"I hope I'm not interfering with anything, Corporal McCoy," she said. "Lieutenant Macklin said it would be all right if I came now."
"Yes, ma'am," McCoy said.
"I also thought," she said, "that since there was no restaurant on that side, maybe there would be one on this one. I'm hungry."
"Yes, ma'am," McCoy said. "There's a restaurant here."
"Could you take me there?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I've got an umbrella," she said, and reached into the backseat for it. He noticed that her breasts got in the way.
When she had it, she handed it to him.
"No, ma'am," McCoy said. "Thank you just the same."
"You mean you'd get wet?"
"I mean that Marines don't use umbrellas," McCoy said.
"It's against the rules, you mean?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't you ever break the rules, Corporal?" she asked.
"Sometimes," he said.
"Everybody breaks them sometime," she said. "And this seems to be a good time for you to break this one."
He thought that sounded a little strange coming from a missionary, but decided to share the umbrella with her. There was no one here to see him who counted, and it was raining steadily.
Accepting the umbrella from her, McCoy got out of the car, opened the umbrella, and walked around to the driver's side. She slid out of the Studebaker, stepped under the umbrella, closed the door, and then took his arm. Her arm pressed against his, and he could feel the heaviness of her breast.
He marched with her back to the restaurant, shifting course to avoid the larger puddles.
The eyes of the proprietor widened without embarrassment when he saw the woman. Blond hair simply fascinated Orientals.
He came to the table for their order.
"What do you recommend?" she asked.
"I had the duck," McCoy said, almost blurted, "the way they fix it in Peking. I don't like the duck much, but the skin's first rate."
"Then I'll have that," she said. "Are you going to have anything?"
"I've had mine, thank you," McCoy said.
"Not even another beer?"
"I told the men they could have one beer," McCoy said. "It wouldn't be right if I had two."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
"Why?" he asked, surprised.
"Because I would like a beer," she said. "But I can't have one. My husband doesn't like me to drink."
"What you mean is, you could have had a sip of mine?"
She nodded her head conspiratorially.
There was something perversely pleasant in frustrating the morality of a missionary, McCoy thought. He told the proprietor to put a bottle of beer in a tea pot and to bring the lady a cup to go with it.
When it was delivered she said, "I thought that you were telling him something like this."
"You did?" he asked.
"Your eyes lit up like a naughty boy's," she said.
He didn't know what to make of this missionary lady. She was being much too friendly. And he was well aware of the kind of relationship possible between American women and Marines in China: none. American women, probably because there were so few of them, were on a sort of pedestal. They were presumed to be ladies. They wore gloves and hats and did no work. And they did not speak to enlisted Marines, who were at the opposite end of the American social structure-only a half step above the Chinese. Most American women in China pretended that Marines were invisible. They did not walk arm in arm with them under umbrellas, or sit at tables with them in restaurants, or look directly-almost provocatively-into their eyes.
He could only come up with two explanations for Mrs. Reverend Feller's behavior. She could simply be acting according to her private idea of what it meant to be Christian; in other words, treating him as a social equal out of some strange notion that everybody was really equal in the sight of God. Or else maybe she was in fact flirting with him, or at least pretending to.
There were a couple of reasons that she might be doing just that. One was that she had caught him looking at her when she was putting perfume on her teats and thought it was funny. If that was the way it was, then she knew she could tease him and have her fun in perfect safety, because she knew that only a goddamned fool of a Marine would make a pass at an American lady missionary. And might even be hoping that he would say or do something out of line, so that she could run and tell the Reverend about it.
He'd heard about that happening. Not with a missionary lady, but with the wives of American businessmen. They'd catch their husband with a Chinese girl and decide to make it look like they were paying him back by getting some Marine to start hanging around and panting with his tongue hanging out. They had no intention of giving the poor fucker any; they just wanted to let their old man know there was a Marine with the hots for them. And then if the old man went to the colonel and the Marine wound up on the shit list, that was his problem.
Whatever Mrs. Reverend Feller was up to-even if she was just being Christian-it made him uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He changed the subject.
