"It's worth a shot, I guess," McCoy said, thinking aloud. "What have I got to lose?"

"Sergeant Davis has your application all typed up," Sessions repeated. "I'll approve it, of course."

"Thank you," McCoy said, simply.

(Four)

After he signed his name to the applications Staff Sergeant Davis had typed up for him, he put the whole business from his mind, convinced that like all other paperwork he'd seen in the Corps, it would take forever and a day to work its way through the system. He had more important things on his mind than the possibility that the application might, some months down the pike, be favorably acted upon… or that some further months down the pike he would be facing a board of officers-which probably wouldn't approve him anyway. After a while, in fact, he'd come to the conclusion that the incident at the ferry had a lot more to do with the whole business than Sessions's brilliant insight that he would make an officer. Sessions was being nice to him. The officers he would face on the board, when and if he got to face it, wouldn't think they owed him a thing.

And besides, he had three much more immediate problems to face, all of them connected. The first was what was going to happen to him now that the "interviews" were over. He didn't want to go to the Motor Transport Platoon, but on the other hand that would be a good place to keep his nose clean until Captain Banning came home from Shanghai. And he didn't really want to go to a heavy weapons platoon as a machine-gunner either. Since he'd be transferring in grade, they would try to bust him on general principles; and that would fuck up going back to work for Captain Banning.

He could also ask Captain Sessions to keep him around the detachment. Sessions would probably do it-as a favor. But that would mean he'd have to work as a clerk and push a typewriter and he was still not anxious to do that. And more important, if he stayed in Philadelphia, he'd have to deal with his two other problems: He had made up his mind to go home and face that and get it the hell over with once and for all. But going home once was not the same thing as having home so close to where he was stationed… Christ, Norristown was only an hour away in the LaSalle.

These were the thoughts that were occupying his mind, not the remote, way-down-the-pike possibility of being called before a board of officers who would make up their minds whether or not he stood a chance of keeping up with a bunch of college boys at Quantico.

On Monday morning, he signed the application papers. On Wednesday morning, Staff Sergeant Davis came to the barracks and told him to put on his best uniform and report to the board at 1330.

"Sit down, Corporal," a major, who was the president of the board, said. The five officers of the board were sitting behind two issue tables pushed together. One was a second lieutenant who was functioning as secretary. Two of them were first lieutenants (Lieutenant Fogarty, the 47th Motor Transport Platoon commander was one of them). Captain Sessions was the fourth. And the last was the major McCoy was seeing for the first time.

McCoy sat down at attention in a straight-backed wooden chair facing the tables.

"We have before us what is apparently a well-turned-out corporal of the regular Marine Corps," the president of the board said, "who, with his shady reputation, his illegal chevrons, and his equally illegal campaign hat, is just about what we expected of a China Marine so highly recommended by Captain Sessions. And others."

"Come on, Major." Captain Sessions chuckled. "The lieutenant's going to write that all down."

"Strike everything after-what did I say?-'well-turned-out corporal of the regular Marine Corps,' Lieutenant," the president ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir," the lieutenant said, and smiled at McCoy.

"Who comes to us not only recommended by Captain Sessions but by another member of this board, Lieutenant Fogarty, whose recommendation is based on his long-time evaluation-it must be three weeks now-as the corporal's platoon leader. The corporal's qualifications having, after due evaluation, been judged to be more than adequate, we now turn to the real question. In your own words, Corporal, would you tell this board why you feel yourself qualified, after proper training, to serve your country and the Marine Corps as a commissioned officer?"

"I'm not sure I do, sir," McCoy said.

"That's the wrong answer, Corporal," the president of the board said. "You want to try again?"

"Tell us why not, McCoy," Captain Sessions said.

This whole fucking thing is unreal. How am I supposed to answer that?

He paraphrased what was in his mind: "I'm not sure I know how to answer that question, sir," he said.

"You've known second lieutenants, McCoy," Sessions said. "Pick out any one of them except this one, and tell us why you doubt your ability to do anything he can do."

"Sir, all I've got is a high school education," McCoy said.

"You speak Chinese, I have been told?" the president asked. "And Japanese? And several European languages?"

"I don't speak Japanese as well as Chinese, sir. And I can hardly read it at all."

"Well, here's a given for you, Corporal. So far as the Marine Corps is concerned, fluency in almost any foreign language is worth more than a bachelor's degree. Anything else?"

"I wouldn't know how to behave as an officer, sir."

"They'll teach you that at Quantico," the president said. "Anything else?"

"Sir, Captain Sessions just sprung this whole idea on me."

"Answer this question. Think it over first-yes or no. No qualifications. Do you want to be an officer or don't you?"

McCoy thought it over. For what seemed to him like a very long time. The president of the board began to tap his fingertips impatiently on the table. Captain Sessions's left eyebrow was arched, a sign of impatience, often followed by an angry outburst.

"Yes, sir," McCoy said.

"You are temporarily dismissed, Corporal," the president said, "while this board discusses your application. There may be other questions for you. Please wait in the corridor."

"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said. He stood up, did an about-face, and marched out of the room. He had just managed to close the door when he broke wind. It smelled like something had died.

"The board will offer comments in inverse order of rank," the president said. "Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I'm a little concerned about his attitude," the second lieutenant said. "He certainly took his time thinking it over when you asked him straight out if he wanted to become an officer."

"It has been my experience, Lieutenant," the major said, "that what's wrong with most junior officers is that they leap into action without thinking things over carefully."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said.

"Lieutenant Bruce?"

"So far as I'm concerned," Lieutenant Bruce said, "he's what we're supposed to be looking for. A noncom of proven ability who can handle a wartime commission."

"Lieutenant Fogarty?"

"I'm impressed with him," Fogarty said simply. "He's a little rough around the edges, maybe, but they can clean up his language and teach him which fork to use at Quantico."

"Ed?" the president asked, turning to Captain Sessions.

"I admit of course to a certain personal bias. He saved my life. One finds all sorts of previously unsuspected virtues in people who do that."

There was laughter along the table.

"But even if he hadn't saved my skin, and even if a certain unnamed very senior officer had not made his desires known, I would enthusiastically recommend McCoy for a commission," Sessions added.

"Does he know about the general?"

"I'm sure he doesn't. The general and his aide were in civilian clothing, and they weren't introduced," Sessions said. "Being as objective as I can, I believe the Corps needs officers like McCoy."