Line of Fire

by W. E. B Griffin

  "We who?"

  "The Colonel, me, and you," Sessions said.

  "I can't memorize all this by morning."

  "He said `conversant' not `memorize."' McCoy nodded and returned his attention to the folders with their TOP SECRET cover sheets. Finally he stuffed everything back into the briefcase.

  "I didn't know until just now that Marines were involved in that operation." Sessions grunted.

  "I'm sorry you had to come over here," McCoy said. "I could have gone to the office."

  "They don't have oysters and good whiskey in the office. Anyway, I got to see Ernie,"

  Sessions said as he picked up the briefcase and handcuffed it to his wrist.

  "Give Jeanne my love," Ernie said.

  "Maybe we can get together while you're here."

  "How long will we be here?"

  "I guess we'll find that out in the morning," Sessions said.

  He shook hands with McCoy, kissed Ernie, and left.

  McCoy got off the couch and made himself a drink.

  "You're not going to tell me what that was all about, right?" Ernie asked.

  "I don't know what it's all about," McCoy said. And then, obviously to change the subject, "Well, what should we do now?"

  "I've never had any problem with èarly to bed and early to rise,"' Ernie said, and then added, "You know what I'd really like to do? Take a walk."

  "A walk?" he asked incredulously.

  "A walk. One foot after the other. It's beautiful out. Past the White House. Take a look in the windows of the department stores." McCoy shrugged. "Why not?" They'd stopped outside the Washington Theater to scan the posters showing Flight Lieutenant Tyrone Power of the Eagle Squadron about to climb in the cockpit of his Spitfire when the doors opened and a Marine sergeant and his girl came out.

  The Marine sergeant spotted the officer's bars on McCoy's shoulders and saluted before he recognized McCoy.

  "How are you, Hart?" McCoy said.

  "Can't complain, Sir."

  "I'm Ernie Sage, Sergeant," Ernie said, "since I doubt if the Lieutenant will introduce us."

  "Ernie, this is Sergeant George Hart. He works for General Pickering," McCoy said.

  "How is he?" Ernie demanded. "And a straight answer, please?"

  "You can tell her," McCoy said. "She's going to see him in the morning anyway."

  "He's much better. He's not nearly as strong as he thinks he is."

  "Since I doubt if Sergeant Hart is going to introduce us, Miss, my name is McCoy."

  "Wise guy!" Ernie said.

  "Elizabeth-they call me Beth-Lathrop."

  "And I'm Ernie, and I'm Ken's girlfriend, and I just decided that we should all go somewhere for a drink."

  "You can't do that in public," McCoy said uncomfortably.

  "It's against regulations for officers to drink with enlisted Marines."

  "Well, then, we'll go to the hotel," Ernie said. "Sergeant, that's not as snobbish as it sounded. When the Lieutenant was a corporal, he was just as much a by-the-book Marine."

  "I don't want to-" Hart protested.

  "Nonsense," Ernie said. "I want to hear more about Uncle Fleming."

  "The hotel and a drink's a good idea," McCoy said. "I've had enough walking for the night."

  "I know who you are," Beth said. "You're Pick's friend."

  "You know Pick?" Ernie asked delightedly.

  "I know him," Beth said.

  There was a strange note in her voice. Ernie concluded from it that this was one of Pick Pickering's discards. Their number was legion.

  "Well, then, you have to come," Ernie said. "We can swap nasty stories about him." McCoy, too, picked up on her uneasiness, and Hart's-his reluctance to come with them.

  it s either that I'm an officer, he decided, or more likely, that he wanted to go off with the dame and get a little and is afraid this will screw that up.

  Tough luck, if that's what Ernie wants, that's what she'll get.

  Chapter Twelve

  [One]

  WALTER REED ARMY GENERAL HOSPITAL

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  0725 HOURS 23 SEPTEMBER 1942

  "Ernie, I hate to run you off, but we have to shuffle some paper," General Pickering said. "I'll have Sergeant Hart run you back to the hotel."

  "We drove up, Uncle Fleming," Ernie said. "We have our car. You behave, you understand?"

  "You call my wife and make a valiant effort to convince her that I am really in prime health, and I will behave. Deal?"

