If he encounters trouble doing what I think he has to do, I'm going to tell Rickabee to come to you. I suspect he will encounter the same kind of parochial nonsense among the professional warriors in Washington that I have encountered here.

I have been butting my head-vis-a-vis Donovan's people-against the Palace wall so often and so long that it's bloody; and I'm getting nowhere. Is there any chance I can stop? It would take a direct order from Roosevelt to make him change his mind. And then he and his people will drag their feet, at which, you may have noticed, they're very good.

More soon.

Best regards,

Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR

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Eyes Only Captain David Haughton, USN

Office of the Secretary of the Navy

DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN

ORIGINAL TO BE DESTROYED AFTER ENCRYPTION AND

TRANSMITTAL TO SECNAV

FOR COLONEL F. L. RICKABEE

OFFICE OF MANAGEMENT ANALYSIS

Brisbane, Australia

Monday 2 November 1942

Dear Fritz:

Don't tell him yet, or even Banning, but I want you to try to find a suitable replacement for McCoy for the Mongolian Operation.

And put him and Banning to work finding out about Guerrilla operations. I believe that this Wendell Fertig in the Philippines is probably going to turn out to be more useful than anybody in the Palace here is willing to even consider. I suspect that the same attitude vis-a-vis unconventional warriors and the competence of reserve officers is prevalent in Washington.

This idea has Leahy's backing, so if you encounter any trouble, feel free to go to Frank Knox.

If you can do it without making any waves, please (a) see if you can find out where my son is being assigned after the war bond tour and (b) tell me if telling his mother would really endanger the entire war effort. She went to see Jack NMI Stecker's boy at the hospital in Pearl and is in pretty bad shape.

Koffler is getting married next week, for a little good news. I decided I had the authority to make him a staff sergeant and have done so.

Regards,

Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR

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[FOUR]

Live Oaks Plantation

Baldwin County, Alabama

0700 Hours 2 November 1942

First Lieutenants William C. Dunn and Malcolm S. Pickering were waiting on the porch when the Marine-green Plymouth drove up. They were freshly showered and shaved, their uniforms bore a perfect press, and their shoes were brilliantly shined. The glasses of orange juice in their hands contained no intoxicants.

A 1940 Buick Limited sedan, newly polished, sat in the driveway, with its twin spare tires installed in their own gleaming shrouds in the front fenders.

"He's got somebody with him," Lieutenant Pickering observed.

"I hope he forgets the fucking hats," Lieutenant Dunn replied.

He was to be disappointed. The individual in the passenger seat leapt out the moment the Plymouth stopped moving and opened the rear door for Captain Carstairs. He emerged holding a Cap, Brimmed, Officers, in each hand.

"I would rather face a thousand deaths," Bill Dunn said, getting to his feet and placing his glass on the wide top of the railing.

"You'd rather what?"

"That is what General Lee said when he went to meet Grant at Appomattox Court House. 'I would rather face a thousand deaths, but now I must go...' "

"The way I heard it, what he said was, 'Win a few, lose a few, it all evens up in the end.' "

"Blasphemy, Pickering, blasphemy!" Dunn said, and then called, "Captain Carstairs. Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, gentlemen," Carstairs said. "How nice to see you looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I have your covers." He looked inside the cap in his right hand. "Who is the five and seven-eighths?"

"That would be the pinhead here, Sir," Pick said, and then smiled at the driver. "Hey, Corporal. How are you?"

"Gentlemen," Carstairs said, "this is Mr. Larsen. Mr. Larsen is about to be graduated as a Naval Aviator and commissioned in The Corps."

Pickering looked at him closely for the first time. He was wearing impeccably pressed enlisted men's greens. You could literally see a reflection in his shoes. And though there was no evidence whatever that Mr. Larsen had a beard, Pick knew this was because Mr. Larsen had shaved with great care earlier this morning-maybe two or three times. And he was built like a tank... reminding Pick of Technical Sergeant-now Master Gunner, he remembered-Big Steve Oblensky.

"How do you do, Mr. Larsen?" Lieutenant Dunn said, and offered his hand.

I forgot about that polish and shaving crap. Billy went through P'Cola as a cadet; he knows about that chickenshit bullshit because he had to put up with it himself. Dick Stecker and I had our commissions when we showed up. And that, I recall, really pissed off Captain Mustache.

And now that I think about it, was that because Dick and I were living in the San Carlos Hotel and didn't have to put up with his chickenshit? Or maybe because we were living in the San Carlos and so I got to meet Martha? And because I didn't have to spend my evenings shining my shoes and the toilet seats in the barracks, I could chase after her?

"Sir, I am fine, Sir," Mr. Larsen said. "Sir, I consider this a great honor to meet you, Sir."

"Marine officers," Pick heard himself saying, "do not gush like women. Try to control yourself, Mr. Larsen."

"Sir, yes, Sir. Sir, no excuse, Sir," Mr. Larsen said.

Captain Carstairs and Lieutenant Dunn gave Lieutenant Pickering dirty looks.

Well, fuck you both! I went through my fair share of the pop-to-attention, shine-the-heels-of-your-shoes chickenshit bullshit at Quantico myself, and nothing that's happened to me since has made me change my mind. It was unnecessary bullshit then, and it is now.

"Here is your cover, Mr. Pickering," Carstairs said.

"Thank you, Sir," Pick said, and took the cover and put it on.

"Mr. Larsen, are you aware of the history of the corded ropes on the upper portion of covers such as these?" Pick asked.