Command Decision (12 page)

3

Corporal Herbert McGinnis was a victim of this general tension but he considered with more accuracy than he really knew that he was also a victim of Sergeant Evans. He had done the eight-to-four shift in the General’s office and was happily contemplating his Saturday night off when he had been summoned back to fill in for Evans, who was said to be absent on a special mission for the General.

It particularly irked him because for this night McGinnis had had designs upon a newly arrived Red Cross girl in the Enlisted Men’s Canteen. He had waited patiently for an hour when most of the gunners would be asleep and most of the base personnel busy. His plan had been to strike up conversation over coffee and doughnuts and consolidate his ground with an offer to dance if that seemed tactically sound. Then when the girl had had time to realize that she could trust him he intended to sit down with her on the sofa in the ping-pong room and show her his new snapshot of Herbert McGinnis, Jr., age four months and three days.

The men in Hut Six not only had not seen the snapshot but emphatically and vocally did not want to see it. Except for this girl in the Red Cross there was no one in England who did want to see it. She, in fact, had not asked to but McGinnis had watched with green eyes the time she had spent admiring the brats of other men. He considered that it would be practically a favor to show her a kid that really did have some individuality to him. Instead he was spending his Saturday night making a computation of the Division’s claims for General Dennis.

Like Evans, McGinnis was a graduate gunner, but they had little in common beside their uniforms and the service of General Dennis. McGinnis, at twenty-two, was a man of substance in his native Maryland. He had his own house, stock, implements, a half interest in forty sheep, and a hundred and sixteen acres clear. Mrs. McGinnis could and did handle a hundred and sixty turkeys a year. In addition to this gift she had brought him two cows and the ultimate certainty of her father’s oystering Bugeye. The McGinnises were people who could have had a tractor loan from any bank in the county. They took more pleasure in forgoing than in possessing the tractor.

McGinnis had told the clerks at the induction center his purposes as straightforwardly as he told anyone who asked. He had come to fight the enemy until he was whupped; then he was going home. It surprised him thereafter in army life to meet men who had not been sent directly to a gunnery school.

He had learned gunnery as methodically as he had once learned disking. He practiced it with the same unemotional excellence—thereby, as his last citation read, reflecting great credit upon himself and the Army Air Forces.

His social life in the army was less successful. At the end of his tour his modesty and diligence had recommended him for a job in the General’s office. He had taken it with the quiet confidence of a man used to advancement in his fortunes but he got along poorly with the cynical enlisted personnel of the headquarters staff.

On operational and combat status McGinnis, like most of the others, had always been too tired to care what went on around him. With less to do he had undertaken to improve the normal level of conversation in Hut Six. The result was that the foulest mouth in Hut Six lost three teeth and McGinnis lost his hard-earned Tech stripes. He was back up to Corporal now but he still smoldered over having been demoted for decency. The sight of Evans, prospering through the career of profligacy that made McGinnis shudder for him, salted the wound. He wrote his wife that the army was deteriorating.

McGinnis was still thinking of his grievances shortly after ten that night as he worked over the General’s claim board. He disliked working in the General’s office itself but he knew that a man who did his duty had nothing to fear and he had been ordered to do it in there. The General paid no more attention to him than to the furniture but it made him uncomfortable; even now he could not help overhearing every word of the General’s angry voice talking over the phone:—

“I’ve told you four times he said he was going to visit groups and then come back here; that’s all I know… well, tell the Embassy they don’t want him any more than I do.”

The phone slammed down and McGinnis started guiltily. He disliked even involuntary eavesdropping but he had begun to be interested in the frantic search for General Kane. He did not see why Dennis cared whether he found Kane or not; what was more, he did not approve. He knew that Kane was a very big wheel indeed in some remote and awful headquarters but he had run out twenty-five missions without seeing him and expected the war to be concluded on the same basis. The sages of Hut Six said that Kane spent his time undressing Duchesses and drinking tea with Ambassadors, and McGinnis felt that Dennis would do well to avoid such a man. He frowned now and industriously recrayoned a faultless number as General Dennis came over to view the board.

“How they coming, Corporal?”

