Admiral Wagam laughed out loud. "Which Galloway did, of course, making him look like a fool. No wonder BUAIR was so angry with you, Galloway. Well, it turned out all right in the end, didn't it? All's well that ends well, as they say."
"Yes, Sir," Charley said.
"Let's go in the living room and have a drink," Admiral Wagam said. "I've been looking for an excuse since three o'clock."
A small, pudgy Filipino messboy in a starched white jacket was waiting for them behind a small, well-stocked bar. Through an open door, Charley saw a dining room table set with crystal and silver. A silver bowl filled with gardenias was in the center of the table.
"We've got just about anything you might want," the Admiral said, "but Carlos makes a splendid martini, and I've always felt that a martini is just the thing to whet the appetite before roast beef."
"A martini seems a splendid notion, Admiral," Dawkins said.
"Yes, Sir," Charley said.
"Four of your best, Carlos, please," the admiral ordered. "And I suggest you have a reinforcement readily available."
I could learn to like living like this, Charley thought. But this was instantly followed by two somewhat disturbing second thoughts: Jesus, Caroline's house in Jenkintown is bigger than this. And so is Jim Ward's parents' house. And compared to the apartment on the top floor-the penthouse- of the Andrew Foster Hotel, this place-this Admiral's Quarters-is a dump.
Carlos filled four martini glasses from a silver shaker, and the Admiral passed them around.
The Admiral raised his glass, and looking right at Charley, said, "To youth, gentlemen. To the foolish things young men do with the best of intentions."
"Admiral," Colonel Dawkins said, "with respect, I would prefer to drink to the wise elders who keep foolish, well-intentioned young men out of trouble."
"Colonel, I normally dislike having my toasts altered, especially by a Marine, but by God, I'll drink to that," Admiral Wagam said, taking a sip and beaming at Dawkins.
Charley and Lieutenant (j.g.) Greyson dutifully sipped at their martinis.
"So you have the feeling, do you, Colonel..." Admiral Wagam said, interrupting himself to turn to the messboy: "Splendid, Carlos. Splendid."
"Thank you, Admiral," Carlos beamed.
"... that senior officers rarely get the appreciation they should," Admiral Wagam went on, "for-how should I put this?-tempering the enthusiasm of the young men for whom they are responsible?"
"Yes, Sir," Dawkins beamed. "I was just this afternoon having a conversation with Captain Galloway about his excessive enthusiasm for flying."
"At the expense of his duties as commanding officer, you mean?"
"No, Sir. I can't fault Captain Galloway's command. What I was trying to do was point out that all work and no play makes good squadron commanders lousy squadron commanders."
The Admiral grunted. "There was a study, a couple of years back, Medical Corps did it on the quiet. They found out that a newly appointed destroyer captain on his first voyage as skipper averaged five point three hours sleep at night. A man, especially an officer in command, can't function without a decent night's sleep. There's such a thing as too much devotion to duty, Galloway. You listen to Colonel Dawkins."
"Yes, Sir."
"That sleep requirement apparently doesn't apply to aides, Admiral?" Lieutenant (j.g.) Greyson asked.
"Aides have very little to do," the Admiral replied. "They can get their necessary sleep while standing around with their mouths shut." He put his arm around Greyson's shoulders. "I learned that from a distinguished sailor, Mr. Greyson. Your father. I was his aide when he told me that."
A second messboy appeared in the door to the dining room.
"Excuse me," he said. "Admiral, dinner is served."
"Hold it just a moment, Enrique," Admiral Wagam said. "I need another one of Carlos's martinis."
Charley glanced at Dawkins. Dawkins, just barely perceptibly, shrugged his shoulders, signifying that he had no idea what the hell this was all about, either.
The admiral passed out four fresh martinis.
"Let me offer another toast," he said. "Prefacing it with the observation that, obviously, it is not for dissemination outside this room. To the officers and men of VMF-229, who will sail from Pearl Harbor aboard the escort carrier Long Island two August. May God give you a smooth voyage and good hunting."
"Hear, hear," Colonel Dawkins and Lieutenant (j.g.) Greyson said, almost in unison.
"Thank you," Charley said.
"Although I am afraid he sometimes qualifies as one of the foolish, overly enthusiastic young men we were talking about a moment ago, my nephew tells me that VMF-229 is the best fighter squadron in Marine Aviation. Do you think I should believe him, Captain?"
"Sometimes even foolish young men have it right, Admiral," Charley said.
"Is that another example of that famous Marine modesty, Captain?" Admiral Wagam asked, as he put his hand on Charley's arm and led him into the dining room.
"A simple statement of facts, Sir," Charley said.
The admiral took his seat at the head of the table and pointed to the chair where Charley was to sit. Dawkins went to the far end of the table. Greyson sat across from Charley.
"I'm a little surprised you haven't asked where you're going," Admiral Wagam said.
"Sir, I thought that would be classified," Charley said.
"It is, of course," Wagam said. "And I suppose that disqualifies you as a foolish young man. Only a foolish young man would ask, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"But let me put you on the spot, Galloway. Where do you think you'll be going? What's the scuttlebutt?"
Wagam saw Galloway's discomfiture.
"I will neither confirm nor deny, Galloway. But sometimes it is of value to know what people think, what they are guessing."
Galloway looked at Dawkins for help. Dawkins shrugged again, barely perceptibly. Galloway interpreted this to mean, "Tell him what you think."
"Sir, I think that once the 1st Marine Division has secured the airfield on Guadalcanal, we'll be flown off the Long Island onto the island."
Admiral Wagam audibly sucked in his breath.
"And when does the scuttlebutt have it that the 1st Marines are going to invade, what did you say, Guadalcanal?"
"Yes, Sir. Guadalcanal. Shortly after the first of the month, Sir."
"Goddamn it, I'd love to know where you got that!" Admiral Wagam exclaimed, and then immediately regained control of himself. He held out his hand in a stop gesture. "If you were about to answer me, belay it. We will now change the subject."
"Yes, Sir," Charley said, and put a fork to the shrimp cocktail the messboy had set in front of him.
There was no question in his mind now that Big Steve's scuttlebutt, and his own studied guesses, were right on the mark. VMF-229 was going to Guadalcanal to operate off a captured Japanese airfield. Presuming, of course, that the 1st Marine Division could capture it.