For instance, Bobby Easterbrook had taken at least a hundred photos of Old Breed Marines wearing wide-brimmed felt campaign hats in lieu of the prescribed steel helmet. None of the brass, apparently, felt it worthwhile to comment on the headgear, some of which the Easterbunny was sure was older than he was.
Another sergeant was in the jeep with Oblensky, a gunnery sergeant, a short, barrel-chested man in his late twenties; another Old Breed Marine, even though he was wearing a steel helmet. Oblensky was coverless (in The Corps, the Easterbunny had learned, headgear of all types was called a "cover") and bare-chested, except for a.45 ACP in an aviator's shoulder holster.
"Why don't you go someplace, Easterbunny, and do something useful?" Technical Sergeant Oblensky greeted him.
"Let me do my job, Sergeant, OK?"
Three months ago, I would never have dreamed of talking to a sergeant like that.
"You know this feather merchant, Ernie?" Technical Sergeant Oblensky inquired.
"Seen him around."
"Easterbunny, say hello to Gunny Zimmerman."
"Gunny."
"What do you say, kid?"
"Except that he keeps showing up where he ain't wanted, the Easter-bunny's not as much of a candy-ass as he looks."
I have just been paid a compliment; or what for Big Steve Oblensky is as close to a compliment as I could hope for.
The rear door of the R4D started to open. Bobby Easterbrook put the Leica to his eye and waited for a shot.
First man out was a second lieutenant, whom the Easterbunny recognized as one of the VMF-229 Wildcat pilots. He was wearing a tropical-weight flight suit. It was sweat stained, but it looked clean. Even new.
That's unusual, the Easterbunny thought. But what's really unusual is that an R4D like this is being flown by pilots from VMF-229, which is a fighter squadron. Why?
Neither of the Old Breed sergeants in the jeep saluted, although the gunny did get out of the jeep.
"We got some stuff for the squadron," the Second Lieutenant said. "Get it out of sight before somebody sees it."
That put Oblensky into action. He started the jeep's engine and quickly backed it up to the airplane door. He took a sheet of canvas, the remnants of a tent, from the floor of the jeep, set it aside, and then climbed into the airplane. A moment later, he started handing crates to Zimmerman.
Very quickly, the jeep was loaded-overloaded-with crates of food. One, now leaking blood, was marked BEEF, FOR STEAKS 100 LBS KEEP FROZEN. And there were four cases of quart bottles of Australian beer and two cases of whiskey.
Oblensky and Zimmerman covered all this with the sheet of canvas, and then Oblensky got behind the wheel and drove quickly away.
Another officer, this one a first lieutenant, climbed down from the cargo door of the airplane; and he was immediately followed by a buck sergeant. They were wearing khakis, and web belts with holstered pistols, and both had Thompson submachine guns slung from their shoulders.
Gunny Zimmerman walked up and saluted. The Easterbunny got a shot of that, too. When the Lieutenant heard the click of the shutter, he turned to give him a dirty look with cold eyes.
Fuck you, Lieutenant. When you've been here a couple of days, you'll understand this isn't Parris Island, and we don't do much saluting around here.
The Lieutenant returned Gunny Zimmerman's salute, and then shook his hand.
"Still alive, Ernie?" the Lieutenant asked.
"So far," Gunny Zimmerman replied.
"Say hello to George Hart," the Lieutenant said, and then turned to the sergeant. "Zimmerman and I were in the 4th Marines, in Shanghai, before the war."
"Gunny," Sergeant Hart said, shaking hands.
"You were in on this?" Zimmerman asked, with a nod in the direction of the weird airplane.
"I couldn't think of a way to get out of it," Sergeant Hart said.
The Lieutenant chuckled.
"I volunteered him, Ernie," he said.
"You do that to people," the gunny said. "Lots of people think you're dangerous."
"Dangerous is something of an understatement, Gunny," Sergeant Hart said.
The Lieutenant put up both hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
I read this lieutenant wrong. If he was a prick, like I thought, he wouldn't let either of them talk like that to him. And what's this "4th Marines in Shanghai before the war " business? He doesn't look old enough to have been anywhere before the war.
Now a major climbed down the ladder from the airplane. He was dressed in khakis like the Lieutenant, and he was wearing a pistol. The Easterbunny took his picture, too, and got another dirty look from cold eyes.
And then Major Jake Dillon climbed down. He was also in khakis, but he carried a Thompson, not a pistol; and he smiled when he saw him.
"Jake," the first Major said, and pointed to Corporal Easterbrook.
"Give me that film, Easterbrook," Major Dillon ordered.
The Easterbunny rewound the film into the cassette, then opened the Leica, took it out, and handed it to Major Dillon. Dillon surprised him by pulling the film from the cassette, exposing it, ruining it.
"This we don't want pictures of," Dillon said conversationally, then asked, "Where'd you get the Leica?"
