The Corp - Counterattack Part 19

"Sold to the man in the bell-bottom pants," Joe said, forcing a smile.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Lieutenant," the Storekeeper First said as he hoisted Joe's duffel bag onto his shoulder.

"Don't forget my fifty-two-fifty," Joe said.

"I'll have it for you tomorrow."

"You can have the stuff tomorrow, then," Joe said.

"You don't trust me?"

"Not as far as I could throw you," Joe said. "I show up there tomorrow and you're not there, then what would I do?"

The Storekeeper First heaved the duffel bag back into the trunk, and then shrugged. He dipped his hand behind the thirteen-b.u.t.ton fly of his bell-bottoms and came out with two twenties and a ten.

"That's all I got," he said. "I'll have to owe you the two-fifty."

"Either look in your sock or somewhere, or put two of the wool shirts back."

The Storekeeper First looked carefully at Howard, then shrugged and dipped into his thirteen-b.u.t.ton fly again. He came out with a wad of singles and counted off three of them. Joe put them in his pocket and gave the man two quarters in change. They exchanged dry little smiles, and the Storekeeper First, grunting, hoisted the duffel bag to his shoulder again and marched off.

That fat old sonofab.i.t.c.h has got a nice little racket going, he thought. He paid me less than half of what that stuff is worth in any hockshop. And there's probably one or two guys like me going through there every day. Christ, not only Marines! The Navy must be commissioning Mustangs too.

"I'll be a sonofab.i.t.c.h," he said aloud, more out of admiration than anger, as he considered that the Storekeeper First must be taking in probably as much as a hundred fifty dollars a day.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what all that was about," a voice, a female voice, said behind him. Surprised, he turned quickly to see who it was. It was an officer, a female officer, a Navy nurse, and specifically the one who had drawn his blood for the Wa.s.sermann test the day before.

Joe saluted crisply, without thinking about it, a Pavlovian reflex: an officer had spoken to him; therefore he saluted.

"I think I was supposed to do that," the nurse said. She was carrying a paper sack from the Commissary.

"Excuse me?" Joe said.

"Those are silver bars you're wearing? Mine, you'll notice, are gold. I think I was supposed to salute first."

"Jesus Christ!" Joe said.

She smiled. "What was going on?"

"I sold him my old uniforms," Joe said.

"You look very nice in your new one," Barbara Cotter said, smiling. "Are congratulations in order?"

"I haven't been sworn in yet," he said.

"But you did pa.s.s the Wa.s.sermann," Barbara said. She had suspected this Adonis could blush when she had told him he looked nice in his uniform; now there was inarguable proof. His face was flushed.

This isn't the first time, she thought. He blushed when I caught him looking down my whites. Adonis is actually shy!

"Yeah, I did that, all right," Joe said. And then he took the chance: "Can I offer you a ride? I've got a borrowed car."

Ensign Barbara Cotter hesitated, not about taking the ride, but because she had her own car.

I don't want to start off lying to this man. Isn't that strange?

"I've got a car," she said. "I'm on my way to lunch. Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Follow me over to the hospital, then," she said. "The food's not bad."

Joe looked at his watch. There was time.

"Sure," he said.

"The blue Plymouth coupe," she said, and pointed down the line of cars.

With a little bit of luck, Lieutenant Hazel Gower, USN, will be having her lunch when I walk into the officers' section of the hospital mess with this Wa.s.sermann-negative Adonis. Is that why I went up to him in the parking lot? To get at dear old Hazel?

As she put her key in the ignition of her Plymouth, she understood that while zinging Lieutenant Gower might be nice, it was not the reason her heart had jumped when she saw Joe Howard standing by the open trunk of the Ford.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she muttered, as she pushed the starter b.u.t.ton. "What is this?"

(Seven) Office of the Chief of Staff Headquarters, 2nd Joint Training Force San Diego, California 1445 Hours 3 February 1942 "Congratulations, Lieutenant Howard," Colonel Lewis T. "Lucky Lew" Harris said, offering his hand to Joe Howard. "You are now a Marine officer. I have every confidence that you will bring credit to the uniform you're wearing, and to the Corps. Good luck to you!"

"Thank you, Sir," Joe said.

"Will you wait outside a moment, please?" Harris said. "I'd like a word with Captain Stecker."

"Yes, Sir," Joe said, and did an about-face and marched out of Harris's office.

"That one, I think, will do all right," Harris said to Stecker. "But, frankly, I'm a little uncomfortable about not sending him to Quantico for Basic School."

"Sir, he's not going to get a platoon, or even go to the Division-"

"Not today, anyway," Harris said, dryly. "I've already read today's teletypes from Washington rea.s.signing our officers. But what about tomorrow?"

"Until he appears on a list of officers who have completed Basic School, he's not eligible for a.s.signment with troops," Stecker said. "And as long as we 'forget' to request a s.p.a.ce for him at Quantico, he won't be ordered there. In the meantime, we can put him to work."

"And if some zealous paper pusher sends a TWX asking why we haven't requested a Basic School slot for Lieutenant Howard, what do we say?"

"When all else fails, tell the truth," Stecker said. "We tell them that Howard, a small-arms expert, has been charged with getting the 2nd Raider Battalion the weaponry they want. And, that since this is a matter of the highest priority, according not only to the Commandant, but to the Secretary of the Navy as well, we thought this a.s.signment was more in the best interests of the Corps than sending him to Quantico."

Lucky Lew Harris still looked doubtful.

"Colonel," Stecker said, "I talked to Captain Pickering about him. He said if anybody gave us any trouble, to call him. He made it pretty plain to me that what the Secretary of the Navy wants is to give the Raider Battalions what the President wants them to have . . . which is anything they want."

"Just between you and me, Jack, I don't like the whole idea of these so-called Raider Battalions a d.a.m.n bit."

"I don't really know how I feel," Stecker said. "Evans Carlson is a h.e.l.l of a Marine."

"He used to be, anyway," Harris said. "But it's a moot point, Jack, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir, it is."

"And your pal Captain Pickering makes me nervous, frankly. Can he be trusted?"

There was a moment's hesitation before Stecker answered. "He can be trusted to do what the Secretary tells him to do. And beyond that, I think he still thinks like a Marine."

"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 intended. 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 office, 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 settled 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 supper."

"Well, h.e.l.l, 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. Specifically, 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 circ.u.mstances," 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 officers, 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 Reserved signs mounted on bra.s.s 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-" Barbara 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.