ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND
TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAV
FOR COLONEL F. L. RICKABEE
OFFICE OF MANAGEMENT ANALYSIS
Brisbane, Australia
Monday 2 November 1942
Dear Fritz:
Don't tell him yet, or even Banning, but I want you to try to find a suitable replacement for McCoy for the Mongolian Operation.
And put him and Banning to work finding out about Guerrilla operations. I believe that this Wendell Fertig in the Philippines is probably going to turn out to be more useful than anybody in the Palace here is willing to even consider. I suspect that the same attitude vis-a-vis unconventional warriors and the competence of reserve officers is prevalent in Washington.
This idea has Leahy's backing, so if you encounter any trouble, feel free to go to Frank Knox.
If you can do it without making any waves, please (a) see if you can find out where my son is being assigned after the war bond tour and (b) tell me if telling his mother would really endanger the entire war effort. She went to see Jack NMI Stecker's boy at the hospital in Pearl and is in pretty bad shape.
Koffler is getting married next week, for a little good news. I decided I had the authority to make him a staff sergeant and have done so.
Regards,
Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR
=TOP SECRET=
[FOUR]
Live Oaks Plantation
Baldwin County, Alabama
0700 Hours 2 November 1942
First Lieutenants William C. Dunn and Malcolm S. Pickering were waiting on the porch when the Marine-green Plymouth drove up. They were freshly showered and shaved, their uniforms bore a perfect press, and their shoes were brilliantly shined. The glasses of orange juice in their hands contained no intoxicants.
A 1940 Buick Limited sedan, newly polished, sat in the driveway, with its twin spare tires installed in their own gleaming shrouds in the front fenders.
"He's got somebody with him," Lieutenant Pickering observed.
"I hope he forgets the fucking hats," Lieutenant Dunn replied.
He was to be disappointed. The individual in the passenger seat leapt out the moment the Plymouth stopped moving and opened the rear door for Captain Carstairs. He emerged holding a Cap, Brimmed, Officers, in each hand.
"I would rather face a thousand deaths," Bill Dunn said, getting to his feet and placing his glass on the wide top of the railing.
"You'd rather what?"
"That is what General Lee said when he went to meet Grant at Appomattox Court House. 'I would rather face a thousand deaths, but now I must go...' "
"The way I heard it, what he said was, 'Win a few, lose a few, it all evens up in the end.' "
"Blasphemy, Pickering, blasphemy!" Dunn said, and then called, "Captain Carstairs. Good morning, Sir."
"Good morning, gentlemen," Carstairs said. "How nice to see you looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I have your covers." He looked inside the cap in his right hand. "Who is the five and seven-eighths?"
"That would be the pinhead here, Sir," Pick said, and then smiled at the driver. "Hey, Corporal. How are you?"
"Gentlemen," Carstairs said, "this is Mr. Larsen. Mr. Larsen is about to be graduated as a Naval Aviator and commissioned in The Corps."
Pickering looked at him closely for the first time. He was wearing impeccably pressed enlisted men's greens. You could literally see a reflection in his shoes. And though there was no evidence whatever that Mr. Larsen had a beard, Pick knew this was because Mr. Larsen had shaved with great care earlier this morning-maybe two or three times. And he was built like a tank... reminding Pick of Technical Sergeant-now Master Gunner, he remembered-Big Steve Oblensky.
"How do you do, Mr. Larsen?" Lieutenant Dunn said, and offered his hand.
I forgot about that polish and shaving crap. Billy went through P'Cola as a cadet; he knows about that chickenshit bullshit because he had to put up with it himself. Dick Stecker and I had our commissions when we showed up. And that, I recall, really pissed off Captain Mustache.
And now that I think about it, was that because Dick and I were living in the San Carlos Hotel and didn't have to put up with his chickenshit? Or maybe because we were living in the San Carlos and so I got to meet Martha? And because I didn't have to spend my evenings shining my shoes and the toilet seats in the barracks, I could chase after her?
"Sir, I am fine, Sir," Mr. Larsen said. "Sir, I consider this a great honor to meet you, Sir."
"Marine officers," Pick heard himself saying, "do not gush like women. Try to control yourself, Mr. Larsen."
"Sir, yes, Sir. Sir, no excuse, Sir," Mr. Larsen said.
Captain Carstairs and Lieutenant Dunn gave Lieutenant Pickering dirty looks.
Well, fuck you both! I went through my fair share of the pop-to-attention, shine-the-heels-of-your-shoes chickenshit bullshit at Quantico myself, and nothing that's happened to me since has made me change my mind. It was unnecessary bullshit then, and it is now.
"Here is your cover, Mr. Pickering," Carstairs said.
"Thank you, Sir," Pick said, and took the cover and put it on.
"Mr. Larsen, are you aware of the history of the corded ropes on the upper portion of covers such as these?" Pick asked.
"Sir, they identify commissioned officers of The Corps, Sir."
"I heard a most interesting variation of that, Mr. Larsen..."
Carstairs is glowering at me. Fuck him!
"... from a Marine officer... a career Marine officer... who already wears two Purple Hearts for wounds suffered in this war; he was an officer in the Marine Raiders during the raid on Makin Island; and most recently he was involved in a Top Secret operation rescuing two Marines who were trapped on an enemy-held island. Would you be interested in hearing what this distinguished officer of the Regular Marine Corps told me about the knotted ropes on commissioned officers' caps, Mr. Larsen?"
"Sir, yes, Sir, I would, Sir."
"May I proceed, Sir? Is Mr. Larsen close enough to joining our officer corps that he may be entrusted with this hoary lore?"
"Go ahead, Mr. Pickering," Carstairs said.
"Killer McCoy told me, Mr. Larsen, that the ropes date back to the days when Marines served aboard sailing ships. The first ropes, according to McCoy, were sewn onto officers' covers so that Marine marksmen aloft in the rigging could safely shoot chickenshit officers in the head, and not some good Marine by mistake."
Lieutenant Dunn laughed. Mr. Larsen looked very uncomfortable. After a valiant effort not to, Captain Carstairs smiled.
"Oh, God, Pickering!" he said. "I should have expected something like that from you."
"Did Captain Carstairs tell you that I taught him to fly, Mr. Larsen?"
"Sir, no, Sir. He did not, Sir."
"Just to keep the record straight, Mr. Larsen, I taught him how to fly," Carstairs said, not quite succeeding in keeping himself from laughing.
"Whatever you say, Sir," Pickering said.
"Mr. Dunn," Carstairs said, "Mr. Larsen has informed me that he would consider it a privilege if you were to permit him to drive your personal automobile to Corey Field. I told him I felt sure you would grant him that privilege."