Leon Uris (18 page)

When the grid for Washington had been laid out in 1800, President Thomas Jefferson and Marine commandant Major Nicholas took a horseback ride together for the purpose of selecting an area to house the Marines.

A lot was chosen, bounded by Eighth and Ninth and by G and I streets in the southeast part of the grid. The barracks and commandant’s house became the oldest building in continuous use in the capital.

Newly remodeled enlisted quarters of 1891 held fifteen-man squad rooms with iron bed frames, hair mattresses, white sheets, blue service blankets, and well-filled pillows. Linen was laundered at government expense.

The Advanced Military Program moved deep into its second year.

Major Ben Boone and navy captain Richard X. Maple were old
friends who had served on the command staff during the Civil War. Both were posted to the Naval War College in Newport when it commenced in 1884.

By 1888, Captain X, as he was known, was promoted to second in command of the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, largely in charge of curriculum.

While so many of his military peers found the Marine Corps superfluous in times of peace, Maple had always leaned toward keeping it. As the first AMP class was moving to completion, Major Boone had a middle-of-the-night brainstorm. Winning the support of Captain X in this crucial period could mean the difference between the end of the program—and thus the Marines—or a future for his beloved Corps.

Ben came down from Newport regularly to lecture at Annapolis and chewed on Maple’s ear until he prevailed on him to bring a group of midshipmen to the Washington barracks for a seminar on the Marines. Maple agreed, reluctantly, to see what AMP had wrought.

Captain Tobias Storm came up with the next unlikely idea. Storm could compare this first AMP class to the cadets he’d trained at his academy in China.

“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 organ
ization 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 Gunny at the finish to get a closer look, perhaps a word, a nod, a handshake.

The next morning, as everyone took their places, Ben Boone could hear Tobias Storm’s belly rumbling in tune with his own. The coming lecture would be delivered before a judge of high rank, Richard Maple, and a jury of curious plebes.

“ ‘Ten-shun!” Kunkle cracked. As the midshipmen scrambled to their feet, Private First Class Zachary O’Hara entered. Maple leaned forward, wondering what kind of ambush these lousy Marine bastards had set. The midshipmen were no less astonished.

Captain X looked sternly at Ben and Tobias, but could nearly hear their thoughts: Let us train our people our way for our job and we’ll deliver the finest ever seen.

“Now hear this. Private First Class O’Hara will conduct this class. You will accord him the same respect you would accord an officer. Be seated.”

A beardless wonder standing before thirty-five other beardless wonders. Zach showed calm presence and poise. He knew what this moment was all about and liked where he stood.

“Anyone here who doesn’t know what this is?” he began, pointing to a map of the world behind him that stretched nearly the width of the room. The flitting of doubt that had hopped from plebe to plebe abruptly stopped under the sure tone of his voice.

“As Marines, we take enormous pride in our training and discipline. As the first underclass of AMP, we have also been encouraged to express diverse opinions. We demonize our enemies. They demonize us. It is standard procedure to hate each other in order to be able to obliterate each other. Yet the intelligent officer does not let demonization get in the way of clear thinking. The enemy must also be regarded as a human being as intelligent as you, as courageous, and as believing. Knowing his point of view will enhance your ability to make better decisions.”

Zach had grown a beard before their very eyes.

“What we have to examine here now is the probable course America will follow in this decade leading up to the twentieth century. The papers on your desk will give you every point of view in government and military thinking and planning. It’s mostly boring reading but relevant.”

The room was very quiet now as Zach perched on a high stool and allowed that he could be interrupted at any time for a question.

“Who had fathers and grandfathers in the Civil War?”

Nearly everyone raised a hand, including Captain Maple.

“Their generation has passed since the war. America buried upward of a million dead, the South was a wreck, and the need to heal our most urgent priority . . .”

There was a sudden scratching of pens dipped in inkwells as he went on.

“Before the war we had already annexed Texas and California through force as a national ambition. We justified our expansion on the premise that we were more entitled to the land than was a failing, corrupt European regime . . .

“Today, in 1891, there is no danger from either of our neighbors. There is a strong sense that we will see war no more on continental American soil.

