The P&FE agent here has arranged to have the updated charts printed. I offered to make them available to Admiral Leary, but he made it clear that (a) he is not inter-ested, not having come from the appropri-ate Navy bureaucracy, they cannot be considered reliable; and that (b) therefore it is an effrontery on my part to ask that I be reimbursed for expenses in-curred.
MacA., on the other hand, was really grateful for the maps. I think that was the reason I was invited to go with him on March 25, when he was invested with the Medal of Honor. His acceptance speech was brilliant; my eyes watered.
And the next day, for the first time, MacA. met John Curtin, the Prime Minis-ter. Now, in case you don't know it, Cur-tin is so far left that he makes Roosevelt look like Louis XIV. All the same, he and MacA. immediately began to act like long-lost brothers. I know for a fact (the P&FE agent here sits in the Australian parlia-ment) that Curtin was flatly opposed to (a) abolishing the Australian Military Board and (b) transferring all of its powers to MacA.
Apparently, neither Willoughby (his G-2) nor our State Department explained to MacA. just who Curtin is or what he'd done. Indeed, MacA. seems to believe ex-actly the opposite, i.e., that Curtin was responsible for his being named commander-in-chief and given all the powers of the former Military Board. Or else MacA. was told, and regally decided to ignore the implications. With a mas-sive effort, I have obeyed your orders not to involve myself in something like this.
Or-an equally credible scenario-he knows all about Curtin and his politics, and his publicly professed camaraderie and admiration for Curtin is a sham in-tended for public consumption to bol-ster the very much sagging Australian morale. The people believe, with good reason, that they are next on the Japa-nese schedule. Curtin has complained bitterly that Australian (and New Zea-land) troops are off in Africa fighting for England when they are needed to de-fend their homeland. He consequently stands high in the public esteem, even of those who think he is a dangerous social-ist.
Into this situation comes MacArthur, promising to defend the Australian con-tinent. The words he used in his Medal of Honor acceptance speech "we shall win or we shall die; I pledge the full resources of all the mighty power of my country, and all the blood of my countrymen" were re-ported in every newspaper, and over the radio... again and again. There was hope once more.
And right on top of that came word of Colonel Doolittle ` s raid on Tokyo. From my perspective here, I think it1 s impos-sible to overestimate the importance of that raid. Militarily, MacA. Told me, it will require the Japanese to pull back naval and aerial forces, as well as anti-aircraft artillery forces, to protect the homeland. Politically, it is certain to have caused havoc within the Japanese Imperial Staff. Their senior officers are humiliated. And it will inevitably have an effect on Japanese civilian mo-rale.
Since MacArthur, not surprising me at all, immediately concluded that the at-tack had been launched from an aircraft carrier, I decided that the Commander-in-Chief SWPAC was entitled to hear other information the Japanese probably al-ready knew. I there fore provided him with the specific details of the attack as I knew them. An hour or so later, when Willoughby came to the office and provided MacA. with what few details he had about the raid, MacA. delivered a concise lec-ture to him and to several others, based on what I had told him. It was of course ob-vious where he'd gotten his facts. The unfortunate result is I am now regarded as a more formidable adversary than be-fore.
But Doolittle`s bombing of Tokyo, added to MacArthur's presence here and his being named Commander-in-Chief, and his (apparently) roaring friendship with Curtin, gave Australian morale a really big boost just when one was needed. And that surge of confidence would have been destroyed if MacA. had started fighting with Curtin-or even if there was any sug-gestion that they were not great mutual admirers or were not in complete agree-ment.
The more I think about it, I think this latter is the case. MacArthur under-stands things like this.
Turning to the important question "Can we hold Australia?" MacArthur believes, supported to some degree by the intelli-gence (not much) available to us, that the following is the grand Japanese strategy: While Admiral Yamamoto is tak-ing Midway away from us, as a stepping-stone to taking the Hawaiian Islands, the forces under Admiral Takeo Takagi will occupy Australia's perimeter islands, north and west of the continent.
We have some pretty good intelligence that Takagi intends to put "Operation Mo" into execution as soon as he can. That is the capture of Port Moresby, on New Guinea. Moresby is currently manned, I should say undermanned, by Australian militiamen with little artillery, et-cetera. They could not resist a large-scale Japanese assault. Once Moresby falls, all the Japanese have to do is build it up somewhat and then use it as the base for an invasion across the Coral Sea to Australia. It1 s about 300 miles across the Coral Sea from Port Moresby to Aus-tralia.
Both to repel an invasion and to prevent the Japanese from marching across Aus-tralia, MacA. has two divisions (the U.S. 32nd Infantry, arrived at Adelaide April 15); one brigade of the 6th Australian Division; and one (or two, depending on whom one chooses to believe) Australian divisions being returned "soon" from Af-rica. He has sixty-two B-17 bombers, six of which (including the "Swoose," which carries no bombs) are airworthy. Some fighter planes have begun to arrive, but these are generally acknowledged to be inferior to the Japanese Zero.
