W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines

by Behind The Lines(Lit)

  "In here, please, Captain," a new voice said. Macklin followed the sound and saw a tall, muscular, tanned full colonel motioning him to enter the room McCoy had just left.

  "Yes, Sir," Macklin said.

  "Did they offer you some coffee, Captain? Would you like some?"

  "That would be very nice, Sir."

  "You better take somebody with you, Ken," the Colonel said. "That's a lot of gold. I'd hate to have to tell somebody we lost it in a stickup. And take the Jaguar, not a jeep."

  "Gimpy's volunteered to ride shotgun, Colonel," McCoy said, nodding toward the tall second lieutenant.

  "Any reason you can't go with them, George?" Stecker asked.

  "I'm waiting to see what the Boss wants to do, Colonel."

  "You go with them. If the General needs wheels, I'll drive him."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "Colonel, we're only going to take it from the bank to the dungeon, wrap it, and take it back to the bank," McCoy said.

  "It is better to be safe than sorry," Stecker said with a smile. "Write that down, McCoy."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "OK, Captain," Stecker said. "Get yourself a cup of coffee, and then come in the library."

  "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

  As he poured coffee, Macklin understood why McCoy had referred to the tall second lieutenant as "Gimpy." He walked with a visible limp, and was apparently in some pain.

  Typical of McCoy. To mock an officer who had suffered honorable wounds in combat. One more reason people like that should not be officers.

  Carrying his coffee and a sweet roll in his hands, Macklin went into the library. Colonel Stecker was at the door.

  "Take a seat, Captain Macklin," Stecker ordered, and then closed and locked the door behind them. Macklin sat down in an upholstered armchair near the desk. Stecker walked to the desk and rested his rump on it.

  "I'm afraid there's been some bad news, Captain," he said. "The B-17 carrying Major Brownlee was forced to ditch at sea near Midway. There were no survivors."

  Macklin felt a chill.

  My God! If I had been fully recovered from my wounds, I would have been aboard that B-17!

  "I'm very sorry to hear that, Sir. Major Brownlee was a fine gentleman, a fine Marine officer."

  "So I have been led to believe."

  "Officially, that places command of the Fertig mission in your hands," Stecker said.

  My God!

  "Colonel, may I inquire if the OSS has been notified of this terrible loss?"

  "General Pickering notified Secretary Knox, and asked that the informa-tion be relayed to the OSS."

  "I'm sure they will issue new instructions," Macklin said, half thinking aloud, and only at the last second remembering to add, "Sir."

  "Why should they do that?" Stecker asked.

  "Colonel, the cold facts are that I am not qualified, in terms of training or experience, or physically-I was wounded at Gavutu with the 2nd Parachute Battalion, and am not yet fully recovered-to command such a mission."

  "God," Stecker said, loathing in his voice. "I was half prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you haven't changed at all, have you, Macklin?"

  "Sir?"

  "Do I look familiar to you, Captain?"

  "No, Sir. I don't believe I've previously had the privilege of the Colonel's acquaintance."

  "The first time we met was at Quantico, Captain. You were at the time engaged in several slimy schemes to keep McCoy from getting a commis-sion."

  "Sir, I have no idea-"

  "The second time we met was on Gavutu. I commanded 2nd Battalion, Fifth Marines, during the invasion. I went to the aid station to see some of my men, and the battalion surgeon of the 2nd Parachute Battalion pointed out to me the officer his corpsmen had to pry loose from a pier piling. You were a disgrace to The Corps on that occasion, too, Captain Macklin."

  "Sir, the only thing I can say is that the Colonel has been grossly misin-formed."

  "Shut your lying mouth, Captain," Stecker said, almost conversationally. "Open it again only when I give you specific permission."

  He looked at Macklin for a full minute before continuing.

  "For a number of reasons that are none of your concern-though they in-clude General Pickering's belief that The Corps has a deep responsibility to do all it can to assist the Marines with General Fertig-the mission will proceed with you as its nominal commander. He has so informed Secretary Knox, and thus the OSS. Actual command of the mission will be vested in Lieutenant McCoy. If I were McCoy, you would not leave the beach in the Philippines alive. Not because of your actions toward him at Quantico, but because a lying coward like you threatens both the lives of the men on this mission and the mission itself. Do I make myself clear, Captain Macklin?"

  "Sir, I must protest in the strongest possible terms your characterization of my-"

  With a swift, seemingly effortless motion, Stecker leaned down to Mack-lin, grabbed his necktie, and pulled him half out of the chair.

  My God, he's going to spit in my face!

  As quickly as he had pulled Macklin from his chair, Stecker shoved him back into it.