“Therefore, there is no reason to burden ourselves with a huge army. The main mission of the army, led by its magnificent cavalry, has been to subdue the Indian population. Your first binder of papers pertains to the writings of our best minds on the pros and cons of the Indian question. I think it’s safe to say that the navy is not going to play a major role in the future of Nevada. However, we do find disturbing parallels between certain views on the Indian question and earlier justifications of slavery, namely the notion that the Indians are subhuman savages incapable of adaptation to our version of civilization. Therefore, it has been reasoned, it is no sin taking them down in battle and herding them onto reservations. There is also a very strong minority opinion that in doing this, we may be setting ourselves up, if not for another Civil War, then for decades of misery.”

“Sir!”

“Yes, stand and give your name.”

“Midshipman Darlington. What is the Marine Corps’ position regarding the Indian question?”

“I’ve asked my instructors that question,” Zach said. “The Marine Corps has no position. America is a democracy, ruled by civilians. There will be many times in every man’s life when he disagrees with his government.”

“Is there a way that a military officer may recuse himself?”

“No,” Zach answered firmly. “You are officers of the Constitution. You must carry out the nation’s policies and the law whether you agree or not . . . with the following caveat. If an order is so heinous and against every moral fiber of your being to obey, then you must get out. We hope we will never again find that conscientious objectors outnumber officers of the Constitution.”

Jesus, let me think about that, Richard Maple thought. How cleverly the Marine had laid out a controversial thesis. It was becoming heady stuff and the lad was right about one thing. Thank God the navy was not involved with the Indians.

“. . . Back to the Civil War, which was our national crossroads. We came out of the war with an obsolete navy ranked fifteenth in the world, behind Austria. During your fathers’ generation, wind-driven sailing ships had been vanishing, giving way to powerful vessels of iron, fired by steam. In this period, our factories belched in prosperity, our agricultural abundance became the envy of the world, and our natural resources seemed bottomless. But we have become the victims of our own greatness . . .

“By design or otherwise, a great nation must engage in international trade and commerce. A two-ocean nation must have a two-ocean navy, respected in every port of call . . .

“Let’s have a go at this map and focus on the gigantic landmass and geographic location of America. Our size plus our inevitable growth has made us into a world power. Nearly seventy years ago, President Monroe understood that our future included becoming the dominant nation of the hemisphere. The new American navy will carry out the vision of the Monroe Doctrine. What gives us this right? Our hemisphere was colonized and looted by European powers which still control parts of it . . .

“Coming up on history’s calendar will be the collapse of the nefarious and corrupt Spanish empire. Unless we have the will and power to impose the Monroe Doctrine, the Europeans will attempt to rush in to fill the vacuum left by this colllapse. We will accept no
more expansion in our hemisphere. Hands off. That is the name of the game.”

This was digested as Zach went over the British, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Swedish, and Danish incursions and possessions.

“Outside of this hemisphere, there exist choke points where a navy is the vital player. What are some of them?”

“Gibraltar,” a midshipman called out.

“Suez.”

“Aden.”

“Dardanelles.”

“Correct,” Zach went on, “but we have the choke point to end all choke points.” His pointer touched Central America.

“The Isthmus of Panama,” he said, “is the most important piece of land for the future commerce and defense of this nation. The isthmus is this thirty-mile strip of land dividing the Atlantic and Pacific oceans and it is the possession of Colombia. The French have gone belly-up attempting to build a canal across the isthmus. We feel that America must step in and try. If there is to be a canal, it must be under our control.”

“Mr. O’Hara, doesn’t that come directly under the Monroe Doctrine?”

“We believe it does. In your fourth binder, there are papers detailing our case. I think that the most compelling justification is that for an American ship to go from the East Coast to the West Coast, it must make a fearsome voyage of up to fifteen thousand miles around Cape Horn, a passage known as sailing from hell. The canal would be a priority for our national self-interest.”

“But, sir, would that not make us an imperialistic nation?”

“Well, let’s see,” Zach answered. “Colombia owns the isthmus, but Colombia is unable to govern itself. That becomes a threat to our future.”

He pointed out a number of military and political arguments regarding spheres of influence.

“Democracies, of a kind similar to our own, are going to be very, very slow to emerge from Spanish America, which includes Brazil, all built on the backs of slaves. America’s hands are far from clean when it comes to this issue. We will support democratic movements where we can, but we are also going to be dealing with dictatorships, self-styled liberators in the mountains, religiously dominated governments, bandits. We will knock bridges down. We will build police forces and put bridges up. Sure, we’re going to bet on the wrong horse some of the time, but America must be the main force of stability as well as a protector from future foreign intervention.