"Would you get the General's guests some coffee and pastry, please?"
Denny ordered.
"This place is fantastic!" Weston said.
"Is your razor sharp, Denny?" Mclnerney asked.
"I wondered about that beard," Denny said. "It's so beautiful I sort of hate to cut it off. Where'd you grow that, Captain?"
"I was in the Philippines," Weston said.
"Recently?"
"Yes, recently."
"And you're sure you don't want anything to eat? A small steak, and some eggs?"
"That's tempting."
"You just get out of that chair, and into that one," Denny said, pointing. "And I'll fetch my barber tools, and by the time your beard is gone, your breakfast will be ready."
"Sir?" General Mclnerney's aide-de-camp said.
"What?"
"The telephone, Sir?"
"God, I forgot about that. Thank you, Charley. Weston, among other things you can do here you can't do anywhere else without a two-hour-or longer-wait is talk to the States. So if there's someone you'd like to call? Your parents?"
"My parents are dead, Sir. I have an aunt..."
"Where?"
"In Iowa."
"General," Denny said. "It's none of my business, but it's the middle of the night in Iowa."
"Yes, of course it is," Mclnerney said. "Well, you can call after lunch."
At 1530, when General Mclnerney, his aide, and Captain Weston returned from luncheon with the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific, in his personal mess, Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, was on the patio of Muku-Muku.
Captain Galloway was not only surprised to see General Mclnerney, but more than a little uncomfortable, in part because his uniform was stained with both perspiration and oil, in part because he was caught in the act of drinking during duty hours, and in part because of the manner in which he was drinking, from the neck of a quart bottle of beer.
"Good afternoon, Sir," he said, coming to attention.
"Captain," Mclnerney said. "Why is it that I suspect your day did not go as well as it could have gone? Because to judge from your uniform, you found it necessary, in direct disobedience of my orders, to repair an engine by your-self? Or perhaps because of the way you are attacking that quart of beer? Or simply because I am a splendid student of human nature?"
"No excuse, Sir," Galloway said.
"Captain Galloway, Captain Weston, is another of the Marine Corps or-phans who have found a home away from home here in Muku-Muku. He would be a fine officer if he could only remember to obey orders."
"No, Sir," Galloway said.
"No, Sir?" Mclnerney said.
"I have not been personally working on aircraft, Sir."
"You are a Marine officer; I will accept you at your word. What have you been doing, rolling around on a hangar deck?"
Mclnerney saw something in Galloway's face.
"Why were you rolling around on a hangar deck, Captain Galloway?"
"Sir, with respect, I decline to answer the General's question."
"Who did you punch out, Charley?" Mclnerney asked. "And why? We are now out of school."
"Stevenson, Sir."
"And what did Lieutenant Stevenson do to arouse your ire?"
"He said that if I wasn't hiding behind my bars, he'd kick the shit out of me."
"So, of course, you went into the hangar, closed the doors, and took off your bars?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What shape is Lieutenant Stevenson in?"
"He lost a tooth, Sir, and he's going to be sore for a while."
"Did he seek medical attention?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And how did he explain his lost tooth when asked?"
"Big Steve said he told the dentist he walked into a pitot tube."
Mclnerney turned to Weston.
"Big Steve, Mr. Weston, is Master Gunner Oblensky, an ancient aviator I have known more years than I care to think about," he said, and then turned back to Galloway: "And is Lieutenant Stevenson going to bring this brawl of yours to the attention of the appropriate authorities?"
"I don't think so, Sir."
"Captain Galloway, brawling between officers and gentlemen is some-thing the Naval Service simply cannot tolerate under any circumstances."
"Yes, Sir."
"On the other hand, there is an exception to every rule, and from what I have seen of Mr. Stevenson, having someone knock his tooth out was long overdue. Consider the matter forgotten."
"I wish I could do that, Sir."
"Is there some reason you can't?"
"Isn't losing your temper and punching somebody out an admission you can't lead them?"
"You weren't listening, Charley," Mclnerney said. "There is an excep-tion to every rule. As long as this doesn't become routine, don't let it worry you."
Galloway looked at Mclnerney for a long moment, then said, very sin-cerely, "Thank you, Sir. I'll try not to let it happen again."
"Try?"
"The truth is, General, when I was watching him try to get up-he's not a quitter; it may be his only virtue-I was thinking of several other of my offi-cers I would really like to deck."
"You've had my friendly word of wisdom for the day, Charley. Don't push your luck."
"No, Sir. It will not happen again."
"It better not," Mclnerney said, and then obviously changing the subject: "I have been a good boy all day, and somewhere in the wide world, I am sure, the sun is over the yardarm. Where's Denny?"
"The Pacific Merchant made port at noon and he went down to loot her freezer and liquor locker," Galloway said. "He took Alphonse with him. I think we're in the unusual position around here of having to make our own drinks."
"Charley..." General Mclnerney said to his aide.
"What would you like, Sir?"
"Bourbon, a double, water on the side," Mclnerney said. "Weston?"
"Scotch, please, water."
"And you may consider yourself off duty, Charley," Mclnerney said. "Weston, if you want to call the States, just dial nine on the phone in your bedroom. That'll get you the Pacific and Far East switchboard in Honolulu. Tell the operator 'San Francisco,' and when the operator in San Francisco answers, tell her what number you want. If you don't know it, she'll get it for you."
"Thank you, Sir," Weston said. "I don't know the number. It's my aunt."
Weston and Charley left the patio, leaving Galloway and Mclnerney alone.
"Interesting young man," Mclnerney said. "Until a few days ago, he was G-2 of U.S. Forces in the Philippines. Working for a self-promoted Army brig-adier who's set up, according to what he told Admiral Nimitz at lunch, one hell of a guerrilla operation on Mindanao."
"He's wearing wings," Galloway observed.
"He's an ex-Brewster Buffalo jockey. He flew a Catalina into Cavite and got stranded there. They put him in the 4th Marines, and when things really went sour, he decided he'd rather try to get out than surrender. That took balls."
"How'd he get out?"
"I didn't know about any of this until lunch, but when this Army guy-his name is Fertig-finally got word to MacArthur what he was doing, MacArthur ignored him. Pickering found out about it somehow and sent your friend McCoy in to see what was going on. Nimitz gave him a submarine; Weston came out on it."