In Danger's Path

by W. E. B Griffin

  “Sound off!” the Navy captain bellowed, as General McInerney stepped out of the Admiral’s staff car.

  The Memphis Naval Air Station band struck up the Navy hymn.

  Admiral Ball marched up to Generals McInerney and Pickering, and saluted them with his sword.

  “Will the Generals honor me by trooping the line?” he inquired.

  “I would be honored,” General McInerney said, and added softly, so that no one but Admiral Ball could hear him, “Goddamn you, Jesse.”

  With General McInerney in the place of honor, and Admiral Ball and General Pickering trailing after him, the flag officers marched off to troop the line.

  After thinking about it a moment, Captain William Dunn trotted quickly to the formation and took up his position as commanding officer before the assembled Marines of VMF-262.

  Smiling broadly, Lieutenant Pickering, who was attired in a leather flight jacket but now wearing a fore-and-aft cap, leaned against the fender of his Cadillac and watched the proceedings.

  With the trooping of the line completed, Admiral Ball led Generals McInerney and Pickering into base operations.

  The band segued into “Stars and Stripes Forever,” and the Navy captain and his staff marched to a position at the head of the Navy troops.

  “Right face!” the Navy captain bellowed, and when the sailors and Marines had turned, bellowed “For-ward, h-arch!”

  The parade moved around the base operations building to the parking ramp.

  Lieutenant Pickering went into base operations.

  It took just a minute or two for General McInerney to put on a flight suit and to have a quick—but thorough—look at the flight plan for his flight to Pensacola. The Memphis NAS pilot who would be the copilot for the R4-D’s flight to Chicago also had a flight plan prepared for the approval of Lieutenant Sylvester, who would be the pilot-in-command.

  A Corsair and the R4-D were parked right in front of base operations. There was a red flag with a single white star flapping from a small staff beside the pilot’s side window of the R4-D.

  “Come see us anytime, General,” Admiral Ball said to General McInerney.

  “Thanks, Jesse,” General McInerney said. He was obviously touched. He shook Admiral Ball’s hand and then General Pickering’s. “Take care of yourself, Flem,” he said. “And good luck!”

  “You, too, Mac,” Pickering said.

  General McInerney offered his hand to Lieutenant Pickering.

  “It was good to see you, Pick,” he said. “Keep up the good work.”

  Good work, my ass, Admiral Ball thought, but he smiled.

  “Thank you, sir,” Pick said. “It was good to see you, sir.”

  General McInerney nodded, then walked toward the Corsair.

  The band began to play “The Marines’ Hymn,” and kept playing it until General McInerney climbed into the Corsair and fired up its engine, and until General Pickering—who embraced his son quickly before walking to the R4-D—was aboard. Then the band began playing “Auld Lang Syne.”

  In the cockpit of the Corsair, General McInerney waited for the needles to move into the green, then looked at Admiral Ball, saluted, and started taxiing. A moment later, the R4-D began moving.

  Pick waved at his father.

  General McInerney turned onto the active runway and immediately began his takeoff roll. As soon as he had broken ground, the R4-D began to roll. Once airborne, the R4-D took up a course for Chicago. The Corsair, which had made a shallow climbing turn to the left after takeoff, now headed back to the field. It flashed over the field at 250 feet, with its throttles to the firewall, and then pointed its nose skyward. At 5,000 feet, it entered a layer of clouds and disappeared.

  Admiral Ball walked over to Lieutenant Pickering.

  “I think General McInerney enjoyed all this, don’t you, Lieutenant? And your father, too, of course?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure they did.”

  “And what about you, Lieutenant. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Very much, sir.”

  “And last night? Did you have a good time last night?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Commit it to memory, your disgrace to the uniform you’re wearing. It will be the last thing you’ll enjoy for a hell of a long time.”

  “Sir?”

  Two Marines with Shore Patrol brassards on their sleeves, one of them a technical sergeant, marched up and saluted Admiral Ball.

  “This officer is under arrest,” Admiral Ball said. “Escort him to his quarters—his on-base quarters—and when he has changed into the prescribed uniform, bring him to my office.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the technical sergeant said. “This way, please, Lieutenant.”

  [TWO]

  Office of the Base Commander

  Memphis Naval Air Station

  Memphis, Tennessee

  0910 29 March 1943

  Three Marines, two of them wearing shore patrol brassards and armed with .45-caliber pistols, marched in a line into the base commander’s office.

  “Detail, halt,” the Marine technical sergeant ordered, then “Detail, left FACE!” The three were now facing Rear Admiral Jesse Ball, USN. “Sir…” the technical sergeant barked as he saluted.

  Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, started to raise his hand in a reflex action to salute, but catching something in Admiral Ball’s eyes—a look of contemptuous surprise—stopped with his arm half up and lowered it.

  “…Technical Sergeant Franz reporting to the Admiral with the prisoner as ordered, sir,” the technical sergeant finished.

  Admiral Ball returned the salute. “Leave the prisoner and stand by in the outer office,” he ordered.

