"Priorities are not transferable," Lieutenant (j.g.) Cavanaugh said. "Para-graph 14(b)." He indicated with his finger the applicable paragraph.
"Lieutenant," Sessions asked, "what if I was suddenly taken ill? It really is important that Major Brownlee reaches Brisbane before I do."
"You would really have to be sick," Lieutenant (j.g.) Cavanaugh said. "Otherwise that would constitute 'Absence Without Leave With the Intention of Avoiding Hazardous Duty.' All air travel beyond here into the Pacific is considered Hazardous Duty. They'd take you to the dispensary, and you would have to prove you were sick."
He flipped the pages of "Standing Operating Procedure" until he came to the applicable paragraph, then held out the blue loose-leaf binder for them to see for themselves.
"And I can't just voluntarily give up my seat to Major Brownlee?" Ses-sions asked.
"No, you cannot," Lieutenant (j.g.) Cavanaugh said simply but firmly.
"Have a nice flight, Ed," Major Brownlee said. "I'll see you in Bris-bane."
"I'm sorry, Sir," Ed Sessions said.
"It's not your fault," Brownlee said. "This has all come down from Mount Sinai graven on stone."
Sessions chuckled.
"I'll tell you what you might do, Major, if it's really important that you get to Brisbane," Lieutenant (j.g.) Cavanaugh said.
"It's really important."
"You might go out to Hickam Field. The Army's running Flying For-tresses through there to Australia. Sometimes, they can find a ride for people in a hurry. There's no seats on a B-17, of course, and it's a long ride...."
"How would I get from here to Hickam Field?"
"There's a bus from the Main Gate. I think they run every hour on the quarter hour."
"You mind getting on the Coronado by yourself, Ed?" Brownlee asked. "Can you handle all that stuff by yourself?"
He pointed to their luggage. In addition to their clothing, this included the obsolete Device, Cryptographic, M94; the new crypto device-which, to Ses-sions's surprise, did not seem to have an official nomenclature; four small por-table shortwave radios and several spare sets of batteries; and other items which Colonel Rickabee and Major Banning decided, before Brownlee and Macklin showed up, that McCoy might find useful.
Sessions took Brownlee's meaning: While Brownlee might be able to ca-jole space for himself and Macklin on a Flying Fortress, it was unlikely the Army Air Corps would be willing to carry along several hundred pounds of what looked like his personal baggage.
"I can handle it," Sessions said, and then looked at Lieutenant (j.g.) Cava-naugh to see if he had any objections.
"Let me see your orders again," Cavanaugh said. He studied them care-fully, then announced: "No problem. Paragraph 5(b) says, 'and such equip-ment and accessories as is considered necessary for the accomplishment of the assigned mission.' I presume all that stuff is necessary?"
"Absolutely," Brownlee and Sessions said at the same instant.
They looked at each other and chuckled. Then Brownlee put out his hand.
"See you in Brisbane, Ed," he said.
"Yes, Sir."
Macklin offered his hand. Sessions pretended not to see it.
But he saw it, Brownlee thought, concerned. Sessions refused to shake Macklin's hand. And since we reported to Management Analysis, he hasn't said one word to him that was not absolutely necessary. I wonder what that's all about? Resentment that we're going in on what these people thought was their mission ? That doesn't sound likely. But there's something.
[FOUR]
Headquarters, Marine Air Group 21
Marine Airfield
Ewa, Oahu Island, Territory of Hawaii
22 November 1942
Lieutenant Colonel Clyde W. Dawkins, USMC, noticed the staff car parked at the wooden Base Operations building when he passed over the field on the downwind leg of his approach. Dawkins, a tanned, wiry man of thirty-five, who was a career Marine out of Annapolis, commanded MAG-21.
"Now what?" he asked rhetorically, somewhat disgustedly, and aloud, and then turned most of his attention to putting the Grumman F4F-4 Wildcat fighter onto the ground.
He took a closer look at the staff car as he taxied past Base Ops. It was a nearly new Buick Special sedan, and thus was engaged in the transportation of not only a brass hat but a senior brass hat. There were only a couple of Buicks in the hands of Marines in Hawaii, and they were-rank hath its privileges- reserved for general officers.
Dawkins searched his mind but could come up with no reason why a gen-eral officer would show up at Ewa on Sunday, unless he was either the bearer of bad tidings or really enraged about something and wished to make his dis-pleasure known personally and immediately to the Commanding Officer of MAG-21.
Dawkins taxied the Wildcat to a sandbag revetment, turned it around so it could be pushed backward into the revetment after refueling, shut it down, and then turned to the paperwork. It had been a test flight, following 100-hour maintenance, and he had found several items that needed either investigation or repair.
He was aware that someone had climbed onto the wingroot, but didn't look up.
"I didn't know they let worn-out old men like you play with hot airplanes like this," a male voice said, causing him to look up into the face of a large-boned, ruddy-faced man in his forties. Without realizing he was doing it-truly a Pavlovian reflex-Dawkins raised his right hand to his eyelid in a salute and simultaneously tried to stand up.
The uniform of the man standing on Dawkins's wing was adorned with both the golden wings of a Naval Aviator and the silver stars-one on each epaulet and one on each collar point-of a brigadier general.
"I think you have to take the harness off before you can do that," Briga-dier Genera] D. G. Mclnerney, USMC, said innocently, as he sort of patted Dawkins's shoulder.
"Yes, Sir," Dawkins said, chagrined. "Thank you very much, Sir."
General Mclnerney jumped off the wing, then waited until Dawkins un-strapped himself and climbed out of the cockpit. As Dawkins joined him, he extended his hand.
"Good to see you, Sir," Dawkins said. "I thought you were in Washing-ton."
"I got in a couple of hours ago," Mclnerney said. "How's things, Dawk?"
"There's a lot more creature comforts around here," he said. The last time they were in each other's company, they'd been in a tent at a paved-with-pierced-steel-planking airstrip called "Fighter One" on the island of Guadal-canal in the Solomons.
"Do you know General Forrest, Dawk?"
"I know who he is, Sir."
"ACofS Intelligence," Mclnerney said. "An old friend. He knew I was coming here, and asked me to do would I could about this."
He dipped into the pocket of his tunic again and handed Dawkins a flimsy carbon copy of an internal USMC memorandum:
TELEPHONE MEMORANDUM
CLASSIFICATION: NONE
DATE AND TIME: 1625 16 Nov 1942
FROM: Commandant, USMC
TO: Maj Gen Forrest
SUBJECT: Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman, Ernest
SYNOPSIS:
The Commandant has received from SecNav personally SecNav's desire that Gunnery Sergeant Ernest Zimmerman, Serial Number Unknown, USMC, presently assigned VMF-229 be immediately transferred to USMC Special Detachment 16, with duty station Brisbane, Australia.