Close Combat
Page 44
[SIX]
Water Lily Cottage
Brisbane, Australia
1015 Hours 19 November 1942
When Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, entered the house, he had to look for Lieutenant Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker, USMCR; Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR; and Staff Sergeant Steven M. Koffler, USMCR. He found them in the bathroom.
The bathtub was full. In it was floating a black object, about a foot square.
“Hold it under again, Koffler,” Colonel Stecker ordered.
Sergeant Koffler knelt by the tub and with some effort submerged the black object. From the evidence on the floor, as well as Koffler’s rolled-up sleeves and water-soaked shirt, it was clear to General Pickering that this was not the first time they had done whatever they were doing.
Lieutenant McCoy looked at his wristwatch.
“Two minutes this time,” McCoy ordered, and Koffler nodded.
“What is that?” Pickering asked.
Stecker and McCoy, in a reflex action, came almost to attention.
“Actually, this is aspirin,” McCoy said. “The other stuff is in short supply. We have a buoyancy problem. So we filled the pack with aspirin. If this stuff leaks, all we lose is aspirin.”
“What is that stuff?”
“Something new; they’re packing radios in it. Plastic is what they call it. Koffler found out you can reseal it—sort of remelt it together. So far it’s working like a Swiss watch.”
“I’ve had a number of Swiss watches that leaked,” Pickering said, and then smiled at Koffler. “Good work, Koffler.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Koffler said, and then blurted, “General, can I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“Can I go with the Colonel and Mr. McCoy?”
“What makes you think the the Colonel and Mr. McCoy are going anywhere?” Pickering replied.
Staff Sergeant Koffler didn’t even acknowledge General Pickering’s evasive reply.
“General, they’re going to need a radio operator,” Koffler said. “And I’m pretty good in a rubber boat.”
My God, you haven’t fully recovered from Buka, and you just got married, and you’re volunteering to do something like that again?
“You just got married, Steve.”
“If they can’t get ashore in the rubber boat…” Koffler went on.
“McCoy, have you been running off at the mouth to Sergeant Koffler?”
“I think the sergeant has been getting information the way I’ve been getting mine,” Colonel Stecker said. “Putting two and two together. The only difference between him and me is that I’m pretty sure I know where we’re going—although no one has come out and said so—and that all he knows is that it’s a beach somewhere.”
“Jack, I’ve been pulling every string I know how to pull, and I can’t get you released from this SWPOA assignment. Until I can, I can’t just order you to go with McCoy.”
“Sir, you can order me to go with McCoy…” Koffler said.
“I’m aware of that, Sergeant Koffler, thank you very much,” Pickering said.
“…and Mr. McCoy can’t paddle the boat by himself.”
Stecker smiled at Koffler, then the smile faded as he turned to Pickering.
“I can’t imagine why they won’t release me,” he said. “God knows, there’s fifty officers I can think of who could set up for the Division coming here. And since I’m already on somebody’s shit list…”
“What makes you think you’re on somebody’s shit list?” Pickering asked.
“I’m in limbo. I am neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat. What does that look like to you?”
I don’t have an answer, Jack, goddamn it!
“Two minutes,” McCoy announced. “Any bubbles?”
“Not a goddamn bubble,” Koffler announced triumphantly. “I knew it would work.”
“Hold it down for another three minutes,” McCoy ordered. “That’ll prove it, one way or another.”
“I have something to tell you,” Stecker said.
“Which is?”
“I sent a personal to General Vandegrift,” Stecker said. “I asked him, if he wouldn’t release me to you, would he let me resign my commission.”
“There’s no way they’ll let you do that,” Pickering said. “Christ, Jack, you commanded a battalion—and goddamned well. When did you send the message to Vandegrift?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did you mention this operation?” Pickering asked.
“I said I knew of a billet where I could make a contribution as a master gunnery sergeant. Nothing specific.”
“Well, resigning your commission is out of the question,” Pickering said. “I’m working on this, Jack. All I can tell you is trust me.”
“This is important,” Stecker said, pointing at the bathtub. “What I’m supposed to be doing isn’t.”
I completely agree, but I can’t tell you that.
“In other words, you don’t care if half the First Marine contracts the clap?” Pickering asked. “Because you failed to provide adequate prophylactic stations for them?”
“Now that you ask…” Stecker said.
“General?” Hart’s voice called from the living room.
“In here, Hart,” Pickering called back. “We’re all playing with McCoy’s rubber duck.”
Hart came in and handed Pickering a large manila envelope.
“I thought you’d want to see this right away, Sir. It just came in.”
Pickering ripped the envelope open and started to read it.
“Koffler, what the hell are you doing?” Hart asked.
