"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"Finally, Mr. McCoy, I would like to make sure you understand that participation in the Platoon Leader's Course is purely voluntary. You may resign at any time, and keep your stripes."
"I'm not about to quit, Gunny," McCoy said.
"If you bust out of here," the gunny said, "for misbehavior, or malingering, something like that, they ship your ass to some rifle company. It's something to think about, McCoy."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"Corporal Pleasant," the gunny said. "I think the deck in the barrack could stand a sanding. Do you think it might help Mr. McCoy to remember to shave and to keep his piece clean if he spent the weekend doing that?"
Pleasant nodded his agreement. He looked a little embarrassed, McCoy thought, but he was going to go along with the gunny. He had no choice.
(Four)
Headquarters, 4th Marines
Shanghai, China
19 October 1941
Only a few people were made privy to all the details, actual and projected, of the removal from China of United States Military and Naval Forces. Among these was Captain Edward Banning, S-2 of the 4th Marines.
The Yangtze River Patrol, its gunboats and personnel, was to sail as soon as possible for the U.S. Naval Base at Cavite, on the tip of a narrow, four-mile-long peninsula sticking into Manila Bay. It was intended that the Yangtze River Patrol reinforce U.S. Naval Forces, Philippines. How much value the old, narrow-draft, lightly armed riverboats would be was open to question. There was even concern that should there be severe weather en route to Manila Bay the gunboats would founder and sink. They were designed to navigate a river, not the high seas in a typhoon.
Likewise, the small, old pigboats of SUBFORCHINA were as soon as possible to sail for Cavite, though they were subject to similar fears as to their seaworthiness, for they were old and small and designed primarily for coastal, rather than deep-sea operations. But unlike the riverboats, if it came to it, the pigboats could submerge for maybe five, six hours at a time, and ride out a storm.
The two battalions making up the 4th Marines were something else. They were Marines, which was to say they were trained and equipped to fight anywhere. But what they would be in fact, if war broke out, was infantry. The official role of the Marines was to make amphibious assaults on hostile shores. Two battalions of Marines without landing craft and without larger forces to reinforce them once a landing was made weren't going to make much of an amphibious assault force.
The advance party of the 4th Marines would sail from Shanghai aboard the U.S.S. Henderson, a Navy transport, on 28 October. The Henderson would then continue on to the United States, to on-load Army reinforcements for the Philippines. The U.S.S. Shaumont, the other U.S. Navy transport that normally served China, would similarly be involved in moving U.S. Army troops from the West Coast of the United States to reinforce the Philippines. The Navy had also chartered space aboard two civilian passenger liners. On 28 November, the President Madison would embark the First Battalion and the President Harrison the Second Battalion. If nothing went wrong, the 4th Marines would arrive in Manila during the first week of December. Then, either the Henderson or the Shaumont would be free to sail to Tientsin and pick up the Peking and Tientsin Marine detachments.
U.S. Navy Forces, Philippines, was sending to Shanghai a Consolidated Catalina, a long-range amphibious reconnaissance aircraft, to pick up senior officers of the Yangtze River Patrol and SUBFORCHINA and carry them to Cavite to prepare for the arrival of their vessels.
At the last moment, the colonel learned of this, and prevailed upon his Naval counterpart to make space available for one of his officers.
The colonel did not anticipate any logistical problems when the regiment arrived in the Philippines. The Cavite Navy Base was enormous-capable of supporting the Far East Fleet. It would be able to house and feed two battalions of Marines without difficulty.
But the colonel did want to know how Douglas MacArthur, former Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army and most recently Marshal of the Philippine Army, intended to employ the 4th Marines. The obvious officer to find that out was his S-2, and Captain Edward Banning was given twenty-two hours' notice to pack his things, make arrangements for the personal property he would necessarily have to leave behind, and be aboard the Catalina when it took off for Manila.
