"I’ve known him all his life. He’s a really fine young man. His father owns a trucking firm, Bianello Brothers."
"Is that so?"
The other blonde, the one who was not (maybe) Monique Pond, lovingly fed Technical Sergeant Galloway a bacon-wrapped oyster on a toothpick. He chewed, looked thoughtful, and then nodded his head approvingly, which obviously thrilled the blonde.
"What he did was act impetuously," Congressman DiFranco said. "He’s young."
"How do you mean, impetuously?"
"Without thinking before he leaped, so to speak."
"You mean he now regrets having joined the Marine Corps?"
"No, not at all," the Congressman said firmly.
The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond now fed Technical Sergeant Galloway something on a toothpick that Doc Mclnerney couldn’t identify. Galloway chewed, made a face, and valiantly swallowed. The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Galloway drank deeply from his glass.
"I’m afraid I don’t understand," Doc Mclnerney said.
Squirm, you bastard.
"His father wants to get him out of the infantry," Congressman DiFranco said.
The Congressman’s unexpected candor surprised Mclnerney. He met DiFranco’s eyes.
"The kid complained to Daddy, and Daddy came to you. Is that it?"
"The boy knows nothing about this," DiFranco said.
Mclnerney decided he was being told the truth.
"I’m glad to hear that," he said.
"The boy is eighteen years old, General."
"I saw some statistics last week that said the average age of enlisted men in the First Marine Division-the Fifth Marines are part of the First Division-is eighteen-point-six years," Mclnerney said. "He won’t be lonely."
"Well, I asked," DiFranco said.
"His father is important to you, huh?"
DiFranco shrugged, acknowledging that.
"OK. I’ll tell you what I’ll do-" Mclnerney said, and then stopped abruptly. Another Marine had entered the cocktail lounge and was making his way to the table where Technical Sergeant Galloway sat with maybe Monique Pond. This one was a major. He looked familiar, but Doc Mclnerney could not put a name to the face.
The Major shook Galloway’s hand, kissed maybe Monique Pond, then looked around for the waiter. When he had caught his eye, he mimed signing the check.
"General?" Congressman DiFranco said, puzzled by Mclnerney’s pause.
"You can tell this kid’s father that you talked to me; that I was difficult about special treatment, but in the end, as a special favor to you, I told you I would arrange to have him transferred into a battalion in the Fifth Marines which is commanded by a friend of mine, who happens to be one of the finest officers in the Marine Corps. That much is for the father. For you, I will add that I will do it in such a way that my friend will not learn why he is getting this boy, and will see that his records don’t get flagged as someone who has Congressional influence."
Congressman DiFranco looked at General Mclnerney carefully.
"I really can’t ask for more than that, can I?" he said, finally.
"No, I don’t think you can," Doc Mclnerney replied. "This way, everybody stays honest."
"Then I’m grateful to you, General," Congressman DiFranco said, putting out his hand.
"Any time, Congressman," Mclnerney said, shaking it.
The waiter delivered a check to the Marine major, who scrawled his name on it, and then walked out of the cocktail lounge.
What the hell is that all about?
"Would you be offended if I cut this short?" DiFranco said. "I really have a busy schedule."
"Not at all," Mclnerney said. "So do I."
DiFranco fished money from his pocket and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table.
"Thank you again, General," he said, and walked out of the room.
Mclnerney drained his glass and then stood up. He started to leave, but as he did, the waiter delivered the drinks Congressman DiFranco had ordered.
"Let me settle up now," he said to the waiter. The four drinks and a ten-percent tip ate up most of the Congressman’s ten dollars; Mclnerney waved the rest of the change away, thinking, This has to be the most expensive booze in town!
Then he picked up the fresh drink and walked to Galloway’s table.
"Hello, Sergeant Galloway," he said. "How are you?"
Galloway stood up.
"Good evening, Sir."
"Keep your seat. What brings you to town?"
"I’ve got a VIP flight back and forth to New River in the morning, Sir. Miss Pond and some other people. Oh, excuse me, Sir. General Mclnerney, this is Miss Pond and Mrs. McNamara."
So it is her. Of course! Now I know who that major is! Jake Dillon, the ex-Hollywood press agent. I met him when Colonel Whatsisnames parachute didn’t open.
"I thought I recognized you, Miss Pond. And of course, you too, Mrs. McNamara. I’m very pleased to meet you."
"You recognized me?" Mrs. Caroline Ward McNamara asked, surprised. "Have we met?"
"Well, aren’t you an actress, too? Or should I say ‘the actress’?"
"No," Caroline McNamara said, laughing throatily. "But thank you. I love your mistake. I’m just a friend of Charley’s." She patted Charley’s hand fondly, possessively.
