McCoy was not particularly concerned. He knew that once you had prepared your gear and arranged it, the situation was out of your hands. If an inspecting officer decided to jump your ass, he would. He would find something wrong, even if he had to step on the toes of the boots under your bunk so that he could get you for unshined shoes. If you couldn't control the situation, there was no point in worrying about it.
When Pleasant barked, "Ten-hut on the deck!" McCoy came to attention, his toes at a forty-five-degree angle, the fingers of his left hand against the seam of his trousers, his right hand holding the Garand just below the bayonet lug.
He stared straight ahead and heard the clatter of the rifles as one by one the young gentlemen came from attention to inspection arms. While this was going on, he had speculated-a little unkindly-that with just a little bit of luck, one of the young gentlemen would catch his thumb in the Ml action during the inspection. That produced a condition known as M1 thumb.
If he howled in pain, that just might bring the inspection to a quick end.
But there was no such fortuitous happenstance. The sound of clattering rifles moved closer to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the inspection party approaching.
He shifted the Garand to a diagonal position in front of him, slammed the action open, bobbed his head over the action to insure that it was unloaded, and then looked ahead, waiting for it to be snatched from his hand.
He found himself looking into the face of First Lieutenant John R. Macklin, USMC.
There was no smile on Macklin's face, not even a flicker of recognition.
"This man is unshaven," Lieutenant Macklin said.
The gunny trailing him dutifully wrote this down on his clipboard.
Macklin snatched the Garand from McCoy's hand, looked into the open action, and then raised the butt high in the air, so that he could look into the barrel.
"And this weapon is filthy," Lieutenant Macklin said, before he threw the Garand back at McCoy so hard that it stung his hands and he almost dropped it.
The gunny dutifully wrote "filthy weapon" on his clipboard.
Lieutenant Macklin moved down the aisle to the next man. McCoy closed the action of the Garand and returned it to his side.
The Garand had been clean before McCoy had disassembled it and cleaned it, and he had shaved no more than two hours before.
There didn't seem to be much question any longer who believed that Killer McCoy belonged in the U.S. Naval Prison, Portsmouth, rather than in the Platoon Leader's Course at U.S. Marine Corps Schools, Quantico.
Captain Banning, McCoy concluded, had probably eaten Macklin's ass out for letting the Japs catch him at Yenchi'eng.
McCoy was summoned to the orderly room half an hour later.
The gunny was there, and Pleasant.
"Mr. McCoy," the gunny said, "there is no excuse in the Marine Corps for a filthy weapon."
McCoy brought the Garand from the position of attention- that is to say, with its butt resting on the deck beside his right boot-to the position of port arms. And then he threw it, like a basketball, to the gunny.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the gunny said, furiously. He had been so surprised he had almost failed to catch it.
"Look at it, Gunny," McCoy said.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do?" the gunny snapped, but he slammed the action open and looked into it, and then raised the butt so that he could look down the barrel.
"You want to feel my chin, Gunny?" McCoy asked.
"This weapon is filthy, Mr. McCoy," the gunny said, throwing the Garand back to him, "and you need a shave. Because Lieutenant Macklin says so. You get the picture?"
"I got the picture."
"Corporal Pleasant will now escort you to the barracks, where he will supervise your shave. Then he will supervise you while you clean your filthy weapon. When you have shaved, and your rifle is clean, he will bring you back here, and I will check the closeness of your shave, and the cleanliness of your rifle. That means I will have to stay here, instead of going to my quarters. That pisses me off, McCoy. My wife has plans for the weekend, and you have fucked them up."
McCoy knew enough to keep his mouth shut.
"And I'll tell you something else I agree with Lieutenant Macklin about, McCoy. I don't know how in the fuck a China Marine motor transport corporal with a reputation like yours got it in his head he should be an officer. Or how you managed to get yourself in here. Except that you had your nose so far up some officer's ass that your ears didn't show. I don't like brown noses, McCoy, and I especially don't like people with rabbis. You get the picture?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"Finally, Mr. McCoy, I would like to make sure you understand that participation in the Platoon Leader's Course is purely voluntary. You may resign at any time, and keep your stripes."
"I'm not about to quit, Gunny," McCoy said.
"If you bust out of here," the gunny said, "for misbehavior, or malingering, something like that, they ship your ass to some rifle company. It's something to think about, McCoy."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said.
"Corporal Pleasant," the gunny said. "I think the deck in the barrack could stand a sanding. Do you think it might help Mr. McCoy to remember to shave and to keep his piece clean if he spent the weekend doing that?"
Pleasant nodded his agreement. He looked a little embarrassed, McCoy thought, but he was going to go along with the gunny. He had no choice.
