"You're not suggesting they hope Fertig will fail?" Stecker asked.
"I think that's a possibility, Jack, that we should keep in mind," Pickering said.
"Did you call Willoughby on this?" Stecker asked.
"You bet I did. He vaguely remembers hearing something about Fertig getting promoted to major, but that the records have of course been lost, and officially, they have to consider him as still being a captain."
"Christ," McCoy said in disgust.
"A captain who appoints himself commanding general of anything looks like somebody who may not be playing with a full deck," Pickering said. "Somebody you don't pay a lot of attention to, or more importantly, send arms and ammunition to. It's a hell of a lot different when the fellow is a highly regarded lieutenant colonel."
"According to Phil DePress, Fertig is a good officer," Stecker said. "And I'm sure he's told Willoughby that," Pickering replied. "Wil-loughby has selective hearing; he doesn't hear what he doesn't want to hear. But what really bothers me is wondering what else they haven't told me."
"Now I really wish I was going with McCoy," Stecker said. "Particularly with the silver chickens on my collar."
"You know that's out of the question, Jack," Pickering said. "For the sake of argument, let's say McCoy finds Fertig and decides he's not a lunatic and can do what he says he can do. If they're ignoring what DePress-one of their own-tells them about Fertig, what makes you think they'll listen to McCoy? 'On such an important matter as this, we can't trust the judgment of a Marine lieutenant.'
"That's pretty simple, Jack," Pickering said. "I trust McCoy's judgment. And I'm not going to run his report of whatever he finds in the Philippines past Willoughby and company and give them a chance to snipe at it. My recommen-dation goes right to Frank Knox, who will lay it on Admiral Leahy's desk. Leahy trusts Knox, Knox trusts me, and I trust McCoy. So will the President, I think, once he learns-as 1 intend that he will-that the Killer was with Roose-velt's son on the Makin Island raid."
Stecker smiled. "OK. But you're not supposed to call him that, you know," he said.
"Sorry, Ken," Pickering said.
"No offense taken, Sir," McCoy said, not very convincingly. "OK, we're getting down the line. I just told Pluto to message Nimitz at Pearl Harbor asking for the submarine Narwhal. I think he'll give it to us. I figure ten days, two weeks on the outside, before we get it." Both Stecker and McCoy nodded.
"Is there anything else you think you need, Ken? I'm prepared to override the Colonel here if you really want to take a Garand with you."
"No, he's right," McCoy said. "If we're going to equip the Filipinos with carbines, that's what the Americans should carry. And with a little bit of luck, I won't have to shoot anybody anyway."
"I'm glad you brought that up, Ken," Pickering said. "You're not being sent to shoot at the Japanese. I want your honest assessment of Colonel Fertig, and his potential. If you get yourself killed..."
"I'll do my very best not to, Sir."
"Back to the original question. Is there anything else you would like to take with you?" Pickering saw McCoy's eyes light up momentarily, but he said nothing. "What, Ken? If I can get it for you, it's yours."
"How about a gunnery sergeant?"
"Anyone in particular?"
"We served together in China, working for Banning. He was on the Makin Island raid. I saw him on Guadalcanal. He was running the weapons shop for VMF-229"-Marine Fighter Squadron 229. "He's an Old Breed Marine. Speaks Spanish, two or three kinds of Chinese, and even a little Japanese. I think he'd be useful. His name is Zimmerman."
What the hell is a man who speaks Spanish, Chinese, and Japanese doing repairing weapons? Pickering thought, more than a little angrily.
"Give me his full name and his serial number, if you've got it, and I'll get right on it," he said, and then had a second thought. "Ken, you're sure he'd volunteer for something like you're going to be doing?"
McCoy smiled at him. Tolerantly, Pickering thought. I just asked a stupid question, and this young man is smiling tolerantly at me.
"He's an Old Breed Marine, General," McCoy said. "Old Breed Marines don't volunteer for anything. They go where they're told to go, and do what they're told to do."
"I stand corrected, Mr. McCoy," Pickering said. "And if you and this other Old Breed Marine here can get those weapons back together in the next hour or so, I will make amends by taking the both of you out to dinner."
[TWO]
Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff G-l
Headquarters, United States Marine Corps
Eighth and "I" Streets, NW
Washington, D.C.
0915 Hours 17 November 1942
Master Gunner James L. Hardee entered the office of Colonel David M. Wil-son, waited until he had the colonel's attention, and then announced that Colo-nel F. L. Rickabee, Deputy Chief of the USMC Office of Management Analysis, was outside, asking to see him.
Following a hand-delivered, classified SECRET, interoffice memorandum from the Deputy Commandant of The Marine Corps ordering that no personnel actions-read transfers-involving officers assigned to the USMC Office of Management Analysis were to be taken without the specific approval in each instance of Major General Horace W. T. Forrest, Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2, Colonel Wilson and Gunner Hardee had correctly surmised that the Office of Management Analysis probably had more to do with intelligence than either management or analysis.
They had no idea what it had to do with intelligence, and did not consider it their official business to make inquiries. Colonel Wilson had run into Colo-nel Rickabee at various times during their long service; but with the exception of the time they'd spent as students at the Naval War College, he could not recall ever knowing what Rickabee's assignments had been. Neither were Rickabee's records in the files of the Officers' Branch, Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-l. They had been "borrowed" a long time before by the Office of the Secretary of the Navy and never returned. There had been no reply to two requests for their return.
I haven't seen Rickabee since the War College, Wilson thought as he made a show him in wave of his hand to Gunner Hardee.
"How are you, Fritz?" Wilson said, trying to conceal his surprise that Rickabee was in civilian clothing. "Long time no see."
"David," Rickabee replied. "How are you?"
"What can I do for you?"
"I came here looking for Charley Stevens," Rickabee said. "He's out of the office."
Colonel Charles D. Stevens was head of the enlisted branch of the Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-l.
"Charley went down to Parris Island to show some congressmen around."
"He and his deputy, and his deputy's deputy, leaving a young major in charge," Rickabee said. "I didn't want to show him this, so I came to you."
He handed Wilson an obviously decrypted radio message.