Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 08 - In Dangers Path

«I don't know,» Albright said.

«Okay, Hugh, that's enough bad news for now. Let me have my shower.»

Pickering came out of the bathroom wearing only a used towel. It offered little protection against the damp chill, and he was shivering.

He saw with genuine gratitude that Hart had laid out a change of underwear and a clean shirt on the bed for him. He walked quickly to it and pulled a T-shirtover his head. hart, meanwhile, was trying to get the wrinkles out of their clean uniforms, which were hanging from a light fixture on the wall.

«Thanks, George,» he said, as he reached for his shorts.

«We have a shoe problem, General,» Hart said.

«What?»

«This is no place to wear low-quarters,» Hart said. «Snow, mud, dirt, et cetera. The Army's wearing—did you notice?—boots, like boondockers, except that they have a strap thing on the top, you tuck your trousers in it. General Albright was wearing them?» The USMC ankle-high field shoe, constructed with the rough side of the leather out, were known as boondockers.

«I didn't notice,» Pickering confessed. «I don't think I would have noticed if Albright's pants were on fire.»

«And they shine them.»

«They shine boondockers?» Pickering asked incredulously.

«Their version, yes, sir. And what we have is boondockers. I didn't think to pack puttees.»

»

Good

thinking. I didn't wear puttees on Guadalcanal, and I'm not going to wear them here. Can you get us, do you think, some of the Army shoes?»

«Aye, aye, sir, I'll get us some.»

«In the meantime, we have boondockers?»

«Yes, sir,» Hart said, and went to Pickering's luggage. As he bent over it, Pickering saw that he had a Colt Model 1911A1 .45 pistol in the small of his back.

«What happened to your .38, George?» Pickering asked.

«I've got it, sir. But General Rickabee said I was to carry a .45 once we got here.»

«And did General Rickabee tell you how he thinks I should arm myself?»

«Not exactly, sir,» Hart said. «But he did send this along, and asked me to show you how it works.»

Hart stood up with a pair of Marine Corps boondockers in one hand and a Colt 1911A1 .45 pistol in a shiny leather shoulder holster in the other.

«For your information, Lieutenant, I qualified as Expert with the .45 when I was younger than you are now.»

«I think he meant the shoulder holster, sir.»

«I've never worn one,» Pickering said. «I think it would make me feel like a gangster.»

«I also have a regular holster and a web pistol belt for you, sir.»

«You're not using either,» Pickering said.

«You can only do this for a couple of hours,» Hart said, patting the .45 in the small of his back. «And even then, sometimes it's uncomfortable. I've got a shoulder holster for it.»

«Okay, I'm convinced. Show me about the shoulder holster.»

«General Rickabee told me he got these from the Secret Service, sir,» Hart said. «The pistol is held by a leather-covered spring. All you have to do is pull on it to get it out.» He demonstrated by pulling the pistol from the holster and laying it on the bed.

«And it gets some support from a clip on your belt,» he went on, «as well as the strap over your shoulder. The weight is distributed.» Hart adjusted the various clips and springs and buckles until the holster fit Pickering's body. Then he picked up the pistol and ejected the magazine. Next he worked the action to make sure the chamber was empty, then reinserted the magazine and handed the pistol to Pickering.

«Seven rounds in the magazine, sir,» he said. «The chamber is empty.»

«Thank you, George,» Pickering said. He put the pistol in the holster, took it out again, then put it back. He waved his arms around to see how the shoulder holster fit, and smiled at Hart. «Very nice,» he said.

After that, he started to take the holster off, looking for the snap holding the bottom of the holster to his waist belt.

«Why don't you keep it on, sir?» Hart asked, too politely. «See how it fits after a couple of hours? Get used to it.»

A very clear image of the voice of Brigadier General Fritz Rickabee popped into General Pickering's brain. «

And you make goddamn sure Pickering wears it, Hart, I don't care how»

«If you think I should, George, why not?» Pickering said.

Hart's relief showed on his face.

Pickering sat down on the bed. «Toss me the boondockers, and then we'll go face the lion in his den,» Pickering said.

«Aye, aye, sir.»

«Did Colonel Banning show up?»

«No, sir.»

«Don't take offense, George, but couldn't you use a bath?»

«There's not time, sir. You heard what General Albright said about getting to see General Stillwell as quickly as possible.»

«Fuck General Stillwell,» Pickering said. «Take a shower, George.»

Hart looked at him in surprise.

«I will deny under oath that I said that,» Pickering said.

«Said what, sir?» Hart said. «And now, with the General's permission, I think I'll have a shower and change into a clean uniform.»

note 74

Office of the Commanding General

United States Military Mission to China

Chungking, China

1625 7 April 1943

Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, and Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, freshly shaved and in clean—if somewhat mussed—uniforms marched into the office of General Joseph Stillwell, USA, and saluted in front of his desk. «Brigadier General Pickering, sir,» he said. «Thank you for seeing me.» Another officer was in the room, an Army colonel, dressed like General Stillwell, in a belted olive-drab jacket—which to Pickering looked like something a white hunter in Africa would wear—over a tieless khaki shirt. Both officers wore the insignia of their rank on their collar points, but not on the epaulets of their jackets.

As Pickering entered, the Colonel rose out of the chair beside Stillwell's desk.

Stillwell returned Pickering's salute with a wave in the general direction of his forehead. He was a trim, lean, sharp-featured man in his middle fifties. He examined Pickering coldly and very carefully for a very long moment—long enough to give Pickering cause to worry that the meeting was not going to go well. «I left word at the airfield that I wanted to see you immediately upon your arrival,» he said.

«If I have kept the General waiting, I apologize.»

«I understand you traveled here by B-17?»

«Yes, sir.»

«You must be a very important man, General,» Stillwell said finally. «Washington tells me they don't have enough B-17s at the moment to send here. And I know for a fact that General Mac Arthur has bitterly complained he doesn't have nearly as many as he feels he needs. And yet General MacArthur—who is known for his reluctance to divert assets—seems to have seen fit, in your case, to provide one to fly you here.»

Pickering could not think of any reply he could make.

«You may stand at ease, gentlemen,» Stillwell said.

«Thank you, sir,» Pickering said. He and Hart assumed a position that was closer to Parade Rest than At Ease. «Sir, this is my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Hart.»

Stillwell nodded at Hart.

«This is Colonel Easterbrook,» he said. «He's my IG, and my son-in-law.» Easterbrook walked over to Pickering, and they shook hands without speaking. Easterbrook actually smiled at Hart.

To show him, no doubt, that he doesn't believe in guilt by association.

«I'd like to have Colonel Easterbrook sit in on our conversation, General. Is that all right with you?» Stillwell asked, his tone making it clear that he would be surprised by any negative response.

«Sir, with respect, there are some things we have to talk about that I am not at liberty to discuss in Colonel Easterbrook's presence,» Pickering said.