W E B Griffin - Corp 03 - Counterattack

by Counterattack(Lit)

  "What did he tell you about me? About the General?" Harris asked.

  "Sir?"

  "I suppose what I'm asking is whether he wants reports from you directly."

  "Sir, he told me to feel free to call him if I saw any problems coming up. But I wouldn't do that without checking with you."

  "No, of course you wouldn't," Harris said. "No offense in-tended. Christ, Jack, why do things get so complicated?"

  "It wouldn't be the Corps, Sir, if there wasn't some moron putting his two cents in and getting in the way of simple riflemen trying to do their job," Stecker said.

  Harris chuckled.

  "Keep Carlson happy, Jack," he said. "Let me know if I can help."

  "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

  Lieutenant Joe Howard was sitting on a battered, chrome-framed, plastic-upholstered couch in Colonel Harris's outer of-fice, thumbing through a copy of Collier's. He got to his feet when Stecker came out of Harris's office.

  "What we'll do now, Lieutenant," Stecker said, "is take you out to the 2nd Raider Battalion and introduce you to Colonel Carlson, his S-4, and Captain Roosevelt. Then we'll get you set-tled in a BOQ. And then, I thought, tonight we'll celebrate your bar, wash it down, and maybe get a steak, at the officers' club."

  Howard looked a little uncomfortable.

  "Something wrong with that?"

  "Sir, I've got sort of a date tonight."

  "Oh?"

  "I met a nurse at the hospital," Joe said. "I asked her to sup-per."

  "Well, hell, I wouldn't want to interfere with that," Stecker said. Then he smiled, dug in his pocket, and came out with a key. "Here," he said, handing it to Howard.

  "What is this, Captain?" Joe asked, confused. Stecker had handed him a hotel key from the Coronado Beach Hotel.

  "We Mustangs have to stick together," Stecker said, as they walked down the corridor toward the front door. "Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, gave that to me. We served together in France in the first war. I was a buck sergeant, and he was a corporal. He just came in the Navy, as a captain."

  Howard was visibly confused.

  "Between wars, Pickering is in the shipping business. Specifi-cally, Pacific & Far Eastern Shipping. He owns it. And they keep a suite at the Coronado Beach Hotel, permanently, to put up their officers who are in port. If you want to impress the nurse, take her out there. Just show that key to the maitre d' and he'll give you a table. Without a reservation, I mean."

  "And I can use it?"

  "I think Captain Pickering would be delighted to have you use it, under the circumstances," Stecker said. "And who knows, Joe, you might get lucky. The suite has four bedrooms. Odds are, one of them ought to be empty."

  "She's not that kind of a girl," Joe Howard said.

  "The one thing I've learned about women, Joe, over the years," Stecker laughed, "is that you never can tell about women."

  "I said she's a nice girl," Joe Howard said sharply. "From Philadelphia. She's even got a college degree."

  "I'm sure she is," Stecker said.

  (Eight)

  The Coronado Beach Hotel

  San Diego, California

  1930 Hours 3 February 1942

  There was a long line of people waiting to get into the main dining room. The line overflowed the bank of upholstered benches intended for those waiting for a table.

  "We're never going to get in here," Ensign Barbara Cotter said to Lieutenant Joe Howard.

  "Trust me," Joe said, with far more confidence than he felt. He put his hand on her arm and marched her past the sitting and standing people waiting to get in. Some of them, senior offi-cers, many with their wives, looked at them either curiously or unpleasantly.

  The maitre d', in his good time, raised his eyes from his list of reservations.

  "Your name, Sir?"

  Joe showed him the hotel key.

  The maitre d's eyebrows rose.

  "Certainly, Sir, will you come with me, please?"

  The enormous, old fashioned, high-ceilinged dining room was almost full, but here and there there were empty tables with Re-served signs mounted on brass stands. The maitre d' led them to a table by a wide window overlooking the water. The window was now covered by a heavy black curtain.

  "Your waiter will be here shortly, Sir," the maitre d' said, as he held Barbara's chair for her. "Enjoy your meal."

  "What did you show him?" Barbara asked.

  He handed her the key.

  "I don't know what you think I am, or who you are-" Bar-bara flared, and started to get to her feet. She saw the horrified look on his face, and stopped.

  "Captain Stecker loaned me that," Joe said. "He said to show it to the headwaiter, and it would get us a table."

  "Who is Captain Stecker?" Barbara asked, partially mollified.

  Why am I so furious? So far, he hasn`t even looked directly at me, much less tried to put his hands on me.

  "He's my boss, the one that got me the commission," Joe said, and then blurted, "I'm not trying to get you into a hotel room or anything like that."

