W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines

by Behind The Lines(Lit)

  "Have a nice flight," General Pickering said. "And whether you like it or not, you have my gratitude and my admiration."

  He shook hands with McCoy first, and then Dillon. And then he turned to the boyish corporal.

  "Easterbrook, you did one hell of a job on Guadalcanal," he said. "Your pictures are probably going to influence this war in ways you can't imagine.

  I've told Major Dillon-Jake, listen to me-to make sure the proper people know what you did, and how well you did it."

  Corporal Easterbrook blushed.

  Finally, Pickering turned to Sergeant Hart.

  "It's not too late to change your mind, George," he said. "You still have a priority to get on that airplane, and you certainly deserve a couple of weeks off."

  "No, Sir. I'll go to Australia with you, Sir."

  "Try not to fall out of the whaleboat, Jake," General Pickering said, and turned and walked out of the passenger lounge.

  "Hart's the one who falls out of boats, General," Dillon called after him.

  A 1939 Cadillac Fleetwood with civilian license plates was parked outside the building. Pickering got behind the wheel, started the engine, waited for Sergeant Hart to get in, and then drove off. Five hundred yards down the road, he made a sudden U-turn and headed back to the passenger terminal.

  "You never know those damned things are airborne until they're air-borne," he said. "Let's wait and see if they really get off."

  "Yes, Sir," Sergeant Hart said.

  Pickering had several reasons for coming to the Navy base to see the four off. One of them was that he feared that the Navy would ignore their AAAAA travel priority, and give their seats on the plane to some deserving-read high-ranking-Navy officer.

  They couldn't do so officially, of course, but in the minds of most people in the Navy, any Marine-not just a lowly corporal-was of far less impor-tance than a fellow sailor with the four stripes of a captain or the solid gold stripes of an admiral on his tunic sleeves. There was far less chance that a "mistake" or an "unfortunate misunderstanding" would occur-leaving an admiral sitting in the seat reserved for Corporal Easterbrook when the plane took off-if the Navy was aware he was being seen off by a Marine general.

  Oddly enough, in Pickering's mind, the boyish corporal had the greatest justification for a priority seat to Washington. It was entirely possible that the Secretary of the Navy-for that matter, the President himself-would want to talk to him.

  The day before, Major Edward Banning, USMC, had carried still and motion-picture films Easterbrook had shot on Guadalcanal to the States. By now, Banning was either in Washington or soon would be. On his arrival he would brief Secretary Knox and, Pickering believed, the President and his Chief of Staff Admiral William Leahy as well.

  A picture was indeed worth a thousand words, and Easterbrook's film showed the situation as it was far better than any thick report could possibly show it. It was impossible to get more than one seat on yesterday's plane, and Pickering decided it had to go to Banning; Easterbrook obviously was not equipped to handle a briefing.

  But there would be questions asked today about specific details of the photographs or 16mm film, if not by Roosevelt, Knox, or Leahy, then certainly by Major General Horace W. T. Forrest, the intelligence officer on the staff of the Commandant of the Marine Corps, by Colonel F. L. Rickabee, of the USMC Office of Management Analysis, and by others. These questions could only be answered by the photographer himself, or possibly by Jake Dillon.

  On the other hand, there was no real reason why Lieutenant McCoy had to be rushed to Washington. The polite fiction was that he would be useful in helping Dillon and Easterbrook. But the real reason he was going was that Pickering had decided McCoy had a moral right to a seat on the plane. McCoy-and Hart-had paddled ashore from a submarine onto the enemy-held island of Buka, carrying with them a desperately needed radio and some other supplies for a Coastwatcher team that was supplying information con-cerning Japanese sea and air movements critical for the battle of Guadalcanal.

  The fact that he had accomplished this mission-which included bringing out with him the two Marine Coastwatchers-without firing a shot in no way diminished the enormous risk he had voluntarily taken. While planning the op-eration, Pickering had privately decided that the operation had one chance in four of succeeding.

  In Pickering's mind, if there were forty passengers aboard the huge, four-engine, Consolidated PB2Y-3 Coronado, it was mathematically certain that perhaps ten percent of them-four-were brass hats whose rank, not legiti-mate importance to the war effort, had gotten them a seat. One of the four could wait a day before going home.

  Pickering stopped the Cadillac on a wharf from which much of the carnage the Japanese had caused on Battleship Row on December 7, 1941, could be seen, and got from behind the wheel. Hart followed him to the edge of the pier.

  As they saw the whaleboats-three of them-approach the huge seaplane, a Navy officer, a lieutenant junior grade, wearing canvas puttees, a steel hel-met, and a.45 pistol suspended from a pistol belt, came trotting down the pier.

  We are obviously parked where we are not supposed to park, Sergeant Hart thought, and driving a civilian car where there are supposed to be no civilian cars.

  The j.g. slowed when he saw the stars on Pickering's epaulettes and collar points.

  He saluted.

