to pay the arrogant sonofabitch back for that “his turf” crack.
The second thing she thought was My God, he looks tired.
The third thing she thought was My God, there’s holes all over the fuselage. He was hit. He could have been shot down!
Major Pickering jumped off the wing root of the Corsair.
“Well, what an unexpected pleasure. How are you, Miss Priestly?”
“You knew I was here,” she snapped. And then was surprised to hear herself ask, “Pick, are you all right?”
“Couldn’t be better, except after when I have a double scotch, when I’ll really be in good shape.”
“There’s bullet holes in your airplane!”
“No. I don’t think so. I think that’s part of a locomotive.”
“A locomotive?”
“I got one. Billy got a gasoline tank car,” he said.
“A locomotive?”
“Yeah. And there’s an old Marine Corps custom about that. Every pilot who gets a locomotive gets to kiss the first pretty girl he sees.”
“Good luck,” she said. “I hope you find one.”
And then he put his hand on her cheek and shrugged.
“What the hell,” he said. “It might have worked. And I really wanted to kiss you.”
He dropped his hand and started to turn from her.
She caught the sleeve of his flight suit. It was damp with sweat.
He probably smells like a horse.
Then she raised her face and kissed him, and it lasted much longer than she intended, and while she was kissing him, she realized that there probably wouldn’t be a double bed and room-service champagne, but this was going to be one of those rare times when the urge and the opportunity had really come together.
[FIVE]
REPLACEMENT BATTALION (PROVISIONAL) CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA 0705 29 JULY 1950
At the time it had been asked for and promised, Marine Corps assistance in the production of the motion picture film Halls of Montezuma, which would star Richard Widmark, had seemed like a splendid idea.
The script had been reviewed, and while there was a certain melodramatic aspect to it, there was nothing in it that would in any way reflect adversely on the United States Marine Corps. To the contrary, Richard Widmark’s character manifested traits of selfless heroism in keeping with the highest traditions of the Marine Corps.
And it was to be a major film, which would appear on the screens of at least half the motion picture theaters in the United States.
As one senior officer put it privately to Marine Corps Commandant Cates, “What we get, for loaning them a couple of companies of infantry, the use of the boondocks at Pendleton, and letting them take pictures of amphibious landings under close air support—which we’re going to run anyway—is really a two-hour recruiting film. I think it’s a win-win situation for the Corps, and I recommend we do it.”
That was then, nine months before the Army of the People’s Democratic Republic of North Korea had crossed the 38th Parallel and started for Pusan.
Now was now. The last thing the United States Marine Corps needed at Camp Pendleton now was a civilian army of motion picture production people running around the reservation, and expecting—demanding—what they had been promised, “full cooperation.”
One of the problems that crossed the desk of Brigadier General Clyde W. Dawkins shortly after it had been made clear the Corps was going to war again was in the form of a succinct note from the sergeant major.
General: The Hollywood Marines are starting to arrive. Maj L. K. Winslow (Pub Info) has been assigned to 1st Prov Brigade.
Sgt Major Neely.
Major L. K. Winslow, who had been on the staff of the G-3, had been detailed to the Public Information Office to deal with the Halls of Montezuma motion picture production company. He was a good officer. When Brigadier General Craig had begun to staff the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade, one of the first officers he’d asked for was Major L. K. Winslow.
That meant there was no officer now charged with dealing with the movie people.
General Dawkins had summoned Sergeant Major Neely to his office.
“What do we do about this?”
“Sir, we have a major who is now spending most of his time inventorying supply rooms.”
“A major doing what?” Dawkins had blurted, then remembered hearing that Major Macklin—having somehow irked the G-1—had been sent to contemplate his sins while he inventoried supply rooms. “You mean Major Macklin?”
Sergeant Major Neely nodded.
“I don’t know . . .”
“The PIO is up to his ass in alligators,” Neely said. “Somebody has to deal with the Hollywood Marines.”
There is no reason, Dawkins decided at the moment, that Macklin can’t contemplate his sins, whatever they were,