"There may be," Dawkins said. "Depending on Mrs. Mitchell."
"I don't understand," Babs said.
"Mrs. Mitchell, Captain McGowan tells me that you haven't received your husband's decorations," Dawkins said.
"I told . . . whatever his name is, the next-of-kin officer, that I would prefer to get them later, that I wasn't up to two ceremonies, the funeral, and that," she said.
"If you don't like this idea, just say no. I assure you I'll understand," Dawkins said. "This afternoon, there is going to be a retreat parade at Camp Pendleton, during which a number of Marines are to be decorated—"
"Oh, I don't think so, General," Babs interrupted.
"—including Major Pickering," Dawkins went on, "who will receive the Navy Cross."
Babs looked at Pick.
Oh, Christ, don't look at me that way!
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"He didn't know until I told him just now," Dawkins said.
"What are you proposing, General Dawkins?" Babs Mitchell asked. "That I get Dick's medals at the parade?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's just what I am suggesting."
"Thank you, but no, thank you," she said.
"I understand," Dawkins said.
“Pick, what do you think?" Babs asked, looking into his eyes. "Wouldn't I be out of place?"
I really wish you wouldn't turn to me for advice, Mrs. Mitchell, he thought. I'm the last sonofabitch in the world who should be offering advice to you.
"No. No, you wouldn't be out of place. You're entitled to Dick's medals. And getting them at a retreat parade would be something you'd remember the rest of your life."
She exhaled audibly.
"Maybe you're right," Babs said, and turned to Dawkins. "All right, General. What do I have to do?"
"I'm going to send an officer to escort Major Pickering," Dawkins said. "Would you like him to pick you up, too, and take you out to Pendleton?"
She thought a moment.
"Yes. That would probably be best. What time?"
"The retreat parade starts at 1700, which means you'd have to leave San Diego at, say, 1600."
She looked at her watch. "That doesn't give me much time to dress. Simple black dress, hat, and gloves?"
"Spoken like a true Marine officer's wife," Dawkins said. And then heard what he had said. "That was intended to be a compliment, Mrs. Dawkins."
"And I took it as one," Babs Mitchell said. "That's what I was, until recently—a Marine officer's wife."
She put her hand on Pick's arm. The warmth of her fingers immediately went through the thin hospital bathrobe.
You really have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me, do you?
"I'll see you in a little while," she said. "I'm relying on you to get me through this. The escort officer will pick you up first, and then me, right?"
"I think that would be best," General Dawkins said.
When she took her hand from Pick's arm and headed for the door, Captain McGowan pushed it open and held it open as she passed through it, and then General Dawkins followed. Then he went through it and it swung shut.
Major Pickering stared at it for a long time, until he realized he was holding his arm where Mrs. Babs Mitchell had held it.
Then he said, "Shit!" and went to his bed side table and took out a bottle of Listerine mouthwash, which he had had tht foresight to fill with scotch in the Officers' Club, and took a long pull, and then another.
[SIX]
The Parade Ground
Marine Corps Base Camp Joseph H. Pendleton, California
171O 2 November 195O
Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins, USMC, rose from his chair in the reviewing stand and walked to the lectern at the forward edge. He tapped the microphone with his finger, which caused the loudspeakers mounted on poles to pop loudly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, Marines," General Dawkins began. "Two of the officers to be decorated today recently flew together off the aircraft carrier USS Badoeng Strait. One of them is here only in spirit. His decorations will be accepted by his widow."
There was a sudden, rapidly-growing-in-volume roar of aircraft engines.
Three Corsairs in a V formation appeared low in the sky, and then three more, and then three more.
They flew no more than five hundred feet above the parade ground and then began to pull up. The center Corsair in the third V applied FULL MILITARY EMERGENCY POWER, increased the angle of his climb, and changed course to the right, left the formation, and disappeared into the sky.
General Dawkins again addressed the parade.
"Marines to be decorated, front and center!" he barked.
The band began to play "The Marines' Hymn."
[SEVEN]
The Ocean View Apartments
1OO5 Ocean Drive
San Diego, California
185O 2 November 195O
"Would you like to come in for a minute, Pick?" Mrs. Babs Mitchell asked as the Marine-green Chevrolet pulled into the driveway.
I would gladly sell my soul to Satan, or whoever else would have it, to go up there with you and never come out.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a little weary. Call me?"
"Of course."
The escort officer walked Mrs. Mitchell to the lobby, watched through the glass door until she got on the elevator, and then walked back to the staff car and got in beside Major Pickering.
"You all right, sir?"
"No. But I will be just as soon as we get to the bar in the Coronado Beach Hotel and I have a pick-me-up. Or three."
"Sir, my orders are to make sure you make it safely back to the hospital."
"Screw your orders," Pick said. "If General Dawkins finds out—and I can see no reason why he should—I'll take the heat. Sergeant, the Coronado Beach Hotel."
"Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant driving said.
[EIGHT]
Air Cargo Terminal
Trans-Global Airways
Lindbergh Field
San Diego, California
2O25 2 November 195O
"I'm not sure about this, ma'am," the assistant station manager said to Mrs. Babs Mitchell. "He said I wasn't to let anybody in here."
"It's all right," Babs said. "We're friends."
"If you say so," the assistant station manager said, and put his key to the lock in the metal door in the hangar door.
Babs stepped through it.
There were lights in the hangar, but they were mounted high against the roof, and the hangar was crowded with pallets of air freight waiting for shipment—most of it, she saw, addressed to "Transportation Officer, 1st Mar-Div, Korea"—and it was some time before she saw him.
He was standing with his hands on his hips—looking oddly belligerent— before a coffin shipping case in a far corner of the hangar.
She watched for more than a minute, and he didn't move.
She didn't want him to hear her coming across the gritty concrete, so, standing on one leg at a time, she took off her shoes before she walked to him.
And he didn't sense her presence—which surprised her—until she touched his arm.
"Hey, Pick," she said. "How are you doing?"
"How the hell did you find me?"
"Well, I was worried about you, so I went to the hospital and you weren't in your room, and you weren't in the Officers' Club, and then I remembered hearing on the radio that her . . . her ..."
"Jeanette's body?"
"Yeah. Jeanette's body would be formally received, or whatever they said, in the morning. And I thought that maybe it had come in early, and you might be out here. So I called up and asked for you, and he said you weren't here, but I could tell he was lying, so I came out. Wrong move?"