“All right if I sit here?”
“Certainly, Sir.”
“I’m Captain Dick Toller, Major,” he said, offering his hand.
“Ed Banning, Sir.”
“Well, we’re finally here. Or almost. This has been a long flight.”
“Yes, Sir, it has. I’ll be glad to get off this thing and stretch my legs.”
“Now, if I’m asking something I shouldn’t, just tell me to mind my own business,” Captain Toller said. “But I’m really curious about something.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Him,” Captain Toller said, nodding his head to a small area to the left of the ladder of the cockpit, where Corporal Stephen M. Koffler was curled up asleep, under blankets he had removed from his duffel bag. Koffler had rolled around in his sleep and wound up with his arm around his Springfield 1903 rifle. It looked as if he was holding it protectively, affectionately, as a child holds a teddy bear.
Banning chuckled.
“Corporal Koffler. He’s got the right idea. He slept from ’Diego to Hawaii; and except to eat, he’s been asleep most of the way here.”
“I saw you get on the plane at Pearl,” Captain Toller said. “I mean to say, I saw a very annoyed lieutenant commander and an even more annoyed captain being told to give up their seats in favor of passengers with higher priorities. And then you two came aboard.”
Banning didn’t reply. He was not particularly surprised by the question. The bumped-from-the-flight captain and lieutenant commander had glowered at him with barely contained indignation when they climbed down from the airplane into the launch and he and Koffler climbed aboard. Getting bumped by a Marine major was bad enough; but to be bumped by a Marine corporal with a higher priority was a little too much of a blow to a senior officer’s dignity.
It was a question of priorities. Lieutenant Colonel F. L. Rickabee had set up their travel; and he apparently had easy—and probably unquestioned—access to the higher priorities. Special Detachment 14 had occupied most of the seats on the Mariner from San Diego to Pearl. The Air Shipment Officer at Pearl had been almost apologetic when he explained that seats were in even shorter supply from Pearl onward, and that all he could provide on this flight were two seats. The others in Special Detachment 14 would have to follow later. A lot of people with high priorities had to get to Australia.
Banning had decided to take one of the two available seats himself, not as a privilege of rank, but because he was hand-carrying a letter from the Secretary of the Navy himself to Captain Fleming Pickering, and because he thought that, as commanding officer, he should get there as soon as possible. He had taken Koffler with him because he suspected that his most important personnel requirement immediately on reaching Australia would be for a typist. Koffler had boarded the Mariner carrying his portable typewriter as well as his rifle.
Banning had no intention of satisfying Captain Toller’s curiosity about Corporal Koffler’s presence on the Mariner. For one thing, it was none of Captain Toller’s business why Koffler was aboard the Mariner. And for another, it would only exacerbate the Captain’s annoyance if he told him the unvarnished truth.
“It’s a strange war, isn’t it?” Captain Toller went on, “when getting a major and his corporal to the theater of operations is of more importance to the war effort than getting a lieutenant commander and a captain there.”
Banning resisted the temptation to, politely of course, tell the Captain to go fuck himself.
“Our orders are classified, Sir,” Banning said. “But out of school, apropos of nothing at all, may I observe that there are very few people in the Naval Service, commissioned or enlisted, who were raised in Yokohama and speak Japanese fluently?”
Captain Toller nodded solemmly.
“I thought it might be something like that,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to pry, Major, you understand. Just curious.”
“Your curiosity is certainly understandable, Sir. But I think I’ve said more than I should already.”
Captain Toller put his finger in front of his lips in the gesture of silence, and winked.
“Thank you, Sir,” Banning said politely.
There was now a range of mountains off the right wing tip. When there was a break in their tops, Banning could see what was obviously a near-desert area on the far side. Below them, the terrain was either green or showed signs of fall cultivation.
I should have remembered that the seasons here are the reverse of those in America.
The plane began to let down an hour or so later. When the pilot corrected his course, Banning for a moment could see they were approaching a populated area. And then an enclosed body of water appeared.
Port Phillip Bay, Banning decided, pleased that he had taken the trouble to look at some maps.
He went to Koffler and pushed at him with the toe of his shoe. And then pushed twice more, harder, before Koffler sat up.
“Yes, Sir?”
“We’re here,” Banning said.
“Already?” Koffler asked.
The Mariner touched down several minutes later with an enormous splash, bounced airborne again; and then, with an even larger splash, it made final contact with the waters of Port Phillip Bay and slowed abruptly.
A launch carried them from the Mariner to a wharf. U.S. NAVY was stenciled on the wharf’s sides. There was a bus, an English bus, now painted Navy gray. But when Banning started toward it, someone called his name.
“Major Banning?”
A tall, handsome, distinguished-looking man in a Navy captain’s uniform was smiling at him.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m Fleming Pickering,” the Captain said, offering his hand. “Welcome to Australia.”
Steve Koffler came up to them, staggering under the weight of his duffel bag, rifle, and typewriter.
“I’ll get your bags, Sir,” he said, and walked back toward the launch.
“He’s with you?”
“Yes, Sir. I thought I was probably going to need a typist.”
