"Sure," Colonel Goettge said. "Why not? Good morning, Sergeant. Take your seat."
"Yes, Sir."
Colonel Goettge, Moore thought, has good reason to be in a good mood. He came here expecting damned little, and he was going to get far more than he could have hoped for.
Before the evening was over, in addition to the Australians of the Coastwatcher Establishment who were going to be attached to the 1st Marine Division, Colonel Goettge had been offered:
-Intelligence briefings on the Solomon Islands by both the SHSWPA Intelligence Section and the Royal Australian Navy;
-the latest aerial photographs available, Australian and American;
-the latest maps, and in quantities sufficient to equip the Division. The number of maps required had really surprised Moore;
-permission to send a liaison officer to SHSWPA to ensure that any new intelligence developed would quickly get to the division.
Captain Pickering had been even more obliging about that. When Colonel Goettge admitted that he didn't have an officer of high enough rank to send to Melbourne, Pickering had volunteered to send a radio message to the Secretary of the Navy asking that an officer of suitable rank and experience be flown immediately from the United States.
Captain Pickering walked into the dining room.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said, as everyone stood up. He walked to the head of the table and sat down. He looked at Moore.
"You look a little beat this morning, Sergeant," he said. "The scuttlebutt is that you were out until the wee hours carousing. Anything to that?"
"No, Sir."
"But you would characterize how you spent last night as interesting?"
"Fascinating, Sir."
Major Dillon snorted. Colonel Goettge smiled tolerantly.
"Well, I hope you can see well enough to drive these gentlemen around town today. They have several errands to run. They'll tell you what they are."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"But check in every hour or so with Lieutenant Hon, Moore," Pickering said. "I think he may have something he wants you to do."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"We keep Sergeant Moore pretty busy around here," Pickering said, a smile around his eyes, "with one thing or another."
"Well, whatever you have him doing," Major Dillon said, "it's still a soft berth compared to living in a tent in the mud at Wellington. I just told him, 'don't fuck up, Kid, you've got it made.'"
"You really think so, Jake?" Pickering asked, innocently.
Chapter Eleven
(One)
ROYAL AUSTRALIAN NAVY BASE
PORT PHILIP BAY
MELBOURNE, VICTORIA
0945 HOURS 2 JULY 1942
Yeoman Daphne Farnsworth, Royal Australian Navy Women's Volunteer Reserve, walked up to Sergeant John Marston Moore, USMCR. Sergeant Moore was then leaning on the front fender of the Studebaker Commander outside a frame building on a wharf on Port Philip Bay.
Moore recognized her immediately. Last night she was sitting in the dining room directly across from the duct in the butler's cubicle. She had lost her husband in action in Africa, he remembered, and was now a Marine's girlfriend... or, in Commander Feldt's words, he was "comforting her in her grief." He also remembered all too clearly what else Commander Feldt said with such bitter cynicism about the Marine, a Sergeant named Koffler now on some Japanese island: His chances of returning alive ranged from "slim to sodding zero."
"Comforting her in her grief could have meant something sordid. But looking at her the night before, Moore decided she was a nice girl, and that whatever was going on between her and Sergeant Koffler was not cheap.
Looking at her now-just as he realized she had never seen him-the same thing occurred to him again. She was a nice girl, with warm, intelligent eyes. And damned good-looking.
"I should be very surprised," she greeted him with a smile, "if you are not Sergeant Moore."
She has a very nice voice.
"Guilty."
"Come with me, Lieutenant Donnelly wants to see you."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.
She looked at him strangely, and then smiled.
Moore followed her into the building. Lieutenant Donnelly, a tall, sharp-featured, skinny officer with a very pale complexion, and black, unruly hair, had an office on the second floor. Moore recognized Donnelly as the other Australian Navy officer who had been at dinner.
I remember you from last night, but how the hell do you know who I am? And what's this all about, anyway?
"I'm Sergeant Moore, Sir."
"That'll be all, Love," Donnelly said to Yeoman Farnsworth. "Close the door, please."
When the door had closed behind her, Lieutenant Donnelly said, without smiling, "Put your eyes back in their sockets, Sergeant. She already has a Yank Marine sergeant."
Moore looked at him in shock.
"Listen carefully," Lieutenant Donnelly said. "The airfield at Lunga Point is being built by the 11th and 23rd Pioneers, IJN. Estimated strength 450. They are equipped with bulldozers, rock crushers, trucks, and other engineer equipment."
Moore was completely baffled. It showed on his face as he looked at Lieutenant Donnelly.
"What did I just say?" Lieutenant Donnelly asked.
"Something about Pioneers," Moore said lamely, embarrassed.