(4) IN VIEW OF THE FOREGOING AND OF UNDERSIGNED PERSONAL BELIEF THAT SOMEHOW MACKLIN SLIPPED PAST PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION BOARD VIS-A-VIS STABILITY IT IS STRONGLY RECOMMENDED THAT MACKLIN NOT REPEAT NOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE AS MEMBER OF OPERATION WINDMILL AND THAT HE BE RELEASED FROM OSS AS UNSUITABLE XXX
(5) UNDERSIGNED RECOMMENDS IN STRONGEST POSSIBLE TERMS THAT SUITABLY TRAINED AND THOROUGHLY EVALUATED REPLACEMENT FOR MACKLIN BE SENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE XXX IF THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE THREE (3) AGENTS HERE ARE MARGINALLY QUALIFIED AND WOULD PROBABLY VOLUNTEER IF ASKED XXX
(6) FOR YOUR GENERAL INFORMATION MITCHELL ALSO ADVISED THAT PICKERING CONFERRED WITH REAR ADMIRAL WAGAM OF NIMITZ STAFF 29NOV42 PRESUMABLY IN RE AVAILABILITY OF SUBMARINE XXX TIME IS THEREFORE PROBABLY OF ESSENCE TO FIND REPLACEMENT FOR MACKLIN XXX
WATERSON
STATIONCHIEF BRISBANE
TOP SECRET
Donovan finished reading and raised his eyes to Morrissette’s.
“Well?” he asked.
“What do I do about this, Bill?”
“Aside from finding the idiot who sent this idiot Macklin to Brisbane, you mean? Or are you asking me what we should do to him before we fire him? How about nailing his balls to that large oak tree beside the first tee at the Congressional Country Club? With a rusty nail, of course.”
“What do we do about Captain Macklin?”
“What would you suggest, Mo?”
“(a) That we Urgent Radio Waterson telling him to go to Pickering and tell him that Macklin has been relieved and a replacement is on the way and (b) get a replacement on the way.”
“We can’t do that, Mo,” Donovan said.
“Why not?”
“What you will do, Mo, is Urgent Radio Waterson and tell him to keep his opinion of Captain Macklin to himself. The last thing I want Douglas MacArthur to find out is that we sent Pickering this idiot.”
“Knowing what we now know about him, you’d rather send Captain Macklin on OPERATION WINDMILL than suffer a little embarrassment? Mistakes happen, Bill. We made one.”
“The decision has been made, with the approval of the President, to send two OSS agents on Pickering’s mission to Fertig. If we say, ‘Hold it a minute, fellows, there’s been a minor little mistake here, one of the agents we sent is paranoid,’ we’re going to look like fools. I don’t want to look like a fool before the President, Knox, and MacArthur. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Not to understand, I suppose,” Morrissette said. “But to believe. What about the other people on this mission? Have you considered the threat to them, to the mission itself, of taking this man along?”
“Subject closed, Mo,” Donovan said. “Having considered everything involved, it is my decision that Captain Macklin goes on the mission. Clear? Send Waterson an Urgent Radio to that effect.”
“May I speak frankly?”
“Certainly.”
“This stinks, Bill, to high heaven.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do. It’s a question of the greater good.”
“What is ‘the greater good’?”
“That the OSS operate in the Pacific. I believe, and I hope you do, that we can make a bona fide, substantial contribution to the war effort over there. All we have to do is get around MacArthur standing in our way.”
“By doing this? Sending a man like Macklin on a mission? A mission that very possibly will fail because of him?”
“The mission will either be a success or a failure. If it’s a success, we will have made the point that the OSS is useful.”
“And if it fails?”
“We died trying,” Donovan said. “Proving that we are willing to make the sacrifices called for. We’ll try again and again until we are successful. What we are not going to do is admit that our internal procedures are so sloppy that we actually sent a lunatic like this Macklin on a mission.”
“ ‘We died trying’? ‘We are willing to making to make sacrifices’? What’s this ‘we’ business, Bill? We’re talking about other men’s lives here, not yours and mine.”
