Captain McGowan closed the door.
"I'm not sure, Harry," General Dawkins said, "whether this is what you could call `for the good of the Corps,' or personal. But I'm here."
"How can I help, sir?"
"This goddamn college-degree nonsense has just gotten one more damned good Marine officer."
"We've talked about that, General," Wade said. "If this is a special case, I'll get on the horn to Eighth and Eye. But I think I can tell you what they're going to say."
"Yes, I think I know, too," Dawkins said. "I think it's too late for anything to be done about this."
"Yes, sir?"
"Does `Killer McCoy' mean anything to you, Harry?"
"I've heard about him. He made the Makin Island raid, didn't he? With Major Jimmy Roosevelt?"
"The Makin Island raid, and a hell of a lot else," Dawkins said. "During the war, the Killer spent more time behind enemy lines than most people you and I know spent in the Corps."
"Yes, sir. I know who he is. I've never met him."
"You're about to," Dawkins said. "He's on his way out here from Diego for involuntary separation. He's a captain. He used to be a major. They took that away from him, and now they want to send him back to the ranks."
"I don't know what to say," Colonel Wade said. "You could tell me this college-degree thing is stupid, but you'd be preaching to the choir."
"I want his passage through your separation process greased," Dawkins said. "And I don't want him to suspect it was greased because somebody feels sorry for him."
Wade did not reply directly.
"What the hell can a man like that do on civvy street?" he asked, as if of himself.
"1 just found out he's the opposite of hurting for money," Dawkins said. "For whatever consolation that might be. His wife owns a large chunk of American Personal Phar-maceuticals, and the rest of it is apparently owned by her father."
"In other words, he's in the Corps because he wants to be," Wade said.
"Exactly," Dawkins said. "And now he's getting the boot. I want that exit to be as painless as possible."
"With your permission, sir," Wade said, "I'd like to get Lieutenant Colonel Brewer in here. He's in charge of in-voluntary officer separations."
Dawkins thought that over for a moment. There was no question in his mind that Colonel Wade would relay his desires to the lieutenant colonel. But it would take only another couple of minutes of his time, and the lieutenant colonel would have no question in his mind what the Deputy Commanding General wanted. "Good idea, Harry," Dawkins said.
Colonel Wade walked to his office door and opened it, and spoke to his administrative assistant.
"Sergeant, run over to Colonel Brewer's office and tell him I'd like to see him right now."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"And if he has a file on a Captain McCoy, tell him to bring that with him."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Three minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Brewer entered Colonel Wade's office, carrying a large manila folder on which was lettered "MCCOY, K. R. CAPT USMCR."
He was visibly surprised to find the deputy commanding general resting his rear end on Colonel Wade's desk.
"You know the general, of course, Brewer?"
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Brewer said. He had met Dawkins for no more than two minutes when reporting aboard Camp Pendleton.
"That's McCoy's file?" Dawkins asked.
"Yes, sir."
He offered it to Dawkins, who took it.
"The general is interested in seeing that Captain Mc-Coy's separation from the Corps be conducted as expeditiously as possible," Colonel Wade said.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"You understand what?" Dawkins said.
"Sir, Captain McCoy's reputation precedes him," Lieu-tenant Colonel Brewer said.
"You bet your life it does," Dawkins said, "but there is something in your tone of voice, Colonel..."
"Sir?"
"What exactly do you know about Captain McCoy?" Dawkins asked.
"Well, sir, from what I understand of Captain McCoy, he was lucky to be retained on active duty as an officer as long as he was."
"Anything else?" Dawkins asked, softly.
"Sir, as I understand the situation," Colonel Brewer be-gan, slowly, having sensed that he was marching on very thin ice, and having absolutely no idea why that should be, "Captain McCoy was commissioned from enlisted status in the early days of World War Two when the Corps was desperately seeking officers."
"And we commissioned practically anybody who could see lightning and hear thunder?" Dawkins asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else?" Dawkins asked.
"Well, sir, it's come to my attention that he's... uh... in a financial position where he would be better off to spend his last twenty-nine days in the Corps on duty, rather than on leave. So that he could be paid for his unused ac-crued leave on separation, sir."
"And what would you have Captain McCoy doing on his last twenty-nine days of active service, Colonel?"
"Well, sir, as I'm sure you know, there's always some-thing an officer can do. Inventory supply rooms. The Ex-change. That sort of thing."
