It was Lieutenant Krinski’s judgment that Marine staff sergeants should know better than to beat up gunnery sergeants; assault Shore Patrolmen with their own nightsticks; throw bouncers down stairs; kick civilian policemen in the mouth; and accuse commissioned officers of unspeakable perversions-especially while they were engaged in the execution of their office.
Having completed his unofficial review of the case, Lieutenant Krinski shifted into his official function. He called in his yeoman and told him to prepare the necessary documents to bring the staff sergeant before a General Court-Martial.
“Charge this bastard with everything,” Lieutenant Krinski ordered. “And do it right. I don’t want him walking because we didn’t cross all the ‘t’s or dot all the `i’s.”
An hour later, Lieutenant Krinski’s yeoman told him that he had a call from some Marine captain in Public Affairs.
“What does he want?”
“He didn’t say, Sir.”
“Lieutenant Krinski,” he growled into the telephone.
“I’m Captain Jellner, Lieutenant, from Marine Corps San Diego Public Affairs.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“This is the Brig, Captain.”
“I know. I’ve looked everyplace else. I’m clutching at straws, so to speak.”
“You have a name?”
“McCoy, Thomas J., Staff Sergeant.”
“I’ve got him, and I’m going to keep him.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s going up for a General Court-Martial, Captain. I hope they put him away for twenty years.”
“McCoy, Thomas J., Staff Sergeant?” Captain Jellner asked incredulously.
“That’s right.”
“Good God!”
“You know this guy?”
“Yes, I do. And he’s on his way to Washington, Lieutenant. To receive the Medal of Honor.”
“He was. Now he’s on his way to Portsmouth.”
“Did you hear what I just said? About the Medal of Honor?”
“Yes I did, Captain. Did you?”
“I strongly suspect that someone senior to myself will be in touch with you shortly, Lieutenant. In the meantime, I would suggest that you-”
“This sonofabitch is going to get a General Court-Martial. I don’t give a good goddamn who calls me,” Lieutenant Krinski said, and hung up.
Chapter Seven
[ONE]
Noumea, New Caledonia
1115 Hours 18 October 1942
The Admiral’s Barge is the boat that transports naval flag officers from shore to ship, from ship to shore, or between men-of-war. The traditions connected with it-its near-sacred rituals-predate aircraft by centuries.
Originally, flag officers were thought to possess a close-to-regal dignity (“Admiral” comes from the Spanish phrase “Prince of the Sea”). Such dignity required that they be able to descend from the deck of a man-of-war to an absolutely immaculate boat manned by impeccably uniformed sailors.
Today, an Admiral was arriving at Noumea by aircraft. Unhappily, it was going to be impossible to provide this Admiral anything like a dignified exit from his aircraft via Admiral’s Barge. For one thing, there was no real Admiral’s Barge available, only a fairly ordinary whaleboat. For another, the weather was turning bad, the bay was choppy, and the huge four-engined PB2-Y was rocking nervously in the waves.
But tradition dies hard in the U.S. Navy, and this was a three-star Vice Admiral arriving on an inspection tour. And so an effort had to be made. Before boarding the whaleboat at the wharf, the two greeting officers had changed from tieless open khaki shirts and trousers into white uniforms. And the crew had been ordered to change from blue work uniforms into their whites. And then when the only three-star Vice Admiral’s flag available was found to be too large for the flag staff on the whaleboat, a suitably taller staff had to be jury-rigged.
It could only be hoped that the Admiral would understand their problems and not let the absence of the honors he was entitled to color his judgment of their entire operation.
The door in the fuselage swung out, and a muscular young lieutenant commander in khakis stepped into the opening. The coxswain carefully edged the whaleboat closer to the door; it wouldn’t take much to ram a hole in the aluminum skin of the PB2-Y.
The Lieutenant Commander jumped into the whaleboat. And as he landed, he lost his footing; but, with the help of two boat crewmen, he quickly regained it.
A pair of leather briefcases, four larger pieces of luggage, and a long, cylindrical, leather chart case were tossed aboard the whaleboat by a hatless gray-haired man who was also wearing khakis. Then he, too, jumped aboard. He did not lose his footing.