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

"You never heard it in China?" Banning asked, and then before Stecker could reply, he went on. "Oh, that's right. You had your family with you. No sleeping dictionary. You weren't really a China Marine men, were you, Jack? No speakee Chinaman."

McCoy snorted.

"It's a Chinese phrase, sir," Burnes said, almost eagerly. "It means 'all pull together.'"

"What's that got to do with the Raiders?" Stecker pursued.

"Cooperate, sir, for the common good. Do something that has to be done, even if it's not your responsibility."

"Give me a for-example," Banning asked, politely.

"Oh, for example, sir," Burnes said, "suppose an officer is walking around the area, and he sees that a garbage can is knocked over. Instead of finding somebody, an enlisted man, to set it up, he would do it himself. Because it should be set straight, sir, for the common good of the unit."

Banning looked at McCoy and saw that his eyes were smiling.

Burnes sensed that the example he had given was not a very good one. "You can explain it better than I can, Ken," Burnes said. "You tell the major."

"First of all," McCoy said, in Cantonese, "it doesn't mean 'all pull together.' It means something like 'strive for harmony.' And while it strikes me, and probably strikes you, as the night soil of a very large and well-fed male ox, you can see from this child that the children have adopted it as holy writ. What's wrong with it?"

Burnes's eyes widened, first at the flow of Chinese, and then as Major Banning choked on his beer. He went to Banning and vigorously pounded his back until Banning waved him off.

"You all right, sir?" Burnes asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," Banning said. "It went down the wrong pipe."

"Well, Burnes," Stecker said. "We know who had those dictionaries, don't we? Nobody likes a wiseass second lieutenant, McCoy."

Ernie Sage came onto the forward deck skillfully balancing a tray in her hands. The tray held two plates of hors d'ouevres, one with bacon-wrapped chicken livers, the other with boiled shrimp and a bowl of cocktail sauce. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. The front of her T-shirt was emblazoned with a large, red Marine Corps insignia.

"Steak," Stecker said. "See my point?"

Ernie smiled nervously, wondering if that meant disapproval of the T-shirt.

Banning laughed.

"I'm not so sure all these hors d'ouevres are a good idea," Ernie said. "The steaks are enormous. Ken ran into some China Marine he knew working in the commissary."

Stecker laughed out loud in delight, and Banning shook his head.

Ernie smiled with relief; they did not disapprove of her shorts and T-shirt. But now that she thought about it, she did. It was a dumb idea, something she had done in hurt and anger. Her mother had called the day before, and they had gotten into it. The conversation had started out politely enough, but that hadn't lasted long. And her mother had played her ace: "I just hope you know how you're hurting your father's feelings, how it hurts him to have his friends seeing his daughter acting like… like nothing more than a camp follower."

"Nice to talk to you, Mother," Ernie said. "Call again sometime next year," and then she'd hung up.

But it had hurt, and she'd cried a little, and then she'd stopped that nonsense. But then she had been downtown, and she'd seen a half dozen real camp followers, the girls who- either professionally or otherwise-plied their trade in San Diego bars patronized by Marines. They had been wearing Marine Corps T-shirts, and Ernie had wondered if she was really like them, and then she'd decided it didn't matter whether she was or not, her mother thought she was.

And she'd gone into a store and bought the T-shirt.

"I'm glad that the steaks are enormous,, because so is my appetite," Banning said.

"Good," she said, smiling.

"Ernie, take these two with you, will you please?" Banning said. "I've got to have a quiet word with Jack Stecker."

When McCoy and Burnes had followed Ernie off the deck, Banning nodded after them.

"Very nice," he said.

"The hors d'ouevres, or McCoy's lady friend?" Stecker asked.

"Both," Banning said, "but especially her. She's all right, Jack."

"Yes, she is," Stecker said.

"I understand you've been greasing Evans Carlson's ways," Banning said.

"Oh, so that's what this all about," Stecker said.

Banning didn't reply directly.

"See a lot of him, do you?"

"Every other day," Stecker said.

"I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask," Banning said.

"Let me save you some time, Major," Stecker said. "No, I don't think he's either crazy or a Communist."

"Why did you say that, Jack?" Banning asked.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to say? That he is? So they can relieve him and put these Raider battalions out of business?"

"No," Banning said. "As a matter of fact, it's not. I have it on the highest authority-relayed from General Holcomb himself-that Carlson is none of the unpleasant things he's being accused of."

Stecker met his eyes. "I'm really relieved to hear you say that," he said.

"There's some scuttlebutt that an officer has been sent out here to spy on Carlson," Banning said. "You pick up any of that?"

"Yeah, I've heard that," Stecker said.

"Do you think Carlson has?"

"Oh, I'm sure he has," Stecker said. "But I don't think he knows it's McCoy."

"McCoy?" Banning said.

"Come on, Ed, we've known each other too long to be cute," Stecker said.

"Please respond to the question," Banning said, formally. "What gave you the idea McCoy is in any way involved in this?"

"All right," Stecker said after a moment. "Because I happen to know that McCoy went from the Platoon Leader's Course at Quantico to work for Rickabee in Washington, and I took the trouble to find out that's not on his service record; his record says he was a platoon leader at Quantico until he came out here."

"You mention any of those theories of yours to Carlson?"

"No," Stecker said. "Frankly, I was tempted."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I have been around the Corps long enough to know the shits going to hit the fan sooner or later, and I didn't want to get splattered," Stecker said. "And also because I like McCoy, and I knew this wasn't his idea."

"The shit has already hit the fan," Banning said. "General Paul H. Lesterby was retired; Colonel Thomas C. Wesley's been assigned to the supply depot at Murdoch, while the Commandant makes up his mind whether or not to court-martial him."

Stecker's face grew thoughtful. His eyebrows rose, he pursed his lips, and he cocked his head to one side. "The scuttlebutt I got on out," he said, "was that Lesterby had a mild heart attack and that Wesley finally was recognized for the horse's ass he's always been."

"Do you think Carlson believes that?"

"I suppose he does," Stecker said. "Why that line of questions?"

"Although he will do so if necessary," Banning said, "which is to say if he thinks-which means I tell him-that Carlson knows about the officer Lesterby sent out here, the Commandant would really rather not come out and formally apologize to Carlson."

"Carlson? He better worry about having to apologize to the President," Stecker said.

"If he thought it would be the best thing for the Corps, I think the Commandant would resign in the morning," Banning said. "I don't think that would be good for the Corps."

"Neither do I," Stecker said. "How the hell did you get involved in this? You used to be a good, simple, honest Marine."

"Well, Jack, I didn't volunteer for it," Banning said, a little coldly.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Stecker said. "I can't imagine why the hell I did. I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Banning said.

"To answer your question, Ed," Stecker said, "if Carlson is worried about having a spy in his outfit, he doesn't seem concerned. I think he would have said something to me if he did. Or, probably, now that I think about it, suspected that it was me. I don't think he thinks it's one of his officers, and I'm almost positive he doesn't suspect McCoy of anything."