She took her arm from around Dillon’s back, caught his hand, and led him into the master bedroom. A moment later, the door slid closed, immediately followed by the drapes.
“I didn’t know they were such good friends,” Dawn Morris said, as if to herself.
Major Dillon’s going to bang Veronica Wood, just as sure as Christ made little apples, the Easterbunny thought. And she doesn’t care if we know it or not. Jesus Christ!
Dawn Morris was standing next to him. He could see the smooth skin of her legs.
Jesus, I like the way her legs feel. I’d really like to just…why the hell not?
Dawn Morris leaned down and caught the Easterbunny’s hand as it moved under her shorts.
“Behave,” she said.
“Why don’t we go take a nap ourselves?”
“We just did that.”
“So we’ll do it again.”
Dawn smiled at him, but she thought: Goddamn you, you’re as horny as a rabbit. Why don’t you just leave me alone? Twice last night and twice this morning should be more than enough.
But on the other hand, it wasn’t all that bad, nothing disgusting. You’re sort of sweet, and here I am, with Jake Dillon and Veronica Wood, which could be very, very useful in the future. And I could throw that out the window if I don’t keep him happy.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” the Easterbunny said. “What the hell, I’m a Marine.”
IX
[ONE]
Water Lily Cottage
Brisbane, Australia
0715 Hours 23 October 1942
Second Lieutenant John Marston Moore, USMCR, pulled on the emergency brake of the Studebaker President, opened the door, and then, very carefully, wincing with the pain, lifted up on his left leg and swung it out of the car.
“Sonofabitch!” he said softly. He turned on the seat, put the other leg out, reached over and grasped the handle of the briefcase that was handcuffed to his wrist, and then stood up. He glanced up at the porch and swore again. Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, wearing a pale-blue silk dressing robe, was standing there, drinking a cup of coffee, looking at him.
Moore smiled, then walked as briskly as he could to the house and up the wide steps to the porch.
“Good morning, General.”
“When was the last time a doctor looked at your legs?” Pickering asked.
“I go in for a checkup regularly, Sir.”
“That’s not what I asked, Johnny.”
“About a week ago, Sir. Maybe ten days.”
“And what did he say?”
“That considering the nature of the wound, a certain amount of discomfort is to be expected.”
“That didn’t look like discomfort; that looked like pain.”
“I’m all right, Sir.”
“When you’ve had your breakfast, we will both go see the doctor.”
“That’s not necessary, Sir.”
“Why couldn’t Pluto have gone to the dungeon?” Pickering asked, ignoring his reply.
“I was awake when the phone rang, Sir,” Moore said. “And Pluto had just gone to sleep.”
“There’s a significant difference, Johnny, between stoicism and foolishness, or worse, idiocy.”
Moore didn’t reply.
“Sit down,” Pickering ordered. “Was the trip worthwhile?”
“From my point of view, Sir, very worthwhile. I’m not sure how you will feel about it.”
Trying—and not quite succeeding—to make it look painless, Moore sat down on a rattan couch before a rattan coffee table, unlocked the handcuffs attaching the briefcase to his wrist, and then unlocked the briefcase itself. He handed Pickering a large, sealed manila envelope.
“George!” Pickering said, raising his voice. “If there’s any coffee left, bring it. And a cup and saucer.”
He tore open the envelope and took from it several sheets of paper.
* * *
TOP SECRET
URGENT-VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL NAVY DEPARTMENT WASH DC 2115 22OCT42
FOR: SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC AREA
EYES ONLY BRIGADIER GENERAL FLEMING PICKERING, USMCR
1. SECNAV HAS DIRECTED ME TO INFORM YOU OF THE FOLLOWING:
A. CHIEF OF STAFF, USA, SECWAR CONCURRING, ANNOUNCES THE PROMOTION OF 1/LT HON SONG DO, SIGC, USAR TO CAPT, SIGC, USAR, WITH DATE OF RANK 1AUG42.
B. CHIEF OF STAFF, USA, SECWAR CONCURRING, ANNOUNCES THE PROMOTION OF CAPT HON SONG DO, SIGC, USAR TO MAJ, SIGC, USAR, WITH DATE OF RANK 21OCT42.