  "Deal," she said, and kissed him. "You take care of Ken, too."

  "I'll do my best," Pickering said. "Make sure you give your mother and dad my best." She smiled and then turned to McCoy. "I will see you at the hotel, right?"

  "I just don't know," McCoy said. "I'll call if-"

  "You'll see him at the hotel," Pickering interrupted. "Now get out of here."

  She blew him a kiss and left.

  Pickering looked at McCoy.

  "'We drove up'?" he quoted. "'I have our car?" When McCoy didn't answer, Pickering went on. "You could do a hell of a lot worse than that girl, Ken. I always hoped she'd marry Pick."

  "Yes, Sir. She told me. So did her father."

  "Her family scare you? Their money?"

  "I don't think people who earn their living the way I do should get married," McCoy said.

  "I just heard about the Mongolian Operation yesterday. Is that it?"

  "That's part of it, General."

  "Well, since it's none of my business, I think you're wrong. Take what you can when you can get it, Ken.

  Life is no rehearsal."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "I admitted it was none of my business," Pickering said.

  "Maybe I'd feel the same way you do." There was a knock at the door and Sergeant Hart came in.

  "Colonel Rickabee and the others are here, Sir."

  "Major Dillon, too?"

  "Yes, Sir." Pickering waved his hand, signaling Hart to bring them in.

  "Thank you for coming, Jake," Pickering said. "I think it's important. Is this going to get you in hot water with General -Whatsisname? -Stewart?"

  "I sent word that I was sick," Dillon replied, "and sent the film over there by messenger. It'll be all right."

  "General, I can call General Stewart," Rickabee volunteered.

  "Hold off on doing that a while," Pickering said.

  "Jake, you don't know McCoy, do you?" ?"

  "Only by reputation. Killer McCoy, right

  "He doesn't like that, don't call him that again," Pickering said, giving him a hard look.

  "Sorry, Lieutenant," Dillon said, shaking McCoy's hand. "No offense."

  "None taken, Sir," McCoy said, not entirely convincingly.

  "I guess you've seen this?" Dillon said, taking a copy of the m his pocket and INS story about Machine Gun McCoy fro handing it to him with a smile.

  "Yes, Sir, I've seen it."

  "This one came by messenger this morning," Dillon said.

  "There's talk about making a flick about him."

  "I heard they're thinking about making a movie about the Makin raid," McCoy said.

  "Not thinking. They approved the treatment, a screenplay is in the works, and they signed Randolph Scott to play Colonel Carlson."

  " Jesus Christ," McCoy said disgustedly. "Why not Errol Flynn?"

  "Sir, does The General want Lieutenant Moore and Sergeant Hart in on this?" Colonel Rickabee asked.

  "I told you to knock off that `The General' crap," Pickering said sharply, which Rickabee correctly interpreted to mean that The General was at least slightly hung over and in a nasty mood. "And, yeah, I think so," Pickering went on. "Does that pose a security clearance problem for you?"

  "No, Sir. Sergeant Hart is cleared to TOP SECRET. And no problem, of course, with Moore."

  "OK, then. They stay," Pickering ordered. "I think they're going to be involved in this anyway, to one degree or another."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "On the
security business, what is said in this room, for reasons that will become obvious, is classified TOP SECRET," Pickering said. "Everybody understand that?" There was a chorus of "Yes, Sir."

  "Let me state the problem, then," Pickering said. "Our first priority is to keep Ferdinand Six up and running. Our second priority is to get Howard and Koffler off Buka-and Reeves too, probably. Just as soon as I can get out of here, my intention is to go back to Australia and get our people to do whatever is necessary to bring Howard and Koffler back. For reasons I don't want to get into, they seem to have just written them off."

  "No, Sir," Colonel Rickabee said, flatly.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  " You can't go back over there, General, That's out of the question," Rickabee said.

  Pickering looked at him coldly. There was a long and awkward silence.

  When Pickering finally spoke, it was not in response to Rickabee.

  "Hart has no idea what the rest of us will be talking about,"

  he said. "And I really don't know how much McCoy knows."

