"What did he want?"
"He told Captain Coyte that he was going to borrow me. He told him I used to be in a heavy-weapons company in the Fourth Marines and knew about weapons, so he was going to send me up to some Army ordnance depot near San Francisco to make sure the Army didn't give us all junk when we drew weapons."
"Okay," Colonel Rickabee said. "That makes sense."
"And then he gave me the rest of the day off."
"What did you think of Roosevelt?"
"I liked him, too," McCoy said. "He acts like a Marine."
"And he wasn't walking around with a copy of the Communist Manifesto in his pocket?"
"No, sir." McCoy chuckled.
"Well, it looks like you're in, and nobody's suspicious," Rickabee said. "So all you have to do is keep your mouth shut and your eyes open."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to make the point, McCoy, that we want to hear about anything unusual, anything unusual."
"Yes, sir," McCoy replied. "The weapons are a little unusual, sir."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, what I'm going to draw-try to draw-from the Army, are shotguns and carbines."
The U.S. Carbine, Caliber.30, Ml was an autoloading shoulder arm with a fifteen-round magazine. It fired a pistol-sized cartridge, and was intended to replace the.45 Colt automatic pistol. The later M2 version was fully automatic, and there was later a thirty-round magazine.
"That's just the sort of thing I mean," Rickabee said. "By shotguns, I presume you mean twelve-gauge trench guns?"
"Yes, sir. From the First World War. And carbines. I've never even seen a carbine."
"Well, then, if you're the weapons expert, it will be a case of the blind leading the blind, won't it?" Rickabee said.
"I guess so," McCoy said.
"Anything else?"
"Roosevelt told me that they're going to give everyone a knife and a pistol," McCoy said.
"I heard about that," Rickabee said. "Anything else?"
"I ran into Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman."
"You knew he was being sent out there, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir. Captain Sessions told me."
"Sessions felt," Colonel Rickabee said, "and I agreed, that it might be handy for you to have somebody out there you could trust. Another set of eyes."
"Zimmerman thinks that the Raiders are a great idea," McCoy said.
"You didn't tell him what you're doing out there, did you?"
"No, sir, of course not."
"Then leave it that way, McCoy. Zimmerman can be an extra set of eyes and ears in the ranks for you."
"I understand, sir," McCoy said. "He wouldn't understand that. I'm not so sure I do."
"And that's all?"
"Yes, sir."
"I relay herewith the best wishes of Captain Ed Banning," Rickabee said.
"Thank you, sir," McCoy said. "He's with you in Washington?"
"Actually, he's in the Naval hospital in Brooklyn," Rickabee said.
"What's wrong with him?" McCoy asked quickly.
"He was blind for a while," Rickabee said. "You didn't know that?"
"No, sir," McCoy said, shocked.
"Well, it was apparently psychosomatic," Rickabee said. "Which means no evident physical damage. He can see now, but the medics want to check him out carefully."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, that seems to be it. Check in with me when you come back from San Francisco. Let me know how you made out with the Army. And anything else that comes to mind."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"So long, McCoy," Colonel Rickabee said. "Keep up the good work."
The line went dead.
McCoy put the handset back in its cradle, and then looked at Ernie.
"Any questions?" he asked.
"Sergeant Zimmerman's here?" Ernie asked.
"Uh- huh."
"Why don't you have him to dinner?" Ernie said.
"It doesn't work that way," McCoy said. "Officers don't socialize with enlisted men."
"You're a snob," she said. "Who would ever know?"
"What would Marty Burnes think?" McCoy said, teasingly.
"Fuck him, it's our boat," Ernie said.
McCoy chuckled. "Fuck him?" he parroted. "When I met you, you didn't use words like that."
"When I met you, I was a virgin," Ernie said. "Cussing like a Marine is not the only bad habit I learned from you."
She lowered her head to his chest and nipped his nipple, and then she jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom.
McCoy picked up the telephone again and called Camp Elliott and spoke with the sergeant major of the Second Raider Battalion. He told him that if it were possible, he would like to have Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman go with him to Northern California.
"We were in the Fourth Marines together, Sergeant Major, and he knows about weapons," McCoy said.
"And, with respect, sir," the sergeant major said, chuckling, "you old China Marines stick together, don't you?"
"Let me tell you, sometime, Sergeant Major, how it was in the Old Corps."
"Do that," the sergeant major, who was twice McCoy's age, said, laughing. "I'll have Zimmerman at the motor pool when you get there, Lieutenant."
(Two)
U.S. Navy Hospital Brooklyn Navy Yard 2 March 1942
The headshrinker was wearing a white medical smock with an embroidered medical insignia on the breast, but there was no name tag with his rank on it. And since the Navy did not wear rank insignia on the collar points of their white shirts, Banning could not tell what rank he was. He could have been anything, to go by his age, from a junior grade lieutenant to a lieutenant commander.
"Come in, Captain Banning," the headshrinker said, when he saw Banning in the outer office.
Banning was in pajamas and a blue bathrobe, his bare feet in cloth hospital slippers.
"Good morning, sir," Banning said. "I was told to report to you."
"I'm Dr. Toland," the headshrinker said. "I've been looking forward to this."
"Why?" Banning challenged. It sounded like a bullshit remark.
The headshrinker looked at him intently for a moment, and then smiled.
"Actually, because I thought you would be more interesting than my general run of patients. These go from bed-wetting sailors trying to get out of the service to full commanders experiencing what we call the 'midlife crisis.' You're my first battle-scarred veteran."
Banning had to chuckle. "And you're the one who decides whether or not I'm crazy, right?"
"If I were in your shoes, Captain, that would annoy me too," Dr. Toland said. "So let me get that out of the way. I find you to be remarkably stable, psychologically speaking, considering what you've gone through."
"I just walked in here," Banning said. "Can you decide that quickly?"
"Sit down, Banning," Dr. Toland said. "I'll get us some coffee, and we can go through the motions."
Banning expected a corpsman, or a clerk, to bring coffee, but instead Toland walked out of the office and returned with two china mugs.
"You take cream and sugar?" he asked.
"No, black's fine," Banning said, taking the cup. "Thank you."
"The way it works," Toland said, "unless somebody walks in here wild-eyed and talking to God, is that I consider the reason an examination was requested; the aberrations, if any, that the patient has manifested; and the stress to which he has been subjected. Taking those one at a time, I'm a little surprised that you're surprised that they wanted you examined."
"I don't quite follow that," Banning said.
"According to General Forrest," Dr. Toland said, "the duties they have in mind for you are such that they just can't take the chance that you will either get sick, physically as opposed to mentally; or that you will suddenly decide you're Napoleon."
Banning looked at him sharply. He had not expected to hear General Forrest's name. He wondered if Toland was telling him the truth or whether this was some kind of a headshrinker's game. After a moment he concluded that Toland was telling the truth and that he had been discussed by this headshrinker and the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, USMC. Then he wondered why that had happened. Why was he important enough for Forrest to spend time talking about him to a headshrinker?