The first thing Captain Ed Banning did when he heard that was get in his Pontiac and drive to the headquarters of the Shanghai Municipal Police Department. He found Sergeant Chatworth there and told him he needed a big favor.
"Like what?" Chatworth asked, suspicious.
"I want to marry a stateless person," Banning said. "To do that, I need a certificate from the Municipal Police stating there is no record of criminal activity."
Chatworth's bushy eyebrows rose.
"Or moral turpitude," Chatworth added.
Banning nodded.
"That isn't all you'll need," he said. "You better figure on two weeks, at least, pulling in all the favors anybody owes you."
Banning looked at his watch.
"I have nineteen hours and thirty minutes," he said.
"What's her name?" Chatworth asked.
When he got back to his apartment, Milla told him she didn't want to marry him: She knew what it would do to his career, and she understood how things were when they'd started, and she didn't want him to marry her out of pity. "I'll be all right," she said finally, obviously not meaning it.
Two hours later, she held his hand tightly during the brief ceremony at the Anglican cathedral, and when she kissed him afterward, her cheeks were wet with tears.
"Sir, I ask permission to discuss a personal matter," Banning, standing at attention, said to the colonel.
"Just as long as you get on that plane, Ed, you have my permission to discuss anything you want with me."
"Sir, I was married this afternoon," Banning said.
"I don't think I want to hear this, Ed," the colonel said.
"Sir, my wife is a stateless person, with a Nansen travel document."
"Jesus Christ, Ed! You know the regulations."
"Yes, sir, I know the regulations."
"I didn't hear a word you said, Captain Banning," the colonel said. "I don't wish to believe that an officer of your rank and experience would deliberately disobey regulations concerning marriage and get married without permission."
"If I asked for permission, sir, it would have been denied."
"Or make a gesture like this, throwing a fine career down the goddamned toilet," the colonel said, angrily. "Jesus Christ!"
Banning didn't reply.
"Do you realize what a spot you've put me on, Ed?" the colonel asked in exasperation.
"I regret any embarrassment this may cause you, sir," Banning said. "I am, of course, prepared to resign my commission."
The colonel stared at him coldly for a long moment.
"It's a good goddamned thing I know you well enough, Captain Banning, to understand that was an offer to pay the price, rather than an attempt to avoid your duty," he said, finally. "Mrs. Banning must be quite a lady."
Again, Banning could think of nothing to reply.
"Sergeant-Major!" the colonel bellowed.
The sergeant-major appeared. The colonel told him to close the door.
"Captain Banning," he said, "was today married to a stateless person. Captain Banning did not have permission to marry."
The sergeant-major looked at Banning in surprise.
"It will therefore be necessary for you, Sergeant-Major, to prepare-suitably back-dated-the application to marry, and whatever other documentation is necessary. That includes, I believe, a letter to the Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Headquarters, USMC, explaining my reasons for not pulling Captain Banning's security clearance once it came to my attention that he is emotionally involved with a foreign national."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"My reasons are that I believe the Co
rps cannot at this time afford to lose Captain Banning's services, despite his actions in this matter, and that I believe the disciplinary action I have taken closes the matter."
"The disciplinary action, sir?" the sergeant-major asked.
"You will prepare a letter of reprimand as follows," the colonel said. "Quote. It has come to my attention that you have married without due attention to the applicable regulations. You will consider yourself reprimanded. Unquote."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"Thank you, sir," Banning said.
"If that's all you have on your mind, Captain Banning," the colonel said, "I'm sure you have a number of things to do before you board the aircraft."
Despite the sergeant-major's claims about his busting his butt to get the Consulate to issue Milla a "non-quota, married to an American citizen'' visa, when Banning turned over the keys to his Pontiac to her, he had a strange feeling that he would never see her again.
They both pretended, though, that everything was now coming up roses: She would promptly get her visa. His (now their) furniture and other belongings (including, ultimately, the Pontiac) would be turned in for shipment to the Philippines. If it proved impossible for Milla to get her visa in time for her to ship to the Philippines with the other dependents, she would travel on the first available transportation once the visa was issued.
