Jesus Christ, what's this?
"I wasn't aware he was contemplating marriage." Colonel Dawkins said.
"He is," the admiral said, sawing at his roast beef. "He is now experiencing the ecstasy of what he really believes is true love. True love at first sight, to put a point on it."
"I'll be damned;" Dawkins said.
Not Mary Agnes, for Christ's sake!
"The young lady in question is a Navy Nurse," the admiral said. "Lieutenant (junior grade) Mary Alice O'Malley."
Holy Christ!
"Mary Agnes, Sir," Lieutenant Greyson corrected him.
"Mary Agnes, then," the admiral said, a trifle petulantly. "David came to me last night and told me that he intended to apply for permission to marry. He tells me that he has stolen the affections of this young woman away from your executive officer, Captain Galloway; and for that reason, and others, he fears that his application will be delayed by you. He therefore sought my good offices to overcome your objections." He looked at Galloway. "Was he correct? Would you have, by fair means or foul, put obstacles in his path?"
"Yes, Sir, I would have."
"Good. Then we are all on the same wavelength," the admiral said. "What we have to do now is come up with a plan that will both keep him from making a fool of himself and keep both of us out of the line of fire. Just between us, gentlemen, I don't intend to spend the rest of my life explaining to my sister why I stood idly by and watched her precious Davey-boy marry a peroxide blonde floozie who is seven years older than he is, and who has been satisfying the sexual desires of every other junior officer in Pearl Harbor." The admiral paused and looked at Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR. "Including some squadron commanders who should have known better, even when they were in enlisted status."
Chapter Fourteen
(One)
MARINE CORPS LIAISON OFFICE
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY
27 JULY 1942
When his sergeant major loudly bellowed, "telephone for you, Major, Sir," Major George F. Dailey, USMC, a curly haired, slightly plump man six months shy of his thirtieth birthday, was sitting at his desk in shirt-sleeves in surrender to the heat.
Sergeant Major Martin was more than a little deaf. He was an Old Breed Marine recalled from the Fleet Reserve. He originally retired, after twenty-five years of service, the year before Dailey was commissioned.
"Thank you, Sergeant Major," Dailey said, and picked up the telephone.
"Major Dailey speaking."
"Major George Frederick Dailey?"
"Yes."
"What was your mother's maiden name?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I asked what was your mother's maiden name?"
"Who is this, please?"
"My name is Rickabee. I'm a lieutenant colonel on the headquarters staff."
He means, Daily realized, genuinely surprised, Headquarters, United States Marine Corps staff. The Director, Central North East Region, Officer Procurement- Dailey-had never before heard directly from Headquarters, USMC.
"Cavendish, Sir," Dailey said.
"OK," his caller said. "I want you to catch a train as soon as you can, Major, and come down here. We're in Temporary Building T-2032 on the Mall. Take a cab from the station. Write that down. T-2032. My name is Rickabee." Rickabee obligingly spelled his name.
"Sir, would... day after tomorrow be all right?"
"I'm talking about this afternoon."
"Sir, that would be difficult. I have a..."
"Get your ass on a train and get down here this afternoon, Major," Colonel Rickabee said, and then hung up.
Dailey held the telephone in his hand for a moment before replacing it in the cradle. Then, for another minute, he looked out his window at the Princeton campus. Then he called for Sergeant Major Martin. He had to call three times before the old Marine appeared at his door.
"They want me to come to Washington," he said. "You'll have to reschedule whatever's on the schedule for this afternoon."
Major Dailey was himself a Princetonian, and he supposed that had more than a little bit to do with his first assignment in wartime. He understood the importance of officer procurement, of course, and why it made a good deal of sense to have a professional, such as himself, deciding which eager young man had the stuff required of a Marine officer and which did not. All the same, he would have much preferred to be in the Pacific as a fighter pilot, but that was out of the question.
At one time Major Dailey was a fighter pilot. He had gone from Princeton to Quantico, after which he'd done two years duty with troops. And then, just after he had been promoted to first lieutenant, he was sent to flight school at Pensacola. He flew for not quite four years, and loved every moment of it. But then he was called in after his annual flight physical and told that he had a heart murmur, and he had better give serious thought to what he wanted to do in the Corps now that he was no longer physically fit to fly.
He seriously considered resigning-he had no interest in the infantry or artillery, which seemed his other options. If he no longer could fly, what good to the Corps could he be? But a full bull colonel he had a lot of respect for told him the Corps needed unusually bright, well-educated officers in procurement, logistics, or intelligence even more than it needed yet one more aviator. So he decided to put off resigning for a couple of years to see what happened.
The Corps sent him back to college for six months for a crash course in the German language, and then sent him to the U.S. Embassy in Berlin as an Assistant Naval Attache. His promotion to captain came along when it was due, and he was not blind to the fact that a six-room apartment on Onkle Tomallee in Berlin-Zehlendorf was considerably more comfortable than a BOQ in Quantico.
He came home in 1940 and did an eighteen-month tour in Headquarters, USMC, essentially studying German tactics for review by G-3. And in November, 1941, he was promoted to Major (in the reserve; he was still only a Captain on the numerical list of regular Marine Corps Officers). When war came, he expected to be assigned some sort of duties which would take advantage of his European experience, but that didn't happen.
They sent him to Princeton to serve as President of the Officer Selection Board for the area, and to modify (that is to say, condense) the Platoon Leader's Training Program at the university. He was led to believe that the decisions he made about what could be cut from the pre-war program would set the pattern for other programs across the country.
He didn't like the prospect of sitting out the war in Princeton, but he was able to resign himself to it, particularly in the belief that his assignment probably would not last long. The projected growth of the Corps boggled the mind... they were now talking of hundreds of thousands of Marines- divisions of Marines. And certainly, they would need an officer of his rank and experience doing something besides selecting potential officers.
He expected to be reassigned, in other words. But the suddenness of the event, and the assignment itself, were startling.
At 1615 that afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel Rickabee ushered Major Dailey into the office of Brigadier General Horace W.T. Forrest, USMC, Assistant Chief of Staff for Intelligence. To Dailey's surprise, Rickabee was not only not in uniform, he had a large revolver "concealed" in the small of his back under his seersucker jacket.
Dailey noticed on General Forrest's desk both his Officer's Service Record and another file, marked SECRET, and DAILEY, GEORGE F.
He could not remember afterward what questions General Forrest put to him, and thus not his answers, but he remembered clearly how the interview ended:
"He'll do," General Forrest announced. "You brief him. I'm too busy, and I don't want him contaminated by those bastards in G-l."