"Colonel," Dawkins said. "Listen to me carefully. I'll tell you what you are going to do vis-a-vis Captain McCoy, who is at this moment en route here. You will immediately receive him in your office. Ninety seconds after you re-ceive him in your office, he will depart your office on leave until the last day of his active service as an officer. When he reports back here on that last day of service, you will have arranged for the hospital to give him his separation physical examination on a personal basis-that is to say, it will take no longer than sixty minutes. If the hospital has any problem with that, have them contact me. When Cap-tain McCoy has his separation physical in hand, you will personally hand him his final pay and his travel orders to his home of record, and wish him well in his civilian ca-reer. You understand all that?"
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Brewer said.
"See that it happens, Harry," Dawkins said to Colonel Wade.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Come on, Art," General Dawkins said to Captain McGowan, and walked out of the room.
[SIX]
OFFICE OF THE CHIEF FOR OFFICER RECORDS
OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF,
G-l HEADQUARTERS
CAMI PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA
1610 8 JUNE 1950
"You wanted to see me, Colonel?" Major Robert B. Macklin, USMC, inquired of Lieutenant Colonel Peter S. Brewer, USMC, from Brewer's open office door.
"Come in, Macklin," Brewer said, "and close the door."
"Yes, sir."
"About this Captain McCoy, Macklin..."
"Yes, sir?"
"I want to make sure I have this straight in my mind," Brewer said. "From what you told me, you served with him. Is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where was that?"
"I was on several occasions stationed in the same places as McCoy, sir, but I don't know if that could be construed as `serving with' him, sir."
"For example?"
"The first time I ran into McCoy, sir, I was in intelli-gence in the 4th Marines in Shanghai, and he was a machine-gun section leader in one of the companies. I knew of his reputation there."
"Which was?"
"Sir, I... uh... I'm a bit reluctant, under the circum-stances..."
"This is just between you and me, Macklin. Let's have it."
"He was known as `the Killer,' sir. He got into a knife fight-a drunken brawl, as I understand it-with some Italian Marines, and killed one of them. I was surprised that he wasn't court-martialed for that, and even more sur-prised when I was an instructor at the Officer Candidate School at Quantico, when McCoy showed up there."
"I see."
"At the time, knowing what kind of a man he was, I rec-ommended that he be dropped from the officer training program. I just didn't think he was officer material, sir."
<
br /> "But he was commissioned anyway, despite your rec-ommendation?"
"Sir, the Corps was desperately short of officers at the time, scraping the bottom of the barrel. The Quantico ser-geant major, for example, was a sergeant major one day and a lieutenant colonel the next."
"Really? What was his name? Do you remember?"
"Yes, sir. Stecker. Jack NMI Stecker."
"You serve with McCoy anywhere else, Macklin?"
"When the OSS was formed, sir, there was a levy on the Corps for officers with intelligence experience in China. And/or who had some knowledge of Oriental languages. Both McCoy and I were assigned to the OSS. He had some smattering knowledge of Chinese, I believe."
"And that's how you came to understand his personal characteristics, his `payday-to-payday' philosophy of life?"
"Yes, sir. I suppose it is. May I ask-?"
Brewer put his hand up to silence him. "I hardly know where to begin, Major Macklin," he said. "Let me start with Brigadier General Jack NMI Stecker, holder of the Medal of Honor, under whom it was my priv-ilege to serve when he was special assistant to General Vandegrift, when he was Commandant of the Corps. You weren't suggesting, a moment ago, that he was something like Captain McCoy, someone who really shouldn't have been an officer in the first place, much less a lieutenant colonel and ultimately a brigadier general, were you?"
"No, sir. General Stecker was a fine Marine officer. But, if I may say so, he was sort of the exception to the rule."
"Not like McCoy, is what you're saying?"
"Not at all like McCoy, sir."
"Would you be interested to learn that whatever other problems Captain McCoy has at the moment, paying the rent is not one of them?"
"Sir?"
"I just came from Colonel Wade's office, Macklin, where I very much fear I left General Dawkins with the impres-sion that I don't know what's going on around here."
"Sir?"
"Both General Dawkins-who is obviously personally acquainted with Captain McCoy-and Colonel Wade- who had a somewhat different opinion from yours of Mc-Coy's service to the Corps even before we had a look at his records-are convinced the Corps is making a stupid mis-take in separating Captain McCoy from the service."
"I can only suggest, sir, that the general and the colonel are privy to information about Captain McCoy that I'm not."
"You didn't know that he was both wounded and deco-rated for valor when the Marine Raiders made the Makin Island raid?"
"That never came to my attention, sir."
"Did it ever come to your attention that Captain McCoy was awarded the Victoria Cross by the Brits for his service to the Australian coastwatcher service?"
"No, sir, it did not."
"How about his award of the Distinguished Service Medal for his having established a weather station in the Gobi Desert in Japanese-occupied Manchuria?"
"No, sir."
"There are several possibilities here, Major," Colonel Brewer said, almost conversationally.
