the other two squadron commanders did not go well. Neither of them made much of an effort to conceal their opinion that they had developed a good working relationship with the inspector/instructor and the last thing they needed when they were about to get called back to the Corps was to have to answer dumb questions posed by some strange brigadier who wasn’t even an aviator.
General Taylor told Technical Sergeant Cohen to make sure there was a note in Major Pickering’s box at the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters instructing him to report to him, no matter what the hour, as soon as he got to El Toro.
“Sir, Major Pickering doesn’t use the BOQ. But I’ll try to get word to him at the Coronado Beach.”
“The Coronado Beach? The hotel?”
“Yes, sir. VFM-243—the officers and the staff non-coms—stay there when they’re on El Toro for training. Buck sergeants and under stay on El Toro in the barracks.”
“Let me be sure I understand you, Sergeant. You’re telling me that the officers and staff noncommissioned officers of VMF-243 have been staying in a hotel when they’re on active duty for training?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How can they afford that?”
“I think the hotel gives them a special rate, sir.”
At this point, General Taylor told Sergeant Cohen to bring him the records of both Major Pickering and Captain Stuart W. James, the executive officer of VFM-243.
It didn’t take him long to learn that neither officer had come into the Marine Corps—as he had—from the United States Naval Academy. Major Pickering had graduated from Harvard, and gone through Officer Candidate School. Captain James had gone through the Navy V-12 program at Yale, which earned him a commission on his graduation.
Both had good records in World War II. Major Pickering had become an ace on Guadalcanal, and one more downing of an enemy aircraft would have made Captain Stuart an ace. James had not been on Guadalcanal, but flipping between the records, General Taylor learned that both had been assigned to the same squadron later in the war, during the last campaigns, including the invasion of Okinawa.
Both had had some problems living up to the standards expected of officers and gentlemen. Pickering’s record included three letters of official reprimand for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, and Stuart’s record had two such letters. One of them made reference to joint action. They both had been reprimanded for using provoking language to a shore patrol officer then acting in his official capacity.
When he saw that, since their release from active duty after World War II, both officers had been employed by Trans-Global Airways, and that both had been in VMF-243 since its organization as a reserve component of the Corps, it was not hard for General Taylor to form an initial opinion of the two:
Hotshot, Ivy League-educated, Marine fighter pilots, wartime buddies who had probably joined the Marine Corps reserve because it gave them the opportunity simultaneously to continue flying high performance aircraft and get paid for doing so. They had apparently not been able to secure civilian employment as pilots. Trans-Global Airways was employing both as “flight coordinators.” General Taylor wasn’t sure what a “flight coordinator” was, but it didn’t seem to imply that either officer was involved in actual flight.
At 1015, Sergeant Cohen knocked at the door of General Taylor’s—until recently, Lieutenant Colonel John X. O’Halloran’s—office, was granted permission to enter, entered, and reported that both Major Pickering and Captain Stuart were in the office.
They were supposed to be here forty-eight—no, fifty— hours ago.
“Sergeant, will you please find Colonel O’Halloran and ask him to drop whatever he’s doing and come here?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
When Sergeant Cohen left, General Taylor got a quick look through the door and saw Major Pickering and Captain Stuart. They were in flight clothing, that is to say, brownish, multipocketed coveralls and fur-collared leather jackets. So far as General Taylor knew, the wearing of flight clothing was proscribed when not actually engaged in flight operations.
Both officers were bent over a newspaper, spread out on Technical Sergeant Cohen’s desk.
There was also reverse observation. One of them looked through the open door, saw General Taylor, elbowed the other, who then had a moment’s glance at General Taylor before Sergeant Cohen closed the door.
Lieutenant Colonel O’Halloran came into his old office by a side door three minutes later.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Colonel, but I thought you should be here for this,” General Taylor said.
“No problem, sir. For what, sir?”
General Taylor pressed the lever on his intercom box.