“Good thinking,” Pickering chuckled. “But I didn’t know you would have him with you, so that’s one problem I hadn’t thought of.”
“Sir?”
“Putting him up,” Pickering said. “You’ll be staying with me. But having a corporal there would be a little awkward.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Major,” Pickering said. “I have nothing whatever against Marine corporals. In fact, I used to be a Marine corporal; and therefore I am well acquainted with what splendid all-around fellows they are. But you and I are in the Menzies Hotel, in an apartment directly over MacArthur and his family. We’ll have to get him into another hotel for the time being.”
“Sir, I have a letter for you from Secretary Knox.”
“Wait till we get in the car,” Pickering said, and gestured toward a 1939 Jaguar drop-head coupe.
“Nice car.”
“Yes, it is. I hate like hell having to give it back. It belongs to a friend of mine here. It annoys the hell out of MacArthur’s palace guard.”
Major Ed Banning decided he was going to like Captain Fleming Pickering, and his snap judgment was immediately confirmed when Pickering picked up Steve Koffler’s duffel bag and Springfield and started toward the Jaguar.
“It’s been a long time since I had a duffel bag in one hand and a Springfield in the other,” Pickering said, smiling. “You go help the Corporal with your bags, while I put these in the car.”
“Your tax dollars at work,” Captain Pickering said, chuckling, to Major Banning, when Banning came out of the bathroom in a bathrobe. He handed Banning a green slip of paper.
It was a check drawn on the Treasurer of the United States. It was payable to the bearer, and was in the amount of $250,000.
They were in Pickering’s suite in the Menzies Hotel. First they’d installed Corporal Koffler in a businessmen’s hotel (Pickering had handed him some money and told him to get something to eat, and to try to s
tay out of trouble). Then they’d come to the Menzies, where Pickering had made him a drink, then called the valet to have Banning’s uniforms pressed.
“The Commander-in-Chief dresses in worn thin khakis, no tie, and wears a cap I think he brought home from World War I. Naturally, if you know MacArthur, he consequently expects everyone else around him to look like a page from The Officer’s Guide.”
“Sir, what is this?” Banning asked, pointing to the check.
“Your expense money. Or our expense money. It’s from the Secretary’s Confidential Fund. It was in the letter you brought. Knox says that it’s unaccountable, but I think it would be wise for us to keep some sort of a record of where we spend it. Koffler’s hotel bill, for example. In the morning we’ll go around to the Bank of Victoria, deposit it, and arrange for you to be able to write checks against it. And you’d better take some cash, too. Six thousand-odd dollars of that is mine.”
“Sir?”
“I bought some maps that neither the Army nor the Navy could come up with on their own. I was happy to do it, but I want my money back. Whiskey all right?”
“I’m overwhelmed by your hospitality, Sir.”
“I’m delighted that you’re here. I sometimes feel very much the lonely soul. At least I won’t have to watch what I say to you after I’ve had a couple of drinks.”
“I’m carrying a message for you from Mrs. Feller, Sir, too.”
“Oh. She was my secretary in Washington when I first came in the Navy. And, of course, you know what she’s doing in Hawaii.”
“Yes, Sir. When I saw her there, she said to give you her best regards, and to tell you that she hopes you’ll soon have a chance to resume your interrupted conversation.”
“What?”
“She sends her regards and says she hopes you’ll soon have a chance to resume your interrupted conversation.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. Private joke.”
My God, she’s not only not embarrassed about what happened in the Coronado Beach Hotel, but wants me to know she meant what she said. Thank Christ she’s in Hawaii!
A bellman delivered a crisply pressed uniform and a pair of highly polished shoes.
Pickering followed Banning into the bedroom as Banning started to get dressed.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to take you around to meet Admiral Brewer,” he said. “Australian. Deputy chief of their naval intelligence. I want you to meet him and see if we can’t get a letter of introduction for you to the man who runs the Coastwatcher operation. They’re working out of a little town called Townesville, on the northeastern coast. The man in charge is a guy named Eric Feldt, Lieutenant Commander, Australian Navy. Nice guy. Until I met you, I was a little worried. He is not overly fond of the U.S. Navy officers he’s met. But I think he’ll get along with you.”
“That’s flattering, Sir, but why?”
“Just a feeling. I think you’re two of a kind.”
“Captain, I don’t know how soon, but probably within the next couple of days, the rest of my people will be coming in from Hawaii, probably in dribs and drabs. Should I make arrangements to put them into that hotel with Koffler?”
“How many?”
“One officer, a first lieutenant, and fifteen enlisted men.”
“I’m not trying to tell you how to run your operation, but presumably you’ll be moving them, or at least most of them, to Townesville?”
“If that’s where the Coastwatchers are, yes, Sir.”
“Open to suggestion?”
“Yes, Sir, of course.”
“I think you’d better go up there alone at first. If things work out, you can rent a house for them up there.”
“‘If things work out,’ Sir?”
“Commander Feldt can be difficult,” Pickering said. “Both the Army and the Navy have sent people up there. He told both groups to ‘sod off.’ Can you guess what that means?”
“I think so, Sir,” Banning said, smiling.
