"In other words," Hon said. "Essentially all of MacArthur's air power, plus a large chunk of what the Navy hasn't already sent to the area."
Pickering opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind, stopping himself from saying, He sounds pretty goddamn desperate.
Why did I stop myself? Am I starting to believe that I'm really a general? And generals do not say anything derogatory about other generals or admirals in the presence of people who are not generals or admirals. Like two young lieutenants, for example.
"He sounds pretty goddamn desperate," Pickering said. "Is he justified?"
"I don't think so, Sir," Pluto said. "My thought when I read that-in particular, the phrase 'totally inadequate,' and his obviously unrealistic requests for air support (I don't think there are ninety operational B17s over here, for example)-is that it's going to raise some unpleasant questions in the minds of Admiral Nimitz and his staff."
"Yeah," Pickering said.
"That's all I have, Sir, unless you've got some questions. Would you like to take a look at the map?"
"No. I've sailed those waters," Pickering said. "And I was on the 'Canal. Burn it."
"Yes, Sir."
The telephone rang. Moore limped quickly across the room to pick it up.
Instead of "hello," he recited the number. Then he smiled. "One moment, please," he said, and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Colonel Huff for General Pickering," he said. "Is the General available?"
Colonel Sidney Huff was aide-de-camp to the Supreme Commander, South West Pacific Ocean Area.
Pickering pushed himself out of the chair, went to Moore, and took the telephone from him.
"Hello, Sid," he said. "How are you?"
"The Supreme Commander's compliments, General Pickering," Huff said very formally.
"My compliments to the General," Pickering said, smiling at Moore.
"General MacArthur hopes that General Pickering will be able to join him and Mrs. MacArthur at luncheon."
"What time, Sid?"
"If it would be convenient for the General, the Supreme Commander customarily takes his luncheon at one, in his quarters."
"I'll be there, Sid. Thanks."
"Thank you, General."
The phone went dead.
Pickering hung up and looked at Hon.
"Sometimes I have the feeling that Colonel Huff doesn't approve of me," he said. "He didn't welcome me back to Australia."
"I wonder how he knew you were back, and here?" Moore wondered aloud.
"I think he likes you all right," Hon said. "It's that star you're wearing that's a burr under his brass hat."
"Why, Lieutenant Hon. How cynical of you!"
"That's what I'm being paid for, to be cynical," Hon said.
[TWO]
Lennon's Hotel
Brisbane, Australia
1255 Hours 17 October 1942
When Pickering arrived, with Sergeant George Hart at the wheel of the Studebaker President, MacArthur's Cadillac limousine was parked in front of the hotel.
"We're putting a show on, George," Pickering said. "Stop in front and then rush around and open the door for me."
"I already got the word from Lieutenant Hon, General," Hart said, smiling at Pickering's reflection in the rearview mirror.
Colonel Sidney Huff was waiting on the veranda of the sprawling Victorian building. He watched as Hart opened the door and Pickering stepped out; then he waited for Pickering to start up the walk before moving to join him.
He saluted. Pickering returned it and put out his hand.
"Good to see you, Sid," Pickering said.
"It's good to see you again, too, Sir," Huff said. "If you'll come with me, please, General?"
He led Pickering across the lobby to a waiting elevator. When MacArthur had his headquarters in the Menzies Hotel in Melbourne, Pickering remembered, one of the elevators was reserved for his personal use; it had a sign. This one had no sign, and was presumably available to commoners.
When the elevator door opened on the third floor, a nattily dressed MP staff sergeant rose quickly and came to attention. The chair he was sitting in didn't seem substantial enough to support his bulk.
Huff led him down the corridor to the door to MacArthur's suite and pushed it open. Pickering walked through.
"Fleming, my dear fellow," said the Supreme Commander, South West Pacific Ocean Area, holding his arms wide.
He was in khakis, without a tie. He had a thin, black cigar in his hand. The corncob pipe generally disappeared in the absence of photo-graphers.
"General, it's good to see you, Sir," Pickering said, and handed him a package. "They're not Filipino. Cuban. But I thought you could make do with them."
"This is absolutely unnecessary, but deeply appreciated," MacAr-thur said, sounding genuinely pleased. "What was it the fellow said, 'a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke'?"
"I believe he said that out of the hearing of his wife," Pickering said.
"Speaking of which, Mrs. MacArthur, Jean, sends her regrets. She will be unable to join us. But she said she looks forward to seeing you at dinner. You did tell him about dinner, Sid?"
"No, Sir, I didn't have the chance."
"A small dinner, enfamille, so to speak. And then some bridge. Does that fit in with your schedule?"
He did not wait for a reply. He handed Colonel Huff the cigars. "Unpack these carefully, Sid, they're worth their weight in gold. And put them in a refrigerator. And then get yourself some lunch."
