After the rehearsal, as they were unpacking their uniforms and preparing their enlisted men's uniforms to be turned in, Corporal Pleasant entered the barracks.
"Attention on deck!" someone bellowed.
"Stand at ease," Corporal Pleasant said. And then he went to each man and handed him a quarter-inch-thick stack of mimeograph paper. It was their orders.
There were three different orders, or more precisely, three different paragraphs of the same general order. The first sent about half of Platoon Leader Class 23-41 to Camp LeJeune, North Carolina, "for such duty in the field as may be assigned." The second sent just about the rest of 23-41 to San Diego, California, "for such duty in the field as may be assigned."
There were only two names on the third paragraph of the General Order. It said that the following officers, having entered upon active duty at Quantico, Virginia for a period of three years, unless further extended by competent authority, were further assigned and would proceed to Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, Washington, D.C., "for such administrative duty as may be assigned."
"What the hell does this mean?" Pickering asked, when Pleasant had left.
McCoy had a very good idea what it meant so far as he was concerned, but he had no idea what the Corps had planned for Pickering.
"It means while the rest of these clowns are running around in the boondocks, you and I will be sitting behind desks," he said.
At 1245 hours,. Friday, 28 November 1941, Platoon Leader Candidate Class 23-41 fell in for the last time. They were wearing the uniforms of second lieutenants, U.S. Marine Corps, but Corporal Pleasant took his customary position and marched them to the parade field.
The first order of business was to give them the legal right to wear the gold bars on their shoulders. They raised their right hands and swore to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to obey the orders of such officers who were appointed over them, and that they would discharge the duties of the office upon which they were about to enter to the best of their ability, so help them God.
"Detail commander, front and center, harch!" Corporal Pleasant barked.
McCoy, to his surprise, had been appointed to this role. He marched from his position at the left of the rear rank up to Corporal Pleasant.
Pleasant saluted.
"Take the detail, sir," Pleasant said.
"Take your post, Corporal," McCoy ordered.
They exchanged salutes again. Pleasant did a right-face and marched off to take a position beside the gunny and the first sergeant, just to the right of the reviewing stand.
McCoy did an about-face.
"Right- face!" he ordered, and then, "Fow-ward, harch!"
He gave them a column right, and then another, and when they got to the proper position relative to the reviewing stand, bellowed, "Eyes, right!" and raised his hand to the brim of his new Brooks Brothers $38.75 Cap, Marine Officers, with the cord loops sewn to its crown.
At the moment he issued the command, the Quantico Band, which had been silent except for the tick-tick beat of its drummers to give them the proper marching cadence, burst into the Marine Corps Hymn.
And the moment Second Lieutenant Pickering, USMCR, snapped his head to «he right, he saw two familiar faces on the reviewing stand. His father and his mother.
On the goddamned reviewing stand; not with the other parents and wives and whoever had showed up for the graduation parade. On the goddamned reviewing stand!
The officers on the reviewing stand returned McCoy's hand salute.
"Eyes, front!" McCoy ordered when he judged the last file of the formation had passed the reviewing stand. He marched them back to where they had originally been.
The officers marched off the reviewing stand, in order of rank. When the colonel got to McCoy, McCoy saluted.
"Put your detail at rest, Lieutenant," the colonel ordered.
"Puh- rade, rest!"
They moved their feet the prescribed distance apart, and put their hands and arms rigidly in the small of their backs.
"Congratulations," the colonel said to McCoy. "Welcome to the officer corps of the U.S. Marine Corps."
He shook his hand and simultaneously handed him a rolled-up tube of paper, which contained his diploma and his commission. Then, leaving McCoy at parade rest, the colonel, trailed by his entourage, went down the ranks and repeated the process, exactly, for each man.
Finally, the entourage returned to the reviewing stand.
"Lieutenant," the colonel called. "You may dismiss these gentlemen."
McCoy saluted, did an about-face, and barked, "Atten-hut. Dis-missed."
23- 41 just stood there for a moment, as if unwilling to believe that it was actually over and that they were now in law and fact commissioned officers and gentlemen of the United States Marine Corps.
And then one of them yelped, probably, McCoy thought, that flat-faced asshole from Texas AM who was always making strange noises. That broke the trance, and they started shaking hands and pounding each other on the back.
Captain Jack NMI Stecker walked off the reviewing stand, and then across the field to McCoy. As he approached McCoy, Pickering started for the reviewing stand. McCoy wondered where the hell he was going, but with Stecker advancing on him, there was no chance to ask.
He saluted Stecker, who offered his hand.
"Despite what some people think of China Marines, Lieutenant," Stecker said, "every once in a while some of them make pretty good officers. I think you will."
"Thank you, sir," McCoy said.
"I thought you might need a ride to the Impounding Compound," Stecker said.
"I got the car last night, sir," he said.
"Then in that case, McCoy, just 'good luck.' "
He offered his hand, they exchanged salutes, and Stecker walked away.
McCoy saw that most of 23-41 had formed a line by the reviewing stand. Corporal Pleasant was saluting each one of them. They then handed him a dollar. It was a tradition.
Fuck him, McCoy decided. Pleasant had been entirely too willing to kick him when he was down. And he wasn't even that good a corporal.
I'm not going to give the sonofabitch a dollar to have him salute me. He'll head right for the NCO Club with it and sit around making everybody laugh with stories about the incompetent assholes the Corps had just made officers.
And then he saw that Pick Pickering was not in the line. He was standing with a couple, the man well dressed, the woman in a full-length fur coat. Obviously, Pick's folks had come to see their son graduate. McCoy started to walk back to the company area.
Pickering ran after him and caught up with him.
"I want you to meet my mother and dad," Pick said.
"Wouldn't I be in the way?"
"Don't be an asshole, asshole," Pick said, and grabbed McCoy's arm and propelled him in the direction of the reviewing stand.
"I didn't see you giving Pleasant his dollar," Pickering said.
"I didn't," McCoy said. "Just because we're now wearing bars doesn't make him any less of a vicious asshole."
"My, you do hold a grudge, don't you, Lieutenant?" Pickering said.
"You bet your ass, I do," McCoy said.
Fleming Pickering smiled and put his hand out as they walked up.
"I knew who you were, of course," he said.
"Sir?" McCoy asked, confused.
"One Marine corporal can always spot another, even in a sea of clowns," Fleming Pickering said, pleased with himself.
"Flem!" Mrs. Pickering protested. She smiled at McCoy and gave him her hand. "You'll have to excuse my husband, his being a Marine corporal was the one big thrill of his life. I'm pleased to finally meet you, Ken… I can call you 'Ken,' mayn't I?… Malcolm's written so much about you."
"Yes, ma'am," McCoy said.
"I would like nothing better," Fleming Pickering said, "than to sit over a long lunch and have you tell me how you shepherded the lieutenant here around the boondocks, but we have a plane to catch."