  "I read the file last night, Sir," McCoy said.

  "Sessions has it with him, Sir," Rickabee said.

  "See that Hart reads it," Pickering said. "How complete is it?"

  "Enough to give him the picture, General," McCoy said.

  "OK. So we'll start with you, McCoy. If you were God, more to the point, if you were a general officer, how would you go about getting those people out... while at the same time keeping Ferdinand Six up?"

  "General," McCoy said, uncomfortably, "if Major Banning can't do that, I don't know-"

  "I'll rephrase the question. If you were Major Banning, what would you do if you were ordered to get Howard and Koffler off Buka?"

  "It wouldn't be easy," McCoy said. "Even if keeping the radio station in operation wasn't a consideration."

  "You'll notice, Rickabee," Pickering said, "that he didn't say ìmpossible."'

  "Maybe I should have," McCoy said.

  "OK. Explain that," Pickering said. "But don't quote Banning to me.

  "Tell me why you think it would bènot easy' to ìmpossible."

  "Yes, Sir," McCoy said in a reflex reply. "Well, my first thought was that getting them out by air would be impossible.

  There's no airfield. So that left getting them out by water. We cannot send surface ships, even native boats, because the waters are heavily patrolled. That leaves submarines-" Pickering interrupted him.

  "What's wrong with submarines?"

  "Several things," McCoy said. "First of all, I doubt if we could get one."

  "Let's say we can get one," Pickering said, "and take it from there. "

  "We probably could not get one to-" Rickabee said, and was interrupted by Pickering.

  "Two things, Rickabee. One, McCoy has the floor, and, two I told him to go ahead on the presumption that he can get et submarine."

  "-make an extraction, Sir," Rickabee went on, ignoring him. "But, since Ferdinand Six is of great value to the Navy, they probably would give us one to insert a Coastwatcher team."

  "You have a point," Pickering said, not at all graciously.

  "Go on, McCoy."

  "A submarine could be used to land a replacement team and to take out the team that's there," McCoy said. "At least that was my first thought."

  "Psychologically speaking, I think it would be a good idea," Pickering announced, "to refer to the Marines on Buka by their names. Their names are Lieutenant Joe Howard and Sergeant Steve Koffler.

  We're not talking about a navigation buoy we left floating around an atoll someplace."

  "Yes, Sir," McCoy said.

  "You were about to tell us what's wrong with a submarine," Pickering said.

  "One, it would have to surface offshore someplace, obviously. That means it would have to do so at night, to lower the chances that Japanese ships, aircraft, or Japanese coastwatchers would see it."

  " `Japanese coastwatchers'?" Pickering parroted.

  "The Makin raid has taught the Japanese some lessons. For one, they're now afraid there'll be other raids. They are watching all their beaches."

  "They don't have the manpower to watch all their coastline," Pickering argued.

  "They probably have enough to watch the beaches where you could put rubber boats ashore. And rubber boats is something else."

  "Explain that," Pickering ordered.

  "We had trouble getting onto the beach at Makin," McCoy said. "And we damned near didn't get off.

  You want me to talk about putting a replacement team in by submarine?"

  "Please."

  "We could probably find enough people in the 2nd Raider Battalion to handle the rubber boats-"

  "Why couldn't the replacement team paddle their own boats?" Rickabee asked.

  "Because it's hell of lot harder than it looks, a hell of a lot harder than Colonel Carlson and Captain Roosevelt, or me, thought it would be," McCoy said simply. "It requires both skill and a lot of muscle. I just said we damned near didn't get off the beach. Seven of us didn't."

  George Hart stared for a time at Lieutenant McCoy, for he und it hard to really accept it that the man now sitting across the room from him in an immaculate uniform, not even wearing any ribbons, holding a cup of coffee, the man who had entertained him and Beth the night before with stories of the trouble he'd had getting Pick Pickering through Officer Candidate School, had been one of the Marine Raiders who struck Makin Island.

  "Ken," Captain Sessions asked, speaking for the first time, "you're saying you don't think we could train our people to handle rubber boats?"

  "No, I don't think so. And even if we could, what about the-Lieutenant Whatsisname and the sergeant?"

