group of Marines from Naval Air Station Miramar, will participate. Additionally, there will be a fly-over by fighter aircraft from Miramar and from Marine Corps Air Station El Toro.
“The purpose of this exercise is to present, under appropriate circumstances, various decorations to members of the Marine Corps. Fifteen decorations, in all, will be presented, ranging upward in prestige from the Purple Heart to the Navy Cross, which, as you know, is the nation’s second-highest medal for valor. We are sure the recruits, now Marines, will be inspired to see all the heroes in the flesh.”
He stopped, looked at Pick, and raised his index finger again.
“The reason for the Marines from Miramar and the fly-over by planes from El Toro and Miramar is because the Navy Cross is to be awarded to one of their own.”
He stopped.
“You may speak, Major Pickering,” he said.
“You are not talking about me,” Pick said.
“I am talking about you. My adjutant will read aloud, for the edification of all concerned, the citation I showed you a couple of days ago.”
“But, Dawk, I told you that wasn’t my citation!”
“Under the present circumstances, Major, I think it would be best if you addressed me as ‘General Dawkins.’ ”
“Aye, aye, sir. But it’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“I attempted, Major, to raise your doubts about the wording of the citation to the commandant,” Dawkins said. “The commandant called me personally. He said that he had just had a visit from the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, who used to be an Army four-star, and who told him the President of the United States had asked him to find out if the Navy Cross he had ordered for you had been awarded, and if not, why not, and if not, when would it be. The wording of the citation was not open for discussion.”
“It’s bullshit,” Pick repeated. “I won’t take it.”
“It may be bullshit, but you will take it, and you will not make any comment now, or in the future, to anyone, including me, that will in any way suggest that there is something wrong with the wording of the citation, or that you did not do what the citation says you did.” Dawkins paused. “Say, ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ ”
“General, ‘Aye, aye, sir’ means I understand and will comply with the order. I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Yes, goddamn you, Pick, you will. You’re a Marine officer, and you will take an order. Say, ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ ”
“Jesus Christ!”
“You can—and knowing you as I do, you’re entirely capable of—doing something this afternoon to protect what you think is your honor. ‘I cannot, in good conscience, accept this . . .’ or something similar. If you do that, you will be pissing on the Marine Corps, insulting a lot of good Marines, and personally embarrassing me. Your call, Pick. But you will get into a uniform, and you will get in the car that will carry you out to Pendleton, and you will line up with the others to be decorated, or so help me Christ, I’ll have you court-martialed.”
Dawkins pushed himself abruptly out of the chrome, plastic-upholstered armchair and headed for the door.
“General!” Picked called after him.
Dawkins turned.
“I really don’t give a shit about getting court-martialed, ” Pick said. “But for you, Dawk, because of . . . If you think it’s important that I . . . Aye, aye, sir.”
Dawkins looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. Now tit for tat: So far as deserving the Navy Cross is concerned, I put you in for the Navy Cross on Guadalcanal. Before I put Billy Dunn in for his. They said we could have only one—I never understood that, but that’s what they said—and they decided it should go to Billy, because he was the squadron commander. I protested as loudly as I could, and was told to butt out. I’ve always felt you deserved it more than he does.”
“Jesus Christ!” Pick said.
“And if you want, you can tell Billy I told you that, and on my word as a Marine officer, I’ll confirm it. Or you can be a good Marine officer and keep that between us.”
“Yes, sir,” Pick said.
“See you on the parade ground, Major,” Dawkins said, and pushed the door with his hand to swing it open. It didn’t, and he pushed harder, and this time it swung outward.
Captain McGowan was standing there. Mrs. Babs Mitchell was standing behind him.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Mitchell,” General Dawkins said, holding