GOVERNMENT
THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR FRIEND SECOND LIEUTENANT KENNETH J. MCCOY USMCR 2ND RAIDER BATTAUON WAS WOUNDED IN ACTION AGAINST THE JAPANESE ON MAKIN ISLAND 17 AUGUST 1942. HE HAS BEEN REMOVED TO A NAVAL HOSPITAL AND IS EXPECTED TO FULLY RECOVER. FURTHER DETAILS WILL BE FURNISHED AS AVAILABLE, FRANK KNOX JR SECRETARY OF THE NAVY
"There's another word in the lexicon," Captain Carstairs said, "one they did not use. The adjective 'seriously,' as in 'seriously wounded.' And they included the phrase 'fully recover.'"
"Yeah," Pickering said, and then looked at Carstairs. "Thank you."
"My curiosity is aroused," Carstairs said. "Doesn't he have a family?"
"Not one he gives much of a damn about," Pickering said. "He's got a brother, but he's in the Raiders, too."
"He came through it, that's what counts," Carstairs said. "That's all that counts."
"Oh, Christ!" Pickering said, having just then thought of it. "Ernie!"
"Who's Ernie?"
"His girl friend," Pick said. "I'll have to tell her."
"Why?" Carstairs said, practically. "If he's not seriously hurt, he'll write her and tell her. Why worry her?"
"Because she would want to know," Pick flared. "Jesus Christ!"
"Keep your cool, Pickering," Carstairs said. "Think it over. What would be gained?"
"Yeah," Pick said. "This is not the first telegram from the Secretary of the Navy-" He stopped. "I am about to have a drink. Would you like one?"
"I thought you would never ask," Captain Carstairs said.
Pick made drinks, and then told Captain Mustache about the first telegram from the Secretary of the Navy about Ken McCoy when he had been in the Philippines, the one that said he was "missing in action and presumed dead." They made enough noise to raise Dick Stecker and his guest from their bed.
They had another couple of drinks, and then ordered room service breakfast, and in the end Pick decided he would not call Ernie, not now. It made more sense to wait and see what happened. There was no sense getting Ernie all upset when there was nothing at all that she could do.
Captain Mustache stayed with them. He even got a little smashed, and it had all the beginnings of a good party. Now that they were about to be certified as fully qualified brother Naval aviators, it was fitting and proper for him to associate with two lowly second lieutenants as social equals.
Sometime during the evening, Captain Mustache told him that he had just about given up on Martha Sayre Culhane. It had become clear to him that she was just not interested.
Pickering recalled that the next morning (now Sunday) when some other sonofabitch was knocking at the door.
As Pick staggered to open it, he remembered telling Captain Mustache that he knew just how he felt. And then Captain Mustache had said something else: He thought it wasn't absolutely hopeless for Pick, and that it was a shame Pick was about to ship out.
Pick jerked the door open. It was Captain Mustache again.
"Why didn't you just crap out on the couch?" Pick asked, somewhat snappishly.
"I took the brunette in the glasses home, remember?" Captain Mustache said, and then added, demonstrating, "You've got another one," and handed him a yellow Western Union envelope.
"Oh, shit, now what?" Pick asked.
The second telegram, to his relief and confusion, appeared to be identical to the first. He was afraid that it would be one expressing the condolences of the Secretary of the Navy.
"What the hell is this?" he asked. "A duplicate? In case I didn't get the first one?"
"I don't know," Carstairs answered. And then they saw that the two telegrams were not identical. The second said McCoy had been wounded on August 18; the first had said August 17.
"I guess he got shot twice," Carstairs said, "and the paperwork just got caught up."
"I'm going to have to call Ernie," Pick said, firmly. "She has a right to know."
"Can I have a hair of the dog?" Captain Mustache asked.
"Make me one, will you? I think I'm going to need it."
It took Ernie so long to answer her phone that he was afraid she wasn't at her apartment, but finally, she came on the line.
"What is it?" she snapped.
"This is Pick, Ernie," he said.
"What do you want at this time of the morning?" she snapped.
"I've got a little bad news," Pick said, gently.
"About what?" she asked, now with concern in her voice.
"About Ken," Pick said. "Ernie, did you read in the paper or hear on the radio about the Marine Raiders and Makin Island?"
"Yes," she said. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Ken," Pick said.
"Just a minute," Ernie said, and went off the line. And stayed off.
"Hello?" Pick said, finally.
"Hello, yourself," Ken McCoy's voice came over the wire. "You have a lousy sense of timing, asshole. Did I ever tell you that?"
"When did you get back?"
"I got into Washington about ten last night," McCoy said. "And I caught the four A.M. train into New York. I've been here about an hour and a half. Get the picture?"
"Sorry to have bothered you, sir," Pick said, and hung up.
Captain Mustache handed him a drink. Pick looked at it and set it down.
"Our twice-wounded hero is in New York," he said. "I don't know how the hell he worked that, but I'm not really surprised."
"Well, there's our excuse to celebrate again," Carstairs said.
"No," Pick said.
"No?" Carstairs asked.
"Actually, I think I'll go to church," Pick said.
"Well, sure," Carstairs said, uncomfortably, forcing a smile.
(Four)
Navy Air Station Chapel Pensacola, Florida 30 August 1942
Chaplain (Lieutenant Commander) J. Bartwell Kaine, USNR, who until three months before had been rector of the Incarnation Episcopal Church of Baltimore, Maryland, was pleased to see the two Marine second lieutenants at his morning prayer service.
It had been his experience since coming to Pensacola that few, too few, of the officer aviation students attended worship services of any kind, and that those who did went to the nondenominational Protestant services at 1100. He was interested in keeping, so to speak, Episcopalian personnel within the fold, and there was no question in his practiced eye that the two handsome young Marines in the rear pew were Episcopal. They knew the service well enough to recite the prayers and doxology from memory, and they knew when and how to kneel.
Chaplain Kaine made a special effort, when the service was over, to speak to them, to let them know they were more than welcome, and to invite them to participate in the activities of what he referred to as "the air station Episcopal community."
They informed him that while they appreciated the offer of hospitality, they had finished their training and were about to leave Pensacola.
Then Second Lieutenants Pick Pickering and Dick Stecker walked to Pickering's car and got in. As Pickering pushed the starter button and got the Cadillac running, Stecker spoke:
"Even though I'm aware of the scriptural admonition to 'judge not, lest ye be judged,' why is it that I have the feeling that you dragged me over here more in the interests of your sinful lusts of the flesh than to offer thanks for your buddy coming through all right?"
"Fuck you, Dick," Pickering said, cheerfully.
"What made you think she'd be there? And if she had been, what makes you think she would have rushed into your arms?"
"I saw the picture of her father in the base newspaper. He's a vestryman. It was worth a shot."
"You're desperate, aren't you?" Stecker replied, half mockingly, half sympathetically.