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my mother pretends that I am not living in sin with Ken. But, romantic fool that I
am, I pretend that this is our first home, Ken s and mine, our barnacle-covered little
boat by the side of the bay.
Moore smiled at her.
 Tell him about the Raiders, McCoy said.
Burnes looked at him in surprise.
 He s going to meet a friend of mine where he s going, McCoy explained.  He ll
be curious.
 Then why don t you tell him about the Raiders? Ernie challenged.
 Because I am only a second lieutenant. Everybody knows that second lieutenants
can t find their ass with both hands. Isn t that so, Sergeant Moore?
 Yes, Sir. We were taught that at Parris Island, Moore said.
 I m almost glad you re not staying here longer, Ernie Sage said.  I think you
and Ken would be dangerous if you had time to get your act together.
 Give the sergeant a beer, Dear, McCoy said, sweetly,  while Lieutenant Burnes
tells him all about the Raiders.
 Aye, aye, Sir, Ernie Sage said.  Right away, Sir.
(Two)
U.S. NAVY BASE
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
0815 HOURS 25 JUNE 1942
Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, was the fifth person to board the seaplane,
a U.S. Navy Martin PBM-1. Boarding was supposed to be in order of priority, in
which case Moore would have been first. But among those ordered to proceed via
air to Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii, by government air transport were a Vice
Battleground / 107
Admiral of the U.S. Navy and a Brigadier General, USMC, whose priorities guar-
anteed them a seat.
Rank hath its privileges and the admiral and the general and their aides-de-camp
were boarded first. Moore stepped inside the fuselage of what had been designed
as a Patrol Bomber. A sailor in undress blues, with the insignia of an Aviation
Motor Machinist s Mate First Class sewn to his sleeve, showed him where to stow
his bag and where to strap himself in for the take-off. He found himself seated next
to the admiral.
 Good morning, Son, the admiral said.
 Good morning, Sir, Moore replied.
 First flight?
 No, Sir.
 Then you can reassure me, the admiral said.  I am not wholly convinced that
something this big is really meant to fly.
I will be damned. He really went out of his way to be nice to me.
The sailor, a red-haired man in his late twenties who was obviously the crew
chief, waited until all the passengers had come aboard and then passed out yellow,
inflatable life preservers, first giving simple instructions about using them, and
then checking the passengers to see that they had each put them on correctly.
Then he climbed a ladder in the front of the fuselage. A moment later, the airplane
shuddered as first one and then the second of its engines started. The plane imme-
diately began to move, but with a curious motion that made Moore wonder for a
moment if he was going to get seasick.
Next, one at a time, the engines roared and then slowed to idle. Then they both
revved together, and the seaplane began to pick up speed. The noise of the engines
was deafening, and the noise was compounded by a series of metallic crashes as
the hull encountered swells. Then suddenly there was only the sound of the engines,
and the crashing of the hull against the water was gone.
Through the window on the far side of the cabin, Moore saw that the float there
was one on each side which had kept the wing from dipping into the water was
retractable. As he watched, it moved upward and outward until it formed the tip
of the wing.
He turned in his seat and looked through the window behind him. They were
already out over the Pacific. Some ships were visible, and the wakes of small boats;
and then, suddenly, there was nothing outside the window but an impenetrable
gray haze.
 I am solemnly assured by my Naval Aviator friends, the admiral said,  that
the young men who drive these things are extensively trained in navigation.
They looked at each other and smiled.
Moore put his head back against the metal wall of the fuselage.
He had really had a good time the night before, he thought. And not only because
Ernie Sage and Lieutenant McCoy had gone really out of their way to make him
comfortable. More than that, they had made it sort of a party for him.
And what he d heard about the Marine Raiders had been fascinating. With obvi-
ous pride in what he was doing, Lieutenant Burnes had explained that they were
sort of American Commandos whose mission it was to make surprise land-
ings raids, hence the name on Japanese-held islands. The idea was not to capture
the islands, but to blow up enemy installations and supplies, and then leave. That,
Burnes said, would force the Japanese to station troops wherever they had supply
108 / W. E. B. Griffin
depots or airfields so they could protect them from the Raiders, troops that otherwise
could have been used to invade New Guinea or even Australia.
As he went on, Burnes had mentioned on more than one occasion the 2nd Raider
Battalion Commander, Major Evans Carlson, and Carlson s executive officer, Captain
James Roosevelt, who was the son of the President. Every time the names of these
two came up, his voice dropped to nearly reverential tones.
It was also pretty clear that Burnes was very impressed with the legendary Killer
McCoy, who had taken out three Italian Marines with a knife, and then killed the
Chinese bandits, and who had been wounded in the Philippines. So, Moore admit-
ted, was he.
Moore could also see that Lieutenant McCoy wasn t quite so boyishly enthusiastic
about the Raiders as Burnes was. McCoy never said so directly, and his face was
in no way easy to read; but Moore sensed that as far as McCoy was concerned, the
Raiders might as well be a gang of ten-year-old boys playing war games. At the
same time, it was more than pretty clear to Moore that Burnes had no idea McCoy
was involved with Intelligence. He wondered what McCoy was doing that had an
Intelligence connection, but obviously he couldn t ask.
In fact there was no sense wondering what kind of Intelligence work McCoy was
doing, or what he himself would be doing once he got to Australia. The only thing
he knew about Intelligence was what he had learned watching spy movies, and
McCoy was certainly not going to tell him what Intelligence was like in the real
world.
But it had really made him feel good to see how Lieutenant McCoy and Ernie
and Lieutenant Burnes and his wife had behaved to each other.
It would, he thought before he dozed off, be that way with Barbara when he
came back. He would be an officer then, and maybe they could all get together and
have a welcome home party.
(Three)
HEADQUARTERS
MARINE AIR GROUP TWENTY-ONE (MAG-21)
EWA, OAHU ISLAND, TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1105 HOURS 27 JUNE 1942
 The Colonel will see you now, Sir, the staff sergeant said.
Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, hoisted himself out of a battered, up- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]