“I’m hoping that he will see you as someone who has come to be of help, not take charge. If he does, then you can rent a house for your people up there. In the meantime, it might get a little crowded, so we’ll put them up in my house, here.”
“Your house, Sir?”
“Against what I suppose is the inevitable—my being told to vacate these quarters—I rented a house.” He saw the confusion on Banning’s face. “A number, a large number, of MacArthur’s Palace Guard want me out of here; I am too close to the Divine Throne.”
“I understand, Sir,” Banning said, turning from the mirror where he was tying his field scarf to smile at Pickering.
“I’ll call. Right now, as a matter of fact, and have the house activated. If I had known you would have that kid with you, I would already have done it.”
“Activated, Sir?”
“It comes with a small staff. Housekeeper, maids, a cook. Since I’m not in it, I put them on vacation.”
“That sounds fine, but who pays for it? I’m not sure I’m authorized to put my people on per diem.”
“Frank Knox’s Confidential Fund will pay for it,” Pickering said, “but let me make it clear to you, Banning, that you’re authorized to do about anything you damned well please. You answer only to me.”
He went to a telephone and gave the operator a number.
“Mrs. Mannshow, this is Fleming Pickering. I’m glad I caught you in. Do you think you could get those people to come off Ninety Mile Beach and start running the house starting tomorrow?”
He looked at Banning and smiled, and gestured for Banning to make himself another drink.
(Six)
Eyes Only—The Secretary of the Navy
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAVY
Menzies Hotel
Melbourne, Australia
Wednesday, 20 May 1942
Dear Frank:
I thought it appropriate to report on the status quo here, especially the thinking of the General, insofar as the Battle of the Coral Sea and other events seem to have affected it.
But before I get to that, let me report the arrival of my own reinforcements. Major Ed Banning arrived yesterday, together with his advance party, one ferocious Marine paratrooper who must be all of seventeen. The balance of his command is still in Hawaii, trying to get on an airplane for the trip here. If it could be arranged to get them a higher priority without causing undue attention, I suggest that it be provided to them. In my judgment, it is more important to get Banning’s people here and integrated with the Australian Coastwatchers than it is to send more Army and Marine colonels and Navy captains here so they can start setting up their empires.
Banning, of course, carried your letter, for which I thank you (and the check, for which I thank you even more; if Banning has to start chartering fishing boats, etc., his operation can become very expensive, very soon). And he brought me up to date on Albatross operations in Hawaii, in particular their effectiveness vis-a-vis what happened in the Coral Sea.
I am very impressed with Banning, but fear that he is less than pleased with me. He made it clear that he considers himself to be under my orders, which I immediately made use of by forbidding him even to think about going behind Japanese lines himself. Because of his Japanese language skills and understanding of their minds, for one thing, and for another, because I think he knows too much about Albatross, he is too valuable to risk being captured.
Now to the General:
Until he learned that the Japanese had occupied Tulagi, I really didn’t think he paid much attention to the fact that the border between his area and Nimitz’s had been moved from 160 degrees east longitude, where the Joint Chiefs originally established it, to where it is now. But after the Japs took Tulagi, he became painfully aware that Nimitz now had responsibility for both Tulagi and Guadalcanal, the much larger island to the south.
He is now convinced that the new division of responsibility was established—the line ch
anged—by his cabal of enemies, Marshall and King again, to deny him authority over territory he considers essential to his mission of defending Australia. I am finding it harder and harder to fault his logic and support that of the JCS.
The argument, I know, is that it is the Navy’s responsibility to maintain the sea lanes, and that was the argument for putting the border at 160 EL. MacArthur counters that this would hold water only if the Navy were occupying the land in question and using it for that purpose. And, of course, they are not, and have shown no indication that they intend to.
All of this was exacerbated when he learned that the day after he had surrendered Corregidor, General Wainwright went on the radio in Manila and ordered all forces in the Philippines to lay down their arms. This enraged him for several reasons, not necessarily in proportion to their importance to the war.
He seemed most enraged (and found it another proof that George Marshall stays awake nights thinking up new evil things to do to him) by the fact that Wainwright, apparently encouraged by Washington, no longer considered himself subordinate to MacArthur, and thus surrendered Corregidor on his own—without, in other words, MacA. ’s authority to do so.
Second, he is absolutely convinced that Wainwright, again encouraged by Washington, went even further than that, by assuming authority for all U.S./Filipino Forces in the Philippines, an authority MacA., with reason, believed he still retained, having never been formally relieved of it.
General Sharp, on Mindanao, was specifically ordered to surrender by Wainwright. According to MacA., Sharp had 30,000 U.S./Filipino troops, armed, and in far better shape insofar as ammunition, rations, etcetera, than any others in the islands. It is hard to understand why they were ordered to surrender. As it turns out, MacA. has learned that Sharp paid only lip service to Wainwright’s orders and encouraged his men to go to the hills and organize as guerrillas. He himself and most of his immediate staff felt obliged to follow orders, and they surrendered.
MacArthur feels a sense of shame (wholly unjustified, I think) for the loss of the Philippines. And he has an at least partially justified feeling that he is being treated unfairly by Washington in his present command.
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