PHENOMENAL PRAISE FOR W. E. B. GRIFFIN…
THE CORPS
“THE POET LAUREATE OF THE AMERICAN MILITARY…[Griffin’s] books convey a sure portrait of that culture. His grasp of history and his ability to personalize that big picture through the actions of an ever-changing cast of characters not only informs—it is highly entertaining as well.”
—Los Angeles Daily News
“THE BEST CHRONICLER OF THE U.S. MILITARY EVER TO PUT PEN TO PAPER.”
—Phoenix Gazette
“A BRILLIANT STORY informed by the meticulous detail and realism so characteristic of his writing…NOT ONLY WORTHWHILE, IT’S A PUBLIC SERVICE.”
—The Washington Times
“GREAT READING. A superb job of mingling fact and fiction…[Griffin’s] characters come to life.”
—The Sunday Oklahoman
“THIS MAN HAS REALLY DONE HIS HOMEWORK…I confess to impatiently awaiting the appearance of succeeding books in the series.”
—The Washington Post
“GRIFFIN’S BOOKS HAVE HOOKED ME…THERE IS NO ONE BETTER.”
—Chattanooga News-Free Press
“Griffin’s books are distinguished by high action and suspense, his dashing irreverence toward high command, and his clear picture of war and its leaders.”
—The Florida Times-Union
“Lots of action and a love for the U.S. military and its men. GRIFFIN DELIVERS.”
—The Dallas Morning News
“Combines the best elements of military history and the war story—the telling detail and political tangle of one mated to the energy and sweep of the other.”
—Publishers Weekly
“ACTION-PACKED…DIFFICULT TO PUT DOWN.”
—Marine Corps Gazette
“High-quality history and storytelling…The series only gets better and better.”
—Kirkus Reviews
TITLES BY W. E. B. GRIFFIN
HONOR BOUND
HONOR BOUND
BLOOD AND HONOR
SECRET HONOR
BROTHERHOOD
OF WAR
BOOK I: THE LIEUTENANTS
BOOK II: THE CAPTAINS
BOOK III: THE MAJORS
BOOK IV: THE COLONELS
BOOK V: THE BERETS
BOOK VI: THE GENERALS
BOOK VII: THE NEW BREED
BOOK VIII: THE AVIATORS
BOOK IX: SPECIAL OPS
THE CORPS
BOOK I: SEMPER FI
BOOK II: CALL TO ARMS
BOOK III: COUNTERATTACK
BOOK IV: BATTLEGROUND
BOOK V: LINE OF FIRE
BOOK VI: CLOSE COMBAT
BOOK VII: BEHIND THE LINES
BOOK VIII: IN DANGER’S PATH
BOOK IX: UNDER FIRE
BOOK X: RETREAT, HELL!
BADGE OF HONOR
BOOK I: MEN IN BLUE
BOOK II: SPECIAL OPERATIONS
BOOK III: THE VICTIM
BOOK IV: THE WITNESS
BOOK V: THE ASSASSIN
BOOK VI: THE MURDERERS
BOOK VII: THE INVESTIGATORS
BOOK VIII: FINAL JUSTICE
MEN AT WAR
BOOK I: THE LAST HEROES
BOOK II: THE SECRET WARRIORS
BOOK III: THE SOLDIER SPIES
BOOK IV: THE FIGHTING AGENTS
BOOK V: THE SABOTEURS
BOOK VI: THE DOUBLE AGENTS
PRESIDENTIAL AGENT
BOOK I: BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
BOOK II: THE HOSTAGE
BOOK III: THE HUNTERS
THE CORPS
BOOK I
SEMPER FI
by W. E. B. GRIFFIN
JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
SEMPER FI
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 1986 by W. E. B. Griffin.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-4406-3492-5
JOVE®
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
JOVE is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “J” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
THE CORPS is respectfully dedicated to the memory of
Second Lieutenant Drew James Barrett, III, USMC
Company K, 3rd Battalion, 26th Marines.
Born Denver, Colorado, 3 January 1945,
Died Quang Nam Province,
Republic of Vietnam, 27 February 1969
and
Major Alfred Lee Butler, III, USMC
Headquarters 22nd Marine Amphibious Unit.
Born Washington, D.C., 4 September 1950,
Died Beirut, Lebanon, 8 February 1984
“Semper Fi!”
CONTENTS
PREFACE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
PREFACE
In 1900, with the approval of the Dowager Empress of China, a Chinese militia, the I Ho Chuan, (or “Righteous Harmony Fists,” hence “Boxer”) began, under the motto “Protect the country, destroy the foreigner!” to kill both Westerners and Chinese Christians. The German ambassador in Peking was murdered, as were thousands of Chinese Christians throughout China, and the Boxers laid siege to the Legation Quarter at Peking.