Mclnerney saw on her hand several thousand dollars’ worth of rubies set in gold.
Galloway didn’t meet this woman in the staff NCO mess at Quantico.
"Well, I just wanted to say hello," Mclnerney said. "It’s nice to meet you."
He walked back to his table and sat down.
Less than a minute later, Galloway and the two women got up and left the lounge. Mclnerney followed them. They walked across the lobby and got into an elevator.
This is really none of my business,Mclnerney decided, only to amend that decision a moment later: Fuck it! Watching out for the welfare of his Marines is always an officer’s responsibility.
He went to the desk and inquired whether Miss Monique Pond was registered in the Willard. The desk clerk took a moment to decide that a man in the uniform of a brigadier general of the United States Marine Corps was probably not a fan intent on bothering a movie star.
"I believe that Miss Pond is part of the party staying with Mr. Dillon, Sir."
"You mean Major Dillon? And the rest of the party being the other Marine and the other lady?"
"Yes, Sir. They’re in the Abraham Lincoln suite."
"Thank you," Mclnerney said, and walked to the house phones and asked the operator to connect him with the Abraham Lincoln suite.
"Hello?"
"Major Dillon, please."
"This is Jake Dillon."
"Major, this is General Mclnerney. I’m in the lobby, and I’d like a moment of your time."
There was a perceptible pause before Dillon asked, "Would you like to come up, General?"
"I think it would better if you came down. I’ll wait for you in the bar. The one on the second floor."
"I’ll be right there, Sir."
A waiter did not appear to serve General Mclnerney until after Major Dillon walked in the room. Then one appeared almost immediately, carrying on a tray a drink Mclnerney knew
Dillon hadn’t had time to order.
"They do that," Dillon said. "They know what I like. Should I just let it sit there?"
He had used neither of the words "Sir" nor "General," Mclnerney noticed.
"This is not official," Mclnerney said. "Bring me a Jack Daniel’s and water, please."
Dillon pushed his glass across the table to him.
"Please," he said. "Help yourself."
"I’ll wait."
"Please take it. I’m trying to be ingratiating."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I think this has to do with Charley Galloway, not with me. He told me you’d come up to him in here."
"It has to do with both of you," Mclnerney sai
d.
"What’s the problem, General?"
"I don’t know if there is one. I am curious what one of my sergeants is doing in here, sharing an expensive suite with a movie star, a field-grade officer, and a woman with rubies on her hand worth more money than he makes in a year."
"She’s good for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in love with him. She keeps him on the straight and narrow."
"What about the field-grade officer?" Mclnerney said.
"I thought that’s what this was about," Dillon said. "I didn’t just come into the Corps, General. I just came back in the Corps. I know all about not crossing the line between officers and enlisted men."
"Then why are you crossing it?"
"You did say, General, that this conversation isn’t official?"
"Not yet. I’m trying to keep Charley Galloway out of trouble. You too, if that can be arranged."
"Well, if there’s going to be trouble about this, dump it on me. I invited Charley here, and when he said that might cause trouble, I told him we’d be careful, and that if something-like this-happened, I’d take the rap."
"What’s your interest in Galloway?"
"I like him. We’re pals."
"He’s a sergeant and you’re an officer,"
"I’m not really a major, I’m a flack wearing a Marine uniform."
"A what?"
"A press agent. My contribution to the war effort is getting people like Monique Pond to go to New River so she can flash her boobs at the cameramen and get the Marine Corps in the newsreels. Charley, on the other hand, is one hell of a Marine. He told me about flying the Wildcat out to the carrier off Pearl Harbor. But instead of commanding a fighter squadron, the Corps has him flying a bunch of brass hats and feather merchants around in a VIP transport airplane. So what we have here is an officer who should be an enlisted man, and a sergeant who should be an officer. So we hang around together. My idea, not his."
"What you’re doing, both of you," General Mclnerney said, "is important."
Why did I say that? I don’t believe it.
"General, I told Charley I would take the heat if something like this came up. I really would be grateful if you let me do that."
"Major Dillon," General Mclnerney said, after a long moment during which a few connections went click in his mind, "I really have no idea what you’re talking about. The reason I asked to have a word with you, when I saw you come in here alone, was that I know you are in charge of the public-relations activities marking the bringing of the 1stMarine Division to wartime strength at New River tomorrow. I want to know if there is anything, anything at all, that Marine Corps Aviation can do to insure that the ceremonies are a rousing public-relations success."
Dillon’s eyebrows rose thoughtfully.
"I can’t think of a thing, Sir," he said.