"Yes, Sir."
Huff left the room.
"What is your schedule, Fleming?" MacArthur asked.
"I gratefully accept Mrs. MacArthur's kind invitation to dinner, General."
" 'Jean,' please. She considers you, as I do, a friend. But that's not the schedule I was talking about."
"You mean, what am I doing here?"
"To put a point on it, yes," MacArthur said. "But let me offer you something to drink. What will you have?"
"I always feel depraved when I drink alone at lunch," Pickering said.
"Then we will be depraved together," MacArthur said. "Scotch whiskey, I seem to recall?"
"Yes, thank you."
Almost instantly, a Filipino in a white jacket rolled in a table with whiskey, ice, water, and glasses.
As the steward, whose actions were obviously choreographed, made the drinks, MacArthur said, "Churchill, I am reliably told, begins his day with a healthy hooker of cognac. I like a little nip before lunch. But, unless it's something like this-a close friend, no strangers-I don't like to set a bad example."
"I'm flattered to be considered a close friend, General," Pickering
said.
"It should come as no surprise," MacArthur said, and took a squat glass from the steward and handed it to Pickering. "There we are," he said, and took a second glass and raised it. "Welcome back, Fleming. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you."
"Thank you, Sir," Pickering said.
"And to look at you, you're in splendid health. Is that the case?"
"I'm in good health, Sir."
"I had a report to the contrary from Colonel DePress..."
From who? Who the hell is Colonel DePress?
"... who told me that when he saw you in Walter Reed, you were debilitated by malaria, and in considerable pain from your wound. I was disturbed, and so was Jean."
Pickering remembered Colonel DePress now. He was one of MacArthur's officer couriers, a light colonel, wearing the insignia of the 26th Cavalry, Philippine Scouts. He'd delivered a letter from MacArthur congratulating him on his promotion to brigadier general.
"I like your Colonel DePress," Pickering said. "I hate to accuse him of exaggerating."
"I don't think he was. But no pain now? And the malaria is under control?"
"No pain, Sir, and the malaria is under control."
"Good, good," MacArthur said cheerfully, and then, instantly, "You were telling me what you're up to here, Flemin
g."
Second Principle of Interrogation, Pickering thought: Put the person being questioned at ease, and then hit him with a zinger.
"I'm here on a peacemaking expedition, General," Pickering said.
"Sent by whom?"
"The President, Sir."
"You may assure the President, General," MacArthur laughed, "that the tales of friction between myself and Admiral Nimitz, like the tales of the demise of Mark Twain, are greatly exaggerated. I hold the Admiral in the highest possible esteem, and flatter myself to think that he considers me, for a lowly soldier, to be a fairly competent fellow."
"The President had in mind Mr. Donovan, Sir," Pickering said.
"Donovan? Donovan? I don't know who you mean."
"Mr. William Donovan, Sir, of the OSS."
"I know him only by reputation. He had a distinguished record in the First War. But then, so did you and I, Fleming. Whatever gave the President the idea that we are at swords' points?"
"I believe the President is concerned about what he-or at least Mr. Donovan-perceives to be a lack of cooperation on the part of SWPOA with regard to Mr. Donovan's mission to you."
"Oh," MacArthur said, and then he laughed. "Franklin Roosevelt is truly Machiavellian, isn't he? Sending you to me, to plead Donovan's case? You've had serious trouble with Mr. Donovan, have you not, Fleming?"
How the hell does he know I can't stand the sonofabitch? Or about my trouble with him?
"And were you dispatched to see Admiral Nimitz, with the same mission?"
"No, Sir. I saw Admiral Nimitz, but not about Mr. Donovan."
"How to deal with Mr. Donovan is just one item on a long list about which Admiral Nimitz and I are in total agreement," MacArthur said. "We are agreed to ignore him, in the hope that he will go away. Neither of us can see where any possible good he or his people can do us can possibly be worth the trouble he or his people are likely to cause."
"Mr. Donovan is held in high esteem by the President, General."
"Is he? And that's why he sent you, of all people, to plead his case? The word-and certainly no disrespect to the Commander-in-Chief is intended-is Machiavellian. "
MacArthur shook his head, smiling, and took a healthy sip of his drink.
"You may report to the President, General, that you brought the matter of the OSS to my attention, and I assured you that I have every intention of offering the OSS every possible support from the limited assets available to SWPOA."
"Yes, Sir."
"As a friend, Fleming, I will tell you that I have a guerrilla operation going in the Philippines. I have high hopes for it, and a high regard for the men there who daily face death. I have no intention... no intention... of having Wild Bill Donovan get his nose under that tent!"
He looked at Pickering, as if expecting an argument. When there was none, he went on.
"I understand your people carried off the Buka operation splendidly, without a hitch," he said.