  “Aye, aye, sir!” the technical sergeant barked, then went on. “Guard detail, one step backward, ha-arch! Right, FACE! Forward, ha-arch!”

  The two Shore Patrolmen marched out of the room.

  Lieutenant Pickering remained at attention, facing Admiral Ball.

  “Pickering, prisoners are denied the privilege of saluting,” Admiral Ball said conversationally. “That’s something you might wish to keep in mind.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Pickering said.

  “Have you any idea why I have placed you under arrest, Mr. Pickering?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I have the odd feeling, perhaps naïvely, that you may possess one—one only—of the characteristics required of an officer in the Naval Service,” Admiral Ball said. “You may not be a liar. Are you a liar, Mr. Pickering? Are you capable of answering a question put to you truthfully?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir, which? Yes, you are a liar? Or yes, you will answer a question bearing on your fitness to be an officer truthfully?”

  “Sir, I am not a liar. I will answer any question put to me truthfully.”

  “Well, then, let’s put that to the test. Mr. Pickering, it has been alleged that you have had on several occasions carnal knowledge of a female who is not only not your wife but is married to someone else. Specifically, one Elizabeth-Sue Megham, sometimes known as Mrs. Quincy T. Megham, Jr. Do these allegations have any basis in fact?”

  “Sir, I was raised to believe that a gentleman does not discuss—”

  “Don’t hand me any crap about you being a gentleman, you miserable sonofabitch!” Admiral Ball exploded furiously. “Have you, or have you not, been fucking this banker’s wife?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pick said.

  “Knowing that she was a married woman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The basis of all law in what we think of as the Western world, Mr. Pickering, is generally agreed to be the Old Testament. In the Old Testament it is recorded that Moses came down from Mount Sinai carrying in his arms two stone tablets on which God himself had etched a number of rules by which God-fearing men were to conduct their lives. Are you familiar with that story, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “These ten rules, which came to be called
the Ten Commandments, provide for God-fearing people a list of some things they are supposed to do and some things they are not supposed to do. Are you familiar with the Ten Commandments, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Two of them have a special meaning for us here today. One of them is ‘thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days,’ et cetera, et cetera. Are you familiar with that particular commandment, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m told you are an imaginative young man. I believe that. When you told the flight safety officer that you weren’t even aware you had barrel-rolled over the control tower because you had an oil-pressure warning light at the time, and were devoting all of your attention to that problem, now, that was imaginative. You were lying through your goddamned teeth, of course, but it was imaginative.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You admit that you lied to the flight safety officer?”

  “I didn’t think of it as a lie at the time, sir.”

  “Goddamn you!” Admiral Ball exploded again. “Did you lie to the flight safety officer or not?”

  “Yes, sir. I lied about that.”

  “For your general fund of knowledge, Mr. Pickering, the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service, to which you are subject, provide that any officer who knowingly and willfully utters any statement he knows to be untrue shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We were talking about your imagination, Mr. Pickering. Can you imagine which of the Ten Commandments in addition to the ‘thou shalt honor thy father’ one has an application here today?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You mean you really don’t know? Or, sniveling little smart-ass that you are, you’re afraid to say?”

  “The one concerned with adultery, sir?”

  “‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’” Admiral Ball said. “Now, that seems a simple enough order to me. ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ It means you shouldn’t screw somebody else’s wife. Was that commandment beyond your comprehension, Mr. Pickering?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you disobeyed it anyway, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The next real codification of the law as we know it, to the best of my understanding, Mr. Pickering, was the Magna Carta, granted by his Majesty King John of England, Ireland, Scotland, et cetera, et cetera, to his nobles at Runnymede in June in the Year of Our Lord one thousand two hundred and fifteen. Are you familiar with the Magna Carta, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Somewhat, sir.”

  “Goddamn you, you sniveling pup, don’t waffle with me! Yes, goddamnit, or no?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you are doubtless aware, Mr. Pickering, that the Magna Carta is the basis of what we think of as English common law?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that when the Founding Fathers of this great republic of ours got around to writing the laws for it, they incorporated much of English Common law? Except that we pledge our allegiance to the flag of the United States and the country for which it stands, et cetera, et cetera, instead of to the English monarch. You do have that straight in your head, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then possibly you are also aware that the duly elected officials of this great republic of ours, recognizing that the basic law provided for the ordinary citizens of this great republic of ours was not really adequate to govern its navy, came up with what we call the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service. You are familiar with that, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are aware that you, as a Marine, are subject to it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then perhaps you can tell me what the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service has to say about what you can do with the physiological symbol of your gender?”

  “Sir?”

  “Where you may insert your pecker, Mr. Pickering.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you trying to plead ignorance of the law, you miserable little prick?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ignorance of the law is no defense, Mr. Pickering. You might wish to make note of that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It says—this is not a direct quote, but it’s close enough—that anybody who has carnal knowledge of—sticks his pecker into—any woman to whom he is not lawfully joined in holy matrimony shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Were you aware of that, Mr. Pickering?”

