Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 09 - Under Fire

The motions were artificial, more like ballet movements than a military gesture-

Like, the passenger of the limousine thought, somewhat unkindly, like those clowns standing in front of Bucking-ham Palace in those comic opera bearskin hats.

What's that all about? Does El Supremo think he's the Mikado? They already have an emperor of Japan, I just drove past his palace.

Yeah, but the truth of the matter is, that ridiculous em-peror doesn't have any power, and this one, El Supremo, does.

He is the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers.

He sends for the Emperor-I saw that in the newspa-per-and the Emperor comes. Jesus Christ, Douglas MacArthur is the king of Japan.

Watch your temper, Fleming Pickering!

You`re here to help Killer McCoy, not to tell El Supremo what a pompous ass he is.

There were a second matched set of MPs standing at either side of the door of what had been the U.S. Ambassador's residence, and they, too, repeated the slow-motion salute as the limousine pulled up before the building and an offi-cer-a major in the regalia of an aide-de-camp-came quickly down the shallow flight of steps.

He pulled the passenger door open and stood at atten-tion.

"Good evening, General Pickering," he said. "The Supreme Commander expects you, sir. If you'll be good enough to come with me?"

"Thank you," Pickering said, got out of the limousine, and walked into the residence ahead of the major.

Colonel Stanley, who had come to the Imperial Hotel, was waiting for Pickering in the main corridor of the building.

"Good evening, General," he said, offering his hand. "The Supreme Commander and Mrs. MacArthur are in the library."

"Hello, Colonel," Pickering said.

Stanley pushed open double doors, stepped into the cen-ter of the opening, and announced:

"Brigadier General Pickering, USMC!"

The only thing missing is four clowns in purple tights blowing trumpets with flags on them.

A white-jacketed steward-obviously a Filipino, but not the Philippine Scouts Master Sergeant Pickering remem-bered as MacArthur's personal servant-stood almost at attention before a sideboard on which bottles, glasses, and silver bowls of ice, lemons, and maraschino cherries were laid out.

MacArthur stood with his wife and three officers at the far end of a long, rather narrow table on which sat a silver-flowered bowl. Pickering knew two of the three officers, Major General Charles A. Willoughby and Colonel Sidney Huff. The third officer, a stocky, somewhat pale-faced ma-jor general, he had never seen before.

He missed and looked for Lieutenant General Richard Sutherland, who had been MacArthur's chief of staff throughout World War II, until he remembered reading that Sutherland had been returned home for unspecified reasons of health.

Sutherland, Willoughby, and Huff-and their under-lings-had been "The Bataan Gang," MacArthur's inti-mate circle.

If that two-star is here, with the Bataan Gang, he must be Sutherland's replacement.

"Fleming, my friend," MacArthur called in his sonorous voice. "How wonderful to see you!"

Pickering walked along the table toward him.

"It's good to see you, General," he said, offering his hand.

Jean MacArthur stepped close, offering her hand and then her cheek.

"Jean, you look wonderful," Pickering said, as he kissed her cheek.

"General," Willoughby said. He was a large, imposing, erect man.

"General" came out "Cheneral." / wonder if Ol' Charley knew that, behind his back, he had been known-and prob-ably still is-as "Adolf and "Der Fuhrer."

"General," Pickering replied, then turned to Colonel Huff.

"Good to see you, Sid," he said. "How are you?"

"General," Huff said. His smile was strained.

"And you don't know General Almond," MacArthur said. "Ned took Dick Sutherland's place as chief of staff."

Almond offered his hand.

"I've heard a good deal about you, General," he said.

"If you've heard it from these two," Pickering said, indi-cating Huff and Willoughby, "then I deny everything."

Jean MacArthur laughed. MacArthur smiled, and so did Huff and Willoughby, but for them it was visibly an effort.

A photographer, a middle-aged master sergeant, ap-peared, holding a Speed Graphic camera.

The subjects of the photography were posed in three different positions: all the officers standing together, with MacArthur and Pickering in the middle; MacArthur and Pickering standing together; and MacArthur, Mrs. MacArthur, and Pickering with Mrs. MacArthur in the middle.

The photographer left and the Filipino steward served drinks. Pickering was not offered a choice, but when he sipped at his whiskey and water the taste was familiar.

Somewhere, obviously, it has been filed away that Picker-ing, Fleming BG, USMCR, likes Famous Grouse whiskey.

"Old times, my dear Fleming," MacArthur said, raising his glass.

"Old times, General," Pickering repeated.

"I was just telling Almond," MacArthur said, "that you were in Australia when, having been ordered from Corregidor, Jean and I and the others arrived."

"I remember it well," Pickering said.

"What I remember was that you were a Navy captain," Jean MacArthur said, "who I remembered as a friend, as a merchant marine captain in Manila. And then you went to the Guadalcanal invasion, and the next time I saw you, you were a Marine general officer. I never quite understood that."

"Either did I, Jean," Pickering said. "There were a lot of us who received commissions in the services for which we were clearly not qualified."

"Now, that's simply not true," MacArthur said. "You were a splendid officer. Your contributions, not only to my campaigns, but to the entire war effort in the Pacific, prove that beyond any question."

He turned to General Almond.

"General Pickering was not only deeply involved in the planning of my invasion of Guadalcanal, but went ashore with the first wave of Marines to make that landing..."

That's not true.

I was involved in the planning, but only because I knew shipping and the practical knowledge of the subject on the part of most of the logisticians involved-Army, Navy, and Marine Corps-was practically nonexistent.

And I was not in the first wave of Marines to land on Guadalcanal, or the second, or the third. I didn't go ashore until I heard that the mccawley was about to sail away, leaving the Marines on the beach, and I realized that I couldn't live with myself if I sailed with her. Then I went ashore.

"... where General Vandegrift immediately put him into the breach as his intelligence officer, to replace an officer who fell in action..."

Well, that's true. .

"... and, when leaving Guadalcanal on a destroyer," MacArthur went on sonorously, "despite grievous wounds, Pickering assumed command when her captain was killed in a Japanese attack..."

It wasn't anywhere near as heroic as you`re making it sound. I was on the bridge when her captain was killed; I'm a master mariner; and when a ship's master can't per-form his duties, the next best qualified man takes over. That goes back to the Phoenicians. That's all I did.

"... for which he was decorated at the personal order of Admiral Nimitz," MacArthur continued.

And I've always wondered if Nimitz didn't regret having done so, when Roosevelt shoved the OSS down his throat on my back.

"And of the many Distinguished Service Medals it was my privilege to award, Fleming, I can think of none more deserving than yours."

What did the Killer say about the DSM? "It's the senior officers' Good Conduct Medal, awarded to rear-area chair-warmers who have gone three consecutive months without catching the clap."

"That's very kind of you, General," Pickering said. He turned to General Almond. "What happened was that Sec-retary of the Navy Knox wanted me to do some intelli-gence work for him, and decided that I could do that job better as a Marine."