He looked at Pickering curiously, even with annoyance; but Lieutenants do not casually ask officers wearing silver eagles on their caps what the hell they want. So he returned his attention to the Catalina overhead, holding his microphone to his mouth.
"Navy two oh seven, I repeat the airfield is not, repeat not, ready to accept aircraft at this time."
"It looks fine to me," a metallic voice replied. "I repeat, I am exceedingly reluctant to land this aircraft on the water."
"Oh, shit!" the Marine Lieutenant said, and then pressed the TRANSMIT button on his microphone. "Navy two oh seven, the winds are negligible, the altimeter is two niner niner niner. Be advised that the runway may be soft, may be obstructed, and has vehicular and personnel traffic all over it. That said, you are cleared as number one to land, to the north, at your own risk. I say again, at your own risk."
"Henderson," the metallic voice replied cheerfully, "Navy two oh seven, turning on final."
Pickering went to the window of the control tower and noticed that some glass panes were missing. This was not due to any kind of bombing or shelling of the field, however. There was a jar of putty on the floor. The Rikusentai had not completed installing the glass when the Americans arrived.
Once its gear unfolded from the boat-shaped fuselage, the Catalina banked', lined up with the runway, lowered its flaps, and dropped toward the ground. It touched down, bounced back into the air, and then touched down again and stayed down. When it completed its landing roll, stopped, and began to turn, there was shouting and applause; and any vehicles with horns blew them.
Henderson Field was now in operation, and the men who made it so were delighted with themselves, with Naval Aviation, and with the world in general.
In fact, everyone in sight seemed pleased-with the exception of the Marine Aviator who had been on the radio. He started down from the tower as the Catalina taxied toward it. Pickering followed him.
The pilot parked the Catalina and shut the engines down. A moment later, he emerged from a door in the fuselage, wearing a large grin.
He was a Lieutenant, one grade senior in rank to the Marine Aviator First Lieutenant who greeted him, "What's wrong with it? I want to get you out of here as soon as I can. Before the Japs start throwing artillery at us."
"Nothing's wrong with it, Lieutenant," the Naval Aviator said.
"You said you couldn't land it on water." "I said, I was 'exceedingly reluctant' to land it on water," the Navy pilot said. "My name is Sampson, Lieutenant William Sampson, USN, in case you might want to write that down in some kind of log. I believe this is the first aircraft to land here."
"You sonofabitch!" the Marine Aviator said.
If it was Lieutenant Sampson's notion to remind the Marine Lieutenant that it was a violation of Naval protocol to suggest to a senior Naval officer that his parents were unmarried, he abandoned it when he saw Pickering... when he saw specifically the silver eagle on Pickering's cap.
He saluted. "Good afternoon, Colonel."
Pickering returned the salute. He did not correct Lieutenant Sampson's mistake.
"Welcome to Guadalcanal," Pickering said. "Do you have business here? Or was your primary motive turning yourself into a footnote when the official history is written?"
"I'm Admiral McCain's aide, Sir. I have a bag of mail for General Vandergrift."
"I've got a Jeep," Pickering said. "I'll take you to him."
"That's very good of you, Sir."
A Jeep bounced up to them, and an officer in Marine utilities, wearing a Red Cross brassard on his arm got out from behind the wheel.
"Have you got any space on that airplane to take critically wounded men out of here?"
"I can take two, Sir," Sampson replied. "That's all."
"When are you leaving?"
"Just as soon as I can deliver something to General Vandergrift."
"I can have them aboard in ten minutes," the doctor said.
"My crew will help you, Sir," Sampson said, and then looked at Pickering, who gestured toward the derelict Japanese Ford truck and his Jeep.
(Three)
G-2 SECTION
HEADQUARTERS, 1ST MARINE DIVISION
NEAR LUNGA POINT, GUADALCANAL
1710 HOURS 12 AUGUST 1942
Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, did not hear Major General Alexander A. Vandergrift enter the map room of the G-2 section.
The title "map room" was somewhat grandiose: A piece of canvas (originally one of the sides of an eight-man squad tent) had been hung from a length of communications wire, dividing the G-2 Section "building" in two. The G-2 building was another eight-man squad tent, around which had been built a wall of sandbags. When there was time, it was planned to find some timbers somewhere and build a roof structure strong enough to support several layers of sandbags. At the moment, the roof was the tent canvas. Because of the sandbag walls, an artillery or mortar shell landing outside the tent would probably not do very much damage. But the canvas tenting would offer no protection if an artillery or mortar shell hit the roof.
Pickering was on his knees, working on the Situation Map. Specifically, he was writing symbols on the celluloid sheet that covered the Situation Map. This in turn was mounted to a sheet of plywood leaning against the sandbag walls. When there was time, it was planned to find some wood and make some sort of frame, so that the Situation Map would not have to sit on the ground.
In his hand, Pickering held a black grease pencil. He was marking friendly positions and units on the map. In his mouth, like a cigar, was a red grease pencil, which he used to mark enemy positions. A handkerchief, used to erase marks on the map, stuck out of the hip pocket of his utility trousers. He was not wearing his utility jacket. The Map Room of the G-2 Section was like a steam bath, and Captain Pickering had elected to work in his undershirt.
General Vandergrift walked to a spot just behind Pickering so that he could examine the map over Pickering's shoulders. Vandergrift's face, just starting to jowl, showed signs of fatigue. He stood there for more than a minute before his presence broke through Pickering's concentration. And then, startled, Pickering looked over his shoulder. A split second later, he realized who was standing behind him.
He rose quickly to his feet and came to attention.
"I beg your pardon, Sir."
Vandergrift made an "it doesn't matter" wave of his hand.
"Is that about it?" he asked, with another gesture at the map.
"Yes, Sir."
"Where's Colonel Goettge?" Vandergrift asked. "For that matter, where's the sergeant who normally keeps the Situation Map up to date?"
"Colonel Goettge is out with a patrol, Sir. I suppose I'm in charge."
"Say again?"
"Colonel Goettge is out with a patrol, Sir. He and the sergeant and some others."
Vandergrift's eyes tightened.
"I thought that's what you said," he said. "Tell me about it."