Hart barked: "Report!"
Lieutenant Barnes did an about-face and barked, "Re-port!"
The platoon leaders, standing in front of their platoons, did an about-face and barked, "Report!"
The platoon sergeants saluted their platoon leaders, and reported, in unison, "All present or accounted for, sir!"
The platoon leaders did another about-face, saluted Lieutenant Barnes, and announced, in unison, "All present or accounted for, sir."
Lieutenant Barnes did an about-face and saluted Captain Hart.
"Sir, the company is formed. All present or accounted for, sir."
Hart returned the salute.
"Parade Rest!" he ordered.
The company assumed the position of Parade Rest, standing erectly, feet twelve inches apart, their hands folded stiffly in the small of their backs.
The entire little ballet, Captain Hart judged, had been performed perfectly, even by the kids who hadn't earned the right to wear the Marine Corps globe and anchor by go-ing through boot camp.
Hart looked at his men, starting at the left and working his way slowly across the ranks and files.
Oh, to hell with it!
"Stand at ease," he ordered.
That was not the next step in the prescribed ballet, and he saw questioning looks on a lot of faces.
"You did that pretty well," he said. "Only two of you looked like cows on ice, and you know who you were."
Fifty men decided the skipper had detected a sloppy movement on their part, and vowed to do better the next time.
"There will be a change from the published training schedule," Hart announced. "Based on my belief that there are several things always true about the Marine Corps, first that there is always a change in the training schedule, usu-ally unexplained."
He got the laughter he expected.
"The second truth is that every Marine is a rifleman."
His tone was serious, and he knew he had their attention. "The third truth, and you may find this hard to believe, is that company commanders are sometimes wrong. I really hope I'm wrong now, and I want to tell you that I don't know a thing more about the possible mobilization of the Marine Reserve-of Baker Company-than you do."
There was absolute silence in the room as they waited for him to go on.
"But I have the feeling we're going to be called. I don't know where we'll go, or what we'll do, but we're the Ma-rine Corps reserve, and the reserve gets called in time of war. I hope we're not in a war in Korea, but we may be, and it is clearly our duty to prepare for that." He paused.
"Every Marine is a rifleman. My drill instructor taught me that when I went through boot camp at Parris Island. And during the war, I saw how right he was, how important it is to the Corps. So the one thing 1 know we can do to prepare for being mobilized is to make sure that every Ma-rine in Baker Company is not only a rifleman, but the best rifleman he can be." He paused again.
"The training schedule is therefore changed to rifle marksmanship. In the first hour of training tonight, you will draw your piece from the armory, clean it, inspect it, make sure it's as right as it can be. The following three hours will be devoted to dry firing, et cetera. I have arranged for us to use the St. Louis Police Department fir-ing range. It's only a hundred yards, but it'll have to do. There will be a special drill next Saturday. You will report here, draw your weapons, and be taken by truck to the range. Those who will be working at your civilian jobs on Saturday, give your name to your platoon sergeant, and ei-ther your platoon leader will, or I will, call your employer and explain the importance of this." He looked again at the faces of his men. Well, I've done it. Peterson will shit a brick. There will be no deviations from the prescribed training schedule without prior permission from battalion.
Special drill sessions will not be held without prior per-mission from battalion.
Ammunition will not be drawn from sealed armory stocks without prior permission from battalion.
The use of civilian and/or local governmental firing ranges is forbidden unless specifically directed by HQ USMC.
"Company, ten-hut!"
Baker Company snapped to attention.
"I will see the officers and senior noncoms in my office immediately following the formation," Captain Hart or-dered his executive officer. "Dismiss the company for training."
"Aye, aye, sir," Lieutenant Barnes said, and saluted.
Captain Hart returned the salute, did an about-face movement, and marched across the varnished wood to his office.
Lieutenant Peterson was standing just inside the office.
"Questions, Lieutenant?"
"The colonel's going to shit a brick," Lieutenant Peter-son said.
"I suppose he will," Captain Hart said. "Sometimes you have to do what you think is right even if it gives the entire Marine Corps diarrhea."
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Peterson said. "Sir, permission to speak?"
"Granted."
"You didn't specify a time for the special drill on Satur-day. May I suggest the company report at 0430? That will give us time to get to the range by first light."
"Make it so, Lieutenant."
"Aye, aye, sir."
[THREE]
SUITE 401
THE CORONADO BEACH HOTEL
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
1030 10 JULY 1950
Captain Kenneth R. McCoy sprang to his feet and opened the door of the suite.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said to the two Marine brigadier generals and their aides-de-camp, both captains. "General Pickering expects you. Will you come in, please?"
"How are you, McCoy?" Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins said, extending his hand. "It's good to see you."
Captain McCoy had never seen either captain before, but Captain Arthur McGowan, Dawkins's aide, had heard about the legendary Captain "Killer" McCoy and looked at him curiously.
He doesn't look, McGowan thought, like either a legend or somebody known as "the Killer."
"Thank you, sir," McCoy said. "It's good to see you, sir."
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, came into the sitting room from one of the bedrooms that offered a view of the Pacific and had long ago been converted to a bar, holding a mug of coffee in his hand.
"I was going to say, `Christ, Dawk, you didn't have to come here,'" he said, "But I think I'd better make that, `Good morning, gentlemen.'"
Dawkins chuckled.
He nodded at the officer beside him.
"I just now found out you two don't know each other; I thought you'd met on the `Canal. General Fleming Picker-ing, General Edward A. Craig."
Craig offered his hand to Pickering.
"I think you left the `Canal-" Craig began.
"Was ordered off," Pickering interjected.
"-before I got there," Craig finished. "But I know who you are, General, and I'm glad to finally get to meet you."
"General, I tried to tell General Dawkins that whenever he could find a few minutes for me, I would be in his of-fice."
"Craig and I had to go to the Navy base, coming here was easier all around, and I don't think I could have given you an uninterrupted five minutes in my office," Dawkins said. "Things are a little hectic out there."
"I can imagine."
"Craig has been named CG of the 1st Provisional Ma-rine Brigade," Dawkins said. "Which sails for Kobe, Japan, on the twelfth."