C. ACTING COMMANDANT, USMC, SECNAV CONCURRING, HAVING WAIVED TIME IN GRADE REQUIREMENTS IN VIEW OF EXEMPLARY SERVICE, ANNOUNCES PROMOTION OF 2/LT JOHN MARSTON MOORE, USMCR, TO 1/LT USMCR WITH DATE OF RANK 21OCT42.
D. ACTING COMMANDANT, USMC, SECNAV CONCURRING, ORDERS THE IMMEDIATE SEPARATION FROM ACTIVE SERVICE OF SGT GEORGE F. HART, USMCR, FOR PURPOSE OF ACCEPTING COMMISSION AS 2/LT USMCR WITH CONCURRENT CALL TO ACTIVE DUTY IN PRESENT STATION.
E. SECNAV, CHIEF OF STAFF TO COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF CONCURRING, AUTHORIZES 2/LT GEORGE F. HART, USMCR, ACCESS TO SUCH CLASSIFIED MATERIEL AS BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING, USMCR, AT HIS DISCRETION, MAY DECIDE THE EXIGENCIES OF THE NAVAL SERVICE REQUIRE.
2. SENIOR NAVAL OFFICER PRESENT, SUPREME HEADQUARTERS, SWPOA, WILL BE ADVISED THROUGH ROUTINE CHANNELS OF PARAS C. THROUGH D. HEREOF FOR ADMINISTRATIVE PURPOSES.
3. SECNAV DESIRES TO EXPRESS HIS APPRECIATION TO BRIG GEN PICKERING FOR HIS REPORT OF 17OCT42, AND TO RESTATE HIS COMPLETE CONFIDENCE IN GEN PICKERING’S DISCRETION. SECNAV WISHES TO EMPHASIZE INTEREST IN HIGHEST QUARTERS OF SUCCESSFUL COMPLETION OF GEN PICKERING’S BASIC MISSION TO SUPREME HEADQUARTERS, SWPOA.
BY DIRECTION:
DAVID HAUGHTON, CAPTAIN, USN
ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT TO THE
SECRETARY OF THE NAVY
TOP SECRET
* * *
Sergeant George Hart, in a khaki shirt and green trousers, came onto the porch, carrying a silver coffeepot in one hand and a cup and saucer in the other. There was a snub-nosed .38 caliber revolver in a holster on his belt.
Pickering glanced at him.
“Lieutenant, would you present my compliments to Major Hon Song Do, and ask him to join us, please?”
“Excuse me, Sir?” Hart said, confused.
“Go get Pluto, George,” Moore said.
Hart went back into the cottage. Pickering turned his attention to the other documents. By the time he finished reading them, Pluto and Hart had come onto the porch. Pickering waved them into rattan chairs.
“Moore brought the midnight After-Action Reports,” Pickering said. “And the latest MAGICs…”
Pluto Hon looked at Pickering and then at Hart. The very code word, MAGIC, was not supposed to be used in the presence of anyone not holding that specific security clearance. Curiosity was on Hart’s face.
“…There has been no action to speak of on Guadalcanal,” Pickering continued. “Some small patrol actions, another bombing attack, but no major attack. And nothing in the MAGIC intercepts…”
Christ, there he goes again! Hon thought.
“…that suggests there have been any changes in IJGS orders to General Hyakutake changing the plan.” (IJGS: The Imperial Japanese General Staff.) “Does anybody have any idea what’s going on?”
“Sir,” Hon began carefully.
“Go on, Major,” Pickering said cordially.
Hon now looked really confused, which was Pickering’s intention.
“Really, Major,” Pickering said, handing him Haughton’s radio message, “when the phone rings in the wee hours saying something has come into the dungeon for us, you really should make an effort to get out of bed and go see what it is. All sorts of interesting things do come in.”
Hon read the radio message.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “I thought Hart had a screw loose….”
“Lieutenant Hart, you mean?” Pickering asked.
“Yes, Sir. General, I’m grateful.�
��
“Sir, I don’t have any idea what’s going on,” Hart said.
“That’s par for the course, for second lieutenants, isn’t it, Moore?”
“Yes, Sir. You ought to think about writing that on the palm of your hand, Hart. So you won’t forget it.”
