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

«The Lieutenant has a magic clearance?» the DDA blurted. In OSS headquarters, only Director Donovan and the DDA had magic clearances. The DDA considered it an indication of his importance… and had successfully argued to Director Donovan that the DDO didn't need it. both because Donovan could make him privy to any magic material he needed to know, and because having it would restrict his movements.

«Yes, he does,» Pickering said. «I didn't see how he could work efficiently for me without one.»

Why do I suspect, Charley, that you are now really unhappy about how this meeting is going?

«That makes sense,» Donovan agreed. «That was all there was to your objections about sending your people through training?»

«There was a little more,» Pickering said. «I was thinking that some of the men I'm bringing in with me would make excellent instructors at the training school; they don't really need basic training.»

«You don't think your men could learn anything at the training school?» the DDA asked.

«Most of the people I'm bringing in with me, including George here, have at least one behind-the-lines operation behind them. Several of them two, and in one case, three,» Pickering said. «But, obviously, everybody can always learn something. I have no objection to them learning as much as they can, time and the Gobi operation permitting.»

«You can work that out with Charley,» Donovan said. «That, and the other administrative details.»

«I'm afraid to ask what they are,» Pickering said.

«Pay, service records—we keep all service records here—that sort of thing, plus of course deciding who gets which badges,» Donovan said, pointing at the «VISITOR 5th Floor Only» badge hanging from Pickering's tunic pocket.

«These are known as 'the barber's pole special,' « the DDO said, tapping his own red-striped identification badge, fully aware that what he was about to say would further add to Charley's unhappiness. «With one of them you have access to any OSS facility anywhere at any time. You'll need one of these, of course, and the lieutenant will, and your deputy—Colonel Banning, you said?»

Pickering nodded.

«But probably all of your people won't need that kind of unlimited access. Just tell Charley who you think should have what.»

«We try to limit the Any Area Any Time badges to those who really have a need for them,» the DDA said.

Pickering was obviously thinking that over. Finally he looked at Donovan.

«I'm thinking, Bill, that if getting this operation off the ground as quickly as possible is as important as Admiral Leahy thinks it is, it might save time to give all of my people one of these—what did you call them, 'barber's pole specials'?

That way, if it becomes necessary to take one of my people to some area, we wouldn't have to run to Charley and get him the proper badge.»

«We have never issued anyone at the Country Club a badge giving them access to this building, much less Any Area Any Time,» the DDA said.

«Nevertheless, Charley,» Donovan said. «General Pickering's point is well taken. Give all of his people Any Area Any Time access.»

Charley, this is just not your day, is it

? the DDO thought.

«General,» he said, «when you're finished here with Bill, perhaps we could get together for a little while and try to figure out where we go from here.»

«Certainly,» Pickering said. «Thank you.»

«You can have him right now,» Donovan said. «Unless you have something else, Fleming?»

«No, sir. I can't think of anything.»

«When you two have something on paper about where you want to go on this operation, and how you want to get there, let me see it,» Donovan ordered.

«Yes, sir,» Pickering said, and pushed himself out of the green leather-upholstered armchair.

Chapter Nine

note 33

The Peabody Hotel

Memphis, Tennessee

1655 28 February 1943

First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, was out of uniform: It was expressly forbidden for officers to appear in public places wearing flight gear, a regulation that both the Shore Patrol and the Army's Military Police (in a spirit of interservice cooperation) enforced with what Pick thought was uncalled-for zeal-ousness.

He had given this regulation—and the zeal with which it was enforced—some thought before deciding to hell with it, and leaving Memphis Naval Air Station attired in a gabardine Suit, Flyers, Temperate Climate and a fur-collared horse-hide Jacket, Flyers, Intermediate, Type G-1.

After the fourth time he was written up—three times by the Shore Patrol and once by MPs—for being similarly attired in public places, his squadron commander, Captain Billy Dunn—he had been Dunn's wingman on Guadalcanal— was really getting pissed about wasting his time answering «reply by endorsement hereto» correspondence stating that he had counseled and reprimanded the offending officer and was considering other disciplinary action.

But he had told Elizabeth-Sue Megham, a statuesque Memphis belle with long blond hair, that he would meet her in the Peabody Bar at 5:30, and he didn't want to be late. Since he was sure that Elizabeth-Sue would not wait for him, he took the chance.

On a scale of one to ten—ten being a sure thing—Elizabeth-Sue was a nine. He had met her the previous Friday evening at a service club dance on the Air Station. She had been one of four Memphis matrons chaperoning a busload of Nice Young Memphis Girls making their contribution to the war effort by going out to the air station on Friday nights to dance with white hats and enlisted Marines.

Billy Dunn had assigned him to perform roughly similar duties, with orders to make damned sure none of the enlisted men of VMF-262 consumed intoxicants, behaved in an unsuitable manner, or tried to drag one of the Nice Young Memphis Girls off into the bushes, even, Billy had emphasized, if the Nice Young Girl was suffering from raving carnal lust.

Although it was not officially stated, Pick was well aware that his assignment to this duty was punishment for his last encounter with the Shore Patrol while wearing flight clothing. The correspondence from the Naval District had landed on Billy Dunn's desk while Pick had been in California, and Billy had been waiting for him on the flight line when he'd landed the Corsair.

Greatly pissed was a massive understatement.

It wasn't that he was chasing married women, Pick told himself. He had danced with Mrs. Quincy T. Megham, Jr., as the polite thing to do to his civilian counterpart. And of course they had talked. He let her know, for instance, how much the men enjoyed the dances—even though he knew the statement was far from true: ninety percent of the men who showed up did it only because they couldn't get a pass, or because they were broke. He also told her that chaperoning the dances was a fine thing and that the Marine Corps was really grateful.

«Oh, I like to do it,» Elizabeth-Sue said. «My husband is out of town frequently these days. When he is, I'm bored and always looking for a little activity.»

She doesn't mean that the way it sounds

, Pick decided just then.

Not only is she a respectable Memphis belle, but we haven't known each other five minutes

.

«I'll bet you get bored out here, too, don't you?» Elizabeth-Sue asked. «All alone in

your

room?»

«Oh, yes,» he said.

«I've heard that Bachelor Officers' Quarters are—what is it they say, 'out of limits'?—for lady guests. Is that true?»

«Off-limits,» he corrected her automatically, his mind on other things, specifically that Elizabeth-Sue was pressing her abdomen against his in a manner he didn't think was accidental. «Yes, they are.»