“Three more destroyers and a probable from them guys they fished out of the Channel, sir.”

“Anything on that other crew in the ditch?”

“Not yet, sir. That British sub is still standing by.”

“I’ll be in the hole with Colonel Martin.”

Dennis was gone before McGinnis could think of any way to communicate his disapproval of this unseemly concern over General Kane. He was still scowling over it when the anteroom door opened and Evans strolled in with an air of languid complacency. In spite of private resolutions McGinnis found himself speaking as he had learned to speak in the army.

“Where in hell you been?”

“Busy. Where’s Dennis?”

“In the hole. You listen here, Evans…”

“Was he smoking?”

“No.”

Evans sauntered to the General’s desk, took out the cigar box, selected a cigar, and lit it. McGinnis watched with horror, half expecting to see lightning strike in the room. Instead he saw, and then smelled, only a fragrant cloud of smoke. Deep inside McGinnis something cracked; he was scarcely shocked to hear himself saying:—

“How about one of them for me?”

“He’d notice two burning,” said Evans.

McGinnis continued to watch with rising fury as Evans now lifted out the whiskey bottle, measured its depleted contents with a rueful eye, and then helped himself to a short, restorative swig. He was about to burst out when Evans proffered the bottle.

“You know I never touch it. Ain’t that the General’s?”

“I and the General share everything,” said Evans.

“Except work,” said McGinnis bitterly. “I notice you share that with me; you leave it and I do it.”

Evans replaced the bottle and eyed the Corporal sardonically.

“McGinnis, if there’s one thing I pride myself on as a Tech Sergeant it’s never doing nothing a corporal can do for me.”

“You been doing some special job for Dennis?”

“Two,” said Evans, “for a navigator.”

“I wouldn’t do nothing for no damn lieutenant.”

“That’s why you’re still a corporal.”

Evans sat down, stretched his legs comfortably up onto the map table, and regarded McGinnis with contemptuous tolerance. It comforted his present frame of mind to rediscover someone stupider than himself. Brockhurst’s car had yielded another case of whiskey. From this Evans had solaced Peterson with four bottles and the locksmith with two. The division left him with a wealth that made him, for the first time since he had been in the island, uneasy about German bombers. He had hidden it beyond reach of any possible frailty in Peterson, procured the ice cream from the cook shack, and set off on his mission in the General’s car with the feeling, not uncommon to affluence, that Providence does watch out for the deserving.

He had accomplished his mission at the Magruders’ with what might be described as a double success and the expenditure of only half his ice cream. By nine forty-five he was free. He had the General’s car, a gallon of ice cream, enough whiskey for a field marshal, part of his natural energy, a man-deserted county, and all the night left for the further benevolence of an obviously approving fate.

But regaining the car he was troubled, as he had been troubled through even the most delicate moments of his negotiations with the ladies Magruder, over what was happening to General Dennis. He had driven straight to the station and re-entered to the resounding anti-climax of finding McGinnis making crayon scores on a gaudy cardboard chart. He shook his head uneasily.

“What you got there, McGinnis?”

“Claims! Look at them lying scoundrels. Ninety-seven! If the Germans seen that they’d bust their guts laughing. How come Dennis got such a wild hair in his crotch for claims tonight?”

“Percent’s riding him again,” said Evans.

McGinnis remembered other things the sages of Hut Six had remarked of the biggest wheel on their horizon.

“Oh. We going to destroy that
Luftwaffe
again for this Sunday’s papers?”

“With pictures,” said Evans. “Full face and both stars showing.”

McGinnis eyed the claim board unhappily. “I wished they’d quit this. My wife she wrote me a letter. She said in that there letter she said: ‘You’ve done destroyed that
Luftwaffe
six times now. When you coming home?’”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t know
what
to tell her. I expect she thinks it’s
all
lies now.”

“Tell her we’ve beat Germany,” said Evans. “Tell her we’re just staying here till we outclaim MacArthur.”

McGinnis pondered this. “We better hurry up then while we still got something to do it with. Eddie Cahill he called up to tell you he couldn’t get to town tonight. He said he told the new C. O. over to the 641st if they ever had another day like today he was fixing to resign as line chief and take out a junk dealer’s license.”

