Vandergrift's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Then I suppose we can presume Major Dillon is cleared for TOP SECRET," Vandergrift said, "which is how this meeting is classified, and that he has a Need to Know."
"Yes, Sir," General Harris said.
He suspected, correctly, that the only reason General Vandergrift had not asked Major Dillon, more or less politely, to get his ass out of the room was that Vandergrift paid more than lip service to the military adage that an officer should not be reprimanded or, especially, humiliated, in front of his juniors. Vandergrift was not going to ask his Deputy, before the General and Special Staff officers of the Division, "just what the hell did you do that for?"
He probably won't even ask me later, privately. He knows that I know he's displeased. He ordered me to keep Dillon away from him. I wonder if I should tell him about Dillon's orders, which require us to let him stick his goddamned nose in wherever he pleases?
"As I was saying," Vandergrift resumed, "I have just returned from meeting with Admiral Ghormley, COMSO-PAC, at his headquarters in Auckland. Admiral McCain, who is COMAIRSOPAC, was also there." (Commander, Air, South Pacific.)
The room was now absolutely quiet.
"Admiral Ghormley has ordered me to prepare the division, less the 7th Marines, which, as most of you know, is on Samoa, for combat in the Solomon Islands on 1 August. For those of you who don't already know, the 1st Marines and our artillery-the 11th Marines-are presently at sea and due to arrive here by the tenth of July. We will be augmented by the 2nd Marines, which will ship out of 'Diego on one July; by the 1st Raider Battalion, now en route; and by 3rd Defense Battalion, which is in Hawaii. When they will ship out of Hawaii isn't known; shipping is in critically short supply. We will probably also have the 1st Parachute Battalion. Because there are no transport aircraft for them, they will function as regular infantry."
There were muted sounds of surprise, audible exhaling and shaking heads. The people in the room were professionals. They knew the division's state of preparedness and its logistical problems. All that added up to the almost unarguable fact that the Division was simply not ready to enter combat in less than two months.
"Son," General Vandergrift addressed the junior Marine present, "would you put map one up on the screen, please?"
The overhead lights went out, and a white beam of light erupted from the slide projector against the bedsheet on the wall, and then a black-and-white map appeared.
"This, obviously, is Guadalcanal," General Vandergrift said, standing in front of the map and pointing to the island that always reminded Lucky Lew Harris of a tape worm. He had been infested with tape worms several times during his Marine service in Latin America. They had left an indelible, unpleasant memory with him.
"While our intelligence, putting it kindly, ranges from lousy to nonexistent," General Vandergrift went on, "we have reason to believe the Japanese are building an airfield here, on the Northern side of the island, near Lunga point."
He paused, and then said, "The comment vis-…-vis our intelligence was not intended as a criticism of Colonel Goettge. I meant to say that there is very little intelligence available to anybody over here, including Admiral Ghormley and General MacArthur."
"Not that MacArthur would give it to the Marines if he had it," someone muttered.
Vandergrift's face tightened.
"I will not ask who made that remark," he said, icily furious. "But I will observe that anyone who makes a similar remark in the future does so at his own, considerable peril."
It had recently become rumored throughout the Marine Corps-and Lucky Lew Harris had taken the trouble to check it out and verify it-that MacArthur had not recommended the 4th Marines, who had fought on Bataan and Corregidor, for the Presidential Unit Citation. The citations had been passed out to almost every other unit in the area. MacArthur was reported to have explained his action, or lack of it, by saying, "The Marines have enough decorations as it is."
The crack, Harris thought, is understandable. And probably true.
When Harris met General Vandergrift at the airport after his return from meeting Admiral Ghormley, Vandergrift told him that MacArthur was opposed to the Solomon Islands operation for two reasons, tactical and personal; he didn't think it was the way to fight the war, and he wasn't to be in command of it.
Under those circumstances, MacArthur would be reluctant to give the Marines the time of day. And the General knows that. But he certainly had to say what he said. If that had been me, I would have called Motor Mouth to attention and really eaten his ass out.
"Now, across this body of water, about twenty-three miles from the airfield we believe they are building near Lunga point," Vandergrift went on, pointing again, "we find these tiny islands off Florida Island, Tulagi and Gavutu. We know the Japanese have built a seaplane base on Tulagi, and they have some other installations in the area. The seaplanes could raise hell with our landing craft, so we have to take Tulagi and Gavutu first, by which I mean several hours before we land on Guadalcanal itself, in the Lunga point area.
"A few more points about my general thinking. I think we should divide the division into two regimental combat teams-there would be about 4500 men in each-for the main landing on Guadalcanal. We will use the Raiders and the Paratroops, probably reinforced by one of the battalions of the 5th Marines, for the Tulagi-Gavutu landings, and the RCTs for the landing on Guadalcanal itself.
"What I'm going to do now is turn this over to General Harris and the G-3, and for the next hour-and no more than that-I want you to discuss the major problems as you see them. And then I want you to get to work. As I said before, we have a lot to do, and damned little time to do it in."
He turned from the lectern. Someone called, "Atten-hut!" and everyone came to attention. Vandergrift marched out of the room. General Harris walked to the lectern.
"Take your seats," he ordered. "Try turning the lights on to see if we can still see the map."
(Three)
THE PRINCE OF WALES HOTEL
MELBOURNE, VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA
0930 HOURS 29 JUNE 1942
Major Edward Banning had called Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR, at half past six, and somewhat brusquely ordered him to have a quick breakfast, settle his hotel bill, and be waiting for him in the lobby with his gear when he came to pick him up.
"Aye, aye, Sir."
Banning had hung up without a further word.
By 0715 Sergeant Moore had complied with his orders, by dressing hurriedly, gulping down a breakfast identified on the menu as "scrambled eggs with bangers," and paying for his hotel room with a twenty-dollar bill. The cashier looked with great suspicion at that, but he reluctantly accepted it.
When Major Banning did not show up by 0800, Moore checked with the desk to make sure there had been no calls or messages for him. He did so again at 0830, again at 0900, and was about to check again when he saw the Marine officer walking quickly across the sidewalk to the revolving glass door of the hotel. There was little doubt in his mind that it was his new commanding officer, so he stood up, almost in the formal position of Attention.
Each man examined the other carefully. Moore would have been flattered to know that Banning was pleased with what he saw, a tall, good-looking, physically fit kid with intelligent eyes, who really didn't look as if he was fresh from boot camp at Parris Island.
And Moore saw a tall, stocky, tanned man who met his expectation of what a Marine field grade officer should look like. But as a recent graduate of Parris Island, where the only major he had ever seen was on the reviewing stand at a parade, this was not a comforting appreciation. He was more than a little in awe, something approaching fear, of Major Banning.
"Sergeant Moore?" Banning asked.
"Yes, Sir."
Banning offered his hand. There was a momentary test of grip-strength, which Banning, surprising neither of them, won. Banning was further pleased that when he looked intently into Moore's eyes, the kid didn't blink.
"You've had breakfast? Got your bill paid?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Grab your gear, then. I'm parked illegally."
He marched out of the hotel lobby. Moore grabbed his gear and scurried after him.
Banning led him to a Studebaker parked in a NO HALTING zone. Marine insignia were on the hood and doors. Banning held open the back door and gestured for Moore to put his gear in the back seat. When he had done so, Banning slammed the door, pointed to the front seat, and said, "Get in."
"Yes, Sir."
Banning got behind the wheel, punched the ignition button, and then looked at Moore.
"Sorry to be late, Sergeant. Captain Pickering had an appointment with General MacArthur at 8:30 and his car wouldn't start. So I had to drive him over there before I came for you."
"Yes, Sir."