Annals of Chesty O'dunahy

Adam Dumphy

Description

The U.S. Marines have never had need of a publicist. Still they have had many. None can compare with Col. J.W.T. Jr. When one of his books came out with his sketches the young ridge runners, North and South would come down out of the mountains by the droves to have their manes roached, hoofs trimmed and enlist.

Colonel T. established the idealized example of them as hard drinking, hard fighting, hard living, and hard to kill. Of course he was speaking of the “Old Corps” which never existed except in fantasy. Still generations of Marines have tried to live up to this mold. The following fictional stories are of a little man who did just that.

Sujets

• Military
• War
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 21 octobre 2005
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781463496210
• Langue: English

Extrait

Annals of Chesty O’Dunahy
The Tallest Tall Tales of the U.S. Marines
 
 
by
Adam Dumphy
 
 

 
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
 
© 2005 Adam Dumphy. All Rights Reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
First published by AuthorHouse 10/17/2005
 
ISBN: 1-4208-5303-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4634-9621-0 (ebk)
 
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005905098
 
Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana
 



Contents
1 GENESIS OF THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL
2 Meet O’D
3 “The Best Little Man”
4 O’Dunahy’s Only Retreat
5 Tea With The Dai Lama
6 The Rocky Road to Runology
7 O’DUNAHY AND THE PRINCE AND THE POPPER
8 And A Rum War It Was.
9 Chesty and ‘Dem Demned Elusive’ Bones.
About the Author

 
 
 
 
