, including a basic load of ammo, five minutes of double-time feels like five hours.

The jeep was driven by the company clerk. Unlike the stereotype of most company clerks, Baker Company's company clerk looked like the fullback he had been on the Marion (Ohio) High School "Tigers" before he had enlisted in the Corps three days after Pearl Harbor. You had to have a "C" average to remain eligible for varsity football, and since Rocky Rockham wasn't too comfortable with geometry or English, the coach had suggested that if he wanted to play football, he better take something he could do well in, something that would bring his grade average up, like typing.

At Parris Island the personnel clerk had asked Rocky Rockham if he had any skills, like typing. And Rocky told him that he could type pretty good, forty-five words a minute. Naturally the personnel clerk hadn't believed him, and made him take a test. Rocky Rockham didn't look like somebody who could type, but he passed the test, and he left Parris Island for the Joint Training Force at Diego as a clerk/typist.