W E B Griffin - Corp 03 - Counterattack

by Counterattack(Lit)

  There was a discernible pause before Corporal Koffler reluc-tantly said, "Yes, Sir. I can type."

  "You sound like you're ashamed of it."

  "Sir, I don't want to be a fucking clerk-typist."

  "Corporal Koffler," Banning said sternly, suppressing a smile, "in case you haven't heard this before, the Marine Corps is not at all interested in what you would like, or not like, to do. Where did you learn to type?"

  That question obviously made Corporal Koffler just as un-comfortable as he'd been when he was asked if he could type at all.

  "Where did you learn to type, Corporal? More important, how fast a typist are you?"

  "About forty words a minute, Sir," Koffler said. "I got a book out of the library."

  "A typing book, you mean? You taught yourself how to type?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Why?"

  "I needed to know how to type to pass the FCC exam. You have to copy twenty words a minute to get your ticket, and I couldn't write that fast."

  "You're a radio operator?" Banning asked, pleased.

  "No, Sir. I'm a draftsman."

  "A draftsman?" Banning asked, confused.

  "Yes, Sir. That's why I volunteered for parachuting."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Sir, they wanted to keep me at Parris Island as a draftsman, painting signs. The only way I could get out of it was to volun-teer for parachute training."

  "In other words, Corporal Koffler," Banning said, now keep-ing a straight face only with a massive effort, "it could be fairly said that you concealed your skill as a radio operator from the personnel people..."

  "I didn't conceal it, Sir," Koffler said. "They didn't ask me, and I didn't tell them."

  "And then, since the personnel people were unaware of your very valuable skill as a radio operator, they elected to classify you as a draftsman?"

  "That's about it, Sir."

  "And then you volunteered for the Para-Marines because you didn't want to be a draftsman, and then you volunteered for the 14th Special Detachment because you didn't want to be a Para-Marine?"

  Koffler looked stricken.

  "It wasn't exactly that way, Sir."

  "Then you tell me exactly how it was."

  There was a knock at the door of the Quonset hut. "Come!" Banning said, and Lieutenant Joe Howard entered the hut.

  "Major Stecker got off all right, Sir. I've got the keys to his car for you."

  "Stick around, Lieutenant. I'll be with you in a minute," Ban-ning said. "Corporal Koffler and I are just about finished. Go on, Corporal."

  "I don't know what to say, Sir," Steve Koffler said unhappily. Banning glowered at him for a moment.

  "I will spell it out for you, Koffler. This is the end of the line for you. There's no place else you can volunteer for so you can get out of doing things you don't like to do. From here on in, you are going to do what the Marine Corps wants you to do. You are herewith appointed the detachment clerk of the 14th Special Detachment, U.S. Marine Corps. And if there are any signs to be painted around here, you will paint them. Am I get-ting through to you?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Any questions?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Then report to Sergeant Richardson, tell him I have ap-pointed you detachment clerk, and tell him I said he should see about getting you a typewriter. Do you understand all that?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "I don't want to hear that you are even thinking of volunteer-ing for anything else, Koffler!"

  "No, Sir."

  "That will be all, Corporal," Banning said solemnly.

  "Aye, aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Steve Koffler said, did an about-face, and marched to the door of the hut. When the door had closed, Banning pushed himself back on the legs of his fold-ing chair and laughed.

  "Oh, God," he said, finally.

  "What was that all about, Sir?" Howard asked, smiling.

  "I'd forgotten what fun it is sometimes to be a unit com-mander," Banning said. "That's a good kid; but, my God, how wet behind the ears! Anyway, I need a clerk, and he can type. He can also paint signs. The square peg in the square hole."

  "He really isn't what you think of when somebody says, `Para-Marine Corporal,' is he?"

  "Until I started talking to him and somebody said, `Corporal,' I usually thought of one I had in the 4th. I used to send him snooping around the Japanese for weeks at a time and never thought a thing about it. I'm not sure that kid could be trusted to go downtown in `Diego and get back by himself."

  "He might surprise you, Sir. He is wearing parachutist's wings. He had the balls to jump out of an airplane. I'm not sure I would."

  Banning's smile vanished as he looked at Howard.

  "Talking about balls, Lieutenant. The 14th Special Detach-ment is accepting company-grade volunteers."

  "Are you asking me to volunteer, Sir?"

  "No. I'm just telling you I need a couple of lieutenants. Whether you would care to volunteer is up to you."

  "Sir, there's something about me I don't think you know," Joe Howard said.

  "Major Stecker told me all about that. We're old friends, and we both think you're wrong about what happened at Pearl Har-bor."

  "Sir, with respect, you weren't there."

  "For Christ's sake, Howard, anybody with the brains to pour piss out of his boots gets scared when shells start falling. Or sick to his stomach when he sees somebody blown up, torn up, what-ever. What the hell made you think you would be different?"

