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

really

know. He had been told who was going to be at the briefing, and he didn't hardly know any of the fuckers.

Colonel Banning and McCoy were, of course, not threatening. He had worked for then Captain Banning in the 4th Marines in Shanghai where Banning had been the 4th Marine's G-2. He liked and trusted Banning.

He also liked and trusted Captain McCoy, of course, but McCoy wasn't a

real

officer. The Corps had hung officer's insignia on McCoy because of the war, but that was just temporary. Just as soon as the war was over and things got back to normal, the Killer would go back to the ranks. Probably as a staff sergeant. Maybe, if he got lucky, they'd make him a technical sergeant. He himself would be perfectly happy, when the war was over and things went back to normal, if he got to keep staff sergeant's stripes. That way, with a little bit of luck, he could make technical sergeant himself before he retired.

The Corps really went ape-shit in war time. They'd even pinned a lieutenant's bar on that kid, the Easterbunny. He was living in the hotel too, running around all dressed up in an officer's uniform, Sam Browne belt and lieutenant's bars and all. There was nothing

wrong

with the Easterbunny. The gutsy little shit had proved he had the balls of a gorilla—and earned that 2nd Raider Battalion patch—on Bloody Ridge, trying to carry his officer down that fucking hill with every fucking Jap this side of Tokyo shooting at him. But that didn't make

him

no

officer

.

And they were even going to make a temporary officer out of Koffler, when he finished officer school at Quantico. Koffler was a good kid, a good Marine—he'd probably make a good corporal. But an

officer? No fucking

way!

And the officers he was going to have to face today were all going to be

real

officers…

real senior

officers. And the only way to get along with real senior officers was to stay as fucking far away from them as you could get.

Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman was splendidly turned out in a brand-new, freshly tailored-to-fit uniform. Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker had shown up at the hotel with a supply sergeant from Eighth & I in tow. The supply sergeant had measured Zimmerman, and then written down all his qualifications and decorations, and then come back no more than four hours later with two complete sets of greens with everything all sewn or pinned on. Stripes, 2nd Raider Battalion shoulder patch, fruit salad, marksmanship badges, hash marks, everything.

While he was examining himself in the mirror, Zimmerman had had to admit that he looked pretty fucking sharp and shipshape.

He also thought that the red-striped badge with his picture on it that McCoy had pinned to the pocket of his new tunic made him look like a fucking dummy in a clothing-store window.

Two guys in cop-type uniforms at a little counter went through some bullshit about comparing his face and signature on some cards they had in a file with his picture and signature on the badge. As they did that, Zimmerman wondered where the hell they had got his signature from. And then one of the cops unlocked the door and motioned them inside.

«Sorry to be late, gentlemen,» Banning said. «Would you believe a flat tire?»

«Colonel,» Brigadier General Fleming Pickering said, standing up. «I never look a gift horse in the mouth.» He turned to look at the others sitting around the table:

The Deputy Director (Operations) of the Office of Strategic Services; Brigadier General F. L. Rickabee, USMC; Captain David W. Haughton, USN; Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker, USMCR; Major Jake Dillon, USMCR; 2nd Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR; and an Army Air Corps officer, whose identification badge identified him as Lt. Col. H. J. Hazeltine USAAC. Rickabee, Stecker, and Haughton were wearing VISITOR 5th Floor Only badges; the others had red-striped any area any time badges.

This told Pickering that Colonel Hazeltine was assigned to the OSS, and not as an Air Corps representative to the meeting.

Pickering went to Zimmerman and shook his hand, then put his arm around his shoulder.

«Gentlemen, there has been a good deal in the newspapers of late about 'old-breed Marines.' Here's one in the flesh, Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman, whom I'm proud to say I know and consider my friend.»

Zimmerman looked very uncomfortable.

«I think everybody knows everybody else, except… Ken, do you know the OSS's weather expert. Colonel Hazeltine?»

«No, sir.»

Hazeltine stood up and walked to McCoy and gave him his hand.

«I've heard a lot about you, Captain,» he said.

«How do you do, sir?»

Hazeltine turned to Zimmerman.

«And you, too, Sergeant,» he said.

«Yes, sir,» Zimmerman said.

Hazeltine restrained a smile. Pickering had warned everyone that all they were going to hear from Gunny Zimmerman was «Yes, sir.»

«No, sir,» or «Aye aye, sir,» unless it was pried—or dynamited—out of him.

«How do you want to handle this, Ed?» Pickering asked.

«Sir, I thought I would sort of conduct the briefing myself, with the understanding that Captain McCoy and Gunny Zimmerman will interrupt me if I leave anything out, or if—when—I get something wrong.»

«Sounds fine. Have at it.»

«Jake, I need the number-three China map on the screen,» Banning said.

Jake Dillon had once been a sergeant in the 4th Marines in Shanghai. To the surprise of many people—including himself—he'd been directly commissioned as a major, USMCR. At that time, he was Vice President, Public Relations, of Metro-Magnum Motion Picture Studios. It had been the belief of certain senior officers within the Marine Corps that he would be of great value performing similar duties for the Marine Corps.

In that capacity, he had led a team of still and motion picture cameramen onto the beach during the invasion of Guadalcanal. But then he had been pressed into service by General Pickering—they were friends before the war—when Pickering was staging a covert operation on the Japanese-occupied island of Buka. He proved as adept at covert operations as at placing the names of motion picture stars onto the front pages of newspapers. To the great annoyance of the Marine Corps publicity people Pickering had again pressed him into service, this time permanently, by having him transferred to the OSS shortly after Pickering's presidential appointment.

«Aye, aye, sir,» Dillon said, and went to the slide projector. In a moment a map of the northern area of China, from Peking (Beijing) north across Mongolia (including the Gobi Desert) to the Russian border, and west to the borders of Kazakhstan and Kyr.

«Captain McCoy, Gunny Zimmerman, and I,» Banning began, «have spent most of the past two days discussing this area, with emphasis on the Gobi Desert, which is where Howard thinks we need a weather station.»

«Right in the middle of it would be nice, Ed,» Colonel H. J. Hazeltine said.

«Gunny Zimmerman is personally familiar with the area,» Banning said. «Which means we can send the

National Geographic

magazines back to the library.»

There were appreciative chuckles.

«How well do you know the area, Sergeant?» the Deputy Director (Operations) asked.

There was a silence.

«Sir, Zimmerman has made two trips across the desert with camel caravans,» McCoy answered for him. «One to the Russian border, and one to the Indian border.»

«Yes, sir,» Zimmerman confirmed.

«How did that come to be, Sergeant?» the DDO asked.

«Sir, Gunny Zimmerman operated what you might call an import-export business,» Banning answered for Zimmerman.

The DDO looked at Zimmerman, who nodded his head.