“General,” Pluto said, looking at Moore. “Sir, if I had heard the phone, I’d have gone down there.”
“We were just talking about that, weren’t we, Johnny? From now on, until you can get Hart up to speed, Pluto, I want you to make all the middle-of-the-night runs to the dungeon. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sir, I’m all right,” Moore protested.
“Your second order of business, Major, is to take Lieutenant Gimpy here to the dispensary and get an accurate report on his condition.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your first order of business is to answer my first question: What’s going on with the Japanese at Guadalcanal? I want to know what to tell El Supremo when he asks me. And I’m sure he’ll ask.”
“Just before I quit last night, Sir, I checked with Hawaii to make sure I had all the MAGIC intercepts they had.”
“Sir, can I ask what a MAGIC intercept is?” Hart asked.
“OK,” Pickering said. “Let’s do that right now. Give him Haughton’s radio, Pluto.”
Pluto handed it over, and Hart read it, and then looked at Pickering for an explanation.
“Paragraph e, I think it was e,” Pickering began, “where Mr. Knox authorized me to grant you access to certain classified information, is the important one.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“If I don’t explain this correctly, Pluto,” Pickering went on, “please correct me.”
Pluto nodded.
“There is no way the Japanese can stop anyone with the right kind of radio from listening to their radio messages,” Pickering began. “Just as there’s no way we can stop the Japanese from listening to ours. As a consequence, even relatively unimportant messages, on both sides, are coded. The word Pluto and Moore use is ‘encrypted.’
“However, probably the most important secret of this war, George, and I’m not exaggerating in the least, is that Navy cryptographers at Pearl Harbor have broken many—by no means all, but many—of the important Japanese codes.”
“Jesus!” Hart said.
“The program is called MAGIC,” Pickering went on. “A MAGIC intercept is a Japanese message we have intercepted and decoded. Such messages have the highest possible security classification. If the Japanese even suspect that we have broken their codes, they will of course change them. I really don’t understand why they hold to the notion that their encryption is so perfect that it cannot be broken…”
“Face, Sir, I think,” Pluto said. “Pride. Ego. It is their code, conceived by Japanese minds, and therefore beyond the capacity of the barbarians to comprehend.”
“That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose,” Pickering said. “Do you agree, Moore?”
“Japanese face is certainly involved,” Moore said. “But when I think about it, what makes most sense to me is a variation on that idea: Absent any suspicion that we have cracked their codes (and I would say almost certainly ignoring the advice of our counterparts, Japanese encryption people), there is no Japanese officer of senior enough rank to be listened to, who has the nerve to suggest to the really big brass that their encryption isn’t really as secure as some other big brass has touted it to be. Admitting error, the way we do, is absolutely alien to the Japanese. You are either right, or you are in disgrace for having made a bad decision earlier on.”
“I don’t understand a thing you said,” Hart confessed.
“OK,” Moore said. “Japanese are not stupid. I’ll bet my last dime that somewhere in Japan right now there are a dozen cryptographic lieutenants—maybe even majors, people like us—who know damned well that in time you crack any code. But they can’t go to IJGS and say ‘we think it’s logical that by now the Americans have broken this code.’ They don’t have enough rank to go to the IJGS and say anything. And they can’t go to their own brass, either—their colonels and buck generals—and make their suspicions known. They know that will open them to accusations of harboring a defeatist attitude, having a disrespectful opinion of their seniors, that sort of thing. And even if they went to their colonels and generals, and were believed, the colonels and generals know that if they go up the chain of command to somebody who can order new codes, they will be open to the same charges. So everybody keeps their mouths shut, and we get to keep reading their mail.”
“Uh,” Hart grunted.
“That, what you just heard, George, was analysis,” Pickering offered. “Pluto and Moore are more than cryptographers. They—plus the people in Hawaii, of course—read the MAGIC intercepts and try to understand their meaning. Their analyses are made available to three people, three people only, in SWPOA. General MacArthur, his G-2 General Willoughby, and me.”
“That’s all?” Hart asked, surprised.
“They’re the only people authorized access to MAGIC,” Pickering explained. “In addition, of course, to Pluto and Moore, and now you.”
“And Mrs. Feller, Sir,” Moore said.
