"We went through OCS Quantico," Pick said.
Galloway shrugged.
"If I may continue?" Felt asked sarcastically. "As I was saying, if the battery-powered radio is working, the beach will communicate with the aircraft. if it is not working, McCoy has two signal panels, one red, meaning Do Not Attempt Landing, and one blue, meaning the beach is Safe to Land. If they display the red panel, the Hallicrafters aboard will be kicked out of the airplane into the water. If we're lucky, their packaging will float them and they will be washed ashore. The aircraft will then return here."
"I'm willing to jump in, Commander," the sober-sounding sergeant said.
"We all are," the other sergeant said, the one who obviously had had one or two more bottles of beer than his metabolism could handle.
"We considered that and decided against it," Feldt said.
"You will return here so we can try this again. Clear? I don't want any heroics out there." There was no reply.
"What I am waiting for, gentlemen, is an acknowledgment of that order."
"Aye, aye, Sir," the two sergeants said. Feldt looked at the other three members of the team and waited for them to say, "Aye, aye, Sir."
"If the green panel is displayed, the aircraft will land," Feldt said. "The radios and other supplies will be off-loaded, Reeves, Howard, and Koffler will be taken aboard, and the aircraft will depart."
"What happens to the two guys on the beach?" one of the Marines asked, "if the airplane can't land?"
"They're fucked," the drinking sergeant said.
"They will remain in position for seventy-two hours if they wish," Feldt said matter-of-factly. "In case we can restage the landing. At the end of seventy-two hours they will make their way to Ferdinand Six."
"Like I said, they're fucked," the drinking sergeant said.
"That will be quite enough, thank you, Sergeant," Feldt said. "If the people from Ferdinand Six are on the beach, they will of course lead everybody back there. If they are not there, the landing team, plus Lieutenant McCoy and Sergeant Hart, will carry one of the Hallicrafters and the equipment in bags marked with red tags and make for Ferdinand Six. The other equipment will be concealed somewhere near the beach for pickup at a later time. We've been over all this, of course, in great detail before.
"Are there any questions?" There were none.
"There is one case of beer left, plus a few other bottles. When that's gone, that's it. My advice is try to get some sleep. We'll wake you at 0100. There will be breakfast, the rest of the steak and eggs, and then you will board the aircraft. I remind you there is only a bucket aboard the aircraft for bowel movements, and that can get messy. So try to take care of that before you get on the airplane.
"I thank you for your kind attention, and please be generous when the hat is passed." There was more laughter. This time some of it seemed genuine.
[Five]
NORTH PHILADELPHIA STATION
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
0915 HOURS 9 OCTOBER 1942
"That must be him, Lieutenant," Sergeant Howard J. Doone, USMC, said to First Lieutenant J. Bailey Chambers, USMC, discreetly pointing down the platform to a Brigadier General of The U.S. Marine Corps who had just stepped from the train.
Lieutenant Chambers moved quickly down the platform, saluted, and inquired, "General Pickering, Sir?"
Fleming Pickering returned the salute.
"Admiral Ashworth's compliments, Sir," Lieutenant Chambers said.
"My compliments -to the Admiral," Pickering said. "We have a car?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Do you know where to find Tatamy, Sergeant?" General Pickering asked.
"Yes, Sir. It's a small town just north of Easton. About sixty-five, seventy miles, Sir."
"Let's go, then," Pickering said. "Where's the car?"
"The General's traveling alone?"
"My aide is otherwise occupied, Lieutenant. Let's go."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
Mrs. Ellie Stecker heard the car door slam. She pushed aside the lace curtain and watched a Marine brigadier general get out of the backseat before the driver could run around the front and open it for him.
Oh, dear God, please no!
She heard footsteps on the narrow wooden porch of the row house, and then the twisting of the doorbell.
If I don't answer it, it won't be happening.
The Brigadier General had his cover tucked under his arm when she pulled the door open.
