W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines

by Behind The Lines(Lit)

  "Maybe this guy was lucky," Galloway said. "Most of the Buffalo pilots I knew went down at Midway."

  "Yeah," Mclnerney said softly, and then changed the subject again. "You having trouble with the squadron, Charley? Anything I can do to help?"

  "Trouble? Oh, yeah. The basic problem is that most of them are hotshot pilots. They're good, they know they're good, but they don't like it when somebody tells them they're not quite as good as they think they are."

  "That's a problem."

  "Are we still out of school?" Galloway asked, and when General Mclner-ney nodded, went on. "The trouble I had with Stevenson was that he showed up on the flight line with lipstick all over him, and obviously half in the bag. I don't think he'd been to bed. Correction, I don't think he had any sleep."

  Mclnerney chuckled.

  "I had to call him on it," Galloway went on. "There were a half-dozen other hotshots watching. So I restricted him to quarters for a week. That's when he called me a chickenshit hotshot hiding behind my bars. I could have brought charges against him-that would have probably meant a little loss of pay-or reported him to Colonel Dawkins as incorrigible-which would have meant the Colonel would take him off flight status and ship his ass to the First Division, which would have meant the loss of a pretty good pilot and screwed up the First Division. So I took him into the hangar."

  "The only thing wrong with your solution was that he might have whipped your ass," Mclnerney said. "Did you think about that?"

  "I thought about that, and so did Big Steve. He came in the hangar with us."

  "Did you need him?"

  "No. But it was touch and go for a couple of minutes."

  "Are you letting Big Steve fly, Charley?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Why not?"

  "Because if I got caught, Colonel Dawkins would transfer him, and he's the only friend I've got in the squadron."

  "Does he understand that? Why you can't look the other way and let him fly?"

  "No, Sir."

  "I'll have a word with him. We go back a long way. At one time, he and I were the entire corps of Marine Aviators in Nicaragua."

  "Be careful. He's a very persuasive guy. He's liable to talk you into put-ting him back on flight status."

  "Not with his heart. He shouldn't even be in uniform. Should I have a word with him?"

  "I'd be grateful, Sir."

  "Just between us, Charley, you're doing a much better job with your squadron than a lot of people thought you could."

  "Including you, General?"

  "Don't fish for compliments, Captain. It's unbecoming to a Marine offi-cer," Mclnerney said, and then, very softly, "I wonder why I suspect that Weston's call home was something less than a joyful occasion?"

  Galloway followed his eyes. Weston was coming back toward them with a thoughtful, unhappy look on his face.

  "Where the hell is Charley?" Mclnerney asked rhetorically. As if waiting for the cue, his aide appeared pushing a wheeled cart on which were an array of bottles, glasses, and a bowl of ice.

  "You have a perfect sense of timing, Captain Weston," Mclnerney said.

  Weston looked at him in confusion.

  "Sir?"

  "How'd the call go?"

  "Aunt Margaret wanted me to understand that she's not in a position to give the government its money back."

  "What money?"

  "My death benefits," Weston said. "I was reported KIA and the govern-ment paid off."

  "Did she have anything else to say?" Mclnerney asked.

  "Not much," Weston said.

  "Well, fuck her!" Galloway said indignantly.

  Weston looked at him and smiled.

  "Well, whatever happens about that," Mclnerney said, "I'm sure they won't take it out of your pay."

  "You know what really bothers me?" Weston asked. "All the time I was on Mindanao-even before Mindanao-all I could think of was getting back to the States. And now that I'm actually going, I don't want to."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't have anyplace to go. I don't know anybody anywhere in the States, and I certainly don't want to go to Iowa."

  "You mean that?" Mclnerney asked.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Then stay here. Recuperative Leave orders state to any destination of your choice in the United States. I'm sure that would include Hawaii."

  "Where here?" Weston said, obviously interested.

  "Here, here at Muku-Muku," Mclnerney said. "General Pickering would insist on that. And you could keep Charley company, and if you listen with proper awe to his tales of aerial derring-do, he just might teach you how to fly a Corsair. It is your intention, I presume, to go back on flying status?"

  "You have a Corsair squadron?" Weston asked Galloway, awe in his voice.

  Galloway nodded.

  "It's one hell of an airplane," he said.

  "The only ones I've ever seen were the ones they sent to fly cover when the Coronado took me off the submarine. Christ, they were beautiful!"

  Well, that answers my question about whether or not he wants to go back on flying status, Mclnerney thought. And I just might be able to arrange it so that Charley has more than one friend in his squadron.

  "Take your time and think it over," General Mclnerney said. "I don't want to talk you into doing anything you really don't want to do."

  "General," Weston said. "There's nothing to think over. I'd kill to get in the cockpit of a Corsair."

  [TWO]

  Flag Officers' Quarters

  U.S. Navy Base

  Espiritu Santo

  1655 Hours 11 January 1943

  "Well, look what the tide washed up," Brigadier Fleming W. Pickering said as the screen door to his luxurious-by comparison-Quonset hut temporary quarters opened and Rear Admiral Daniel J. Wagam walked in. "What brings you to this tropical paradise?" (Quonset huts are prefabricated portable build-ings constructed of corrugated metal that curves down to form walls.)