What was more likely to happen was that his car and household goods were going to be placed in a godown (warehouse) on the docks and more than likely disappear forever. And that when the dependents sailed, Milla would be left behind with no visa.
And he could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew.
On the Catalina he forced Milla and the future from his mind. There was no sense bleeding to death over something he had no control over.
It occurred to him that nice guys, indeed, do finish last.
Macklin, that despicable sonofabitch, had had three weeks to arrange for the shipment of his car and household goods. They had gone on the ship with him. And he was in the States, not headed for the Philippines.
He was, he realized, of two minds about Macklin. On one hand, it was goddamned unfair that the sonofabitch should be safe in the States. On the other hand, if there was to be war, it was better that the sonofabitch should be someplace else.
There was no question in Banning's mind that the officer corps of the United States Marine Corps was about to start earning its pay, and in that case, a slimy sonofabitch like Macklin would do more harm than good.
And finally, before the roar of the engine put him to sleep, his thoughts turned to Corporal "Killer" McCoy. Poor McCoy, hating every minute of it, was probably greasing trucks and keeping his nose clean in Philadelphia, waiting for him to come home from China and arrange for his transfer. McCoy, the poor sonofabitch, was going to have a long wait.
Chapter Eleven
(One)
Known Distance Range #2
U.S. Marine Corps Schools
Quantico, Virginia
19 November 1941
Because he'd participated, back in '38, in the troop test of the Garand rifle at Fort Benning, Captain Jack NMI Stecker, USMCR, Assistant S-3 of the School Battalion, U.S. Marine Corps Schools, Quantico, did not share the generally held opinion that the Garand was a piece of shit. The Corps had sent to the Army's infantry school a platoon of Marines, under Master Gunnery Sergeant Jack NMI Stecker, to find out for themselves what this new rifle was all about.
He hadn't liked it at first. It was bulky and heavy, and didn't have the lean lines of the Springfield. And he had found it difficult to accept that as soon as the slam of the butt into the socket of the shoulder was over, the fired cartridge was ejected, another cartridge was chambered, the action was cocked, and the Garand was prepared to fire again.
As a young Marine, Stecker had spent long hours endlessly working his Springfield until the action was as smooth as butter. And he had learned to fire and work the bolt so fast and so smoothly that the Springfield seemed like a machine gun with a slow rate of fire.
He and the other Marines involved in the troop test had been proud of that skill. Most of them. So that the test would not be conducted by forty expert marksmen, the Corps had detailed a dozen kids fresh from Parris Island to the platoon. They weren't experts. It took years to really become an expert with a Springfield.
Stecker went to the infantry school at Benning prepared to dislike the Garand.
But that changed. For one thing, even if this came close to heresy, there was no question that the sights on the Garand were better than the sights on the Springfield. On the other hand, the trigger pull started out really godawful, must have been ten pounds when they gave him the new Garand. But he was able to fix that with a little careful stoning of the sear. And the action was stiff as hell too, but that wore itself in after a couple of hundred rounds. And it actually got pretty slick once he learned, by trial and error, just how much of the yellow lubricant to use, and where.
And then the Doggie armorer loaned him his own Garand. What the hell, even if he was a Doggie, they had things in common. The Doggie armorer was a master sergeant, the same rank as Stecker, and he'd done a hitch with the 15th "Can Do" U.S. Infantry in Tientsin, 1935-38. And they knew about rifles. Stecker and the Doggie armorer had more in common with each other than Stecker had with the kids fresh from Parris Island involved in the troop test.