"It's Sergeant Lomax's," Easterbrook replied. "It was Sergeant Lomax's. Lieutenant Hale took it when he got killed, and I took it from Hale when he got killed."
Major Dillon nodded.
"There's some 35mm film, color and black-and-white, in an insulated container on there," he went on, gesturing toward the airplane. "And some more film, and some other stuff. Take what you think you're going to need, and then give the rest to the Division's public relations people."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"I want to talk to you, to everybody, but not right now. Where do you usually hang out?"
"With VMF-229, Sir."
"OK. See if you can locate the others, and don't get far away."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky came up in the now empty jeep.
Another face appeared in the door of the R4D. It was another one the Easterbunny recognized, the skipper of VMF-229, Captain Charles Galloway.
"Ski," he ordered, "take these officers to the Division CP, and then come back. There's stuff in here to be unloaded, and I want this serviced as soon as you can."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Tech Sergeant Oblensky said.
The two Majors and the Lieutenant with the cold eyes climbed into the jeep and it drove away.
Captain Galloway looked at Easterbrook, then asked conversationally (it was not, in other words, an order), "You doing anything important, Easterbunny, or can you lend us a hand unloading the airplane?"
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"You, too, Hart," Galloway said.
Captain Galloway and the other VMF-229 pilot, the Second Lieutenant, started to unload the airplane. His name, the Easterbunny now remembered, was Pickering.
Chapter Two
[ONE]
Headquarters
First Marine Division
Guadalcanal
0655 Hours 12 October 1942
When the jeep driven by Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky drove up, Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift was about to climb into his own jeep.
Vandegrift, the commanding general of the First Marine Division, and as such the senior American on Guadalcanal, was a tall, distinguished-looking man just starting to develop jowls. He was wearing mussed and sweat-stained utilities, boondockers, a steel helmet, and had a web belt with a holstered.45 1911A1 Colt pistol around his waist.
The three officers in the jeep stepped out quickly, and one by one rendered a salute. Vandegrift, who had placed his hand on the windshield of his jeep and was about to lift himself up, paused a moment until they were through saluting, then returned it. Then, almost visibly making up his mind not to get in his jeep and to delay whatever he intended to do, he walked toward them.
"Oblensky," General Vandegrift order
ed conversationally, "get a helmet. Wear it."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Technical Sergeant Oblensky replied.
"Hello, Dillon."
"Good morning, Sir."
"Your operation go OK?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Can I interpret that to mean we can count on that team of Coast-watchers?"
"Yes, Sir. They're operational, with a new radio and a spare."
"And the men that were there?"
"Exhaustion and malnutrition, Sir. But they'll be all right."
"Is that what you wanted to see me about?"
"Yes, Sir. And Major Banning hoped you would have time for him."
Vandegrift looked closely and curiously at Major Edward J. Banning, concluding that there was something familiar about the stocky, erect officer, and that also suggested he was a professional. He offered his hand.
"I have the feeling we've met, Major. Is that so?"
"Yes, Sir. When you were in Shanghai before the war."
"Right," Vandegrift said, remembering: "You were the intelligence officer of the Fourth Marines, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What can I do for you, Major?"
"Sir, I'm here at the direction of General Pickering. Is there someplace... ?"
"We can go inside," Vandegrift said.
"Sir, you're not going to need me for this, are you?" the Lieutenant asked.
"No," Major Banning replied.
"I'd like to go see my brother," the Lieutenant said. "Go ahead," Banning said.
"Where is your brother, Lieutenant?" Vandegrift asked.
"With the 1st Raider Battalion, Sir."
"My driver will take you," Vandegrift said. "But you can't keep the jeep."
"Thank you, Sir. No problem, I can get back on my own."
The Lieutenant saluted, and walked toward the jeep. Vandegrift gestured toward his command post, then led the others inside to what passed, in the circumstances, for his private office.
A sheet of tentage hung much like a shower curtain provided what privacy there was. Inside the curtained area was a U.S. Army Field Desk, a four-foot-square plywood box with interior shelves and compartments; its front opened to form a writing surface. It sat on a wooden crate with Japanese markings.
"One of your officers, Dillon?" Vandegrift asked as he pulled the canvas in place and waved them into two folding wooden chairs. He was obviously referring to the Lieutenant he'd just lent his jeep to. "I heard about Lieutenant Hale being killed. I thought there would be a replacement for him."
"One of General Pickering's officers, Sir," Banning replied.
"That's Killer McCoy, General," Major Dillon said.
"That's Killer McCoy?" Vandegrift replied, surprised. "I would have expected someone more on the order of Sergeant Oblensky."
"That's the Killer, Sir," Dillon said.
"I wish I'd known who he was," Vandegrift said. "I could have saved him a trip to the Raiders."
"Sir?" Banning asked, obviously concerned.
