"I told... whatever his name is, the next-of-kin officer, that I would pre-fer to get them later, that I wasn't up to two ceremonies, the funeral, and that," she said.
"If you don't like this idea, just say no. I assure you I'll understand," Dawkins said. "This afternoon, there is going to be a retreat parade at Camp Pendleton, during which a number of Marines are to be decorated-"
"Oh, I don't think so, General," Babs interrupted.
"-including Major Pickering," Dawkins went on, "who will receive the Navy Cross."
Babs looked at Pick.
Oh, Christ, don't look at me that way!
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"He didn't know until I told him just now," Dawkins said.
"What are you proposing, General Dawkins?" Babs Mitchell asked. "That I get Dick's medals at the parade?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's just what I am suggesting."
"Thank you, but no, thank you," she said.
"I understand," Dawkins said.
"Pick, what do you think?" Babs asked, looking into his eyes. "Wouldn't I be out of place?"
I really wish you wouldn't turn to me for advice, Mrs. Mitchell, he thought. I'm the last sonofabitch in the world who should be offering advice to you.
"No. No, you wouldn't be out of place. You're entitled to Dick's medals. And getting them at a retreat parade would be something you'd remember the rest of your life."
She exhaled audibly.
"Maybe you're right," Babs said, and turned to Dawkins. "All right, Gen-eral. What do I have to do?"
"I'm going to send an officer to escort Major Pickering," Dawkins said. "Would you like him to pick you up, too, and take you out to Pendleton?"
She thought a moment.
"Yes. That would probably be best. What time?"
"The retreat parade starts at 1700, which means you'd have to leave San Diego at, say, 1600."
She looked at her watch. "That doesn't give me much time to dress. Sim-ple black dress, hat, and gloves?"
"Spoken like a true Marine officer's wife," Dawkins said. And then heard what he had said. "That was intended to be a compliment, Mrs. Dawkins."
"And I took it as one," Babs Mitchell said. "That's what I was, until re-cently-a Marine officer's wife."
She put her hand on Pick's arm. The warmth of her fingers immediately went through the thin hospital bathrobe.
You really have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me, do you?
"I'll see you in a little while," she said. "I'm relying on you to get me through this. The escort officer will pick you up first, and then me, right?"
"I think that would be best," General Dawkins said.
When she took her hand from Pick's arm and headed for the door, Captain McGowan pushed it open and held it open as she passed through it, and then General Dawkins followed. Then he went through it and it swung shut.
Major Pickering stared at it for a long time, until he realized he was hold-ing his arm where Mrs. Babs Mitchell had held it.
Then he said, "Shit!" and went to his bed side table and took out a bottle of Listerine mouthwash, which he had had tht foresight to fill with scotch in the Officers' Club, and took a long pull, and then another.
[SIX]
The Parade Ground
Marine Corps Base Camp Joseph H. Pendleton, California
171O 2 November 195O
Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins, USMC, rose from his chair in the re-viewing stand and walked to the lectern at the forward edge. He tapped the mi-crophone with his finger, which caused the loudspeakers mounted on poles to pop loudly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, Marines," General Dawkins began. "Two of the officers to be decorated today recently flew together off the aircraft carrier USS Badoeng Strait. One of them is here only in spirit. His dec-orations will be accepted by his widow."
There was a sudden, rapidly-growing-in-volume roar of aircraft engines.
Three Corsairs in a V formation appeared low in the sky, and then three more, and then three more.
They flew no more than five hundred feet above the parade ground and then began to pull up. The center Corsair in the third V applied full military emergency power, increased the angle of his climb, and changed course to the right, left the formation, and disappeared into the sky.
General Dawkins again addressed the parade.
"Marines to be decorated, front and center!" he barked.
The band began to play "The Marines' Hymn."
[SEVEN]
The Ocean View Apartments
1OO5 Ocean Drive
San Diego, California
185O 2 November 195O
"Would you like to come in for a minute, Pick?" Mrs. Babs Mitchell asked as the Marine-green Chevrolet pulled into the driveway.
I would gladly sell my soul to Satan, or whoever else would have it, to go up there with you and never come out.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a little weary. Call me?"
"Of course."
The escort officer walked Mrs. Mitchell to the lobby, watched through the glass door until she got on the elevator, and then walked back to the staff car and got in beside Major Pickering.
"You all right, sir?"
"No. But I will be just as soon as we get to the bar in the Coronado Beach Hotel and I have a pick-me-up. Or three."
