W E B Griffin - Corp 06 - Close Combat

by Close Combat(Lit)

  "The Sergeant, Mother, is not fully readjusted to life in the States."

  "Neither are you, apparently. But I still don't know what you're talking about."

  "The only reason I'm telling you this, Mrs. Dunn," Pick said, "is because I want you to believe that we are not the only sinners in The Marine Corps. Ol' Machine Gun is even worse. The Corps assigned two very large gunnery sergeants to make sure he showed up at the White House sober. I was in charge of the sergeants."

  "What's that, the blind leading the blind?"

  "Yes, Ma'am," Pick said.

  "Eat your ham, Billy," Kate ordered. "It'll settle your stomach. And you, too," she added to Pick.

  "I don't suppose either of you heard it, but the phone's been ringing off the hook all morning."

  "Those of us with clear consciences sleep soundly," Billy said.

  "Huh!" Kate snorted. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Billy. You came in here, kissed your mama, and fell asleep on the couch. Clear conscience, my foot!"

  "Fred called. He's coming down this afternoon from Fort Benning," Mrs. Dunn said.

  "Fred is my brother," Bill explained. "He's a major in the National Guard. The Army's teaching him to jump out of airplanes."

  "He said, 'Don't tell him I said so, but I'm so proud of Billy I can't spit.' "

  "Did he say 'Billy' or 'the runt'?" Dunn asked.

  His mother ignored him, and went on: "And both the newspapers called, Mobile and Pensacola. They want to send reporters to talk to you."

  "No," Bill Dunn said flatly.

  "I told them you were asleep, and to call later. And the Rector called-"

  "The Reverend Jasper Willis Thorne," Bill Dunn interrupted. "You ever notice, Pick, that Episcopal priests always have three names?"

  "Mine is James Woolworth Stanton," Pick said.

  "I told him you would call him back," Mrs. Dunn said, then looked at Pick. "You're Episcopal?"

  "Fallen, Ma'am, at the moment."

  "A little churching would do the both of you some good, after the way you was yesterday," Kate said.

  "And, of course, Sue-Ann," Mrs. Dunn said.

  "Oh, God!" Dunn said.

  "Tell me about Sue-Ann," Pick said.

  "Nothing to tell," Dunn said.

  "That's why you had her picture next to your cot, right?"

  "We're friends, that's all."

  "They grew up together," Mrs. Dunn said. "She's a very sweet girl."

  "I can't wait to meet her," Pick said.

  "She said she saw your picture in the newspaper and was just thrilled. I told her to come for supper," Mrs. Dunn said.

  "If your father brings your medal back, you're going to have to wear it," Pick said. "For Sue-Ann."

  Dunn gave him a dirty look.

  "I hear a car coming. Maybe it's your daddy," Kate announced, and left the kitchen to investigate. In a moment, she came back. "It's not your daddy. It's an Army car."

  "Then it must be my brother the major," Billy said, and stood up.

  Pick followed him out of the kitchen and through the living room and then onto the porch. The house was large, rambling, and one story; and he remembered from the night before that it was all on high brick pillars. He also remembered that the wide steps leading up to the porch seemed a lot steeper last night than they appeared now.

  The driveway ran between a long row of ancient, enormous, live oak trees. He looked down it and saw that Kate hadn't got it quite right. It was a military car, a 1941 Plymouth sedan. But it was Marine green, not Army olive drab.

  "Why does that fella in the back look familiar?" Bill Dunn asked.

  "It's Captain Mustache," Pick said. "He drove us here last night."

  "And now, I suspect, he's come to extract his pound of flesh," Dunn said. "You didn't say anything to him Sergeant McCoy-like last night, did you, Mr. Pickering?"

  "Not that I recall," Pick said.

  The Plymouth came out of the tunnel of live oak and stopped parallel to the wide stairs. Pick noticed for the first time that the driveway was paved with clam shells, bleached white by the sun.

  A Marine corporal stepped out from behind the wheel, ran around the front, and opened the rear door. Captain Carstairs emerged, tugged at the hem of his blouse, and started toward the house.

  "Natty sonofabitch, isn't he?" Bill Dunn said softly, but not softly enough to escape his mother's ears.

  "You watch your language, Billy!"

  "Yes, Ma'am," he said, sounding genuinely contrite.

  Carstairs reached the top of the stairs, came onto the porch, and removed his uniform cap.

  "Good morning, Ma'am," he said. "Gentlemen."

  "Good morning, Sir," Dunn and Pickering said, almost in unison.

  "Lovely day, isn't it?"

  "I don't think either of them noticed, Captain," Mrs. Dunn said. "But yes, it is. Can I have Kate bring you something?"

  "That's very kind, Ma'am," Captain Carstairs said, and nodded at the Bloody Mary Pickering was holding. "That looks interesting."

  "It's not tomato juice, Captain," Bill Dunn said.

  "I hoped it wouldn't be," Carstairs said, smiling.

  "I'll have Kate bring you one," Mrs. Dunn said. And then, "Captain, if you'll excuse me?"

