"You tell me, Banning," she flared, "how I could have stopped him from going."
"You could have hid him under your bed, if nothing else, until Colonel Dailey was gone."
She snorted contemptuously.
"Or in it," Banning added, nastily.
"How dare you talk to me like that?"
"For your general information, Mrs. Feller," Banning said evenly, turning to meet her eyes, "at my request, the Army Counterintelligence Corps has been providing security for this house since Captain Pickering rented it. He's a splendid fellow, but he's a little lax about classified document security. They kept it up after Captain Pickering left and turned the house over to you and Sergeant Moore. The CIC people go through the house every time it's left empty, to make sure there's nothing classified lying about. They're very thorough in their surveillance. They even write down which bedrooms are used by whom, and they've been furnishing me a daily report."
(Four)
HENDERSON FIELD GUADALCANAL,
SOLOMON ISLANDS
1045 HOURS 19 AUGUST 1942
A bag of official mail and six insulated metal boxes marked with red crosses and the legend, HUMAN BLOOD RUSH, were aboard the PBY-S Catalina from Espiritu Santo. There were also three passengers.
One of the passengers was wearing a steel helmet and a Red Cross brassard on the sleeve of his obviously brand-new USMC utilities.
The Navy Medical Corps, Lieutenant Colonel George F. Dailey thought approvingly, was just about as efficient in sending replacements for lost-in-action physicians as Marine Corps intelligence had been in getting him and Sergeant Moore to the scene of battle.
Sergeant Moore did not favorably impress Lieutenant Colonel Dailey. When he was told that he was going to be given the opportunity to serve the Corps and the nation doing something far more important than shuffling classified documents, Moore's behavior in Brisbane was really distressing, not at all that expected of a Marine sergeant. He didn't want to go. And while Dailey was not prepared to go so far as to suggest cowardice, he was convinced that if he hadn't sent the Army Military Policemen to "help him collect his gear" there was more than a slight chance that Moore would not have shown up at the airport. At least until after the plane to Espiritu Santo had left.
As the Catalina landed, Dailey saw that there were no other airplanes on the field, and wondered why. If the Catalina could land, why not fighters?
The pilot taxied up to the control tower and shut down the engines. A crewman opened the door and made a gesture for the passengers to get out.
"Welcome to Guadalcanal," he said. "Cactus Airlines hopes you have enjoyed your flight."
There were two Jeeps sitting by the control tower. A medical officer wearing a Red Cross brassard sat on the hood of one of them. Surprising Dailey, he had a.30 caliber carbine slung over his shoulder. A major leaned against the other Jeep. A 35-mm camera was hanging around his neck, and a Thompson.45 caliber submachine gun was cradled in his arm.
The major smiled and pushed himself erect.
"Well, I'll be damned, look who's here! I warned you not to screw up, Sergeant."
Moore saluted.
"Hello, Major Dillon," he said.
"Major," Dailey said. "My name is Dailey."
Dillon did not salute. He offered his hand, and announced, "Jake Dillon, Colonel."
The medical officer, and a Corpsman who appeared from inside the control tower building, went to the Catalina. The refrigerated blood containers were handed out and put into the medical Jeep. The doctor who had been on the plane from Espiritu Santo climbed out.
He shook hands with the doctor who had been waiting with the Jeep, then he stepped up to the front seat. The corps-man climbed over the rear and sat down precariously on one of the blood containers. The Jeep drove off. The pilot came out the door.
"Just the man I'm looking for," Dillon said, and took an insulated Human Blood container from the back of his Jeep. A failed attempt to cross off HUMAN BLOOD with what appeared to be grease pencil had been made.
When he looked closer, Dailey saw that the grease pencil had also been used to write, EXPOSED PHOTOGRAPHIC FILM. FOR PUBLIC RELATIONS SECTION, HQ USMC, WASHINGTON DC on several sides of the container. "Hello, Major," the pilot said.
"You don't have any film for me, by any chance, do you?" "There's four boxes for you at Espiritu, but I didn't have the weight left."
"Christ, I'm running low."
"I had the medic and those two to carry. They had the priority. Next time, I hope."
"If you can't bring all of it, bring at least one. Or open one. Bring what you can. I'm really running low. And film doesn't weigh that much."
"I'll do what I can, Jake."
"Thank you," Dillon said, and walked back to Dailey and Moore.
"I think I know where Sergeant Moore is going," Dillon said. "Is there any place I can carry you, Colonel?"
"I'm reporting for duty as Division G-2," Dailey said.
"I thought that might be it," Dillon said. "Hop in, I'll give you a ride."
"Thank you," Dailey said. "What's your function around here, Major?"
"I'm your friendly neighborhood Hollywood press agent," Dillon said, as he got behind the wheel.
"I'm afraid I don't understand?"
"I've got a crew of combat correspondents recording this operation for posterity," Dillon said.
"How is it you know Sergeant Moore?"
"I was in Melbourne-with Frank Goettge, the man you're replacing-a while back. At Fleming Pickering's place. Moore worked for him." He turned to look at Moore in the back seat. "You knew he was gone from here, didn't you?"
"I knew he was going, Sir," Moore said. "I didn't know he was gone."
"Well, don't worry, they'll find a lot for you to do here. You heard what happened to Colonel Goettge and the others?"
"No, Sir."
Dillon told them.
When they reached the G-2 Section, Dillon got out of the Jeep.
"Major Jack NMI Stecker is acting G-2," he said. "I'll introduce you. He'll be damned glad to see you."