from a master gunner, and it didn’t bother me at all. And then I realized I liked being here, doing what we’re doing, a hell of a lot more than I ever liked selling cars.”
“How the hell do you think I feel?” Preston asked. “Christ, sir, I was on recruiting duty. One minute telling some pimply-faced high school kid that once he gets to put on dress blues, he won’t be able to handle all the pussy that’ll be coming his way, and the next minute telling his mother that Sonny Boy not only will have a chance to further his education in the crotch, but will receive, just about every day, moral counseling from a clergyman of his choice of faith.”
Dunwood laughed out loud.
“Are you suggesting, Sergeant Preston, that when I raise the question of CIA service to Major McCoy, I should mention your name?”
Preston considered that for a long moment.
“No, sir,” he said finally. “I don’t want you to do that.”
“Change your mind, all of a sudden?”
“If the rest of the guys heard I did that, they’d all be pissed. I can’t think of a one of them that really wants to go back to the 5th Marines. What I’ll do, if you tell me what Major McCoy tells you, and it looks at least possible, is go see him myself.”
Dunwood didn’t reply.
“Or . . .” Preston had a second thought. “How much time do we have before the major gets back and you talk to him?”
“I have no idea when he’ll be back. Or Gunner Zimmerman. ”
“I can ask the guys, who wants to go back to the crotch, and who wants to stay here . . . and get in the CIA official. And then everybody who wants the CIA can go see the major together.”
“All right,” Dunwood said. “I’ll let you know what Major McCoy says.”
“What about me going as replacement crew on the boat?”
“Take someone with you—another Marine. The rest Koreans. If Major McCoy or Gunner Zimmerman says you can go on the Wind of Good Fortune, it’s okay with me. But get that grease off your face and get out of the pajamas before you go. You better take a replacement radio, too.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Staff Sergeant Preston said.
[TWO]
OFFICE OF THE CHIEF, AWARDS BRANCH OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASHINGTON, D.C. 1640 19 OCTOBER 1950
The duty day at CNO/CAB ended at 1600, but when Commander John T. Davis, USN, went to the office door of Captain Archie M. Young, USN, the chief, and found him still hard at work at his desk, he was not at all surprised.
There were gold aviator’s wings on Captain Young’s breast, and submariner’s gold dolphins on Commander Davis’s breast. They pinned them on each day—as they had every right to do—even though Commander Davis had left the silent service four years before, and Captain Young had last sat in a cockpit eight years before.
Both had “busted the physical” and been disqualified for further service in the air/beneath the sea. Captain Young had told his career counselor in the Bureau of Personnel that he would really rather find anything else useful to do around the Navy than be a grounded aviator at a Naval air station or aboard a carrier, and Commander Davis had told his career counselor that he would rather do anything but stand on a wharf somewhere and watch a boat head out on patrol.
Neither wanted a berth in the surface Navy, either. That didn’t leave much—unless they wanted to go back to school and get a law degree, or something along that line—but supply and personnel. They had each given personnel a shot, and to their surprise learned that it was really not as boring as they thought it would be—actually, sometimes it was a hell of a challenge—and that they were very good at their new specialty.
Today, Commander Davis thought, was one of those times when it appeared there was going to be a hell of a challenge.
Captain Young raised his eyes from his desk and took off his glasses.
“What have you got, Jack, that has kept you from rushing home to a cold martini?”
“I thought I would seek your wise guidance on this one, sir,” Davis said. “Commander MAG-33 has been heard from.”
He walked into the office and laid the message from Lieutenant Colonel William C. Dunn on Captain Young’s desk.
“I’ll be damned,” Young said when he’d read the message, then read from it: “ ‘The undersigned is unable to comply.’