  "You're very kind, Ma'am," Captain Carstairs said.

  Kate appeared almost immediately with a tray holding three glasses and a glass pitcher full of a red liquid.

  "Kate," Dunn said. "Would you see that the corporal gets something to drink? Why don't you ask him in the kitchen and see if he's hungry?"

  "Can I fix you something, Captain?" Kate asked.

  "I wouldn't want to impose."

  "How about a nice ham sandwich?"

  "You ought to try it, Captain," Dunn said. "We cure our own."

  "Thank you very much," Carstairs said.

  "Why don't we sit over there?" Dunn said, indicating a set of white wicker chairs, couches, and a table, to the right of the wide porch.

  "This is a very nice place, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said. "I guess I've flown over it a thousand times, but this is the first time I've been on the ground."

  "It's nice," Dunn agreed. "One of my ancestors stole it from the Indians, and then another ancestor kept the Yankee carpetbaggers from stealing it from us."

  "How did he do that?" Carstairs asked.

  "There's a story going around that every time the Yankees started out for here from Mobile, their boats seemed to blow up," Dunn said.

  "How big is it?" Pick asked.

  "Right at a hundred thousand acres," Dunn said. "Most of it in timber now. You ever hear of the boll weevil?"

  "No," Pick admitted.

  "Up in Dale County, they built a monument to the boll weevil," Dunn said. "Right in the center of town. Everything down here used to be cotton. The boll weevil came along and ate all the cotton, and we had to find something else to do with the land. We put ours in timber. And pecans. We have twelve hundred acres in pecans. And we're running some livestock. Swine, sheep, and cattle. You can graze cattle in pecan groves, get double use of the land."

  "I would never have pegged you for a farmer," Pick said.

  "My brothers are farmers," Dunn said. "Before I went in the Corps, they hadn't made up their minds what I was going to be. The only thing they knew was that I wasn't cut out to be a farmer. Now I'm not so sure. This all looks pretty good to me, now that I'm home."

  "Yours was a pretty spectacular homecoming, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said.

  "He said, preparatory to dropping the other shoe," Pick said. Carstairs gave him a dirty look. "I would like to apologize for calling you Captain Mustache, and thank you for driving us over here," Pick went on.

  "Count me in on that," Dunn said. "I have the feeling that light colonel can be a real nasty sonofabitch."

  "It doesn't behoove lieutenants, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said, "to refer to a lieutenant colonel as a 'real nasty sonofabitch' in the hearing of a captain who works for the nasty sonofabitch."

>   "Yes, Sir," Dunn said. "Can I infer from your presence that all has not been forgiven?"

  "Forgiven, no. But there is an opportunity offered for you to make amends."

  "And what if we're unrepentant?" Pick asked.

  "Let me put it this way, Mr. Pickering," Carstairs said. "I spent the morning delivering 'reply by endorsement' letters to the officers Colonel Porter found drinking beer in the Club yesterday afternoon; these letters asked them to explain why they weren't whitewashing rocks, or doing something else useful, when they were through with their last student of the day."

  "Fuck him," Pick said. "If you're suggesting he'll write our CO, even our MAG commander, telling him we were a little tight, let him."

  "The letter would go to your new MAG commander, Mr. Pickering, not your old one."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You don't know, do you?" Carstairs said. "You two are not going back to your squadrons. None of the Guadalcanal aces are. You're going to train new fighter pilots. Here. I mean in the States. Probably at Memphis, I would guess."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Take my word for it. My orders to Memphis were canceled. I'm going to the Pacific. The Corps seems to feel the new generation of fighter pilots should be trained by people with combat experience, and not by those of us they've kept around the States until now."

  "Oh, shit," Dunn said.

  "It could be worse than teaching fighter pilots in Memphis or Florida, Mr. Dunn. It could mean teaching basic flight here-sitting in the backseat of Yellow Perils, and whitewashing rocks when you're through with the day's flying."

  "He'd do that to us?" Pick asked.

  "In a word, Mr. Pickering, you can bet your ass he would."

  "How do we make amends? Kiss his ass at high noon in front of the O Club?"

  "Colonel Porter feels that it would be educational-perhaps even inspirational-if you were to speak to the Marine Aviators and the Marine students here. And he sent me to ask if you would, for the good of The Corps, be willing to give up one day of your well-earned leave for that noble purpose."

  "Or else he writes the reply-by-endorsement letters, right?" Pick asked.

  "That sums it up neatly, Mr. Pickering."

  "Or has us assigned here flying students in goddamn Yellow Perils," Dunn said.

  "Precisely, Mr. Dunn. Or both. I don't suppose you really give a damn, but one of those letters would probably derail the promotion I'm sure The Corps has in mind for someone who's been a squadron exec and has the Navy Cross."

  "Fuck a promotion!"

  "You don't mean that, Billy," Pick said, and looked at Carstairs. "When?"

  "Colonel Porter suggests the day after tomorrow, if that would be convenient. It will take me that long to set it up."