  "Sir-"

  "You have two options, Lieutenant. Of your own free will, you volunteer for this outfit, or a week from now you'll report to New River, North Carolina, where you'll be given a company in the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines."

  Howard's face worked for a moment. He did not need Ban-ning to remind him of his options. He had been thinking of them carefully. And since getting Barbara's letter this morning, he had been thinking of little else.

  "Actually, Sir, there's a third option. Colonel Carlson said he would like to have me in the 2nd Raider Battalion."

  "That's right, you've been working with them, haven't you? You tell Colonel Carlson about this low opinion you have of yourself?"

  "Yes, Sir. I mean, I told him about what happened to me at Pearl."

  "And he still wants you?"

  "Yes, Sir. He said... just about the same thing that you and Major Stecker said, Sir."

  "Well, make up your mind, Howard. If you don't want in here, I've got to find somebody else."

  "Sir, I'd like to go with you, if that would be all right. But I've already told Colonel Carlson I'd volunteer for the Raiders."

  "Don't worry about that. I'll handle Colonel Carlson. You're in. Your first job is to teach our new detachment clerk to fill out the appropriate forms to send a TWX to Washington. As soon as he knows how, send one. Here's the address. The mes-sage is to transfer Staff Sergeant Hazleton out and you in."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  "You may first have to get Corporal Koffler a typewriter," Banning said.

  "Yes, Sir. I thought about that. I know where I can get one. Actually, two, an office Underwood and a Royal portable. And some other stuff we're going to need."

  "Aren't they going to miss you where you're working?"

  "No, Sir. Major Stecker arranged with 2nd Training Force for me to work for you for a week. By the time the week is over, I suppose I'll have orders transferring me here."

  "Did Major Stecker tell you what they're going to have us doing?"

  "No, Sir. I don't think he knows."

  "I'd like to tell you, but I don't think I'd better until we get you officially transferred."

  "I understand, Sir."

  "We won't be able to tell the men what we're going to do, or even where we're going, until we get there. That may be a problem."

  There was no question in Howard's mind where they were going. They were going to the Pacific. Anywhere in the Pacific would be closer to Barbara than New River, N.C.

  "I understand, Si
r."

  "OK, Howard. Go get our new detachment clerk a type-writer. As a wise old Marine once told me, the Marine Corps floats on a sea of paper."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  (Six)

  TOP SECRET

  Eyes Only-The Secretary of the Navy

  DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

  ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYP-TION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAVY

  Melbourne, Australia

  Tuesday, 21 April 1942

  Dear Frank:

  I suspect that you have been expecting more frequent reports than you have been getting. This is my second, and it was ex-actly a month ago that I sent the first. So, feeling much like a boy at boarding school explaining why his essay has not been turned in when expected, let me offer the following in extenuation:

  Your radio of 1 April, in addition to re-lieving me of my enormous concern that I was not providing what you hoped to get, also told me that it is going to take 7-9 days for these reports to reach you, if they have to travel from here to Hawaii by sea for encryption and radio transmis-sion from there. I see no solution to shortening this time frame, other than hoping that some sort of scheduled air courier service between here and Pearl Harbor will be established. Encryption here, for radio transmission via either Navy or MacA.'s facilities, would mean using their codes and cryptographers, and the problems with that are self-evident.

  The only way I see to do it is the way I am preparing this report, all at once, to be turned over to an officer bound for Pearl. This one is being given to Lt. Col. H. B. Newcombe, U.S. Army Air Corps, who has been here visiting General Brett, and is returning to the United States. He is flying as far as Pearl on a converted B-17A Brett has placed into service as a long-range transport.

  Let me go off tangentially on that: The service range of the newer B-17s is 925 miles. That is to say, they can strike a target 925 miles from their base and re-turn to their takeoff field. That limita-tion is going to have a serious effect on their employment here, where there are few targets within a 925-mile range of our bases.

  The B-17A on which this will travel has had auxiliary fuel tanks installed; these significantly add to its range, but eliminate its bomb-carrying capacity. This one, which everyone calls the "Swoose," never even had a tail turret; and it was built up from parts salvaged off the B-17s lost in the early assaults on the Philippines. The Air Corps phrase for this is "cannibalization, " and it ap-plies to much that we are doing here.

  In addition to the difficulty of trans-mission, the week-to-nine-day transmis-sion time seems to me to render useless any "early warning" value my reports might have. By the time my reports reach Washington, you will have already learned through other channels most of what I have to say.

  So what these letters are going to be, essentially, are after-action reports, narrating what has happened here from my perspective, together with what few thoughts I feel comfortable offering about the future.

  MacA. and his wife and son are still oc-cupying the suite immediately below this one in the Menzies Hotel. That I am up-stairs doesn't seem to bother the Genera-lissimo, in fact quite the contrary seems true; but it does greatly annoy what has become known as "The Bataan Gang," that is, those people who were with him in the Philippines.