* * *
TOP SECRET
URGENT-VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL
NAVY DEPARTMENT WASH DC 2115
18 NOV 42
FOR: SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST
PACIFIC AREA
EYES ONLY BRIGADIER GENERAL FLEMING
PICKERING, USMCR
1. FOLLOWING PERSONAL FROM SECNAV TO BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING USMCR:
DEAR FLEMING:
THE FOLLOWING IS ABSOLUTELY CONFIDENTIAL. THE PRESIDENT IS SENDING THE NAME OF MAJOR GENERAL ARCHER VANDEGRIFT TO THE SENATE FOR THEIR ADVICE AND CONSENT TO HIS PROMOTION TO LIEUTENANT GENERAL AND COMMANDANT OF THE MARINE CORPS, TO TAKE EFFECT AT SUCH TIME AS MAY BE AGREED UPON BY GENERAL VANDEGRIFT AND GENERAL HOLCOMB.
IN PREPARATION FOR THE ASSUMPTION OF HIS NEW DUTIES GENERAL VANDEGRIFT HAS ASKED FOR THE EXTRAORDINARY PROMOTION OF AN OFFICER HE FEELS HE MUST HAVE ON HIS PERSONAL STAFF. IN THE BELIEF THAT THIS OFFICER WAS ON THE BRINK OF EXHAUSTION, GENERAL VANDEGRIFT HAD ARRANGED FOR HIM TO PURSUE PHYSICALLY UNTIRING DUTIES IN AUSTRALIA.
I WILL TODAY ANNOUNCE THE PROMOTION OF LT COL JACK NMI STECKER, PRESENTLY ASSIGNED SUPREME HEADQUARTERS SWPOA, TO COLONEL. IT IS ANTICIPATED THAT, UPON GENERAL VANDEGRIFT’S ACCESSION TO COMMANDANT USMC, HE WILL SUBMIT COLONEL STECKER’S NAME FOR PROMOTION TO BRIGADIER GENERAL. I WILL ENTHUSIASTICALLY ENDORSE SUCH A RECOMMENDATION.
THE SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY INFORMED ME THIS AFTERNOON THAT TWO HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FROM THE PRESIDENT’S CONFIDENTIAL FUND HAS BEEN CABLE TRANSFERRED TO YOUR ACCOUNT AT THE BANK OF AUSTRALIA, MELBOURNE.
THE PRESIDENT HAS DIRECTED ME TO INQUIRE THE STATUS OF YOUR CAMPAIGN TO HAVE THE OSS RECOGNIZED BY THE SWPOA AS A MEMBER OF THE TEAM.
PLEASE PASS TO LIEUTENANT MCCOY, ‘GODSPEED AND GOOD LUCK!’
REGARDS,
FRANK
END PERSONAL FROM SECNAV
BY DIRECTION:
DAVID HAUGHTON, CAPTAIN, USN ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT TO THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY
TOP SECRET
* * *
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Pickering said.
Koffler turned. “General?”
“I think you had better read this, Sergeant Major Stecker,” Pickering said. “General Vandegrift has been heard from.”
Stecker scanned the sheets, his eyebrows rising. “I don’t think you were sup
posed to show me this,” he said. “It says—”
“I know what it says. Show it to McCoy and Koffler, Colonel. Consider that an order.”
Koffler had to read it last. As the other men stood dumbfounded, he looked at Pickering.
“Sir, if the Colonel’s not going, then—”
“Sergeants are supposed to speak only when spoken to, Koffler.”
“—then you’re really going to need somebody who knows how to paddle a rubber boat.”
Pickering stared at him for what seemed the longest moment of Koffler’s life. Then a deep laugh rumbled out of his throat, and rolled on and on.
Behind him, the black plastic pack bobbed in the bathtub.
*A good many Naval Aviators (and some Army and Air Force pilots, too) have fond memories of the San Carlos Hotel…. And so as I was actually writing this chapter (September, 1992), I was saddened to hear over a Pensacola radio station the news that the San Carlos is to be demolished and turned into a parking lot, all efforts to preserve it having failed. Since I thought that at least some of my readers would be interested to learn of this tragedy. I’ve added this footnote, which has nothing whatever to do with this story.
*Another note having no proper connection with this story: As I was writing this book, word came that Brigadier General Walter S. McIlhenny, USMCR, Retired, of Avery Island, New Iberia, Louisiana, where his family owns the Tabasco Company, had died. General McIlhenny served with distinction on Guadalcanal and elsewhere, and left a substantial portion of his fortune to the scholarship fund of the Marine Military Academy, a Marine Corps-affiliated boarding school for boys.