  "I certainly hope not," she said.

  "All the key is for is so we could get a table," Joe said.

  "You said that," she said. "He lives here, or something?"

  "No. The key... this is an involved story...."

  "I'm fascinated," she said.

  He told her what Stecker had told him. Their eyes met, and in them she saw that he was telling the truth.

  And now that's over, she sighed inwardly. The key has been explained, and I believe he did not get himself a room here, confi-dent that I would jump in bed with him. So why do I feel a little let down? He almost sounds as if he doesn't want to go to bed with me. My God, this is an insane situation!

  "I'm sorry," he concluded.

  "Why should you be sorry?"

  "Because you thought-"

  "Let's just let it drop, OK?"

  "OK," he said, with enormous relief. "What would you like to drink? I mean, do you drink?"

  "Scotch," she said.

  "Scotch?" he asked, in disbelief.

  "Something wrong with Scotch?"

  "I didn't think girls drank Scotch."

  "Girls drink gin fizzes and brandy Alexanders, right? Things like that? And then they get sick to their stomachs. Well, this girl learned that in college, and this girl drinks Scotch. If that's all right with you."

  My God, why did I snap at him like that? What the hell is wrong with me?

  "Sorry," he said.

  "Stop saying you're sorry!"

  "Good evening," a waiter said. "May I get you something from the bar?"

  "Scotch," Joe said. "Scotch and soda. Two of them."

  "I'm very sorry, Sir, we're out of Scotch."

  Barbara looked at Joe, and she saw that he was looking at her, and that his lips and his eyes were curled in laughter he was afraid to let out.

  "That figures," Barbara said, and then she laughed; then, without thinking about it, she reached out and touched his hand with hers. But instantly withdrew it.

  "What now?" Joe asked.

  "Do you have any rye whiskey?" Barbara asked the waiter.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Rye and ginger ale, please," Barbara said.

  "Two, please," Joe said.

  He handed them menus and left.

  They read the menu. Joe was astonished at the prices; Barbara was horrified.

  He's only a first lieutenant. He can't afford this. I wonder how he would react if I suggested we go Dutch treat?

  "I'm not really very hungry," she said. "I think I'll just have a salad."

  "I know what you're thinking," he said.

  "I certainly hope not," she said. "What am I thinking?"

  "You're thinking the prices are crazy."

  "They are," she said.

  "Two big things have happened in my life in the last forty-eight hours. And I happen to have a lot of money. Let me splurge. Please."

  "What two big things?"

  "Look at
my shoulders," Joe said. "A year ago, I was a buck sergeant."

  "Being an officer is important to you, isn't it?"

  "I'm not sure I'll be able to hack it," he said.

  "Why not?"

  He shrugged. "I'm just not sure, is all."

  As if with a mind of its own, her hand touched his again, and was again instantly withdrawn.

  "What was the other thing?" she asked, idly curious.

  "You," he said.

  Her eyes moved to his, and then away.

  My God, he means that And I'm blushing!

  "I wish you hadn't said that," she said.

  "Why?"

  "It makes me uncomfortable."

  "Sorry."

  "Stop saying you're sorry!"

  The waiter appeared with a silver ice bucket on a stand. There was a towel-wrapped bottle in the cooler.

  "We didn't order any wine," Joe said.

  The waiter disappeared without a word.

  "What's that all about?" Barbara asked.

  Joe shrugged.

  The waiter reappeared, this time carrying a silver ice bucket, tongs, two glasses, and a soda-water siphon.

  "What's all this?" Barbara demanded.

  "I wasn't aware before, Sir, that you're Pacific & Far East-ern," the waiter said, almost in a whisper. "The cooler contains Scotch, Sir. From the P&FE cellar. You won't mind mixing your own? And please keep the towel in place. Because of the other guests."

  And he disappeared again.

  "Do you understand what he said?" Barbara asked.

  Joe shook his head, then took the bottle from the cooler. He unwrapped the towel, then closed it again.

  "Scotch," he said. "Something called Old Grouse."

  "Let me see," Barbara said, and he handed her the towel-wrapped bottle.

  "It's Scotch, all right," she said. "Good Scotch."

  "Where did it come from?" Joe asked.

  "You ever hear the expression `Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?"

  He took the bottle from her, and made a drink for her. It was, to judge by the color, far stronger than Barbara would have pre-ferred, but she didn't want to make a fuss.

  After the first couple of sips, I'll dilute it with more soda.

  She waited until he had fixed his own drink, then touched her glass to his.

  "Congratulations on your promotion," she said.

  "To you and me," he said.

  She met his eyes for a moment, then echoed him.

