"Christ, that was quick," Dawkins said.
"Big Steve's as good as they come."
"Yeah, but he's got a commanding officer who takes dumb chances test-flying them when he should know better."
"Yes, Sir," Galloway said.
"OK. Tomorrow you don't fly. Tonight, go get drunk. Consider that an order."
"Aye, aye, Sir. Actually, Sir, that thought had gone through my mind."
"I'm serious about this, goddamn you. I want you commanding VMF-229, not some kid six months out of Pensacola."
"Yes, Sir."
"But that's not the reason I am here, instead of inside a cold martini," Dawkins said. "I have interviewed your two new officers, Captain. The one outside seems to be a nice enough kid. Maybe too nice. Tell me about the other one."
Galloway hesitated.
"Out of school, Charley. Consider me your friendly parish priest. Bare your soul."
"The miserable sonofabitch knows how to fly," Galloway said.
"Really?" Dawkins asked doubtfully.
"He's really good," Charley said. "I need pilots like that. And I can handle the sonofabitch part."
"Did you know his uncle is an admiral? Admiral Wagam at CINCPAC?"
"No, but it doesn't surprise me. He's trade-school," Charley said, and then heard what he had said. "Sorry, Sir."
"Some of us trade-school graduates are sterling fellows," Dawkins said. "But-and I wouldn't want this to get around-a very small percentage are genuine pricks. I think your man Schneider is one of them."
"I can handle him, Sir," Charley said.
"Well, that's what I came to find out. If he starts giving you trouble, let me know."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"He's over at Pearl with his uncle the admiral," Dawkins said. "I'm not sure if that's because they have a close-knit family or because he wanted me to know that his uncle is an admiral. But I told him he could go, and to be back at 0500. Will that cause any problems for you?"
"No, Sir."
Dawkins looked into Galloway's eyes for a moment, and then snorted. He swung his feet off the desk.
"You know what will cause a real problem for you, Captain?"
"Sir?"
"If I don't see you at the club tonight, really spiffy in your whites, having trouble with slurred speech and the other effects of alcohol."
"Well, Sir, that will cause a problem," Charley said. "While I'm sure my speech will probably get a little slurred as the night progresses, I hadn't planned to go to the club. I would really much rather not go to the club."
"I don't want to hear about it, Captain. Neither do I want to hear that, clear-eyed and bushy-tailed, you went anywhere near an airplane tomorrow."
"Aye, Aye, Sir."
"You've done a good job here, Charley," Dawkins said. "Christ, I didn't think you'd have eighteen operational aircraft for another two weeks."
"That's Big Steve, Sir, not me."
"Bullshit. But it raises a question. How much flying are you giving your people?"
"Sir?"
"How many hours a day are they flying?"
"No more than four, Sir."
"Do as I say, not as I do, right? Cut down your flying hours, Charley. I mean that."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"I've enjoyed our little chat, Captain," Dawkins said. "We must have another, real soon."
He walked to the door, opened it, and walked through. Lieutenant Ward and PFC Hastings came to attention. He walked past them, then stopped and turned, and went back to Hastings.
"Captain Galloway's been telling me of your good work, Son," he said. "Keep it up!"
"Yes, Sir," Hastings said. He glowed with pride.
What the fuck was that all about? Charley wondered. I didn't say a word to him about Hastings. Was that just apply-anywhere bullshit? Or was it Lesson Three in how to be a good commander?
He saw Jim Ward looking into the office.
What the hell do I do with him tonight?
He waved him into the office.
"Dave went to Pearl Harbor," Jim Ward said. "He got permission from the colonel."
"So I hear. Did you get settled in the BOQ?"
Ward nodded. Somewhat uneasily, he said, "Did you know his uncle is an admiral?"
"No. Not until just now."
"This is going to sound ridiculous," Jim Ward said. "But I promised Aunt Caroline I would ask. Six hours after I got here. Are you wearing your necklace?"
Charley pulled the zipper of his flying suit down and pointed to the medallion.
"Oh," Ward said, smiling. "I thought it might be something like that. Are you Episcopal?"
"No. But do you think God really gives a damn?"
Jim Ward looked startled for a moment, then replied; "Hell, no."
Galloway made up his mind what he was going to do with Jim Ward.
"You can meet the rest of the guys tomorrow," he said "Tonight we're going to go have dinner with some friends of mine."
"Won't I be in the way?"
"No. I don't think so," Charley said. "Come on, let's get out of here."
PFC Hastings rose once again from behind his typewriter as they walked into the outer office.
"Two things, Hastings," Charley said.
"Yes, Sir?"
"I don't want to hear that you've been here after 1730."
"Sir, I've got a lot to do."
