W E B Griffin – Corp 06 – Close Combat

And then Major Jake Dillon climbed down. He was also in khakis, but he carried a Thompson, not a pistol; and he smiled when he saw him.

“Jake,” the first Major said, and pointed to Corporal Easterbrook.

“Give me that film, Easterbrook,” Major Dillon ordered.

The Easterbunny rewound the film into the cassette, then opened the Leica, took it out, and handed it to Major Dillon. Dillon surprised him by pulling the film from the cassette, exposing it, ruining it.

“This we don’t want pictures of,” Dillon said conversationally, then asked, “Where’d you get the Leica?”

“It’s Sergeant Lomax’s,” Easterbrook replied. “It was Sergeant Lomax’s. Lieutenant Hale took it when he got killed, and I took it from Hale when he got killed.”

Major Dillon nodded.

“There’s some 35mm film, color and black-and-white, in an insulated container on there,” he went on, gesturing toward the airplane. “And some more film, and some other stuff. Take what you think you’re going to need, and then give the rest to the Division’s public relations people.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

“I want to talk to you, to everybody, but not right now. Where do you usually hang out?”

“With VMF-229, Sir.”

“OK. See if you can locate the others, and don’t get far away.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky came up in the now empty jeep.

Another face appeared in the door of the R4D. It was another one the Easterbunny recognized, the skipper of VMF-229, Captain Charles Galloway.

“Ski,” he ordered, “take these officers to the Division CP, and then come back. There’s stuff in here to be unloaded, and I want this serviced as soon as you can.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Tech Sergeant Oblensky said.

The two Majors and the Lieutenant with the cold eyes climbed into the jeep and it drove away.

Captain Galloway looked at Easterbrook, then asked conversationally (it was not, in other words, an order), “You doing anything important, Easterbunny, or can you lend us a hand unloading the airplane?”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

“You, too, Hart,” Galloway said.

Captain Galloway and the other VMF-229 pilot, the Second Lieutenant, started to unload the airplane. His name, the Easterbunny now remembered, was Pickering.

Chapter Two

[ONE]

Headquarters

First Marine Division

Guadalcanal

0655 Hours 12 October 1942

When the jeep driven by Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky drove up, Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift was about to climb into his own jeep.

Vandegrift, the commanding general of the First Marine Division, and as such the senior American on Guadalcanal, was a tall, distinguished-looking man just starting to develop jowls. He was wearing mussed and sweat-stained utilities, boondockers, a steel helmet, and had a web belt with a holstered.45 1911A1 Colt pistol around his waist.

The three officers in the jeep stepped out quickly, and one by one rendered a salute. Vandegrift, who had placed his hand on the windshield of his jeep and was about to lift himself up, paused a moment until they were through saluting, then returned it. Then, almost visibly making up his mind not to get in his jeep and to delay whatever he intended to do, he walked toward them.

“Oblensky,” General Vandegrift ordered conversationally, “get a helmet. Wear it.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Technical Sergeant Oblensky replied.

“Hello, Dillon.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Your operation go OK?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can I interpret that to mean we can count on that team of Coast-watchers?”

“Yes, Sir. They’re operational, with a new radio and a spare.”

“And the men that were there?”

“Exhaustion and malnutrition, Sir. But they’ll be all right.”

“Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

“Yes, Sir. And Major Banning hoped you would have time for him.”

Vandegrift looked closely and curiously at Major Edward J. Banning, concluding that there was something familiar about the stocky, erect officer, and that also suggested he was a professional. He offered his hand.

“I have the feeling we’ve met, Major. Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir. When you were in Shanghai before the war.”

“Right,” Vandegrift said, remembering: “You were the intelligence officer of the Fourth Marines, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What can I do for you, Major?”

“Sir, I’m here at the direction of General Pickering. Is there someplace… ?”

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