Line of Fire

by W. E. B Griffin

  He then remembered hearing somewhere that while Leahy had been Ambassador to Vichy France, his wife had suddenly taken ill and died. It was said that Leahy had taken it badly.

  That probably explains why he looks so old, Pickering thought. Then he wondered, What the hell am I supposed to do?

  Salute him? Jesus Christ, what am I doing in the Navy?

  Franklin Delano Roosevelt solved Pickering's dilemma. He looked over his shoulder, saw him, and smiled.

  "Fleming, my dear fellow!" he said. "How good to see you! Come in and sit down by me."

  "Good evening, Mr. President," Pickering said. Something was tugging at his hat. He had without thinking about it tucked it under the cast on his left arm. He looked and saw a white-jacketed Navy steward smiling at him.

  "Let me have that, please, Sir." Pickering raised his arm, and the uniform cap disappeared.

  He then walked across the deck to Roosevelt.

  Roosevelt offered his hand. The grip was surprisingly strong.

  "Good evening, Mr. President," Pickering repeated.

  Jesus, he does get to me. I already said that.

  "I believe you know Bill Leahy, don't you, Fleming?"

  "I have had that privilege," Pickering said. "Good evening, Admiral."

  "Pickering," Leahy said.

  "Sit down and tell me your pleasure," Roosevelt said. "Does your medical condition permit alcohol?"

  "It demands it, Sir," Pickering said.

  The steward who had snatched his cap was back at his side.

  "What may I get you, Sir?"

  "Scotch, please. Water. Not much ice."

  "And there is my favorite Republican," Roosevelt said, beaming at Senator Fowler. "Richmond, it's good to see you."

  "Mr. President," Fowler said formally, making a nod that could have been a bow.

  While Pickering was lowering himself into the wicker chair beside Roosevelt, he felt the Potomac shudder as the propellers were engaged.

  Christ, they were waiting for us to get under way!

  "How are you, Admiral?" Fowler asked.

  "Very well, thank you, Senator."

  "Richmond," the President said, "could I ask you to excuse us a moment?

  There's a little business I'd like to get out of the way, before we..

  "Of course, Mr. President," Fowler said.

  One of the stewards held open for Fowler a sliding glass door to an aft cabin and then stepped inside after him. A second steward put a glass in Pickering's hand and then followed the first into the aft cabin.

  "I'd like you to do something for me, Fleming," Roosevelt said, laying a hand on Pickering's arm.

  "I'm at your command, Sir."

  "But there are a few matters I'd like to get straight, if you will," Roosevelt said, "about your previous contributions to the war effort."

  "Of course, Mr. President."

  "I understand that you met with Bill Donovan right after the war started, isn't that so?"

  "Yes, Sir, it is." William S. Donovan, a New York lawyer, had been asked by Roosevelt to establish an organization to coordinate all United States intelligence activities (except counter intelligence, which was handled in the U.S. and Latin America by J. Edgar Hoover's FBI. The organization evolved first into the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and ultimately into the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).

  "I understand that your talk with Donovan didn't go well,"

  "That's correct, Sir." Where the hell did he hear that? Did Donovan fell him? Or Richmond Fowler?

  Roosevelt laughed.

  "Forgive me. But you and Bill are the immovable object and the irresistible force. I'm really not at all surprised. I would love to have been a fly on the wall."

  "Actually, Sir, it was quite civil. He asked me to become sort of a clerk to a banker whom I knew, and I respectfully declined the honor." Pickering sensed Leahy's eyes on him, glanced at him, and was surprised to see what could have been a smile on his lips and in his eyes.

  "And then, as I understand it," Roosevelt went on, "when you went to The Marines and offered your services, they respectfully declined the honor?"

  "They led me to believe, Mr. President," Pickering replied, smiling back at Roosevelt, who was quietly beaming at his play on words, "that as desperate as they were for manpower, there was really no place in The Corps for a forty-six-year-old corporal. "

  "And then you went to Frank Knox, and he arranged for you to be commissioned into the Navy?" That wasn't the way it happened. Frank Knox came to me and asked me to accept the commission.