"There's one good thing about the bad road," McCoy said. "We can stay at Chiehshom tonight. It's going to be too dark to go any farther today."
"What's at Chiehshom?" she asked, looking at him over the edge of her teacup of beer.
"A nice hotel," he said, "built by a German. The plumbing works, in other words, and the kitchen's clean. It's on a hill over the lake."
"You always stay there?" she asked.
"Normally we get a lot farther than this," he said.
"When you don't have to carry missionaries with you, you mean?"
"I didn't say that," McCoy said.
"No, but that's what you meant," she said.
McCoy stood up and put his campaign hat on. "I'll go down to the ferry and see what's up," he said. "You can stay here. You'll be all right."
Chapter Four
(One)
Chen- chiang, China 1500 Hours 15 May 1941
While the Reverend Feller, Lieutenant Macklin, and "Mr." Sessions ate in the "big" restaurant, and the Marine drivers at one of the tiny stalls, Ernie Zimmerman took the opportunity once again to carefully check the vehicles, paying particular attention to the tires. Changing a tire on a muddy road was bad enough, but changing one in the rain, at night, was a royal fucking pain in the ass.
Zimmerman found a couple of tires that looked as if they might blow, one on a truck, the other on one of the Studebaker sedans, and ordered them changed. McCoy and Zimmerman were watching a PFC remove the wheel of the car when Lieutenant Macklin and Sessions walked up to them.
"We about ready to roll, Sergeant?" Lieutenant Macklin asked.
"Aye, aye, sir," Zimmerman said.
"Well, get everyone loaded up, please," Macklin said. "We'd like a word with Corporal McCoy."
"Aye, aye, sir," Zimmerman said, and walked off toward the food stalls where the drivers were eating. Macklin and Sessions walked out of earshot of the driver changing the tire, and McCoy followed them.
"Under the circumstances, McCoy," Sessions said, "I decided that it was necessary to make Lieutenant Macklin aware of my real purpose in being here."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
He was not annoyed, but neither was he surprised. Sessions was more than a little pissed about their conversation in Nanking; and it was clear that Sessions was about to put him in his place. As missionaries have no authority to order Marine corporals around, it was necessary to let Macklin know who he actually was. He had thus told Macklin that he was an officer on a secret mission, and now they were both thrilled about their importance in the scheme of things-and prepared to deal with a lowly corporal who was standing in the way of their doing their duty. Captain Banning had warned him this was likely to happen.
"And we've been looking at the map," Sessions said. "Lieutenant Macklin thinks we can make it to Chiehshom before it gets dark. Do you agree with that?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "It's a good place to spend the night. There's a good hotel there."
"So Lieutenant Macklin tells me," Sessions said. "More importantly, McCoy, it's not too far from Yenchi'eng, is it?"
McCoy's eyebrows went up as he looked at him. The Japanese 11th Infantry Division was at Yenchi'eng.
"No, sir," he said, "it's not."
"Have you ever been to Yenchi'eng, McCoy?" Sessions asked.
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"Do you know how the divisional artillery of the 11th Japanese Infantry is equipped?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "They've got four batteries, they call it a regiment, of Model 94s. That's a 37-mm antitank cannon, but the Japs use it as regular artillery because they can throw so much fire. And the Chinese have damned little to use for counterfire."
"I want to check that out, McCoy," Lieutenant Sessions said.
"Sir?"
"I want to find out if the 11th Division has been equipped with German PAK38 (Panzerabwehrkanone, caliber 5cm, Model 1938) cannon."
"They haven't," McCoy said. "What they've got, Lieutenant, is maybe thirty-five Model 94s. Eight to a battery, plus spares."
"You seem very sure of that, McCoy," Lieutenant Macklin said.
"Yes, sir, I am."
"You know the difference between the two cannon?" Macklin pursued, more than a little sarcastic.
"The PAK38 is bigger, with a larger shield and larger wheels than the Model 94," McCoy said, on the edge of insolence, Lieutenant Macklin thought. "And it has a muzzle brake. They're not hard to tell apart."