 
To
Robert M. Adams M.D., Cmdr. M.C. U.S.N.R., dec.
Beloved Brother,
Physician to the Ist Marines from Tulagi to points further east.
A gentle, gentleman.
More rare even. A man who listened.
  1   GENESIS OF THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL
In a large city of Central Mainland China which must remain unnamed. And in a decade of Modern Chinese history which cannot be revealed. (Perhaps it would be safe to admit that the events occurred equidistant between the “Bully” of Teddy and the baloney from Franklin D.) In this nameless, timeless setting the American Embassy for this outpost was housed in a large three storied brick and frame mansion set back comfortably in it’s own seven acres of trees and gardens.
Fronting on the main highway north it would have appeared to the mandarins, and coolies, camel drivers and burro boys who passed, stately, dignified and commodious. To the closer observer it was more aptly termed ‘dilapitated’.
For if the foreign policy of Great Britian in those decades could be described a “somehow muddling through”, that of the United States was more simply just “muddled”, neither through nor back but more accurately around and around in concentric circles. As one Administration after another in Washington ignored the Far East for the pork barrels closer at hand, the lovely old building gradually and gently aged like a still hopeful courtesan. Painted it is true on the outside but underneath wrinkled and sad.
And as the duties and responsibilities of the Embassy became greater within a more complex world, the staff and equipment multiplied in an exponential proportion. The result at the time of which I speak was that the master bedroom, dining and ballroom remained large, comfortable and reasonably well kept, but the remainder of the grand old house became increasing cut up and cluttered.
As a result the office allotted to the Military Officer, (called at various times the Military Attaché, Liaison Officer, Armed Forces Representative, or just that “damned dogsbody.”) was in what had been, when there was still a coal furnace, the coal stall. Ten by twelve feet in size it nestled beneath the outstretched asbestos covered arms of the “new” central heater (oil but now eighteen years old). A small window at eye level looked out onto the under surface of the back stairway and the door opened into the converted garage. And as the room was more or less octagonal shaped it did not allow the luxury of it’s two desks being spaced. Pigeon-toed together with front corners touching, they stood away from the walls just enough that a chair could be accommodated behind each. And if one could suck in one’s belly flat enough to slide around between the other corner of the desk and the wall one could perch on said chairs but could not tilt back. This belly flattening process was not necessarily as simple a matter as it might seem particularly after a tour of duty so near the fleshpots of the city as Captain Bellows discovered that very morning.
For the M.O.s these arrangements were not as severe a hardship as it might appear. For their bounden duty consisted only in sitting there patiently for an hour each morning reading the Hong Kong edition of the London Times usually only two weeks out of date. The rest of the day could be apportioned then to accommodate their various appetites.
For the Duty Sergeant at the other desk (never a Sergeant but rather usually a Pfc.) it was unquestionably eight hours of drudgery.
It was then, one spring morning, when the appearance of Central China even as seen through the rungs of the back stairs, was invitingly lovely, a distinctly refreshing event when the phone rang.
In concert with the rest of the house the phone was of the wall type and as it was always answered by the Duty Sergeant was placed between the two desks but slightly nearer his than the M.O.’s.
Stretching over desktop the Marine answered. “Military Liaison, Corporal Hennessy.”
He listened a moment. “Captain Bellows, Ma’am. One moment Ma’am. For you Sir, personal.”
To the Captain’s raised and inquiring eyebrow he answered. “Lady, Sir. Didn’t say who.”
The Captain got to his feet and circled the desk. For the M.O. to talk on the phone he needs must bend double over the spot where both desks met, lean forward as far as possible and stretch the cord of the ear piece. As this placed Cpl. Hennessy’s nose approximately in his officer’s left armpit it gave little scope for private conversation especially with a lady.
“Captain Bellows.” He growled trying to recall whom of his feminine acquaintances might be termed a “lady”.
Corporal Hennessy picked up a blank duty roster and pretended to study it. Now this was patently humbug as it did not have to be filled out until the end of the month and then not by him. And as the entire Marine establishment consisted of one officer and six enlisted it would take only five minutes to fill out even then.
He could hardly fail to hear a rather imperious feminine voice and watched with interest as the Captain snapped to mental attention.
“Yes Ma’am.” the great man said respectfully. “No, no Ma’am. No trouble at all.” he said unconvincingly. “Indeed Ma’am?” he added enquiringly. “Absolutely, Ma’am.” he finished with the prompt decision characteristic of the Corp.
Hanging up the phone and, no man to be stampeded into a decision in a matter of importance, he finally spoke.
“Where’s O’Dunahy?”
“O’Dunahy, Sir?” In his concentration the corporal envisioned the man. A short, stocky, cheerful, little man with faded red hair, red face and a certain purple flush about the nose which suggested that if not a confirmed alcoholic he had at the least been baptized into the sect. A native of the Irish Fey (sic) State, the most senior sergeant in all the Corps, he had obtained a name, if not a notoriety, his first hitch that only brightened with the years.
“Get O’Dunahy.” The great man said.
“Sorry Sir. He is on a three-day pass. Saw him go out only ten minutes ago. All decked out like a Limey Admiral, Sir, white suit, pipe clayed boots and white solar toupee. He looked dehydrated like, Sir, if you know what I mean. In search of liquid refreshment.”
“Well find him. Rout out every man in the guardroom and hunt him down. I want him here in three minutes or less. He can’t have gotten far. Start one on each side of Lotus Blossom St. and cover every bar. Now move your bloody leatherneck, Corporal.”
Corporal Hennessy fled to seek reinforcements.
And true to the spirit of the Corps that the impossible takes only a moment the five returned in under an hour, bruised it is true, but with the man in question accompanying them in now somewhat disheveled whites. With them at least in body if reluctant in spirit.
“O’Dunahy, I’ve got a job for you.” The captain attacked before the enemy’s defenses could be mustered.
“Sorr. I protest…”
“Now don’t give me any of that 32 years in the corps, DSM, Navy Cross and seventeen Purple Hearts or what ever the hell the total is by now. This is no volunteer thing. I’m telling you your duty. Now I want you to….” He stopped. “Wait outside Hennessy and close the door.”
Outside in the hall-garage Hennessy took a position of modified parade rest. ‘Modified’ as he gradually attained a tilt akin to that of Pisa until his ear was by chance closely apposed to the thin door panel. Inside as was appropriate the loudest and most frequent voice was that of his officer. Indistinctly it rose and fell.
“Clear path of duty….”
The response was a disagreeing grumble.
“Legend in his time…”
Grumble.
“Most decorated Marine of WW1…”
Grumble.
“Renaissance man…”
Silence.
The Captain’s voice rose. “Hell, O’D. Do you have any idea what his books and sketches mean to the Corps? And not just in espirit or morale. Why when one of his books comes out every silly farm boy in the Middle West stays up all night to read it and fights his way into an enlistment office the next morning. And if the hero is Southern, as it often is, those ridge runners just look at the pictures and meander out of the mountains cheerfully to get their manes roached, their hoofs trimmed, their first bath ever and off to Boot Camp. You must know that they are what has made the Corps what it is since Tripoli.”
The colloquy continued for some time and then the door flew open. Captain Bellows, hat in hand, burst out into the hall/garage and into light and air. He looked, Corporal Hennessy thought a little dehydrated himself.
When the silence inside the