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

TRAVEL FROM HAWAII TO WASHINGTON BY AIR IS DIRECTED PRIORTTY AA2. BY DIRECTION

STANLEY F. WATT COLONEL USMC OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF FOR PERSONNEL

McCoy looked at Carlson.

"Well, you'll be in here for forty-eight hours," Carlson said. "That'll give us time to get your gear from Catlin to you."

"I guess they really need linguists, sir," McCoy said.

"Certainly, they do. Linguists are valuable people, McCoy. There's far too few of them-you did notice that TWX was dated 8 August-for the Corps to risk losing one of them storming some unimportant beach."

Their eyes met.

"When you get to Washington, McCoy, say hello to Colonel Rickabee for me."

McCoy saw that Carlson was smiling.

"You've known all along, then, sir?"

"Not everyone in the Corps thinks I'm a crazy Communist, McCoy," Carlson said. "I've still got a few friends left who try to let me know what's going on."

"Oh, shit!" McCoy said.

"Nothing for you to be embarrassed about, McCoy,"

Carlson said. "You're a Marine officer. A good Marine officer. And good Marine officers do what they're told to do, to the best of their ability."

He stepped to the bed and put out his hand.

"Take care of yourself, son," he said. "I was glad you were along on this operation."

And then be turned and walked out of the room.

(Three)

Navy Air Station Pensacola, Florida 29 August 1942

Second Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering's first response to the knock at the penthouse door was to simply ignore it. Either it would go away or Dick Stecker would get up and answer it.

It was Saturday morning, and they had drunk their Friday supper.

They were finished at Pensacola. Orders would be cut on Monday, 31 August, certifying that Second Lieutenants Pickering and Stecker were rated as fully qualified in F4F-3 aircraft, and placing them on a ten-day-delay-en-route leave to whenever the bell the Marine Corps was sending them.

It was occasion to celebrate, and they had celebrated until the wee hours.

the knocking became more persistent, and Pickering finally gave in. Wrapping a sheet around his middle, calling out "Keep your pants on!" he walked to the door and jerked it open.

It was Captain James L. Carstairs, USMC, Captain Mustache, in his usual impeccable uniform.

"Good morning, sir," Pickering said.

"May I come in?" Captain Carstairs asked. "You alone?"

"I'm alone," Pickering said. "But… Captain Carstairs, Stecker has a guest."

"The one with her hair piled two feet over her head?" Captain Carstairs said. "And the enormous bazooms?"

"Uh…"

"We saw you last night," Captain Carstairs said. "I rather doubt that in your condition you saw us, but we saw you."

"I saw you, sir," Pickering said. "I didn't know you had seen us."

"You should have come over and said hello," Captain Carstairs said. "I had the feeling Mrs. Culhane rather wished you would."

Pickering looked at him in surprise, and blurted what popped into his mind.

"Is that why you're here? To tell me that?"

"Unfortunately, no," Captain Carstairs said, and handed Pickering a yellow Western Union envelope.

"What's this?"

"Keep in mind the other possibility," Carstairs said. "The word is they left a lot of people on the beach."

Pickering ripped the envelope open.

THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR FRIEND SECOND LIEUTENANT KENNETH J. MCCOY USMCR 2ND RAIDER BATTAUON WAS WOUNDED IN ACTION AGAINST THE JAPANESE ON MAKIN ISLAND 17 AUGUST 1942. HE HAS BEEN REMOVED TO A NAVAL HOSPITAL AND IS EXPECTED TO FULLY RECOVER. FURTHER DETAILS WILL BE FURNISHED AS AVAILABLE, FRANK KNOX JR SECRETARY OF THE NAVY

"There's another word in the lexicon," Captain Carstairs said, "one they did not use. The adjective 'seriously,' as in 'seriously wounded.' And they included the phrase 'fully recover.'"

"Yeah," Pickering said, and then looked at Carstairs. "Thank you."

"My curiosity is aroused," Carstairs said. "Doesn't he have a family?"

"Not one he gives much of a damn about," Pickering said. "He's got a brother, but he's in the Raiders, too."

"He came through it, that's what counts," Carstairs said. "That's all that counts."

"Oh, Christ!" Pickering said, having just then thought of it. "Ernie!"

"Who's Ernie?"

"His girl friend," Pick said. "I'll have to tell her."

"Why?" Carstairs said, practically. "If he's not seriously hurt, he'll write her and tell her. Why worry her?"

"Because she would want to know," Pick flared. "Jesus Christ!"

"Keep your cool, Pickering," Carstairs said. "Think it over. What would be gained?"

"Yeah," Pick said. "This is not the first telegram from the Secretary of the Navy-" He stopped. "I am about to have a drink. Would you like one?"

"I thought you would never ask," Captain Carstairs said.

Pick made drinks, and then told Captain Mustache about the first telegram from the Secretary of the Navy about Ken McCoy when he had been in the Philippines, the one that said he was "missing in action and presumed dead." They made enough noise to raise Dick Stecker and his guest from their bed.

They had another couple of drinks, and then ordered room service breakfast, and in the end Pick decided he would not call Ernie, not now. It made more sense to wait and see what happened. There was no sense getting Ernie all upset when there was nothing at all that she could do.

Captain Mustache stayed with them. He even got a little smashed, and it had all the beginnings of a good party. Now that they were about to be certified as fully qualified brother Naval aviators, it was fitting and proper for him to associate with two lowly second lieutenants as social equals.

Sometime during the evening, Captain Mustache told him that he had just about given up on Martha Sayre Culhane. It had become clear to him that she was just not interested.

Pickering recalled that the next morning (now Sunday) when some other sonofabitch was knocking at the door.

As Pick staggered to open it, he remembered telling Captain Mustache that he knew just how he felt. And then Captain Mustache had said something else: He thought it wasn't absolutely hopeless for Pick, and that it was a shame Pick was about to ship out.

Pick jerked the door open. It was Captain Mustache again.

"Why didn't you just crap out on the couch?" Pick asked, somewhat snappishly.

"I took the brunette in the glasses home, remember?" Captain Mustache said, and then added, demonstrating, "You've got another one," and handed him a yellow Western Union envelope.

"Oh, shit, now what?" Pick asked.

The second telegram, to his relief and confusion, appeared to be identical to the first. He was afraid that it would be one expressing the condolences of the Secretary of the Navy.

"What the hell is this?" he asked. "A duplicate? In case I didn't get the first one?"

"I don't know," Carstairs answered. And then they saw that the two telegrams were not identical. The second said McCoy had been wounded on August 18; the first had said August 17.

"I guess he got shot twice," Carstairs said, "and the paperwork just got caught up."

"I'm going to have to call Ernie," Pick said, firmly. "She has a right to know."

"Can I have a hair of the dog?" Captain Mustache asked.

"Make me one, will you? I think I'm going to need it."

It took Ernie so long to answer her phone that he was afraid she wasn't at her apartment, but finally, she came on the line.