The wharf was jammed with men, equipment, and supplies. Lines of Marines—their rifles stacked using the stacking swivels near the muzzles, something Keller hadn’t seen since Germany—waited for cargo nets jammed with supplies being lowered from the two ships to touch the dock, then began to carry the individual cartons and crates to waiting U.S. Army GMC 6 x 6 trucks.
Other booms lowered Marine 6 x 6s, and trailers for them, many of them stacked high with supplies, to the dock. The trucks were joined with their trailers, and then quickly driven off to make room for other trucks, trailers, and other piles of supplies dumped from cargo nets.
The closest ship was the USS Clymer. The captain started up her ladder. There was a Navy officer and a sailor in a steel helmet at the top of the ladder. As the captain was explaining to the Navy officer who Keller was, Keller could see, farther down the wharf, the USS Pickaway, and past her—too far away for him to read her name—some kind of a Navy freighter unloading artillery pieces and M- 26 “Patton” tanks.
“This way, please, Sergeant,” the captain said, and Keller followed him onto the deck of the Clymer and then down a passageway and a narrow stairway and then another passageway until they reached a door guarded by two Marines. A sign read “Mess & Wardroom II.”
“Wait here, Sergeant,” the captain said, and went through the door.
A moment later, a tall, silver-haired man in Marine fatigues came through the door.
“My name is Craig,” he said. “You have a message for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Keller said. “General Pickering called from Tokyo and first asked if Captain McCoy was available. When I told him I believed Captain McCoy was on the pier, he gave me a message for you and Captain McCoy, and asked if I could deliver it personally.”
He paused. Craig waited for him to go on.
“The message is ‘Permission denied. Repeat denied. Return immediately. Repeat immediately. Signature, Pickering, Brigadier General, USMC.’ ”
“I’ll see that he gets the message, Sergeant. Thank you.”
“Sir, General Pickering asked me to confirm that the message was delivered. To call him, sir.”
Craig looked at him for a moment, then went into the mess.
“Gentlemen,” Keller heard him say, loudly enough to be heard, “Captain McCoy will take one more question. We have to get on with the off-loading. Please join me, Captain McCoy, after the next question.”
Then he came back into the passageway.
“He will be here shortly, Sergeant,” he said. “How is it you—a master sergeant—are doing this personally?”
“I told General Pickering I would, sir.”
A minute later, he heard someone in the mess call “Atten -hut,” and there was the sound of scraping chair legs.
Then McCoy, followed by Zimmerman, came into the corridor.
Craig steered him to the right of the door.
“The sergeant has a message for you, McCoy,” Craig said. “For us. Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“Never be sorry when you’ve tried to do a good thing, Captain,” Craig said. “At least we got a splendid briefing out of you before other duty called.”
“Thank you, sir,” McCoy said.
“I presume General Pickering’s order includes Mister Zimmerman?”
“I believe it does, sir.”
“How will you get to Tokyo? You have orders?”
“Yes, sir, we do. We’ll catch a ride out to K-1. . . .”
“You have a Jeep.”
“Sir, I’d just have to leave it at K-1 for somebody to steal, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that Jeep was already wearing some kind of Marine insignia.”
“I’ll get you a ride out to K-1,” Craig said.
“Captain,” Master Sergeant Keller said. “I’ve got a Jeep. I’ll run you out to K-1.”
“By your leave, sir?” McCoy said, coming to attention.
“Carry on, Mister McCoy,” General Craig said.
[FOUR]
“I’ll drive,” Master Sergeant Keller said to the driver of the message center Jeep.
“Sergeant, I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”
“What I know you’re supposed to do is what I tell you,” Keller said. “Get in the back.”
Keller got behind the wheel. McCoy got in beside him, and Zimmerman clambered over the back to sit beside the driver.
“Captain, before we go out there,” Keller asked, “what are you going to do with that rifle, and Mr. Zimmerman’s Thompson, when we get to K-1?”
“I don’t understand the question,” McCoy said.
“The Air Force . . . K-1 is now a MATS terminal,” Keller said. “They won’t let you get on a