Counterattack (The Corps Book 3)
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No one captures the drama of war as brilliantly as bestselling author W.E.B. Griffin. The Corps is his multi-volume portrait of the Marine Corps, the brave men and women who fought, loved and died in the sweeping turmoil of WW II.
walked into the sitting room. She sat down on a couch and picked up a magazine, and then threw it down angrily. That American Navy captain and Steve’s major and lieutenant and Donnelly didn’t come here on a Saturday evening to discuss a training mission. I know what the Marines are doing here with the Coastwatchers. If they’re going to parachute him anywhere, it will be onto some island in Japanese hands. And the only reason they would do that is because there’s some sort of trouble with the
be missing. Another figure appeared. One of the fucking Fuzzy-Wuzzies. And then Jacob Reeves. “I think that’s all of them,” Reeves said. “We counted. There were eight. They usually run eight-man patrols.” Steve came out of the underbrush onto the trail. “You all right, son?” Reeves asked. “I’m all right,” Steve said. There was a body on the trail. Steve walked up to look at it. It was the first one he’d shot. He looked at the face of the first man he had killed. The first man he had
there was a neat line of red candle wax sealing the line where the top had been forced tight on the body of the can. Anyone seeing the cans would understand that General Harris did not want the bore cleaner to leak. He took a penknife from his pocket and carefully scraped the wax seal from one of the cans, and then switched to the screwdriver blade. He pried the lid carefully off, then poured the brown fluid the can held into the coffee pitcher. After that, he left his cabin, headed aft, and
“Really?” “Yeah. Harris is one of the good guys. We were in France together. In Domingo, too. Nicaragua. We go back a long way. I had a hell of a time getting that stuff off my hand. It’s really indelible.” “You sure you’re doing this because you think I’d make a passable officer?” “Or what?” “Because we’re friends.” “That pisses me off,” Stecker snapped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. But, Jesus, this came right out of the goddamned blue!” “You’ll be able to handle it, Joe,” Stecker
Tokyo and 2,500 from Pearl Harbor. Guam, here, is two thousand miles from Tokyo, and four thousand from Pearl, and it’s about two thousand miles from Tokyo to Luzon, in the Philippines, and 8,500 from the West Coast to Luzon.” Pickering sat back and rested on his heels. “So, Factor One is that distances in the Pacific favor the Japanese.” “Obviously,” Fowler said. “Factor Two is protection of the sea lanes. We lost most of our battleships at Pearl Harbor. How well they could have protected