W.E.B. Griffin - Retreat, Hell!

"Spoken like a true Marine officer's wife," Dawkins said. And then heard what he had said. "That was intended to be a compliment, Mrs. Dawkins."

"And I took it as one," Babs Mitchell said. "That's what I was, until re­cently—a Marine officer's wife."

She put her hand on Pick's arm. The warmth of her fingers immediately went through the thin hospital bathrobe.

You really have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me, do you?

"I'll see you in a little while," she said. "I'm relying on you to get me through this. The escort officer will pick you up first, and then me, right?"

"I think that would be best," General Dawkins said.

When she took her hand from Pick's arm and headed for the door, Captain McGowan pushed it open and held it open as she passed through it, and then General Dawkins followed. Then he went through it and it swung shut.

Major Pickering stared at it for a long time, until he realized he was hold­ing his arm where Mrs. Babs Mitchell had held it.

Then he said, "Shit!" and went to his bed side table and took out a bottle of Listerine mouthwash, which he had had tht foresight to fill with scotch in the Officers' Club, and took a long pull, and then another.

[SIX]

The Parade Ground

Marine Corps Base Camp Joseph H. Pendleton, California

171O 2 November 195O

Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins, USMC, rose from his chair in the re­viewing stand and walked to the lectern at the forward edge. He tapped the mi­crophone with his finger, which caused the loudspeakers mounted on poles to pop loudly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, Marines," General Dawkins began. "Two of the officers to be decorated today recently flew together off the aircraft carrier USS Badoeng Strait. One of them is here only in spirit. His dec­orations will be accepted by his widow."

There was a sudden, rapidly-growing-in-volume roar of aircraft engines.

Three Corsairs in a V formation appeared low in the sky, and then three more, and then three more.

They flew no more than five hundred feet above the parade ground and then began to pull up. The center Corsair in the third V applied FULL MILITARY EMERGENCY POWER, increased the angle of his climb, and changed course to the right, left the formation, and disappeared into the sky.

General Dawkins again addressed the parade.

"Marines to be decorated, front and center!" he barked.

The band began to play "The Marines' Hymn."

[SEVEN]

The Ocean View Apartments

1OO5 Ocean Drive

San Diego, California

185O 2 November 195O

"Would you like to come in for a minute, Pick?" Mrs. Babs Mitchell asked as the Marine-green Chevrolet pulled into the driveway.

I would gladly sell my soul to Satan, or whoever else would have it, to go up there with you and never come out.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a little weary. Call me?"

"Of course."

The escort officer walked Mrs. Mitchell to the lobby, watched through the glass door until she got on the elevator, and then walked back to the staff car and got in beside Major Pickering.

"You all right, sir?"

"No. But I will be just as soon as we get to the bar in the Coronado Beach Hotel and I have a pick-me-up. Or three."

"Sir, my orders are to make sure you make it safely back to the hospital."

"Screw your orders," Pick said. "If General Dawkins finds out—and I can see no reason why he should—I'll take the heat. Sergeant, the Coronado Beach Hotel."

"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant driving said.

[EIGHT]

Air Cargo Terminal

Trans-Global Airways

Lindbergh Field

San Diego, California

2O25 2 November 195O

"I'm not sure about this, ma'am," the assistant station manager said to Mrs. Babs Mitchell. "He said I wasn't to let anybody in here."

"It's all right," Babs said. "We're friends."

"If you say so," the assistant station manager said, and put his key to the lock in the metal door in the hangar door.

Babs stepped through it.

There were lights in the hangar, but they were mounted high against the roof, and the hangar was crowded with pallets of air freight waiting for shipment—most of it, she saw, addressed to "Transportation Officer, 1st Mar-Div, Korea"—and it was some time before she saw him.

He was standing with his hands on his hips—looking oddly belligerent— before a coffin shipping case in a far corner of the hangar.

She watched for more than a minute, and he didn't move.

She didn't want him to hear her coming across the gritty concrete, so, stand­ing on one leg at a time, she took off her shoes before she walked to him.

And he didn't sense her presence—which surprised her—until she touched his arm.

"Hey, Pick," she said. "How are you doing?"

"How the hell did you find me?"

"Well, I was worried about you, so I went to the hospital and you weren't in your room, and you weren't in the Officers' Club, and then I remembered hearing on the radio that her . . . her ..."

"Jeanette's body?"

"Yeah. Jeanette's body would be formally received, or whatever they said, in the morning. And I thought that maybe it had come in early, and you might be out here. So I called up and asked for you, and he said you weren't here, but I could tell he was lying, so I came out. Wrong move?"

"What made you think I'd be out here?"

"I just knew. I know how you think."

Jesus Christ, I hope not.

He didn't reply.

"I'm surprised they let you in. You really don't work for Trans-Global any­more, do you? I mean, you're on military leave, right?"

"I own the airline," Pick said. "That probably had something to do with the station manager letting me in."

"You own the airline like I'm Marilyn Monroe."

Jesus Christ, she doesn't know!

"I slipped him twenty bucks from my poker winnings," Pick said.

Jesus, I can smell her.

"What happened to your shoes? Blister?" he asked.

"No. I didn't want to startle you, so I took them off. How you doing?"

"After twenty, thirty minutes of solemn contemplation, I decided that Jeanette is not really inside this Container, Human Remains," Pick said. "So it doesn't really matter that it's not covered with the flag."

"There'll be a flag tomorrow, won't there?"

"Probably. I don't know. I don't care. I'm not going. I said good-bye to her twice, once over there, and I'm doing it again now. Have just finished doing it, now."

She took his hand with both of hers.

You don't really want to do that, Mrs. Babs Mitchell. My high moral charac­ter is weakened in direct proportion to the amount of imbibed booze. The needle on the Moral Scruples Remaining indicator is already in the red.

"I'm sorry, Pick."

"You shouldn't be. Despite popular legend to the contrary, the real bastards of this world do get what is coming to them. Or don't get what they would re­ally like to have."

"I'm not sure I follow that."

"That's probably because I am just a wee bit tiddly."

"I noticed," she said matter-of-factly. "If you're really finished, I'll take you home."

By that, obviously, you mean home to room 39A in the loony ward.

"I thought I'd catch a cab and go back to the Coronado Beach," he said. "But I will take a ride as far as the passenger terminal, where I can catch a cab."

"Why there?"

"Because that's where the cabstand is."

"I meant the Coronado Beach Hotel?"

"Because I have an apartment there, where I can have a few drinks in pri­vate, and thus not disgrace my officer's uniform by being shitfaced in a public establishment, or run afoul of the hospital O Club regulations."