"Mrs. Ellie Stecker, please. My name is Pickering."
"I am Mrs. Stecker."
"Mrs. Stecker, I'm afraid I-"
"Dick? Or my husband?"
"Dick. He's been in a crash."
"Is he alive?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Pickering said.
Thank you, God!
"How bad?" she asked.
"He's rather badly hurt, I'm afraid," Pickering said.
"What, exactly, General, does that mean?" Pickering reached in his pocket and handed her a sheet of paper.
URGENT
FROM HQ FIRST MARDIV 1130 6OCT42
TO COMMANDANT USMC
WASHINGTON DC
FOLLOWING PERSONAL FOR BRIGGEN FLEMING PICKERING USMC
REGRET TO ADVISE THAT 2ND LT RICHARD J STECKER USMC SERIOUSLY INJURED
PLANE CRASH TODAY X OFFICIAL NOTIFICATION WILL FOLLOW X IF POSSIBLE
WOULD APPRECIATE YOUR RELAYING ELLIE MY DEEP REGRET AND OFFER ANY
HELP NEEDED X JACK SAW HIM BEFORE AIR EVACUATION ESPIRITU SANTO THENCE
NAVY HOSPITAL PEARL HARBORX PROGNOSIS FULL RECOVERY X YOUNG STECKER
AND YOUR BOY BOTH ACES AND FINE MARINES X REGARDS X VANDERGRIFT
END PERSONAL GENERAL VANDERGRIFT TO GENERAL PICKERING
"That was very kind of General Vandergrift," Ellie Stecker said, "and of you, General, to come here with this."
"Jack and I are old friends," Pickering said. "And I'm fond of Dick, too."
"Oh, my God, I didn't put that together. You're Pick's father, of course. But I thought you were a captain in the Navy?"
"That was a mistake that was straightened out," Pickering said. "By the time you get to California, we should have more specific word for you on exactly what happened."
"I don't understand."
"Arrangements have been made to fly you to Pearl Harbor," Pickering said.
"How can that be done?" she asked.
"It's done," Pickering said. "One of my officers will have the details worked out by the time we get back to Philadelphia."
"It wouldn't be fair to the other wives and mothers-"
"The Commandant seems to feel, Ellie, that someone who has put as many years into The Corps as you have is entitled to a little special treatment."
When he telephoned Walter Reed with Vandergrift's message, the Commandant's precise words were,
"You seem to have a lot of influence, Pickering. Why don't you use some of it to get Jack's wife out to Hawaii to be with her boy?"
"Oh, I don't know how I could-"
"Nonsense," Pickering said. "This won't be the first time you've picked up and gone somewhere on no notice at all." She looked at him.
"No," she said finally, "it won't. I'll throw some things in a bag."
[Six]
MOST URGENT
RAAF MORESBY 0410 9TH OCTOBER NUMBER 21
FROM OFFICER COMMANDING RAAF MORESBY
FOR ADMIRALTY MELBOURNE FOR VICE ADMIRAL SOAMES-HALEY
VIA RAAF MELBOURNE
MOST SECRET
START
PART ONE
REFERENCE YOUR 212 7OCT PART THREE SUB D: 0315M RPT 0315M
END
FELDT LT COMM RANVR
It began to grow light a little after five. Captain Charles M. Galloway, who was flying, reached over and touched the sleeve of his copilot, who was dozing. His arms were folded on his chest; his head was tilted to one side.
He woke startled.
"Go back and find some
body to come up here," Galloway ordered.
Pickering nodded, unstrapped his seat and shoulder belts, and went back into the cabin. He returned with the Marine sergeant who had given the Aussie Naval officer all the trouble during the briefing. He looked-and was-more than a little hung over.
Galloway waited until Pickering had strapped himself back in.
"You have the aircraft, Mr. Pickering," he said, and then unstrapped himself and got up, Pickering looked over his shoulder to see what Galloway was up to.
