Macklin, a tall, not quite handsome officer, whose tunic was adorned with parachutist's wings and two rows of ribbons, the most senior of which was the Purple Heart Medal with one oak leaf cluster, had encountered Dillon twice before. Their initial meeting was at the Parachute School at the old Navy Dirigible Base in Lakewood, N.J., before he was ordered to the Pacific. And they met again six weeks previously, in the U.S. Army 4th General Hospital in Melbourne, Australia. Macklin was then recuperating from the wounds he'd received during the invasion of Gavutu. That very day Dillon sent him to the States to participate in the First War Bond Tour (an inspired act on Dillon's part, Macklin had to admit).

Still, Macklin was of several minds about Dillon himself. For one thing, Lieutenant Macklin was an Annapolis graduate, a career Marine officer, and Major Dillon was not. Consequently, he wasn't entirely sure of the wisdom of directly commissioning a former China Marine sergeant as a major simply because the sergeant had become a press agent for a Hollywood studio after leaving The Corps. At the same time, it could be argued that The Corps needed the expertise of such a man. Such, anyhow, had been the opinion of the Assistant Commandant, who had arranged for Dillon's commissioning. Brigadier General J. J. Stewart, head of Marine Corps Public Relations, had been good enough to pass this information on to Macklin, and Macklin was grateful to have learned it.

Lieutenant Macklin was also not at all sure how Major Dillon felt about him. Both at Lakewood and at the 4th General Hospital, he sensed that Dillon did not wholly approve of him. It was of course likely that ex-Sergeant Dillon was a little uncomfortable with major's leaves on his shoulders, especially in the presence of a regular officer of a lesser rank.

And then, too, Lieutenant Macklin was more than a little disappointed when General Stewart telephoned to tell him that, in addition to his other duties, Major Dillon would be "taking responsibility" for the Second War Bond Tour, and that for the time being at least Dillon would be operating out of Los Angeles. Macklin had thought-indeed, he'd been told-that he would be running the Second War Bond Tour. He wondered if this-it was in effect a kind of demotion-would affect his chances for promotion. God knows, that was overdue.

On the other hand, problems had already arisen in taking what Macklin had come to think of as "Tour Two" out of the starting gate. These problems were certainly not his fault; but if they got out of hand, they would almost certainly reflect adversely on him. Dillon's presence would at least take him out of the line of fire. If anything went bad, Dillon, as the senior officer, would obviously be responsible.

Macklin rose from behind his desk and walked somewhat stiffly to the door. His leg was still giving him a little trouble. When he had to be on his feet for any length of time, he supported himself with a cane.

"Good morning, Sir," Macklin called. "It's good to see you, again, Sir."

Dillon crossed the room to him.

"How are you, Macklin? How's your leg?" Dillon asked, offering his hand.

"Coming along just fine, Sir. A little stiff. Thank you for asking. Sir, General Stewart has been trying to get in touch with you. He asks that you call him immediately."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"He said it was good news, Sir. About Easterbrook."

Well, that is good news, Dillon thought. Stewart is telling me he finally got Personnel off their ass and they've come up with a set of records for the Easterbunny. That means I can get him paid and get leave orders cut for him, and let him go home.

"I'll call him later in the morning. And I've got some good news, too. Veronica Wood has graciously agreed to lend her presence to this war bond tour."

"That's wonderful!"

"You better get a press release out on it right away... check with Mort Cooperman at Metro-Magnum, he's got their still-photo lab running off a hundred eight-by-ten glossies to send out with them. I told him to use the shot of her in the negligee where you can see her nipples."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Lieutenant Macklin said. He was familiar with the photograph Dillon referred to. On the one hand, in his opinion, it bordered upon the lewd and lascivious; but on the other, he felt sure that newspapers across the country would print it.

"So bring me up to speed," Dillon said. "What have you got laid on so far?"

"I have the tentative schedule in my desk, Sir," Macklin said. "There are, I'm afraid, two problems."

"Which are?"

"There are six Guadalcanal aces assigned to the tour, Sir, as you know. Three of them are here. I've put them up in the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. They gave us a very attractive rate, Major."

"They like to get their hotel in the newspapers, too, Macklin. They should have comped the whole damned tour."

"Yes, Sir," Macklin said.

I never thought about that, he thought. This is going to be a learning experience for me.

"Well, they are putting me up, Sir, free of charge."

"What about the other three pilots?"

Macklin walked stiffly to his desk and came out with a sheet of paper, which he handed to Dillon. It was the radio message from General Stewart ordering Captain Charles M. Galloway and Lieutenants William C. Dunn and Malcolm S. Pickering to participate in the tour.

"These officers are in San Francisco, Sir," Macklin said. "They reported in by telephone. And when I told them what was on the agenda-coming to Los Angeles-and that the question of whether they could have a leave before the tour starts hadn't been resolved, they said-"

" 'They'?" Dillon interrupted. "Who did you talk to?"

"The Captain, Sir. Galloway. He said they all had diarrhea and weren't in any condition to come to Los Angeles. Sir, I don't mean to impugn the Captain's word, but I really wonder if all three of them could be so incapacitated simultaneously."

"Have you got a telephone number for them?"

"Yes, Sir. They're staying at the Andrew Foster Hotel."

"Well, maybe the Andrew Foster is comping them, Lieutenant. I'll deal with that. Anything else?"

"Yes, Sir. There is a major problem with Sergeant Machine Gun McCoy."

"What kind of a problem?"

"He's in the Brig at San Diego, Major. He apparently got drunk and tore up a brothel."

"Christ, they're going to give him the Medal of Honor!"

"And assaulted an officer, Sir."

"Do they know about the medal?"