The more I think about it, I think this latter is the case. MacArthur understands things like this.

Turning to the important question "Can we hold Australia?" MacArthur believes, supported to some degree by the intelligence (not much) available to us, that the following is the grand j.a.panese strategy: While Admiral Yamamoto is taking Midway away from us, as a stepping-stone to taking the Hawaiian Islands, the forces under Admiral Takeo Takagi will occupy Australia's perimeter islands, north and west of the continent.

We have some pretty good intelligence that Takagi intends to put "Operation Mo" into execution as soon as he can. That is the capture of Port Moresby, on New Guinea. Moresby is currently manned, I should say undermanned, by Australian militiamen with little artillery, etcetera. They could not resist a large-scale j.a.panese a.s.sault. Once Moresby falls, all the j.a.panese have to do is build it up somewhat and then use it as the base for an invasion across the Coral Sea to Australia. It1 s about 300 miles across the Coral Sea from Port Moresby to Australia.

Both to repel an invasion and to prevent the j.a.panese from marching across Australia, MacA. has two divisions (the U.S. 32nd Infantry, arrived at Adelaide April 15); one brigade of the 6th Australian Division; and one (or two, depending on whom one chooses to believe) Australian divisions being returned "soon" from Africa. He has sixty-two B-17 bombers, six of which (including the "Swoose," which carries no bombs) are airworthy. Some fighter planes have begun to arrive, but these are generally acknowledged to be inferior to the j.a.panese Zero.

MacA. believes further that the j.a.panese intend to install fighter airplane bases in the Solomon Islands. We have some unconfirmed (and probably unconfirmable) intelligence that major fighter bases are planned for Guadalkennel (sp?) and Bougainville. Fighters on such strips could escort j.a.panese Betty and Zeke bombers to interdict our ships bound for Australia, cutting the pipeline . We don' t have the men or materiel to go after them at either place.

On top of this, we have had what MacA. feels is an unconscionable delay in reaching an interservice agreement about who is in charge of what. I found myself wondering too, frankly, just who the h.e.l.l was in charge in Washington. MacA. was not named CIC SWPA until April 18. And even when that happened, it violated a rule of warfare even Fleming Pickering understands: that it is idiocy to split a command. Which is exactly what appointing Admiral Nimitz as CIC Pacific Ocean Areas does.

It means that from this point on, we have started another war. In addition to fighting the j.a.panese, the Army and the Navy are going to be at each other' s throats. A sailor, or a soldier, Mac-Arthur or Nimitz, should have been put in charge. Somebody has to be in charge.

Under these circ.u.mstances, I was not at all surprised, the day Bataan fell, when MacA. radioed Marshall asking for permission to return to the Philippines to fight as a guerrilla. I could hear the snickers when that radio arrived in Sodom-on-Potomac.

He showed me the cable before he sent it. I told him what I thought the reaction would be. He said he understood that, but thought there was a slight chance his "enemies" (George Marshall, Ernie King, and the U.S. Navy) would see that he was given permission as a way to get rid of him.

I think I should confess, Frank, that if he had been given permission, I think I would have gone with him.

Colonel Newcombe just called from the lobby. I have to seal this up and give it to him.

Respectfully, Fleming Pickering, Captain, USNR

Chapter Eleven.

(One) The Willard Hotel Washington, D.C.

30 April 1942 "General," Congressman Emilio L. DiFranco (D., 8th N.J. Congressional District) said to Brigadier General D. G. Mclnerney, USMC, "I so very much appreciate your finding time for me in your busy schedule."

The Congressman waited expectantly for the General to notice him; but General Mclnerney was listening to Congressman DiFranco with only half an ear. The rest of his attention was smitten by a hard rash of curiosity. It was the group sitting three tables away from him in the upstairs c.o.c.ktail lounge of the Willard Hotel that had caught his eye, indeed his fascination. He had not in fact seen the Congressman making his way across the room to him.

"The Marine Corps always has time for you, Congressman," General Mclnerney said, rising to his feet and with some effort working up a small smile. He cordially detested Congressman DiFranco, whom he had met a half-dozen times before.

Doc Mclnerney wasn't sure that the tall, remarkably thin blond woman at the table was really Monique Pond, the motion-picture actress, but she sure as h.e.l.l looked like her. A photograph of the actress wearing a silver lame dress open d.a.m.ned near to her navel hung on every other vertical surface in the military establishment.

