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

"Save that until you're back at Beaufort," Dawkins said. "Save it until two weeks after you're back at Beaufort."

"General, even with cannibalizing, I can only get fifty-five percent of my Corsairs in the air-"

"I seem to recall, Colonel, your mentioning this before," Dawkins interrupted him. "And, to save a little time here, ensuring that you will be wheels-up at Miramar with these crates aboard by 0830 tomorrow, let's change the subject."

"Yes, sir."

`Tell me about the Killer," Dawkins said.

"He's being reduced to the ranks," Dunn said.

"That goddarnn college-degree nonsense again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, Jesus, Bill."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I've had a shot at it, but I don't think I'll be able to do much good. All I get is the same speech-there's no money, we have to reduce the number of officers, and one of the elimination criteria is education."

"Yes, sir. And actually, I think it's too late to help the Killer. He was ordered home from Japan, to Pendleton, for separation not later than 30 June."

"We're going to wind up with an officer corps consisting mainly of college graduates who can't find their ass with both hands," Dawkins said, bitterly.

"General, what I was hoping you could do is spare the Killer as much of the separation nonsense as possible. It has to be a humiliation for someone like the Killer to be told the Corps doesn't want him as an officer anymore."

"What the hell is he going to do as a civilian?" Dawkins asked, rhetorically.

"Well, in the sense he doesn't need a job, he's a lot bet-ter off than some of the people caught in the reduction."

It took Dawkins a moment to sort that out.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. His wife has money, doesn't she?"

"Her father is chairman of American Personal Pharma-ceutical," Dunn said. "I understand there are two majority stockholders: Ernie McCoy's father, and Ernie McCoy."

"That much, huh? I'd heard something, but I had no idea she had that kind of money."

"And even if that wasn't true, the Pickerings, father and son, would make sure the Killer doesn't go hungry."

"And I think we can presume that when General Pickering heard the Corps was giving the Killer the boot, he did his best to see that it wouldn't happen."

"I'm sure he did, sir."

"And couldn't help, either," Dawkins added, bitterly.

"It doesn't look that way, sir."

"So what can I do for the Killer, Bill?"

"Maybe have a word with the G-l, sir. Speed him through the process."

"Done, Bill," General Dawkins said.

"Thank you, sir."

"When does he report in here?"

"He's on his way out there right now, sir."

"Then I'd better get off my ass, hadn't I? Make sure you're wheels-up by 0830, Bill, or we're both liable to be reporting to the G-l for involuntary separation."

"I'll do my best, sir. And thank you, sir."

"Have a nice slow flight across the country, Colonel," General Dawkins said. He hung up the telephone and turned to his aide. "Get the car, Art."

"Aye, aye, sir."

[FIVE]

OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF, G-l

HEADQUARTERS

CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA

1545 8 JUNE 1950

The usual practice when one of Camp Pendleton's general officers had business to transact with the G-l was that the G-l, who was a full colonel, went to their offices. Thus, the G-l, Colonel C. Harry Wade, USMC, was surprised to hear someone bark, `Ten-hut on deck," a command given only when someone senior to the senior officer on duty-in this case Colonel C. Harry Wade-came into the building.

Wade looked through his open office door to see what the hell was going on and saw Brigadier General Clyde Dawkins marching purposefully toward his office, trailed by his aide-de-camp.

Colonel Wade rose quickly to his feet.

"Got a minute for me, Harry?" General Dawkins asked, as he entered Wade's office.

"Good afternoon, General," Wade said. "Of course, sir. Can I offer you some coffee?"

"No, thanks," Dawkins said. "I'm coffee-ed out. Art, will you close the door, please?"

Captain McGowan closed the door.

"I'm not sure, Harry," General Dawkins said, "whether this is what you could call `for the good of the Corps,' or personal. But I'm here."

"How can I help, sir?"

"This goddamn college-degree nonsense has just gotten one more damned good Marine officer."

"We've talked about that, General," Wade said. "If this is a special case, I'll get on the horn to Eighth and Eye. But I think I can tell you what they're going to say."

"Yes, I think I know, too," Dawkins said. "I think it's too late for anything to be done about this."

"Yes, sir?"

"Does `Killer McCoy' mean anything to you, Harry?"

"I've heard about him. He made the Makin Island raid, didn't he? With Major Jimmy Roosevelt?"

"The Makin Island raid, and a hell of a lot else," Dawkins said. "During the war, the Killer spent more time behind enemy lines than most people you and I know spent in the Corps."

"Yes, sir. I know who he is. I've never met him."

"You're about to," Dawkins said. "He's on his way out here from Diego for involuntary separation. He's a captain. He used to be a major. They took that away from him, and now they want to send him back to the ranks."

"I don't know what to say," Colonel Wade said. "You could tell me this college-degree thing is stupid, but you'd be preaching to the choir."

"I want his passage through your separation process greased," Dawkins said. "And I don't want him to suspect it was greased because somebody feels sorry for him."

Wade did not reply directly.

"What the hell can a man like that do on civvy street?" he asked, as if of himself.

"1 just found out he's the opposite of hurting for money," Dawkins said. "For whatever consolation that might be. His wife owns a large chunk of American Personal Phar-maceuticals, and the rest of it is apparently owned by her father."

"In other words, he's in the Corps because he wants to be," Wade said.

"Exactly," Dawkins said. "And now he's getting the boot. I want that exit to be as painless as possible."

"With your permission, sir," Wade said, "I'd like to get Lieutenant Colonel Brewer in here. He's in charge of in-voluntary officer separations."

Dawkins thought that over for a moment. There was no question in his mind that Colonel Wade would relay his desires to the lieutenant colonel. But it would take only another couple of minutes of his time, and the lieutenant colonel would have no question in his mind what the Deputy Commanding General wanted. "Good idea, Harry," Dawkins said.

Colonel Wade walked to his office door and opened it, and spoke to his administrative assistant.

"Sergeant, run over to Colonel Brewer's office and tell him I'd like to see him right now."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And if he has a file on a Captain McCoy, tell him to bring that with him."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Three minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Brewer entered Colonel Wade's office, carrying a large manila folder on which was lettered "MCCOY, K. R. CAPT USMCR."

He was visibly surprised to find the deputy commanding general resting his rear end on Colonel Wade's desk.

"You know the general, of course, Brewer?"

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Brewer said. He had met Dawkins for no more than two minutes when reporting aboard Camp Pendleton.

"That's McCoy's file?" Dawkins asked.

"Yes, sir."

He offered it to Dawkins, who took it.

"The general is interested in seeing that Captain Mc-Coy's separation from the Corps be conducted as expeditiously as possible," Colonel Wade said.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"You understand what?" Dawkins said.

"Sir, Captain McCoy's reputation precedes him," Lieu-tenant Colonel Brewer said.

"You bet your life it does," Dawkins said, "but there is something in your tone of voice, Colonel..."