“That’s what war is all about, Mo, other men’s lives. When we are permitted to operate in the Pacific, we will save a great many other men’s lives.”
“And the lives of the people on this mission are the price we pay for the ability to operate?”
“You don’t seem to be considering the possibility that the mission will be successful. I’d bet on it. I am betting on it. Whatever else might be said about Fleming Pickering, he’s not a fool.”
“Has it occurred to you that Fleming Pickering, either now, or certainly later, is going to make sure the President knows about this?”
“Let me worry about Fleming Pickering,” Donovan said, somewhat impatiently. “Is there anything else, Mo?”
“I’ll prepare an Urgent Radio for Waterson,” Morrissette said. “A draft, for your signature.”
“You can sign it, Mo.”
“I can, but I won’t,” Morrissette said, and turned and walked out of Donovan’s office.
[FIVE]
Headquarters, 1st Marine Division
Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands
0945 Hours 4 December 1942
The Sergeant Major of the United States First Marine Division, a large-boned, heavily muscled man who had been a Marine for twenty-six of his forty-three years, pushed open the canvas flap (once part of a tent) that separated the Office of the Commanding General from the rest of the command post.
A tall, dignified man in his early fifties, just starting to jowl, sat on a folding wooden chair before a small table on which sat a U.S. Army field desk. He did not to seem to notice his presence.
“General,” the Sergeant Major said respectfully.
Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift, USMC, Commanding General of the 1st Marine Division and all forces on Guadalcanal, turned and looked over his shoulder. The General was dressed like the Sergeant Major, in somewhat battered and sweat-stained utilities.
“Colonel Carlson, Sir,” the Sergeant Major said.
General Vandegrift nodded and made a let him come in gesture with his hand.
Colonel Evans Carlson, USMC, Commanding Officer of the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion, pushed the canvas flap out of his way and entered Vandegrift’s office as Vandegrift rose to his feet.
Carlson, a large man, was wearing utilities even more battered than Vandegrift’s. He carried a Thompson .45 ACP Caliber submachine gun slung from a canvas strap over his shoulder, and he wore a web-harness from which were suspended two canteens, a compass case, a first-aid packet, and a Colt Model 1911A1 .45 ACP pistol.
He looked malnourished and exhausted, Vandegrift thought.
“Colonel Carlson reporting the return of the 2nd Raiders, Sir,” he said as he saluted.
The 2nd Raider Battalion had been behind the enemy’s lines since 9 November 1942—nearly a month. The Japanese, who had somewhat belatedly come to realize that the outcome of the battle for Guadalcanal would very likely determine the future of the war, had, at a terrible cost in ships, matériel, and life, managed to move reinforcements for the 17th Army ashore at Gavanga Creek.
Despite all the Marines could do to wipe out the force, 3,000 Japanese had broken through the lines and set out through the mountainous jungle toward Matanikau. Carlson and approximately two hundred Marine Raiders had gone after them. They had subsisted on rice, on anything edible they could find in the jungle, and on what they could capture from the Japanese.
“Welcome home, Red,” Vandegrift said, crisply returning the salute.
“Sir, I regret to report the loss of sixteen KIA and eighteen WIA” (Killed In Action; Wounded In Action).
“None missing?” Vandegrift asked.
“No, Sir. We brought our wounded with us, and marked the graves of the KIA.”
Vandegrift nodded.
“Enemy losses were four hundred eighty-eight KIA, Sir. I would estimate time and half that number WIA.”
Vandegrift tried not to let his
surprise show—nor what he immediately recognized as suspicion. Carlson’s Raiders were good Marines, well trained, well equipped, and highly motivated. But Carlson had just reported that his two hundred men had killed more than twice their number of the enemy, and wounded three times their number.
“And you estimate 488 KIA?”
“No, Sir. The KIAs are confirmed. There were that many bodies, Sir.”
“Well done, Colonel,” Vandegrift said. “I want to hear all about it, of course. But to save you the effort of telling the tale twice, I think it might be smart to wait until the 1300 staff meeting. That all right with you?”
“Yes, Sir. I really need a bath and a change of clothes.”
