W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines

by Behind The Lines(Lit)

  STANTIONCHIEF BRISBANE

  T O P S E C R E T

  "I'll tell you what this does confirm, Mo," Donovan said. "Your pal Pickering is thumbing his nose at me."

  "I told you it would be wise to make peace with him, Bill," Morrissette said.

  "Who the hell does he think he is, telling Waterson he's too busy to see him?"

  "He thinks he's Brigadier General Pickering, who doesn't work for you."

  "He was sent there, for Christ's sake, with specific orders from the Presi-dent to persuade MacArthur to let us operate."

  "To try to persuade MacArthur to let us operate," Morrissette said. "If he were asked, I'll wager he would say he has tried. And he did arrange for Cap-tain Macklin to go along."

  "You noticed, of course, there has not been one word from Macklin," Donovan said.

  "I noticed."

  "Which suggests to me that Pickering's Lieutenant McCoy is not giving him access to the radio. Probably on orders."

  "Maybe Captain Macklin has had nothing to say that McCoy hasn't al-ready said."

  "The whole idea was to get the OSS involved in this," Donovan said. "Didn't anyone tell Macklin that?"

  Morrissette didn't reply.

  "Macklin might as well not be there, for all the good he's doing us,"

  Donovan said. "I feel like a goddamned fool when I'm with the President, and Knox briefs him on what we're getting from Pickering, and I don't have a damned thing to say about what I hear from my OSS man on the scene."

  "I understand they're sending the Sunfish back with more supplies. If we have time to do it, would you like me to send somebody in to replace Macklin?"

  "Do whatever you have to do, Mo, to get somebody competent over there-where is there, by the way?"

  "What there, Bill?"

  "Where they're going to load the Sunfish, obviously."

  "I don't know. It's half a dozen one way and six the other between Pearl Harbor and Brisbane. Maybe Espiritu Santo."

  "Well, find out where and get somebody competent there in time to get on the sub. Somebody senior to Macklin."

  "Why is being senior to Macklin important?"

  "Because we're not going to replace Macklin, we're going to augment the OSS element at USFIP. And if Macklin is the idiot everybody seems to think he is, I don't think he should be in a position to give orders."

  "Wouldn't it be easier just to bring Macklin out?"

  "That, I suggest, would give people the opportunity to see for themselves what an idiot we sent in. Tell the Navy we want to send three people in."

  "Pickering's people, and that aide-de-camp who stayed, are coming out."

  "Good," Donovan said. "If that's the case, maybe our people will be able to get on the radio. And let the world know that the OSS is alive and well."

  Chapter Seventeen

  [ONE]

  Naval Air Transport Command Passenger Terminal

  U.S. Navy Base, Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii

  0625 Hours 10 January 1943

  It was raining steadily when the Coronado touched down, but it was a gentle rain, and the landing was smooth, as was the taxiing to the tie-down buoy.

  An admiral's barge-far more luxurious than the whaleboats that served as water taxis in Brisbane and Midway-came out to take the passengers off. Carrying so much money-a thousand dollars in twenties-that he'd split it between the bellows pockets of his tunic, Captain James Weston stepped off the barge onto the wharf.

  "Captain Weston?"

  He saw a Marine officer, a first lieutenant, saluting and smiling somewhat hesitantly at him.

  Weston returned the salute.

  "I'm Weston."

  "Is your name on your bag, Captain?"

  "Yes, it is."

  A brand-new canvas suitcase jammed with brand-new uniforms was someplace on the airplane. The passengers had been told it would be delivered to them ashore.

  "I'll get it," the Lieutenant said. "You go up the ladder. The car's right at the head of the ladder."

  The ladder was in fact a wide set of concrete stairs.

  At the top was a Plymouth staff car, bearing an uncovered brigadier gen-eral's silver star on a red background plate. Weston wondered where his car was. If there was a general sitting in this car, it obviously wasn't the one the lieutenant was talking about.

  The back door of the car opened.

  "If you're Weston," a voice called to him, "get in."

  He walked to the car and stepped in.

  "Pickering said you were unusual," the man inside said. "He didn't say that unusual. What's with the beard?"

  "I guess I can shave it off now, Sir," Weston said, ill at ease.

  "Since you are taking lunch with Admiral Nimitz, I think that would be a good idea," the man said.

  He shifted on the seat, and Weston could now see the stars on the collar of his khaki shirt.

  "My name is Mclnerney," the General said, and put out his hand.

  "Good morning, Sir."

  Brigadier General Mclnerney handed him a sheet of paper.

  "Read that," he said.

  P R I O R I T Y

  SUPREME HEADQUARTERS SWPOA 1625 HOURS 8JAN43

  TO CINCPAG HAWAII

  PERSONAL PROM BRIG GEN PICKERING USMCR TO BRIG GEN MCINERNEY USMC

  DEAR MAC:

  I JUST LOADED CAPTAIN JAMES B. WESTON ABOARD A PEARL HARBOR BOUND CORONADO. HE IS ENROUTE TO THE STATES FOR A THIRTY DAY RECUPERATIVE LEAVE. HE IS A VERY UNUSUAL YOUNG OFFICER WHO JUST CAME OUT OF THE PHILIPPINES WHERE HE WAS G-2 FOR GENERAL FERTIG'S GUERRILLA OPERATION. MACARTHUR GAVE HIM A WELL DESERVED SILVER STAR YESTERDAY.

