“They take care of you all right? Your quarters are satisfactory?”
“Sir,” Dillon said carefully, “I’m in the Willard.”
General Stewart remembered now that Metro-Magnum Studios, Major Dillon’s pre-war employers, maintained two suites in the Willard for the use of its executives and stars. He also remembered hearing that as a gesture of their support for The Boys In Uniform, Metro-Magnum had kept Dillon on their payroll. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but it was a little unsettling to have a major on your staff who took home more money than the Commandant of The Marine Corps. And who didn’t live in a BOQ because there was a suite in the Willard Hotel available to him.
“Oh, yes,” General Stewart said. “I wish I’d remembered that. It would have saved me the trouble of having the red carpet, so to speak, rolled out for you at the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters.”
He smiled at Dillon. “Would you like some coffee, Dillon?”
“Yes, Sir, thank you very much.”
“And then I’d like to hear about Corporal Easterbrook.”
“I’d planned to talk to you about him, General.”
“Oh, really?”
“God only knows where his service records are, Sir. They’re lost somewhere. He can’t get paid.”
“Where is he, Dillon?” If the corporal needed money, General Stewart reasoned, he was no longer on Guadalcanal.
“On the West Coast, Sir.”
“San Diego?”
“Actually, Sir, he’s at my place, outside Los Angeles. I didn’t want to leave him at ‘Diego without any money and records.”
“How did he get to the United States?”
“I brought him with me, Sir. He had taken some film… General, I’m not sure I should get into this.”
“I understand,” General Stewart said. “And I have been informed how valuable the corporal’s photography has been to some very important people. Specifically, there has been a letter to that effect from Secretary Knox.”
“Easterbrook is a good man, General,” Dillon said.
“That being so, Dillon, why is it that he’s only a corporal?”
Because he’s nineteen years old, still soaking wet behind the ears, and has been in The Corps about eight months.
Goddamn it. He’s also been on the ‘Canal since we landed. And doing the work of the others, the ones who were killed and wounded. He is no longer a kid.
“It was my intention, General, to recommend that he be promoted,” Dillon said. “He’s been doing the work of the two lieutenants I lost over there.”
“We can… what is it they say?… get his lost records reconstructed here. I’ll speak to the G-l myself.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“And while we’re doing that, Dillon, I don’t see why we can’t see that he is promoted. To sergeant, certainly. If you think it’s justified, to staff sergeant.”
Why the hell not? He’s been doing staff sergeant’s work, lieutenant’s work. And if you ‘re a major, Dillon, you ‘re in no position to say that anybody who’s gone through what the Easterbunny has doesn’t deserve a couple of more stripes.
“Easterbrook has certainly earned the right to be a staff sergeant, Sir.”
“I’ve got a very good sergeant here in the shop, Dillon. He’ll know how to arrange it.”
“Sir, I think that’s a very good idea. Thank you.”
“And now we get to you, Dillon, now that you’re back with us. But, I have to ask, are you back with us? Or will there be more… temporary duty?”
“I don’t think so, Sir. That was a special situation.”
“Well, then, let me bring you up to date on what has happened since you’ve been gone. For one thing, the war bond tour was a great success. I think it will be a continuing function. Not only do the tours sell war bonds, but they are good for civilian morale and for recruitment. I have heard some very interesting figures about how many people show up at Marine Recruiting Stations immediately after a war bond presentation.”
“I’m glad to hear that worked out, General,” Dillon said.
“We are already forming the second tour. This one will feature Marine aces, plus some other heroes, from Guadalcanal. Sergeant Machine Gun McCoy, for example. You’re familiar with him?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It’s just about firmed up-not for release, of course-that McCoy is going to be given the Medal of Honor.”