  “No, sir, I was not.”

  “I am not surprised. Now, in addition to providing suitable punishment for someone who can’t keep his pecker in his pocket, the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service makes special provision for those whom Congress has seen fit to declare officers and gentlemen. Are you aware of any of these provisions, Mr. Pickering?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I am not surprised. Let me enlighten you. The Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service provide that any officer found guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you really believe, Mr. Pickering, that doing a barrel roll over my airfield’s control tower, endangering not only the lives of the fine sailors performing their duty therein, but also the valuable aircraft with which you had been entrusted, was conduct becoming an officer and a gentleman?”

  “Sir, I didn’t think about it in quite those terms.”

  “Did you, for some perverse reason, think that handing the flight safety officer that bullshit about having all your attention on an oil-pressure warning light was conduct becoming an officer and a gentleman?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you did believe that hiding your salami in this banker’s lonely and probably sexually unsatisfied wife was in keeping with behavior of a Marine officer and gentleman? That you were, perhaps, performing some sort of public service? Keeping up morale on the home front?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You didn’t think it was conduct becoming an officer? And a gentleman?”

  “The truth, sir, is that I didn’t give it much thought.”

  “You may have guessed, Mr. Pickering, that I don’t like you very much,” Admiral Ball said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One of the reasons I don’t like you is because, in the short time I have been privileged to know him, it is apparent that your father is a fine Marine. Cast from the same mold as my old friend General McInerney. I would have had a fine time last night, celebrating the promotion of my old friend, and in the company of another fine Marine, if you hadn’t been there, you miserable pimple on a Marine Corps PFC’s ass.

  “How, I asked myself, is it possible that a fine man, a fine Marine officer such as General Pickering, holder of the nation’s second-highest decoration for valor—a man decorated for valor in both world wars, a Marine who has shed blood in both world wars, a man who enjoys the confidence of the Commander in Chief himself, can have spawned such a miserable, irresponsible, amoral, useless sonofabitch like you?”

  He glowered at Lieutenant Pickering.

  “Any comment, Mr. Pickering? How can this have happened?”

  “No comment, sir.”

  “May I hazard a guess what’s running through that probably diseased mind of yours at this moment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are thinking, I will bet ten dollars to a doughnut, something along these lines: ‘Doesn’t this old bastard realize that I myself am something of a hero? I stand before him a veteran of Guadalcanal, a recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross, a superb fighter pilot who has shot down seven enemy aircraft, and managed to shed a little of my own blood in the process.’ Were you thinking something along those lines, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Sir, I’m proud of
my service with VMF-229,” Lieutenant Pickering said uncomfortably. “I like to think I did my duty on Guadalcanal, sir.”

  “Let me tell you what I think of your service with VMF-229, Mr. Pickering,” Admiral Ball said. “First of all, God gave you more hand-eye coordination than he saw fit to give other people. Since you had nothing to do with that, you can’t take pride in it. Your hand-eye coordination, from God, gives you the ability to fly airplanes better than most people. But you really shouldn’t take pride in that. You are, of course, aware of the study, vis-à-vis pilots, conducted by the University of California?”

  “No, sir,” Lieutenant Pickering said, confused.

  “The behavioral scientists at the University of California, after extensive research, concluded that the best human material to train to be a pilot are classified intellectually as cretins. Do you know what a cretin is, Mr. Pickering?”

  “No, sir.”

  “A cretin is a high level moron,” Admiral Ball said. “Judging by your behavior outside the cockpit, it fits you to a T. So you went to Guadalcanal, God having made you a cretin, and the Marine Corps having seen fit to put you in a cockpit, and you got lucky. God, it is said, takes care of fools and drunks, and you obviously qualify for His special concern on both counts. You managed to shoot down seven of the enemy, and—to be fair about this—the enemy pilots were probably divided, say four and three, into the incompetent and the unlucky.

  “And then you came home, Mr. Pickering, entrusted by the Marine Corps to train other Marine Aviators in the techniques of aerial combat. To train is to lead. How is the best way to lead, Mr. Pickering?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the Admiral’s question, sir.”

  “The best way to train, Mr. Pickering, the best way to lead, is by example. You might make note of that, since it apparently never occurred to you before.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what sort of example did you set for the young Marines entrusted to your hands to lead, Mr. Pickering? You made it perfectly clear to the men entrusted to your care that the way to become a splendid Marine fighter pilot like you is to ignore any regulations you find it inconvenient to obey; to spend as much time as possible racing, over the speed limit, out of uniform, between bars; to endanger the lives of enlisted men by barrel-rolling over the base control tower; to lie through your teeth to flight safety officers and other officers; and finally, to hide your salami in the first married woman you could entice to raise her skirt, without one goddamned thought about the trouble this might cause for her, for her husband, for me, and for the United States Marine Corps, which for reasons I don’t pretend to understand, thought you had the character of an officer and a gentleman, and gave you a commission.”