"No, sir," Osadchy protested.
"So, you will doubtless be surprised to hear that when the TWX"-a message transmitted by teletype-"came down, and I reviewed both your situation and Sergeant Zimmerman's record jacket, I came to the same conclusion. I TWX-ed back the day before yesterday, asking for reconsideration of the transfer. I said Zimmerman is critical here."
"And?" Osadchy asked.
"And when there was no reply, I got the Old Man's permission to call up and ask."
"And?" Osadchy asked.
"Pay attention, Lieutenant," the major said. "See for yourself how field-grade officers at the upper echelons of command are willing to grovel before the feet of their betters for the good of the command."
He picked up his telephone.
"Sergeant Asher," he said, "get a control number and then put in a call for me to Enlisted Assignment, G-One, Headquarters, Marine Corps. I want to speak to the officer in charge."
He put the telephone back in its cradle.
"Sometimes, Vince," he said, "it works. And sometimes it doesn't. I haven't called lately. Maybe we'll get lucky."
It took a minute or two to put the call through. The conversation itself took just over a minute.
"I understand, sir. Thank you very much," the major said, then hung up and turned to Lieutenant Osadchy.
"This time we weren't lucky," he said. "Both the decision to make Zimmerman a gunnery sergeant and to transfer him came from 'higher authority.' Since he carefully avoided saying what higher authority, I'm pretty sure he meant Intelligence. That make any sense to you?"
"No, sir," Lieutenant Osadchy said. "Zimmerman… Zimmerman's not an intelligence type. He's just a good China Marine motor sergeant."
"Well, that's it, Vince," the major said, "There's nothing else I can do. I'm sorry."
"Thanks for the try, sir."
The major called in his clerk and told him to cut orders promoting Sergeant Zimmerman to gunnery sergeant with date of rank 31 December 1941, and then to cut orders transferring Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman to the 2nd Separate Battalion, USMC, at Quantico, Virginia; effective immediately.
(Four)
San Diego, California
0830 Hours, 19 January 1942
The Martin PBM-1 flying boat made its approach to San Diego harbor straight in from the Pacific Ocean. Her twin sixteen-hundred-horsepower Wright R-2600-6 engines had been droning steadily for nearly eighteen hours. It was three thousand miles from Pearl to Diego, a long way in an airplane that cruised at 170 knots.
When she was down to two thousand feet, and her speed retarded, her pilot ordered "floats down," and the copilot operated the lever that caused wing-tip floats to be lowered from the high, gull-shaped wings.
"Navy Four Two Four," the tower called, "be on the lookout for one or more small civilian vessels east end landing area."
"Roger," the copilot said. "We have them in sight. Four Two Four on final."
The Martin came in low and slow, touched down in a massive splash, bounced airborne, and then touched down again in an even larger splash and stayed down.
"Four Two Four down at three-one past the hour," the copilot reported.
"Four Two Four, steer zero-thirty degrees, a follow-me boat will meet you and direct you to the seaplane ramp."
"Roger."
A gray Navy staff car and two ambulances, one a glistening Packard with chrome-plated flashing lights and siren on the roof, and the other a Dodge 3/4-ton, painted olive drab and with large red crosses painted on the sides and roof, waited for the PBM to taxi across the bay to the seaplane ramp.
The PBM got as close to the seaplane ramp as her pilot intended to take her under her own power. He cut the engines. A sailor walked down the ramp into the water until it was chest high. He reached over his head and hooked a cable to a ring in the nose of the PBM. An aircraft tractor at the end of the ramp pulled the PBM out of the water by the cable far enough up the ramp so that it could back up to the PBM and hook up a rigid tow bar. Then it pulled it into the parking area.
The doors of the ambulances opened, and doctors and corpsmen went to the hatch on the side of the flying boat's fuselage. A doctor and two corpsmen entered the fuselage. And then Captain Ed Banning climbed out.
A technical sergeant, a stocky man in his thirties, got out of the staff car and walked to him, saluted, and asked, "Captain Banning?"
Banning returned the salute.
"I'll go with the then in the ambulances," Banning said.
The technical sergeant handed him a sheet of teletype paper.
PRIORITY
HQ USMC WASH DC X 16 JANUARY 1942 X COMMANDING GENERAL X MARINE BARRACKS PEARL HARBOR HAWAII X INFO COMMANDING GENERAL MARINE BARRACKS SAN DIEGO X REFERENCE YOUR TWX SUBJECT ARRIVAL PEARL HARBOR CAPT EDWARD J BANNING USMC X PHYSICAL CONDITION PERMITTING SUBJECT OFFICER WILL PROCEED HQ USMC BY FIRST AVAILABLE AIR TRANSPORTATION X PRIORITY AAA2 AUTHORIZED X COMMGEN MARBAR PEARL WILL ADVISE COMMGEN MARBAR DIEGO AND HQ USMC ATTN G2 ETA CONUS AND ETA WASH X
"How'd you know it was me, Sergeant?" Banning asked.
"They called-a Captain Sessions called-this morning, after they heard you'd left Pearl, sir. Captain Sessions described you. And he said to tell you 'Welcome home,' sir."
Banning nodded.
"We've got you a seat on the two thirty-five Western flight to Los Angeles, sir, connecting at five oh-five with a United flight to Washington. That's if you feel up to it."
Banning nodded again, but didn't reply. He didn't trust his voice to speak.
"It's up to you, sir. We can reschedule you later, if you're tired. My orders are to stick with you and do whatever has to be done."
Banning looked at the sergeant for a long moment, until he was reasonably sure that when he spoke he would display no more emotion than is appropriate for a Marine officer.
"What has to be done, Sergeant," he said, "if I am to get on civilian airplanes without disgracing the Corps, is to acquire a decent-looking uniform. And to do that, I'm going to have to get some money. How do I do that?"
"That's all laid on, sir," the technical sergeant said. "Captain Sessions suggested that there might be a problem with your pay and luggage."
Chapter Twelve
(One)
San Diego, California
0830 Hours, 19 January 1942
The first time Miss Ernestine Sage noticed the young woman was when she drove the LaSalle into the parking lot of the Bay-Vue Super Discount Super Market. The young woman was attractive, if harried-looking, and in what appeared to be the eighth month of her pregnancy. The pregnant young woman seemed to be examining her, or maybe the car, with more than ordinary interest.
But then, as she got out of the car, Ernie's attention was distracted by a Navy airplane, an enormous, twin-engine seaplane, coming in over the ocean and then landing in the bay with two enormous splashes. The sun was shining (it shined just about all the time here), and the bay was blue, and the airplane landing, Ernie thought, was beautiful. It made her think of Pick Pickering, who was learning to fly.
The pregnant young woman was standing in front of the plate-glass windows of the supermarket when Ernie grabbed a shopping cart and headed for the door. She smiled-shyly-at Ernie, and Ernie returned the smile.
Inside the supermarket, Ernie took her shopping list from her purse and went first to the dairy cooler for eggs and milk and butter. As they were driving across the country, and since they had arrived here, she had been astonished at Ken's enormous breakfast appetite. He regularly wolfed down four eggs and as much bacon or ham as she put before him. Once, for the hell of it, she had cooked a whole pound of bacon, and, with the exception of her own three slices, Ken had eaten all of it.