Galloway unfolded the step that let you stand and take navigational observations through the Plexiglas dome on top of the fuselage. Then he installed the hung over sergeant on it, facing to the rear.
He returned to his seat and strapped himself back in.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't know what I'll do if it happens," Galloway said.
"But if we are spotted by a curious Japanese, I think it would be nice to know it before he starts shooting."
"I'm sorry I asked," Pickering said.
[Seven]
APPROXIMATELY 40 MILES SOUTH OF CAPE HANPAN
BUKA, SOLOMON ISLANDS
0550 HOURS 9 OCTOBER 1942
The call came in loud and clear over Pickering's earphone. He even recognized the voice: "Greyhound, Greyhound, this is Greyhound Base. Over."
"I'll be damned," Captain Charley Galloway said.
Pickering picked up his microphone.
"This is Greyhound. Read you five by five. Over."
"Greyhound, I have you in sight. You are approximately two miles south. Over."
"Shit!" Charley Galloway said and pushed the nose of the R4D down.
"Understand two miles. Winds, please? Over."
"The wind is from the north. About ten knots. Over."
"Understand north, ten knots. Over."
"I suppose if there was something wrong with the beach, he would have said so," Galloway said as he began to retard the throttles.
"Yeah, I think he would have," Pickering said. "But let's check."
"How's the sand down there, Killer? Over."
"Condition Two. Repeat Condition Two. Over."
"Thank you, Killer. Please make a piss call before boarding." Galloway glanced at him and smiled before ordering, "Twenty degrees flaps. Put the wheels down." A moment later Pickering said, "Twenty degrees flaps. Gear extended."
"OK, here goes," Galloway said.
Just before he eased back on the stick to put the tail wheel on the ground, two men with -arms waving jumped out of the foliage onto the beach. By the time Charley Galloway very carefully stopped the R4D, turned it around, and taxied back to them, they had been joined by what looked like twenty others; most of them wore loincloths and had bushy hair.
Less than five minutes later, Lieutenant K. R. McCoy came into the cockpit.
"Everybody is aboard, Sir," he said to Galloway, "and the door is secure."
"How goes it, Killer?" Lieutenant Pickering asked.
"Fuck you, Pickering, you know how I feel about that Killer shit!"
"I guess you two know each other," Charley Galloway said, as he put his hand to the throttle quadrant and shoved them forward to TAKEOFF POWER.
[Eight]
U.S. ARMY AIR CORPS B-17E TAIL NUMBER 11354 17,500 FEET
OFF WEST COAST, BOUGAINVILLE, SOLOMON ISLANDS
0805 HOURS 9 OCTOBER 1942
"What the hell is that down there?" Second Lieutenant Harry Aaronson, the bombardier, inquired over the intercom.
"Down where, for Christ's sake, Aaronson?" First Lieutenant Joseph Wall, the Aircraft Commander, replied.
"At maybe eight, nine thousand, two o'clock."
"I can't see it," Wall replied.
"It looks like a C-47," First Lieutenant Thomas Killian, the copilot, said.
"What the fuck would a C-47 be doing up here? That must be a Jap bomber or something." Wall banked the airplane to the right and put the nose down so that he could see.
"That's a C-47," he pronounced with finality and straightened the airplane up.
"Then it would have to be a Japanese C-47," Killian argued.
"Nobody on our side could be that lost. And the Japs don't have any C-47s."
"The Japanese have L2Ds," Lieutenant Wall announced.
"They stole the C-47 blueprints and they build them in Japan."
"Bullshit," Lieutenant Harry Aaronson said. "You couldn't get all the blueprints for an airplane in a boxcar."
"Well," Lieutenant Wall said slowly, having never considered that before, "the Japs had L2Ds that are C-47s, and that's one of them."
"Let's go shoot the sonofabitch down," Lieutenant Aaronson said.