  "May I help the General, Sir?"

  "No, thank you," Pickering said, and gestured over the water. "We're just watching to see if the Coronado gets off."

  "General, this is a restricted area. There's not supposed to be any civilian vehicles in this area, Sir."

  "Is that so?" Pickering replied. "Well, we won't be long, son."

  Hart managed to keep his face straight as he watched the Lieutenant decide what he should do about the situation. He was not at all surprised when the Lieutenant decided to do absolutely nothing but fold his arms on his chest and watch as the passengers entered the airplane from the whaleboats.

  As soon as the last passenger had entered, the pilot began to start the en-gines. Before all of them had started, the huge plane began to move. It disap-peared around a point of Ford's Island, but the sound of its engines could still be heard.

  And then they changed pitch, as the pilot went to takeoff power.

  When the Coronado next came into sight, it was airborne.

  "Well, unless they threw Jake off when we couldn't see it, I guess they're on their way," Pickering observed. "Let's go, George." He looked at the j.g. "Good morning, Lieutenant."

  "Good morning, Sir," the Lieutenant said.

  Pickering slipped behind the wheel and drove back toward the passenger terminal. As they approached, another Navy officer appeared, this one in whites. He stood in the middle of the road and raised both arms.

  "Uh-oh," Hart said softly, "another one."

  Pickering slowed the car and when he reached the Navy officer stopped. Hart saw that the officer, who now saluted, was a commander, and that dan-gling from the shoulder of his white uniform was the silver cord of an aide to a flag officer.

  "Good morning, Sir. You are General Pickering, Sir?"

  "That's right. What can I do for you, Commander?"

  "Admiral Nimitz's compliments, Sir. The Admiral would be most grateful if you would speak with him, Sir. There's a telephone inside."

  "Certainly. I'll park the car."

  Admiral Chester W. Nimitz was Commander-in-Chief, Pacific.

  Hart followed Pickering back into the passenger terminal, where the aide waited, holding open the door to an office.

  "This way, please, General," the aide said, and then made it quite plain with the expression on his face that Hart should remain outside. Hart ignored him. He was under orders to go everywhere that General Pickering went ex-cept, Colonel Rickabee had said, into a stall in a head, in which case he was supposed to wait where he could keep an eye on the door.

  The aide dialed a number from memory.

  "Admiral," he said. "Commander Ussery. Would y
ou please inform CINCPAC I have General Pickering on the line?"

  He handed Pickering the telephone.

  "Nimitz."

  "Pickering, Sir. You wished to speak to me, Sir?"

  "How's your health, Pickering?"

  "I'm very well, thank you, Sir."

  "I didn't expect to see you back here so soon."

  "I didn't expect to be back so soon, Sir."

  "I appreciate the film you sent me."

  "I thought you would be interested, Sir."

  "What's your schedule, Pickering?"

  "I'm on the 1500 plane to Brisbane, Sir."

  "Could you fit an hour or so for me into your schedule?"

  "I'm at your disposal, Admiral."

  "I think it would be best if you didn't come here," Nimitz said. "Are you free for lunch?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Somewhere private," Nimitz said. "Do you suppose we could meet... could I invite myself for lunch at your place?"

  "I'd be honored, Sir."

  "Noon," Nimitz said. "Would that be convenient?"

  "Certainly, Sir."

  "I'll make sure the Brisbane plane doesn't leave without you. Thank you, General."

  The phone went dead in Pickering's ear.

  Pickering looked at Sergeant Hart.

  "Shine your shoes, George. CINCPAC is coming to lunch at Muku-Muku."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  Pickering looked at Commander Ussery.

  "Would you like me to draw you a map, Commander?"

  "That won't be necessary, Sir."

  "Well, then, I suppose we'll see you at Muku-Muku at noon."

  "Yes, Sir."

  [THREE]

  Muku-Muku

  Oahu, Territory of Hawaii

  1150 Hours 16 October 1942

  The official vehicle of the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific, was a black 1941 Cadillac Model 62. There was no starred flag officer's plate; instead a blue flag with four silver stars flew from a staff mounted on the right front fender.

  Sergeant George Hart was waiting for CINCPAC s arrival on the wide, shaded, flagstone porch of the rambling house overlooking the Pacific. He started down the stairs the moment he saw the car approaching, intending to salute, then open the rear door, then stand to attention while CINCPAC got out, then to close the door after him and follow him up the stairs.

  By the time he reached the Cadillac, CINCPAC was already out of the car. Commander Ussery and the driver, a portly chief petty officer, quickly fol-lowed him. Hart noticed that the Chief had gotten no farther than the hood of the car before CINCPAC was walking toward him.

  Hart saluted.

  CINCPAC, a tall, silver-haired man in his fifties wearing a high-collared white uniform, returned the salute, smiling.

  "Good afternoon, Sergeant," he said without breaking stride. "Would you be good enough to find the Commander and the Chief something to eat, and do what you can to keep them out of trouble?"

