an explosive shell, in his windscreen. It almost turned him into a soprano. He
managed to get the airplane back to Midway, totalling it on landing. It was full of
holes, in addition to the 20mm, I mean.
Battleground / 111
Sounds like a good man, Charley said.
Very possibly he is, Dawkins said carefully. But there is some question, I m
afraid serious question, about whether he took the round that filled his crotch with
shrapnel and fragments while he was engaging the enemy, or after he d already
decided to fly back to Midway.
You re saying he ran?
Listen carefully. What I said was serious question. The officer there was more
than one, but the officer who made the most serious accusations decided, on re-
flection, not to bring charges against him.
Who was that?
I don t think giving you his name would be appropriate, Dawkins said.
What has& you said Dunn ?& got to say for himself?
Dunn says that he has no memory of flying back to Midway at all.
What do you think?
I believe that Dunn doesn t remember flying back to Midway.
How come I get this guy?
I m giving him the benefit of the doubt, Dawkins said.
Galloway started to say something and changed his mind. Dawkins saw it.
Say it, Charley.
Nothing, Sir.
Say it, Charley, Dawkins repeated.
Actually, I was thinking two things, Sir. The first was that when a good Marine
gets an order, even one he doesn t think he can handle, he says Aye, aye, Sir and
does his best.
You mean you don t think you can handle a squadron?
I can handle a squadron. But there are squadrons and squadrons, and it looks
like mine is staffed with sixteen enlisted Marines who are almost certainly the ones
their squadron commanders figured they could do without; plus pickled aircraft
that I have to unpickle with somebody else s rejects; plus, of course, an officer one
jump ahead of a court-martial.
Is that all one thought? You said you had two?
I was thinking, Colonel, that you wouldn t screw me unless you had no choice.
But if the brass is making you set me up to fuck up so I can be relieved, why don t
we just jump to that? Give the squadron to somebody else, and just let me fly. I
didn t ask for the bars; all I ever wanted to do is fly fighters. I mean, I ll take a bust
back to sergeant&
That s quite enough, Captain, Dawkins said furiously. Shut down your mouth.
How dare you suggest, you sonofabitch, that I would be party to something like
that?
Sorry, Sir, Galloway said after a long moment, during which he realized that
Dawkins was waiting for a response.
You re going to have to learn, Galloway, to engage your brain before opening
your mouth, Dawkins said more calmly. Just for your information, I was given
the option of not giving you VMF-229. I m giving it to you because you re the best
man I have available to take the job.
Yes, Sir.
I wish I had an operational squadron I could just turn over to you, fully equipped
with flyable aircraft, qualified mechanics, and whatever else is called for. I don t.
All I have to give you is what I told you, airplanes sitting on a wharf and a handful
112 / W. E. B. Griffin
of half-trained kids to get them up and running. I ll do my damnedest to get you
anything else you think you need, but the shelves are pretty goddamned bare.
They looked at each other without speaking for a long moment.
Can I have Oblensky, Sir?
What?
Tech Sergeant Oblensky, Sir, Galloway said. I know he s here. I asked.
Dawkins looked unhappy. He made three starts, stopping each time before a
word left his mouth, before asking, Do you think it is a good idea, Captain, theor-
etically or practically, for a non-commissioned officer to be assigned to a squadron
commanded by an officer with whom he served as a non-com? Who was his best
pal when they were sergeants together?
From what you ve told me about the men you re going to give me, Sir, Galloway
said, I ll either have to have Big Steve, or somebody like him, or get those airplanes
flyable myself.
Captain Galloway, if I hear that you have been seen with a wrench in your hand,
you will spend the rest of this war with a wrench in your hand. Clear?
Does that mean I get Oblensky, Sir?
I finally have something in common with the Commandant, Galloway. Acting
against my better judgment, I m going to give you something I don t think you
should have.
Thank you, Sir.
That will be all, Captain Galloway. Thank you.
VIII
(One)
HEADQUARTERS
MARINE AIR GROUP TWENTY-ONE (MAG-21)
EWA, OAHU ISLAND, TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1135 HOURS 27 JUNE 1942
PFC Alfred B. Hastings, who was seventeen and had been in the Corps not quite
five months, had just about finished drying with a chamois a glistening yellow 1933
Ford convertible coupe, when he noticed that his labor had attracted the attention
of an officer.
The Ford was parked in the shade of Hangar Three. When Hastings was finished,
his orders were to return the car to the other side of the hangar, to a parking space
lettered MAINTENANCE NCO.
For a long moment, PFC Hastings pretended he did not see the officer, who was
a captain and an aviator. He did that for two reasons. First, he had slipped out of
the sleeves of his coveralls and tied them around his waist, which left him in his
sleeveless undershirt and thus out of uniform. Second, despite the dedicated efforts
of his drill instructors at the San Diego Recruit Depot to instill in him a detailed
knowledge of the Customs of the Service as they applied to military courtesy, he
was not sure what was now required of him.
The basic rule was that officers got saluted by enlisted men. But it wasn t quite
that simple. You were not supposed to salute indoors unless you were under arms.
That meant actually carrying your rifle, or a symbol of it like a cartridge belt. And
you were not supposed to salute when you were on a labor detail. The NCO in
charge of the labor detail was supposed to do that, first calling attention and then
saluting the officer on behalf of the entire labor detail.
I suppose, PFC Hastings finally decided, that since I am the only one on this labor
detail, I am in charge, and supposed to salute. And that sonofabitch obviously isn t going
to go away. He s looking at the car like he never saw a 33 Ford before.
And I don t think anybody ever got in real trouble in the Corps for saluting when they
really didn t have to.
He gave the chrome V-8 insignia on the front of the hood a final wipe, stepped
back a foot; and then, as if he had first noticed the officer just then, he popped to
attention and saluted.
Good afternoon, Sir! PFC Hastings barked. At the same moment, he realized
that coming to attention had rearranged his hips so that the bottom of his coveralls
was sliding down off them.
113
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