"And you're absolutely sure the 11th Division doesn't have any of those cannon?" Sessions asked.
"I took some pictures of their artillery park a couple of weeks ago," McCoy said. "That's what they've got, Lieutenant. Thirty, maybe thirty-five 94s. Captain Banning sent the pictures to Washington."
"But we have no way of knowing, do we, Corporal McCoy, whether or not the Japanese have received German cannon since your last visit? Without having another look?" Macklin asked sarcastically.
"We have people watching the docks, and the railroad, and the roads. If the 11th Division had gotten any new artillery, we'd have heard about it."
" 'We'?" Macklin asked sarcastically.
"Captain Banning," McCoy said, accepting the rebuke, "has people watching the docks and the railroads and the roads."
"Under the circumstances-and after all, we are so close-I'm afraid I can't just accept that," Lieutenant Sessions said. "How long would you say it is by car from Chiehshom to Yenchi'eng?"
"If you drive down there, Lieutenant," McCoy said, "they're going to catch you, and you'll find yourself being entertained by the Japs for a couple of days."
"What do you mean by 'entertained'?"
"They'll take you on maneuvers," McCoy said. "Walk you around in the swamps all night, feed you raw fish, that sort of thing." He stopped, and then his mouth ran away with him: "Some of them have got a pretty good sense of humor. They had Lieutenant Macklin three days one time."
"That's quite enough, McCoy!" Macklin flared.
"Well then, we'll just have to make sure they don't catch us, won't we?" Lieutenant Sessions said.
"Lieutenant, I'm not going to Yenchi'eng with you," McCoy said. "I'm sorry."
"How long did you say it will take us to drive from Chiehshom to Yenchi'eng, Corporal?" Sessions asked.
"It's about a two-hour drive, maybe two and a half, with the roads like this."
"And you presumably can manage the road at night?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to Yenchi'eng with you," McCoy said.
"I didn't ask you if you had volunteered, Corporal," Lieutenant Sessions said reasonably. "The decision to go has been made by Lieutenant Macklin and myself. Your presence will lend your knowledge of the terrain to our enterprise. I don't have to remind you, do I, that despite your special relationship with Captain Banning, you still remain subject to the orders of your superiors?"
"Lieutenant," McCoy said, "you're putting me on a spot."
"The only spot you'll be on," Macklin flared, "is if you persist in your defiance."
McCoy looked at him, shrugged, and took an envelope from his hip pocket. He extended it toward Sessions.
"I think you better take a look at this, Lieutenant," he said.
"What is that?" Sessions asked.
"My orders, sir, in writing," McCoy said. "Captain Banning said I wasn't to give them to you unless I had to. I think I have to."
Sessions took the envelope, tore it open, and unfolded the sheet of paper inside. He glanced at the sheet and then shook his head.
"What is it?" Lieutenant Macklin asked.
"It's a set of letter orders," Sessions said, and then read it aloud: 'Headquarters, 4th Marines, Shanghai, 13 May 1941. Subject, Letter Orders. To Corporal Kenneth J. McCoy, Headquarters Company, First Battalion, 4th Marines. Your confidential orders concerning the period 14 May 1941 to 14 June 1941 have been issued to you verbally by Captain Edward Banning, USMC. You are reminded herewith that no officer or noncommissioned officer assigned or attached to the 4th Regiment, USMC, is authorized to amend or countermand
your orders in any way.' " Sessions looked at Macklin. "Corporal McCoy's letter orders are signed by the colonel."
"Well, I'll be damned," Macklin said. "I never heard of such a thing."
"Lieutenant," McCoy said to Macklin. "I wish you'd read those orders."
"Just what the hell do you mean by that?" Macklin snapped.
"With respect, sir," McCoy said. "I'd like to burn them."
"Go ahead and burn them," Macklin said coldly.
Sessions handed the orders back to McCoy, who ripped the single sheet of paper into long strips, which he then carefully burned, one at a time, letting the wind blow the ashes and unburned stub from his fingers.