  I WOULD APPRECIATE VERY MUCH ANYTHING YOU CAN DO TO MAKE HIS PEARL HARBOR STOP AS SMOOTH, COMFORTABLE AND AS BRIEF AS POSSIBLE.

  HAVING SAID THAT I WOULD NOT BE AT ALL SURPRISED IF ADMIRAL NIMITZ WANTED TO AT LEAST SHAKE HIS HAND WHILE HE'S THERE. SO PLEASE AS QUIETLY AS POSSIBLE INFORM ADMIRAL NIMITZ OF HIS ARRIVAL.

  BEST REGARDS FLEM

  END PERSONAL TO BRIG GEN MCINERNEY

  BY DIRECTION BRIG GEN PICKERING USMCR

  HART 2ND LT USMCR

  "I'll tell you what I can't do," Mclnerney said. "I can't get you out of lunch with Admiral Nimitz; I can't get you on a plane to the States before to-morrow, and maybe not then; and I can't make it stop raining. Aside from that, the place is yours."

  "Thank you very much, Sir. I'm surprised. Overwhelmed."

  "General Pickering and I were enlisted men in France in the First World War," Mclnerney said. "He's one of my favorite people."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "I'm an aviator, and-did he tell you?-so is his son. He flew Wildcats- made ace, as a matter of fact-on Guadalcanal."

  "Yes, Sir, he told me. I'm an aviator, too. Or was."

  "Was? Let me tell you something, son. Once you learn how to fly, it's like riding a bicycle. You never forget."

  "General Pickering told me that, Sir. As a matter of fact, he quoted you."

  "For a nonaviator, he's a surprisingly bright fellow," Mclnerney said. "Ah, here comes Charley with your bag."

  "God, what is this place?" Weston asked as a silver-haired black man in a white jacket opened the door of the Plymouth.

  "This is Muku-Muku, Captain," the black man said. "I'm Denny. I sort of take care of it."

  "What is it, a hotel?"

  "Sometimes, lately, it feels like one," Denny said. "But no, Sir. It's not a hotel. It's where Pacific & Far East Shipping puts up its masters and chief engi-neers when they're in port, and General Pickering's friends, and Mr. Pick's friends... which sometimes seems like the entire U.S. Marine Corps."

  Mclnerney laughed. "Denny, in the case of Mr. Weston, he is here as the personal guest of General Pickering. I am under orders from your boss to make sure his stay in Hawaii is as comfortable as possible."

  "Well, then, let's bring him inside, and we'll get to work on that," Denny said. "Have you gentlemen had your breakfast?"

  "Charley and I have," Mclnerney said. "I'm su
re he hasn't. But don't feed him too much, Denny, he's going to have lunch with Admiral Nimitz."

  "Here?" Denny asked. "This is the first-"

  "No. At Pearl Harbor."

  "I'm not really hungry," Weston said.

  "Well, why don't I have somebody bring everybody coffee and some pas-try?"

  He led them through the house to the patio, and they took seats around a cast-iron, glass-topped table. Another black man, well into middle life, ap-peared.

  "Would you get the General's guests some coffee and pastry, please?"

  Denny ordered.

  "This place is fantastic!" Weston said.

  "Is your razor sharp, Denny?" Mclnerney asked.

  "I wondered about that beard," Denny said. "It's so beautiful I sort of hate to cut it off. Where'd you grow that, Captain?"

  "I was in the Philippines," Weston said.

  "Recently?"

  "Yes, recently."

  "And you're sure you don't want anything to eat? A small steak, and some eggs?"

  "That's tempting."

  "You just get out of that chair, and into that one," Denny said, pointing. "And I'll fetch my barber tools, and by the time your beard is gone, your breakfast will be ready."

  "Sir?" General Mclnerney's aide-de-camp said.

  "What?"

  "The telephone, Sir?"

  "God, I forgot about that. Thank you, Charley. Weston, among other things you can do here you can't do anywhere else without a two-hour-or longer-wait is talk to the States. So if there's someone you'd like to call? Your parents?"

  "My parents are dead, Sir. I have an aunt..."

  "Where?"

  "In Iowa."

  "General," Denny said. "It's none of my business, but it's the middle of the night in Iowa."

  "Yes, of course it is," Mclnerney said. "Well, you can call after lunch."

  At 1530, when General Mclnerney, his aide, and Captain Weston returned from luncheon with the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific, in his personal mess, Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, was on the patio of Muku-Muku.

  Captain Galloway was not only surprised to see General Mclnerney, but more than a little uncomfortable, in part because his uniform was stained with both perspiration and oil, in part because he was caught in the act of drinking during duty hours, and in part because of the manner in which he was drinking, from the neck of a quart bottle of beer.

  "Good afternoon, Sir," he said, coming to attention.

