He's probably hitting what he's shooting at. But it's like trying to stamp out ants. There's just too many of them. And in a minute, some clever Jap is going to call in a couple of rounds on us. And that will be the end of us.
Captain Edward J. Banning's assessment of the tactical situation proved to be correct and precise. Two minutes later, the first round landed on their position, so close to him that the shock of the concussion caused him to lose control of his sphincter muscle. He didn't hear the sound of the round explode, although he heard it whistle on the way in.
It's true, he thought, surprised, just before he passed out, you don't hear the one that gets you.
Banning awoke in great pain, and in the dark, and he couldn't move his right arm. He sensed, rather than saw, that he was no longer on the crest overlooking the beach. Then he felt his body and learned that he was bandaged. He was chilled with panic at the thought that he was blind, but after a moment, he could make out vague shapes.
He lay immobile, wondering where he was and what he was expected to do. And then there was light.
One of the vague shapes moved to him and put a matter-of-fact hand on his neck to feel for a heartbeat.
"McCoy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where the hell are we?"
"In the basement of some church," McCoy said.
"You brought me here?"
"The sonsofbitches dropped one right on us," McCoy said, without emotion. "I don't know what the hell happened to the BAR, but it was time we got the hell out of there."
"Did you get hit?"
"I took a little shrapnel in the side," he said. "They just pulled it out."
"Where are the Japanese?" Banning asked.
"Christ only knows," McCoy said. "They went by here like shit through a goose."
"We're behind their lines?"
"Yes, sir."
"This may sound like a dumb question, but what kind of shape am I in?"
"We got you pretty well doped up." McCoy said. "The Filipino-she's a nurse, the one that took the shrapnel out of me-says you shouldn't be moved for a couple of days."
"Then what happens?" Banning asked.
"They say we probably can't make it back through the Jap lines. So when you can move, they're going to take us up in the mountains, and maybe off this island onto another one. Mindo something."
"Mindinao," Banning furnished.
"That's right."
"What happened to the Marines on the beach?"
"They were gone before we got hit," McCoy said.
God forgive me, I have absolutely no heroic regrets that I did not die with the regiment. I'm goddamned glad I'm alive, and that's all there is to it.
"Do you think you could make it through the Japanese lines?" Banning said.
"You can't go anywhere for a while," McCoy replied.
"That's not what I asked," Banning said.
"What the hell is the point?" McCoy asked. "I think I'd much rather go in the hills for a while and see how I could fuck them up. If I go back, they'll just give me a platoon, and the same thing will happen to me as happened to those poor bastards on the beach yesterday."
"The point, Lieutenant McCoy, is that you are a Marine officer, and Marine officers obey their orders. You have two that currently affect you. The first is to leave the Philippines."
McCoy chuckled.
"Who's going to enforce that one? They'd have to come get me."
"I am," Banning said. "This is an order. You will make your way through Japanese lines and report to the proper authorities so that you may comply with your basic orders to leave the Philippines."
"You're serious, aren't you?" McCoy asked, genuinely surprised.
"You bet your ass, I'm serious, Lieutenant. You better get it through your head that you'll fight this war the way the Corps tells you to fight it, not the way you think would be nicest."
"And what happens to you?"
"I am in compliance with my orders. I was ordered to resist'the Japanese invasion. I'll continue to do that, as soon as I am physically able."
"This sounds like one of those dumb lectures at Quantico," McCoy said.
"Maybe you should have paid closer attention to those dumb lectures," Banning said.
"Shit," McCoy said.
"Has it ever occurred to you, goddamn you, that you can do a hell of a lot more for mis war as an intelligence officer than you could running around in the boondocks ambushing an odd Jap here and there?"
"So could you, Captain."
"But I can't move, and you can."
McCoy, several minutes later, asked once more: "You really think I should go back and try to get back to the States?"
"Yes, goddamnit, I do."
"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said. "As soon as it gets dark, I'll go."
(Six)
Quarters 3201
U.S. Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Virginia
14 December 1941
Elly Stecker knew what was happening when she saw Doris Means at her door with her husband, but she pretended she didn't. Even after she saw the staff car parked behind the Means's Lincoln on the street.
"Is Jack home, Elly?" Doris asked.
"Jack!" Elly called brightly. "It's Colonel and Mrs. Means!" Then she turned and said, "Excuse me. Please come in."
Jack came to the door to the living room in his shirt sleeves.
He seemed to know, too, right off, Elly thought. But he didn't say anything out of the ordinary.
"Good evening, sir," he said.
"We've got a telegram, Jack," Colonel Means said.
"Yes, sir?"
Colonel Means took it from the crown of his cap and extended it to Stecker.
"Would you read it, please, sir?"
Means cleared his throat.
"The Secretary of the Navy deeply regrets to inform you that your son, Ensign Jack NMI Stecker, Jr., USN, was killed in action aboard the U.S.S. Arizona at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, 7 December 1941. Frank Knox, Jr. Secretary of the Navy."
Captain Jack NMI Stecker, USMCR, stood there at attention a moment, rigidly; then his body seemed to tremble, and then the sobs got away from him. Making a noise much like a wail, he fled into his living room.
"Jesus Christ, Elly," Colonel Means said. "I'm sorry."
(Seven)
The Madison Suite, the Lafayette Hotel
Washington, D.C.
2215 Hours, 17 January 1942
McCoy pushed open the door and threw his suitcase in ahead of him.
"Pick? You here?"
There was no response. He went to Pick's bedroom and pushed the door open. The bed was made.
He shrugged and went to the bar and poured two inches of Scotch in a glass and drank it down. And then poured another two inches into the glass. He was so fucking tired he could barely stand, which meant he would not be able to get to sleep. He didn't know why the hell it was, but that's the way it was.
They'd sent him out of the Philippines on a submarine. The sub had gone to Pearl. Stopping only for fuel, he had flown directly from Pearl, via San Francisco, here. His clothes had not come off for sixty hours. And he was so fucking tired he hadn't gone to see Ellen Feller, although he was convinced that was the only way he was going to get Miss Rich Bitch out of his mind.
"Welcome home," Ernie Sage said.
She was standing in the door to his bedroom, wearing a bathrobe.
Jesus Christ, she's beautiful!
"What are you doing here?"
"You can't get a hotel room in Washington," she said. "Pick's letting me stay here."
"Oh," he said.
"When did you come back?"
"About an hour ago," he said. "Is it as bad as they say?" "It's pretty fucking bad, lady, I'll tell you that." "I was worried about you," she said. Then she raised her eyes to his: "Goddamn you, we thought you were dead!" "No," he said. "Why did you think that?" "Because there was a cable that said, 'Missing and presumed dead,' that's why."
"I was behind the lines for a while," he said. "They must have sent another cable when I got to Corregidor."
"And you think that makes it right? Goddamn you, Ken!"
"Why should you give a damn, one way or the other?"
"Because I love you, goddamn you!"
"You don't know what you're saying," he said.