"Ask the major to come in, please, Sergeant," Harris replied.
Major Dillon marched into Harris's office, stopped eighteen inches from his desk, came to rigid attention, and barked, "Major Dillon, Sir. Thank you for seeing me."
General Harris's first thought vis-…-vis Major Jacob Dillon was: The fit of that uniform is impeccable. He didn't get that off a rack at an officer's sales store. Give the devil his due. At least the sonofabitch looks like a Marine.
General Harris let Major Dillon stand there for almost a minute-which seemed like much longer-examining him.
"Stand at ease, Major," Harris said, and. Dillon snappily changed to a position that was more like Parade Rest than At Ease, with his hands folded in the small of his back.
"Colonel Naye finally found you, did he?" Harris asked softly.
"Sir, I wasn't aware the colonel was looking for me."
"Where the hell have you been, Dillon? Where did you lay your head to rest, for example?"
"At the Connaught, Sir," Dillon said.
"At the where?"
"The Duke of Connaught Hotel, Sir."
"A hotel?" Harris asked, incredulously.
"Yes, Sir."
"Just to satisfy my sometimes uncontrollable curiosity, Major, how did you get from here to town? And back out here?"
"A friend picked us up, Sir. And arranged for the rooms in the Connaught. And has arranged a couple of cars for us."
" 'Rooms'? 'Us'? You took your officers with you?"
"Yes, Sir. And the men. I thought they needed a good night's sleep. It's a hell of a long airplane ride from Hawaii, Sir."
It had previously occurred to General Harris that if Major Dillon and his two commissioned and six enlisted press agents, and their 1240 pounds of accompanying baggage and equipment had not traveled to Wellington, New Zealand, by priority air it would have been possible to move nine real Marines and 1240 pounds of badly needed equipment by air to Wellington.
With some effort, General Harris restrained himself from offering this observation aloud.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "We came by ship. Who's going to pay for the hotel, just out of curiosity?"
"That's going to require a sort of lengthy answer, Sir."
"My time is your time, Major. Curiosity overwhelms me."
"For the time being, Sir, those of us who are still on salary are splitting the expenses for everybody."
"Still on salary?"
"Most of us are from the movies, Sir," Dillon said.
What the hell does that mean? Tony's letter, come to think of it, said this guy was a Hollywood press agent.
"But one of the photographers and two of the writers came from Pathe-the newsreel photographer-and the wires. AP specifically. Their salaries stopped when they came in the Corps. The rest of us are still getting paid, so we decided to split the tab for Sergeant Pincney and the lieutenants."
"Let me be sure I have this right," Harris said. "Your two officers are having their hotel bills paid by your enlisted men?"
"General, it sounds a lot worse than it is," Dillon said. "Fortunately, it's none of my business, since you're not in the 1st Marines," Harris said. This had just occurred to him; it was a little comforting. "But what is my business is your mission here. Can you explain that to me?"
"Well, Sir. When we-the 1st Marines-make their first landing, the men I have with me, broken down into two teams, will go ashore with the first wave. Each team will have a still and a motion picture photographer and a writer. The film they shoot, and the copy the writer writes, will be made available to the press on a pool basis... and flown to the States, to see what mileage they can get out of it in Washington."
"You're aware, of course, that we have our own PIO people?"
"Yes, Sir. I tried to make that point to General Frischer. I didn't get very far. And to tell you the truth, Sir, I didn't mind getting shot down. I wanted to come over here."
"You did? Why?"
"I'm a Marine, General," Dillon said.
"I was about to ask about that. I heard you were a Hollywood press agent."
"Yes, Sir. Before that I was a Marine. A China Marine. Then I got in the movie business, and then I came back in the Corps."
"To be a press ag-a public information officer?"
"That was the Deputy Commandant's idea, Sir. I thought, still think, that I could be of more use with stripes on my sleeve."
I like the sound of that. Maybe this character isn`t a complete asshole after all.
"Well, Major, I'm sure the Deputy Commandant is right. Now, what can I do for you?"
"Not a thing, Sir. I'm going to try to stay out of your hair as much as possible."
It was an ill-chosen figure of speech. General Harris suffered from advanced male pattern baldness and was somewhat sensitive on the subject. Major Dillon promptly made it worse:
"The only thing on my schedule right now is to see your Division PIO," he said. "To assure him that I'm going to stay out of his hair, too. And then I want to see Jack NMI Stecker. Major Stecker."
"I'm acquainted with Major Stecker," Harris said. "What do you want from him?"
General Harris was more than "acquainted" with Major Jack NMI Stecker. Given the chasm between officer and enlisted ranks, they were-as much as possible-lifelong friends. For nearly a quarter of a century, Harris had believed that one of the few mistakes Jack Stecker made in his Marine career was turning down the appointment he was offered to Annapolis in 1918.
At nineteen, Stecker won the Medal of Honor... for really incredible valor in France. With the Medal came the Annapolis appointment. But Stecker turned it down to marry his childhood sweetheart, which meant that he would spend his Marine Corps career as an enlisted man.
It was folklore in the Marine Corps that many senior non-coms were just as qualified to command companies and battalions as any officer. Harris believed that one of the few men of whom this was really true was Jack NMI Stecker. And Harris put his belief in action; he went to Marine Corps Commandant Slocomb to make this announcement-a dangerous deviation from the sacred path of chain of command. Even so, his move resulted in the gold leaf now on Jack NMI Stecker's collar points, and his assignment as a battalion commander in the 5th Marines.
"Jack and I were pretty close when he was Sergeant Major of the 4th Marines in Shanghai..."
If you and Jack NMI Stecker were really close, that means you really aren't an asshole, Major, after all. I'll call Jack and ask him about this guy.
"... and I hope to talk him into letting me send some of my people down to his battalion to see if he can make Marines out of them."
Good thinking. If anyone can turn feather merchants into Marines, Jack Stecker can.
"The PFCs, you mean?"
"No, Sir. Everybody but the PFCs. They at least went through boot camp at San Diego. I mean the sergeants and the lieutenants. Some of them have only been in the Corps a month."
"And they haven't been-the officers-to Basic School? Or the others to boot camp?"
"No, Sir. General Frischer said that since they wouldn't be commanding troops, it wouldn't matter."
"They were commissioned, or enlisted, directly from civilian life, to do this? And they were sent here without any training whatever?"