It could only be hoped that the Admiral would understand their problems and not let the absence of the honors he was entitled to color his judgment of their entire operation.

The door in the fuselage swung out, and a muscular young lieutenant commander in khakis stepped into the opening. The coxswain carefully edged the whaleboat closer to the door; it wouldn't take much to ram a hole in the aluminum skin of the PB2-Y.

The Lieutenant Commander jumped into the whaleboat. And as he landed, he lost his footing; but, with the help of two boat crewmen, he quickly regained it.

A pair of leather briefcases, four larger pieces of luggage, and a long, cylindrical, leather chart case were tossed aboard the whaleboat by a hatless gray-haired man who was also wearing khakis. Then he, too, jumped aboard. He did not lose his footing.

It was at that point that both dress white-uniformed greeting officers noticed the three silver stars on each collar of the gray-haired man's open-necked khaki shirt.

"Welcome to Noumea, Admiral," the senior officer, a captain, said.

"Thank you," the Admiral said.

"Admiral, the Admiral instructed me to give you this immediately," the Captain said, handing the Admiral a manila envelope.

"Thank you," the Admiral repeated as he sat down in the whaleboat. He tore the envelope open, took out a sheet of paper, read it, and then handed it to the muscular Lieutenant Commander.

The Lieutenant Commander read it.

URGENT

UNCLASSIFIED

FROM: CINCPAC 0545 180CT42

TO: CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASH DC

COMMANDER, SOUTH PACIFIC AREA, AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND

SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA, BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA

INFO: ALL SHIPS AND STATIONS, USNAVY PACIFIC

EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, VICE ADMIRAL WILLIAM F. HALSEY, USN, IS ANNOUNCED AS COMMANDER, US NAVY FORCES, SOUTH PACIFIC, VICE ADMIRAL ROBERT L. GHORMLEY, USN, RELIEVED.

CHESTER W. NIMITZ, ADMIRAL, USN, CINCPAC.

"I'll be damned," the Lieutenant Commander said. He handed the sheet of paper back.

Vice Admiral William F Halsey jammed it in his trousers pocket. "I was thinking the same thing," he said.

[TWO]

Personnel Office

Marine Corps Recruit Depot

San Diego, California

1550 Hours 18 October 1942

"Major, there's just nothing I can do for the corporal," the major in charge of the personnel office said to Major Jake Dillon. "If I could, I would, believe me."

"Welcome home, Easterbunny," First Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy said bitterly.

"You said something, Lieutenant?" the Major snapped. He did not like the attitude of the young officer, and wondered just who he was.

"I was just thinking out loud, Major," McCoy said. "So what happens to him now?"

"We'll send him over to the casual barracks until we receive orders on him, locate his service records...."

"I'm prepared to sign a sworn statement that his records were lost in combat," Dillon said. "How about that?"

"In that case, we would begin reconstructing his records."

"How long would that take?" Dillon asked.

"It depends. Perhaps a month, perhaps a little less, perhaps a little longer."

"And in the meantime, Sir," McCoy said, "... until you can reconstruct his records... the corporal would be pulling details in the casual barracks, without any money? Is that about it?"

"That's about it, Lieutenant. And I don't like the tone of your voice."

"With respect, Sir," McCoy said sarcastically, "isn't that a pretty shitty way to treat a kid who's just back from Guadalcanal?"

"That did it, Lieutenant," the Major snapped. "I won't be talked to like that. May I have your identity card, please?"

"What for?" Dillon asked.

"So that I can put him on report to his commanding officer for insolent disrespect."

"I'm his commanding officer," Dillon said. "I heard what he said. I agree with him."

"And who is your commanding officer, Major?"

"I don't think you're cleared to know who my commanding officer is," Dillon said. "Come on, McCoy."

"I asked you who your commanding officer is, Major!"

"Go fuck yourself, Major," Dillon said, and with McCoy on his heels, marched out of the office.

As they walked off the steps of the frame building and turned toward Corporal Robert F. Easterbrook, USMC, who was sitting on his seabag waiting for them, McCoy said softly, "Do you think we'll get arrested now, or as we try to get off the base?"

"Is that sonofabitch in the same Marine Corps as you and me?" Dillon asked bitterly, still angry. "Sonofabitch!"

Easterbrook rose to his feet.

"We ran into a little trouble, Easterbrook," Dillon said.

"Nothing to worry about," McCoy said.

"What happens now?" Easterbrook asked.

"You and I are going to stay here, Corporal, while Lieutenant McCoy goes to the motor pool and gets us some wheels, and then we're all going to Los Angeles."

"I've got to get to Washington," McCoy said.

"They have an airport in Los Angeles," Dillon said. "I'd like to buy you guys a steak."

"Aye, aye, Sir," McCoy said.

Twenty minutes later, they were out of the U.S. Marine Recruit Depot, San Diego, and headed up the Pacific Highway toward Los Angeles in a Marine Corps 1941 Plymouth staff car that was driven by a PFC who looked as old as Major Dillon.

"I didn't ask. How did you get the staff car?" Dillon asked.

"I told them that I was an assistant to Major Dillon of Marine Corps Headquarters Public Relations," McCoy said, "and the Major needed a ride to Hollywood, so that the Major could ask Lana Turner to come to a party at the officers' club."

"I thought maybe you waved that fancy ID card of yours at the motor officer."

"I was saving that for the MPs at the gate when they started to arrest you for telling that feather-merchant major in personnel to go fuck himself."