"Sir, my orders are to make sure you make it safely back to the hospital."
"Screw your orders," Pick said. "If General Dawkins finds out-and I can see no reason why he should-I'll take the heat. Sergeant, the Coronado Beach Hotel."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant driving said.
[EIGHT]
Air Cargo Terminal
Trans-Global Airways
Lindbergh Field
San Diego, California
2O25 2 November 195O
"I'm not sure about this, ma'am," the assistant station manager said to Mrs. Babs Mitchell. "He said I wasn't to let anybody in here."
"It's all right," Babs said. "We're friends."
"If you say so," the assistant station manager said, and put his key to the lock in the metal door in the hangar door.
Babs stepped through it.
There were lights in the hangar, but they were mounted high against the roof, and the hangar was crowded with pallets of air freight waiting for shipment-most of it, she saw, addressed to "Transportation Officer, 1st Mar-Div, Korea"-and it was some time before she saw him.
He was standing with his hands on his hips-looking oddly belligerent- before a coffin shipping case in a far corner of the hangar.
She watched for more than a minute, and he didn't move.
She didn't want him to hear her coming across the gritty concrete, so, stand-ing on one leg at a time, she took off her shoes before she walked to him.
And he didn't sense her presence-which surprised her-until she touched his arm.
"Hey, Pick," she said. "How are you doing?"
"How the hell did you find me?"
"Well, I was worried about you, so I went to the hospital and you weren't in your room, and you weren't in the Officers' Club, and then I remembered hearing on the radio that her... her..."
"Jeanette's body?"
"Yeah. Jeanette's body would be formally received, or whatever they said, in the morning. And I thought that maybe it had come in early, and you might be out here. So I called up and asked for you, and he said you weren't here, but I could tell he was lying, so I came out. Wrong move?"
"What made you think I'd be out here?"
"I just knew. I know how you think."
Jesus Christ, I hope not.
He didn't reply.
"I'm surprised they let you in. You really don't work for Trans-Global any-more, do you? I mean, you're on military leave, right?"
"I own the airline," Pick said. "That probably had something to do with the station manager letting me in."
"You own the airline like I'm Marilyn Monroe."
Jesus Chri
st, she doesn't know!
"I slipped him twenty bucks from my poker winnings," Pick said.
Jesus, I can smell her.
"What happened to your shoes? Blister?" he asked.
"No. I didn't want to startle you, so I took them off. How you doing?"
"After twenty, thirty minutes of solemn contemplation, I decided that Jeanette is not really inside this Container, Human Remains," Pick said. "So it doesn't really matter that it's not covered with the flag."
"There'll be a flag tomorrow, won't there?"
"Probably. I don't know. I don't care. I'm not going. I said good-bye to her twice, once over there, and I'm doing it again now. Have just finished doing it, now."
She took his hand with both of hers.
You don't really want to do that, Mrs. Babs Mitchell. My high moral charac-ter is weakened in direct proportion to the amount of imbibed booze. The needle on the Moral Scruples Remaining indicator is already in the red.
"I'm sorry, Pick."
"You shouldn't be. Despite popular legend to the contrary, the real bastards of this world do get what is coming to them. Or don't get what they would re-ally like to have."
"I'm not sure I follow that."
"That's probably because I am just a wee bit tiddly."
"I noticed," she said matter-of-factly. "If you're really finished, I'll take you home."
By that, obviously, you mean home to room 39A in the loony ward.
"I thought I'd catch a cab and go back to the Coronado Beach," he said. "But I will take a ride as far as the passenger terminal, where I can catch a cab."
"Why there?"
"Because that's where the cabstand is."
"I meant the Coronado Beach Hotel?"
"Because I have an apartment there, where I can have a few drinks in pri-vate, and thus not disgrace my officer's uniform by being shitfaced in a public establishment, or run afoul of the hospital O Club regulations."
"You have an apartment there?"
"Yeah, I have an apartment there."
"If you're ready, I'll take you there."
"That would be a very bad idea," he said. "As a matter of fact, I will not, thank you just the same, take a ride to the passenger terminal."
"Why would that be a very bad idea?"
"Because I'm having a hell of a hard time keeping from putting my arms around you while standing in front of Jeanette's casket, and I know goddamn well what would happen in your car. Much less my apartment."
She looked into his eyes.
"Okay. Now you know," Pick said. "That's the kind of a prick I am. And the sooner you get away from me, and the farther away you get, the better."
"Okay. I'm warned," she said. "Let's go."
