"When our reinforcements attach themselves to us," Fertig said, "obvi-ously it would be best if they didn't quite understand how recently our officers were commissioned. Or received their assignments in the command structure. Or promoted."
"I take the General's point," Weston said.
"I would hate to think that you were mocking me, Weston."
"No, Sir," Weston replied immediately and sincerely. "That was not my intention, General."
Fertig looked into his eyes again.
"Good. It would be awkward if I thought my G-2, an officer I personally promoted to captain, was mocking me. It would suggest he did not have faith in me."
"Has the General given any consideration to the assignment of Lieutenant Everly?" Weston asked.
"For the time being, he should be your deputy," Fertig said seriously. And then a smile curled his lips. "Maybe between-what was it you said?-an Old Breed China Marine and an airplane-less pilot, we can come up with a half-decent intelligence officer."
"We'll try, Sir," Weston said.
"Do have a razor in your kit, Weston?"
"No, Sir."
"Then you may use mine. I think one bearded officer is enough for USFIP."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"You may go in my quarters, Captain, and have a shave. And then I sug-gest you have a word with your man Everly," Fertig said.
"Aye, aye, Sir," Weston said, and stood up. "By your leave, General?"
"That's the first time anyone said 'aye, aye' to me. Nice. You are dis-missed, Captain."
Weston saluted, did an about-face, and then walked into General Fertig's quarters.
Inside the house, Weston found, neatly laid out on a rattan table, a round, mag-nifying mirror in a chrome frame, a leather-covered box holding seven old-fashioned straight razors, a leather strop, a shaving brush, and a wooden jar of shaving soap. The soap was gray, obviously not what originally filled the jar.
There are two ways to look at this, Weston thought, amused. One way, United States Forces in the Philippines is so fucked up we don't even have soap. On the other hand, USFIP is resourceful enough to make its own soap, and the goateed madman on the porch is confident enough to be worried about the appearance of his officers.
And since I have never held a straight razor in my hand before, I am liable to die for my country of a slit throat, acquired while I was attempting to set a good example for the enlisted men.
There was a battered aluminum bowl half full of water. He dipped the shaving brush into it, attempted to make suds in the soap dish, and was aston-ished at his success. The bubbles were gray, but they were bubbles.
He painted his cheek with them and, very carefully, began to hack away at his beard.
Fertig's Filipino sergeant came into the house while he was working on his chin and stood silently watching him while he finished shaving.
Then he handed Weston a campaign hat. Pinned on it were the double sil-ver bars of a captain. They were unquestionably of local manufacture; the marks of a silversmith's hammer were clear.
Weston put on the battered, broad-brimmed hat and looked at himself in the mirror. The hat was several sizes too small. But if he pushed it forward on his head, it would probably stay on, and it even gave him sort of a rakish ap-pearance that he did not find hard to take.
That made him think of something. He went into the baggy pocket of his cotton trousers and pulled out a tied-together handkerchief. In addition to other small items he hadn't needed for a long time, including golden dress-shirt studs, it held a small, gold USMC Globe and Anchor. At one time he'd worn it on a fore-and-aft cap that he had last seen on The Rock.
With some difficulty, he managed to pin The Marine Corps insignia onto the campaign hat, above the captain's bars.
The Filipino sergeant was smiling at him.
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Would you take me to my men?"
"Yes, Sir."
Sergeant Everly was sitting with his back against a tree, an empty plate on the ground beside him. Weston thought at first he was asleep, but as he ap-proached, Everly pushed himself away from the tree and looked at him.
Weston gestured with his finger for Everly to join him. The other members of Weston's Weary Would-Be Warriors who had noticed the campaign hat and Weston's now clean-shaven face, looked at them with only mild, even listless, curiosity.
Weston thought he knew their thoughts: There's no apparent immediate danger. We are being fed. What else could be important?
"Nice cover, Mr. Weston," Sergeant Everly said, indicating the hat.
"General Fertig gave it to me," Weston replied.
"I never saw a general with a beard before," Everly said evenly.
"He's an engineer officer who decided he didn't want to surrender, and that he did want to make trouble for the Japanese," Weston said, realizing as he spoke that he had decided not to tell Everly that Fertig had promoted him-self to brigadier general.
Everly did not respond.
"He knows the islands, speaks Spanish," Weston said. "This whole thing just started. There's apparently at least two groups-of people like us-on their way here."
Everly nodded his head and waited for Weston to continue.
"Under military law, as he is the senior officer of the line in the area, we fall under his command."
Everly nodded again.
"He's made me a temporary captain. He asked me if I thought you could handle a temporary commission as a lieutenant, and I told him I thought you'd make a pretty good lieutenant."
Everly cocked his head when he heard that, and took the time to think it over.
"There were a lot of China Marines in Shanghai who'd served in Haiti, Mr. Weston," he said. "They told me they had what they called the Constabu-lary down there. A lot of Marine noncoms were officers in the Constabulary. Is this something like that?"
"Something. You would be commissioned into the Army, as an officer of United States Forces in the Philippines."
"Not in The Corps? You're wearing The Corps insignia."
"I don't think General Fertig will object to my wearing The Corps insig-nia. Or if you or any other Marine wears it. But your commission would be in the Army."
"Sure, Mr. Weston. Why not? I think I could handle it."
"I'm sure you will," Weston said. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the General."
"Can I ask you a question, Mr. Weston?"
"Certainly."
"Is this General Fertig going to be able to do any damage to the Japs?"
"Yes," Weston replied. "I'm sure he is."
I'll be damned. I really believe that.
"We don't have doodly-shit to fight with," Everly said. "What's this gen-eral going to do about that?"
"Well, first we have to get organized. You and I are going to be his G-2 section. He's got an Army radio operator whose orders are to find a radio and get in touch with General MacArthur in Australia."
"I did a little work for Intelligence in Shanghai," Everly said.
"You did?" Weston replied, surprise evident in his voice.
"Worked for Captain Banning, the S-2."