  Pickering was lying on a narrow cot, wearing only his underwear. Wagam crossed over to him and shook his hand.

  "You're not going to like this, Fleming," Wagam said.

  "Not like what?"

  Wagam reached into his briefcase and took out a manila folder stamped TOP SECRET and handed it to Pickering.

  T O P S E C R E T

  THE SECRETAHY OF THE NAVY

  WASHINGTON

  VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL

  COMMANDER IN CHIEF, PACIFIC

  PEARL HARBOR

  0816 9 JANUARY 1943

  FOLLOWING PERSONAL FROM SECNAV FOR ADMIRAL NIMITZ

  DEAR ADMIRAL NIMITZ:

  OSS DIRECTOR WILLIAM DONOVAN HAS REQUESTED OF ADMIRAL LEAHY TRANSPORTATION OF THREE (3) OSS AGENTS TO AUGMENT OSS FORCES PRESENTLY OPERATING IN PHILIPPINES AND TO ASSUME COMMAND OF OPERATION WINDMILL.

  IT HAS BEEN DECIDED BETWEEN ADMIRAL LEAHY AND MYSELF THAT THE MOST EFFICACIOUS MEANS OF ACCOMPLISHING THIS IS TO DELAY SCHEDULED DEPARTURE OF SUBMARINE SUNFISH ON OPERATION

  GROCERY STORE ONE UNTIL THE AFOREMENTIONED OSS PERSONNEL CAN BE CARRIED ABOARD HER.

  OSS PERSONNEL WILL DEPART WASHINGTON VIA AIR FOR ESPIRITU SANTO 1200 HOURS WASHINGTON TIME TODAY.

  PLEASE INFORM BRIG GEN PICKERING OF THIS CHANGE TO PLAN OF OPERATION GROCERY STORE ONE AND REQUEST HIM TO INFORM COMMANDING OFFICER OF OPERATION WINDMILL TO EXPECT OSS AUGMENTATION PERSONNEL ABOARD SUNFISH.

  COMMAND OF OPERATION WINDMILL WILL PASS TO SENIOR OSS AGENT ON DEPARTURE FROM PHILIPPINES OF PRESENT COMMANDER.

  BEST PERSONAL REGARDS

  FRANK KNOX

  END PERSONAL SECNAV TO ADMIRAL NIMITZ

  HAUGHTON CAPT USN ADMIN ASST TO SECNAV

  T O P S E C R E T

  "That sonofabitch!" General Pickering said bitterly, and then corrected himself. "Those sonofbitches, plural!"

  "How near is the Sunfish ready to sail?" Admiral Wagam asked.

  "She's sailing at first light," Pickering said. "She was to sail at first light. I was about to put my pants on and go buy Capta
in Houser a farewell drink and dinner. Christ, Dan, we've already pushed up her ETA to the twentieth. We're not running the Congressional Limited here! Do you know how much planning has gone into finding the place and the right time where she can safely sur-face?"

  "A good deal, I'm sure."

  "And it's not just McCoy and Lewis coming out. There's a dozen sick and wounded...."

  "Is there any reason she could not sail immediately?" Wagam asked. "Or have sailed an hour ago, before I got here?"

  Pickering looked at him for a long minute.

  "That would get you in a lot of trouble. It would get us both in trouble, but right now..."

  "It would not get me in trouble with my boss," Admiral Wagam said.

  "As a matter of fact, I don't think he would be at all surprised to get a radio from me saying I arrived here too late to keep the Sunfish from sailing, and that imposed conditions of radio silence make it impossible to recall her."

  "So that's why you delivered that message in person," Pickering said. It was a statement, rather than a question.

  "I'll deny under oath that I said this, but we have here proof that MacArthur's and Admiral Nimitz's worries if Donovan got the OSS nose in the tent have in fact come to pass. The OSS-Donovan-is deciding how operations should be conducted here, and to hell with what the commanders think."

  "Knox wouldn't believe that story of you being too late to stop her from sailing. Neither would Leahy," Pickering said.

  "I don't think anyone expects them to believe it. With your exception, Fleming, flag officers don't say, 'Fuck you, I won't do it,' when they decide that disobeying an order is the right thing to do."

  " 'Gee, I really would have liked to do what you wanted me to, but it just couldn't be done'?"

  "Something like that," Wagam said. "How do you want to handle this, Fleming?"

  "I'm so goddamned mad right now that any decision I make will be the wrong one."

  "Be that as it may..."

  "Goddamn them!" Pickering said. "Goddamn Donovan!"

  "I agree, but it doesn't solve the problem."

  "There's really no problem," Pickering said softly. "I took an oath, the operative passages being that I would carry out the orders of the officers ap-pointed over me."

  Wagam nodded.

  "The departure of the Sunfish will be delayed until Donovan's people can be carried into the Philippines aboard her," Pickering said, formally.