  I have resisted pointed suggestions from Sutherland, Huff, and several oth-ers that I vacate these premises in order to make them available to the more de-serving (and, of course, senior) members of the MacA. entourage. I have been dif-ficult about this, for two major reasons. First, being where I am, close to MacA., permits me to do what I believe you want me to do. Second, giving in to the sugges-tion (in the case of Huff, an order: "I have arranged other quarters for you, Captain Pickering.") that I move out would grant the point that I am subject to their orders. I don't think that the Spe-cial Representative of the Secretary of the Navy should make himself subordinate even to MacA. himself, and certainly not to members of his staff.

  I do actually believe the above, but I must in candor tell you that I took great pleasure in telling them, especially Huff, to go to hell. I know I probably should not have taken pleasure in that, but I don't like them. And they don't like me. I'm convinced that their hostility mostly arises from MacA.`s growing tend-ency to have me around, often alone with him. And I'm sure it is constantly exac-erbated by that. Huff, in particular, sees himself as Saint Peter, guarding ac-cess to the throne of God. He simply can-not understand MacA. waiving the rules of protocol for anyone, and especially for a civilian/sailor.

  I have spent a good deal of time wonder-ing why MacA. does want me around, and have come up with some possible reasons, listed below, not in order of importance.

  It began shortly after he was given of-fice space for his headquarters. The Aus-tralians turned over to him a bank building at 401 Collins Street. He now occupies what was the Managing Direc-tor`s office. The old board room is now the map room.

  There was-is-a critical shortage of maps. I was able to help somewhat here when I learned about it.

  Going off tangentially again: I learned about the map shortage at dinner, shortly after we arrived in Melbourne. My tele-phone rang, and in the Best British Manner, one of the Australian sergeants they gave him as orderlies announced to me, "General MacArthur's compliments, Sir. The General and Mrs. MacArthur would be pleased to have you join them for dinner in half an hour. "

  I went downstairs to the restaurant half an hour later and found the Bataan Gang and an assortment of Australians having their dinner. But not MacA. I asked one of the entourage where MacA. was, and was informed that the General dines alone. When I went to the MacA. apartment, I was perfectly prepared to find myself the butt of a practical joke. But I was expected. We dined en famille; in addition to MacA. and his wife, there were little Arthur and his Chinese nurse/governess.

  Dinner was small talk-about people Mrs. MacA. knew in Manila, Honolulu, and San Francisco. The war wasn't mentioned until after dinner. Brandy and a cigar were produced for me, and Mrs. MacA. left us alone. I had the feeling (I realize how absurd this sounds; and please believe me, I gave it a lot of thought before put-ting it down on paper) that MacA. regards me as a fellow nobleman, the visiting Duke of Pickering, so to speak-with him-self, of course, as the Emperor. The rules that apply to common folk- everybody around here but us-natu-rally do not apply to the nobility. The common folk don't get to eat, for exam-ple, with the Emperor, en famille.

  Some of this, I am quite sure, is because I think I am one of the few really well-off individuals he has been close to. I think Mrs. MacA. told him that Pacific & Far East is privately held, and that Patricia is Andrew Foster's only child, and this has made an extraordinary impression on him. In support of that thesis, I offer this: On 6 April, the Pacific Duchess was part of the convoy that brought the 41st Infantry Division into Adelaide. MacA. informed me of this by saying, "Your ship, the PD, has arrived in Adelaide. "I responded that she was no longer mine, that she now belonged to the Navy. He asked me how much I had been paid for it, and what the taxes were on a transaction like that. I told him. The numbers obvi-ously fascinated him.

  On the other hand, most of the special treatment I am getting, I'm sure, is be-cause I am your special representative. MacA.`s clever. More than clever, bril-liant. He knows how useful a direct line to your ear will be.

  In any event, over my cigar and his ciga-rette, he discussed his intention to im-mediately return to the Philippines, and how he planned to do so. In the course of the conversation, he explained how very much aware he is of the vast distances in-volved, and of the problems that is going to pose. In that connection, he bitterly complained about the lack of maps. He is convinced that the Navy has better maps than he has, and that for petty reasons they are refusing to make them available to him.

  I volunteered to look into that. The next day I spoke with Admiral Leary, and then with his intelligence and planning people. And it turned out that MacA. was wrong about the reason he didn't have de-cent maps. The Navy was not being petty. The Navy
doesn't have decent maps either. I was astonished to see the poor quality of the charts they had, and equally as-tonished to see how few charts are avail-able, period.

  I don't pretend to have solved the prob-lem, only to have made a dent in it: but I did manage to gather together charts from the various ship chandlers around (a thought that apparently did not occur to the Navy). The charts I picked up, any-how, were superior to any the Navy had. I then went to the P&FE agent here and bor-rowed, on a semipermanent basis, several of his people. They are going to all the masters of ships plying the Southwest Pa-cific trade, down to the smallest coast-er, as they make port; and they'll get them to update charts, especially for the small islands, based on the mariners own observations.