W E B Griffin - Corp 03 - Counterattack

by Counterattack(Lit)

  And in forty minutes he would meet her at the main entrance, and they would get in her car and drive over to the Coronado Beach Hotel, and because the bar looked so crowded, they would go upstairs and have a drink before dinner in the Pacific & Far Eastern Suite, which translated to mean that half an hour after she met Joe, forty-five minutes from now, they would be in one of the wide and comfortable beds in their birthday suits.

  And now this, whatever the hell this is all about!

  Barbara walked over and stood before Commander Mar-wood's desk.

  I don't care what she thinks I've done, what good ol' Hazel has told her I've done. I will plead guilty, swear I will never do it again, and beg forgiveness. Just so I can meet Joe!

  "Yes, Ma'am?"

  "Apparently, Cotter," Commander Marwood said, "the Navy has decided there is a slot where you may practice your special skills."

  What the hell is she talking about?

  "Ma'am?"

  "There has been a TWX from the Surgeon General's office," Marwood said. "Actually, two of them. The first of them re-quested a list of the nurses in San Diego with experience, or spe-cial training, in psychiatric service. I provided your name. The second TWX put you on orders."

  "Excuse me?"

  "This is your formal notification, Miss Cotter, of your selec-tion for overseas service. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

  "No, Ma'am."

  "I didn't think you would," Marwood said. "When a member of the Naval Service is officially notified that he, or she, is about to be sent to sea, or overseas, as I have just notified you, the offi-cer making the notification is required to advise the person being sent overseas that failure to make the shipment-missing the ship or the airplane, or failing to report to the departure point as scheduled-is a more serious offense than simple absence without leave. Specifically, that offense is called `absence without leave for the purpose of avoiding hazardous service.' Severe court-martial penalties are provided."

  Barbara felt rage flow through her; Joe Howard was immedi-ately forgotten.

  "Are you implying that I would go AWOL?" she flared.

  "Not at all," Commander Marwood replied.

  "It sounded like it!"

  "I don't like your tone of voice, Ensign Cotter," Commander Marwood said, angrily.

  Barbara glared at Commander Marwood, but said nothing. Commander Marwood glared back.

  Finally, Commander Marwood said, "Cotter, there was noth-ing personal in this. Regulations require that an individual being sent overseas be informed of the penalties provided for AWOL with the intent of avoiding hazardous service."

  "Then I'm sorry," Barbara said.

  "I'm really getting sick and tired of telling you, Cotter," Lieu-tenant Commander Hazel Gower said, "that a junior appends `Ma'am' to whatever she says to a superior officer."

  "I'm sorry, Ma'am," Barbara said.

  Commander Marwood waved her hand in a sign that meant, OK, forget it.

  "Where am I going?" Barbara asked, remembering just in time to append "Ma'am."

  "I don't know," Commander Marwood said. "Possibly to Ha-waii. Possibly elsewhere. If they were going to station you aboard one of the hospital ships, I think your orders would have spelled that out. All your orders say is that you are to report to the Personnel Center, San Diego Navy Yard, for overseas service."

  "When?" Barbara asked.

  "There's some processing to go through. A physical. Shots, that sort of thing. Getting your pay up to date. Getting your personal affairs in order. Making sure you have the necessary uniforms and equipment. That'll take a couple of days. Then you will be given a delay en route leave, up to fourteen days, which should give you time to go home. So, as a specific answer to your question, you will report to the Navy Yard two weeks from the day your processing is over and you begin your leave. When you will leave there depends on the availability of ship-ping."

  "I see."

  "Now, regulations also require that I ask you if there is any reason you wish to apply for relief from your orders on humani-tarian grounds."

  Joe Howard reappeared in Barbara's thinking.

  "Sick parents, that sort of thing?" Commander Marwood pur-sued.

  "No, Ma'am," Barbara said. "Nothing like that."

  "I've scheduled your last day of duty for Sunday," Lieutenant Commander Gower said. "You can start your out-processing on Monday morning."

  "I'd sort of planned on having the weekend off," Barbara said, adding, again, just in time, "Ma'am."

  "Your shipping out has left me short of people," Commander Gower said. "I had to rearrange the shifts. That requires that you pull a shift on Sunday. Sorry."

  Barbara nodded her understanding.

  "That will be all then, Cotter," Commander Marwood said. "Good luck. I'll try to see you before you ship out."

  "Thank you," Barbara said.

  She had not appended "Ma'am" to her reply, but neither Commander Gower nor Commander Marwood called her on it.

  When she was gone, Commander Gower said, "Well, there goes the romance of the century, down the toilet."

  "That's a pretty goddamned bitchy thing to say, Hazel!" Commander Marwood snapped.

  Ensign Barbara Cotter was twenty-five minutes late meeting First Lieutenant Joseph L. Howard. Her replacement was late, and taking the goddamned drug inventory took longer than it usually did, and then she caught herself just standing in the shower, washing the same shoulder over and over again, lost in thought, and with no idea whatever how long she'd been doing that.

