"This sonofabitch is going to get a General Court-Martial. I don't give a good goddamn who calls me," Lieutenant Krinski said, and hung up.
[ONE]
Noumea, New Caledonia
1115 Hours 18 October 1942
The Admiral's Barge is the boat that transports naval flag officers from shore to ship, from ship to shore, or between men-of-war. The traditions connected with it-its near-sacred rituals-predate aircraft by centuries.
Originally, flag officers were thought to possess a close-to-regal dignity ("Admiral" comes from the Spanish phrase "Prince of the Sea"). Such dignity required that they be able to descend from the deck of a man-of-war to an absolutely immaculate boat manned by impeccably uniformed sailors.
Today, an Admiral was arriving at Noumea by aircraft. Unhappily, it was going to be impossible to provide this Admiral anything like a dignified exit from his aircraft via Admiral's Barge. For one thing, there was no real Admiral's Barge available, only a fairly ordinary whaleboat. For another, the weather was turning bad, the bay was choppy, and the huge four-engined PB2-Y was rocking nervously in the waves.
But tradition dies hard in the U.S. Navy, and this was a three-star Vice Admiral arriving on an inspection tour. And so an effort had to be made. Before boarding the whaleboat at the wharf, the two greeting officers had changed from tieless open khaki shirts and trousers into white uniforms. And the crew had been ordered to change from blue work uniforms into their whites. And then when the only three-star Vice Admiral's flag available was found to be too large for the flag staff on the whaleboat, a suitably taller staff had to be jury-rigged.
It could only be hoped that the Admiral would understand their problems and not let the absence of the honors he was entitled to color his judgment of their entire operation.
The door in the fuselage swung out, and a muscular young lieutenant commander in khakis stepped into the opening. The coxswain carefully edged the whaleboat closer to the door; it wouldn't take much to ram a hole in the aluminum skin of the PB2-Y.
The Lieutenant Commander jumped into the whaleboat. And as he landed, he lost his footing; but, with the help of two boat crewmen, he quickly regained it.
A pair of leather briefcases, four larger pieces of luggage, and a long, cylindrical, leather chart case were tossed aboard the whaleboat by a hatless gray-haired man who was also wearing khakis. Then he, too, jumped aboard. He did not lose his footing.
It was at that point that both dress white-uniformed greeting officers noticed the three silver stars on each collar of the gray-haired man's open-necked khaki shirt.
"Welcome to Noumea, Admiral," the senior officer, a captain, said.
"Thank you," the Admiral said.
"Admiral, the Admiral instructed me to give you this immediately," the Captain said, handing the Admiral a manila envelope.
"Thank you," the Admiral repeated as he sat down in the whaleboat. He tore the envelope open, took out a sheet of paper, read it, and then handed it to the muscular Lieutenant Commander.
The Lieutenant Commander read it.
URGENT
UNCLASSIFIED
FROM: CINCPAC 0545 180CT42
TO: CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASH DC
COMMANDER, SOUTH PACIFIC AREA, AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND
SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA, BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA
INFO: ALL SHIPS AND STATIONS, USNAVY PACIFIC
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, VICE ADMIRAL WILLIAM F. HALSEY, USN, IS ANNOUNCED AS COMMANDER, US NAVY FORCES, SOUTH PACIFIC, VICE ADMIRAL ROBERT L. GHORMLEY, USN, RELIEVED.
CHESTER W. NIMITZ, ADMIRAL, USN, CINCPAC.
"I'll be damned," the Lieutenant Commander said. He handed the sheet of paper back.
Vice Admiral William F Halsey jammed it in his trousers pocket. "I was thinking the same thing," he said.
[TWO]
Personnel Office
Marine Corps Recruit Depot
San Diego, California
1550 Hours 18 October 1942
"Major, there's just nothing I can do for the corporal," the major in charge of the personnel office said to Major Jake Dillon. "If I could, I would, believe me."
"Welcome home, Easterbunny," First Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy said bitterly.
"You said something, Lieutenant?" the Major snapped. He did not like the attitude of the young officer, and wondered just who he was.
"I was just thinking out loud, Major," McCoy said. "So what happens to him now?"
"We'll send him over to the casual barracks until we receive orders on him, locate his service records...."
"I'm prepared to sign a sworn statement that his records were lost in combat," Dillon said. "How about that?"
"In that case, we would begin reconstructing his records."
"How long would that take?" Dillon asked.
"It depends. Perhaps a month, perhaps a little less, perhaps a little longer."
"And in the meantime, Sir," McCoy said, "... until you can reconstruct his records... the corporal would be pulling details in the casual barracks, without any money? Is that about it?"
"That's about it, Lieutenant. And I don't like the tone of your voice."
"With respect, Sir," McCoy said sarcastically, "isn't that a pretty shitty way to treat a kid who's just back from Guadalcanal?"
"That did it, Lieutenant," the Major snapped. "I won't be talked to like that. May I have your identity card, please?"
"What for?" Dillon asked.
"So that I can put him on report to his commanding officer for insolent disrespect."
"I'm his commanding officer," Dillon said. "I heard what he said. I agree with him."
"And who is your commanding officer, Major?"
"I don't think you're cleared to know who my commanding officer is," Dillon said. "Come on, McCoy."
"I asked you who your commanding officer is, Major!"
"Go fuck yourself, Major," Dillon said, and with McCoy on his heels, marched out of the office.
As they walked off the steps of the frame building and turned toward Corporal Robert F. Easterbrook, USMC, who was sitting on his seabag waiting for them, McCoy said softly, "Do you think we'll get arrested now, or as we try to get off the base?"