“How soon is this going to happen?”
“I have no idea, Sir. But I think it is significant that General Hyakutaka is physically present.”
“And we are supposed to hold? Does anyone really think we can,
with what we have?”
“General Harmon does not, Sir. He has been pressing very hard to
get you reinforced in every way.”
Major General Millard Harmon, USA, was a member of Admiral Fletcher’s staff, his ground force expert.
Vandegrift was silent a moment.
“I will give you specifics for your report to General Pickering, Major, because I think he expects them. But what they add up to is that unless we get significant reinforcements, ground and air, we are going to reach the point where even extraordinary courage will be overwhelmed by fatigue and malnutrition.”
“The Army’s 164th Infantry has sailed, Sir, to reinforce you. They should be here shortly.”
“That I’d heard,” Vandegrift said. “But one regiment is not going to be enough.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Get yourself a cup of coffee. I want to organize my thinking for General Pickering on paper.” “Aye, aye, Sir.”
TWO]
The Presidential Apartment
The White House
Washington, D.C. [
0830 Hours 12 October 1942
“Frank,” the President of the United States began, but interrupted himself to fit a cigarette into a long silver-and-ivory holder and to wait until a black, white-jacketed Navy steward had produced a silver Ronson table lighter.
The Honorable Frank Knox, Secretary of the Navy, a dignified, modestly portly gentleman wearing pince-nez spectacles, raised his eyes to the President and waited, his jaws moving slowly as he masticated an unexpectedly stringy piece of ham.
They were taking breakfast alone, at a small table in a sitting room opening onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Roosevelt was wearing a silk dressing gown over a white shirt open at the collar. Knox was wearing a banker’s gray pin-striped suit.
“Frank,” the President resumed, “just between you, me, and the lamppost, would you say that Bill Donovan is paranoid?” William J. Donovan, a World War I hero, a law school classmate of Roosevelt’s, and a very successful Wall Street lawyer, had been recruited by Roosevelt to head the Office of Information. This later evolved into the Office of Strategic Services, and ultimately into the Central Intelligence Agency.
“I respectfully decline to answer, Mr. President,” Knox said, straight-faced, “on the grounds that any answer I might give to that question would certainly incriminate me.”
Roosevelt chuckled.
“He came to see me last night. First, I got the to-be-expected complaints about Edgar getting in his way.”
The reference was clearly to J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Hoover, who jealously guarded the prerogatives of the FBI, saw in Donovan’s intelligence-gathering mission a threat to his conviction that the FBI had primary responsibility for intelligence and counterintelligence operations in the Western Hemisphere.
“Far be it from me, Mr. President,” Knox said, alluding to that sore point, “to suggest to you that you may not have made the delineation of their respective responsibilities crystal clear.”
Roosevelt chuckled again, gestured to the steward that he would like more coffee, and then asked innocently, “Frank, have you never considered that two heads are better than one?”
“Even two granite heads?” Knox asked.
“Even two granite heads,” Roosevelt said. “And then, after a rather emotional summation of his position vis-a-vis Edgar, Bill dropped his oh-so-subtle venom in the direction of Douglas MacArthur.”
“Oh? What did MacArthur do to him?”
“The worst possible thing he could do to Bill,” Roosevelt replied. “He’s ignoring him.”
“I don’t quite follow you, Mr. President.”
“Bill sent a team to Australia. And there they are sitting, with very little to do. For it has been made perfectly clear to them that they are considered interlopers, and that MacArthur intends to ignore them. Donovan’s top man can’t even get an audience with the Supreme Commander.”
“I don’t see, Mr. President, where this has anything to do with me. MacArthur doesn’t work for me.”
“I sometimes wonder if Douglas understands that he works for me, either. I suspect he believes the next man up in his chain of command is God,” Roosevelt said. “But that isn’t the point. Donovan believes that MacArthur has been poisoned regarding both him personally, and the Office of Strategic Services generally-“