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

"I found a couple in my trusty Navion," Pick reported. "Let's hope we get lucky."

Ten minutes later, they got lucky.

"Nine o'clock, Billy," Pick's voice came over the air-to-air.

Dunn looked.

A train, a long train-mixed boxcars, flatcars, and tank cars-powered by two steam locomotives, was snaking along a river.

"I'm going to break left and get pretty close to the deck, and then turn back," Pick said. "I've got dibs on the loco-motive. In the unlikely event I miss, you can try on a sec-ond pass."

"Dibs on the locomotive"! Are you never going to grow up? Good God, you're a Marine field-grade officer!

"I'll be on your tail, Pick," Dunn said over the air-to-air.

And then Pick surprised him again, by rapidly picking up speed, as soon as he had broken to the left.

You can hit a lot more if your throttles aren't at the fire-wall. You know that. What the hell is the matter with you?

Pick completed his turn, and not more than 500 feet above the undulating terrain, turned back toward the train-

-from three or four cars of which came lines of tracer shells.

My God! Why didn't I think about antiaircraft fire?

You make a much harder target if you're flying as fast as it will go.

You knew there would be counterfire.

How?

My God, Pick, did you do a dry run in that little Navion?

You did. You crazy sonofabitch, that's exactly what you did!

Streams of tracers erupted from Pick's Corsair's wing-mounted.50-caliber Brownings.

Dunn saw them walking across the rice paddies and the river toward the locomotives. Steam began to come from the rearward locomotive's boiler. He moved the nose of his Corsair to the rear of the train and pressed the firing button on the stick. The Corsair shuddered with the recoil.

Just as he picked up his nose, the locomotive exploded.

"Goddamn, Billy! Look at that!" Pick's delighted voice came over the air-to-air.

A second later, there was an orange glow from one of the tank cars, and a split second after that, an enormous explo-sion.

Dunn flew for half a second through the fireball, and then was on the other side.

He saw Pick's Corsair climbing steeply and got on his tail again.

"Did you see that sonofabitch blow up?" Pick's voice asked, excitedly.

"I saw it. We also got what had to be a gasoline tank car."

"You got the tank car," Pick said. "I got the choo-choo."

"Whatever you say," Dunn replied.

"Your ADF working?" Pick asked.

Dunn checked.

"Affirmative," he said.

"Mine isn't," Pick replied matter-of-factly. "I guess I lost that antenna."

"Any other damage?"

"The gauges are all in the green," Pick said. "There's some openings in the wing I don't remember seeing be-fore, but I don't see any gas leaking. Do you think you can find Kobe, Colonel?"

"Get on my wing, Pick," Dunn ordered.

He advanced his throttle and pulled his Corsair beside Pick's.

Pick's canopy was open. He had a long cigar in his mouth, and was using the cockpit lighter to fire it up. The lighter was technically called "the spot heater," because smoking was supposed to be forbidden in the cockpit. Ig-noring all that, Pick had the cigar going, then he raised his eyes to Dunn and waved cheerfully.

Dunn shook his head and moved ahead of him, on a course for Kobe.

[FOUR]

In her capacity as a journalist, Miss Priestly decided it was her duty to meet the two Corsairs when they returned from the first Marine aviation combat sortie in Korea.

The first thing she thought was that she was really going to pay the arrogant sonofabitch back for that "his turf" crack.

The second thing she thought was My God, he looks tired.

The third thing she thought was My God, there's holes all over the fuselage. He was hit. He could have been shot down!

Major Pickering jumped off the wing root of the Corsair.

"Well, what an unexpected pleasure. How are you, Miss Priestly?"

"You knew I was here," she snapped. And then was sur-prised to hear herself ask, "Pick, are you all right?"

"Couldn't be better, except after when I have a double scotch, when I'll really be in good shape."

"There's bullet holes in your airplane!"

"No. I don't think so. I think that's part of a locomotive."

"A locomotive?"

"I got one. Billy got a gasoline tank car," he said.

"A locomotive?"

"Yeah. And there's an old Marine Corps custom about that. Every pilot who gets a locomotive gets to kiss the first pretty girl he sees."

"Good luck," she said. "I hope you find one."

And then he put his hand on her cheek and shrugged.

"What the hell," he said. "It might have worked. And I really wanted to kiss you."

He dropped his hand and started to turn from her.

She caught the sleeve of his flight suit. It was damp with sweat.

He probably smells like a horse.

Then she raised her face and kissed him, and it lasted much longer than she intended, and while she was kissing him, she realized that there probably wouldn't be a double bed and room-service champagne, but this was going to be one of those rare times when the urge and the opportunity had really come together.

[FIVE]

REPLACEMENT BATTALION (PROVISIONAL)

CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA

0705 29 JULY 1950

At the time it had been asked for and promised, Marine Corps assistance in the production of the motion picture film Halls of Montezuma, which would star Richard Widmark, had seemed like a splendid idea.

The script had been reviewed, and while there was a cer-tain melodramatic aspect to it, there was nothing in it that would in any way reflect adversely on the United States Marine Corps. To the contrary, Richard Widmark's charac-ter manifested traits of selfless heroism in keeping with the highest traditions of the Marine Corps.

And it was to be a major film, which would appear on the screens of at least half the motion picture theaters in the United States.

As one senior officer put it privately to Marine Corps Commandant Cates, "What we get, for loaning them a cou-ple of companies of infantry, the use of the boondocks at Pendleton, and letting them take pictures of amphibious landings under close air support-which we're going to run anyway-is really a two-hour recruiting film. I think it's a win-win situation for the Corps, and I recommend we do it."

That was then, nine months before the Army of the Peo-ple's Democratic Republic of North Korea had crossed the 38th Parallel and started for Pusan.

Now was now. The last thing the United States Marine Corps needed at Camp Pendleton now was a civilian army of motion picture production people running around the reservation, and expecting-demanding-what they had been promised, "full cooperation."

One of the problems that crossed the desk of Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins shortly after it had been made clear the Corps was going to war again was in the form of a succinct note from the sergeant major.

General:

The Hollywood Marines are starting to arrive.

Maj L. K. Winslow (Pub Info) has been assigned to 1st Prov Brigade.

Sgt Major Neely.

Major L. K. Winslow, who had been on the staff of the G-3, had been detailed to the Public Information Office to deal with the Halls of Montezuma motion picture produc-tion company. He was a good officer. When Brigadier General Craig had begun to staff the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade, one of the first officers he'd asked for was Major L. K. Winslow.

That meant there was no officer now charged with deal-ing with the movie people.

General Dawkins had summoned Sergeant Major Neely to his office.

"What do we do about this?"

"Sir, we have a major who is now spending most of his time inventorying supply rooms."

"A major doing what?" Dawkins had blurted, then re-membered hearing that Major Macklin-having somehow irked the G-l-had been sent to contemplate his sins while he inventoried supply rooms. "You mean Major Macklin?"