“I haven’t forgotten her, Moore,” Pickering said. “Is she back yet?”
“Yes, Sir. She came back from Melbourne on the evening train.”
“OK. Then I’ll deal with her today. That will leave it the way I said it, Hart. The three of you have access. And MacArthur, Willoughby, and me. If anyone else ever mentions MAGIC to you, in any connection whatever, you will instantly report that to either Pluto or Moore or me. You understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Let’s get back to what’s going on at Guadalcanal. I don’t think it will be long before there’s a call from El Supremo.”
“I checked with Hawaii last night before I closed down,” Pluto said. “We have all their MAGICs. None were to Generals Hyakutake, Tadashi, or Maruyama. Or from them. We have to presume, therefore, that the original orders—”
“Which called for the attack on 18 October,” Pickering interrupted.
“—which called for the attack to be launched 18 October,” Pluto affirmed. “We have to presume that they remain in force. And that there has been no request by Hyakutake to IJGS for a delay in execution. I think we can further infer that IJGS, having had no word from Hyakutake to the contrary, believes the attack is underway.”
“Moore?” Pickering asked.
Moore shrugged, looked thoughtful for a moment, then made a gesture with his fist balled, thumb up.
“Absolute agreement?” Pickering challenged.
“We talked about it last night,” Moore said. “It fits in with the most logical scenario on Guadalcanal.”
“Which is?” Pickering asked.
Hart noticed that the relationship between the three of them had subtly changed, as if they had changed from uniforms into casual clothes. It was not a couple of junior officers talking to a general—they had even stopped using the terms “Sir” and “General”—but rather three equals dealing with a subject as dispassionately as biologists discussing mysterious lesions on a frog.
“They’re obviously having more trouble moving through the mountains than they thought they would,” Moore went on, “especially their artillery. If they had moved it as easily as they thought they could—were ordered to—the attack would have started. But to make it official that they hadn’t would mean a loss of face all around—for Maruyama for having failed, for Hyakutake for having issued an order that has not been obeyed. Et cetera.”
“You’re saying there won’t be an attack?”
“No. They’ll attack,” Pluto said. “If it’s a six-man squad with one mortar. But the attack is not on schedule. And from that I think we can safely infer that when launched it will not be in the strength they anticipated. And I think it will be very uncoordinated….”
“When?”
“Today,”
Moore said firmly.
“Tomorrow,” Pluto said, equally firmly.
“And that’s what I tell El Supremo?” Pickering asked.
“It’s our best shot,” Pluto said.
“OK,” Pickering said. “Now, how long will it take you to get Hart up to speed on the machine?”
“Not long. He can already type. Not as long as it will take to get him into an officer’s uniform, and through the paper shuffling at SWPOA.”
“Can I help with that?” Pickering asked.
“Yes, Sir. A word in General Sutherland’s ear…”
“No,” Pickering said, and smiled at him. “You’re a major now, Major. You see what you can do. If you have trouble, then I’ll go to Sutherland.”
“I’m not a major yet,” Pluto said. “It’ll take days for the paperwork to get here from Washington.”
It took a long time for Pickering to reply.
“How long will it take to get an officer’s uniform for Hart?” he asked finally.
“There’s an officer’s sales store,” Moore replied. “No time at all.”
“Come with me, please, Major,” Pickering said, and motioned the others to come along.
He went to a telephone and dialed a number.
“Colonel Huff, this is General Pickering,” he said when there was an answer. “Would you put me through to the Supreme Commander, please?”
There was a slight pause.
“Good morning, General,” Pickering said. “Sir, I would like to ask a personal favor.”
There was another slight pause.
“Sir, I have just received word that Pluto Hon’s long-overdue promotion has come through. I know he would be honored, and I would regard it as a personal favor, if you would pin his new insignia on.”
Another pause, slightly longer.
“Thank you very much, Sir. I very much appreciate your kindness.”
He hung up. He turned to Pluto Hon.
“Do you think anyone would dare ask you for the paperwork after El Supremo has pinned the brass on you himself?”
“No, Sir.”
“Get the right insignia for you and Moore, get a uniform for George. And when you have all that, come back here and get me.”
Close Combat Page 22
