There was surprisingly little scuttlebutt about what Dillon was doing for the Office of Management Analysis.

Meanwhile, Colonel Wilson ran into newly promoted Colonel Rickabee at the Army-Navy Country Club, but carefully tactful questioning about his job and his new boss produced only the information that General Pickering shouldn't really be described as a commissioned civilian. He'd earned the Distinguished Service Cross as a Marine corporal in France about the time Sergeant (now Lieutenant Colonel) Jack (NMI) Stecker had won his Medal of Honor.

At precisely 0830, the intercom box on Colonel Wilson's desk announced the arrival of Brigadier General J. J. Stewart.

"Ask the General to come in, please," Colonel Wilson said, as he slid the Service Record of First Lieutenant R. B. Macklin into a desk drawer and stood up.

He crossed the room and was almost at the door when General Stewart walked in.

"Good morning, General," he said. "May I offer the General the General's regrets for not being able to be here. A previously scheduled conference at which his presence was mandatory..."

"Please tell the General that I understand," General Stewart said. "There are simply not enough hours in the day, are there?"

"No, Sir. There don't seem to be. May I offer the General some coffee? A piece of pastry?"

"Very kind. Coffee. Black. Belay the pastry."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Colonel Wilson said, then stepped to the door and told his sergeant to bring black coffee.

General Stewart arranged himself comfortably on a couch against the wall.

"How may I be of service, General?"

"I've got sort of an unusual personnel request, Colonel," General Stewart said. "I am certainly the last one to try to tell you how I think you should run your shop, or effect personnel allocation decisions, but this is a really unusual circumstance...."

"If the General will give me some specifics, I assure you we'll do our very best to accommodate you."

"The officer in question is a young lieutenant named Macklin, Colonel. He was wounded with the first wave landing at Gavutu."

I wonder who shot him. Our side or theirs?

"Yes, Sir?"

"Parachutist," General Stewart said. "He was evacuated to Australia. Fortunately, his wound-wounds, there were two-were not serious. He was selected-"

General Stewart interrupted himself as the coffee was delivered.

"The General was saying?"

"Oh, yes. Are you familiar, by any chance, with the name-or, for that matter, with the man-Major Homer C. Dillon?"

"By reputation, Sir. I've never actually..."

"Interesting man, Colonel. He was Vice President of Metro-Magnum Studios in Hollywood. I don't like to think of the pay cut he took to come back in The Corps. Anyway, Major Dillon was in Australia, in the hospital, and met Lieutenant Macklin. It didn't take him long to have him shipped home to participate in the war bond tour on the West Coast."

"I see."

"It was a splendid choice. Lieutenant Macklin is a splendid-looking officer. Looks like a recruiting poster. First-class public speaker. Makes The Corps look good, really good, if you understand me."

There is no reason, I suppose, why a lying asshole has to look like a lying asshole.

"I take your point, Sir."

"Well, the war bond tour, that war bond tour, is about over. We're bringing some other people back from the Pacific. This time for a national tour. Machine Gun McCoy, among others." "Excuse me, Sir?"

"Sergeant Thomas McCoy, of the 2nd Raiders. Distinguished himself on Bloody Ridge. They call him 'Machine Gun' McCoy."

"I see."

"And some of the pilots from Henderson Field, we're trying to get all the aces."

"I see, Sir. I'm sure the tour will be successful."

"A lot of that will depend on how well the tour is organized and carried out," General Stewart said, significantly.

"Yes, Sir," Colonel Wilson agreed.

"Which brings us to Lieutenant Macklin," General Stewart said. "With the exception of a slight limp, he is now fully recovered from his wounds..."

"I'm glad to hear that, General."

"... and is obviously up for reassignment."

After a moment, Colonel Wilson became aware that General Stewart was waiting for a reply from him.

"I don't believe any assignment has yet been made for Lieutenant Macklin," he said.

But I will do my best to find a rock to hide him under.

"What I was going to suggest, Colonel... what, to put a point on it, I am requesting, is that Macklin be assigned to my shop."

What's this "shop" crap? You sound like you're making dog kennels.

"I see."

"My thinking, Colonel, is that nothing succeeds like success. And Macklin, having completed a very, very successful war bond tour, is just the man to set up and run the next one. And then, of course, there is sort of a built-in bonus: Our heroes, Machine Gun McCoy and the flyboys, would be introduced to the public by a Marine officer who is himself a wounded hero."

"General, I think that's a splendid idea," Colonel Wilson said. "I'll have his orders cut by sixteen hundred hours."

I was wrong. This has been a gift from heaven. I get rid of Macklin in a job where he can't hurt The Corps; and the General here thinks I am a splendid fellow.

"Well, I frankly thought I would have to sell you more on the idea, Colonel."

"General, if I may say so, a good idea is a good idea. Is there anything else I can try to do for you?"

General Stewart looked a little uncomfortable.

"There are two things," he said, finally. "Both a little delicate."

"Please go on, Sir."

"I certainly don't mean to suggest that you're not up to the line in your operation..."

But?

"... but, maybe a piece of paper got lost or something. Lieutenant Macklin is long overdue for promotion."

With what Chesty Puller had to say about the sonofabitch, the only reason he wasn't asked for his resignation from The Corps is that there's a war on.