The ninety-day siege of Peking was relieved on August 14, 1900, by an international force made up of Russian, French, Italian, German, English, and American troops.
The Imperial Court fled to Sian. Although war had not been declared against China, the “Foreign Powers�
�� nevertheless demanded a formal settlement. The Protocol of 1901 provided, among other things, for the punishment of those responsible for the Boxer Rebellion; the fortification of the Legation Quarter at Peking, to be manned by “Powers” troops; and the maintenance by foreign troops of communication between Peking and the sea.
As far as the Americans were concerned, this initially meant the stationing of U.S. Army troops and U.S. Marines in Shanghai, Peking, and elsewhere; and the formation of the U.S. Navy Yangtze River Patrol. The Navy acquired shallow draft steamers, armed them, designated them “Gun Boats,” and ran them up and down the Yangtze River.
The Russians, following their resounding defeat in the Russian—Japanese War of 1905, had for all practical purposes turned over their interests in China to Japan. Furthermore, the Versailles Treaty, which had set the terms of the peace between the Western Allies and the Germans and Austro-Hungarians at the end of The World War of 1914–1918, had also given the Japanese rights over the Shantung Province of China.
The reality of the situation in China in 1941 was that the lines had already been drawn for World War II. It was no secret that Japan’s ultimate ambition was to take as much of China as it could, into the “Greater Japanese Co-Prosperity Sphere.” It was also no secret that they intended to expel the British, the French, and the Americans when the time was ripe. And they most likely wanted the Italians out, too, although the Italians and the Japanese were on much better terms than either was with the French, the English, or the Americans.
The official hypocrisy was that all were still allies, in very much the same way they had been since the Boxer Rebellion in 1900.
It had been agreed then, when the international military force was formed to relieve Peking, that they were not waging war upon China, but rather simply suppressing the Boxers and protecting their own nationals from the savagery of the Chinese.
Thus the Japanese view in 1941, which no one challenged, was that their actions in China were nothing but extensions of what the “allies” started in 1900. The Japanese were prepared to protect all foreigners from Chinese savagery, and they expected the French, the Italians and the Americans to do likewise.
But because the Imperial Japanese Army’s tanks and artillery were doing nothing more than protecting their own, and other foreign nationals, they could logically raise no objection to the Americans or others protecting their nationals with token military forces.
The Japanese carefully restrained themselves, with several notable exceptions, from becoming involved in incidents involving an exchange of gunfire between themselves and troops of the neutral powers. They still paid lip service to international convention, because international convention condoned their occupation of Shantung Province. If an incident came before the League of Nations, it was likely to go off at a tangent into such things as the behavior of the Imperial Japanese Army.
Everyone understood that the Japanese prefer not to openlytell the League of Nations to go to hell. If necessary, of course, they would. But as long as they could avoid doing so, they would.
In January 1941, the American military presence in China consisted of the U.S. Navy Yangtze River Patrol; the U.S. Navy Submarine Force, China and the 4th-Regiment USMC (both based in Shanghai); and the U.S. Marine Detachment, Peking.
I
(One)
Company “D,” 4th Marines
Shanghai, China
2 January 1941
PFC Kenneth J. McCoy, USMC, stood with his hands on his hips staring at the footlocker at the end of his bed. He’d been that way for quite some time; he was trying to make up his mind. McCoy was twenty-one years old, five feet ten and one-half inches tall, and he weighed 156 pounds. He was well built, but lithe rather than muscular. He had even features and fair skin and wore his light brown hair in a crew cut. His eyes were hazel, and bright; and when he was thinking hard, as he was now, one eyebrow lifted and his lip curled as if the problem he faced amused him. He had once been an altar boy at Saint Rose of Lima Church in Norristown, Pennsylvania, and there were traces of that still in him: There was now, as then, a suggestion that just beneath the clean-cut, innocent surface, was an alter ego with horns itching for the chance to jump out and do something forbidden.
It was the day after New Year’s, and PFC McCoy had liberty. And it was two days after payday, and he had his “new gambling money” in his pocket. So he wanted to go try his luck. But what he couldn’t quite make up his mind about was whether or not he should leave the compound armed, and if so, how.
What had happened was that on Christmas Eve at a dance hall called the “Little Club,” there had been a not entirely unexpected altercation between United States Marines and marines assigned to the International Military Force in Shanghai by His Majesty, Victor Emmanuel III, King of the Italians. It wasn’t the first time the Americans and the Italians had gotten into it, but this time it had gotten out of hand.