  "Aye, aye, Sir," Hart said, as CINCPAC walked past him and up the stairs.

  Brigadier General Pickering came onto the porch and saluted.

  "Good afternoon, Sir. Welcome to Muku-Muku."

  CINCPAC returned the salute, and then put out his hand.

  "We gave ourselves an extra ten minutes in case we got lost," CINCPAC said. "I've only been here twice before, and that was a long time ago."

  "Well, I'm glad you didn't get lost, Sir."

  "You look well, Pickering," CINCPAC said. "Better than I would have expected."

  "I'm fine, Sir."

  "The way I heard it, the President pulled you out of a hospital bed."

  "No, Sir, I was already out of the hospital."

  The door to the house was opened by a silver-haired black man in a gray jacket.

  "Welcome back to Muku-Muku, Admiral," he said. "I'm Denny. Do you remember me, Sir?"

  "Indeed I do, but I'm surprised and flattered that you remembered I've been here before," CINCPAC said.

  "May 22, 1939, as the guest of Captain Renner, Admiral," the black man said. "I checked the guest book."

  "I don't suppose I could steal you away from General Pickering, could I, Denny?" CINCPAC said.

  "Thank you, Sir, but no, thank you."

  "Renner has the Pacific Princess now, doesn't he?" CINCPAC asked.

  "It's the USS Millard G. Fillmore now," Pickering said. "I sold her to the Navy, which was wise enough to hire Renner away from me for the duration to skipper her."

  "What can we offer the Admiral to drink?" Denny asked.

  "If I drink at lunch, I have a hard time staying awake in the afternoon," CINCPAC said. "Having said that, I think a light scotch would go down nicely, thank you very much."

  "We're set for lunch on the terrace," Denny said. "If you'll follow me, please?"

  He led the way through the luxuriously furnished house to the terrace, on the seaward side of the house. CINCPAC walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down the steep, lush slope. At its end, five hundred yards away, large waves crashed onto a wide white sand beach.

  "I've never been here in the daytime before," he said. "I missed that. It's beautiful."

  "Yes, it is," Pickering agreed.

  "It makes the very idea of war seem all that much more obscene, doesn't it?" CINCPAC asked.

  "Yes, Sir, it does," Pickering replied.

  CINCPAC met Pickering's eyes. "Are we going to lose Guadalcanal, Pickering?" he asked. "Can Vandegrift hang on?"

  Pickering was relieved when Denny appeared with the drinks. It at least delayed his having to answer a question he felt wholly inadequate to answer: whether or not Major General Archer A. Vandegrift's First Marine Division was going to be torn from its tenuous toehold on Guadalcanal.

  "Very nice," CINCPAC said, sipping his drink.

  "Famous Grouse," Denny said. "Funny name for a whiskey, isn't it?"

  "Leave the fixings, please, Denny," Pickering said. "And give me ten minutes' notice when lunch will be ready."

  "Ten minutes from when you tell me," Denny replied.

  "Admiral?" Pickering asked.

  "Ten minutes from now would be fine, Denny," CINCPAC said. He waited until Denny had left them alone on the terrace, and then looked at Pick-ering again. "Can he, or can't he? A good deal depends on that."

  "Admiral, with respect, I am in no way qualified to offer an opinion about something like that."

  CINCPAC nodded his head.

  "I had a radio early today from Admiral Ghormley," he said. (Vice Admi-ral Robert L. Ghormley, USN, was Commander, South Pacific, and Senior Naval Commander for the Guadalcanal Operation.) "In it he used the phrase 'totally inadequate' vis-a-vis the forces available to him to resist a major Japa-nese attack. I think that's going overboard, but I would like to know what Van-degrift really thinks."

  "General Vandegrift is a superb officer," Pickering said.

  "The feeling around here is that General MacArthur is not doing all he can with regard to reinforcing Vandegrift."

  "If that is your perception, Sir," Pickering heard himself say, "I'm truly sorry."

  "You don't perceive that to be the case?"

  Oh, to hell with it. He asked me. I'll tell him.

  "I would suggest that there are people around General MacArthur who believe CINCPAC isn't doing all it can, Admiral."

  "You believe that?"

  "I'm in no position to make any judgment whatever, Sir."

  "Right about now, your Major... what was his name? Vanning?"

  "Banning, Sir."

  "... Banning... is presumably briefing Secretary Knox. Which carries with it the unpleasant connotation that he does not trust the reports being sent to him by me."

  "I think he wants all the information he can lay his hands on, Sir."

  "Do you think it's likely that Secretary Knox will go to the President with the information Banning carried with him?"

  "Yes, I do," Pickering replied.

  "Do you think General MacArthur shares the opinion of those aroun
d him that we're not doing everything we can?"

  "No, Sir. I do not."

  "When you see General MacArthur, will you give him my personal assur-ance that I am doing everything I can?"