"If his brother is who I think he is, he was flown out of here the day before yesterday," Vandegrift said. When he saw the looks on their faces, he hastily added: "In near-perfect health. I'm surprised you don't know, Dillon. Sergeant Thomas J. McCoy was ordered back to the States by the Director of Public Affairs. They seem to think he can boost enlistments and sell war bonds. The press is calling him 'Machine Gun McCoy.' "
"I'd heard about that, Sir. It just slipped my mind."
"I could understand Sergeant McCoy being called 'Killer,' " Vandegrift said, shaking his head in a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Not only did I recommend him for the Navy Cross, for what he did on Edson's Ridge with his machine gun, but he's built like a tank and looks like he can chew nails. But that young man..."
"In his case, Sir, the Killer's looks can be deceiving," Banning said.
"What's he doing here?"
"I don't know how familiar you are with the Buka Operation, General?"
"The Marines operating the Buka Coastwatcher station were at the end of their rope, and you went in and replaced them?"
"Yes, Sir," Banning said. "McCoy set up the Buka operation for General Pickering. And went in with it. He went ashore from the sub before the plane got there. That was his second rubber-boat landing. He was on the Raider raid on Makin."
"He gets around, apparently," Vandegrift said, and then asked, "What's he going to do here?"
"He's returning to the States, Sir, via Espiritu Santo."
Vandegrift nodded, then, ending the casual conversation, said, "You say General Pickering sent you to see me, Major?"
"Yes, Sir," Banning said, then turned to Major Dillon. "Jake, will you excuse us, please?"
Dillon nodded, then pushed the canvas aside and left them alone. General Vandegrift looked at Banning.
Banning took a sheet of flimsy paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to the General.
=TOP SECRET=
NOT LOGGED
ONE COPY ONLY
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
FOLLOWING IS DECRYPTION OF MSG 220107 RECEIVED 090942 2105 GREENWICH
FROM SECNAV WASHINGTON DC
TO SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA
EYES ONLY MAJOR EDWARD BANNING USMC
SECNAV DESIRES THAT MAJOR BANNING
[1] PREPARE AN ANALYSIS OF JAPANESE INTENTIONS AND CAPABILITIES REGARDING GUADALCANAL
BASED ON ALL INTELLIGENCE AVAILABLE TO HIM AND HIS STAFF
[2] PERSONALLY OBTAIN FROM COMGEN 1ST MARINE DIVISION HIS EVALUATION OF HIS CAPABILITIES
TO COUNTER THREAT, YOU ARE DIRECTED TO MAKE YOUR ANALYSIS [[1] ABOVE] AVAILABLE TO COMGEN
1ST MAR-DIV.
[3] PROCEED TO PEARL HARBOR T.H. WHERE BOTH ANALYSES WILL BE TRANSMITTED VIA SPECIAL
TRANSMISSION FACILITIES TO SECNAV EYES ONLY BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING USMCR WHO WILL
BRIEF SECNAV
[4] BE PREPARED, IF SO ORDERED, TO PROCEED FROM PEARL HARBOR, T.H., TO WASHINGTON DC TO
PERSONALLY BRIEF SECNAV.
[5] SECNAV AND GEN FLEMING WISH TO STATE THEIR UNDERSTANDING OF SENSITIVITY OF THIS
ASSIGNMENT AND TO EXPRESS COMPLETE CONFIDENCE IN GENERAL VANDEGRIFTS AND MAJOR BANNINGS
DISCRETION
BY DIRECTION SECNAV
HOUGHTON, CAPT USN
EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT TO SECNAV
=TOP SECRET=
General Vandegrift read the message, looked at Banning, then read the message again.
"Very interesting," he said. When Banning didn't reply, Vandegrift added, "Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Banning?"
Banning looked uncomfortable.
"Sir, I think it's right there. I don't like to speculate...."
"Speculate," Vandegrift ordered, softly but sharply.
"Sir, is the General aware of General Pickering's mission when he was here before?"
"You mean, here on Guadalcanal? Or in the Pacific?"
"In the Pacific, Sir."
"It was bandied about that Pickering was Frank Knox's personal spy."
"Sir, it is my understanding that General Pickering was dispatched to the Pacific to obtain for Secretary Knox information that Secretary Knox felt he was not getting through standard Navy channels."
"You're a regular, Banning," Vandegrift said. "I shouldn't have to tell you about going out of channels." He paused. "About my personal repugnance to going out of channels."
"Sir, may I speak frankly?"
"I expect you to, Major."
"Sir, with respect, you don't have any choice. I am here at the direction of the Secretary of the Navy. I respectfully suggest, Sir, that if the Secretary of the Navy elects to move outside the established chain of command, he has that prerogative."
"Would you say, then, Major, that the contents of this message are not known to the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific?"
W E B Griffin - Corp 06 - Close Combat Page 3