“That gang ought to get their thumbs out,” said Evans. “They never could fly formation.”

McGinnis, remembering the truth of this from his own combat days, nodded. “They ought to do better now they lost Colonel Ledgrave and Captain Jenks, though. You reckon Dennis is going to send ’em again tomorrow?”

“Maybe a milk run,” said Evans. “But not no real mission till Percent’s got his picture on the front of
Time
again, or
Life
anyway.”

McGinnis scowled. “That’s what the guys in Hut Six say. But you know it don’t look right to me. If we got ’em to fight we just as well to fight ’em and get it over with. That’s the way I figured my twenty-five.”

“Is that why they made you a general?”

“I don’t see no stars on you, Evans…”

McGinnis broke off just in time to manage a rigid attention as the Ops door crashed inward under the impact of the General’s shoulder. McGinnis knew that nothing could save Evans now and, to his surprise, felt sorry. It wasn’t right. Evans
had
stolen the General’s cigar and a man who stole things…

“Haley!” called the General.

Without a glance at the noncoms Dennis walked in now, his eyes making a swift arc from Ops room to blackboard. Evans got himself to attention unnoticed. As Haley hurried frantically after the General to the blackboard Evans slid, with a crablike, sidling motion, to the desk and deposited the burning cigar in the General’s ash tray.

“That’s one one forty-nine… now; crews?” snapped the General.

“One fifty-three, sir.”

“How many would finish their tours tomorrow?”

“Fourteen, sir. Too many to spare.”

Dennis shook his head wearily. “Weather?”

“No change of consequence in the twenty-two hundred, sir.”

“Good. Anything else?”

Haley walked over to McGinnis and the chart now. The General returned to his desk, picked the burning cigar out of the ash tray, and inhaled with satisfaction. He looked faintly surprised as McGinnis gasped and then coughed twice.

“The claim chart is done, sir,” said Haley.

With his cigar going comfortably the General moved back and scrutinized the chart attentively. Then with brief and absent thanks he dismissed McGinnis, who retired with a final glance of fury at the bland Evans. Haley shuffled the papers in his pudgy hands.

“Those medical officers are waiting, sir.”

“Keep ’em,” said Dennis. “Any calls?”

“Mostly for General Kane, sir. Colonel Saybold has called three times, the Embassy four more, and Lady Grattonfield six.”

Unexpectedly Dennis smiled. “Any idea what they want?”

Haley had noted the smile. “I’ve no idea what Colonel Saybold or the Embassy want, sir.”

He observed the General’s appreciative grin with relief. Haley never could be sure of General Dennis; he would miss the most obvious jokes and then be observed indulging his tight-faced chuckle over things Haley did not consider funny. But this time it was all right.

Haley waited through a decorous interval and then began to shuffle the papers again when he saw that the General had forgotten him for a quizzical scrutiny of Evans, who still preserved a caricature of the faithful soldier at attention. The General drew a long puff of smoke and looked closely at his cigar.

“How did you come out, Sergeant?”

“Mission accomplished, sir,” said Evans complacently.

“Not quite,” said Haley.

They both looked at him in astonishment now as he drew the paper from between his second and third fingers and proceeded with relish.

“Mrs. Magruder phoned, sir, to express her apologies to her Allies and withdraw her daughter’s charges…”

“Good,” grunted Dennis, Haley could see he was chuckling inside at this but most men would not have known it.

“…on one condition, sir. It appears that she and her daughter are lonely now that Mr. Magruder is at sea and she would like to have Sergeant Evans billeted at her house for protection.”

Haley lowered the paper and turned a blank face on the General. For a second he wondered if he should have risked it. Then he saw Dennis’s face tighten with severity and knew it was all right. He would have seen no expression if it was not.

“Well, I’m sure the Sergeant will volunteer for that, too.”

Haley watched with satisfaction while the Sergeant reddened and hesitated perceptibly. He had seen Evans wriggle out of too many scrapes to have entire hope for this, but it looked promising.