Lieutenant Wall's orders-for the flight the day before yesterday, for the flight today, and probably for the flight the day after tomorrow-were to conduct an aerial observation of the west coast of Bougainville Island. During these observations they would take aerial photographs of a list of topographic features and of any naval activity in the waters adjacent thereto. They were not carrying any bombs-which frankly struck Lieutenant Wall as a pretty goddamned silly way to make war.
On the other hand, shooting down an unarmed Japanese airplane didn't seem right.
Fuck it, Remember Pearl Harbor!
"I don't want one shot fired until I say so, you got that?"
He put his hand to the throttle quadrant to take power off and pushed the nose of the airplane down.
"The sonofabitch is lost," Lieutenant Aaronson "That's one of ours. Shit! It says `Marines' on the fuselage."
"I didn't know the Marines had C-47s," Lieutenant Killian said.
"They don't, that's a mirage, you asshole."
"Tom, see if you can raise them on the radio," Lieutenant Wall said to Lieutenant Killian.
"Captain," Sergeant George Hart reported, "there's a B-17 behind us."
"A B-17?"
"Yeah. I think. I never heard of a Japanese plane with four engines."
"I have," Galloway said and unstrapped himself to have a look.
"Oh, shit!" Lieutenant Pickering said.
It was not possible to establish radio communication between the two aircraft, but the navigator of the B-17 made a sign with a question mark and an arrow on it and gave Lieutenant Killian. He held it in the window so the pilot of transport could read it.
He nodded, and in a moment a sign appeared in the pi window of the transport plane: MORESBY.
Another sign was prepared in the B-17.
ON OUR WAY. WANT COMPANY?
Whereupon the pilot of the Marine transport enthusiastically smiled and shook his head up and down in the affirmative
[Nine]
MERCY FORWARD
BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA
1130 HOURS 11 OCTOBER 1942
"Hello, Steve," Daphne Farnsworth said. "How are you feeling?" My God, he looks awful!
"I'm all right. How you doing?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Daphne said. She thrust a box of candy at him.
He's one ulcerous sore from his shoulders to his fingers!
"Thank you."
"I would have brought you some whiskey, but Barbara said they meant it; with the medicine they're giving you, it would make you sick."
"You mean the worm medicine," he furnished helpfully.
"I suppose."
"Doctor Whatsisname said-"
"Colonel Godofski?"
"Yeah. He said it was poison. That was the only way to get rid of them."
"He said you'll he well soon," Daphne said.
"So how come you're wearing a dress?"
"I'm out of the Navy," Daphne said.
"No fooling? How come?"
"It's not important," Daphne said, wanting to tell him.
"Just curious, that's all. I thought you had to join up for the Duration Plus Six Months, like you do in The Corps."
"I'm going to have a baby," Daphne said. Well, there, it's out.
"Oh," Steve said.
"That's w
hy I'm out of the Navy."
"Yeah, sure. Who's the father? You married some Australian guy, right?"
"I'm not married, Steve."
"Why the hell not?"
Daphne shrugged.
"The sonofabitch won't marry you? What the hell is the matter with him? You give me a couple of days to get out of this goddamned hospital, and I'll fix his ass all right."
"He didn't know about the baby," Daphne said, "He was away."
"When did he get back?"
"Yesterday," Daphne said.
He looked at her for a long moment until she could bring herself to meet his eyes, and he saw the answer in them.
"No shit, just that once?"
"It wasn't just once," Daphne said.
"You know what I mean," Steve said. "Well, what do you know about that?"
Daphne averted her eyes.
"I don't want you to feel that you have any obligation, any responsibility," Daphne said.
There was no reply and she forced herself to look at him. He had his lower lip under his teeth, and his body was shaking, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"Steve, what's the matter?"
"I thought I was never going to get off that fucking island, and now I'm going to have a baby!"
And then the sobbing came, and she went to him and put her arms around him, and he put his arms around her, and it didn't matter that they were ulcerous from his shoulders to his wrists.
The End
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