"And to make sure there is absolutely no problem at all flying the VIPs back and forth to New River, I wanted to tell you that I have personally assigned one of our finest enlisted pilots, Technical Sergeant Galloway, to the mission. If he has not reported to you yet, I am sure he will do so momentarily. I remind you that, as an officer, you are responsible for seeing that the Sergeant is properly quartered and rationed. If there are questions regarding how and where, in the necessarily extraordinary circumstances, you elect to do that, refer whoever raises them to me."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"That will be all, Major Dillon. Thank you."
"Yes, Sir."
Dillon stood up and started to leave. He had taken three steps when Mclnerney called his name.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Just between a couple of old Marines, Dillon, I don’t like flying my goddamned desk, either."
(Two)
The Commandant’s House
United States Marine Corps Barracks
Eighth and "I" Streets, S.E.
Washington, D.C.
2230 Hours 9 May 1942
A glistening black 1939 Packard 180 automobile pulled into the driveway and stopped before the Victorian mansion. Mounted above its front and rear bumpers it had the three silver stars on a red plate identifying the occupant as a lieutenant general of the United States Marine Corps.
The driver, a lean, impeccably turned-out Marine staff sergeant, got quickly out from behind the wheel, but he was not quick enough to open the rear door before Thomas Holcomb, the first Marine ever promoted to lieutenant general, opened it himself. The Commandant was home.
"Earlytomorrow, Chet," General Holcomb said to his driver. "Five o’clock."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
The general’s senior aide-de-camp, a very thin lieutenant colonel, slid across the seat and got out.
"Goodnight, Chet," General Holcomb said.
"Goodnight, Sir."
"I don’t see any need for you to come in, Bob," General Holcomb said to his aide. "I’m for bed."
The porch lights came on. General Holcomb’s orderlies had seen the headlights.
"General," the aide said, "I took the liberty of telling Captain Steward to be prepared to brief you on the Coral Sea battle. He’s probably inside, Sir."
"OK," Holcomb said wearily. He was tired. It had been a long day, ending with a long and tiring automobile ride back to Washington from Norfolk, where there had been an interservice conference at Fortress Monroe. Whatever had happened in the Coral Sea had already happened; he didn’t have to learn all the details tonight. But young Captain Steward had apparently worked long and hard preparing the briefing, and it would not do right now to tell him it wasn’t considered important.
Besides, I’ll have to take the briefing sooner or later anyway, why not now and get it over with?
The Commandant raised his eyes to the porch, intending to order, as cheerfully as he could manage, that the orderly put on the coffeepot. There was someone on the porch he didn’t expect to see, and really would rather not have seen.
"Hello, Doc," he called to Brigadier General D. G. Mclnerney. "Did I send for you?"
"No, Sir. I took the chance that you might have a minute to spare for me."
Good God, a long day of the problems of Navy Ordnance and the Army’s Coast Artillery Corps is enough. And here comes Marine Aviation wanting something!
"Sure. Come on in the house. I was about to order up some coffee, but now that you’re here, I expect Tommy had better break out the bourbon."
"Coffee would be fine, Sir."
"Don’t be noble, Doc. God hates a hypocrite."
"A little bourbon would go down very nicely, Sir."
"I’m about to be briefed on a battle in the Coral Sea. You familiar with it?"
"Only that we lost the Lexington, Sir."
"Yeah. Well, you can sit in on the briefing," Holcomb said. He led the small procession into the house, handed his uniform cap to an orderly, and then went into the parlor.
"Good evening, Sir," Captain Steward said. Holcomb saw that Steward had come with all the trappings: an easel, covered now with a sheet of oilcloth bearing the Marine Corps insignia; a large round leather map case containing a detailed map; and a dozen folders covered withtop secret cover sheets-probably the immediate, radioed after-action reports themselves.
"Hello, Stew," he said. "Sorry to keep you up this late. You know General Mclnerney."
"Yes, Sir. Good evening, General."
"Is there anything in there General Mclnerney is not supposed to hear?"
"No, Sir. General Mclnerney is on the Albatross list."
The Albatross list was a short list of those officers who were privy to the fact that the Navy codebreakers at Pearl had broken several of the most important Japanese naval codes.
That’s a pretty short list,General Holcomb remembered now, a goddamned short list, and for very good reason. If the Japanese don’t find out we’re reading their mail, it’s hard to overestimate the importance of the broken codes. But the more people who know a secret, the greater the risk it won’t stay a secret long.
"How is that, Doc?"
Holcomb asked evenly. "Why are you cleared for Albatross?"
"General Forrest brought me in on that, Sir."
The Commandant considered that for a moment, and decided to give Brigadier General Horace W. T. Forrest, Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence, the benefit of the doubt.
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