  And then when she finally got to the main entrance, he wasn't there.

  He was here, and left.

  Or he couldn`t get off, and won't be here.

  Oh, Jesus, now what?

  A LaSalle convertible pulled up before the main entrance and tapped its horn. She saw a Marine officer in it.

  No, goddamn you, I don't want a goddamned ride!

  Where the hell can he be?

  The Marine officer in the shiny LaSalle convertible blew the horn again. Barbara glowered at him, working up what she hoped was a magnificent look of contempt. The Marine officer waved at her.

  Oh, my God, it's Joe!

  She ran to the car as he opened the door.

  "Hi!" he said, as she got in.

  She kissed him. Hard. On the lips.

  "They frown on public displays of affection," Joe said.

  "Fuck `em," Barbara said.

  "Ooooh! I'll have to wash out your mouth with soap."

  She slid next to him on the seat.

  I'll have to tell him. But not just yet.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "Nice, huh?" he said.

  "Where'd you get it?"

  "It belongs to the guy from the 2nd Raiders," Joe said. "We're going to have dinner with him and his girlfriend."

  "Do we have to?"

  "I told him we would," he said. "Any reason you don't want to?"

  "I wanted to be alone."

  "He's a nice guy. A Mustang, like me. Out of the 4th Marines. But he went through officer candidate school. Killer McCoy."

  "Killer McCoy?"

  "Yeah. They call him that because he killed a bunch of Chi-nese and a couple of Italian Marines in China," Joe said admir-ingly. "He carries a knife in his sleeve."

  He pointed to his left sleeve to demonstrate.

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No, I'm not. Everybody in the Corps knows about Killer McCoy."

  "I know," she said, aware that she was acting the bitch, "you and your friend the Killer and me, we're going to go down to the waterfront and see if we can pick a fight, right?"

  "Hey!" he said. "What's the matter with you?"

  "Sorry," Barbara said.

  "Actually, we're going to the San Diego Yacht Club," Joe said. "How's that for class?"

  "Where?"

  "The Yacht Club. Killer lives there. On a yacht."

  "I don't believe any of this conversation," she said.

  "You'll
see."

  Twenty minutes later, they passed through the gates of the San Diego Yacht Club. And five minutes after that, they stepped from a floating pier onto the aft deck of a fifty-three-foot, twin-diesel-powered Mitchell yacht named Last Time.

  "Hi!" a very good-looking young woman greeted Barbara. She wore her black hair in a pageboy, and was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. "Welcome aboard! I'm Ernie Sage."

  "Hello," Barbara said.

  A trim, brown-haired young man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt appeared at the door to the interior. He was even younger than Joe.

  "I was getting a little worried," he said. "And you're right, she's gorgeous!"

  "I'm very glad to meet you," Barbara said. "I'm Barbara."

  "I'm Ken McCoy," he said. "Romeo here has been bending my ear all week about you."

  "He was just pulling your leg. He does that," Barbara replied. "He told me on the way over here that we were going to meet somebody who carries a knife in his sleeve, and is called `Killer' because he kills people. Chinese and Italians, Joe said."

  "Thanks a lot, asshole," Ken McCoy said furiously, and went back inside the cabin of the boat.

  "Ken!" the girl called Ernie Sage said, and, after giving Joe a withering look, went into the cabin after him.

  "What did I say?"

  "I'm the asshole, not you. I should have warned you, getting called `Killer' pisses him off."

  "You mean it's true? He has killed people?"

  Joe nodded.

  Ernie Sage reappeared, holding Second Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, by the ear.

  "Ken has something to say," she said.

  "Ouch!" he said, as she twisted the ear. He looked at Barbara. "I apologize for my language." Ernie Sage let go of his ear, whereupon McCoy added, "I'm sorry I called your asshole of a boyfriend an asshole."

  "You bastard!' Ernie Sage said, and jabbed him in the ribs.

  "Hey, Ken," Joe said. "I'm sorry."

  "Ah, forget it," McCoy said. "I never thought you were very bright."

  "What we're going to do," Ernie Sage said brightly, "is do this all over again. Hello, my name is Ernestine Sage. This gen-tlemen is Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy. I know that you're Lieutenant Howard, but I don't believe I know this young lady." "How do you do," Barbara said, going along, and deciding she liked both this young woman and her boyfriend. "I'm Bar-bara Cotter."

  "How do you do," Ernie Sage said. "Welcome aboard the Last Time."

  "Miss Cotter?" Ken McCoy asked politely. "May I call you Barbara?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Anybody ever tell you, Barbara, that your boyfriend is an asshole?"

  "That did it," Ernie Sage said, and struck McCoy with both hands, palms open, on the chest-which action caused him to stagger backward, encounter the low rail of the aft cockpit, and do a backward flip into the water.

