In Danger's Path

by W. E. B Griffin

  “And what did he say?”

  “First, if I ‘remained insubordinate’ he would court-martial me, and then if I tried to leave the OSS compound, he would have me shot. He was really pissed. He actually took his pistol out when I started to leave.”

  “You weren’t worried that he would actually shoot you?”

  “He’s not the type to shoot somebody,” McCoy said. “And neither was the captain—Sampson, I think—in his office. But if he’d had a couple of MPs around, he would have ordered them to throw me in the stockade.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “Well, I started making preparations to go into the Gobi.”

  “General,” Hart said. “We’re getting close to the house. Do you want me to drive around the block?”

  “Go very slow for a minute, George,” Pickering ordered. “How did you know I was here, Ken?”

  “I had a couple of Chinese boys watching the airport, sir,” McCoy said. “And a couple more watching the OSS compound. When they reported that a tall, American general got off an enormous airplane, and General Albright and Colonel Waterson met him and took him to the OSS house, I thought it would probably be you.”

  “You’ve been spying on the OSS?” Pickering asked.

  “I thought some ‘discreet surveillance’ wouldn’t hurt anything, sir. I didn’t get the reports about you until about an hour and a half ago. I came as soon as I could. When I got to the OSS house, I saw you driving out with Colonel Waterson, so I followed you to the airfield.”

  “Sir, we’re at the gate,” Hart said. “What do I do?”

  “Go in, George,” Pickering ordered. “I want to properly introduce Captain McCoy to Colonel Platt and Captain Sampson.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Hart stopped the car before the OSS compound gate. One of the Chinese guards came out of the guard shack and ambled slowly to the gate in the wall.

  McCoy rolled down the window and barked something in Mandarin.

  The guard spun around, came to quivering attention, and saluted.

  McCoy said something else in Mandarin.

  The guard saluted again and hastily opened the gate.

  “What was that all about?” Pickering asked.

  “Nothing important, sir.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much, Captain McCoy.”

  “I told him to pass the ambulance, he’s with us, sir,” McCoy said.

  “He didn’t pop to attention like that because you told him to pass the ambulance through,” Pickering said.

  “I also told him that if he ever fails to salute you again, I will send his private parts back to his commanding officer on the point of a bayonet,” McCoy said. “In the Chinese army, they take threats like that seriously.”

  The Chinese sentry saluted crisply when the Studebaker rolled through the gate, and again when the unmarked ambulance passed.

  “Oh, I’m glad you’re still here, Ed,” General Pickering said to Banning when he pushed open the door to Platt’s office and found Banning, Platt, and Sampson standing before a map of northern China on one of the easels. “Look who found me.”

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Lieutenant Colonel Banning said.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” McCoy said, smiling.

  “Colonel Platt, I understand you and Captain Sampson have met Captain McCoy,” Pickering said. “But I don’t think you’ve met Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman.”

  Platt and Sampson were literally wide-eyed at the sight of the two American Marines wearing the uniforms of officers of the Nationalist Chinese Army. “Captain,” Colonel Platt said uneasily, “I hope you understand that when we met, I wasn’t fully aware of the situation.”

  “Yes, sir,” McCoy said.

  “I was about to clear the air between you two, Colonel,” Pickering said, “to tell you that Captain McCoy was correct in his decision not to place himself under the authority of OSS Chungking, but just now I had an unpleasant thought.”

  “Sir?” Platt asked.

  “Captain McCoy tells me that when he showed you his ONI credentials that you already knew his name?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where did you get his name?”

  “General Dempsey telephoned me about Captain McCoy, sir.”

  “And what exactly did he say?”

  “He said there were two OSS agents, one of them Captain McCoy, whom he had ordered to report to me, and that he hoped that I would quickly order them to shave and get into uniform.”

  “I thought that might be it,” Pickering said. “I have something to say about that. Until just this moment, I was actually very sympathetic about General Dempsey. Maybe, as an individual, I still am. But as an officer, I just lost my sympathy for him. Captain McCoy’s orders were issued by the JCS and were classified Top Secret. General Dempsey did not have the authority—and damned sure should have known he did not—to pass on to you any Top Secret information that had come into his hands just because he knew you had a Top Secret clearance and thought you should know what was in Banning’s and McCoy’s orders.”

  “Sir, with respect,” Platt said, “I’m the Chungking station chief. Are you saying…?”

  “I’m saying, Colonel, that you had no right to know anything about Banning’s and McCoy’s Top Secret orders until it was determined by competent authority that you had the Need To Know. Banning has the authority to show you his orders—or anyone else he deems has the Need To Know. That’s spelled out in the orders. General Dempsey did not have that authority, but he assumed it. Presumably because he thought that as a major general he had that authority. It has nothing to do with rank, and everything with the Need To Know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think, Ed,” Pickering said, “that General Dempsey’s relief came just in time. Before, in other words, he started talking about other things because he thought somebody should know, and that he had the authority to determine Need To Know.”

