"And what would these two gunnies do, Jake?"
"Well, I think that by now, as long as he's been in the Brig, Sergeant McCoy must be pretty dirty. The two gunnies would probably start off by giving Sergeant McCoy a bath. With a fire hose. That would probably put him in a good frame of mind. Then they could talk to him about how important it is to him and The Corps for him to behave himself. And if he ever felt he needed some exercise, they could give it to him."
Colonel Frazier looked at Major Dillon for a long moment. Then he pushed a lever on his intercom.
"Sergeant Major," he announced. "I'm sending a Major Dillon to see you. He will tell you what he wants. I don't know what that is, and I don't want to know. But you will give him whatever he asks for. Do you understand?"
"Aye, aye, Sir," a metallic voice replied.
"Thank you, Colonel," Jake said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Major Dillon," Colonel Frazier said. "But I'm sure you'll be able to work it out with the Sergeant Major. He's in the third office down the hall to the right."
[FOUR]
Water Lily Cottage
Brisbane, Australia
1615 Hours 23 October 1942
When he heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, was drinking coffee. Not five minutes earlier, he almost took a stiff drink. But now that Ellen was arriving, he knew he'd made the right decision in not doing that.
He checked himself in the mirror, tugging at the skirt of his blouse, then adjusting his necktie to a precise location he decided would please the Commandant of The Marine Corps himself.
He was wearing his ribbons, too. There was an impressive display of them-the Navy Cross, the Silver Star, the Legion of Merit, the Navy and Marine Corps Medal, the Purple Heart with three oak leaf clusters, the World War I Victory Medal, the Legion d'Honneur in the grade of Chevalier, and the Croix de Geurre. And they were neatly arrayed above what Pickering thought of as the "I-Was-There" ribbons: for service in France in World War I, for service since World War II started, and the Pacific Theatre of Operations ribbon.
He rarely wore all this, and he wasn't sure why he was doing so now. Certainly his visit to General MacArthur required it (he'd correctly suspected that El Supremo would not only have a photographer present for the pinning-on-of-the-insignia, but that he would insist that Pickering get in the picture). But then there was Ellen Feller, who was just now approaching (like a pirate ship on the horizon; up goes the Jolly Roger). Mrs. Feller was impressed with brass. And he was aware that he made a visually impressive brass hat in his general's uniform, with stars on collar points and epaulets, and all his ribbons.
"On deck, George," Pickering said softly. "Here she comes."
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then on the porch, and then the old-fashioned, manual, twist-it-with-your-fingers doorbell rang.
Wearing not only his hours-old lieutenant's uniform, but a silver cord identifying him as an aide-de-camp to a general officer, George Hart went to the door and opened it.
"May I help you?" George asked.
Pickering looked up and let his gaze rest casually on Ellen. She was a tall woman in her middle thirties, dark haired and smooth skinned; and she was wearing little makeup. She seemed surprised to see Hart. At the same time, Pickering was surprised to see how she was dressed. She was in uniform. An Army officer's uniform, complete to cap with officer's insignia. But on the lapels, where an officer would have the U.S. insignia above the branch of service, there were small blue triangles. The uniform was authorized for wear by civilians attached to the Army.
Now that he thought about it, Pickering was not surprised that Ellen had decided to put herself in uniform. He noticed, too, that the uniform did not conceal her long, shapely calves or the contours of her bosom.
He had a quick mental image of her naked, and as quickly forced it from his mind... consciously replacing it with an image of Johnny Moore wincing with pain as he pulled his torn-up leg from the Studebaker.
What happened to Johnny is as much Ellen's fault as it was the fault of the Japanese. This is a world-class bitch.
"Mrs. Feller to see General Pickering," Ellen said.
"Just a moment, please," George said, "I'll see if the General is free."
"He expects me, Lieutenant," Ellen said, not at all pleasantly.
"One moment, please," Hart said, and closed the door in her face.
He turned to look at Pickering, smiling. Pickering nodded, held up his hand for ten seconds or so, and then dropped it. Hart turned back to the door and opened it again.
"Would you come in, please?" Hart said, and turned to Pickering. "General, Mrs. Feller."
"Hello, Ellen, how are you?" Pickering said, and added, "That will be all, Hart, thank you."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Hart said, and marched across the living room to the kitchen, closing the door after him.
"He's new," Ellen said. She crossed the room to him and shook his hand.
That was better than being kissed.
"Yes. Moore has been promoted, and Hart is my new aide."
"I heard only yesterday that you had come back," Ellen said. "I was in Melbourne."
"Yes, I know," Pickering said. "With Colonel Jasper, of Willoughby's staff."
"Oh, you've spoken to him?"
"Not yet," Pickering said.
I'll be damned if there isn't something really erotic about her in the uniform.
"Well, I'm sure you know that the OSS is setting up here. Jasper met with them in Melbourne. I thought I should know what's going on."
"If you're fond of Colonel Jasper, Ellen, you might tell him that General MacArthur is opposed to the OSS setting up here."
"What is that supposed to mean, Fleming?" Ellen asked. "If I'm fond of him?"
"Well, you've been sleeping with him. That generally presumes a certain fondness."
Ellen could not quite conceal her surprise at that.
"Fleming, you weren't here," she said after a moment. "So far as I knew, you were never coming back. Charley Jasper doesn't mean anything to me."
She didn't deny it; I rather thought she would. I wish she had. And she assumes I'm jealous. I suppose maybe I am. That's a perfectly natural male reaction.