THE CORPS VI - CLOSE COMBAT

by W. E. B Griffin

  "Major Dillon can get people to do things they would rather not do," Banning said.

  "With Dillon on orders signed by Admiral Leahy, it wasn't a question of whether anyone wanted to do what he asked them to do, was it?" Captain Haughton argued.

  "Even though Commander Feldt of the Coastwatchers is, kindly, often difficult to deal with," Banning said quietly, "Dillon got Feldt to send his best native into Buka. Even though they were understandably reluctant to have one of their very few submarines hang around Buka a moment longer than necessary, he got the Australian Navy to let that sub lie offshore for three days in case they had to try to get our people off the beach. He got MAG-21, the Cactus Air Force, to loan the best R4D pilot around to fly the R4D that made the landing, even though he was one of their fighter squadron commanders."

  "As opposed to what?" Senator Fowler asked.

  "As opposed to having sacrificial lambs sent in. Nobody thought the operation was going to work. Dillon convinced them it would. There are ways to get around orders, even orders signed by Admiral Leahy."

  "I'm surprised," Senator Fowler said. "I'd never thought of Jake as a heavyweight."

  "He's a heavyweight, Senator," Banning said flatly. "I was going to-I got busy at Pearl, and didn't get around to it-to recommend to General Pickering that he be assigned to Management Analysis."

  "We've already returned him to Public Affairs," Sessions said. "Effective on his arrival in the States."

  "If something comes up, Banning," Colonel Rickabee said. "We can get him back."

  Then Rickabee stood up.

  "I've got some orders for you, Banning. Take a week off. At General Pickering's orders, you will stay here. That doesn't mean you can't leave town, but I don't want it to get back to General Pickering that you've moved into a BOQ. A week from tomorrow morning, not a second sooner, I'll see you in the office." He paused. "Now get some sleep. And a haircut. You look like hell."

  CHAPTER SIX

  [ONE]

  Naval Air Transport Service Terminal

  Brisbane, Australia

  0815 Hours 17 October 1942

  The bay was choppy. Landing was a series of more or less controlled crashes against the water. Brigadier General Fleming Pickering was almost surprised these didn't jar parts-large parts, such as engines-off the Mariner.

  Maneuvering from the Mariner into the powerboat sent out to meet it was difficult, and the ride to shore was not pleasant.

  The tide was out, which explained to Pickering the chop (a function of shallow water). It also made climbing from the powerboat onto the ladder up the side of the wharf a little dicey. Halfway up the ladder, behind a rear admiral who was obviously a very cautious man, it occurred to Pickering that he had failed to send a message ahead that he was arriving.

  Not only would he have to find wheels someplace, but he didn't really know where to go. It was probable that Ellen Feller would be in Water Lily Cottage. And he did not want to deal with her just yet.

  The admiral finally made it onto the wharf, and Pickering raised his head above it.

  "Ten-hut," an Army Signal Corps lieutenant called out. "Pre-sent, H-arms!"

  Two Marine lieutenants and a Marine sergeant, forming a small line, saluted. The rear admiral, looking a little confused, returned the salute.

  That's not for you, you jackass.

  Pickering climbed onto the wharf and returned the salute.

  "How are you, Pluto?" he said to First Lieutenant Hon Song Do, Signal Corps, U.S. Army, and put out his hand.

  "Welcome home, General," Pluto said, smiling broadly.

  Pickering turned to a tall, thin, pale Marine second lieutenant, and touched his shoulder.

  "Hello, John," he said. And then, turning to the other lieutenant and the sergeant standing beside him, he added, "And look who that is! You two all right?" Pickering asked as he shook their hands.

  "They let us out of the hospital yesterday, Sir," Sergeant Stephen M. Koffler, USMCR, said. Koffler's eyes were sunken... and extraordinarily bright. His face was blotched with sores. His uniform hung loosely on a skeletal frame.

  That was obviously a mistake. You look like death warmed over.

  "We're fine, Sir," First Lieutenant Joseph L. Howard, USMCR, said.

  Like hell you are. You look as bad as Koffler.

  "I'm going to have a baby," Sergeant Koffler said.

  "Damn it," Lieutenant Howard said. "I told you to wait with that!"

  "Funny, you don't look pregnant," Pickering said.

  "I mean, my girl. My fianc‚e," Koffler said, and blushed.

  "Koffler, damn it!" Lieutenant Howard said.

  Pickering looked back at Second Lieutenant John Marston Moore, USMCR, and asked, "What's that rope hanging from your shoulder, John?"

  "That's what we general officer's aides wear, General," Moore said.

  You don't look as bad as these two, but you look like hell, too, John. God, what have I done to these kids?

  "And you will note the suitably adorned automobile," Hon said.

  Not far away was a Studebaker President, with USMC lettered on the hood. A red flag with a silver star was hanging from a small pole mounted on the right fender.

  "I'm impressed," Pickering said. "How'd you know I was coming?"

  "McCoy sent a radio," Hon said.

  "Have you got any luggage, Sir?" Koffler asked.

