W E B Griffin – Corp 06 – Close Combat

Lieutenant Colonel Stecker’s eyes widened noticeably. He was more than a little shocked.

The RAN lieutenant, looking mortified, raised his hand in the British-style, palm-out salute, and held that position.

Pickering returned the lieutenant’s salute. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dodds.” He then turned to Feldt. “And good afternoon to you, Commander Feldt. I’m so glad to see that you have found time in your busy schedule for this joyous occasion.”

“Well, I couldn’t have you going around saying that all Australians are a lot of sodding arseholes, now could I?” He turned his attention to Colonel Stecker. “You’re new.”

“Colonel Stecker, may I present Commander Feldt?” Pickering said formally, but smiling. “Commander Feldt commands the Coastwatcher Establishment.”

“Thank you,” Colonel Stecker said when Feldt offered his hand-so idly it was close to insulting.

“For what?” Feldt asked suspiciously. “It was the sodding least we could do for Koffler; he’s one of us.”

“I commanded Second Battalion, Fifth Marines, on Guadalcanal,” Stecker said. “We know what the Coastwatchers did for us. So thank you.”

Commander Feldt looked very embarrassed.

“What exactly is it that you’re doing for Sergeant Koffler, Eric?” Pickering asked. “Aside from gracing the wedding with your presence?”

“What the sodding hell does it look like? When the lad and his bride come out of the church, they will pass under an arch of swords. Ours and yours. Not actually swords: They’re going to use the machetes we got from the ordnance people. They’re damned near as big as swords. I sent the one who limps-”

“Lieutenant Moore?”

“Right. The one who limps. I sent him out behind the church to rehearse with your lads.”

“To rehearse what?”

“I don’t know how the sodding Marine Corps does it, Pickering,” Feldt said, “but in the Australian Navy, everyone raises his bloody sword at the same time, on command, not when they sodding well feel like it. When I asked the one who limps if he knew how to do it, and he said no, I sent him around in back to rehearse.”

“With the General’s permission,” Lieutenant Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker said formally, but not quite succeeding in concealing a smile, “I will go see how the rehearsal is proceeding.”

“Go ahead,” Pickering said. “We have five or ten minutes yet.”

Feldt waited until Stecker was out of earshot.

“He works for you?”

“No. He’s here to set up things for the First Marines when they come here to refit.”

“I thought he said he was a battalion commander?”

“Until a week or so ago, he was.”

“But he got himself relieved, huh? He looked pretty bloody competent to me. What did he do wrong?”

“He is pretty bloody competent,” Pickering said coldly. “Jack Stecker has our Medal of Honor, Eric. The equivalent of your Victoria Cross.”

“Then he really must have fucked up by the numbers-the way you bloody Yanks say it-to get himself relieved.”

“Eric,” Pickering flared furiously, “once again you’re letting your goddamned mouth run away with you, offering ignorant and unsolicited opinions about matters you don’t know a goddamned thing about.”

Feldt met his eyes and didn’t give an inch. “Good friend of yours, huh?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“To change the subject, I spoke with the bride’s father this morning.”

“I’m afraid to ask what you said.”

“I told him Daphne was in service, she worked for me, and I never knew a finer lass. And I told him that the lad she’s marrying is as good as they come, even if he’s an American, and that I thought he should be here.”

“And?”

“And he said that what they’ve done has shamed him and his wife before all of their friends, and as far as he’s concerned he no longer has a daughter.”

“God!”

“So I told him that now that I have proof of what a sodding arsehole he is, if he comes anywhere near Brisbane today-much less near the church-I will break his right leg and stick it up his arse.”

“Well said, Eric, well said,” Pickering answered.

A somewhat delicate-appearing young man in clerical vestments came out of the church and walked quickly to them.

“General Pickering,” he said, “the rector is ready for you now.”

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