Three people were waiting outside Master Gunnery Sergeant Jack Stecker's office when he reached it: a staff sergeant, a PFC, and a corporal. He nodded at them, said, "Be with you in a minute," and went inside. When his clerk delivered his coffee, he would tell Stecker what they wanted.

He knew the staff sergeant; he was from Post housing, and that was personal, so it could wait. And he supposed the PFC was carrying some kind of message, and that could wait too. But the corporal was completely unfamiliar to Stecker, and he was a little curious about him.

The coffee (black, brewed no more than thirty minutes before; Stecker could not stand stale coffee) was delivered in a white china mess-hall mug within sixty seconds of his sitting down behind his desk.

"Sergeant Quinn's here about your quarters," Stecker's clerk, a corporal, said. "The PFC was sent by the first sergeant of 'B' Company. Your wife called and said if you could come home early that would be nice. And the colonel says he'd like to see you when you have time, nothing important."

"And the China Marine?" Stecker asked.

"You mean the corporal?" the clerk asked. Stecker nodded, barely perceptibly. "How do you know he's a China Marine?"

"What does he want?" Stecker asked, deciding that he would not mention the young corporal's embroidered-to-his-shirt chevrons, one of the marks of a China Marine.

"Wouldn't say," the clerk said. "Wants to see you. I seen him drive up. You see that LaSalle convertible when you come in?"

"Send the corporal in," Stecker said.

(Two)

Corporal Kenneth J. "Killer" McCoy walked into the room, looked at Stecker, and said, "Thank you, Gunny."

Stecker liked that. The kid hadn't tried to kiss his ass with "Good afternoon, Sergeant, I'm sorry to bother you" or some candy-ass remark like that. But he was polite, and recognized that Master Gunnery Sergeants were busy men, and that he appreciated this one giving him a little bit of his time.

Stecker liked what else he saw. Aside from the embroidered-to-the-garment chevrons and the khaki fore-and-aft cap this young corporal looked the way Stecker liked his young corporals to look. Neat, trim, and military. And as far as the China stripes were concerned, if he had his way everybody would wear them.

"When did you ship home from China?" Stecker asked.

"It shows, does it?" McCoy said, smiling.

"Yeah," Stecker said. "Could you use some coffee?"

"Sure could," McCoy said.

"Doan!" Stecker raised his voice. "One Java!"

"Reporting in, are you?" Stecker guessed, and then guessed again: "With a problem?"

"I've got until midnight tomorrow," McCoy said.

"Between now and midnight tomorrow," Stecker said, "get yourself a campaign hat."

McCoy chuckled.

"That's funny?"

"I just came from the Navy Yard in Philly," McCoy said. "The first thing the first sergeant said to me there was 'get rid of the campaign, hat.' "

"That was there, this is here," Stecker said. "What were you doing in Philly? You ship home the long way around?"

"I shipped home to Diego on a tincan," McCoy said. "Diego shipped me to Philly via Portsmouth."

"Prisoner-chasing?" Stecker asked, and when McCoy nodded, went on: "Then you must just have bought the LaSalle."

He enjoyed the look of surprise on the kid's face, but left him wondering until after Doan delivered the coffee and left. "My clerk doesn't miss much," he said.

"Just bought it," McCoy said.

"Like it?"

"Except that it drinks gas, I like it fine," McCoy said.

"What kind of a rice bowl did you have going for you in China?" Stecker asked, and again enjoyed the look of surprise on the kid's face. "To bring home enough money to buy a car like that?"

"I spent a lot of time on back roads, drawing ration money," McCoy said.

"Motor transport?"

"Sort of," McCoy said.

"What do you mean, 'sort of?"

"That's my skill," McCoy said.

"And you made corporal on one hitch, driving a truck?"

"Yeah," McCoy said.

"Why don't I believe that?" Stecker asked.

"I don't know," McCoy said. 'it's the truth."

"You must have got along pretty good with the motor officer," Stecker said. The translation of that was, "You must have had your nose pretty far up his ass."

"Most of the time, I worked for an officer at regiment," McCoy said.

"I did a hitch, '35-'37, with the Fourth Marines," Stecker said. "I guess I still know some of the officers. Who did you work for?"

"Captain Banning," McCoy said.

Stecker was very pleased to hear that. It reconfirmed his first judgment of the young corporal. (His second, more negative judgment sprang from questions about his making corporal in one hitch in motor transport.) Ed Banning was the China Marines' S-2. If this kid had been made a corporal by Banning, that was a whole hell of a lot different from making it as an ass-licker.

"Ed Banning and I were in Nicaragua together in '29," Stecker said. "He was a lieutenant then. He was a good officer."

"He is a good officer," McCoy agreed.

"Well, what can I do for you, Corporal?" Stecker asked.

"Got a problem, Gunny," McCoy said, and added wryly: "And when I was a young Marine, at Parris Island, they told me whenever I had a problem I couldn't deal with myself, I should take it to the gunny."

Stecker smiled at him. The kid had a sense of humor.

"Just think of me as your father, son, and tell Daddy all," Stecker said.

"I need to get that LaSalle registered on the post," McCoy said.

"What's the problem? Unsafe? Or inadequate insurance?"

"No, I'm sure it'll pass the safety inspection, and I'm insured up to my ass."

Those were two of the three problems with a corporal getting a POV (Privately Owned Vehicle) registered on the post. Stecker now asked about the third:

"You lost your driver's license. Speeding or drunk driving?"

"I'm in the Platoon Leader's Course," McCoy said. "And a fat-bellied PFC over in Vehicle Registration got his rocks off telling me that means I can't have a car on the post."

Now Stecker was surprised. The Platoon Leader's Course was designed to turn college kids, not China Marine corporals, into second lieutenants. But now that he thought about it, he'd heard that starting with this class, they were going to slip some young Marines in with college kids. It was sort of an experiment, to see if they could hack it. The Marines in the course would be like this one, on their first hitch, or maybe starting their second, kids without enough experience to get a direct commission, but who had been judged to be above average.

"He's right." Stecker said. "You can't. No cars, civilian clothes, personal weapons, or dirty books or pictures."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"You should have read the instructions. Corporal." Stecker said, "the part where it said, 'don't take no POV's, civvies, weapons or dirty pictures.' "

"I don't have any instructions." McCoy said. "I don't even have any orders. I'm traveling VOCO (Verbal Order Commanding Officer)."

"He must have been pretty sure you were selected." Stecker said.

"He was on the board," McCoy said. "And as fast as this has gone, I've been wondering if the Corps didn't ship me home from China for this officer shit."

"Officer shit?" Stecker parroted. "You don't want to be an officer?"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Gunny," McCoy said. "But I walked over and had a look at the school before I came over here. It reminded me that I'm a China Marine, not a college boy."

"You better not tell anybody that when you start the course," Stecker said. "One of the things they expect is enthusiasm. You better act as if your one great desire in the whole world is to pin a gold bar on your shoulder, or you'll get shipped out so quick it'll take your asshole six weeks to catch up with you."