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

«Do I have to buy you the drink before you tell me what happened?»

«Jim!» Janice said.

«Yes, you do,» Kister said, «and let me say how delighted I am that you two have reached some sort of armistice.»

«It was love at first sight,» Weston said. «But she's having trouble adjusting to that.»

«Oh, Jim!» Janice said.

«You mean all you wanted was a lobster?»

«I'm still not sure I want a lobster,» she said.

«The Junior Assistant Deputy Surgeon General of the United States Navy.» Kister said, hoping to turn their attention away from each other to him. When he had their attention, he went on, «Or was it the Deputy Assistant Junior Surgeon General?»

«You tell me,» Weston said. «I'm all ears.»

«Whatever his title,» Kister said, «he's now the guy who makes decisions in cases like yours. He's a captain.» He paused. «I suspect the sonofabitch was an obstetrician in civilian life,» he sighed, «and I'd be very surprised to learn he's ever been afloat in anything larger than a canoe. Be that as it may, the Captain is

absolutely

unwilling to accept my professional opinion that you are no crazier than any other Marine…«

«Oh, shit!» Weston said bitterly, and then, remembering the company, quickly added, «Sorry, Janice.»

«He said that he was surprised that someone of my experience would risk his reputation by making a snap judgment.»

«So what happens now?» Jim asked, quietly furious.

«That was the bad news,» Kister said. «Or almost all of it. I told you they— they being this obstetrician drunk with his own power—would challenge the physical you had at Pearl Harbor.»

«And he did.»

«And he did. But the good news is that he did agree to accept the opinion of the medical staff here vis a vis your general physical condition.»

«I don't understand,» Weston said.

«Presuming nothing bad shows up on your lab work—your blood, urine, that sort of thing, and I don't think it will—on the physical you took this morning, I can certify you as physically fit to enter upon your convalescent leave and get orders cut for you to go to the Greenbrier. You can be out of here in a couple of days, in other words.»

The downside to that is that if I'm out of here, I will also be away from Janice.

«Explain that 'orders cut to go to the Greenbrier' to me.»

«The Greenbrier is a luxury resort hotel in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, which you could not possibly afford under normal circumstances. In the abnormal circumstances existing today, however, you can, because it's free. The government has taken the place over, thrown out the undeserving rich, and made it available for the rest and rehabilitation of returned heroes such as yourself.»

«And if I don't want to go to this luxury hotel in the wilds of West Virginia?»

«You don't seem to understand. You

will

be placed on orders. You

will

, on temporary

duty

for a period of thirty days, proceed to the Greenbrier Hotel. You

will

rest and recuperate, and incidentally be psychologically evaluated.»

«By who? I thought you were the head doctor.»

«By a fellow practitioner of the Freudian medical arts. Who enjoys, I think I should warn you, his reputation as one mean sonofabitch. Excuse me, Janice.»

«In other words, this luxury hotel is a funny farm?»

«No. But the Navy wants to make absolutely sure that you are in possession of your faculties before you are turned loose on the public. They don't, for example, want you to slit the throat of your friendly neighborhood policeman because you think he is a Japanese soldier.»

«Jim,» Janice said, «some of the men who have gone through what you have gone through are really disturbed.»

He looked at her, and found her compassion-filled eyes both disconcerting and pleasing.

That is not a professional, be-nice-to-the-loony look. I think she really likes me. By «really disturbed» Janice means loony tune time. I suppose that explains the ambulance and the two Corpsmen at the airport, and those two gorillas who took me to Ward Five-B.

«I'm not disturbed,» he said.

«No,» Dr. Kister said, «you're not. But the obstetrician in the Navy Department doesn't want to take any chances. From his point of view, he's just taking a routine precaution. And he has the authority.»

«Damn!»

«So you will undergo at least four sessions of counseling and evaluation at the Greenbrier over a thirty-day period. Then you will return here, and presuming you can convince Dr. Bolemann that you pose no threat to the cop on the beat, or anyone else, I will be able to certify you as both physically and psychologically fit for flight status. Then you will go to Pensacola, Florida, where, according to General Mclnerney, you will be taught to fly all over again.»

«Jesus.»

«And I also have for you some advice from General Mclnerney—actually, it's more in the way of an order. You will do what you're told and keep your mouth shut. Are there any questions, Captain?»

«No, sir,» Weston said. «Thanks, Doc.»

«Nothing to thank me for,» Commander Kister said. «I would have done whatever was necessary to get you out of my smooth-running hospital, and get you away from my nurses.» Janice chuckled.

«Can I drive to this place? Or is Janice going to take me there, strapped down to a stretcher in the back of an ambulance?»

«You could, if you had a car,» Commander Kister said. «You don't, do you?»

«I was thinking of buying one,» Weston said.

«I can see some problems with that,» Kister said. «For one thing, have you got a driver's license?»

«I think mine has probably expired,» Weston said.

«I'll bet it has,» Kister said, chuckling. «Don't tell me you've been carrying it around all this time? In the steaming jungles of Mindanao?»

«No,» Weston said, chuckling. «I'm going to have to get one.»

«I could take you for your test,» Janice said. «They give the test in Fairmount Park.»

«Next problem, Doctor?» Weston asked, smiling at her.

«There's gasoline and tire rationing,» Kister said. «The war, you know.»

«I can deal with that,» Weston said.

«And there is a nationwide thirty-five-mph speed limit,» Kister said.

«Now, there's a problem,» Weston said.

«Why the hell do you want a car?» Kister asked.

«So I can drive from this luxury funny farm you're sending me—«

»

I'm

not sending you,» Kister interrupted. «A

grateful nation

is sending you. So far as I'm concerned, I'd put you to work. You've had a whole year off, lying around a tropical paradise, eating pineapples.»

«And other interesting tropical fruit. Not much meat, but all the pineapples I could eat.»

«Really?» Janice asked.

«This time, really really,» he said. «We operated around the Dole pineapple plantations.»

«It obviously didn't hurt you any,» Kister said. «Maybe you should consider becoming a vegetarian.»

«While I was munching on my pineapple, I used to have a dream. There I was, riding down the highway in my convertible Buick, with a pretty girl smiling at me. The girl, if you must know, looked much like this fine young Naval officer.»

«In the unlikely event that you're serious, you could probably get a deal on a Buick convertible.»

«Is that so?»

«They guzzle gas. Gas is rationed. And this is the middle of the winter. No one in his right mind wants a gas-guzzling Buick convertible in the middle of the winter.»

«You've convinced me,» Weston said. «A Buick convertible it is.»

«We're back to 'why do you need a car?' «