  Joe Howard laughed deep in his stomach, went to the rail, looked over the side, and waved.

  Whereupon Ensign Barbara Cotter struck Lieutenant How-ard in the small of his back with both hands, palms open, which caused Lieutenant Howard to go over the side and into the water, face first.

  Ernie Sage looked at Barbara Cotter.

  "Why do I have this feeling that what we're witnessing here is the beginning of a long, close, rewarding friendship?"

  "Oh, God!" Barbara wailed, and tears formed in her eyes.

  "Did I say something wrong?" Ernie asked.

  Barbara did not trust her voice to speak; she shook her head.

  "I'm sorry, really sorry, if this upset you," Ernie said.

  Barbara shook her head and made a gesture with her hand meaning that it didn't matter.

  "Can I get you a drink?" Ernie asked.

  "I got my orders today," Barbara blurted. "I haven't told him yet."

  Ken McCoy's head appeared at the rail.

  "If you're wearing anything that will melt in water, I respect-fully suggest you have ten seconds to take it off."

  "Barbara got her orders today," Ernie said evenly. "Joe doesn't know."

  "Oh, Christ!" McCoy said. He hoisted himself into the boat. Then he turned and gave his hand to Joe Howard and hauled him aboard.

  Joe stood there, dripping water onto the deck.

  "Which of these two goes in first?" he asked.

  "Barbara got her orders today," Ernie said.

  "Oh, Jesus!" Joe said. "When?"

  "I start processing Monday," Barbara said softly.

  "When did you find out?"

  "Just before I met you."

  He took a couple of steps toward her, and then, remembering he was soaking wet, stopped.

  And then she took several steps to him and threw herself in his arms.

  (Four)

  Pensacola Naval Air Station

  Pensacola, Florida

  1525 Hours 28 February 1942

  The pilot of the Army Air Corps twin-engine "Mitchell" bomber was slight and balding. There were the silver leaves of a lieutenant colonel on his collar points. He picked up his micro-phone, then put it back in its hanger, adjusted the frequency of his transceiver, and then picked up the microphone again.

  "Pensacola, Army Six-Four-Two, a B-25 aircraft, twenty miles east of your station, for approach and landing."

  "Army Six-Four-Two, Pensacola, say again?"

  "Six-Four-Two, a B-25 aircraft, twenty miles east of your sta-tion, for approach and landing."

  "Army Six-Four-Two, be advised that Pensacola is closed to transient traffic without prior approval. Suggest you try Eglin Army Air Corps Field."

  "Pensacola, Six-Four-Two has a Navy captain aboard who wishes to deplane at Pensacola. We will require no ground ser-vices."

  "Army Six-Four-Two, advise Naval officer's name and pur-pose of his visit to Pensacola."

  "Pensacola, the Navy Captain's Pickering. I spell: Peter Item Charley King Easy Roger Item Nan George. Be advised that any questions regarding him are to be directed to the Office of the Secretary of the Navy."

  "Army Six-Four-Two, stand by."

  There was a ninety-second pause.

  "Army Six-Four-Two, Pensacola. You are cleared for a straight-in approach to runway two-seven. The winds are from the west at fifteen. The altimeter is two-nine-niner-eight. The time is two-five past the hour. Report over Pensacola Bay."

  "Army Six-Four-Two, Pensacola. Thank you very much."

  As the B-25 Mitchell, a light bomber, dropped low over Pen-sacola Bay, a telephone call was placed from the office of Base Commander, Pensacola Naval Air Station, to the office of the Secretary of the Navy:

  "Office of the Secretary, Captain Haughton."

  "Captain, this is Captain Summers. At Pensacola. I'm calling for the Admiral."

  "What can I do for you?"

  "Does the name Pickering mean anything to you, Captain?"

  "Is Captain Pickering at Pensacola?"

  "He's about to land here."

  "Great! The Secretary's been wondering where he was. Would you ask him to call me just as soon as he can, please, Captain?"

  "Yes, of course. Be glad to. Captain, we could probably be of greater usefulness to Captain Pickering if we knew what it is he's after at Pensacola."

  Captain Haughton chuckled.

  "I have no idea, I'm afraid, but I'm sure he'll tell you when he lands. When did you say that will be?"

  "He should be landing right now. I'll relay the message."

  Captain Summers first called the Officer of the Day.

  "I don't know who this captain the B-2S wants to drop off- Pickering-is, Jack," Captain Summers said, "or what he wants. But pass the word to him to call Captain Haughton in the Secre-tary of the Navy's office, as soon as he can. And then ask what we can do for him."

  He then called Rear Admiral Richard B. Sayre, who stood third in the chain of command at Pensacola, and was, at the mo-ment, the senior officer aboard. He reported what little he knew about Captain Pickering, and what steps he had taken. Admiral Sayre grunted, and then told Summers to kee
p him posted.