Richardson stared at the insulated containers until he was positive-red crosses in white squares were still visible under a thin coat of green paint-that the containers had almost certainly been stolen. By then the character was almost at Richardson's Studebaker President automobile. When Richardson looked at him, he saw for the first time that not only was USMC stenciled on the breast of the filthy utilities, but that a major's golden oakleaf was pinned to each collar point.
At that point Richardson did what all his time in the prewar Corps had conditioned him to do: He quickly rose from behind the wheel, came to attention, and saluted crisply.
"Good afternoon, Sir!"
"Thank Christ, a Marine," Major Jake Dillon, USMCR said with a vague gesture in the direction of his forehead that could only kindly be called a return of Sergeant Richardson's salute.
Dillon, a muscular, trim, tanned man in his middle thirties, opened the rear door of the Studebaker, carefully placed the ex-fresh human blood container on the seat, and closed the door.
"How may I help the Major, Sir?" Richardson asked.
"I'm here to see Major Banning," Dillon said as he walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in.
"Who, Sir?" Richardson had heard Dillon clearly. Indeed, Major Ed Banning himself was the one who sent him to the airport when they heard the R4D overhead. But as a general operating principle, the personnel of USMC Special Detachment 14 denied any knowledge of the detachment or its personnel.
"It's all right, Sergeant. My name is Dillon. I'm a friend of Major Banning's." When he detected a certain hesitancy on Sergeant Richardson's part, Dillon added: "For Christ's sake, do I look like a Japanese spy?"
"No, Sir," Richardson said, chuckling. "And you don't look like a candy-ass from MacArthur's headquarters, either. The Major really hates it when they show up here." Dillon smiled.
"I'll bet," he said. "I'll also bet that you would be able to put your hands on a cold beer to save the life of an old China Marine, wouldn't you?"
"I don't have any with me in the car, Major, but I'll drive like hell to where you can get one."
"Bless you, my son," Dillon said, making the sign of the cross.
"That wasn't the regular courier plane, was it?" Richardson asked a minute or so later as he headed for the Coastwatcher Establishment. But it was really a statement rather than a question.
No, that was a medical evacuation plane from Guadalcanal', headed for Melbourne. I asked them to drop me off."
"No cold beer on Guadalcanal?"
"No cold beer, and not much of anything else, either," Dillon said. "The goddamn Navy sailed off with most of our rations still on the transports. We've been living on what we took away from the Japs."
"Yeah, we heard about that," Richardson said.
When Major Edward F. Banning, USMC, Commanding Officer of USMC Special Detachment 14, glanced into the unit's combined mess hall and club, he saw Major Dillon sprawled in a chair at the table reserved for the unit's half dozen officers. He was working on his second bottle of beer.
Sergeant Richardson, smiling, holding a bottle of beer, was leaning against the wall.
When Banning walked into the room, Richardson pushed himself off the wall and looked a little uncomfortable.
"I'm afraid to ask what you've got in the blood container, Jake," Banning said.
"There was film in it," Dillon replied. "Richardson put it in your refrigerator for me."
"What kind of film?"
"Still and 16mm. Eyemo."
"That's not what I meant."
"Of heroic Marines battling the evil forces of the Empire of Japan. With a cast of thousands. Produced and directed by yours truly. Being rushed to your neighborhood newsreel theater. "
"You may find it hard to believe, looking at him, Sergeant
Richardson," Banning said, "but this scruffy, unwashed, unshaven officer was once famous for being the best-turned-out Marine sergeant in the Fourth Marines."
"Don't give me a hard time, Banning," Dillon said.
"We was just talking about the Fourth, Sir," Richardson said. "We know people, but we wasn't there at the same time."
"How are you, Jake?" Banning asked, walking to him and shaking hands.
"You look like hell."
"I was hungry, dirty, and thirsty. Now I'm just hungry and dirty, thanks to Sergeant Richardson."
"Well, I'll feed you, but I won't give you a bath."
"You got something I can wear until I get to Melbourne? My stuff is there."
"Sure. Utilities? Or something fancier?"
"Utilities would be fine," Dillon said.
"See what you can do, Richardson, will you?" Banning ordered. "Major Dillon will be staying in my quarters."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Richardson said. "You want to give me that.45, Major, I'll get it cleaned for you." Dillon hesitated, then stood up and unfastened his pistol belt.
"Bless you again, my son," he said.
"Anytime, Major," Sergeant Richardson said with a smile and then left.
Dillon looked at Banning.
"I think I better go have that bath now, while I'm still on my feet."
"You sick, Jake, or just tired?"
"I hope to Christ I'm just tired. What you can catch on that fucking island starts with crabs and lice and gets worse.
They've got bugs nobody ever heard of, not to mention malaria."
"If you want a bath, " Banning said, as he led Dillon, still clutching his beer bottle, from the mess hall, "I'll ask Feldt. All I have is a shower."
"Shower's fine. How is Commander Charming?"