  "What are we supposed to talk about?" Pick said.

  "What you would have liked to hear when you were about to get your wings. About the Zero, for example. How do you fight the Zero?"

  "If it's one Wildcat and one Zero," Dunn said, "you run. You're outnumbered."

  Pick laughed. "Very well said, Mr. Dunn."

  "Unfortunately, I didn't say it first," Dunn said. "Joe Foss... you remember Foss, Captain Foss? From out west someplace... ?" Pick nodded. "That's his line."

  "Is it that bad?" Carstairs asked.

  "It's that bad," Dunn said. "The Zero is one hell of an airplane."

  "Then that's what you talk about," Carstairs said. "This inspirational speech of yours will take place at Corey Field commencing at 0800 the day after tomorrow. I'll send a car for you-"

  "There's wheels here," Dunn interrupted. "I know where Corey Field is."

  "I think the Colonel expects that you will appear in the prescribed uniform, which means with brimmed cover, and wearing your decorations."

  "I don't have one of those hats," Pick said.

  "Me either," Dunn said.

  "Then if you will each give me your head size, and... I think they're $21.95... I will buy them for you at the sales store and have the corporal bring them to you."

  "Yes, Sir," Dunn said. "Thank you."

  "What I will do," Carstairs said, "is pick you up here at 0700. If you want to follow me over to Corey in your car, fine. That would spare me another trip here to bring you back."

  "I know where Corey Field is," Dunn said. "You don't have to come over here."

  "That wasn't a suggestion, Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said. "This is The Marine Corps. I am a captain, and you are a lieutenant, and I say what we are going to do, and you say, 'Aye, aye, Sir.' "

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "Now that we have our business out of the way, do you suppose I could have another Bloody Mary?" Carstairs asked.

  "Won't Colonel Whatsisname be looking for you?" Pick asked.

  "If the nasty sonofabitch thinks it took me all afternoon to find you two, why should I correct him?"

  They were on their third Bloody Mary when, almost together, two automobiles appeared in the long driveway under the arch of the enormous live oaks. One was an Oldsmobile sedan, the second a Plymouth convertible.

  "Unless I'm mistaken," Dunn said, "here comes the paratroops."

  "In two cars?" Pick asked.

  "You ever go to see the Andy Hardy movies?" Dunn asked, and then went on without waiting for a reply. "You remember when Andy Hardy got a Plymouth like that when he graduated from high school? Sue-Ann thought it was darling, so Mr. Pendergrast bought her one."

  The cars came closer.

  "No, it's not the paratroops. It's the Reverend Three Names."

  He put his Bloody Mary down and walked down the wide steps to wait for the cars to drive up.

  A tall, slim, gray-haired man in a gray suit stepped out of the Oldsmobile and grasped Dunn's hand with both of his own, shaking it with great enthusiasm.

  "Here comes another car," Captain Carstairs announced. "Maybe that's the paratroops. What's he talking about?"

  "His brother's in the Army at Fort Benning," Pick explained. "He's coming down here."

  The Plymouth pulled up. A long-legged blonde in a sweater and skirt got out, squealed "Billy!", and then kissed both the Marine officer and the cleric. She kissed the Marine officer with somewhat more enthusiasm.

  Then, hanging on to his arm, she marched him up the stairs.

  "Hi, y'all," she called cheerfully to Pickering and Carstairs. "Let me say hello a minute to Miss Alma, and then I'll be with you."

  She and the Reverend Mr. Jasper Willis Thorne went into the house.

  "Nice," Pick said, vis-a-vis Miss Sue-Ann Pendergrast.

  "Very nice," Captain Carstairs agreed.

  "I'll be a sonofabitch," Lieutenant Dunn said, visibly shocked. "She gave me tongue, with the rector standing right there."

  The second Oldsmobile slid, rather than braked, to a stop. The door opened, and a very large man wearing major's leaves and paratroop boots jumped out and ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

  Captain Carstairs stood up, decided the porch was outside, and saluted.

  "Good afternoon, Sir," he said.

  Major Frederick C. Dunn, Infantry, Army of the United States, returned the salute crisply, if idly.

  "If you're waiting for me to salute you, Fred, don't hold your breath," Bill Dunn said.

  "Goddamn, Runt!" Major Dunn said emotionally. "You're a sight for goddamn sore eyes!"

  He went to his brother, wrapped him in a bear hug, and lifted him off the ground.

  After a moment, he set him down.

  "Gentlemen," he said in an accent that was even thicker than Bill Dunn's, "if you'll excuse me, I'll go say hello to my momma and see if I can't find something decent for us to drink."

  He wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders, giving him no choice but to accompany him into the house.

  Carstairs looked at Pickering.

  "Nice people, aren't they?" he said.

  Pick started to agree, but what came out was, "Do you ever see Martha?"

&nbs
p; "I thought you might get around to asking that question. Yes. As a matter of fact, I saw her just before I came over here. And I'm going to have dinner with her tonight."