"I'm sure it's him, then. Good-looking chap. He was very effective on the tour, and I talked G-l into letting us have him permanently."
"Sir?"
"I arranged with G-l-with the same fellow, by the way, who will help us see Easterbrook get his promotion-to have Macklin assigned to us for the war bond tours."
"I see."
"And there has been one other development while you were away. The Assistant Commandant was very pleased... very pleased... with the performance of your people on Guadalcanal. The picture of the Marine parachutist on Gavutu-the one firing the BAR with the blood running down his chest-"
"Easterbrook took that picture, General," Dillon interrupted.
"Yes," General Stewart said. "Of course! I should have remembered! Well, anyway, that was on the front page of every important newspaper in the country."
"Life, too," Dillon interjected.
General Stewart did not like to be interrupted; it was evident in his tone of voice as he went on: "Yes, Life, too. And since the concept of combat correspondents obviously worked so well, the Assistant Commandant decided to formalize. Do you know Colonel Denig, by any chance?"
Dillon shook his head, no.
"Well, we'll have to arrange for you to meet. Splendid officer. Anyway, Denig is recruiting suitable people to be combat correspondents, officer and enlisted. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer has offered to give them training in motion picture photography; various newspapers will do the same thing, et cetera, et cetera. The operation, for the time being, will be located on the West Coast."
"Sounds like a good idea," Dillon said.
"Homer," General Stewart chided, "whatever ideas the Assistant Commandant might have are good ideas, don't you agree?"
Well, he was the one who hung these major's leaves on me. That wasn't such a good idea. And what is this "Homer" crap? Are we now pals, General?
"Absolutely," Dillon said.
"Now that you're back with us, Homer, what I've been thinking about for you is sending you back to California to take charge of the whole thing-the war bond tours and the training of combat correspondents at the Hollywood studios. It seems to me to be right down your alley. How does that strike you?"
We're both supposed to be Marines. You outrank the hell out of me.
You're supposed to say "do this" and I'm supposed to say "aye, aye, Sir. " What is this "how does that strike you?" crap?
"Wherever you think I'd be of the most use to The Corps, Sir," Dillon said.
"Good man!" General Stewart said. "Now is there any reason why you couldn't get right on this? Any reason I don't know and you can't talk about?"
Well, for one thing, General, when it comes to getting a new set of records for the Easterbunny, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. I think I'll stick around and make sure that's done.
"I think it would be best, Sir," Dillon said, "if I made myself available here for the next two or three days."
"Certainly. I understand fully. Whenever you feel comfortable going back out there, you just call Sergeant Sawyer about transportation. This is important. I don't see any reason why we can't get you a high enough priority to fly out there."
"That's very kind of you, Sir."
"Macklin is temporarily set up in the Post Office Building in Los Angeles. I'll have my sergeant send a telegram telling him you're coming."
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, I don't want to give you the impression, Homer, that I'm running you off," General Stewart said. "But just take a look at this desk!"
"Thank you very much for your time, General," Dillon said formally, and then stood up and came to attention. "By your leave, Sir?"
"That will be all, thank you, Major Dillon," General Stewart replied, as formally.
[ONE]
U.S. Naval Hospital
Pearl Harbor, T.H.
1015 Hours 20 October 1942
"So far as I can tell, gentlemen," Lieutenant Commander Warren W. Warbasse, Medical Corps, USNR, said, "you are all far healthier than you look, or frankly should be."
"Doctor, I don't know about these two, but in my case that is obviously due to the fact that I am pure in heart," First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, said solemnly. "I did not run around the tropical islands chasing bare-breasted maidens in grass skirts."
Dr. Warbasse smiled. He was thirty-five or so, tall and curly haired, with a mildly aesthetic look. Despite this last, he had instincts that were solidly down to earth. These told him that the young officer was well on his way to being plastered. He wondered how he managed to find the liquor; the three of them had been brought by station wagon directly to the hospital from the seaplane base at Pearl.
It was a standard procedure for those returning from Guadalcanal. The percentage of returnees with malaria was mind-boggling.
"I'd like to keep you in that pure state, Lieutenant," Dr. Warbasse said. "Have they told you where you're going from here?"
"Ewa, Commander," Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, said. "The squadron has been ordered there for refitting."
"The other squadron officers will follow?" Dr. Warbasse asked.
"Sir," First Lieutenant William C. Dunn said, a little thickly. "You are looking at the officers of VMF-229. Our noble skipper, his devoted executive, and this disgrace to The Marine Corps."
My God, that's all the officers out of the squadron? Three out of how many? Twenty, anyway, probably twenty-five.
"Have you been at the sauce, too, Captain?" Dr. Warbasse asked. "Or can I talk sensibly with you?"
"I didn't even know they had any until he breathed on me in there," Galloway said.
"Ordinarily, I would order you into the hospital for a couple of days' bed rest," Dr. Warbasse said. "But since you're going to Ewa, maybe I could waive that, if I had some assurance that these two wouldn't try to drink the islands dry."