McCoy fired the remaining two rounds in the eight-round en bloc clip at other target numbers. He did not miss.
"Insure that your weapon is empty, and leave the firing line, bringing your weapon with you," Stecker said calmly, reciting the prescribed litany.
By the time they were both on their feet, the range officer and the range NCO were standing beside the training NCO. Having witnessed not only a captain blowing away the target numbers, but apparently encouraging a trainee to do likewise, they were more than a little uneasy.
"This young man has a faulty weapon," Captain Stecker announced. "I think he should be given the opportunity to refire for record."
"Aye, aye, sir," the range officer said.
The range sergeant took the Garand from McCoy and started to examine it.
"Don't you think I know a faulty weapon when I see one, Gunny?" Captain Stecker asked.
"Yes, sir, no offense, sir."
"I realize that tomorrow is the first day of Thanksgiving liberty," Captain Stecker said, "but as we want to give this young man every opportunity to make a decent score, I think we should have the pit officer back, too. Who is he?"
Stecker had decided that the pit officer, whoever he might be, would never forget that Marines don't fuck around the pits after he had spent the first day of Thanksgiving liberty personally hauling, marking, and pasting targets for a Platoon Leader Candidate. That made more sense than in writing him an official letter of reprimand, or even turning him in to the battalion commander.
"Lieutenant Macklin, sir," the range officer said.
"I don't think I know him," Stecker said.
"He's the mess officer, Sir. He volunteered to help out in the pits," the range officer said.
And then Stecker saw understanding and then bitterness in McCoy's eyes.
"Do you know Lieutenant Macklin, McCoy?" Stecker asked.
"Yes, sir, I know him."
Stecker made a come-on motion of his hands.
"We were in the Fourth Marines together, sir," McCoy said.
"I see," Stecker said. I'll find out what the hell that is all about. "I think you can get on with the firing, Lieutenant." Stecker said.
"Aye, aye, sir," the lieutenant said. And then when Stecker was obviously going to walk away, he called attention and saluted.
Stecker went back to his jeep and was driven off.
Since there was no point in his firing anymore with a faulty weapon, Platoon Leader Candidate McCoy and Platoon Leader Candidate Pickering were put to work policing brass from the firing line until that relay had finished. Then Platoon Leader Candidate McCoy served as coach for Platoon Leader Candidate Pickering while he fired for record. Platoon Leader Candidate Pickering qualified as "Expert."
(Two)
After leaving McCoy, Captain Stecker went to Battalion Headquarters, where he examined the personal record jacket of First Lieutenant John R. Macklin, USMC. The personnel sergeant was a little uneasy about that-personal records were supposed to be personal-but he wouldn't have dreamed of telling Master Gunnery Sergeant Stecker to mind his own business, and Gunny Stecker was now wearing the silver railroad tracks of a captain.
Then Captain Stecker got back in the jeep and had himself carried to the Platoon Leader Course orderly room.
Word had already gotten back that Captain Stecker had been out on the range, and that he had ordered the re-firing for record of one of the candidates. And that the pit officer be in the pits when he did so. The sergeant-major had been sort of a pal before Stecker took a commission, and he knew there was more to it than he had been told.
He came to his feet and stood at attention when Stecker walked in.
"Good morning, sir," he said.
"As you were," Stecker said.
"How may I help the captain, sir?" the sergeant-major said.
"You wouldn't happen to have a cup of coffee, Sergeant-Major?"
"Yes, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"And if you have a minute, Sergeant-Major, I'd like a word with you in private."
"We can use the commanding officer's office, sir," the sergeant-major said. "He went out to check on the range, sir."
A corporal followed the two of them into the commanding officer's office with two china mugs of coffee, and then left, closing the door behind him.
"Tell me about a kid named McCoy, Charley," Stecker said.
"That's the one was a China Marine?" Stecker nodded. "What do you want to know, Jack?"
"How come he's been sanding decks?"
"I don't know," the sergeant-major said. "He fucked up, I guess."
"What do you know about Lieutenant Macklin?"
"Not much, Jack," the sergeant-major said, after thinking it over. "The cooks hate his ass. But that always happens when there's a new broom. And he's an eager sonofabitch. The scuttlebutt is he's got a lousy efficiency report and is trying to make up for it."
"So he volunteered to be pit officer?"
"And he takes Saturday inspections for the officers. That kind of stuff."
"I want a look at McCoy's records," Stecker said.
"Anything in particular?"
"Just say I'm nosy," Stecker said.
The sergeant-major went into the outer office and returned with a handful of manila files.
"He's more of a fuck-up than I thought," the sergeant-major said. "Jesus, he's been on report at every fucking inspection. He's given lip to the DIs. Even Macklin wrote him up twice for failure to salute. He'll be scrubbing decks again over the Thanksgiving liberty. He's right on the edge of getting his ass shipped out of here. He's going before the elimination board (A board of officers charged with determining whether or not a platoon leader candidate has proved himself unfit or unworthy of being commissioned) on Friday."
Stecker grunted.
He took McCoy's records from the sergeant-major and read them carefully.
"Very odd," he said. "His last efficiency report says his 'personal deportment and military bearing serves as an example to the command.' I wonder what turned him into a fuck-up here?"
The sergeant-major raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
"It says here that he's an Expert with the Springfield and the.45, and the light and water-cooled Brownings. I was on the range before…"
"So I heard," the sergeant-major said.
"He could barely get a round on the target, much less in the black," Stecker said. "I found out he had a faulty weapon. He could hit target numbers with it. It was just that he was all over the target when he fired at a bull's-eye."
"Jesus, was he fucking around on the rifle range, too?" the sergeant-major asked.
"He wasn't fucking around on the rifle range, Charley," Stecker said.
"And Macklin was the pit officer, right?" the sergeant-major said, finally putting things together.
"Was he?" Stecker asked, innocently.
"Jesus Christ!" the sergeant-major said.
"I'm sure you know as well as I do, sergeant-major," Stecker said, "that no Marine officer is capable of using his office and authority to settle personal grudges."
"Yes, sir," the sergeant-major said.
"And under the circumstances, Sergeant-Major, I can see no reason for Platoon Leader Candidate McCoy to refire for record. It would be an unnecessary expenditure of time and ammunition. If he had a properly functioning rifle, I'm sure that he would-since he has been drawing Expert marksman's pay since boot camp-qualify with the Garand." "Got you," the sergeant-major said. "Further, it would interfere with his Thanksgiving liberty. Platoon Leader Candidate McCoy is shortly going to be commissioned…"
"He'll have to get past the elimination board," the sergeant-major said. "With this record, he has to go before it."
"What record do you mean,' Sergeant-Major?" Captain Stecker said, as calmly and deliberately he tore from the manila folder all the official records of misbehavior and unsatisfactory performance Platoon Leader Candidate McCoy had acquired since beginning the course. He shredded them and dropped them into the wastebasket.
"What do I tell the old man, Jack?" the sergeant-major asked.
"Three things, Charley," Stecker said. "First, that if there is some reason McCoy can't have Thanksgiving liberty, I want to hear about it. Second, that the colonel has taken two evening meals in the mess and found them unsatisfactory. And third, that I politely and unofficially suggest that maybe the chow would be better if the mess officer stayed where he belongs, in the kitchen."