  "Yes, Sir," Pickering said.

  Àdmiral Leahy and I have just about concluded that was a mistake," Roosevelt said.

  "So have I, Mr. President. I-"

  "I don't think the President means to suggest that you're not qualified to be a Naval captain, Captain,"

  Leahy broke in quickly. "I certainly don't. Your conduct aboard the Gregory put to rest any doubts about your competence. And I was one of those who never had any doubts."

  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Fleming," Roosevelt said.

  "I respectfully disagree, Admiral," Pickering said. "I should not be a Naval officer, period."

  "Now with that, " Roosevelt said, "I agree."

  "As soon as I can discuss the matter with Secretary Knox, Mr. President, I intend to ask him to let me out of the Service."

  "I know," Roosevelt said. "He told me. I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Fleming. Out of the question."

  "I don't quite understand," Pickering said.

  `You're familiar, of course, with the Office of Management Analysis in Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps?"

  Pickering thought a moment, came up with nothing, and replied, "No, Sir. I am not."

  "Does the name Rickabee mean anything to you, Pickering." Leahy asked.

  "Yes," Pickering replied immediately. "Yes, indeed. Outstanding man."

  "He heads the Office of Management Analysis," Roosevelt said a trifle smugly.

  "Yes, Sir," Pickering said, feeling quite stupid. He had never actually met Lieutenant Colonel F. L.

  Rickabee, USMC, but he had seen how efficiently the man could operate. He had, in fact, vowed to find Rickabee in Washington, to shake his hand, and say thank you.

  Among the long list of Navy brass actions in the Pacific that were outrageously stupid in Fleming Pickering's view was their handling of the Royal Australian Navy Coastwatcher Establishment.

  When the Japanese began their march down the Solomon Islands chain toward New Guinea, Australia, and New Zealand, the Australians hastily recruited plantation managers, schoolteachers, government technicians, shipping officials, and even a couple of missionaries who had lived on the islands.

  They hastily commissioned these people as junior officers in the Royal Australian Navy Volunteer Reserve and left them behind on the islands, equipped with shortwave radios and small arms.

  They were in a position to provide-at great risk to their lives-extremely valuable intelligence regarding Japanese Army and Navy movements, strength, location, and probable intentions. But the Navy arrogantly judged that information coming from natives who were not professional Navy types couldn't possibly be genuinely valuable.

  Later, when the value of the Coastwatcher-provided intelligence could no longer be denied, the Navy brass decided that it was now far too important to he left to the administration of the lowly Royal Australian Navy Reserve Lieutenant Commander who was in charge. The U.S. Navy would take over and do it right, in other words.

  Pickering heard of the situation from an old friend, Fitzhugh Boyer, who had been Pacific & Far East Shipping's agent in Melbourne and was now a Rear Admiral in the Royal Australian Navy. Fitz Boyer introduced him to Lieutenant Commander Eric Feldt, who was running the Coastwatcher Establishment, and who cheerfully confessed to being a little less than charming to the detachment of U.S. Navy officers who had shown up in Townsville to take over his operation.

  Fitz Boyer told Pickering that
it was unfortunately true that Feldt did indeed tell the captain who led the detachment that unless he left Townsville that very day, he was going to tear his head off and stick it up his anal cavity.

  That same day Pickering fired off an URGENT radio to Frank Knox, recommending that a highly qualified intelligence officer be sent to Australia as soon as possible, with orders to place himself at Feldt's disposal, and with the means to provide Feldt with whatever assistance, especially financial, Feldt needed.

  Nine days later, Major Edward J. Banning, USMC, former Intelligence Officer of the Fourth Marines in Shanghai, got off a plane in Melbourne carrying a cashier's check drawn on the Treasury of the United States for a quarter of a million dollars.

  He was accompanied by a sergeant. Within days the balance of Marine Corps Special Detachment 14, along with crates of the very best shortwave radios and other equipment, began to arrive by priority air shipment.