  "Captain," Mclnerney said. "Why is it that I suspect your day did not go as well as it could have gone? Because to judge from your uniform, you found it necessary, in direct disobedience of my orders, to repair an engine by your-self? Or perhaps because of the way you are attacking that quart of beer? Or simply because I am a splendid student of human nature?"

  "No excuse, Sir," Galloway said.

  "Captain Galloway, Captain Weston, is another of the Marine Corps or-phans who have found a home away from home here in Muku-Muku. He would be a fine officer if he could only remember to obey orders."

  "No, Sir," Galloway said.

  "No, Sir?" Mclnerney said.

  "I have not been personally working on aircraft, Sir."

  "You are a Marine officer; I will accept you at your word. What have you been doing, rolling around on a hangar deck?"

  Mclnerney saw something in Galloway's face.

  "Why were you rolling around on a hangar deck, Captain Galloway?"

  "Sir, with respect, I decline to answer the General's question."

  "Who did you punch out, Charley?" Mclnerney asked. "And why? We are now out of school."

  "Stevenson, Sir."

  "And what did Lieutenant Stevenson do to arouse your ire?"

  "He said that if I wasn't hiding behind my bars, he'd kick the shit out of me."

  "So, of course, you went into the hangar, closed the doors, and took off your bars?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "What shape is Lieutenant Stevenson in?"

  "He lost a tooth, Sir, and he's going to be sore for a while."

  "Did he seek medical attention?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "And how did he explain his lost tooth when asked?"

  "Big Steve said he told the dentist he walked into a pitot tube."

  Mclnerney turned to Weston.

  "Big Steve, Mr. Weston, is Master Gunner Oblensky, an ancient aviator I have known more years than I care to think about," he said, and then turned back to Galloway: "And is Lieutenant Stevenson going to bring this brawl of yours to the attention of the appropriate authorities?"

  "I don't think so, Sir."

  "Captain Galloway, brawling between officers and gentlemen is some-thing the Naval Service simply cannot tolerate under any circumstances."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "On the other hand, there is an exception to every rule, and from what I have seen of Mr. Stevenson, having someone knock his tooth out was long overdue. Consider the matter forgotten."

  "I wish I could do that, Sir."

  "Is there some reason you can't?"

  "Isn't losing your temper and punching somebody out an admission you can't lead them?"

  "You weren't listening, Charley," Mclnerney said. "There is an excep-tion to every rule. As long as this doesn't become routine, don't let it worry you."

  Galloway looked at Mclnerney for a long moment, then said, very sin-cerely, "Thank you, Sir. I'll try not to let it happen again."

  "Try?"

  "The truth is, General, when I was watching him try to get up-he's not a quitter; it may be his only virtue-I was thinking of several other of my offi-cers I would really like to deck."

  "You've had my friendly word of wisdom for the day, Charley. Don't push your luck."

  "No, Sir. It will not happen again."

  "It better not," Mclnerney said, and then obviously changing the subject: "I have been a good boy all day, and somewhere in the wide world, I am sure, the sun is over the yardarm. Where's Denny?"

  "The Pacific Merchant made port at noon and he went down to loot her freezer and liquor locker," Galloway said. "He took Alphonse with him. I think we're in the unusual position around here of having to make our own drinks."

  "Charley..." General Mclnerney said to his aide.

  "What would you like, Sir?"

  "Bourbon, a double, water on the side," Mclnerney said. "Weston?"

  "Scotch, please, water."

  "And you may consider yourself off duty, Charley," Mclnerney said. "Weston, if you want to call the States, just dial nine on the phone in your bedroom. That'll get you the Pacific & Far East switchboard in Honolulu. Tell the operator 'San Francisco,' and when the operator in San Francisco answers, tell her what number you want. If you don't know it, she'll get it for you."

  "Thank you, Sir," Weston said. "I don't know the number. It's my aunt."

  Weston and Charley left the patio, leaving Galloway and Mclnerney alone.

  "Interesting young man," Mclnerney said. "Until a few days ago, he was G-2 of U.S. Forces in the Philippines. Working for a self-promoted Army brig-adier who's set up, according to what he told Admiral Nimitz at lunch, one hell of a guerrilla operation on Mindanao."

  "He's wearing wings," Galloway observed.

  "He's an ex-Brewster Buffalo jockey. He flew a Catalina into Cavite and got stranded there. They put him in the 4th Marines, and when things really went sour, he decided he'd rather try to get out than surrender. That took balls."

  "How'd he get out?"

  "I didn't know about any of this until lunch, but when this Army guy-his name is Fertig-finally got word to MacArthur what he was doing, MacArthur ignored him. Pickering found out about it somehow and sent your friend McCoy in to see what was going on. Nimitz gave him a submarine; Weston came out on it."

  "McCoy's still there?"

  "McCoy, two other Marines, some guy from the OSS, and Admiral Wagam's aide."

  "Admiral Wagam's aide?" Galloway asked incredulously.

  "He went along to make sure the sub d
id what was necessary. And then he apparently had to see for himself how the other half lives, went ashore, and stayed. Another exception to the rule, apparently, that if a sailor can't get three square meals a day and a bed with sheets, it's somebody else's war."