Two other people were at the table with Miss Pond, if indeed it was Miss Pond. One was another long-legged, long-haired blond female. Mclnerney wouldn't have been surprised if that one was also a star of stage, screen, and radio. She was pretty enough. He didn't recognize her, but he wasn't all that familiar with movie stars.

Nor, for that matter, was he all that familiar with the upstairs c.o.c.ktail lounge of the Willard Hotel. The Willard was an expensive hostelry, catering to high government officials and members of Congress-and, more important, to those individuals who wished to influence government policy and Congressional votes, and who did their drinking on an expense account.

The word lobbyist was coined around the time of the Civil War to describe those who hung around the lobby of the Willard Hotel, waiting for Congressmen whose vote they hoped to influence. Not much had changed since then.

The prices in the Willard were of such magnitude that few members of the military establishment, including general officers, could afford them. Mclnerney came here rarely-only when, as today, there was no way he could get out of it. He had been invited for a drink by the Hon. Mr. DiFranco; it does not behoove officers of the regular Marine Corps to turn down such invitations.

Mclnerney knew what the Congressman wanted. When the invitation had come, he had checked with the Congressional Liaison Office and learned that Congressman DiFranco had been in touch with them regarding the son of one of his more important const.i.tuents. After an initial burst of patriotic fervor that had led to his enlisting in the Marine Corps, this splendid young gentleman now found that he didn't like the life of a Marine rifleman. He wanted instead to be a.s.signed to duties that were more to his liking; specifically, he wanted to be an aircraft mechanic. He had apparently communicated this desire to his daddy, and his father had gotten in touch with Mr. DiFranco.

With all the courtesy due a Congressman, the Congressional Liaison Office had in effect told the Congressman to go f.u.c.k himself. At that point, Congressman DiFranco had apparently remembered meeting Brigadier General Mclnerney a number of times. He decided then to take his const.i.tuent's problem directly to the second senior man in Marine Aviation, unofficially, socially, over a drink at the Willard.

It was not the first time this sort of thing had happened to Doc Mclnerney, nor even the first time with the Hon. Mr. DiFranco. Getting someone special treatment in the Corps because his father happened to know a Congressman rubbed Mclnerney the wrong way.

Congressman DiFranco sat down and started looking for a waiter. General Mclnerney looked again at the table where maybe Monique Pond sat with another good-looking blonde who might also be a movie star. Both ladies were with a young man about whose ident.i.ty Doc Mclnerney had no doubts at all. His name was Charles M. Galloway, and he was a technical sergeant in the United States Marine Corps.

"I'll have a dry martini with an onion," Congressman DiFranco said to a waiter. "And you, General?"

"The same," Mclnerney said, raising his gla.s.s. He was about through with his second Jack Daniel's and water.

Congressman DiFranco handed General Mclnerney a slip of paper. On it was written the name of PFC Joseph J. Bianello, his serial number, and his unit, Company A, Fifth Marines, New River, North Carolina.

"What's this?" Mclnerney asked, innocently.

"He's the young man I want to talk to you about."

Mclnerney saw that the waiter was busy at the other table. He delivered three fresh drinks and a small silver platter of hors d'oeuvres.

I hope you're having a good time, Galloway. When the bill comes, you'll probably faint.

"Oh?" Mclnerney said to Congressman DiFranco.

"I've known him all his life. He's a really fine young man. His father owns a trucking firm, Bianello Brothers."

"Is that so?"

The other blonde, the one who was not (maybe) Monique Pond, lovingly fed Technical Sergeant Galloway a bacon-wrapped oyster on a toothpick. He chewed, looked thoughtful, and then nodded his head approvingly, which obviously thrilled the blonde.

"What he did was act impetuously," Congressman DiFranco said. "He's young."

"How do you mean, impetuously?"

"Without thinking before he leaped, so to speak."

"You mean he now regrets having joined the Marine Corps?"

"No, not at all," the Congressman said firmly.

The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond now fed Technical Sergeant Galloway something on a toothpick that Doc Mclnerney couldn't identify. Galloway chewed, made a face, and valiantly swallowed. The blonde who was maybe Monique Pond leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Galloway drank deeply from his gla.s.s.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Doc Mclnerney said.

Squirm, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"His father wants to get him out of the infantry," Congressman DiFranco said.

The Congressman's unexpected candor surprised Mclnerney. He met DiFranco's eyes.

"The kid complained to Daddy, and Daddy came to you. Is that it?"

"The boy knows nothing about this," DiFranco said.

Mclnerney decided he was being told the truth.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said.

"The boy is eighteen years old, General."

