CAPTION, PIC TWO ACCOMPANYING: MEDAL OF HONOR WINNER STAFF SERGEANT THOMAS J 'MACHINE GUN' MCCOY USMC (LEFT) AND NAVY CROSS WINNER 1ST LT WILLIAM C. DUNN, USMCR, FLANK 2ND LT ROBERT F. EASTERBROOK, USMCR, THE MARINE COMBAT CORRESPONDENT MCCOY SAYS WAS THE BRAVEST MAN ON BLOODY RIDGE. (PHOTO BY ROBERTA DAIMAN, SEATTLE TIMES)
[FOUR]
=TOP SECRET=
Eyes Only - The Secretary of the Navy
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAV
Brisbane, Australia
Saturday 14 November 1942
Dear Frank:
Word just reached here that the battleships Washington and South Dakota have sunk the Japanese battleship Kirishima, even though the South Dakota apparently was pretty badly hit in the process. I'd like to think that Admiral Dan Callahan somehow knows about this. I was pretty upset when I heard he was killed the day before. Revenge is sweet.
The more I get into this Fertig in the Philippines business-specifically, the more I have learned from Lt Col Jack NMI Stecker about the efficacy of a well run guerrilla operation-the more I become convinced that it's worth a good deal of effort and expense.
Where it stands right now is that a young Marine officer, Lieutenant Kenneth McCoy, whom they call 'Killer', by the way, just arrived here. He has already made the Makin Island Marine Raider operation, and went ashore on Buka from another submarine when we replaced the Marines there. He is as expert in rubber boat operations as they come, in other words. He sees no problem in getting ashore from a submarine off Mindanao.
He and Stecker have come up with list of materiel they feel should go to Fertig, essentially, and in this order, gold, radios, medicine and small arms and ammunition. Because of the small stature of the average Filipino, both feel that the US Carbine is the proper weapon. I have the radios and the carbines and ammunition for them, and have been promised an array of medicines whenever I want them. I have also been promised a submarine, probably the USS Narwahl, which is a cargo submarine. The promise came from CINCPAC himself, who shares my belief that any guerrilla operation in the Philippines should be supported on strategic, tactical and moral grounds.
I only need two things more: I need $250,000 in gold. Actually, what I need is a cable transfer of that much money to the Bank of Australia, who will give me the gold. The sooner the better.
The second thing I need is for you to goose the Marine Corps personnel people. They still haven't transferred Lt Col Stecker to me. Colonel Rickabee reports that he's been getting a very cold shoulder about this, although no explanation has been given, and your normally incredibly able Captain Haughton hasn't been able to get them off their upholstered chairs, either. I need Stecker for this. He's an expert in guerrilla operations, and this is certainly more important than what the Corps wants him to do vis a vis setting up prophylactic facilities and amateur theatricals. McCoy going ashore alone would not be nearly as effective as the two of them going together.
I earnestly solicit your immediate action in this regard.
Best regards,
Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR
=TOP SECRET=
[FIVE]
The Peabody Hotel
Memphis, Tennessee
1725 Hours 17 November 1942
"This is a first for me," First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering said to First Lieutenant William C. Dunn, after the bellman who had led them to the small suite had left. "I have been in many, many hotels, and I have seen some strange things in their lobbies; but I have never before seen ducks."
"It is an old southern custom. We call it 'ducks in the lobby.' "
"With a 'd,' right?"
"Don't be obscene, Mr. Pickering. And if you are reaching for the phone to order booze, forget it."
"Why?"
"Because this is the South, Mr. Pickering. We do not corrupt our youth-such as yourself-by giving them whiskey."
"You're kidding."
"I am not kidding."
"Well, as soon as I find out if my car has arrived, I will ask for a bellman. I'll bet the bellman has an idea how we can circumvent that perverted Southern custom."
"Why don't we wait until we report in? We can buy booze on the base, I'm sure," Dunn said.
"Why don't we just go out there in the morning?"
"Because if we report in today, anytime before midnight, it is a day of duty, and we don't lose a day of leave."
"Why don't we go out there in the morning and say we reported in last night and there was nobody there to properly receive us?" Pick asked.
"That would be a case of an officer knowingly uttering a statement he knows to be false."
"So what?"
"Pick, you better understand, you've never been in a squadron under anybody but Charley Galloway. There are a number of squadron commanders who are real pricks...."
"And it will be our luck to get one, right?"
"Right. And I won't be the exec, either. Just one more airplane jockey. So, until we find out how much of a prick our new squadron commander is going to be, be smart, keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open."
"OK. Now can I ask if my car is here?"
"Yes, you may," Dunn said grandly.
The car had been delivered; it would be at the front door in five minutes.
"I have just had another unpleasant, if realistic, thought," Dunn said. "Our new skipper maybe won't permit us to live here."
"Fuck him," Pick said. "Wave your Navy Cross in his face."
"Pick, you weren't listening. You're going to have to change your whole attitude, or you're going to get us both in trouble. Maybe you don't give a damn, but I don't want to get sent back to P'Cola to fly Yellow Perils."
"I surrender. I am now on my good behavior. Note the glow of my halo."
"Just make sure it keeps glowing," Dunn said. "Let's go."
There was a staff sergeant on duty at the headquarters of Marine Air Group 59. He told them that the Major was out inspecting the flight line.
"What for?" Pick asked.
"Sir," the sergeant replied, looking askance at the question from the young, new pilot, obviously fresh from P'Cola, "the SOP says the Officer of the Day will inspect the flight line every two hours during off-duty hours, Sir."
"Right," Pickering said.
"Your name is Dunn, you said, Lieutenant?" the sergeant asked. And then, before Dunn could reply, he asked another question. "Sir, isn't that the Navy Cross? Are you that Mr. Dunn, Sir?"
"That's him, Sergeant. We call him 'Modest Bill.' He always wears his medals-"
"Shut up, Pick," Dunn said, and it was in the voice of command.
"-when trying to make a favorable first impression on his new squadron commander," Pick finished.
"I told you to shut up, Mr. Pickering."
Pick shrugged, but said nothing else.
"This is for you, Mr. Dunn," the sergeant said, and handed him a large manila envelope.
Dunn tore it open and read the single sheet of Teletype paper it contained.
"Well," he said, "I'm all right with the new skipper, but your ass, Mr. Pickering, is in a crack."
"What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about, Sir? if you please, Mr. Pickering."