"Sir?"
"One of which is that you are the most stupid sonofabitch ever to wear the insignia of a Marine major. Among the others are that you are a lying sonofabitch with a per-sonal vendetta-for reasons I don't even want to think about-against Captain McCoy."
"Sir-"
"Shut your mouth, Major," Brewer snapped. "Until I make up my mind which it is, and what I'm going to do about it, you will report to the Headquarters Commandant for an indefinite period of temporary duty. I don't know what else he will have you doing, but you will start by inventorying every company supply room on the base. You are dismissed, Major."
[SEVEN]
THE DIRECTOR'S OFFICE
EAST BUILDING, THE CIA COMPLEX
2430 E STREET
WASHINGTON, D.C.
0930 9 JUNE 1950
"The Director will see you now, Senator," the executive as-sistant to the Director of the CIA said, and held open the door to an inner office.
Senator Richardson K. Fowler and Fleming Pickering rose from a dark green leather couch and walked toward the office.
Rear Admiral Roscoe Hillenkoetter, a tall, imposing, silver-haired man, came from around his desk with his hand extended.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Senator," he said.
Pickering and Fowler had been in the outer office no more than three minutes.
In holders behind the admiral's desk were three flags: the national colors, the CIA flag, and a blue flag with the two stars of a rear admiral.
"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Admi-ral," Fowler said.
"Anytime, Senator, you know that," Hillenkoetter said, and extended his hand to Pickering.
`This is my very good friend, Fleming Pickering," Fowler said.
"How do you do, sir?" Hillenkoetter said. "What is it they say, `any friend of...' ? I'm trying to place the name."
"I'm chairman of the board of Pacific and Far East Ship-ping," Pickering said.
That, too, rings a bell, but no prize. There's something else. What?
"First, let me offer coffee," Hillenkoetter said, "and then you can tell me how I can be of service."
A younger woman than the admiral's executive assistant appeared with a silver coffee service. There was silence as she served coffee. Pickering, Pickering, where have I heard that name be-fore?
Oh, yeah!
Pearl Harbor. Right after the attack. He was a reserve four-striper; Navy Secretary Knox's personal representa-tive. Abrasive bastard. Thought he knew everything, and didn't like anything the Navy was doing. Or had done. And after that, what?
He was in the OSS. He was the deputy director of the OSS for the Pacific. Or was he ? The OSS guy was a Marine brigadier, not a Navy captain.
Admiral Nimitz liked the OSS guy. Maybe there's two Pickerings-brothers, maybe. What is he after, a job? The young woman left the office. "You were the assistant director of the OSS in the Pa-cific," Hillenkoetter said. "Isn't that right, Mr. Pickering?"
"General Pickering was the assistant director for the Pa-cific," Fowler corrected him.
"Excuse me," Hillenkoetter said. "For the Pacific." "Yes, I was," Pickering said.
"General Pickering has just come from Tokyo," Fowler said.
"Is that so?"
"Admiral, before we go any further," Fowler said. "If you have a recorder operating, please turn it off."
"I beg your pardon?" Hillenkoetter asked, surprised and indignant.
"If you have a recorder operating," Fowler repeated, "please turn it off."
Hillenkoetter didn't reply; he didn't trust himself to speak.
Who does this arrogant sonofabitch think he is, coming into my office and telling me to turn off my recorder?
"Franklin Roosevelt had the Oval Office wired to record interesting conversations," Fowler went on, amiably, rea-sonably. "I have no reason to believe Harry Truman had it removed. If I were in your shoes, I'd have such a device. I suspect you do, and I'm asking you to turn it off. There are some things that should not be recorded for posterity."
Hillenkoetter felt his temper rise.
Like a senator pressuring me to give his buddy a job, for example?
Who does he think he is?
He thinks he's a power in the Senate. He knows he's a power in the Senate. Ergo sum, one of the most powerful men in the country.
Hillenkoetter pressed a lever on his intercom box.
"Mrs. Warburg, would you please turn off the recording device?"
"Yes, sir," Mrs. Warburg replied.
Her surprise was evident in her voice. One of the rea-sons the admiral had kept Senator Fowler waiting was to make sure the recorder was working.
One did not let one's guard down when a senator-any senator, much less Richardson K. Fowler (R., Cal.)-called one at one's home and asked for a meeting at your earliest convenience, say, nine o `clock tomorrow morning.
"Thank you," Fowler said.
Hillenkoetter didn't reply.
Fowler looked at Pickering a
nd made a give it to me mo-tion with his index finger.
Pickering took a fat business-size envelope from his in-terior jacket pocket and handed it to Fowler. Fowler handed it to Hillenkoetter.
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 11
