The United States Customs Service was still functioning normally, randomly looking inside bags. And the Shore Patrol was in place, maintaining high disciplinary standards among transient Navy Department personnel. There was even an SP officer, wearing the stripes of a full lieutenant along with an SP brassard and a white pistol belt.

The Shore Patrol officer walked purposefully over to Banning.

What is this? "Major, the shape of your uniform, and the length of your hair is a disgrace to the U.S. Naval Service generally, and The Marine Corps specifically. You will have to come with me!"

"Major Banning?" the Lieutenant asked.

"My name is Banning."

"Will you come with me, please, Sir?"

"I'm not through Customs."

"I wouldn't worry about that, Sir. Would you come with me, please? Can I help you carry anything?"

"Where are we going?"

"To the airport, Sir. There's a plane waiting for you."

"I just got off an airplane!"

"Right this way, please, Major," the Shore Patrol lieutenant said, already starting to lead the way to a Navy gray Plymouth sedan with a chrome siren on the fender and SHORE PATROL lettered on its doors.

The Army Air Corps major saluted as Banning got out of the Plymouth.

"Major Banning, we're ready anytime you are," he said.

"Is there a head, a men's room, anyplace convenient?"

"Right inside, Major, I'll show you," the Major said. "Major, we have a seven-place aircraft..."

"What kind of an aircraft?"

"A B-25, Sir. General Kellso's personal aircraft. Would you have any objection if we took some people with us?"

"Wouldn't that be up to you?" Banning said. "Or General Kellso? You said it was his airplane."

"Right now, it's the Secretary of the Navy's, Major, with the mission of taking you to Washington."

"Load it up, Major. Where did you say the bathroom is?"

"Right over there."

The rest room was chrome and tile and spotless. It even smelled clean.

Banning entered a stall and closed the door and sat down.

There was a copy of Life magazine in a rack on the back of the door. A picture of Admiral William D. Leahy, in whites, was on the cover.

Banning took it from the rack.

In the shape my digestive tract is in, I may be here all day. The human body is not designed to fly halfway around the world in airplanes.

He started to flip through the magazine.

There was a picture of an Army sergeant kissing his bride, a Canadian Women's Army Corps corporal.

There was a Westinghouse advertisement, proudly announcing that it had won an Army-Navy E for Excellence award for producing four thousand carloads of war materials a month-enough to fill a freight train thirty-seven miles long.

How come none of it seems to have reached Guadalcanal?

There was a series of photographs of Army officers in an English castle. The censor had obliterated from the photographs anything that could identify the castle. The American officers all looked well fed.

And their trousers, unlike yours, Banning, are all neatly pressed.

There was an advertisement from Budweiser, announcing what they were doing for the war effort-from baby foods to peanut butter to flashlights, carpet, and twine. Beer wasn't mentioned.

There was a series of photographs recording Wendell Willkie's travels to Egypt. He was described as the "leader of President Roosevelt's Friendly Opposition."

Another series of photographs showed the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown's final moments in the Battle of Midway. Another showed the Army Air Corps in the Aleutian Islands. Another, a nice-looking woman named Love, who was married to an Air Corps light colonel. She was about to head up an organization of women pilots who would ferry airplanes from the factories. Another, a huge new British four-engine bomber called the Lancaster; the monster could carry eight tons of bombs.

I'll bet not one of them ever gets sent to New Guinea or the Solomons. Or at least not until after the Japanese have reoccupied Guadalcanal and captured all of New Guinea.

What really caught his attention was the Armour and Company full-page advertisement, showing in color what the "typical" soldier, sailor, and Marine was being fed this week: roast chicken, frankfurters, barbecued spareribs, baked corned beef, Swiss steak, baked fish, and roast beef. Servicemen could have second helpings of anything on the menus, it claimed.

Jesus H. Christ! If there 'd been ten pounds of roast chicken or roast beef on Guadalcanal, the war against the Japs would have been called off while the Marines fought over it.

Surprising him, his bowels moved. He put Life back in the rack on the door, looked again at Admiral Leahy's photograph, and had one final unkind thought: The Chief of Staff to the Commander-in-Chief needs a haircut himself; it's hanging over his collar in the back. And I have seen better pressed white uniforms on ensigns.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Banning said as he washed his hands and saw the Air Corps Major's reflection in the mirror over the sink.

"It's your airplane, Major," the Air Corps Major said. "Take your time."

[TWO]

Office of the Assistant Chief of Staff G-l

Headquarters, United States Marine Corps

Eighth and I Streets, NW

Washington, D.C.

0825 Hours 16 October 1942

Colonel David M. Wilson, USMC, Deputy Assistant Chief of Staff G-l for Officer Personnel, had no idea what Brigadier General J. J. Stewart, USMC, Director, Public Affairs Office, Headquarters USMC, had in mind vis-a-vis First Lieutenant R, B. Macklin, USMC, but he suspected he wasn't going to like it.

General Stewart had requested an appointment with the Assistant Chief of Staff, Personnel, himself, but the General had regrettably been unable to fit him into his busy schedule.

"You deal with him, Dave. Find out who this Lieutenant Macklin is, and see what Stewart thinks we should do for him. I'll back you up whatever you decide. Just keep him away from me."

Colonel Wilson was a good Marine officer. Even when given an order he'd rather not receive, he said, "Aye, aye, Sir," and carried it out to the best of his ability.