(Four)
Headquarters, 4th Marines
Shanghai, China
19 October 1941
Only a few people were made privy to all the details, actual and projected, of the removal from China of United States Military and Naval Forces. Among these was Captain Edward Banning, S-2 of the 4th Marines.
The Yangtze River Patrol, its gunboats and personnel, was to sail as soon as possible for the U.S. Naval Base at Cavite, on the tip of a narrow, four-mile-long peninsula sticking into Manila Bay. It was intended that the Yangtze River Patrol reinforce U.S. Naval Forces, Philippines. How much value the old, narrow-draft, lightly armed riverboats would be was open to question. There was even concern that should there be severe weather en route to Manila Bay the gunboats would founder and sink. They were designed to navigate a river, not the high seas in a typhoon.
Likewise, the small, old pigboats of SUBFORCHINA were as soon as possible to sail for Cavite, though they were subject to similar fears as to their seaworthiness, for they were old and small and designed primarily for coastal, rather than deep-sea operations. But unlike the riverboats, if it came to it, the pigboats could submerge for maybe five, six hours at a time, and ride out a storm.
The two battalions making up the 4th Marines were something else. They were Marines, which was to say they were trained and equipped to fight anywhere. But what they would be in fact, if war broke out, was infantry. The official role of the Marines was to make amphibious assaults on hostile shores. Two battalions of Marines without landing craft and without larger forces to reinforce them once a landing was made weren't going to make much of an amphibious assault force.
The advance party of the 4th Marines would sail from Shanghai aboard the U.S.S. Henderson, a Navy transport, on 28 October. The Henderson would then continue on to the United States, to on-load Army reinforcements for the Philippines. The U.S.S. Shaumont, the other U.S. Navy transport that normally served China, would similarly be involved in moving U.S. Army troops from the West Coast of the United States to reinforce the Philippines. The Navy had also chartered space aboard two civilian passenger liners. On 28 November, the President Madison would embark the First Battalion and the President Harrison the Second Battalion. If nothing went wrong, the 4th Marines would arrive in Manila during the first week of December. Then, either the Henderson or the Shaumont would be free to sail to Tientsin and pick up the Peking and Tientsin Marine detachments.
U.S. Navy Forces, Philippines, was sending to Shanghai a Co
nsolidated Catalina, a long-range amphibious reconnaissance aircraft, to pick up senior officers of the Yangtze River Patrol and SUBFORCHINA and carry them to Cavite to prepare for the arrival of their vessels.
At the last moment, the colonel learned of this, and prevailed upon his Naval counterpart to make space available for one of his officers.
The colonel did not anticipate any logistical problems when the regiment arrived in the Philippines. The Cavite Navy Base was enormous-capable of supporting the Far East Fleet. It would be able to house and feed two battalions of Marines without difficulty.
But the colonel did want to know how Douglas MacArthur, former Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army and most recently Marshal of the Philippine Army, intended to employ the 4th Marines. The obvious officer to find that out was his S-2, and Captain Edward Banning was given twenty-two hours' notice to pack his things, make arrangements for the personal property he would necessarily have to leave behind, and be aboard the Catalina when it took off for Manila.
The first thing Captain Ed Banning did when he heard that was get in his Pontiac and drive to the headquarters of the Shanghai Municipal Police Department. He found Sergeant Chatworth there and told him he needed a big favor.
"Like what?" Chatworth asked, suspicious.
"I want to marry a stateless person," Banning said. "To do that, I need a certificate from the Municipal Police stating there is no record of criminal activity."
Chatworth's bushy eyebrows rose.
"Or moral turpitude," Chatworth added.
Banning nodded.
"That isn't all you'll need," he said. "You better figure on two weeks, at least, pulling in all the favors anybody owes you."
Banning looked at his watch.
"I have nineteen hours and thirty minutes," he said.
"What's her name?" Chatworth asked.
When he got back to his apartment, Milla told him she didn't want to marry him: She knew what it would do to his career, and she understood how things were when they'd started, and she didn't want him to marry her out of pity. "I'll be all right," she said finally, obviously not meaning it.
Two hours later, she held his hand tightly during the brief ceremony at the Anglican cathedral, and when she kissed him afterward, her cheeks were wet with tears.
"Sir, I ask permission to discuss a personal matter," Banning, standing at attention, said to the colonel.
"Just as long as you get on that plane, Ed, you have my permission to discuss anything you want with me."
"Sir, I was married this afternoon," Banning said.
"I don't think I want to hear this, Ed," the colonel said.
"Sir, my wife is a stateless person, with a Nansen travel document."
"Jesus Christ, Ed! You know the regulations."
"Yes, sir, I know the regulations."
