Everly walked up to the small building on stilts that was both the G-2 Sec-tion, Headquarters, USFIP, and the quarters he shared with Captain James B. Weston.
He turned and faced his men.
"Just drop that stuff where you are," he ordered. "Somebody'll take care of it. Somebody go get the Chief and have him look at Zappo's leg. Get some-thing to eat and some sleep."
There were nods in acceptance of the orders, but no one responded out loud. They just lowered their loads onto the ground.
Everly looked at the steps leading to the verandah of the house. Although he really disliked doing this-it was a mortal sin for a Marine, permitting weapons to touch the ground-he decided there was no way he could negotiate the stairs loaded down as he was.
He put the butt of the Thompson on the ground, leaning the barrel against his leg, and started to remove the leather straps around his chest. When he had the first one off and tried to lower it gently to the ground, the Thompson fell off his leg.
"Shit!" he said, and angrily pulled the other straps over his head and let the rifles fall. Then he picked up the Thompson and brushed the dirt from it as well as he could.
Then he slowly climbed the ladderlike stairs to the verandah. Captain Weston was not in the "office" or their "quarters," the two rooms into which the house was divided.
"Fuck it," Everly said aloud to himself. "He'll be back."
He walked to his bed (constructed of bamboo poles, with a combination spring and mattress made of woven leaves) and lay down. He lay immobile for a minute or two, then sat up and took his boondockers and socks off. The socks were in tatters, and the sole of the right boondocker would not last much lon-ger; it was about to tear free of the nearly rotten leather.
He lay back down and considered that problem a moment. He had big feet, eleven-and-a-halfs, and so far no Japanese he had come across had feet nearly that big. The Filipinos were well shod, courtesy of the Japanese Imperial Army, but the footgear of all the Marines was just about shot.
They were going to have to find a shoemaker. Or something else would have to be done.
The house shook, signaling that someone was climbing the stairs. Everly didn't move his head, but looked at the open door.
"Welcome home," Weston said.
Everly did not reply. He disapproved of Weston's beard. An officer should be shaved, not wearing a goatee like General Fertig, or a full beard like Weston.
"How did it go?"
"We got some stuff. Including fifteen gallons of gas-"
"I saw that," Weston interrupted.
"And I marked some stuff on a map," Everly said, reaching into his trou-sers pocket and handing it to Weston. "We didn't lose anybody-Zappo hurt his ankle, it's probably broken-and I am down to twenty-six rounds for my Thompson."
"Good job, Everly," Weston said.
"How about a three-day pass?" Everly said.
Weston chuckled.
"You'd just spend it on whiskey and wild women."
"You better believe it!"
"We had an interesting message from Australia," Weston said.
"What did they say this time? 'Your request under advisement'? For a change?"
"Do you remember the name of the first sergeant of Baker Company, 4th Marines, in China?"
"What?"
"The name of the First Sergeant of Baker Company of the 4th Marines in China. Do you remember it?"
"How could I forget it? That fat fucker was one mean sonofabitch."
"What was his name?"
"It was..." Everly began, and then drew a blank, even though he had a very clear mental image of First Sergeant Whatthefuckishisname? standing with his hands on his hips, his beer belly straining the buttons of his stiffly starched khakis.
"Shit, I can't remember. I can see the sonofabitch.... Why do you want to know?"
"Australia wants to use his name in a simple substitution code."
"What for?"
"I have no idea."
"Give me a minute, I'll think of it."
Thirty minutes later, he was still unable to call the name from memory. Although one of the other Marines vaguely remembered the first sergeant of Baker Company, Fourth Marines, no one could come up with his name.
By that time, Captain Weston and Lieutenant Everly had been joined by Lieutenant Ball, Captain Buchanan, and General Fertig.
"I'm sorry, General," Everly said. "Maybe if I stop trying so hard; maybe after I get some sleep..."
"The problem, Lieutenant, is that I promised Australia I would respond today," Fertig said.
"General, I'm sorry," Everly repeated.
"Those bastards are probably looking for an excuse to break off contact with us," Weston said, putting into words what was in the minds of everybody in the small room.
"Captain," Fertig said sharply. "Please keep thoughts like that to your-self."
"Sorry, Sir."
"Let's try another tack," Fertig said. "Who would want this information? Why?"
Everybody shrugged, but after a moment Lieutenant Ball said, "Maybe they want to know if Everly is really Everly. I mean, the one who served with the 4th Marines."
"What the hell is the difference?"
"Let's go with Ball's idea. Unless he had also served with the Fourth Ma-rines, who else would know about this first sergeant, and know that Everly would know."
"Anybody in the 4th Marines."
"But this chap is in Australia," Fertig said. "So it would be someone who served with the 4th Marines and did not come to the Philippines when they did."
"The Killer," Everly said.
"What?"
"And he would know about Zimmerman," Everly said, now excited. "It's got to be the Killer."
"Who's the Killer?" Fertig asked.
"Corporal Killer McCoy," Everly said. "He used to work for Captain Banning, who was the S-2 of the Fourth. Him and Zimmerman were pals."
Fertig looked at Buchanan.
"What have we got to lose, General?" Captain Buchanan said.
[ONE]
Radio Room
Supreme Headquarters SWPOA
0910 Hours 28 November 1942
"You've got something for me?" Major Hon Son Do asked, as he entered the crowded room.
"I can't imagine who else it would be for, Major," said Captain Edward D'Allesandro, the somewhat prissy Signal Corps Captain on duty. Captain D'Allesandro had not stopped smarting under the injustice of a system that had suddenly promoted to field grade the Asiatic lieutenant with the mysterious duties that kept him off the duty roster, while he himself had been a captain with outstanding efficiency reports for nearly eighteen months and was still waiting for his promotion.
He handed Hon the message.
"It came in in the clear," Captain D'Allesandro said as Hon read the brief message.
MFS TO GYB
CANNOT RECALL FAT BASTARDS NAME. THE KILLER SHOULD KNOW IT. REMEMBER THE KRAUTS NAME. DO YOU WANT IT IN THE CLEAR