"I presume your 'confidential verbal orders' forbid you to go to Yenchi'eng?" Macklin asked, when he had finished.
"No, sir, except that Captain Banning said I was to use my own judgment if you wanted me to do something like that."
"Then you have not been forbidden to go to Yenchi'eng? You've taken that decision yourself?" Sessions asked.
"That's about the size of it, sir," McCoy said.
A very self-confident young man, Sessions thought. Highly intelligent. He almost certainly believes in what he's doing. So where does that leave us?
"I presume you have considered, Corporal," Macklin said, icily, "that Lieutenant Sessions's interest in the cannon of the 11th Division is not idle curiosity? That he has been sent here by Headquarters, USMC?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "Captain Banning told me all about that."
"And you are apparently unimpressed by my decision that knowing that for sure is worth whatever risk is entailed in going to Yenchi'eng?" Macklin asked, coldly furious.
"I'm convinced there's no way you could go there without getting caught," McCoy said. "You have to go by road. The first checkpoint you pass, they'll phone ahead to the Kempei-Tai, and that will be it."
"There are ways of getting around checkposts and the Kempei-Tai," Macklin said. "You have done so."
"That was different," McCoy said.
"That was different, sir," Macklin corrected him.
"That was different, sir," McCoy parroted.
"Well, then, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell Mr. Sessions and myself how you would go to Yenchi'eng."
"If I told you that, it would look like I thought you could get away with it, Lieutenant," McCoy said. * "So you refuse even to help us?" Macklin said, incredulously.
McCoy pretended he hadn't heard the question.
"And I don't see any point in taking the risk of going myself," he said. "If they had any German cannon, I'd know about it."
"Corporal," Lieutenant Macklin said, icily sarcastic, "I stand in awe of your self-confidence."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"You will, I hope, tell us what you can about the location o
f the artillery park?" Lieutenant Sessions asked conversationally. "How we can find it?"
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said. "I hope you'll make it clear to Captain Banning, sir, that I told you you're going to get caught?"
"Oh, yes, Corporal McCoy," Lieutenant Macklin said. "You can count on our relating this incident to Captain Banning in detail."
(Two)
Chiehshom, Shantung Province, China
15 May 1941
The three classes of accommodation at the Hotel am See at Chiehshom had (in descending order) been originally intended for Europeans, European servants, and Chinese servants. On McCoy's first couple of trips to and from Peking, all the enlisted Marines had been put up in the rooms set aside for European servants. But on the last couple of trips, like this one, the management had made quite a show of giving the noncoms "European" rooms-small ones, to be sure-in the main wing of the hotel.
McCoy realized that the proprietor had figured out that the sergeant, rather than the officer-in-charge, was the man who really decided (by speeding up or slowing down) where the convoy and its ten-man detail would stop for the night. That meant the sale of ten beds and twenty meals, plus whatever they all had to drink. There wasn't all that much business anyway.
McCoy really liked to stay at the Hotel am See. The food was good and the place was spotless. And even the small rooms they gave the noncoms had enormous bathtubs with apparently limitless clean hot water. He would take a bath at night, a long soak, and then a shower in the morning. It was the only shower he'd had in China that made his skin sting with the pressure. All the others were like being rained on.
After settling into his room, McCoy had hoped to have dinner with Ernie Zimmerman and be gone from the dining room before the officers and the Fellers came down for dinner. That would give him a chance both to avoid Lieutenants Macklin and Sessions and to steel himself for another meeting with them that was scheduled for after dinner. They wanted him to go over their route to and from Yenchi'eng. As pissed as the both of them were with him, that was going to be bad enough without having dinner in the same room (where they didn't think enlisted Marines had any right to be anyway) with them.
But Ernie Zimmerman got hung up somehow getting the other Marines bedded down and was ten minutes late. Zimmerman and McCoy had no sooner sat down in the dining room when the officers and the Fellers showed up. Mrs. Feller said something to the Reverend, and he came over and insisted that they all have dinner together.
The Corps I - Semper Fi Page 9
