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generation between wars so that fathers don't have to see their children torn up,"
"They're going to fly him out, to Espiritu Santo, Sir."
"If I ride down there with you, can I get a ride back up here?"
"Yes, Sir. No problem."
"Squadron commanders at Henderson have their own jeeps?" Stecker asked.
"I borrowed Colonel Dawkins' jeep, Sir. I didn't think he'd mind."
Stecker pushed open the canvas flap.
"Gunny, I've got to go down the hill for a while," he said.
"Major, I'm goddamned sorry," the gunny said and glowered at Galloway as if it were obviously his fault.
"Thank you, Gunny," Stecker said. "It is not for dissemination."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"Hello, Pick," Major Jack (NMI) Stecker said to Second Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering. "How are
you?"
Pickering was on a hospital cot next to the one where Second Lieutenant Richard J. Stecker lay. Tubing
ran from Pickering Is arm into Stecker's; a transfusion was taking place.
"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!" Pick said and sat up. There were tears in his eyes.
Stecker quickly pushed him back on the cot.
"Watch out for the tubes," he said. Then he dropped to his knees and put a firm hand on Pick's
shoulders.
"There was just too fucking many of them!" Pick said. "I just couldn't cover him!"
"I'm sure you did the best you could, Pick," Stecker said, and then he turned and looked at the adjacent
cot.
The suit, Flying, Cotton, Tropical Climates, had been cut from Second Lieutenant Richard J. Stecker's
body. He was clothed now in undershorts and vast quantities of bandage and adhesive tape. There were
splints on both legs. He was unconscious.
Major Jack Stecker laid a very gentle hand on his son's face and held it there for a long time.
Captain Charles M. Galloway felt like crying.
"Major, I'll go find Commander Persons," he said.
Stecker nodded.
Major Jake Dillon found Captain Galloway before Galloway found the medical officer.
"I thought you'd be here," Dillon said.
"What the hell do you want?"
Dillon handed him a message form:
FOLLOWING FOR MAJOR HOMER DILLON USMC X PLAN BAKER SUCCESSFULLY
EXECUTED AS OF 0530 06OCT42 X CONDITION TWO REPEAT TWO X EXECUTE PLAN
VICTOR X ADVISE ONLY DELAYS AND REASONS THEREFORE X FELDT
"Victor means go to Moresby, right?" Galloway asked.
Dillon nodded.
"What are you going to do for a copilot?" Dillon said.
"Sorry to hear about Major Finch."
"The way you were supposed to say that, Jake," Galloway said nastily, "was, `Sorry about Jack Finch,'
and then ask what I'm going to do about a copilot,"
"OK, I'm sorry. But what are you going to do about a copilot?"
"I'm going to take the other kid in there, the one giving blood to Stecker."
"What kid?"
"Pickering."
"He's not a qualified R4D pilot. What the hell are you talking about?"
"He's a pilot. And he's not a bad one. And besides, all he'll have to do is put the wheels and flaps up and
down and talk on the radio. I'll be flying."
"I don't understand, Charley. There must be another guy qualified in R4Ds somewhere on Henderson."
"If Pickering stays here, he's going to fly. And in the mental condition he's in, if he flies, he's going to get
killed. If he comes with me, he only might get killed."
"That doesn't make any sense. It has nothing to do with his father?"
"Don't try to tell me about flying or pilots, Jake, OK?" Galloway replied.
"Forget it Charley. How long will it take to get going?"
"I don't know, Jake. It will have to wait until he's finished giving his buddy blood, OK? This idiot idea of
yours will have to wait that long."
[Five]
CRYPTOGRAPHIC CENTER
SUPREME HEADQUARTERS, SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREA
BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA
0935 HOURS 6 OCTOBER 1942
Lieutenant Hon Song Do, Signal Corps, USA, had just about finished decryption of the Overnight
MAGICs when one of the two telephones in his cubicle rang. Of these, one was a Class A switchboard
line, and the other a secure Class X line that connected with only a few telephones -in SHSWPOA.
Brass hats too important to use the ordinary system had Class X phones-the Supreme Commander, the
Chief of Staff, the four Gs (Personnel, Intelligence, Plans & Training, and Supply) and a few of the
Special Staff officers, including the Provost Marshal.
"Lieutenant Hon, Sir," he said, hoping that it wasn't the Supreme Commander and that his annoyance at
being disturbed did not show in his voice.
"Major Banning, please," a voice Pluto did not recognize said.
"I'm sorry, Sir, Major Banning is not available."
"When will he be available?"
"I'm not sure, Sir."
"Where can I reach him?"
"May I ask who this is?"
"Colonel Gregory." The name did not ring a bell.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm not permitted to divulge Major Banning's location.
May I take a message?"
" My name is not familiar to you, Lieutenant?"
"No, Sir. I'm sorry, but it's not." The phone went dead in his ear.
"Well, fuck you, too, Colonel Whatsyourname," Pluto said and hung the telephone back on the wall.
Fifteen minutes later, a.45 automatic jammed in the small of his back, a locked leather briefcase
handcuffed to his wrist, Pluto made sure that everything was turned off. And then, feeling like Bulldog
Drummond, Master Detective, he rigged a thread between a pin stuck in the brick wall and one of the
chairs. If anyone entered the room, he would disturb the thread.
Banning's orders.
A little melodramatic, Pluto thought, but if Banning thought it was necessary...
He locked the door and went down the corridor to the guard post.
"Make sure you feed the dragon, Sergeant," he said to the senior guard as he signed himself out. "I
thought I heard his tummy rumbling."
The little joke fell flat. The sergeant gave a small, just perceptible jerk of his head down the corridor.
There was an officer down the way in the gloom.
One of the MP officers, Pluto decided, checking to see that the enlisted men are not cavorting with loose
women.
"Lieutenant Hon, I'm Colonel Gregory," the officer said. He was a small, natty man in pinks and greens.
A Lieutenant Colonel, not a full bird, wearing the insignia of the General Staff on his lapels.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Have you got a minute, Lieutenant?"
"Actually, Sir, no," Pluto said, holding up the briefcase.
Colonel Gregory held out a leather folder to Pluto. It held a badge and a photo identification card. It was
something like the ones Banning and Moore carried, identifying them as Special Agents of the Office of
Naval Intelligence. The credentials Gregory held out identified him as an Agent of the U.S. Army
Counterintelligence Corps.
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