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

«You were a guerrilla in the Philippines, Captain?» Williamson said, looking at him dubiously.

«Yes, sir.»

The door chimes went off again as Major Williamson opened his mouth to press for details.

«That has to be Daddy,» Martha said. «I'll go.»

Weston got another look up her dress at her spectacular legs as she left her chair again.

You got the look up her dress, because you knew she would probably, and certainly innocently, expose herself that way again when she got out of her chair. Which proves you are a despicable sonofabitch

—

she's your buddy's widow, for Christ's sake

—

or drunk. Or both

.

What you came here to do was get Colonel Dawkins's letter into Major Williamson's hand, not make an ass of yourself, not be a despicable bastard.

And

only

a despicable bastard would think… Jesus, I'd like to run my hands

…

«Sir,» Weston heard himself blurting, «I believe we have some mutual friends.»

«Is that so?»

After some difficulty finding it, Weston took Colonel Dawkins's letter from an inside pocket and thrust it at Major Williamson.

«What's this?» Williamson said.

«I believe it will be self-explanatory, sir,» Weston said.

Williamson took the letter, unfolded it, and looked at Weston. «I'll be damned,» he said, his tone indicating that he was truly surprised to learn that they did have mutual friends.

Admiral Sayre marched into the room, trailed by his aide. «Dick,» he said, touching Williamson's shoulder, «I really appreciate your coming here on Saturday afternoon.»

«No problem at all, sir.»

«I won't have the time—as I had hoped to—to talk to you about Weston. But I just got the word that Admiral Wheeler is due in here in about thirty minutes—God only knows what he wants—and I will, of course, have to meet his plane. But at least you got to meet Weston. It's a long story, but he comes highly recommended by General Mclnerney, and we're going to have to do what we can for him.»

«Aye, aye, sir.»

«Just as soon as I can find a minute, I'll bring you up to speed on this.»

«Yes, sir.»

«And I really appreciate your coming here on a Saturday afternoon. Pedro got you a drink, at least?»

«Yes, sir,» Williamson said, holding it up.

«And as far as you're concerned, Jim,» Admiral Sayre said, «unless you're really in love with listening to a battleship admiral insist that the sole function of aviation is to serve as the eyes of the fleet, you'd better get out of here right now.»

«Aye, aye, sir.»

«We'll make it up to you when you come here,» Admiral Sayre said. «Finish your drink, of course.»

«Thank you very much for your hospitality, sir,» Weston said. «Don't be silly.»

«Wait until I get my purse, Jim,» Martha said. «I'm going with you.»

«What?» her father asked, surprised.

«Daddy, I already know that the sole function of aviation is to serve as the eyes of the fleet. I really don't want to hear it again.»

«Well, you're imposing on Jim, don't you think? He may have other things on his mind.»

«Am I, Jim?» Martha asked, meeting his eyes. «Or can you put up with me for a couple of hours.»

«I'd welcome the company,» Weston said.

«You see, Daddy?» Martha said, and walked off the patio. Admiral Sayre waited until she was out of earshot.

«I don't know how tough it will be for you, but I think Martha needs to talk over what happened to Greg with you. She knows how close you and Greg were.»

«Yes, sir.»

«If you have the time, Jim,» Mrs. Sayre said, «I'd appreciate it if… what? Take her to dinner or something. She needs to get out of the house, be with someone her own age.»

«I'd be happy to, if she'd want to go.»

«Thank you, Jim,» the Admiral announced, and, trailed by his aide and his wife, marched off his patio.

«Weston,» Major Williamson waved Colonel Dawkins's letter in his hand, «do you think this is what the Admiral wishes to discuss with me about you?»

«Yes, sir, I think that's probably it.»

«Very interesting. Good afternoon, Captain Weston.»

Jim was left alone on the patio. Martha returned several minutes later, finished her drink, and then took his arm and led him back through the house to the driveway.

He was very conscious of the pressure of her breasts against his arm.

From this point on, black coffee, no booze, and absolutely no physical contact.

«I like your car,» she said. «Does the roof go down?»

«Yes.»

«Put it down, then.»

«Yes, ma'am.»

note 38

Zeke's Shrimp & Oyster House

Alabama Point, Alabama

1815 6 March 1943

The restaurant hadn't changed much from the last time Weston had been here.

And that, he was acutely aware, had been in the company of Second Lieutenant Gregory J. Culhane, USMC (USNA '38); his fiancee, Miss Martha Sayre; and a tall redhead named… what the hell was her name?

It was a rickety building on a pier just inside the inlet to the Gulf of Mexico. Shrimp boats were tied up to the pier. The tables were rough planking picnic tables, and waitresses carried plates to them stacked high with steaming shrimp. You made your own sauce in paper cups from bowls of ketchup, horseradish. Worcestershire, and Tabasco, peeled and ate the shrimp with your fingers, and wiped your hands on paper towels. Rolls of towels sat among the bowls of ketchup and other condiments.

There was a jukebox and a piano, and a small plywood dance floor. The patrons were almost entirely young Navy and Marine pilots, and a scattering of aviation cadets who got off-base passes on weekends during the last month of their training. Some of their girls were almost as good looking as Martha.

«The last time I was here, I was with you and Greg,» Jim said.

«I remember,» she said.

They found places at a picnic table occupied by two Marine lieutenants—both aviators—and their girls. When the waitress appeared, she asked, «Shrimp and a pitcher of beer?» in a tone suggesting she would be surprised by a «no.»

«I'd really like a cup of coffee,» Jim said.

«I'll have a scotch,» Martha said. «And the shrimp, and the beer.»

When she saw the look he gave her, she smiled and said, «Why, Captain Weston. I seem to recall that it was from you I learned 'you can't fly on one wing.' «

«I didn't say a word,» he said.

«You wanted to,» she said, then turned to the Marines and their girls. «Captain Weston is just back from the Pacific. The first thing he did when he got off the plane was to call me—we're very dear friends—to report that contrary to published reports, he was not only alive but back and on his way to see me.»

«Welcome home, sir,» one of the lieutenants said.

«You were reported KIA, sir?»

«It was a mistake,» Weston said.

«Christ, that must have been tough on your family.»

«As well as his very dear friends,» Martha said.

«If I'm out of line asking this, shut me up, but what did they do, sir, when they found out they made a mistake? Apologize? What?»

«You must have been in the Corps long enough to know that the Corps never makes a mistake, haven't you?» Weston said.

There was the expected dutiful laughter.

«But I am so glad to see you that I forgive you,» Martha said, and kissed him. Not on the mouth, but on his forehead. When she pulled his head down, he found his face against her breasts.

Oh, Jesus Christ! Just as soon as we eat the shrimp, and she drinks as little of the beer as I can arrange, I'm getting her out of here. We'll ride around with the roof down. Maybe that will sober her up.