"I didn't hear a word you said, Captain Banning," the colonel said. "I don't wish to believe that an officer of your rank and experience would deliberately disobey regulations concerning marriage and get married without permission."
"If I asked for permission, sir, it would have been denied."
"Or make a gesture like this, throwing a fine career down the goddamned toilet," the colonel said, angrily. "Jesus Christ!"
Banning didn't reply.
"Do you realize what a spot you've put me on, Ed?" the colonel asked in exasperation.
"I regret any embarrassment this may cause you, sir," Banning said. "I am, of course, prepared to resign my commission."
The colonel stared at him coldly for a long moment.
"It's a good goddamned thing I know you well enough, Captain Banning, to understand that was an offer to pay the price, rather than an attempt to avoid your duty," he said, finally. "Mrs. Banning must be quite a lady."
Again, Banning could think of nothing to reply.
"Sergeant-Major!" the colonel bellowed.
The sergeant-major appeared. The colonel told him to close the door.
"Captain Banning," he said, "was today married to a stateless person. Captain Banning did not have permission to marry."
The sergeant-major looked at Banning in surprise.
"It will therefore be necessary for you, Sergeant-Major, to prepare-suitably back-dated-the application to marry, and whatever other documentation is necessary. That includes, I believe, a letter to the Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Headquarters, USMC, explaining my reasons for not pulling Captain Banning's security clearance once it came to my attention that he is emotionally involved with a foreign national."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"My reasons are that I believe the Corps cannot at this time afford to lose Captain Banning's services, despite his actions in this matter, and that I believe the disciplinary action I have taken closes the matter."
"The disciplinary action, sir?" the sergeant-major asked.
"You will prepare a letter of reprimand as follows," the colonel said. "Quote. It has come to my attention that you have married without due attention to the applicable regulations. You will consider yourself reprimanded. Unquote."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"Thank you, sir," Banning said.
"If that's all you have on your mind, Captain Banning," the colonel said, "I'm sure you have a number of things to do before you board the aircraft."
Despite the sergeant-major's claims about his busting his butt to get the Consulate to issue Milla a "non-quota, married to an American citizen'' visa, when Banning turned over the keys to his Pontiac to her, he had a strange feeling that he would never see her again.
They both pretended, though, that everything was now coming up roses: She would promptly get her visa. His (now their) furniture and other belongings (including, ultimately, the Pontiac) would be turned in for shipment to the Philippines. If it proved impossible for Milla to get her visa in time for her to ship to the Philippines with the other dependents, she would travel on the first available transportation once the visa was issued.
What was more likely to happen was that his car and household goods were going to be placed in a godown (warehouse) on the docks and more than likely disappear forever. And that when the dependents sailed, Milla would be left behind with no visa.
And he could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew.
On the Catalina he forced Milla and the future from his mind. There was no sense bleeding to death over something he had no control over.
It occurred to him that nice guys, indeed, do finish last.
Macklin, that despicable sonofabitch, had had three weeks to arrange for the shipment of his car and household goods. They had gone on the ship with him. And he was in the States, not headed for the Philippines.
He was, he realized, of two minds about Macklin. On one hand, it was goddamned unfair that the sonofabitch should be safe in the States. On the other hand, if there was to be war, it was better that the sonofabitch should be someplace else.
There was no question in Banning's mind that the officer corps of the United States Marine Corps was about to start earning its pay, and in that case, a slimy sonofabitch like Macklin would do more harm than good.
And finally, before the roar of the engine put him to sleep, his thoughts turned to Corporal "Killer" McCoy. Poor McCoy, hating every minute of it, was probably greasing trucks and keeping his nose clean in Philadelphia, waiting for him to come home from China and arrange for his transfer. McCoy, the poor sonofabitch, was going to have a long wait.
Chapter Eleven
(One)
Known Distance Range #2
U.S. Marine Corps Schools
Quantico, Virginia
19 November 1941
Because he'd participated, back in '38, in the troop test of the Garand rifle at Fort Benning, Captain Jack NMI Stecker, USMCR, Assistant S-3 of the School Battalion, U.S. Marine Corps Schools, Quantico, did not share the generally held opinion that the Garand was a piece of shit. The Corps had sent to the Army's infant
ry school a platoon of Marines, under Master Gunnery Sergeant Jack NMI Stecker, to find out for themselves what this new rifle was all about.
He hadn't liked it at first. It was bulky and heavy, and didn't have the lean lines of the Springfield. And he had found it difficult to accept that as soon as the slam of the butt into the socket of the shoulder was over, the fired cartridge was ejected, another cartridge was chambered, the action was cocked, and the Garand was prepared to fire again.
W E B Griffin - Corp 01 - Semper Fi Page 28
