Free Rising Sun by Robert Conroy Page B

the new bowl type and not the World War I pie tins. The new models were said to provide more protection for the occupant’s skull. Farris was in no hurry to check out the hypothesis.
    The rifles, however, were the venerable but still lethal 1903 model Springfields, and not the new Garands that were just beginning to be produced. The Springfield was a .30 caliber bolt-action weapon that took a five-shot clip. It might be old, but in the right hands, the Springfield was a deadly weapon. The next day, Lytle took them to the rifle range where the company largely succeeded in hitting the ground, much to the amusement of their Marine instructors. Farris, who considered himself a good to excellent shot, had lost any edge he might have had and was as bad as anybody.
    To Steve’s astonishment, Lytle had appeared satisfied and announced that the next day they would head ten miles north and build a post near the small village of Bridger. Bridger was located a mile inland and had a population of two hundred, some of whom farmed and others fished.
    Along with being satisfied with the company’s miserable shooting, Lytle was preoccupied with building what Farris considered a resort for himself and his men after they arrived at their destination. Patrolling and recon work were not on his agenda. Instead, a comfortable tent village was constructed with the largest and most luxurious tent going to the captain.
    Farris and Lytle soon had a number of arguments regarding this and other matters, but to no avail. Steve once again worked up the nerve to protest and did so in Lytle’s tent when the two of them were alone.
    “Sir, when are we going to start doing our job of scouting?”
    Lytle laughed mirthlessly. “For what? Do you really think there are Japs coming? Hell, there are thousands of miles of coastline. The odds of the Japs landing here are astronomically small.”
    Farris had to admit his lush of a commanding officer had a point. But they had their orders and there was such a thing as doing their duty. “I think we should be doing at least a little recon work instead of painting the rocks white.”
    “I think it makes the base look good,” Lytle replied, not catching the sarcasm. Several paths were outlined by brightly painted rocks. Lytle’s breath reeked of booze. Away from San Diego and the sobering presence of more senior officers, he’d again been drinking heavily.
    “Regardless, I think it’s a waste and I also believe we should have built elsewhere.”
    “Nonsense, we have a great view of the ocean.”
    “And that’s the point, Captain. We can see for miles, which means we would stick out like a sore thumb to lookouts on any enemy ship. We should have built behind the hill where we can’t be seen and have lookouts watching the ocean. I agree with you that it’s a long shot that any Jap will show up, but any enemy ship that might happen by would know right away that this is a military post and shell it from a distance, and we’d be unable to do a damn thing about it.”
    He declined to say anything about white rocks serving as aiming points. Lytle sat down in a camp chair and leaned back, clearly off balance. For a moment it looked as if he would fall over and Steve relished the thought.
    “Farris, just because you had a year of college, it doesn’t mean you’re smarter than I am. I am the captain and in command of this company, and you are a lieutenant and you are rapidly becoming a pain in the ass. If I could, I would send you back and get someone more reasonable, but I can’t.”
    Farris was undeterred. “And instead of painting the damn rocks, we should be training. Our men are out of shape and, like you saw on the range, can’t shoot worth squat. Sir, I would like to start patrolling and training instead of just sitting here and admiring the scenery.”
    “Lieutenant, instead of wasting our time patrolling, I would like to either relieve you of your command or have your worthless ass court-martialed.