"It'll wait."
"Aye, aye, Sir. And the second thing?"
"Cut a promotion order for the colonel's signature," Galloway said. "Make yourself a corporal."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
(Five)
NEAR WAIALUA, OAHU
TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1800 HOURS 7 JULY 1942
Greeting her dinner guests, Lieutenant Commander Florence Kocharski, Nurse Corps, USN, was attired in sandals and a shapeless, loose fitting cotton dress printed with brightly colored flowers, called a Muumuu. Over her ear she had a gardenia stuck through her silver hair.
"Hi, Charley," she said and let him kiss her cheek.
He handed her a brown paper sack which obviously contained bottles.
"Flo, this is Jim Ward," Charley Galloway said. "He's a friend of mine. I didn't think you would mind if I brought him along."
"No, of course not," Flo said, not very convincingly. "There's enough food to feed an army. How are you, Lieutenant?"
"I said 'friend,' Flo," Charley said. "His aunt is my girl. He introduced us."
Technical Sergeant Stefan Oblensky, USMC, attired in sandals, short pants, and a gaily flowered loose fitting cotton shirt, appeared behind her.
"Jesus, Charley!" he said, his tone torn between hurt and anger.
"I'm going to say this again," Galloway said. "Jim is a friend. More than a friend. Damned near family. My girl is his aunt."
"Yeah, sure," Big Steve said, far from mollified.
"And I told him what's going on here," Charley said. "He knows how to keep his mouth shut."
"What the hell," Flo said. "What's done is done. Come on and we'll open the jug." She put her arm around Jim Ward. "I know more about your aunt than I really want to know," she said. "He doesn't talk about her much, but once he gets started, you can't shut him up."
Jim smiled at her shyly.
"He told me about you, too," he said.
"He did? What?"
"About you being on the West Virginia on Pearl Harbor Day and getting the Silver Star."
"Like I say, sometimes you can't shut him up," Flo said.
With her arm still around his shoulders-she was just as tall as he was, and outweighed him by twenty pounds-Flo marched Jim Ward across the small living room of the frame cottage and into the kitchen.
She took the two bottles of scotch from the bag, opened one, and set out glasses. Then she reached under the sink and opened an insulated gray steel container, labeled MEDICAL CORPS USN, and took ice from it.
"No refrigerator," she said, as she dropped ice cubes in the glasses, "and the head is that
small wooden building out there. But what the hell, what do they say, 'Be It Ever So Humble'?"
"It's very nice," Jim said.
"It belongs to a guy, retired Marine, who lets us use it," she said.
"Charley told me you were up here on Pearl Harbor Day," Jim said.
"He told you that, too, did he? He say who he was with?"
Jim shook his head "no."
Flo laughed. "Then I won't."
"Then you won't what?" Charley said, coming into the kitchen.
"I won't tell him who you was with on Sunday, December seven."
Galloway chuckled. "I was hoping you would," he said. "I was hoping you would have a motherly word to him about the dangers of getting involved with certain members of the Navy Nurse Corps."
"Don't play Mr. Innocent with me, Charley. The way I remember that, nobody had to drag you up here."
"This was all, Jim, pre-Caroline, when I was a footloose and carefree flying sergeant, like skinhead here."
"I told you, Charley," Flo said, "I don't like you to call Stefan that."
"Well, 'Curly' sure doesn't fit," Galloway said, unabashed.
"Who are you talking about?" Jim asked.
"One of Flo's angels of mercy," Charley said.
"Angel, my ass," Flo said. "I'm always wondering if she won't say something to somebody about Stefan and me, out of pure bitchiness."
"Does she know about you?" Charley asked.
"Not that we're married," Flo said. "But I have to let them know where I am. I'm assistant chief nurse. She knows damned well that I'm not coming up here alone to count the pineapples; she knows I'm still 'dating' Stefan. She's always making some sweet little crack, you know, 'give my regards to Sergeant Oblensky,' like that."
"I don't think she'll say anything," Charley said. "You know too much about her."
"I know more about her than you think I do," Flo said, "but now that she's running around with that lieutenant of yours, no telling what she's liable to do."
By then, she had finished making the drinks. She handed them out.
"Well, welcome to our happy home," she said.
"Thank you," Jim said.
"I'm getting really sick of the whole goddamned thing," Big Steve said, "hiding out like we're doing something wrong. I'm pretty close to telling them. 'We're married. Fuck you, what are you going to do about it?' "
"Watch your mouth, Honeybun!" Flo snapped.
"They wouldn't court-martial us," Big Steve went on. "That's bullshit."
