"You guys must live on the phone," his caller said. "I been calling for an hour."
"Well, it'll keep your index finger in shape," Galloway said. "Who's this?"
"Lieutenant Rhodes, at NATS Pearl. I got a couple of warm bodies for you."
"I don't suppose there's any way you could get them a ride over here?"
"No. Not today, anyway. That's why I called."
"What kind of warm bodies?"
"Two intrepid birdmen, fresh from the States. They went into Hickam Field, and the Air Corps sent them here."
"Instead of here. That figures."
"You going to come get them? Or should I put them in the transient BOQ?"
"I'll send somebody for them. Thanks very much."
"Anytime."
Galloway put the phone back in its cradle and talked out loud to himself: "I will not send somebody for them, because I don't have anybody to drive a vehicle to send for them... even if I had a vehicle, which I don't." He thought that over, and added, "Shit!"
He drained the Coke and dropped the bottle with a loud clang into the object he now knew-as a commanding officer charged with responsibility for government property-was not a wastebasket but a "Receptacle, Trash, Office, w/o Liner Federal Stock Number Six Billion Thirteen." Then he swung his feet back onto the floor, burped again, and stood up. He looked at the telephone, took the handset out of the cradle, and laid it on the desk.
He went to PFC Hastings's desk and left him a note. "1205 I went to pick up some replacements at NATS. CMG."
Then he went out of the Quonset hut, closed the padlock, and walked to his Ford. Regulations required that officers leaving installations be in the properly appointed uniform of the day. An exception was made only for officers who were actually engaged in preparing for flight duty, or who were returning from such duty; these men were permitted to wear uniforms appropriate for such duty. Captain Charles M. Galloway decided that he met the criteria for exception. He had been flying, and he was preparing to fly again.
He took his fore-and-aft cap from the knee pocket of his flight suit, put it on, and then slipped his arms into the leather flight jacket and zipped that up. Then he got behind the wheel of the Ford and drove off.
The Marine MP on duty outside the Navy Air Transport Service terminal eyed Galloway suspiciously as he pulled up in the yellow Ford.
"I've got two warm bodies inside," Galloway said when the MP walked up to the car. "Can I leave this here a minute?"
"No, Sir," the MP said. "That would be against regulations. But on the other hand, if I checked around inside, which would take me about two minutes, I wouldn't see it, would I?"
"Thanks," Charley said, and got out of the car.
He smiled when he saw the two warm bodies, the intrepid birdmen fresh from the States, sitting on wooden benches inside the terminal. He knew both of them.
And when they saw him, they both stood up. First Lieutenant James G. Ward, USMCR, smiled and waved. First Lieutenant David F. Schneider, USMC, just about came to attention.
If he outranked Jim Ward, Galloway thought, he would bark "attention" and announce that he was Lieutenant Schneider reporting for duty as ordered with a party of one."
"Welcome to sunny Hawaii," Galloway said, extending his hand. "How was the flight?"
"Long," Jim Ward said.
"Very nice, thank you, Sir," Lieutenant Schneider said.
Oh, that's the way he's decided to play this. He probably sat with his thumb up his ass for a long time, trying to figure the best way to behave when reporting to a squadron commanded by an ex-sergeant.
"I've got a car outside. You can flip a coin to see who gets to sit in the rumble seat. Need any help with your gear?"
"I can manage, thanks," Ward said.
"No, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Schneider said.
He led them outside.
"Great car!" Jim Ward said. "I always wanted one of these. Yours?"
"Yeah. I bought it when I was with VMF-211, tore it apart, and rebuilt it."
Captain Galloway suspected that Lieutenant Schneider was not nearly as enthusiastic about a nine-year-old yellow Ford roadster as Lieutenant Ward was. And he saw that Schneider was almost visibly relieved when Ward settled himself in the rumble seat with their luggage. Riding in the rumble seat of a nine-year-old yellow Ford roadster was not the sort of thing that Lieutenant Schneider felt was appropriate for a Marine officer, especially one who had entered the service from Annapolis.
Galloway got behind the wheel.
"Following the sacred military custom of 'do as I say, not what I do,' " he said, "be advised that wearing flight suits off the flight line is a no-no. A couple of the guys have got themselves written up by the MPs and Shore Patrol."
"What happens then?" Ward asked.
"I reply by endorsement that the offenders have been hung, then drawn and quartered. It's a pain in the ass. We have only one kid for a clerk, and he's not all that good with a typewriter. So don't get caught."
"Got you," Jim Ward said. He leaned forward from the rumble seat and thrust an envelope, a thick one, firmly sealed with scotch tape, at Galloway.
"What's this?"
"A little note from Aunt Caroline," Jim Ward said.
"You hang onto it," Galloway said. "I'm greasy and so is the flight suit. I was about to take a shower when they called and said you were here."
"We could have waited," Schneider said.
"I figured to hell with it," Galloway said. "I'm going to fly again this afternoon anyway."
"We have planes?" Ward asked eagerly.
"Wildcats," Galloway said. "New Wildcats. And if you talk nicely to Sergeant Oblensky, he will have your name painted on it, and you can send a picture home to Mommy."
"Who is Sergeant Oblensky?" Ward asked.
"The maintenance sergeant. Best one in the Air Group. At the moment, he's also the first sergeant, the mess sergeant, the supply sergeant, and the motor sergeant."
"How is that, Sir?" Schneider asked.