  "Howard and Koffler," Pickering furnished evenly.

  "Yes, Sir. Howard and Koffler. They would have to be rowed back through the surf to the submarine.

  They sure couldn't do it themselves. The replacement team would be exhausted from rowing to shore. It's a lot harder, that sort of crap, than anyone understands until they've tried it."

  "OK," Pickering said.

  "Let me kill the idea, please, Sir," McCoy said. "The replacement team would be taking a radio, radios, in with them."

  "Two radios," Rickabee said. "A replacement and a spare."

  "Each weighing about a hundred pounds?"

  "That's right."

  "Then, Sir, based on our experience at Makin, you would have to send in four radios, to make sure two made it to the beach. And we didn't try to off-load anything that heavy from the submarines into the rubber boats. The heaviest thing we carried ashore was a Browning.50. And that was a bitch. We lost two I know about. Maybe, probably, more."

  "You sound as negative about this as Banning, McCoy," Pickering said.

  Although his tone was conversational, it was clear that General Pickering was both angry and disappointed.

  "But just for the hell of it," McCoy went on, "let's suppose we could somehow get around the rubber boat problem. How would we get word to"-he searched his memory and came up with the names-"Koffler and Howard to meet up with the submarine?"

  "We are in radio contact," Pickering said.

  "I think we have to presume that the Jap's are monitoring transmissions, and that they have broken the code," McCoy said. "They are not stupid."

  Rickabee remembered again that Corporal McCoy had not applied for OCS. A report he had written about Japanese troop movements when he worked for Captain Ed Banning in the Fourth Marines in China had come to the attention of General Forrest. Forrest's reaction had been blunt and to the point. "I think we ought to put bars on that corporal's shoulders. Right now he and I are the only two people in The Marine Corps who don't seem to devoutly believe that all Japs are five feet two, wear thick glasses, and that we can whip them with one hand tied behind our backs. Captain Ed Sessions had marched a very reluctant Corporal McCoy before an officer candidate selection board. Before he did that, Captain Sessions had informed the president of the board that if he f
ound reason to reject Corporal McCoy as suitable officer material , he better be prepared to defend that to General Forrest.

  "Going off at a tangent, McCoy, accepting what you just said," Rickabee asked, "why do you think the Japanese haven't located and taken out Ferdinand Six?"

  "Yeah," Pickering said thoughtfully.

  "They know where they are within a mile or so. So the question is really, why haven't they taken them out?"

  "OK."

  "That's rough terrain. Steep hills, thick jungle. Which also explains why they don't try to take them out with aircraft, it would be a waste of effort. They can't see them from the air, and even if they did, bombing or strafing them would be a waste of effort. And by the time they got within a couple of miles on the ground, the Coast watchers would know about it.

  The Coast watchers have natives who know the terrain. They can keep out of the Japs' way. And the Japs know that. They're not stupid.

  "They must know what Ferdinand Six is costing them," Pickering said.

  "Yes, Sir. But they also know that radios don't function forever in the jungle, and that white men can't live there for any length of time. They're patient, the problem will solve itself."

  "You were saying that you think the Japanese have broken the code?"

  "What are they using?" McCoy asked, looking at Captain Sessions.

  "An old SOI," Sessions offered, meaning Signal Operating Instruction. "When they repeat it, they jump ahead, using Howard's serial number. I think you're right. They've broken it.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," Pickering said.

  "General, they have a code book with a different code for each of thirty days," Sessions explained.

  "When they run past thirty days, they start over again from the beginning. But not in the same sequence this time-not one, two, three. This time, say, if Howard's serial was 56789, they use the code for the fifth day; and the day after that, they count ahead six days, the second number of his serial number. You understand how it works, General?"

  "I do now."

  "So what I was saying," McCoy went on, "was that even if we got a submarine, found a beach which would take rubber boats, and managed to get the replacement team and their hundred-pound radios ashore, it wouldn't do us any good, because we have no way of letting-Howard and Koffler-know when and where to meet the submarine. If we tried to tell them, we have to assume the Japanese would intercept the message. The Japs would then ambush them on their way to the beach. And they'd be waiting for the submarine to surface."