The Easterbunny rewound the film into the cassette, then opened the Leica, took it out, and handed it to Major Dillon. Dillon surprised him by pulling the film from the cassette, exposing it, ruining it.

"This we don't want pictures of," Dillon said conversationally, then asked, "Where'd you get the Leica?"

"It's Sergeant Lomax's," Easterbrook replied. "It was Sergeant Lomax's. Lieutenant Hale took it when he got killed, and I took it from Hale when he got killed."

Major Dillon nodded.

"There's some 35mm film, color and black-and-white, in an insulated container on there," he went on, gesturing toward the airplane. "And some more film, and some other stuff. Take what you think you're going to need, and then give the rest to the Division's public relations people."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"I want to talk to you, to everybody, but not right now. Where do you usually hang out?"

"With VMF-229, Sir."

"OK. See if you can locate the others, and don't get far away."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky came up in the now empty jeep.

Another face appeared in the door of the R4D. It was another one the Easterbunny recognized, the skipper of VMF-229, Captain Charles Galloway.

"Ski," he ordered, "take these officers to the Division CP, and then come back. There's stuff in here to be unloaded, and I want this serviced as soon as you can."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Tech Sergeant Oblensky said.

The two Majors and the Lieutenant with the cold eyes climbed into the jeep and it drove away.

Captain Galloway looked at Easterbrook, then asked conversationally (it was not, in other words, an order), "You doing anything important, Easterbunny, or can you lend us a hand unloading the airplane?"

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"You, too, Hart," Galloway said.

Captain Galloway and the other VMF-229 pilot, the Second Lieutenant, started to unload the airplane. His name, the Easterbunny now remembered, was Pickering.

[ONE]

Headquarters

First Marine Division

Guadalcanal

0655 Hours 12 October 1942

When the jeep driven by Technical Sergeant Big Steve Oblensky drove up, Major General Alexander Archer Vandegrift was about to climb into his own jeep.

Vandegrift, the commanding general of the First Marine Division, and as such the senior American on Guadalcanal, was a tall, distinguished-looking man just starting to develop jowls. He was wearing mussed and sweat-stained utilities, boondockers, a steel helmet, and had a web belt with a holstered.45 1911A1 Colt pistol around his waist.

The three officers in the jeep stepped out quickly, and one by one rendered a salute. Vandegrift, who had placed his hand on the windshield of his jeep and was about to lift himself up, paused a moment until they were through saluting, then returned it. Then, almost visibly making up his mind not to get in his jeep and to delay whatever he intended to do, he walked toward them.

"Oblensky," General Vandegrift ordered conversationally, "get a helmet. Wear it."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Technical Sergeant Oblensky replied.

"Hello, Dillon."

"Good morning, Sir."

"Your operation go OK?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Can I interpret that to mean we can count on that team of Coast-watchers?"

"Yes, Sir. They're operational, with a new radio and a spare."

"And the men that were there?"

"Exhaustion and malnutrition, Sir. But they'll be all right."

"Is that what you wanted to see me about?"

"Yes, Sir. And Major Banning hoped you would have time for him."

Vandegrift looked closely and curiously at Major Edward J. Banning, concluding that there was something familiar about the stocky, erect officer, and that also suggested he was a professional. He offered his hand.

"I have the feeling we've met, Major. Is that so?"

"Yes, Sir. When you were in Shanghai before the war."

"Right," Vandegrift said, remembering: "You were the intelligence officer of the Fourth Marines, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What can I do for you, Major?"

"Sir, I'm here at the direction of General Pickering. Is there someplace... ?"

"We can go inside," Vandegrift said.

"Sir, you're not going to need me for this, are you?" the Lieutenant asked.

"No," Major Banning replied.

"I'd like to go see my brother," the Lieutenant said. "Go ahead," Banning said.

"Where is your brother, Lieutenant?" Vandegrift asked.

"With the 1st Raider Battalion, Sir."

"My driver will take you," Vandegrift said. "But you can't keep the jeep."

"Thank you, Sir. No problem, I can get back on my own."

The Lieutenant saluted, and walked toward the jeep. Vandegrift gestured toward his command post, then led the others inside to what passed, in the circumstances, for his private office.

A sheet of tentage hung much like a shower curtain provided what privacy there was. Inside the curtained area was a U.S. Army Field Desk, a four-foot-square plywood box with interior shelves and compartments; its front opened to form a writing surface. It sat on a wooden crate with Japanese markings.

"One of your officers, Dillon?" Vandegrift asked as he pulled the canvas in place and waved them into two folding wooden chairs. He was obviously referring to the Lieutenant he'd just lent his jeep to. "I heard about Lieutenant Hale being killed. I thought there would be a replacement for him."

"One of General Pickering's officers, Sir," Banning replied.

"That's Killer McCoy, General," Major Dillon said.

"That's Killer McCoy?" Vandegrift replied, surprised. "I would have expected someone more on the order of Sergeant Oblensky."

"That's the Killer, Sir," Dillon said.