“And, I’m sure, something to eat. Why don’t you get a shower and a clean uniform, and come back here and have lunch with me?”
“Thank you, Sir,” Carlson said. “I accept, with thanks.” He paused, smiled, and went on. “And, Sir, I would also report the return of one AWOL to duty.”
Vandegrift frowned.
Carlson smiled. “Gunny Zimmerman, Sir,” he said.
“Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman?” Vandegrift asked. “Of VMF-229?”
“Yes, Sir,” Carlson said.
“Tell me, Colonel, how did Gunny Zimmerman wind up with the 2nd Raider Battalion?”
“Well, Sir. He was with the 2nd Raiders from the beginning. He made the Makin Island raid, Sir.”
“And then he was transferred to VMF-229?”
“Yes, Sir. They needed a heavy-machine-gun artificer. And Zimmerman’s about as good with Brownings as anyone in The Corps.”
“So I’ve heard,” Vandegrift said. “And then, when VMF-229 was relieved here, the Gunny somehow missed the ship taking the squadron off the island? Is that about what happened, Carlson?”
“Yes, Sir. That’s about it. Zimmerman decided he could make himself useful with us. I’m surprised you know about this, Sir.”
What could have been a smile moved around Vandegrift’s lips.
“Oh, I heard about it,” he said. “A number of people in The Corps have heard about it.” He raised his voice and called, “Sergeant Major!”
The Sergeant Major’s head appeared in the canvas flap. “General?”
“Would you run down that paperwork we had on Gunny Zimmerman, please, Sergeant Major?”
The Sergeant Major’s head disappeared from the canvas flap. Thirty seconds later, he came through the flap and handed Vandegrift the “paperwork.” Vandegrift glanced at it and then handed it to Carlson.
SECRET
PRIORITY
HEADQUARTERS USMC WASH DC 1535 23 NOV 42 COMMANDING GENERAL 1ST MARDIV
FOLLOWING PERSONAL FROM G2 USMC TO COMMGEN 1ST MARDIV
DEAR ALEX
COMMANDANT AT DIRECTION SECNAV DESIRES IMMEDIATE TRANSFER G/SGT ERNEST ZIMMERMAN VMF-229 TO USMC SPECIAL DETACHMENT 16 ATTACHED TO SUPREME HQ SWPOA. AIR TRAVEL PRIORITY AAAAAA AUTHORIZED.
COMMANDING OFFICER VMF-229 ADVISES G/SGT ZIMMERMAN PRESENTLY SERVING WITH 2ND RAIDER BN. PLEASE TAKE WHATEVER ACTION IS NECESSARY TO PERMIT ME TO ADVISE COMMANDANT THAT G/SGT ZIMMERMAN IS ENROUTE USMC SPECDET 16 AND ADVISE BY MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS THAT THIS HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED.
BEST PERSONAL REGARDS HORACE
END PERSONAL TO COMMGEN 1ST MARDIV
BY DIRECTION:
FORREST, MAJGEN USMC ACOFS G2 HQ USMC
General Vandegrift knew Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman slightly, but he knew his type well. In 1939, the total strength of the United States Marine Corps was 1,308 officers and 18,052 enlisted men, fewer men than were in the Police Department of New York City. Just about all the officers knew each other, just about all the enlisted men knew all the officers, and most officers knew most of the enlisted men, at least by sight.
Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman was one of the Old Breed. Vandegrift remembered him as a corporal with the 4th Marines in Shanghai before the war. If there hadn’t been a war, he thought, Zimmerman would still be in Shanghai and still be a corporal. Now there were more than seven thousand officers, and more than 135,000 enlisted Marines, and Zimmerman was a gunnery sergeant long before he could have expected to be a buck sergeant.
The Old Breed had been the backbone of the 1st Marine Division here. Without them, Vandegrift had often thought, the Division might not have been able to do what it had done.
“And you weren’t aware of the Gunny’s presence, or absence, of course, until you were behind the enemy’s lines, and there was nothing you could do about it?” Vandegrift asked. “You don’t have to answer that question, Colonel. Marine officers shouldn’t lie, and our Constitution prohibits compulsory self-incrimination.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Carlson said, smiling. “Sir, what’s this all about?”
