I only need two things more: I need $250,000 in gold. Actually, what I need is a cable transfer of that much money to the Bank of Australia, who will give me the gold. The sooner the better.
The second thing I need is for you to goose the Marine Corps personnel people. They still haven’t transferred Lt Col Stecker to me. Colonel Rickabee reports that he’s been getting a very cold shoulder about this, although no explanation has been given, and your normally incredibly able Captain Haughton hasn’t been able to get them off their upholstered chairs, either. I need Stecker for this. He’s an expert in guerrilla operations, and this is certainly more important than what the Corps wants him to do vis a vis setting up prophylactic facilities and amateur theatricals. McCoy going ashore alone would not be nearly as effective as the two of them going together.
I earnestly solicit your immediate action in this regard.
Best regards,
Fleming Pickering, Brigadier General, USMCR
=TOP SECRET=
[FIVE]
The Peabody Hotel
Memphis, Tennessee
1725 Hours 17 November 1942
“This is a first for me,” First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering said to First Lieutenant William C. Dunn, after the bellman who had led them to the small suite had left. “I have been in many, many hotels, and I have seen some strange things in their lobbies; but I have never before seen ducks.”
“It is an old southern custom. We call it ‘ducks in the lobby.’ ”
“With a ‘d,’ right?”
“Don’t be obscene, Mr. Pickering. And if you are reaching for the phone to order booze, forget it.”
“Why?”
“Because this is the South, Mr. Pickering. We do not corrupt our youth-such as yourself-by giving them whiskey.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am not kidding.”
“Well, as soon as I find out if my car has arrived, I will ask for a bellman. I’ll bet the bellman has an idea how we can circumvent that perverted Southern custom.”
“Why don’t we wait until we report in? We can buy booze on the base, I’m sure,” Dunn said.
“Why don’t we just go out there in the morning?”
“Because if we report in today, anytime before midnight, it is a day of duty, and we don’t lose a day of leave.”
“Why don’t we go out there in the morning and say we reported in last night and there was nobody there to properly receive us?” Pick asked.
“That would be a case of an officer knowingly uttering a statement he knows to be false.”
“So what?”
“Pick, you better understand, you’ve never been in a squadron under anybody but Charley Galloway. There are a number of squadron commanders who are real pricks….”
“And it will be our luck to get one, right?”
“Right. And I won’t be the exec, either. Just one more airplane jockey. So, until we find out how much of a prick our new squadron commander is going to be, be smart, keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open.”
“OK. Now can I ask if my car is here?”
“Yes, you may,” Dunn said grandly.
The car had been delivered; it would be at the front door in five minutes.
“I have just had another unpleasant, if realistic, thought,” Dunn said. “Our new skipper maybe won’t permit us to live here.”
“Fuck him,” Pick said. “Wave your Navy Cross in his face.”
“Pick, you weren’t listening. You’re going to have to change your whole attitude, or you’re going to get us both in trouble. Maybe you don’t give a damn, but I don’t want to get sent back to P’Cola to fly Yellow Perils.”
“I surrender. I am now on my good behavior. Note the glow of my halo.”
“Just make sure it keeps glowing,” Dunn said. “Let’s go.”
There was a staff sergeant on duty at the headquarters of Marine Air Group 59. He told them that the Major was out inspecting the flight line.
“What for?” Pick asked.
“Sir,” the sergeant replied, looking askance at the question from the young, new pilot, obviously fresh from P’Cola, “the SOP says the Officer of the Day will inspect the flight line every two hours during off-duty hours, Sir.”