Pickering shook his head.
"Did you bring a Marine uniform with you?" General Pickering asked.
Pick nodded.
"We brought all our gear in footlockers," he said. "They wouldn't fit in a cab, but they're going to bring them into town in a pickup. Mine should be here any minute. I told them to take Stu James's to the Hokkaido."
"Well, as soon as it gets here, put a uniform on. General Almond-El Supremo's chief of staff-is coming here. You can tell him yourself what junior officers think about excess logistics for senior officers."
McCoy smiled at Pick's discomfiture. Pickering saw it.
"Your smile is premature, Captain McCoy," he said. "General Almond is coming here to see you."
"What for?"
"He didn't say, but he made it pretty clear that he'd rather Willoughby didn't know about it," Pickering said. He turned to Pick and went on: "If you can convince Gen-eral Almond that getting you an airplane makes sense, it would solve a lot of problems. He can order it. If I ask any-one else, there will be fifty reasons offered why one can't be spared."
"I'll give it a good shot," Pick said. "I really would like to see the airfields, get a feel for the place, before the squadron gets here."
"Almond's a reasonable man," General Pickering said. "When General Cushman was here, trying to talk Mac Arthur out of putting all Marine aviation under the Air Force-"
"Jesus Christ!" Pick exploded. "What's that all about?"
"The phrase General Stratemeyer-the Air Force three-star who's the SCAP Air Force commander -used was `optimum usage of available aviation assets,'" Pickering said. "The phrase General Cushman used was reduction by ninety percent of the combat efficiency of the 1st Ma-rine Brigade if they lost control of their aviation.'"
"You were there?" Pick asked. His father nodded.
"I'm afraid to ask who won," Pick said. "Christ, I've been on maneuvers with the Army and the Air Force. The Air Force just doesn't understand close air support."
"So General Cushman said," Pickering said. "He phrased it a little more delicately. What Almond said, very respectfully, was `General, I would suggest we defer to the feelings of the Marine Corps.' El Supremo gave him a long, cold, look, and then said, `I don't think we are in any position to risk lowering Marine combat efficiency in any degree. Subject to later review, the Marine Corps may re-tain control of their aviation.' It was close, Pick. I think if Almond hadn't said what he did, you'd be under Air Force control."
"I think I'm starting to like this guy," Pick said.
"I don't think he's been co-opted by the Bataan Gang," Pickering said.
Pick's footlocker appeared five minutes later, and he had just enough time to shower and shave and put a uniform on before there was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, the CIC guard in the corridor opened it and Major General Almond entered the room.
"You wanted to see me, General?" Almond asked.
That question was asked for the benefit of the CIC guy, Pickering realized. Almond knows that Willoughby-and possibly MacArthur, too-gets a report on everything that happens here.
"Yes, sir, I did. Thank you for coming."
The CIC agent closed the door.
"General, this is my son, Major Malcolm Pickering," Pickering said. "I wanted you to meet him. He has some-thing to ask you."
Almond met Pickering's eyes for a moment before of-fering his hand to Pick.
We have just agreed on our story. "Pickering wanted me to meet his son."
God, poor Almond. He has to spend his life walking the razor's edge between disloyalty to his general and keeping his integrity.
"How do you do, Major?" Almond said. "You're here with General Cushman?"
"In a sense, sir. My squadron, VMF-243, was mobilized on the twenty-third. When the squadron gets here, we'll be under General Cushman's command."
"And when do you think that will be?"
"Sir, they should sail within a day or two. They may al-ready have."
"That sounds a little improbable, Major," Almond chal-lenged.
"Sir, we trained to be able to fly aboard a carrier within forty-eight hours."
"And you won't need any additional training, equipping, filling out the ranks, that sort of thing, before you go aboard an aircraft carrier for active service?"
"We're a little better than ninety percent on our enlisted men, sir. And we have one hundred percent of our officers. The squadron's ready to go, sir."
"You're here," Almond said, making it a question.
"Yes, sir. My exec and I flew in this morning, commer-cial, as sort of the advance party."
"Sort of?"
"Well, sir, we won't go on active duty until the squadron gets here."
"You're in uniform."
"Sir, the CO of VMF-243 has the authority to call up people for seventy-two hours for special training. I called myself and my exec up."
Almond smiled. "That sounds highly practical and very irregular."
Pick shrugged.
"What do you know about the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade?" Almond asked.
"Sir, I'm not sure I understand the question."
Almond turned to McCoy.
"You're Captain McCoy, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You look familiar, Captain," Almond said, as he shook McCoy's hand. "Do we know each other?"
"No, sir."
"Captain McCoy was stationed here recently, General," General Pickering said. "With the Naval Element, SCAP."
"I thought I'd seen the face," Almond said.
Either he's got one hell of a poker face, or he doesn't know a thing about McCoy's analysis, or that Willoughby buried a knife in McCoy's back.
"Major," Almond went on, "your father's aide-de-camp reported to your father, who relayed the information to me, that when a regiment arrived for Korean duty yesterday in Pusan, the ranks were filled with recent basic training graduates; there had been no opportunity for the unit to train together; no opportunity for the men to zero their in-dividual weapons; and that their crew-served weapons, heavy machine guns and mortars were still packed in cosmoline." He paused and looked at McCoy. "That is the essence of what you said?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"So my question to you, Major, is what is the 1st Provi-sional Marine Brigade like, in that context?"
"I think it will be in much better shape than that, sir," Pick said.
"Is that Marine Corps pride speaking, or do you know?"
"Sir, I know a lot of the officers who are with the brigade. They tell me that most of the officers, and non-coms are War Two veterans, and most of the Marines have been with the 1st Marine Division for some time. When they formed the brigade, they didn't just send in bodies, but intact squads, platoons, companies from the division, with their officers and noncoms. Men who have trained to-gether, sir." He chuckled. "Sir, these are Marines. I can't believe they haven't zeroed their rifles. Or that their ma-chine guns are packed in cosmoline. They'll get off their ships ready to fight."
"How is it that you, an aviator, know the officers of a di-vision?"
"Sir, we train together. When we get a call from the ground to hit something, we usually recognize the voice asking for the strike."
"How far down does that go? Battalion? Company?"
"Sometimes to platoon, sir."