McCoy had heard that as many as eighteen Italians were dead, and there were eight Marines in sick bay, two of them in very serious condition. Rumor had it—and McCoy tended to believe it—that there were bands of Italian marines roaming town looking for U.S. Marines. The officers certainly didn’t doubt it. They’d granted permission for Marines to wear cartridge belts (with first-aid pouches) and bayonets. A sheathed bayonet made a pretty good club; a drawn bayonet was an even better personal defense weapon. But sending the men out with bayonets, sheathed or unsheathed, was far short of sending them out with rifles, loaded or otherwise.
McCoy had not been at the Little Club on Christmas Eve, partly because a Marine who wanted to celebrate Christmas Eve by getting drunk had offered him three dollars (McCoy had negotiated the offer upward to five) to take the duty. But even without the offer, McCoy wouldn’t have gone to the Little Club on Christmas Eve. He had known from experience that the place would either be depressing as hell, and/or that there would be a fight between the Marines and the Italians. Or between the Marines and the Seaforth Highlanders. Or between the Marines and the French Foreign Legion.
Getting into a brawl on Christmas Eve was not McCoy’s idea of good clean fun. And getting into any kind of a brawl right now was worse than a bad idea.
McCoy’s blue Marine blouse had two new adornments, the single chevron of a private first class and a diagonal stripe above the cuff signifying the completion of four years’ honorable service. He had just shipped over for another four years, with the understanding that once he had shipped over he would be promoted to PFC. With the promotion came the right to take the examination for corporal.
It had also been understood, unofficially, that he would get a high rating when he went before the promotion board for the oral examination. They were willing to give him that, he knew, because no one thought he would stand a chance, first time out, of getting a score on the written exam that would be anywhere close to the kind of score needed to actually get promoted.
Well, they were wrong about that. He wanted to be a corporal very much, and he had prepared for the examination. The tough part of it was “military engineering,” which mostly meant math questions. He had a flair for math, and he thought it was likely that he hadn’t missed a single question. But McCoy had more going for him. When the promotion board sat down at Marine Barracks in Washington to establish the corporal’s promotion list, they paid special attention to something called “additional qualifications.”
McCoy had found out, by carefully reading the regulations, that there was more to this than the sort of skills you might expect, skills like making Expert with the .45 and the Springfield. You got points for that, of course, and he would get them, because he was a pretty good shot.
But you also got points if you could type sixty words per minute or better. When he took the test, he had been rated at seventy-five words a minute. He had kept that ability a secret before reenlisting, because he hadn’t joined the Marine Corps to be a clerk. But even that wasn’t his real ace in the hole. What that was, was “foreign language sk
ills.”
“Foreign language skills,” he was convinced, was going to make him a corporal long before anyone else in the 4th Marines thought he had a chance. His mother had been French, and he’d learned that from her as a baby. Then he’d taken Latin at Saint Rose of Lima High School because they made him, and French because he thought that would be easy.
When he’d come to Shanghai, he had not been surprised that he could talk French with the French Foreign Legionnaires, but he had been surprised that he could also make himself understood in Italian, and that he could read Italian documents and even newspapers. And that still wasn’t all of it.
Like every other Marine who came to the 4th, he had soon found himself exchanging half his pay for a small apartment and a Chinese girl to share the bed, do the laundry, and otherwise make herself useful. Mai Sing could also read and write, which wasn’t always the case with Chinese girls. Before he had decided that he really didn’t want a wife just yet—not even a temporary one—and sent Mai Sing back wherever the hell she had come from with two hundred dollars to buy herself a husband, she had taught him not only to speak the Shanghai version of Cantonese, but how to read and write a fair amount of the ideograms as well.
There was a standard U.S. Government language exam, and he’d gone to the U.S. Consulate and taken it. So far as the U.S. Government was concerned, he was “completely fluent” in spoken and written French, which was as high a rating as they gave; “nearly fluent” in spoken and written Italian; “nearly fluent” in spoken Cantonese; and had a 75/55 grade in written Cantonese, which meant that he could read seventy-five percent of the ideograms on the exam, and could come up with the ideogram for a specific word more than half the time.
The guy at the consulate had been so impressed with McCoy’s Chinese that he tried to talk him into taking a job with the Marine guard detachment. He could get him transferred, the guy said, and he wouldn’t have to pull guard once he got to the consulate. They always needed clerks who could read and write Chinese.
Semper Fi Page 1
