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

"Duty calls," McCoy said. "Should I gulp this down, or trust that CIC spook to drive slowly?"

"Gulp it down," Zimmerman said, stood up, finished his drink, burped, and walked toward the door.

As he did, the doorbell-actually, a nine-inch brass bell hung on the wall just inside the gate-rang.

"Our driver getting impatient?" McCoy asked. "Who else knows we're here?"

"Maybe something for Ernie?" Zimmerman asked.

McCoy shook his head "no"-there was a rear entrance to the property, with its own bell; tradesmen used that- and went to the front door, carrying his glass with him.

Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, was halfway between the gate in the wall and the house. On his heels was Major General Ralph Howe, U.S. Army, and a large, muscular man in civilian clothing. He was carrying a briefcase. There was something about him that made Mc-Coy suspect he was a soldier, a noncom, or maybe a war-rant officer.

There being nothing else to do with it, McCoy shifted what was left of his double Famous Grouse on the rocks to his left hand, and saluted with his right.

Pickering and Howe returned the salute.

"You look pretty natty for someone fresh from the rice paddies of Korea, Captain," General Howe said. "Please forgive the intrusion. General Pickering said you wouldn't mind."

"We were just about to go to the Imperial, sir."

"Who's here, Ken?" Pickering asked.

"Hart, Zimmerman, and Ernie, sir," McCoy said. "And-I guess-the housekeeper and a maid."

"Well, if you don't mind, Captain, after you fix us all one of those, why don't you send them shopping?" Howe said.

"Yes, sir."

"Just the Japanese," Howe said. "Mrs. McCoy's going to have to be brought in on this. Your home just became what I understand you CIA people call a `safe house.'"

"Yes, sir," McCoy said.

"Charley," General Howe said to the muscular man in civilian clothing. "This is the legendary Killer McCoy-"

"Who really doesn't like to be called that, Ralph," Pick-ering said.

He's calling him "Ralph"?

"Sorry," Howe said. "Captain McCoy, Master Sergeant Charley Rogers."

Master Sergeant Rogers wordlessly shook McCoy's hand.

Hart and Zimmerman came more or less to attention as everybody entered the living room.

Howe made a gesture indicating they should relax. He went to Zimmerman.

"You look like what a Marine gunner should look like," he said. "Zimmerman, right?"

"Yes, sir," Zimmerman said.

"My name is Howe. This is Master Sergeant Charley Rogers. We go back to his being my first soldier when I was a company commander."

The two shook hands wordlessly.

Ernie McCoy, in the kimono she had worn earlier, came into the room.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. McCoy," Howe said. "Sorry to barge in on you like this. We just couldn't take a chance that the ears in the walls in the Imperial might be active."

"Excuse me?" Ernie said.

"Charley found three microphones in General Picker-ing's suite. They might be Kempe Tai leftovers, and then again they might not be."

"Oooh," Ernie said, then: "Welcome to our home, Gen-eral."

"Ernie, send the help shopping for a couple of hours," Pickering ordered.

"Just the servants?"

"I think you're going to have to be in on this, Mrs. Mc-Coy," Howe said.

Ernie nodded and headed for the kitchen.

"McCoy, if you'll point out the booze to Charley?" Howe said.

"I'm the aide," Hart said. "I'll make the drinks. What will you have, sir?"

"What's that in your glass? Pickering's brand of scotch?"

"Yes, sir. Famous Grouse."

"Sergeant?" Hart asked.

Master Sergeant Rogers nodded his head.

Ernie McCoy came back into the room two minutes later.

"I told them to buy enough pressed duck to feed us all for dinner," she said. "Not to come back for two hours- and to ring the bell when they came in."

Howe looked at her a little surprised.

"This is not the first time I've sent the help shopping, General," Ernie said.

"I'm not surprised," Howe said. "And I think you'll un-derstand what it means when I tell you that you're about to be made privy to some national security information that it is not to leave this room."

"I understand," Ernie said.

"Can we talk here?" Howe asked.

"There's the dining room," Ernie said. "In case anyone wants to write, or take notes."

"The dining room, please, then," Howe said.

Ernie led them into the dining room, and indicated that Howe should take a seat at the end of the table.

"This is your house, Mrs. McCoy," Howe said. "That's your husband's chair. I'll sit here."

He pulled out the first chair next to the head of the table, and gestured for McCoy to sit at the head. Master Sergeant Rogers took the chair across from General Howe, and set his briefcase on the floor. He reached into it and came out with three pencils and a pad of yellow lined paper. McCoy saw that the briefcase also held a 1911A1 Colt and what looked like the straps of a GI tanker's shoulder holster.

Pickering sat down beside McCoy; Zimmerman beside Rogers, and Hart beside him.

"I had the maid start coffee," Ernie McCoy said. "It'll be ready in a minute."

"That's very kind," Howe said. "But I'm doing fine with this."

He raised his whiskey glass.

Ernie sat down beside Pickering.

"Okay," Howe said. "Where to begin?"

He thought about that for a moment.

"At the beginning is always a good place. Harry S. Tru-man. Our President and the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States. I work for him, and so does everybody else in uniform, but sometimes people have trouble really understanding that.

"He's a very good man. If he had his druthers, when War Two started he would have gone on active duty as a colonel-we both made colonel on the same National Guard promotion list-and probably would have made two stars, as I did. But he was in the Senate, doing important work, and they talked him into not going on active duty, and retired him as a colonel.

"That's important to keep in mind. You don't get to be a colonel unless you know something about soldiering, more important, soldiers, and more important than that, officers.

"If I forget, and refer to our commander-in-chief as `Harry,' no disrespect is intended. I have picked up a lot of respect for him since the time we were both captains. He was a good captain, and he was a good colonel, and he was a damned good senator. He wasn't vice president long enough to make any judgments about that, but since he's been President, he's done a good job, and I wouldn't be surprised if a hundred years from now, he's regarded by the historians as being in the same league as Washington and Lincoln.

"Having said that, Harry S. Truman is no saint. He's got a temper, and he holds a grudge, and once he makes up his mind, he finds it hard to admit his original decision was wrong. I honest to God don't know what he's got against the Marine Corps, but it's pretty obvious he really doesn't like it.

"He's got a lot against the professional officer corps generally. Probably some of that goes back to our National Guard days, when the regular army used to rub their supe-riority in our faces. And some of it, I'm sure, goes back to when he had the Truman Committee in the Senate, and a lot of brass thought they could get away with lying to him.

"The President told me that right now there are two gen-eral officers-two only-he trusts completely. Both of them are at this table. And he told me why: He knows I don't have a personal agenda, and he doesn't think General Pickering does, either.

"The truth seems to be that the military services are loaded with prima donnas, and I'm not only talking about General MacArthur, although he can certainly give lessons to the others in that regard.