  "I think that's the reaction Admiral Nimitz expected of you," Wagam said.

  "Let me put my pants on, Dan," Pickering said. "And we'll go to the Communications Center and get the word passed. And then we'll pick up Cap-tain Houser at the Sunfish, and have several drinks to mark the nonsailing of the Sunfish as originally scheduled."

  [THREE]

  Espiritu Santo Island

  0500 12 January 1943

  Senator Richardson K. Fowler

  Washington, D.C.

  By Hand

  Dear Dick:

  An unnamed friend leaving here in a couple of hours has promised that he will have this in your hands as quick as humanly possible. He has no idea what it says. I regret having to put you on the spot with this, out I can't think of anyone else I can turn to.

  I have come to the conclusion that I am doing more harm than good in uniform, and that my potential for doing the war effort more harm is growing like an out of control cancer.

  I want to resign my commission, is what I'm saying, and don't tell me it can't be done. The Navy turned young Lieutenant Henry Ford loose to run the Ford Motor Company, and a couple of months ago I ran into a Texas schoolteacher turned Congressman out here. He got himself a Navy commission and got sent out here-maybe you know him, his name was Linton, or Lyndon, or something like that Johnson, great big guy with bad teeth-Anyway, he was on his way back to Congress, so I know that people are getting out of the service "for the convenience of the government."

  Yesterday, I was a hair's breadth away from willfully disobeying the orders of the President. That's bad enough, but it gets even worse. I was almost encouraged to do so by a senior Naval officer.

  Bill Donovan is without question an unmitigated sonofabitch, but I have come to understand that he was right when he rejected my application for employment. What do I know about Intelligence, clandestine or otherwise, that would entitle me to become one of his Twelve Disciples? Further, what is there in my background that justifies me running around pretending to be a Marine general? What I am is a reasonably competent ship's master, and that's all.

  More important, what gives me the right to question the wisdom of orders from Donovan and Admiral Leahy? What the hell am I doing agreeing with MacArthur and Nimitz-as if we're three equals-that "we're" right and the President, Leahy and Donovan are wrong?

  I was sent out to pour oil on troubled waters. What I have done is pour gasoline on a smoldering fire. The one thing we absolutely can't afford to have out here is guerrilla warfare pitting CINCPAC and SWPOA against Washington.

  Get me out of here, Dick, before I cause any more damage. Pull what strings you have to to allow me to resign quietly, as soon as possible. As soon as possible is defined as "as soon as the people I sent into the Philippines are successfully evacuated." That should be sometime late this month.

  Let me go back to Pacific & Far East Shipping and try to make some contribution to this war doing something I know how to do.

  I'll owe you.

  Fondly,

  Flem

  [FOUR]

  Headquarters, U.S. Forces in the Philippines

  Davao Oriental Province

  Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines

  1045 Hours 13 January 1943

  Lieutenant Percy L. Everly walked into the thatched-roof house on stilts that Brigadier General Wendell Fertig had declared to be the Visiting Bachelor Of-ficers' Quarters carrying a stack of khaki uniforms.

  "Los Presentos from El General," he announced to McCoy, Lewis, Macklin, and Zimmerman. He pronounced "General" in the Spanish manner, "Hen-eral."

  "Is that supposed to be Spanish, Everly?" Lieutenant Lewis asked, chuck-ling.

  "Yes, Sir," Everly said. "Doesn't it sound like Spanish? And special pre-sentos for you, mi capitain, and you, mi gunny," he went on, reaching into his shirt pocket and handing small silver objects to McCoy and Zimmerman.

  "I ain't no officer," Zimmerman said, examining the handmade lieuten-ant's bar in his hand.

  "You are here," Everly argued. "El Hen-eral says so. It's not so bad, Ernie. You get used to it."

  "I'll be damned," McCoy said, almost to himself, examining the captain's bars in his hand. Word of his promotion had been radioed from Australia, but until now, he hadn't thought much about it. The insignia somehow seemed to make it more official than the radio message had.

  And then McCoy looked at Everly. "What's with the khakis? Where'd they come from?"

  "Money talks," Everly said. "Bullshit walks."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Just before Sharp-Mindanao Force-surrendered, they opened the Quartermaster warehouses to the Filipinos," Everly explained. "I guess Sharp figured it was better to give the stuff to the Filipinos than to burn it to keep the Japs from getting it. Or maybe he didn't have time to burn it; they had all sorts of supplies here. Anyway, the Filipinos took this stuff and hid it. They didn't seem to remember where until our guys started passing out twenty-dollar gold coins. We're getting offers of all sorts of stuff now."

  "As the man says, Captain McCoy," Lieutenant Lewis said. "Money talks, bullshit walks. Phrased somewhat more eloquently, cash equals credibil-ity."

  "These is Army uniforms," Zimmerman said, in either disgust or disap-pointment.

  "Put it on, and put the bar on it," McCoy ordered. "General Fertig wants Americans to look like officers, and he's right."

  "That's not all that's coming out of the bushes," Everly said. "Half an hour ago, a half-dozen civilians, including two female ones, showed up here."