So first they had a couple of beers together at the NCO Club, and then the Doggie invited him to his quarters for supper, and the next morning, the Doggie armorer handed him a Garand and told him he'd "done a little work on it." What he'd done was a really good job on the trigger, and the action was really smooth, and he'd taken chisels to the stock and cut away all the wood, so the barrel was free floating, and (he wasn't sure if Stecker would like this) he'd replaced the rear sight with one he'd rigged up with an aperture about half as big as issue.
The first time Stecker fired the Doggie's Garand-at two hundred yards-when they marked the target and hauled it up again, there was only one spotter (Bullet holes in rifle targets are marked with circular cardboard disks, white if the hole is in the black of the bull’s-eye, and black for holes elsewhere on the target. A peg in the center of the disk is inserted in the bullet hole. A bullet strike is thus visible from the firing line) on it, a white one, but only one.
"Have them re-mark that goddamned target!" Stecker demanded, angry and embarrassed. He had fired two loose rounds and an eight-round clip at that target, and apparently hit it only once.
The Doggie corporal on the field phone to the pits ordered the target re-marked, and it disappeared into the pits. It came back up a minute later with just the one white spotter, and Stecker felt humiliation sweep through him. "Two and a quarter," the Doggie corporal sang out. "What the hell does that mean?" Stecker asked. There was no such terminology in the Corps.
"That means, Sarge," the corporal said tolerantly, "that you put them all into just over two inches. Not bad!"
Stecker was so pleased (and to tell the truth of it, so relieved) that he'd put ten rounds into an area smaller than a spotter-which was damned near minute of angle (One inch at 100 yards. Two inches at 200 yards, etc)-that he didn't even jump the Doggie corporal's ass for calling him "Sarge."
That would have been good shooting even with Stecker's own personal Springfield, which he privately believed was as accurate as any Springfield in the Corps.
That was when he began to change his evaluation of the Garand. Obviously, when properly tuned, the ugly sonofabitch would shoot. Which was the important thing. And being absolutely fair and objective about it, which is what he was supposed to be as the NCOIC of the Marine Troop Test, you could get back on target after the recoil faster than you could with a Springfield. Like it or not, the gas-operated mechanism of the Garand ejected a round and chambered another faster than even a master gunnery sergeant of the Marine Corps could work the bolt of a Springfield.
And there was more to th
ink about. Not only were the Marine marksmen doing well with the Garand - the sergeants and corporals who knew something about shooting - but the kids from Parris Island, too. They didn't, he realized, have a hell of a lot to unlearn. They just took the Garand and learned how to use it.
He didn't easily give in to admitting that the Garand was actually a fine weapon, though. For instance, he surprised hell out of a squad of the kids by ordering them not to detail strip their pieces when the day's firing was over.
"Just run a couple of patches, first bore cleaner, then oil down the bore. Don't brush the bore. I want to see how much it will take to jam it."
It was three days of firing before the first Garand jammed.
That night, he ordered the squad to detail strip and clean their Garands but not to reassemble them. When all the parts were clean, he ordered the kids to put them all together in a pile on the deck of the barrack.
The kids thought he was really nuts then, and even more so when he stepped up to the pile and stirred the parts around with his toe. One of the claimed merits of the Garand was interchangeability of parts. This was a good way to find out.
"Now put them together," he ordered. He stood watching as the kids assembled rifles.
"I don't want anybody exchanging parts after I'm gone," he said. "I'm trying something."
There was only one malfunction of the squad's Garands the next day, a stovepipe (When the action fails to eject a fired cartridge case properly and jams it in place with the open end erect, it is known as a "stovepipe") he suspected was a freak. He proved this by firing three clips through the rifle as quickly as he could and without further failure to eject.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Stecker returned from Fort Benning one of the few people in the Corps who believed the Garand was the best infantry rifle to come down the pike in a long time. He was worried then not about whether the Garand would be good for the Corps, but when-or even whether- the Corps would get it. The Army would take care of itself first, of course. The Corps would probably wind up with the Army's worn-out Springfields rather than new Garands.
The Corps I - Semper Fi Page 26