On the platform there, Staff Sergeant Koznowski had delivered another little lecture, informing the group that under the Regulations for the Governance of the Naval Service, to which they were now subject, anyone who "got lost" between here and Parris Island could expect to be tried by court-martial not for AWOL (Absence Without Leave) but for "missing a troop movement," which was an even more severe offense.
They were to sit where they were told to sit, Staff Sergeant Koznowski said, and they were not to get out of that seat for any reason without specific permission from one of the corporals. He also said that there had been incidents embarrassing the Marine Corps where recruits had whistled at young civilian women. Any one of them doing that, Staff Sergeant Koznowski said, would answer to him personally.
He had then stood by the door and personally checked the names of the recruits off on a roster as they boarded the cars. When the last was aboard, he turned to Sergeant Zimmerman.
"Let's you and me take a walk," he said. "Fucking train ain't going anywhere soon."
It was more in the nature of an order than a suggestion, so Sergeant Zimmerman nodded his agreement, although he would have much preferred to get on the car and sit down and maybe put his feet up. The malaria had got to him, and while he no longer belonged in the hospital, he was still pretty weak.
What Koznowski wanted to do, it immediately became apparent, was look at the young women passing through the station. Zimmerman had nothing against young women, or against looking at them, but if you were about to get on a train, it seemed futile. And he was tired.
They had been standing just to the right of the gate to the platform on which the Congressional Limited of the Pennsylvania Railroad was boarding passengers for about twenty minutes when Koznowski jabbed Zimmerman, painfully, in the ribs with his elbow.
"Look at that candy-ass, will you?" he said softly, contemptuously, barely moving his lips.
A Marine officer, a second lieutenant, was approaching the gate to the Congressional Limited platform. He was very young, and there was a young woman hanging on to his right arm, a real looker, with her black hair cut in a pageboy.
The customs of the Naval Service proscribed any public display of affection. The second lieutenant was obviously unaware of this proscription, or was ignoring it. The good-looking dame in the pageboy was hanging on to him like he was a life preserver, and the second lieutenant was looking in her eyes, oblivious to anything else.
Zimmerman was uncomfortable. It was his experience that the less you had to do with officers, the better off you were. And what the hell, so he had a girl friend, so what? Good for him.
Staff Sergeant Koznowski waited until the second lieutenant was almost on them, if oblivious to them.
"Watch this," he said softly, his lips not moving. Then he raised his voice. "Ah-ten-hut!" he barked, and then saluted crisply. "Good morning, sir!"
He succeeded in his intention, which was to shake up the candy-ass second lieutenant. First, the second lieutenant was rudely brought back to the world that existed outside the eyes of the good-looking dame in the black pageboy. Then, his right arm moved in Pavlovian reflex to return Staff Sergeant Koznowski's gesture of courtesy between members of the profession of arms, knocking the girl on his arm to one side and causing her to lose her purse.
Staff Sergeant Koznowski coughed twice, very pleased with himself.
But the second lieutenant did not then, as Staff Sergeant Koznowski firmly expected him to do, continue through the gate mustering what little dignity he had left, and possibly even growing red with embarrassment.
"I'll be goddamned," the second lieutenant said, as he looked at Staff Sergeant Koznowski and Sergeant Zimmerman. And then he walked toward them.
"Oh, shit!" Staff Sergeant Koznowski said softly, assuming the position of "attention."
The second lieutenant had his hand extended.
"Hello, Ernie," he said. "How the hell are you?"
Sergeant Zimmerman shook the extended hand, but he was speechless.
The good- looking dame in the black pageboy, having reclaimed her purse, walked up, a hesitant smile on her face.
"Honey," the second lieutenant said, "this is Sergeant Ernie Zimmerman. I told you about him."
There was a moment's look of confusion on her face, and then she remembered.
"Of course," she said, and smiled at Zimmerman, offering her hand. "I'm Ernie, too, Ernie Sage. Ken's told me so much about you."
"Yes, ma'am," Zimmerman said, uncomfortably.
"Stand at ease, Sergeant," the second lieutenant said to Staff Sergeant Koznowski.
The conductor called, "Bo-aard!"
"You're on the train?" the second lieutenant asked.
"Yes, sir," Zimmerman said.
"Save me a seat," the second lieutenant said. "I'm going to be the last man aboard."
The good- looking dame chuckled.
"We had better get aboard, sir," Staff Sergeant Koznowski said.
"Go ahead," the second lieutenant said.
Staff Sergeant Koznowski saluted; the second lieutenant returned it. Then, with Zimmerman on his heels, Koznowski marched through the gate and to the train.
"Where'd you get so chummy with the candy-ass, Zimmerman?" Koznowski asked, contemptuously.
"You ever hear of Killer McCoy, Koznowski?" Zimmerman asked.
"Huh?" Staff Sergeant Koznowski asked, and then, "Who?"
"Forget it," Zimmerman said.
When they were on the train, and the train had rolled out of Pennsylvania Station and through the tunnel and was making its way across the wetlands between Jersey City and Newark, Staff Sergeant Koznowski jabbed Zimmerman in the ribs again.
"Hey," he said. "There was a story going around about some real hardass in the Fourth Marines in Shanghai. That the 'Killer McCoy' you were asking about?"
Zimmerman nodded.
"Story was that he cut up three Italian marines, killed two of them."
"Right."
"And then he shot up a fucking bunch of Chinks," Koznowski said.
Zimmerman nodded again.
"True story?" Koznowski asked, now fascinated.
"True story," Zimmerman said.
"What's that got to do with that candy-ass second lieutenant?" Koznowski asked.
"That's him," Zimmerman said.
"Bullshit," Koznowski said flatly.
"No bullshit," Zimmerman said. "That was Killer McCoy."
"Bullshit," Koznowski said, "How the hell do you know?"
"I was there when he shot the Chinks," Zimmerman said. "I shot a couple of them myself."
Koznowski looked at him for a moment, and finally decided he had been told the truth.
"I'll be goddamned," he said.
(Three)
Tony, the Sages' chauffeur, had parked the Bentley on Thirty-fourth Street, in a NO PARKING zone across from Pennsylvania Station in front of George's Bar Grill. Ten minutes after Ernestine Sage had gone into the station with Second Lieutenant Kenneth J. McCoy, a policeman walked up to the car, rapped on the window with his knuckles, and gestured with a jerk of his thumb for Tony to get moving.
On the second trip around the block, they saw Ernestine Sage standing on the curb. Tony tapped the horn twice, quickly, and she saw the car and ran to it and got in.
"Just so you won't feel left out," Ernie Sage said to Second Lieutenant Malcolm Pickering, "I will now put you on your airplane."
"Where to, Miss Ernie?" Tony asked, cocking his head to one side in the front seat.
"My apartment, please, Tony," Ernie Sage said, and turned to Pickering. "I'll make you a cup of coffee."
"The Foster Park, Tony," Pickering ordered. "She makes a lousy cup of coffee."
They were stopped in traffic. There was a chance for Tony to turn to look into the backseat. Ernestine Sage nodded her approval.
Tony made the next right turn and pointed the Bentley uptown.