  "To you and me," she said.

  The waiter took his sweet time coming back for their order. She had just about finished her second drink by the time he did. She had really only wanted one, and that to be sociable. The second drink was as dark as the first, but it didn't seem to taste as strong.

  She indulged him and gave up the idea of having just a salad, telling herself that she would make it up to him somehow. She ordered a shrimp cocktail, a New York strip, and asparagus.

  "And for a wine, may I suggest a very nice Cabernet Sauvignon? It's Mr. and Mrs. Pickering's favorite, I might add."

  "Well, if it's good enough for them..."

  "I think you'll like it, Sir. It's made right here in California."

  I will have just one sip of the wine. The last thing I can afford to do is get tight.

  She looked down at her glass and saw that he had refilled it.

  I don't need that. I just won't drink it.

  "What's a New York strip?" Joe asked. "I don't think I've ever had one."

  The admission took Barbara by surprise.

  He really doesn`t know, which is not surprising. Since the day before yesterday he was a Marine sergeant, a prewar Marine ser-geant, someone my father would claim was in the Marines be-cause he couldn`t find a job, and because the Marines offered three square meals a day and a place to sleep. Regular Marine enlisted men have few of what my father would call the social graces. And no social graces came to Joe miraculously when he put on that officer's uniform. Ordinarily, God forgive me, I am uncomfortable around the enlisted men. Why is it different with this man?

  "You know a T-bone?" she asked, and he nodded. "The big piece. They cut the bone out of T-bone. The little piece is a filet mignon, and the big piece is a New York strip."

  "I came in the Corps when I was seventeen," Joe said, and she took his meaning: that she had a social background and he didn't; and that was why he didn't know what a New York strip was. New York strip was not common fare for Marine enlisted men.

  My God, is he reading my mind?

  She felt a wave of compassion for him as her mind's eye filled with a picture of Joe Howard at seventeen, looking like the kids she saw in the Marine Recruit Depot here. Frightened little boys in uniform.

  That's all he is now. The only difference is that he's twenty-four or twenty-five and wearing an officer's uniform. But he's still alone and more than a little frightened.

  She finished her drink before the meal was served. And she had three glasses of the Cabernet Sauvignon with the steak. The steak was delicious. While they ate, a band started to play. When they were finished eating, he asked her to dance.

  She could smell his after-shave when they were close, and she remembered the firm muscles of his chest and arms.

  What I'm going to do now, when we finish dancing, is go back to the table and have a cup of coffee, and then I'm going to tell him I have an early day tomorrow and have to go home.

  He spun her about, and her eyes moved across the people at the tables around the dance floor.

  And fell on Lieutenant Hazel Gower, NC, USN, who was staring at her. She was with another nurse, the skinny little old bitch who had sent her to the Venereal Diseases Ward after Bar-bara told her she didn't want to work in Obstetrics.

  "Let's quit," Barbara said to Joe. "I'm a little dizzy."

  When they returned to the table, the wine was gone, and so was the Scotch in the wine cooler. These had been replaced by a tray of cheese and two brandy snifters.

  I don't want that, either. But it's his party and I don't want to appear bitchy.

  "Did you order that?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "If you don't want it, don't drink it," he said.

  "It would be a shame to waste it," she said.

  A short time later, Joe said, "I don't think I've ever had a better time in my life. I hate for it to end."

  "It has to. I've got a busy day tomorrow."

  "Sure. I understand. I didn't mean..."

  Her hand reached for his again, and touched it, and this time she did not immediately withdraw it.

  "I've had a fine time, too. Really. I'm glad we came here."

  His hand closed on hers, and they held hands for a moment, and then he pulled his away.

  "I'll get the check," he said, and started looking for the waiter. It took him some time to find him. After the waiter no-ticed Joe waving and started moving toward their table, she caught Joe glancing at her, and then averting his eyes.

  "Will there be something else, Sir? A pastry, perhaps?"

  "You want a piece of cake?" Joe asked, and she shook her head. "Just the check, please."

  "Excuse me, Sir?"

  "Can I have the check, please?"

  "Sir, that'll go on the Pacific & Far East house ledger."

  "I'd like to pay for it," Joe said.

  "Sir, that would be... difficult."

  "Let it go, Joe," Barbara said. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

  "OK," he said, hesitantly. "Thank you."

  "I hope you enjoyed your meal, Sir."

  He took her arm again as he led her from the room. They walked within ten feet of Lieutenant Gower and her friend. When Barbara smiled at her, Gower stared right through her.

  In the lobby just outside the dining room entrance, Barbara stopped.

  "Where's the room the key goes to?"

  "I don't know. It says 418."