  Banning and Feldt were two of a kind; they hit it off immediately. Not only that, Banning and his detachment proved to be precisely what Pickering had hoped for but thought he had little chance of getting.

  Soon after a pair of U.S. Marines was parachuted onto Buka Island to augment the Coastwatcher operation there, Pickering confessed to Banning that he was astonished at the high quality of the people Frank Knox had sent him; and he was equally surprised that they'd arrived so quickly. And Banning replied that the man responsible was Rickabee.

  "Mr. Knox is a wise man," Banning said. "He gave this job to Colonel Rickabee, together with the authority, and then let him do it."

  That was the first time Pickering heard of Rickabee. But before he was ordered home, he'd had many other dealings with the man; and each contact confirmed his first impression: Rickabee was a man who got things done.

  "Colonel Rickabee and you have many things in common, Fleming," Roosevelt said, smiling. "For instance, some people-not me, of course, but some people-think you both have abrasive personalities."

  Roosevelt waited for a reply, got none, and then went on.

  "Another way to phrase that is that neither of you can suffer fools. As I'm sure you've learned, fools find that attitude distressing. That doesn't bother you, I know, but it does affect Rickabee."

  "I don't think I follow you, Mr. President."

  "When Admiral Leahy let the word out that the promotion of Lieutenant Colonel Rickabee to brigadier general was being considered, it was not greeted with enthusiasm. Quite the reverse."

  "I think he would make a splendid general officer," Pickering said.

  "So do I," Leahy said. "I've known him for a long time.

  Even before I was Chief of Naval Operations, he did special jobs for me.

  And he has done special jobs for me since."

  "We have reached a certain meeting of the minds vis-a-vis Colonel Rickabee," Roosevelt said. "General Holcomb, the Marine Commandant, has recommended his promotion to colonel. Though I was prepared to send his name to the Senate for confirmation as a brigadier general without the approval of The Marine Corps, Admiral Leahy tells me that would have been counterproductive... and not only because it would have caused a lot of talk, which is exactly what Rickabee and the Office of Management Analysis does not want or need."

  Jesus Christ, what bullshit! Pickering fumed. A damned good man can't get promoted because of the prima donnas!

  "Colonel Rickabee's promotion doesn't solve the problem," Admiral Leahy said. "Which is, in rank-inflated Washington, that a general officer is needed to head up the Office of Management Analysis."

  "Yes," Pickering thought out loud, "I can understand that."

  "Good," Roosevelt said. "That's where you come in, Fleming."

  "Sir," Pickering said, surprised, "I wouldn't have any idea whom to recommend for that. Nor would I presume to make such a recommendation."

  "That's been done for you," Roosevelt said. "What Leahy and I have concluded is that the man in charge of the Office of Management Analysis should be someone who not only has experience at the upper levels of the Navy Department, say working closely with the Secretary of the Navy..

  Christ, he's not talking about me, is he?

  "... but who has also had firsthand experience with the war in the Pacific, and most importantly..."

  Jesus H. Christ, he is!

  "... is a Marine with extensive combat experience, say someone who won the Distinguished Service Cross in the First World War, and who in this war has been awarded the Silver Star, the Purple Heart, and the Legion of Merit."

  What's he talking about, the Legion of Merit?

  "Are you beginning to get the picture, Fleming?" Roosevelt asked.

  "Mr. President..."

  Roosevelt reached to the table beside him, opened an oblong box, and took a medal on its ribbon from it.

  "Captain Pickering," he said, motioning for Pickering to lean over to him. He pinned the medal to Pickering's uniform.

  "It is my great privilege, on the recommendation of the Commanding General, First Marine Division, to invest you with the Legion of Merit for your distinguished service as Acting G-2, First Marine Division, during combat operations on Guadalcanal."

  "I don't deserve a medal for that," Pickering protested. "I was just filling in-the G-2 was killed-until they could get someone qualified in there."

  "I think we can safely leave that judgment to General Vandergrift," Roosevelt said. "He made that recommendation, of course, without being aware that Admiral Leahy and I had something in mind for you."