"It went well, Sir. I just saw the two men we took out."
"They should be decorated. Have you thought about that?"
"No, Sir," Pickering confessed, somewhat embarrassed. "I have not."
"Recognition of valor is important, Fleming," MacArthur said. "I have found it interesting, in my career, that I have the most difficulty convincing of that truth those men who have been highly decorated themselves. You, apparently, are a case in point."
The subject of Bill Donovan's people, obviously, is now closed.
"It may well be," MacArthur went on, "that many people who have been given high awards, myself included, feel that they were not justified."
A swinging door opened.
"General," MacArthur's Filipino steward announced, "luncheon is served."
MacArthur turned to Pickering and said, smiling broadly, "Just in time. I was about to violate my rule that one drink at lunch is enough. Shall we go in?"
[THREE]
=TOP SECRET=
Eyes Only - The Secretary of the Navy
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAV
Brisbane, Australia
Saturday 17 October 1942
Dear Frank:
I arrived here without incident from Pearl Harbor. Presumably, Major Ed Banning is by now in Washington and you have had a chance to hear what he had to say, and to have had a look at the photographs and film.
Within an hour of what I thought was my unheralded arrival, I was summoned to a private-really private, only El Supremo and me-luncheon. He also had a skewed idea why I was sent here. He thought I was supposed to make peace between him and Admiral Nimitz. He assured me that he and Nimitz are great pals, which I think, after talking with Nimitz at Pearl Harbor, is almost true.
When I brought up Donovan's OSS people, a wall came down. He tells me he has no intention of letting "Donovan get his camel's nose under the tent" and volunteered that Nimitz feels the same way. (I didn't even mention Donovan to Nimitz.) I also suspect this is true. I will keep trying, of course, both because I consider myself under orders to do so, and because I think that MacA is wrong and Donovan's people would be very useful, but I don't think I will be successful.
The best information here, which I presume you will also have seen by now, is that the Japanese will launch their attack tomorrow.
Admiral Ghormley sent two radios (16 and 17 October) saying his forces are "totally inadequate" to resist a major Japanese attack, and making what seems to me unreasonable demands on available Naval and aviation resources. I detected a certain lack of confidence in him, on MacA's part. I have no opinion, and certainly would make no recommendations vis-a-vis Ghormley if I had one, but thought I should pass this on.
A problem here, which will certainly grow, is in the junior (very junior) rank of Lieutenant Hon Song Do, the Army cryptographer/analyst, who is considered by a horde of Army and Marine colonels and Navy captains, who aren't doing anything nearly so important, as... a first lieutenant. Is there anything you can do to have the Army promote him? The same is true, to a slightly lesser degree, of Lieutenant John Moore, but Moore, at least (he is on the books as my aide-de-camp) can hide behind my skirts. As far as anyone but MacA and Willoughby know, Hon is just one more code-machine lieutenant working in the aptly named dungeon in MacA's headquarters basement.
Finally, MacA firmly suggested that I decorate Lieutenant Joe Howard and Sergeant Steven Koffler, who we took off Buka. God knows, they deserve a medal for what they did... they met me at the airplane, and they look like those photographs in Life magazine of starving Russian prisoners on the Eastern Front... but I don't know how to go about this. Please advise.
More soon.
Best regards,
Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR
=TOP SECRET=
=TOP SECRET=
Eyes Only- Captain David Haughton, USN
Office of The Secretary of the Navy
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAV
For Colonel F. L. Rickabee
Office of Management Analysis
Brisbane, Australia
Saturday 17 October 1942
Dear Fritz:
At lunch with MacA yesterday, he justified his snubbing of Donovan's people here by saying that he has a guerrilla operation up and running in the Philippines.
At cocktails-before-dinner earlier tonight, I tried to pump General Willoughby about this, and got a very cold shoulder; he made it plain that whatever guerrilla activity going on there is insignificant. After dinner, I got with Lt Col Philip DePress-he is the officer courier you brought to Walter Reed Hospital to see me when he had a letter from MacA for me. He's a hell of a soldier who somehow got out of the Philippines before they fell.
After feeding him a lot of liquor, I got out of him this version: An Army reserve captain named Wendell Fertig refused to surrender and went into the hills of Mindanao where he gathe
red around him a group of others, including a number of Marines from the 4th Marines, who escaped from Luzon and Corregidor, and started to set up a guerrilla operation.
He has promoted himself to Brigadier General, and appointed himself "Commanding General, US Forces in the Philippines." I understand (and so does Phil DePress) why he did this. The Filipinos would pay absolutely no attention to a lowly captain. This has, of course, enraged the rank-conscious Palace Guard here at the Palace. But from what DePress tells me, Fertig has a lot of potential.
THE CORPS VI - CLOSE COMBAT Page 16