  "You have one chance of coming out of this mission alive, Macklin," he said, his voice and his temper back under control. "And that is to do exactly what McCoy tells you to do, when he tells you to do it. You are two inches away from me ordering McCoy to remove you as a threat to the mission the moment you touch the beach in the Philippines. Do you understand me, Cap-tain Macklin? Answer 'Yes, Sir' or 'No, Sir.' "

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Sergeant Koffler will now return you to the BOQ. You will stay there, prepared to make yourself available at any time McCoy feels he needs you."

  As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to get in touch with the OSS. This is outrageous!

  "The proper response to an order, Captain, is 'Aye, aye, Sir.' " "Aye, aye, Sir," Captain Macklin said.

  [EIGHT]

  Conference Room II

  Supreme Headquarters, SWPOA

  Brisbane, Australia

  1225 Hours 29 November 1942

  Just before noon, Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, appeared, unan-nounced, at Water Lily Cottage. When the doorbell rang, Pickering was close to it, so he opened it. It was clear from Lewis's face that he was a little sur-prised that a general officer would open his own door.

  "General Pickering?" Lewis asked, and when Pickering nodded, went on, "Admiral Wagam's compliments, Sir. I am the Admiral's aide-de-camp."

  "I've been expecting to hear from him."

  "Admiral Wagam would be pleased if it were convenient for the General to meet with him at Supreme Headquarters," Lewis said. "General Willoughby has been kind enough to offer accommodations."

  "When?"

  "Admiral Wagam hopes that it would be convenient for the General now, Sir."

  "Why not?" Pickering thought aloud. And then, somewhat annoyed with himself, two thoughts came: First, this was really a summons-if the circum-stances were reversed, he would have personally called Nimitz's admiral, he wouldn't have had Hart call him. And second, he didn't like Willoughby put-ting his two cents in.

  He turned and saw Jack Stecker.

  "General Willoughby," he explained, "has kindly provided a place for Admiral Wagam and me to meet, and the Admiral sent his aide to fetch me."

  "Really?" Stecker replied, both his tone of voice and his face showing that he read the situation exactly as Pickering did.

  Pickering turned back to Lewis. "Where exactly are these accommoda-tions, Lieutenant?"

  "One of the conference rooms at Supreme Headquarters, Sir."

  "Please present my compliments to the Admiral, Lieutenant, and tell him that I'm on my way."

  "General, I have a car."

  "So do I, Lieutenant," Pickering said. "Jack, is George in the dungeon by now, do you think?"

  "Yes, Sir. I would think so."

  "Call the dungeon, please, Jack, and ask George to meet me in the lobby."
/>
  "Aye, aye, Sir," Stecker said with a smile.

  "Right this way, General, if you please," Lieutenant Lewis said to Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMC, as he pushed open a door.

  Then he raised his hand to block the passage of Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, and added, "I believe, Sir, with your permission, that the Admiral would prefer to confer in private."

  "Oh, George goes everywhere with me, Lieutenant," Pickering replied. "That way we can both recall who said what to whom in one of these meet-ings."

  It was obvious that Lieutenant Lewis did not like that response. This, Pick-ering decided, was fine with him, because he did not like what little he had seen of Lewis. The first moment Pickering saw him, he concluded he was a self-important young man; it was not a surprise to see an Annapolis ring on his finger.

  "Yes, Sir, of course," Lieutenant Lewis said.

  As Lewis held open the door for him, Pickering remembered that he was per-versely pleased at Lieutenant Lewis's obvious confusion in Water Lily Cot-tage. Who was George, and what was the dungeon?

  Lieutenant Lewis then announced him:

  "Admiral, Brigadier General Pickering."

  Admiral Wagam rose smiling from his chair at the head of the table. He was a tall, handsome, silver-haired officer in a well-fitting, high-collared white uniform.

  "General Pickering," he said, putting out his hand. "Thank you for com-ing on such short notice."

  "I realize that you're a busy man, Admiral," Pickering replied.

  But I don't like this. I don't like you sitting at the head of the table; no one has appointed you chairman of this conference. And I don't like being sum-moned here-no matter how politely your aide phrased it.

  "General Willoughby was kind enough to offer us this place for our talk," Wagam said. "He said you have declined the offer of an office at SWPOA?"

  "How kind of General Willoughby," Pickering said. "Yes, I did. If I took an office here, I thought it might look as if I were a member of the SWPOA staff." When he saw that Wagam was taken a little aback by the remark, Pick-ering added, with a smile, "I didn't want to wind up on some SWPOA duty roster. Flag officer of the day, or somesuch."

  Wagam chuckled.

  "Your precise status is the subject of some conversation," Wagam said.

  The two men were evaluating each other.

  "So I understand," Pickering said.

  The truth was, he liked his first impression of Wagam. This at first sur-prised him, until he reminded himself that he really liked and admired Admiral Chester Nimitz, for whom Admiral Wagam worked. He doubted that Nimitz would tolerate a fool on his staff for more than sixty seconds.