"Didn't you hear what I said?"
"I heard you."
"But you don't believe me? Is that it?"
"I had a couple of drinks before I went looking for you," Babs said. "Time to think very seriously about the dangers of someone like myself being desper-ate for another man in my life, of someone like you being especially vulnera-ble to someone like me."
"And?"
"I had another drink and went looking for you."
"Jesus, Babs!" he said softly.
"The drinks I had are wearing off, so if we're going to do this, you'd better get another couple in me pretty soon."
"I don't think you know what you're saying," he said.
"Yeah, I do. Why not, Pick? Who are we going to hurt?"
"The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you, add to your prob-lems," Pick said.
"I know," she said. She put her hand on his cheek. "Likewise. Who knows? Maybe we can solve each other's problems. It seems to me worth trying. What has either one of us got to lose?"
"Jesus H. Christ!"
"Come on, let's go," she said, and took his hand and led him away from the Container, Human Remains. Halfway to the hangar door, he freed his hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Six steps farther, he stopped, put both arms around her, and kissed her.
[NINE]
Apartment A
The P&FE/Trans-Global Suite
Coronado Beach Hotel
San Diego, California
O83O 3 November I95O
"I think this is what your friend Dr. McGrory would call 'postcoital depres-sion,' " Babs Mitchell said to Pick Pickering.
They were having a room-service breakfast; both were wearing hotel-furnished terry-cloth robes. The robe concealed all the curvature of her body.
It doesn't matter. I can see her face. Even without makeup, she's beautiful.
Okay. Here it comes. You knew goddamn well it would.
"Now that I've thought it over..."
"Something bothering you?"
"I had too much to drink last night," she said. "You must think I'm really a slut."
"No I don't," he said.
"You don't?"
"I don't."
"I wish I could believe that."
"Believe it."
"Oh, God, what have we done?"
After a moment, Pick solemnly said, "If that question was addressed to the Deity, I'm sorry to have to tell you He's not available at the moment. But-as one of His favorite people on this particular planet-I feel confident in telling you that when He finally gets around to answering your query, He will say something like 'Nothing wrong.' Or 'Good for you.'
" 'One of His favorite people'?" Babs parroted incredulously.
"I have the proof," Pick said. "He put us together, didn't he? Just when we really needed each other. Would He have done that if He didn't like us?"
"Oh, God, I'd like to believe that."
"I told you, He's not available at the moment. But you can believe it."
She stood, walked around the room-service cart, and put her arms around his neck from behind.
"Oh, God, I really hope this works," she said.
"For the third time, I'm sorry to have to tell-"
"I'm going to have to stop saying that, aren't I?"
"I don't know. He'll probably wonder why you stopped talking to Him."
She pulled on his ears, and he twisted in his chair, and somehow his face wound up inside her bathrobe. And then, somehow, the bathrobe became com-pletely unfastened and fell from her shoulders.
He had just picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder and announced, "Me Tarzan, you Jane! We go make whoopee-whoopee, okay?" when the door chimes sounded.
"Come back next year," Pick callled loudly.
"It's Captain McGowan, sir."
"Oh, shit," Pick said softly. Then he raised his voice. "Be right with you, Art."
He carried Babs into the bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and went to answer the door.
"Got a message for you, sir," Captain McGowan said.
"From General Dawkins?"
"No, sir. From Japan." He handed it to him, then said, "Sir, when you go back to the hospital... The general told them he'd asked you to spend the night, and didn't think he had to ask their permission. They were about to send the Shore Patrol looking for you."
"My compliments to the general,, Captain, and please relay my appreciation for his understanding of the situation."
"Yes, sir, I'll do that. Good morning, sir."
Pick tore open the envelope.
UNCLASSIFIED
URGENT
OFFICE OF THE CIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA TOKYO
0305 3NOVEMBER1950 TOKYO TIME
TO MAJOR MALCOLM S. PICKERING, USMCR
DETACHMENT OF PATIENTS
US NAVAL HOSPITAL SAN DIEGO
VIA BRIG GEN C W DAWKINS, USMC CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA
PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO TO MAJ PICKERING
BEGINS
MAJOR AND MRS KENNETH R. MCCOY, USMCR, ANNOUNCE THE BIRTH OF THEIR SON, PICKERING KENNETH MCCOY, IN TOKYO JAPAN AT 0215 3NOVEMBER1950. MOTHER AND CHILD ARE DOING WELL.
W E B Griffin - Corp 10 - Retreat, Hell! Page 63
