"Nice!" he said, as he walked past Moore.
The black-haired girl was waiting on the deck with her hand held out.
"I'm Ernie Sage," she said. "As Zimmerman so discreetly put it, I'm Ken McCoy's 'lady.' Welcome aboard."
"How do you do?" Moore said, taking the offered hand. "I'm Sergeant Moore."
"Have you got a first name?"
"John."
"Would you like a beer, John? Or something stronger?"
"I'd love a beer. Thank you."
As he followed her down the deck to the cabin, Moore observed that she was just as good looking from that perspective.
She opened a refrigerator door and took out a bottle of beer.
"Mexican," she said. "Ken says it's much better than the kind they make in 'Diego. Would you like a glass?"
"The bottle's fine, thank you," he said.
"Where are you from?"
"Philadelphia," he said.
"Oh, I'm from Jersey. Bernardsville. I've spent some time in Philly. I used to go with a guy-nothing serious-who was at U.P."
"I went to the University of Pennsylvania," he said.
"And then you joined the Corps?"
He nodded.
"Ken's from Norristown," she said. "But he's only been back once since he joined the Corps."
"Oh," Moore said, aware that he was tongue-tied.
"I told Whatsisname, Zimmerman's driver, the one he won't let drive, to put your bag in a cabin-second door to the right when you go below-so if you'd like, when you finish your beer, you could have a shower."
"I need one," Moore said. "I've been traveling for forty-eight hours."
"And you've been on The Lark," she said with a smile. "Anyone who's been on The Lark needs a long, hot shower."
She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He had no idea who this young woman was, but he liked her.
Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, came back in the cabin just as Second Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, entered it from the deck.
Lieutenant McCoy, who was in dress green uniform, looked not unlike other second lieutenants Moore had seen. That is, he was young-about my age, Moore thought-and trim, and immaculately shaven and dressed. But there was one significant difference. Above the silver marksmanship medals which all second lieutenants seemed to have- although McCoy seemed to have more of these, all EXPERT -he had five colored ribbons, representing medals. Moore had seen very few second lieutenants with any ribbons at all.
Moore didn't know what all of them represented, but he did recognize two. One was the Pacific Theater of Operations Campaign Medal. McCoy's had a tiny bronze star, signifying that he had participated in a campaign. And on top was the ribbon representing the Purple Heart. This second lieutenant had already been to the war in the Pacific and had been wounded.
Miss Ernestine Page kissed Lieutenant McCoy. It was a wifely demonstration of affection, Moore judged, although it had been made clear that whatever her relationship was with Lieutenant McCoy, she was not his legal spouse.
"I'm Ken McCoy, Moore," he said. "I'm a friend of Captain Sessions. Ernie been taking good care of you?" He put out his hand. His grip was firm, and there was something about his eyes that made Moore decide that this was a good man.
"Yes, Sir, she has."
"Let me get a beer, Baby, and get out of this uniform," McCoy said. "Give Moore another one."
"Aye, aye, Sir. Right away, Sir."
McCoy patted her possessively on the buttocks.
"Be nice," he said.
"I'm always nice," Ernie Page said.
"How about eighty percent of the time?" McCoy said, and, carrying a bottle of beer, went below. By the time Moore had finished his second beer, McCoy reappeared, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He looked even younger than he had before.
He caught Moore's eye.
"Why don't I loan you a pair of shorts and a T-shirt?" he asked.
"I don't want to trouble you, Sir."
"You'll trouble me in your greens," McCoy said. "Come on."
He took two fresh bottles of beer from the refrigerator and led Moore below again. He sat on the double bed in the cabin as Moore changed out of his greens.
"Zimmerman tell you about Outshipment? The way those feather merchants handle difficult passengers like you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And that we figured out how to-fuck them-get you on your way to Australia?"
"Yes, Sir," Moore replied, and then took a chance. "Is that where I'm going, Sir, to Australia?"
"Sessions didn't tell you? What the hell is the big secret? He told me you were going to Australia when he called and asked me to make sure you got on the plane."
"No, Sir, he didn't tell me."
"OK. Well, keep your mouth shut, about where you're going, and who told you."
"Yes, sir."