O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [51]
“Ben,” Tobias said, “we’ll be teaching these sailors ten different classes. I want two or three of them taught by some of my enlisted people.”
“Out of your fucking mind, it could be a disaster,” Ben retorted strongly.
“AMP was your idea and it has always been your thesis to train every Marine so he can take over for any other Marine.”
“Within limits.”
“Your Chinese are now the best young officers in Asia and I say these lads here are even better trained. They know artillery from slit trenches.”
Ben mulled. Rather a glorious, dangerous idea. Captain X would be in attendance. Some kid could get up in front of a class and start stuttering and blow AMP out of the water. On the other hand . . .
“When are the penguins arriving from Annapolis?”
“In time to see colors on the parade ground today. The Gunny will conduct the first session after evening chow, a he-man’s history of the Corps.”
“Storm . . . ,” Ben whined.
“What’s this crap of the last two years been about?”
“God save the Corps,” Ben mumbled, surrendering to the idea of enlisted lecturers.
“Excellent decision, Ben.”
Early that night, after the midshipmen had partaken of a meal somewhat better than standard Marine fare, they were herded into the big classroom. Major Boone and Captain Maple took seats, inconspicuously, in the rear.
The white-clad peach-fuzzed plebes buzzed a little nervously. They had heard the monster stories about their little sister service and this was a very strange place.
Master Gunnery Sergeant Wally Kunkle entered and barked, “ ‘Ten-shun!”
The midshipmen scrambled to their feet as Captain Storm, now deferring to a walking stick, entered.
“Be seated, at ease, and hear this.” The Gunny’s voice crackled off the walls. “You people are here to learn as much about the Marine Corps as we can cram into your gullets in the next few days.” He went on to point out the stack of binders on each man’s desk, state the purpose of AMP, and introduce the commanding officer, Captain Tobias Storm, whose credentials in Asia and the Bering Sea were spellbinding.
“In the next days you will come to know us,” Storm said, “and a few of you of sound bodies and unsound minds may even think of a career in the Marines.”
Storm flashed a quick smile to Ben Boone and surveyed the thirty-five plebes before him. Christ, he thought, they sure don’t look any better than my Chinese cadets. He cleared his throat heartily.
“The United States Marine Corps is the oldest military organization in our nation, predating the Declaration of Indepen-dence.”
He had everyone’s attention.
“Old enough,” he went on, “for me to grow this mustache.”
End of merriment. The plebes were settling in comfortably as Tobias explained the loose confederation of the colonies whose delegates met in Philadelphia at the Continental Congress.
“There was no standing army. Each colony had its own militia to deal with policing problems and to keep the Indians at bay. However, the open sea was a plundering ground for pirates. Moreover, European navies, particularly the English, boarded our unarmed merchant vessels and impressed our seamen.
“Therefore,” he continued, “the Continental Congress of 1774 authorized the formation of a Marine Corps to place armed detachments aboard our merchant ships. The actual covenant was agreed to in a saloon called Tun’s Tavern.”
Storm turned the class over to Master Gunnery Sergeant Wally Kunkle after a fairly stunning introduction and took his own place in the rear with Ben and Captain X.
Wally Kunkle, showing the effects of much warfare, was not all that puzzling a selection to begin the seminar. The plebes had before them a living creature who had been the drummer boy at Bull Run, and they were enthralled.
The Gunny intoned a literate but salty rundown of Corps history from its swashbuckling days to the storming of the Halls of Montezuma. The Corps’ minor role in the Civil War blockade was told and the tragedies at Fort Sumter and Fort Fisher were not omitted.
The middies gathered around the living