“You know as much as I do,” Vandegrift said.
“General, the reason I mentioned Gunny Zimmerman is that I’d like to decorate him.”
“Put him in for whatever you think he deserves. Offhand, I’d be inclined to act favorably on any recommendation of yours. What did he do?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Sir. Nothing in particular, except kill Japanese.”
“I don’t think I quite understand.”
“It’s rather hard to describe, Sir. He takes this war personally.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“He doesn’t talk much. He’s a hard man to draw out. But the way I have Zimmerman figured out is that he was the happiest man in the 4th Marines in Shanghai. He had a Chinese wife. Wife in quotes, because they weren’t married. But she bore him three children. They had a small apartment, and were buying a house in her village. What he wanted to do with his life was put in his twenty years, probably making sergeant, maybe even staff sergeant, and then retire to their house in her village. He didn’t want much from life; what he had was what he wanted. And then the Japanese came along and ruined it all for him.”
“A real China Marine, in other words?”
“Yes, Sir. I think in the back of his mind he believes that as soon as every soldier in the Japanese Army is dead, he can go back to the 4th Marines in Shanghai, and his family, and things will be back to normal. So he kills a lot of Japanese soldiers.”
Vandegrift chuckled and shook his head.
“No individual act of great courage, Sir,” Carlson said.
“But he was always willing to take the point on the march—and he’s very good on the point—and he was the happiest when he could assume the prone position, get his sling in the proper position on his arm, and then put rounds into the heads of Japanese at three hundred, four hundred, five hundred yards.”
“I see.”
“I don’t mean to paint him as bloodthirsty, and he’s not foolhardy. But he’s very very good at killing Japanese. I didn’t keep score, but in my mind, there’s no question that he killed more Japanese than anybody else on this operation.”
“Could you, in good conscience, recommend Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman for the Silver Star?”
Carlson considered the question before replying.
“Yes, Sir. I get back to saying that there was no one act of spectacular courage. But he went willingly into harm’s way just about every day we were out there—sometimes two or three times a day. That adds up, Sir, in my judgment, to more than one act of spectacular bravery.”
“So ordered,” Vandegrift said. “Get him bathed and shaved and into a clean set of utilities and bring him back here. We’ll pin the Silver Star on him, and then you can put him on the next plane to Espíritu Santo.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir. By your leave, Sir?” Carlson, having asked permission to withdraw, raised his hand to his temple in salute.
“One more thing,” Vandegrift said. “I forgot you were behind the lines and couldn’t have heard.”
“Sir?”
“We’re about through here. On 9 December, next Wednesday, I’m turning the island over to Patch.”
“Who, Sir?”
“Major Gene
ral Alexander M. Patch, U.S. Army, will assume command of Guadalcanal 9 December. The First Marine Division will be sent to Australia for rehabilitation and refitting.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Carlson said. “It’s about time.”
“Seventy-plus percent of the Division has malaria,” Vandegrift said. “The average Marine has lost twenty-two pounds of body weight.”
“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” Carlson said.
“It’s that bad,” Vandegrift said, and finally raised his hand to return Carlson’s salute. “Thank you, Colonel. That will be all.”
[SIX]
U.S. Army Air Corps Passenger Terminal
Queensland Air Field
Brisbane, Australia
1715 Hours 6 December 1942
Four U.S. Army ambulances and a complement of medical personnel were waiting for the Army Air Corps C-47 when it taxied up to the terminal. As soon as the wide cargo was opened and an aluminum ladder dropped in place, a doctor, three nurses, and half a dozen medics clambered up the ladder.
The ambulance drivers started their engines, and one of them backed up close to the airplane and opened its rear doors. The first patient came out the door almost immediately, a nurse holding a bottle of blood hovering over the blanket-wrapped body as the litter was carried into the ambulance.
Four minutes passed before the second litter came through the door and was placed in the ambulance. The doors were closed, and the ambulance moved off, to be immediately replaced by a second. Two litter-borne patients were placed in the second ambulance, and two more into the third.
Behind the Lines Page 40