"I saw some statistics last week that said the average age of enlisted men in the First Marine Division-the Fifth Marines are part of the First Division-is eighteen-point-six years," Mclnerney said. "He won't be lonely."

"Well, I asked," DiFranco said.

"His father is important to you, huh?"

DiFranco shrugged, acknowledging that.

"OK. I'll tell you what I'll do-" Mclnerney said, and then stopped abruptly. Another Marine had entered the c.o.c.ktail lounge and was making his way to the table where Technical Sergeant Galloway sat with maybe Monique Pond. This one was a major. He looked familiar, but Doc Mclnerney could not put a name to the face.

The Major shook Galloway's hand, kissed maybe Monique Pond, then looked around for the waiter. When he had caught his eye, he mimed signing the check.

"General?" Congressman DiFranco said, puzzled by Mclnerney's pause.

"You can tell this kid's father that you talked to me; that I was difficult about special treatment, but in the end, as a special favor to you, I told you I would arrange to have him transferred into a battalion in the Fifth Marines which is commanded by a friend of mine, who happens to be one of the finest officers in the Marine Corps. That much is for the father. For you, I will add that I will do it in such a way that my friend will not learn why he is getting this boy, and will see that his records don't get flagged as someone who has Congressional influence."

Congressman DiFranco looked at General Mclnerney carefully.

"I really can't ask for more than that, can I?" he said, finally.

"No, I don't think you can," Doc Mclnerney replied. "This way, everybody stays honest."

"Then I'm grateful to you, General," Congressman DiFranco said, putting out his hand.

"Any time, Congressman," Mclnerney said, shaking it.

The waiter delivered a check to the Marine major, who scrawled his name on it, and then walked out of the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

What the h.e.l.l is that all about?

"Would you be offended if I cut this short?" DiFranco said. "I really have a busy schedule."

"Not at all," Mclnerney said. "So do I."

DiFranco fished money from his pocket and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table.

"Thank you again, General," he said, and walked out of the room.

Mclnerney drained his gla.s.s and then stood up. He started to leave, but as he did, the waiter delivered the drinks Congressman DiFranco had ordered.

"Let me settle up now," he said to the waiter. The four drinks and a ten-percent tip ate up most of the Congressman's ten dollars; Mclnerney waved the rest of the change away, thinking, This has to be the most expensive booze in town!

Then he picked up the fresh drink and walked to Galloway's table.

"h.e.l.lo, Sergeant Galloway," he said. "How are you?"

Galloway stood up.

"Good evening, Sir."

"Keep your seat. What brings you to town?"

"I've got a VIP flight back and forth to New River in the morning, Sir. Miss Pond and some other people. Oh, excuse me, Sir. General Mclnerney, this is Miss Pond and Mrs. McNamara."

So it is her. Of course! Now I know who that major is! Jake Dillon, the ex-Hollywood press agent. I met him when Colonel Whatsisnames parachute didn't open.

"I thought I recognized you, Miss Pond. And of course, you too, Mrs. McNamara. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"You recognized me?" Mrs. Caroline Ward McNamara asked, surprised. "Have we met?"

"Well, aren't you an actress, too? Or should I say 'the actress'?"

"No," Caroline McNamara said, laughing throatily. "But thank you. I love your mistake. I'm just a friend of Charley's." She patted Charley's hand fondly, possessively.

Mclnerney saw on her hand several thousand dollars' worth of rubies set in gold.

Galloway didn't meet this woman in the staff NCO mess at Quantico.

"Well, I just wanted to say h.e.l.lo," Mclnerney said. "It's nice to meet you."

He walked back to his table and sat down.

Less than a minute later, Galloway and the two women got up and left the lounge. Mclnerney followed them. They walked across the lobby and got into an elevator.

This is really none of my business, Mclnerney decided, only to amend that decision a moment later: f.u.c.k it! Watching out for the welfare of his Marines is always an officer's responsibility.

He went to the desk and inquired whether Miss Monique Pond was registered in the Willard. The desk clerk took a moment to decide that a man in the uniform of a brigadier general of the United States Marine Corps was probably not a fan intent on bothering a movie star.

"I believe that Miss Pond is part of the party staying with Mr. Dillon, Sir."

"You mean Major Dillon? And the rest of the party being the other Marine and the other lady?"

"Yes, Sir. They're in the Abraham Lincoln suite."

"Thank you," Mclnerney said, and walked to the house phones and asked the operator to connect him with the Abraham Lincoln suite.