"Maybe not. You can never tell," Charley said. "But they'd sure as hell transfer one of you. Probably you. You'd spend the war changing Yellow Peril engines at Quantico or Pensacola. You could kiss these weekends up here goodbye."
"What the hell's the difference? Here or Pee-Cola? The fuckers won't let me fly anymore anyway."
"You're too goddamned old to fly, you old fart," Charley said, laughing. "The Corps's not flying Spads any more."
"I don't know what the hell is with you two," Flo said, angrily. "Watch your mouths, there's a lady present!"
"Sorry," Big Steve said, contritely.
"Just watch it!" she said. Then, "Charley's right, Honey-bun. Be grateful for what we have. Don't do something dumb."
"Just because he's an officer now don't make him smart," Big Steve said.
"The hell it doesn't!" Charley protested, jokingly. "We officers have to know how to read and write and how to tie our own shoes. Don't we, Flo?"
"You tell him, Charley," Flo said, laughing.
"If you're so fu-smart, Captain, Sir," Big Steve said, "tell me about Guadacanal."
"About what?"
"Guadacanal," Big Steve said, triumphantly.
"Never heard of it," Charley confessed.
"Well, for your general information, Captain, Sir, it's an island. The Japs are building a fighter base on it, and the First Marine Division is going to take it away from them."
This scuttlebutt has the ring of truth to it, Charley decided.
"Where is this island?" Charley asked.
Big Steve shrugged his massive shoulders.
"It's in the Solomon Islands, Charley," Flo said, softly. "Down by Australia. And it's Guadalcanal, with an 'L.' I heard the same thing. They've been levying us for doctors and corpsmen. I heard they're going to invade this place right after the first of the month."
"You heard that too, huh, Honey?" Big Steve asked.
Charley looked at Jim Ward.
"Jim, do I have to tell you not to repeat this scuttlebutt?"
"No, Sir. Of course not."
"I don't even know where the Solomon Islands are," Charley said, as much to himself as to the others.
"Wait a minute," Big Steve said. "I brung some maps. I was going to ask Flo."
He left the kitchen. They heard him a moment later walking across the living room, and then they heard the screen door screeching.
"Straight poop, would you say, Flo?" Charley asked softly.
She nodded. "I don't know where he heard it, but I'd bet on my information."
The screen door slammed again, and then Big Steve called for them to come into the living room. They went in, to find him fastening the corners of a large map to the floor with ashtrays and a bottle.
They all got on their knees and examined the map.
"There it is," Flo said, pointing. "And those itsy-bitsy little islands near it. Tulagi and Gavutu. I heard that, too."
"God," Charley said thoughtfully. "It's a long way from nowhere, isn't it?"
There was no reply, except a grunt from Big Steve. And then Charley asked for a sheet of paper and a pencil. When Flo produced both, he laid the paper on the map and copied the scale from it.
Then he began moving the paper around on the map.
"What the hell are you doing?" Big Steve asked, taking the words from Jim's mouth.
"Ssssh, Honeybun," Flo said.
Finally, Charley sat back on his heels.
"Well, if this is the place the First Marine Division is going, they're going without VMF-229," he said.
"How can you tell that?" Jim asked, curiously, not as a challenge.
"Because it's out of fighter range from any land airbase we control," Charley said. "Which means they're going to have to use carrier-based aviation. And VMF-229 is not carrier qualified. I think only Dunn and me ever were."
Big Steve grunted again.
"And, if your date is anywhere near close, Flo, there's no way we could qualify in time."
"Why not?" Big Steve asked. "All you'd need is, what? Two, three days to shoot some landings."
"We'd need a carrier to shoot them on," Charley said. "There's no carrier here right now. And even if there was, there's no way we could be qualified, and put aboard, and still steam that far in time to make the invasion."
"Huh!" Big Steve said, disappointed.
"But I tell you what could happen," Charley said thoughtfully. "They are going to need fighters on that island when they take it."
"Why, if we take it?" Jim asked.
"Because all of those islands are within fighter range of each other. They will be within range of land-based Japanese aircraft. And they're not about to leave aircraft carriers in the area; they'd be too vulnerable to the Japs."
"OK," Big Steve said. "So what? What are you driving at?"
"They could load us on one of those escort carriers, and then catapult us off that onto this island when they have captured the airfield."
"I thought you said nobody but you and Dunn was carrier qualified," Flo asked.
"Nobody else is, but that wouldn't matter. If they were to catapult us off one of the escort carriers, we wouldn't go back to it. The hard part of carrier operation is landing-the approach and the arrested landing. Getting catapulted off a carrier is something else. It's scary, especially the first time. You go from zero to ninety knots in a second. But then you're flying."
Big Steve snorted.
The Corps IV - Battleground Page 33