  That triggered the thought, the realization, that he was in a lousy mood. And he knew the reasons for that: He didn't want to send McCoy into the Phil-ippines at all, much less with the albatross of Macklin hanging around his neck. And he didn't want to send Koffler along with him either, even if he had no choice. El Supremo had refused to give him a qualified radio operator.

  "I'm just a simple sailor, Admiral, sailing in uncharted waters," Pickering said.

  "You're an any-tonnage, any-ocean master mariner, General," Wagam said. "Not a simple sailor. I'm sure that you can navigate safely through any array of rocks and shoals."

  Pickering was surprised-and somehow pleased-that Wagam knew that he had spent time on the bridge of a ship.

  "When I use somebody else's room, I always worry whether or not there's hidden microphones," Pickering said, now smiling.

  Wagam's face showed his confusion. He wasn't sure at first if Pickering was serious or not.

  "You think the Japanese have placed a microphone in here?"

  "I'm not sure about the Japanese," he said, and switched to a thick but credible German accent. "But the Germans"-he pronounced it Cher-mam- "you haff to vatch out for dem."

  Wagam had picked up on the smile. He smiled back. Despite the English-sounding name, General Charles Willoughby had a Germanic background, and sometimes spoke with a perceptible German accent.

  "Do you really?" Wagam said.

  If Charley Willoughby does have a microphone in here-and I wouldn't put it past him, come to think of it-that should ruin his whole day, Pickering thought, pleased.

  "Der Chermans," Pickering went on, "they are not too schmardt, but dey are thorough!"

  Wagam laughed out loud.

  "Would the Admiral be kind enough to join me for lunch at a place where I know there are no microphones?"

  "Yes, of course. Thank you."

  "George, call out to the cottage and tell Mrs. Cavendish four for lunch as soon as we get there."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "I'll drive the Admiral in the Studebaker, and you bring Lieutenant Lewis with you," Pickering ordered, and then had another thought. "And I think it would be a good idea to drop by the dungeon and ask the Killer to join us. Would that pose a problem?"

  "No, Sir. They're just about through, General."

  "Tell him to leave the gold there, and then take it back after lunch."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "Admiral Nimitz told me to be careful if General Willoughby asked about Op-eration Windmill," Admiral Wagam said when they were in the Stude-baker, "but do-"

  "About operation what?" Pickering interrupted.

  "Operation Windmill," Wagam replied, surprise in his voice, "the mission to Fertig."

  "I never heard it called that before," Pickering said. "Where'd you get that?"

  "It was in Admiral Leahy's Special Channel Personal to Admiral Nimitz," Wagam said, "in which he said that if we can't provide the kind of a submarine you want-in support of Operation Windmill-and when you want it, he'll want to know our reasons."

  "Nimitz's Special Channel Personal to me suggested there was a problem with the submarine."

  "Not from your position, General, but from ours. My orders are to explain the problem to you, and pass on Admiral Nimitz's thoughts on the subject, and then to give you whatever you think you need."

  Pickering grunted.

  "I was about to ask if you really thought there might be a microphone in that conference room," Wagam said.

  "Charley Willoughby," Pickering replied, "is not only about as smart as they come, and a thoroughly competent intelligence officer, but is also fiercely loyal to General MacArthur. That's fine for SWPOA and El Supremo, but sometimes it gets in my way."

  " 'El Supremo'? Is that what you call him?"

  "Only behind his back," Pickering said.

  Wagam laughed.

  "We have a personal connection, General," he said.

  "We do?"

  "My nephew, Lieutenant David Schneider, USMC, flew with VMF-229 on Guadalcanal."

  "Did he come out all right?" Pickering asked.

  "With five kills, a DFC, and some injuries to his legs when he barely made it back to Henderson Field in a pretty badly shot-up Wildcat. He is now recov-ered."

  "My boy-thank God, luck was with him-wasn't injured," Pickering said. "Well, they're both out of it now, at least for a while. An old pal of mine, General Mclnerney-"

  "I know Mac," Wagam interrupted.

  "-told me The Corps plans to use those kids as instructors, hoping they can pass on what they learned the hard way to the new kids."

  "He told me the same thing," Wagam said. And that the two of you were in France together. That's how I knew about your son."

  "Small world, Mac, me, and Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker. At the time we were young enlisted men foolish enough to believe we were in the war to end war forever."

  "Me, too," Wagam said. "My contribution to World War I was com-manding a couple of three-inchers welded precariously to the superstructure of a freighter. I used to worry about my Naval career, now that there wasn't going to be another war. I was afraid I would never get to be a commander, much less an admiral."

  The two men looked at each other for a moment.

  "Admiral, would there be any problem having Jack Stecker and the L
ieu-tenant who's going into the Philippines-his name is McCoy-sit in on our little chat?"

  "I was going to suggest that my aide sit in," Wagam said. "He's a subma-riner. He made three trips to Corregidor before it fell. He's suggested that he go along on this operation to see if he could be useful."