  "Yes, I do, and you keep your hands off it. Hart'll bring it." He looked at Hon. "Where are we going, Pluto?"

  "Water Lily Cottage, Sir," Hon replied, as if the question surprised him. "I thought..."

  "Who's living there now?"

  "Moore, Howard, and me. We found Koffler an apartment, so called, a couple of blocks away."

  "And Mrs. Feller?"

  "She's in a BOQ," Pluto Hon said uncomfortably. "General, when we have a minute, there's something I've got to talk to you about-"

  "Major Banning already has," Pickering said, cutting him off, then changed the subject. "We're all not going to fit in the Studebaker."

  "We have a little truck, Sir," Moore said, pointing.

  "OK. Koffler: You wait until Sergeant Hart comes ashore with the luggage and then show him how to find the cottage."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "I'll see you there. I want to hear all about Buka."

  Pluto Hon slipped behind the wheel, and Howard moved in beside him. Moore got in the back beside Pickering-somewhat awkwardly, Pickering noticed, as if the movement were painful.

  Howard turned. "General, I'm sorry about Koffler. I told him not to say anything...."

  "Well, if I was going to have a baby, I think I'd want to tell people. What was that all about, anyway?"

  "It'll keep, Sir," Moore said. "We have it under control."

  "I want to hear about it."

  "You remember the last night, Sir, in the big house? Before we went to Buka?" Howard said.

  "The Elms, you mean?" Pickering asked.

  When MacArthur had his headquarters in Melbourne, Pickering rented a large house, The Elms, in the Melbourne suburbs. After MacArthur moved his headquarters to Brisbane, Pickering rented a smaller house, Water Lily Cottage, near the Brisbane racetrack.

  "Yes, Sir. And you remember the Australian girl, Daphne Farnsworth?"

  "Yeoman Farnsworth, Royal Australian Navy Women's Reserve," Pickering said. "Yes, I do. Beautiful girl."

  "Has a weakness for Marines, I'm sorry to say," Pluto said. "I can't imagine why."

  "The lady is in the family way, General," Moore said, not amused. "It apparently happened that last night at The Elms."

  "How do you know that?" Pickering asked, smiling.

  "It was the only time they were together," Pluto said.

  "Well, Pluto, after all, he is a Marine," Pickering said. "What? Is there some kind of problem?"

  "Several. For one thing, they threw her out of the Navy in something like disgrace."

  "Well, to judge by the look on his face, making an honest woman of her is
high on Koffler's list of things to do."

  "She's a widow," Moore went on. "Her husband was killed in North Africa. They had his memorial service the day before she and Koffler..."

  "What are you saying? That Koffler has been sucked in by a designing woman?"

  "No, Sir. Not at all. She's been disowned by her family, if that's the word."

  "And meanwhile, Koffler was on Buka?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "How is she living?"

  "Well, she had a job. But she lost that."

  "I hired her, Sir, to work for us," Moore said.

  "Good idea. But what's the problem? Koffler's back. He wants to marry her..."

  "We're having a problem with that, Sir. The SWPOA Command Policy is to discourage marriages between Australians and Americans. They throw all sorts of roadblocks up. For all practical purposes, marriages between Australians and lower-grade enlisted men, below staff sergeant, are forbidden." (SWPOA was the abbreviation for the South West Pacific Ocean Area., which was MacArthur's area of responsibility in the Pacific.)

  "No problem. We'll make Koffler a staff sergeant."

  "There's more, Sir."

  "I'll deal with it," Pickering said. "Tell Koffler to relax."

  How I don't know. But certainly, someone who has been flown across the world at the direct order of the President of the United States to arrange a peace between the chief of American espionage and the Supreme Commander of the South West Pacific Ocean Area should be able to deal with the problem of a Marine buck sergeant who has knocked up his girlfriend.

  "Does General MacArthur know I'm back?"

  "I can't see how he could, Sir."

  "I thought perhaps they'd sent word from Washington."

  "I don't think so, Sir. Wouldn't that have been a 'personal for General MacArthur'?"

  "Probably. Almost certainly."

  "I keep pretty well up on that file, Sir," Pluto Hon said. "There hasn't been anything."

  "Well, that at least gives me today. I need a bath, a couple of drinks, and a long nap. I'll call over there at five o'clock or so and ask for an appointment in the morning."

  "There's a couple of things I think you should see, Sir," Pluto said.

  "This morning?" Pickering asked.

  "Yes, Sir."

  When Pickering came out of his bedroom into the living room of Water Lily Cottage, Pluto Hon and John Marston Moore were waiting for him. Pickering was wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe over nothing at all, and he was feeling-and looking-fresh from a long hot shower.

  In the middle of room, they'd set up a map board-a sheet of plywood placed on an artist's tripod. Maps (and other large documents) were tacked onto the plywood. A sheet of oilcloth covered the maps and documents; it could be lifted to expose them.

  An upholstered chair, obviously intended for him, had been moved from its usual place against the wall so that it squarely faced the map board.