MacA. believes further that the Japa-nese intend to install fighter airplane bases in the Solomon Islands. We have some unconfirmed (and probably unconfirmable) intelligence that major fighter bases are planned for Guadalkennel (sp?) and Bougainville. Fighters on such strips could escort Japanese Betty and Zeke bombers to interdict our ships bound for Australia, cutting the pipe-line. We don' t have the men or materiel to go after them at either place.
On top of this, we have had what MacA. feels is an unconscionable delay in reaching an interservice agreement about who is in charge of what. I found my-self wondering too, frankly, just who the hell was in charge in Washington. MacA. was not named CIC SWPA until April 18. And even when that happened, it vio-lated a rule of warfare even Fleming Pickering understands: that it is idiocy to split a command. Which is exactly what appointing Admiral Nimitz as CIC Pacific Ocean Areas does.
It means that from this point on, we have started another war. In addition to fighting the Japanese, the Army and the Navy are going to be at each other' s throats. A sailor, or a soldier, Mac-Arthur or Nimitz, should have been put in charge. Somebody has to be in charge.
Under these circumstances, I was not at all surprised, the day Bataan fell, when MacA. radioed Marshall asking for per-mission to return to the Philippines to fight as a guerrilla. I could hear the snickers when that radio arrived in Sodom-on-Potomac.
He showed me the cable before he sent it. I told him what I thought the reaction would be. He said he understood that, but thought there was a slight chance his "enemies" (George Marshall, Ernie King, and the U.S. Navy) would see that he was given permission as a way to get rid of him.
I think I should confess, Frank, that if he had been given permission, I think I would have gone with him.
Colonel Newcombe just called from the lobby. I have to seal this up and give it to him.
Respectfully,
Fleming Pickering, Captain, USNR
Chapter Eleven
(One)
The Willard Hotel
Washington, D.C.
30 April 1942
"General," Congressman Emilio L. DiFranco (D., 8th N.J. Congressional District) said to Brigadier General D. G. Mclnerney, USMC, "I so very much appreciate your finding time for me in your busy schedule."
The Congressman waited expectantly for the General to no-tice him; but General Mclnerney was listening to Congressman DiFranco with only half an ear. The rest of his attention was smitten by a hard rash of curiosity. It was the group sitting three tables away from him in the upstairs cocktail lounge of the Wil-lard Hotel that had caught his eye, indeed his fascination. He had not in f
act seen the Congressman making his way across the room to him.
"The Marine Corps always has time for you, Congressman," General Mclnerney said, rising to his feet and with some effort working up a small smile. He cordially detested Congressman DiFranco, whom he had met a half-dozen times before.
Doc Mclnerney wasn't sure that the tall, remarkably thin blond woman at the table was really Monique Pond, the motion-picture actress, but she sure as hell looked like her. A photo-graph of the actress wearing a silver lame dress open damned near to her navel hung on every other vertical surface in the mili-tary establishment.
Two other people were at the table with Miss Pond, if indeed it was Miss Pond. One was another long-legged, long-haired blond female. Mclnerney wouldn't have been surprised if that one was also a star of stage, screen, and radio. She was pretty enough. He didn't recognize her, but he wasn't all that familiar with movie stars.
Nor, for that matter, was he all that familiar with the upstairs cocktail lounge of the Willard Hotel. The Willard was an expen-sive hostelry, catering to high government officials and members of Congress-and, more important, to those individuals who wished to influence government policy and Congressional votes, and who did their drinking on an expense account.
The word lobbyist was coined around the time of the Civil War to describe those who hung around the lobby of the Willard Hotel, waiting for Congressmen whose vote they hoped to influ-ence. Not much had changed since then.
The prices in the Willard were of such magnitude that few members of the military establishment, including general offi-cers, could afford them. Mclnerney came here rarely-only when, as today, there was no way he could get out of it. He had been invited for a drink by the Hon. Mr. DiFranco; it does not behoove officers of the regular Marine Corps to turn down such invitations.
Mclnerney knew what the Congressman wanted. When the invitation had come, he had checked with the Congressional Li-aison Office and learned that Congressman DiFranco had been in touch with them regarding the son of one of his more impor-tant constituents. After an initial burst of patriotic fervor that had led to his enlisting in the Marine Corps, this splendid young gentleman now found that he didn't like the life of a Marine ri-fleman. He wanted instead to be assigned to duties that were more to his liking; specifically, he wanted to be an aircraft me-chanic. He had apparently communicated this desire to his daddy, and his father had gotten in touch with Mr. DiFranco.
With all the courtesy due a Congressman, the Congressional Liaison Office had in effect told the Congressman to go fuck himself. At that point, Congressman DiFranco had apparently remembered meeting Brigadier General Mclnerney a number of times. He decided then to take his constituent's problem di-rectly to the second senior man in Marine Aviation, unofficially, socially, over a drink at the Willard.
It was not the first time this sort of thing had happened to Doc Mclnerney, nor even the first time with the Hon. Mr. Di-Franco. Getting someone special treatment in the Corps because his father happened to know a Congressman rubbed Mclnerney the wrong way.