  "Mr. President, you can't really be thinking of-"

  "Your name was sent to the Senate this afternoon, Fleming, for their advice and consent to your commission as Brigadier General, USMC Reserve. Now I realize that Richmond Fowler and I agree about very little, but I rather suspect that when I ask him to support your nomination, he'll come along...

  in a bipartisan gesture."

  "I will be hated in The Marine Corps," Pickering said.

  "Possibly," Admiral Leahy said. "But you're already hated in the Navy, so nothing is lost there. And no Marine is likely to criticize a fellow Marine with a record like yours. General Vandergrift does not hand out decorations like the Legion of Merit lightly." The President raised his voice slightly.

  "Commander Jellington!" The glass door to the cabin slid open.

  "Yes, Mr. President?"

  "Commander, would you ask the other gentlemen to join us, please?"

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  Even though both Brigadier General D. G. McInerney, USMC, and Commander Jellington, USN, had given him an intense briefing on protocol in the presence of the President of the United States, the first of the President's other guests promptly forgot all he'd heard when he walked onto the fantail of the Potomac and saw Fleming Pickering with his arm in a cast.

  "Jesus Christ, Dad!" he demanded. "What happened to YOU?"

  Chapter Five

  [One]

  FERDINAND SIX

  BUKA, SOLOMON ISLANDS

  4 SEPTEMBER 1942

  As Sergeant Steven M. Koffler, USMC, knelt before the key of his Hallicrafters and waited for the dials to come to life, he was suffering from a severe case of the I-Feel-Sorry-for-Me syndrome.

  In his judgment, with the exception of the inevitable failure of the Hallicrafters (which could happen at any time), everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

  When the officers left seven days ago to see what they could steal from the Japanese, they planned to be back in five or six days. They were now overdue. That probably meant they were not going to come back.

  And that meant that the Japanese would probably be here sooner rather than later.

  Although he was a uniformed member of an armed force engaged in combat against enemy armed forces and thus entitled under the Geneva Convention to treatment as a prisoner of war, Koffler was well aware that the Japanese had different views of such obligations than Americans.

  Back in Townsville, to make sure that Sergeant Koffler and Lieutenant Howa
rd really knew what they were letting themselves in for, Commander Feldt had explained the differences in some detail: If the Japanese captured them, presuming they did not kill them outright, Koffler and Howard should hope for a Japanese officer who believed they were indeed U.S. Marines and thus entitled to treatment as fellow warriors.

  That meant he'd have them executed according to the Code of Bushido: First they would dig their own graves. Then a member of the Japanese Armed Forces of equal or superior rank would behead them with a Japanese sword. Following the execution, prayers would be said over their graves, and entries would be made in official Japanese records of the date and place of their execution and burial. Presuming the records were not destroyed, that would be handy, after the war, for the disinterment of their remains and their return to the United States.

  It was equally possible, Commander Feldt went on matter-of-factly, that they'd be regarded as spies and not soldiers. In that case, they'd he interrogated-read tortured-then executed in a less ritualistic manner.

  With a little luck they'd get a pistol bullet in the ear. More likely they'd serve as targets for bayonet practice. Of course, no record would be kept of their execution or place of burial. Thus they'd be listed officially as missing in action and presumed dead.

  Later, Lieutenant Howard pointed out why Commander Feldt had gone so thoroughly into the unpleasant details: He wanted to make sure they knew how important it was for them not to get captured.

  "So far as Feldt is concerned, " Lieutenant Howard said, "we should have absolutely no contact with the Japs. None. But if we are captured, we should not give them any information. When the Cavalry was fighting the Apaches after the Civil War, they always saved one cartridge for themselves. The Apaches were worse than the Japs. They liked to roast their prisoners over slow fires. You understand?"

  "Yes, Sir.

  The dials came to life. Koffler threw the switch to TRANSMIT and worked the key. The dots and dashes went out, repeated three times, spelling out, simply, FRD6. FRD6. FRD6.

  Detachment A of Special Marine Corps Detachment 14 is attempting to establish contact with any station on this communications network.