W E B Griffin – Corp 06 – Close Combat

“I was told to get you issued a clothing issue,” the staff sergeant replied. “I done that. You been issued. I guess you wait to see what happens next.”

At that moment, a corporal, who was just as impeccably turned out as the staff sergeant, pushed open the door and marched down the highly polished linoleum toward them.

“I’m looking for a Sergeant Hart and a Corporal Eastersomething,” he announced.

“You found them,” the staff sergeant announced. “Ain’t you the Colonel’s driver?”

“Yeah. You want to come with me, you two?”

“Where are we going?” Sergeant Hart asked.

The corporal ignored the question, but did hold the door open for them as they staggered through it under the weight of their seabags. Corporal Easterbrook was carrying additionally a Thompson.45 ACP caliber submachine gun, an Eyemo 16mm motion picture camera, and a Leica 35mm still camera, plus a canvas musette bag.

Parked at the curb was a glistening 1941 Plymouth sedan, painted Marine green-including its chromium-plated bumpers, grille, and other shiny parts. The corporal opened the trunk and the seabags were dropped inside.

“You taking the Thompson with you?” the corporal asked.

“Yes, I am,” Easterbrook replied.

“You’re not supposed to take weapons off the base,” the corporal said. “But I guess this is different.”

” ‘Off the base’?” Sergeant Hart asked. “Where are we going?”

The corporal did not reply until they were in the car. Once they were inside, he consulted a clipboard that was attached to the dashboard.

“Some place in the hills,” he said. “Muku Muku. They gave me a map.”

“What the hell is Muku Muku?” Sergeant Hart asked.

“Beats the shit out of me, Sergeant. It’s where I was told to take you.”

“There it is,” the corporal said. “There’s a sign.”

Sergeant Hart looked where he pointed. A bronze sign reading “Muku Muku” was set into one of the brick pillars supporting a steel gate.

The corporal drove the Plymouth five or six hundred yards down a narrow macadam road lined with exotic vegetation. The road suddenly widened and became a paved area in front of a large, sprawling house.

That’s a mansion, Sergeant George Hart thought, not a house. Must be Pickering’s. There’s no other logical explanation.

“What the hell is this?” Easterbrook asked.

“It must be our transient barracks,” Hart replied.

Fleming Pickering opened the passenger door and put out his hand.

“Welcome home, George,” he said.

“Thank you, Sir,” Hart said. “I didn’t expect to see you here, General.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Pickering replied. “Get yourself cleaned up, have a drink, and I’ll explain it all to you.” He leaned over the front seat and offered his hand to Easterbrook.

“I’m General Pickering,” he said. “You’re Easterbrook, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Those pictures you took, and the motion picture film you shot, were just what I needed. Come on in the house, and I’ll try to show you my gratitude.”

When Fleming Pickering knocked on the door, Sergeant Hart and Corporal Easterbrook were sitting in a large room furnished with two double beds. They were showered and shaved and wearing new skivvies. A moment later Pickering walked in, a freshly pressed uniform over his arm.

“This is Easterbrook’s,” he said, handing it to him. “Yours will be along in minute, George.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You don’t have a drink?” Pickering said. “I thought the refrigerator would need restocking by now.”

He slid open a closet door. Behind it was a small refrigerator, full of beer and soft drinks.

“And there’s whiskey in that cabinet,” he said, pointing. “If you’d rather.”

“I’ll have a beer, please, Sir,” Hart said, and walked to him.

Pickering opened a beer, then walked to Easterbrook and handed it to him.

“Son, why don’t you put on a shirt and trousers, that’s all you’ll need, and then go down and sit with McCoy on the patio. I need a word with Sergeant Hart.”

“Yes, Sir,” Easterbrook replied, and hastily put on a khaki shirt and pants. Pickering made himself a drink of scotch, and waited until Easterbrook was gone before he spoke.

“You were just paid a pretty good compliment, George,” Pickering said. “McCoy said of you, quote, ‘He’s a good Marine, General.’ “

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