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

«Jesus Christ, what do we have to do to get people to keep their mouths shut?»

«Okay, Skipper,» Galloway said, holding up his hand in a mock gesture of self-protection. «I told him I would ask. I asked. I will now leave without even asking for another taste.»

«I would be ever so honored, Captain Galloway, if you would join me in another libation,» Dawkins said.

«I accept your kind offer with great gratitude, sir,» Galloway said, then walked to where the bottle sat and picked it up.

«How much Catalina time does this guy have?» Dawkins asked.

«About six hundred hours pilot-in-command. He flew antisubmarine patrols on the East Coast.»

«Before or after he got in trouble?»

«When they kicked him out of a fighter squadron, they sent him to the Cats. When he got in trouble there, they sent him to VMF-229, the Alcatraz of Marine Aviation,» Galloway said. «So I guess you could say, while he was getting in trouble.»

«On the record, Charley. There's no one in the Corps who could have done what you've done with that collection of misfits and ne'er-do-wells.»

«And

off

the record?» Galloway asked, trying to make a joke of the compliment.

»

Off

the record, Charley,» Dawkins said seriously, «there's no one in the Corps who could have done what you've done with that collection of misfits and ne'er-do-wells.»

Galloway was now visibly embarrassed. He tried to change the subject: «Can I tell him I asked and you're thinking about it?»

«You can tell him to come see me,» Dawkins said, then plunged on. «I got a back channel from Mclnerney, on that special communications system that Dillon has somehow managed to latch onto. There have been damned few volunteers. General Mac is down to volunteering people. He said he wants Marines to fly the Cats. By using the term loosely, your pal Stevenson can be considered to be a Marine.»

«I wouldn't volunteer for something like this, myself,» Galloway said. «I'm not surprised.»

«We do have one volunteer,» Dawkins said. «He came in right after lunch. I sent him over to Muku-Muku.»

«Oh, yeah?»

«Another pretty good fighter pilot who couldn't behave and was offered the choice between a court-martial and volunteering to become a legendary Marine hero, flying a Cat in harm's way.»

«I'm surprised they didn't send him to me,» Galloway said. «How did he fuck up?»

«The usual things young fighter pilots do. Drunk driving. Speeding. Out of uniform. And he was sleeping with a lady who is joined in holy matrimony to somebody else, and the somebody else happens to be acquainted with the flag officer commanding Naval Air Station, Memphis.»

«Hell, that's called upholding the reputation of Marine Aviators.» Galloway said.

«This guy was setting a lousy example for the young Marine Aviators he was supposed to be training,» Dawkins said flatly.

«Yeah, I suppose,» Galloway said, and then thought he was changing the subject again. «Young Pickering is at NAS Memphis. He's Billy Dunn's executive officer.»

«Young Pickering is by now at Muku-Muku,» Dawkins said. «Under a direct order not to tell you how come he's no longer in Memphis.»

Galloway looked at Dawkins as if surprised that he would make such a lousy joke. Dawkins nodded, and Galloway realized he wasn't kidding at all. «Give him to me, Skipper,» Galloway said after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. «I can straighten him out.»

«Sorry, Charley, forget it. I don't have the authority to do that, and I don't think I would if I did.»

«Skipper, he doesn't have much time in a Catalina—if any, come to think of it.»

«He's qualified as pilot-in-command,» Dawkins said. «That's all it takes.»

«I was feeling pretty good when I came in here,» Galloway said.

«I was feeling pretty good when I saw Pick get out of the station wagon,» Dawkins said. «Would another drink make you feel any better?»

«No, sir,» Galloway replied. «Thank you just the same.»

«In that case, good afternoon, Captain Galloway.»

«Thank you for seeing me, sir.»

Captain Charles M. Galloway came to attention, executed an about-face maneuver, and marched out of Dawkins's office.

note 84

Headquarters, Marine Air Group 21

Ewa Marine Air Station

Oahu, Territory of Hawaii

1915 13 April 1943

The charge of quarters knocked at Dawkins's office door and opened it wide enough to put his head in the crack. «Colonel, there's a Major Williamson out here, says if you're not tied up he'd like to make his manners.»

Dawkins had not finished going through the directives he'd started on after lunch and thrown into the wastebasket. His sergeant major had gone through the wastebasket, salvaged the directives that needed Colonel Dawkins's attention, and put them back in his In basket.

«Aviator type?»

«Yes, sir. Captain Weston is with him.»

«A Captain Weston, Andy, or

our

Captain Weston?»

«Ours, sir.»

Like most everybody else in MAG-21, Sergeant Ward had been impressed with the Marine Aviator who had spent a year as a guerrilla in the Philippines.

«Well, damn, Andy, send them in.»

«Aye, aye, sir.»

Major Avery R. Williamson and Captain James B. Weston came through Dawkins's door a moment later.

«What brings you two to this tropical paradise?» Dawkins greeted them, as he came from behind his desk with his hand extended.

«Apparently,» Williamson replied, «there's nobody over here who knows how to drive a Cat. We have leapt to fill the breach.»

Dawkins's smile faded. «Weston, tell Sergeant Ward to get you a cup of coffee,» he said.

«Aye, aye, sir,» Weston said, left the room, and, sensing that he was being dismissed, closed the door behind him.

«What the hell's going on, Dick?» Dawkins demanded.

«General Mac came to see me at Pensacola,» Williamson said. «He told me that not enough people had volunteered for this Catalina mission of his; that he considered it a damned important operation; and stood there with the Marine Corps flag in one hand and the colors in the other and waved them at me until I finally— a long couple of minutes later—saw it as my duty to sign on the dotted line.»

«Jesus Christ!» Dawkins said. «Do you know what it is?»

Williamson shook his head, «no.»

«It has been decided that we can't win this war without a weather station in the middle of the Gobi Desert. And apparently the only way we can get one in there is to fly it in—a one-way flight, by the way—on a couple of Catalinas which will be refueled by a submarine a hundred miles off the China Coast in the Yellow Sea.»

«Jesus!»

«We have modified two Catalinas—and two others are in the process of being modified—by fairing over the turrets and the bubbles and installing auxiliary fuel tanks. Somebody apparently thinks that refueling a Cat from a sub on the high seas in the Yellow Sea this time of year may not work so well, and spares may be required.»

«Jesus!» Williamson repeated.

«If I was running this operation, I would go over to VMF-229 and select the worst four of Charley Galloway's ne'er-do-wells and send them,» Dawkins said.

«There are better things for you to do, Dick. And Weston, too.» He paused, then went on. «General Mclnerney actually waved the flag at Weston, too? I would have thought he would be entitled to a pass on something like this.»

«That's a fine young man, Dawk,» Williamson said. «A damned good Marine.»

«If not too bright,» Dawkins said, «to volunteer for something like this.»

«He's a Catalina IP. I rechecked him out myself. He can drive one better than I can. And like I said, he's a damned good Marine. He had everything going for him. But he saw this as his duty, when I told him I had been volunteered.»