"Well, he is," Sage insisted, and then thought of something else. "What do you have to do with him, Ken?"
"He's now my boss," Ken said.
"I still don't understand why you have to go to Philadelphia," Ernie said.
"I told you. Moore's getting commissioned. I'm going to swear him in, take care of the paperwork."
"I want to go," Ernie said.
McCoy considered that a moment.
"If he's in the hospital, I want to see him," Ernie went on.
"From Philadelphia, I'm going to Parris Island," McCoy said.
"For how long?"
"Couple of days. I'm driving."
"Any reason I can't go?"
"Yes, there is."
"Well, I can at least go to Philadelphia."
"All I'm going to do is swear him in, handle the paperwork, and then head for Parris Island."
"Today's Friday. Tomorrow's Saturday. We could have all day in Philadelphia, and then you could drive to Parris Island on Sunday," Ernie said reasonably.
He shrugged, giving in.
"Your mother will be disappointed," Ernest Sage said. "And where would you stay in Philadelphia?"
"I don't know. The Warwick, the Bellvue-Stratford..
"You're not married, you can't stay in a hotel together," Ernest Sage blurted.
"Talk to Ken about us not being married," Ernie said. "I'm not the one being difficult on that subject."
"Jesus, baby! We've been over that already!"
"What we're going to do, Daddy, is spend the night in Bernardsville and drive to Philadelphia in the morning. Why don't you call Mother and ask her to meet us somewhere for dinner?
The Brook, maybe, or Baltusrol?" There is absolutely nothing I can do but smile and agree, Ernest Sage decided. If I raise any further objections, she won't go to Bernardsville at all.
"Baltusrol," he said. "They do a very nice English grill on Friday nights."
He raised his hand, caught the headwaiter's attention, and put his balled fist to his ear, miming his need for a telephone.
As he waited for the telephone, he had a pleasant thought: What did he say? That Fleming Pickering is now his boss? Jesus, maybe they'll give him a desk job. But an unpleasant thought immediately replaced it: Bullshit! Flem Pickering was supposed to be working for the Secretary of the Navy, which any reasonable person would think meant shuffling paper in Washington, and the next thing we hear is that he got all shot up and earned the Silver Star, taking command of some goddamn destroyer when the captain was killed.
He looked at his daughter. She was feeding Ken McCoy a bacon-wrapped oyster. If he'd been an angel, her look couldn't have been more transfixed.
All I want for you, kitten, is your happiness.
"Elaine," he said a minute later to the telephone, "we're in Jack and Charley's, and what Ernie wants us to do is have supper at Baltusrol.
"Yes, I know you've made plans for the weekend, but something has come up.
"Elaine, for Christ's sake, just get in the goddamn car and go to Baltusrol. We'll see you there in an hour."
"You want an oyster, Daddy?" `Yes, thank you, kitten."
Chapter Six
[One]
HENDERSON FIELD
GUADALCANAL, SOLOMON ISLANDS
1545 HOURS 5 SEPTEMBER 1942
Both Gunnery Sergeant Ernest W. Zimmerman and Sergeant Thomas McCoy were considerably relieved when the R4D made contact again with the earth's surface. It was Gunny Zimmerman's third and Sergeant McCoy's second flight in a heavier-than-air vehicle. Though these previous experiences had a happy outcome (they survived them), that success did not relieve their current anxieties. In fact, if they'd had a say in the matter, both would have traveled by ship from Hawaii to wherever The Corps was sending them.
They were not given a choice. Their orders directed them to proceed by the most expeditious means, including air; and a AAA priority had been authorized.
They flew from Pearl Harbor to Espiritu Santo aboard a Martin PBM-3R Mariner, the unarmed transport version of the amphibious, twin-engine patrol bomber. Flight in the Mariner was bad enough, both of them privately considered during long flight from Pearl, but if something went wrong with an amphibian like that-should the engines stop, for example-at least it could land on the water and float around until somebody came to help them.
The flight from Espiritu Santo in the R4D was something else. It was a land plane. If they went down in the ocean it would sink, very likely before they could inflate the rubber rafts crated near the rear door.
During the flight they were warm, though not uncomfortably so. But by the time the R4D completed its landing roll and taxied to the parking ramp, they were covered with sweat, and wet patches were under their arms and down the backs of their utility jackets.
The crew chief came down the fuselage past the crates of supplies lashed to the floor and the bags of mail scattered around, and pushed open the door.
By the time Zimmerman and McCoy stood up, a truck was backed up to the door. That meant they had to climb onto the bed of the truck before they could get to the ground. The Marine labor detail on the truck bed unloading the cargo were mostly bare-chested, wearing only utility trousers and boondockers. They were tanned and sweaty.
The sergeant in charge of the detail told Zimmerman where he could find the office of MAG-21. They put their seabags onto their shoulders and started to walk across the field.
The office turned out to be two connected eight-man squad tents, with their sides rolled up. The tents were surrounded by a wall of sandbags.
A corporal sat on a folding chair at a folding desk, pecking away with two fingers on a Royal portable typewriter. When Zimmerman walked into the tent, he saw another kid, bare chested, asleep on a cot.
"Can I help you, Gunny?" the corporal asked.
`Reporting in," Zimmerman said, and handed over their orders. The corporal read the orders and then looked at Zimmerman.