  "Very professional," Pickering said.

  "We practice our briefings here," Pluto said seriously. "It's a waste of time, but General Willoughby's big on briefing the Supreme Commander with maps and charts."

  "You don't work for Willoughby," Pickering said. "And you don't have time to waste."

  Pluto didn't reply. Pickering knew that his silence was an answer in itself.

  "How bad has it been, Pluto? Let's have it."

  "I don't want to sound like I'm whining, Sir."

  "Let's have it, Pluto."

  "The point has been made to me, Sir, by various senior officers, that I am a first lieutenant, and that first lieutenants do what they're told."

  "You're talking about MAGIC intercept briefings, right?" Pickering asked.

  "Yes, Sir. I believe it is General Willoughby's rationale that since he has no one on his staff cleared for MAGIC, he can't have them prepare MAGIC briefings for the Supreme Commander. That leaves us."

  "Left you. Past tense," Pickering said. "For one thing, MacArthur doesn't need kindergarten-level briefings; he has an encyclopedic memory. For another, I can't afford to have either of you wasting your time playing brass-hat games. The next time Willoughby calls, your reply is, quote, 'Sir, General Pickering doesn't believe that a formal briefing is necessary.' Unquote. If he has any questions, tell him to call me."

  "General, as I said on the wharf, General, Sir, welcome home!" Pluto said.

  "But since you've already gone to all this trouble, Pluto, brief me." "Yes, Sir," Pluto said. Moore walked to the map board-limped, Pickering thought; limped painfully; his legs are nowhere near healed-and flipped the oilcloth cover off, revealing a map of the Solomon Islands. There was something out of the ordinary about it. After a moment, he knew what it was.

  "Don't tell me that map's not classified?"

  "Sir, that's another decision I took on my own," Pluto said. "We start with MacArthur's situation map. Maps. Actually three. MacArthur had one; Willoughby had a second; and G-3 had a third. All classified TOP SECRET. For our purposes, before Willoughby started the briefing business, we used to just go to G-3 with an overlay. Nothing on the overlay but MAGIC information. No problem, in other words. We just locked the door, did our thing on the overlay with our MAGIC intelligence, and then took the overlay back to the dungeon with us. But when we started having to take a map with us to brief MacArthur..."

  "What I'm looking at is a TOP SECRET situation map, to which MAGIC intelligence has been added?"

  "Yes, Sir. General Willoughby said the Supreme Commander doesn't like overlays."

  "And," Pickering said, "because you thought there was a possibility that this map might get out of your hands-with MAGIC intelligence on it-you decided not to stamp it TOP SECRET...."

  "Yes, Sir. We don't let this map out of our hands. It's been chemically treated, so it practically explodes when you put a match to it-"

  "Finish your briefing," Pickering interrupted. "Take the MAGIC data off onto an overlay, and burn the map."

  "Yes, Sir," Pluto said. "Sir, how much of a briefing did you get from Major Banning in Hawaii?"

  "A damned good one. I presume you know what he told me? How much of it is still valid?"

  "Would you mind, Sir?"

  Good for you, Son. Don't leave anything to chance.

  "General Hyakutaka is ashore," Pickering summarized. "As soon as he believes he has an adequate force, he will start an attack on three fronts, counting the combined fleet as a front. I forget the names of the Japanese generals-"

  "Major Generals Maruyama and Tadashu," Pluto interrupted him. "Did he have a date?"

  "No."

  "We have new intercepts indicating 18 October. Tomorrow."

  Pickering grunted.

  "Did Major Banning get into Japanese naval strength?"

  "He did, but let's have it again."

  "On 11 October," Moore began, "Admiral Yamamoto sent from Truk a force consisting of five battleships, five aircraft carriers, four cruisers, forty-four destroyers, and a flock of support vessels." He paused for a moment. "We don't know if Yamamoto himself is aboard; they're not quite under radio silence, but nearly."

  "My God!"

  "The Japanese do not commit their entire available force at one time," Pluto said. "Or so far haven't done that. It is reasonable to assume that they will commit this force piecemeal, as well."

  "Even a piece of that size force is more than we have," Pickering thought aloud.

  " 'My forces totally inadequate to meet situation,' " Moore said, obviously quoting.

  "Who said that?" Pickering asked.

  "Admiral Ghormley, in a radio yesterday to Nimitz," Pluto said.

  "And there was a follow-up about an hour ago," Moore said, and started to read from a sheet of paper. "Ghormley wants all of MacArthur's submarines; all the cruisers and destroyers now in the Aleutians Islands/Alaska area; all the PT boats in the Pacific, except those at Midway; and he wants the assignment of destroyers in the Atlantic 'reviewed.' "

  "They're not going to give him that," Pickering said. "
And there wouldn't be time to send destroyers from the Atlantic, if they wanted to. Or cruisers from Alaska, for that matter."

  Pluto shrugged, but said nothing.

  "He also wants ninety heavy bombers; eighty medium bombers; sixty dive-bombers; and two fighter groups, preferably P38s."