"But there are those," Carlson said, "close to the Deity in Marine Corps heaven who devoutly believe the Corps cannot do without the eighty-one-millimeters. So I have proposed that we drag them along with us-without personnel-in case we need them. In which case, they would be fired by the sixty-millimeter crews."
McCoy thought Carlson was absolutely right about the mortars, and he hoped that the brass would let him have his way. But he wondered if they actually would. He had not forgotten Chief Warrant Officer Ripley's disturbing remark about the "brass really having a hard-on for Carlson." He knew they hadn't changed that attitude because the Commandant had blown his stack about spying on Carlson. A lot of the brass, and even people like Captain Jack Stecker, thought the whole idea of Raiders was a lousy one. Which meant that a lot of people were still going to be fighting Carlson at every step. If Carlson said the moon was made of Camembert, they would insist it was cheddar.
"That will be all, gentlemen," Colonel Carlson said, a few minutes and a few minor items later. "Thank you. If there are no questions…"
There were questions. There was always some dumb sonofabitch who didn't understand something. But finally the questions had been asked and answered, and Carlson waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. In a regular unit, the exec would have called attention and then dismissed them after the commanding officer had walked away. Doing it Carlson's way, McCoy thought, made more sense.
Colonel Carlson called out to him as McCoy started to get to his feet.
"McCoy, stick around please. I'd like a word with you."
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.
Carlson went into the building, after motioning for McCoy to follow. When he went inside, the sergeant major waved him into Carlson's office. Captain Roosevelt was there.
"Stand at ease, McCoy," Carlson said, and searched through papers on his desk. Finally he found what he was looking for and handed it to McCoy. It was a TWX.
ROUTINE
HEADQUARTERS USMC WASH DC 1545 21 APR 1942
THERE EXISTS THROUGHOUT THE MARINE CORPS A CRITICAL SHORTAGE OF OFFICER PERSONNEL FLUENT IN FOREIGN LANGUAGES. RECORDS INDICATE THAT 2ND LT KENNETH R MCCOY PRESENTLY ASSIGNED COMPANY B 2ND RAIDER BN IS FLUENT IN CHINESE JAPANESE AND OTHER FOREIGN LANGUAGES. UNLESS HIS PRESENT DUTIES ARE CRITICAL TO THE 2ND RAIDER BATTALION IT IS INTENDED TO REASSIGN HIM TO DUTIES COMMENSURATE WITH HIS LANGUAGE SKILLS.
YOU WILL REPLY BY THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS WHETHER OR NOT SUBJECT OFFICER IS CRITICAL TO THE MISSION OF YOUR COMMAND. BY DIRECTION
STANLEY E WATT COLONEL USMC OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF FOR PERSONNEL
"You don't seem especially surprised, McCoy," Colonel Carlson said in Cantonese.
"No, sir," McCoy answered, in the same language. "Major Banning told me there was a shortage of people who could speak Chinese and Japanese."
Carlson smiled, and nodded at Roosevelt. "The Big Nose doesn't know what we're talking about, does he?"
Chinese often referred to Caucasians as "Big Noses."
"No, sir," McCoy said, now in English.
"Then in English," Carlson said.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Captain Roosevelt said.
"Well, McCoy, are you critical to the Raiders?" Carlson asked.
"I don't know, sir," McCoy said.
"Well, let me put it this way, then, Lieutenant," Carlson said. "In your opinion, can you make a greater contribution to the Corps doing what you're doing with the Raiders, or doing whatever Major Banning has in mind for you to do? And I don't think there is any more question in your mind than there is in mine that Ed Banning is behind that TWX."
"Straight answer, sir?"
"I certainly hope so," Carlson said.
"I think I can do more here, sir," McCoy said.
"Huh," Carlson snorted. "Go buy yourself a bigger hat, Lieutenant McCoy. I am about to designate you as Critical to the Second Raiders."
"Thank you, sir."
"Not even the Big Nose is critical," Carlson said, in Cantonese, and smiled benignly at Captain Roosevelt, who smiled back. "Only you and me, McCoy."
McCoy grinned back.
Still in Cantonese, Carlson went on: "I don't think you need to know the name of the island, yet, McCoy, so I won't give it to you. But for our first mission, we are going to conduct a raid on a certain island. That's subject to change, of course, but I have a hunch it won't. The reason I'm telling you this much is that it is currently projected that we will be transported in submarines, rather than the converted destroyers. That will limit the force to no more than two hundred people. I want you-alone, don't confer with anyone else-to start thinking how we'll have to structure that force, and equip it."
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said, in English. "Does that mean I will go with the assault force, sir?"
"Uh- huh," Carlson said. "I thought you'd want to go."
"Oh, yes, sir," McCoy said.
And then he thought, Oh, shit! What the hell have I done?
Chapter Twenty
(One)
The San Carlos Hotel Pensacola, Florida 8 August 1942
Second Lieutenant Richard J. Stecker, USMC, was in direct violation of the uniform regulations of the U.S. Navy Air Station, Pensacola, which, in addition to specifying in finite detail what a properly dressed officer would wear when leaving the post, took pains to specifically proscribe the wearing of flight gear except immediately before, while participating in, and immediately after aerial flight.
He was wearing a gray cotton coverall, equipped with a number of zippered pockets. This was known to the Naval Service as "Suit, flight, aviator's, cotton, tropical," and to Stecker, who had copied Pick Pickering's description, as "Birdman's rompers." Sewn to the breast of the rompers was a leather patch, stamped in gold with Naval aviator's wings and the words "STECKER, R.J. 2ND LT USMC." Pick said they did that so that professional Marines could look down and see who the Marine Corps said they were.
The flight suit was dark with sweat. Enormous patches of it spreading from the back and the armpits and the seat nearly overwhelmed the dry areas. The patches were ringed with white, remnants of the salt taken aboard in the form of salt pills and then sweated out.
Stecker was aware that he was learning bad habits from Pick Pickering. Or, phrased more kindly, that Pickering had given him insight into the functioning of the Naval establishment that had not previously occurred to him. Previously, he had obeyed regulations, no matter how petty, because they were regulations and Marine officers obeyed regulations. He had in fact cautioned Lieutenant Pickering (a friendly word of advice from a professional Naval establishment person to a temporary officer and gentleman): "You're gonna get your ass in a crack if they catch you driving home in your flight suit," he'd told him.
Lieutenant Pickering had not only been unrepentant, but had patiently pointed out to Lieutenant Stecker the flaws in his logic.
"First of all, I don't intend to get caught. I drive through the woods, not past the Marine guard at the gate. Secondly, I think the MPs have better things to do than establish roadblocks to catch people wearing flight suits. And I come into the hotel through the basement, not the lobby. I think the chances of my getting caught run from slim to none. But, for the sake of argument, what if I'm caught? So what?"
"You'll find yourself replying by endorsement," (When an officer was caught doing something he should not be doing, such as being out of uniform, he would receive a letter from his commanding officer specifying the offense and directing him to "reply by endorsement hereto" his reasons for committing the offense) Stecker argued.