Congressman DiFranco sat down and started looking for a waiter. General Mclnerney looked again at the table where maybe Monique Pond sat with another good-looking blonde who might also be a movie star. Both ladies were with a young man about whose identity Doc Mclnerney had no doubts at all. His name was Charles M. Galloway, and he was a technical ser-geant in the United States Marine Corps.
"I'll have a dry martini with an onion," Congressman Di-Franco said to a waiter. "And you, General?"
"The same," Mclnerney said, raising his glass. He was about through with his second Jack Daniel's and water.
Congressman DiFranco handed General Mclnerney a slip of paper. On it was written the name of PFC Joseph J. Bianello, his serial number, and his unit, Company A, Fifth Marines, New River, North Carolina.
"What's this?" Mclnerney asked, innocently.
"He's the young man I want to talk to you about."
Mclnerney saw that the waiter was busy at the other table. He delivered three fresh drinks and a small silver platter of hors d'oeuvres.
I hope you're having a good time, Galloway. When the bill comes, you`ll probably faint.
"Oh?" Mclnerney said to Congressman DiFranco.
"I've known him all his life. He's a really fine young man. His father owns a trucking firm, Bianello Brothers."
"Is that so?"
The other blonde, the one who was not (maybe) Monique Pond, lovingly fed Technical Sergeant Galloway a bacon-wrapped oyster on a toothpick. He chewed, looked thoughtful, and then nodded his head approvingly, which obviously thrilled the blonde.
"What he did was act impetuously," Congressman DiFranco said. "He's young."
"How do you mean, impetuously?"
"Without thinking before he leaped, so to speak."
"You mean he now regrets having joined the Marine Corps?"
"No, not at all," the Congressman said firmly.
The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond now fed Technical Sergeant Galloway something on a toothpick that Doc Mclnerney couldn't identify. Galloway chewed, made a face, and val-iantly swallowed. The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Galloway drank deeply from his glass.
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Doc Mclnerney said.
Squirm, you bastard.
"His father wants to get him out of the infantry," Congress-man DiFranco said.
The Congressman's unexpected candor surprised Mclnerney. He met DiFranco's eyes.
"The kid complained to Daddy, and Daddy came to you. Is that it?"
"The boy knows nothing about this," DiFranco said.
Mclnerney decided he was being told the truth.
"I'm glad to hear that," he said.
"The boy is eighteen years old, General."
"I saw some statistics last week that said the average age of enlisted men in the First Marine Division-the Fifth Marines are part of the First Division-is eighteen-point-six years," Mclnerney said. "He won't be lonely."
"Well, I asked," DiFranco said.
"His father is important to you, huh?"
DiFranco shrugged, acknowledging that.
"OK. I'll tell you what I'll do-" Mclnerney said, and then stopped abruptly. Another Marine had entered the cocktail lounge and was making his way to the table where Technical Sergeant Galloway sat with maybe Monique Pond. This one was a major. He looked familiar, but Doc Mclnerney could not put a name to the face.
The Major shook Galloway's hand, kissed maybe Monique Pond, then looked around for the waiter. When he had caught his eye, he mimed signing the check.
"General?" Congressman DiFranco said, puzzled by Mclnerney's pause.
"You can tell this kid's father that you talked to me; that I was difficult about special treatment, but in the end, as a special favor to you, I told you I would arrange to have him transferred into a battalion in the Fifth Marines which is commanded by a friend of mine, who happens to be one of the finest officers in the Marine Corps. That much is for the father. For you, I will add that I will do it in such a way that my friend will not learn why he is getting this boy, and will see that his records don't get flagged as someone who has Congressional influence."
Congressman DiFranco looked at General Mclnerney care-fully.
"I really can't ask for more than that, can I?" he said, finally.
"No, I don't think you can," Doc Mclnerney replied. "This way, everybody stays honest."
"Then I'm grateful to you, General," Congressman DiFranco said, putting out his hand.
"Any time, Congressman," Mclnerney said, shaking it.
The waiter delivered a check to the Marine major, who scrawled his name on it, and then walked out of the cocktail lounge.
What the hell is that all about?
"Would you be offended if I cut this short?" DiFranco said. "I really have a busy schedule."
"Not at all," Mclnerney said. "So do I."
DiFranco fished money from his pocket
and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table.
"Thank you again, General," he said, and walked out of the room.
Mclnerney drained his glass and then stood up. He started to leave, but as he did, the waiter delivered the drinks Congress-man DiFranco had ordered.
"Let me settle up now," he said to the waiter. The four drinks and a ten-percent tip ate up most of the Congressman's ten dol-lars; Mclnerney waved the rest of the change away, thinking, This has to be the most expensive booze in town!
Then he picked up the fresh drink and walked to Galloway's table.
"Hello, Sergeant Galloway," he said. "How are you?"
Galloway stood up.
"Good evening, Sir."
"Keep your seat. What brings you to town?"
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