  “Yes, sir,” Banning said. “That occurred to me, General.”

  “I want you to have a talk with your people, Colonel Platt, to make sure they understand the importance of Need To Know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I dislike delivering lectures,” Pickering said. “But it seemed to me that one was necessary.” He looked around the room at each man in turn. “The immediate application of what I just said, Captain Sampson, is that from this moment—despite what they know about it already—no further details concerning Operation Gobi will be provided to anyone in OSS Chungking unless I, Colonel Banning, or Captain McCoy determines they have the Need To Know. Do you understand that?”

  “Sir, Colonel Platt told me that yesterday.”

  “Okay, now let’s talk about Operation Gobi,” Pickering said. “To begin…”

  “Sir, may I suggest we begin by asking Captain McCoy why he is wearing the uniform of a Nationalist Chinese major?” Banning asked with a smile.

  “Why not?” Pickering said. “It was your idea, as I recall, Ken, to pass yourselves off as caravan people. What’s with those Nationalist uniforms? Not that you don’t look very natty.”

  “It didn’t take me long to figure out that wasn’t going to work, sir. But the real reason is that almost as soon as Colonel Banning ordered me and the gunny to make ourselves scarce, I realized that probably the worst way to do that was to wander around Chungking wearing beards and civilian clothing. We really attracted a lot of attention at first.”

  “Why Chinese uniforms?” Pickering asked.

  “Well, so far as I know, the Marines in this room are the only Marines in Chungking,” McCoy replied. “And when I came here to see Colonel Platt, it seemed to me my Marine uniform attracted as much attention in Kiangpeh—”

  “Kiangpeh?” Pickering interrupted.

  “It’s a town down the river a little, sir. A suburb, I suppose.”

  “And that’s where you’ve been?” Banning asked.

  “Yes, sir. I rented a house th
ere.”

  “Before or after you became a Chinese major?” Banning asked.

  “After,” McCoy said. “When I came back here in my Marine uniform, that attracted as much attention as the beard and civvies. But I had noticed a dozen, maybe more, westerners in Nationalist uniforms. And found out they were White Russians. The only people who ask questions about Nationalist Army majors are lieutenant colonels or better.”

  “Why a major, Ken?” Pickering asked. “Or is that a dumb question?”

  “The Chinese have to make mercenaries they recruit at least majors, sir. They don’t pay much in the Nationalist Army.”

  “Where’d you get the uniforms?” Pickering asked.

  “We went to a tailor.”

  “And did you give some thought to what might happen to you, Captain,” Colonel Platt asked, “if you were stopped by the Chinese military police and asked for identification?”

  “Yes, sir,” McCoy said, and reached in his pocket and came out with an oblong piece of cardboard. It was printed in Chinese and had a photograph stapled to it.

  “Major K. R. MeeKoy,” he said, handing it to Pickering. “Of the 2035th Liaison Group, Nineteenth Corps.”

  “That looks legitimate,” Pickering said, handing it to Platt.

  Platt looked at it, then handed it to Banning.

  “That’s what it says,” Banning said. “It identifies him as Major MeeKoy of the 2035th Liaison Group, whatever the hell that’s supposed to be.”

  “Zimmerman got them from the same printer that does them for the Chinese Army,” McCoy said. “And with the Nansen passports we got in Maryland, it works like a charm.”

  “You hope,” Banning said.

  “We’ve been stopped,” McCoy said simply, “several times.”

  “You don’t speak Russian,” Colonel Platt challenged. “What do you do about that?”

  “I speak Cantonese, Wu, and Mandarin,” McCoy said. “That seems to be enough.”

  “Why did you rent a house?” Banning asked.

  “Because the houses here come with outside walls, making the building lot into a little compound, an interior court? You know what I mean. I needed someplace behind a wall to hide our ambulance. We also have a weapons carrier and a couple of water trailers.”

  “Where did you get the ambulance? And why?” Banning pursued.

  “Where? From a Chinese merchant who had one to sell. I don’t know where he got it.”

  “He probably stole it from the Nationalist Army,” Captain Sampson said, a trifle indignantly.

  “Probably,” McCoy agreed with a smile.

  “What are you going to do with it? Drive it to and across the Gobi?” Banning asked, not unkindly, but sarcastically.

  “Yes, sir,” McCoy said. “That seems the best way to go, sir.”

  “You’re serious?” Banning asked, surprised.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re aware, Captain,” Colonel Platt said, “that there is a good deal of bandit activity between here and the Gobi Desert, and all over the desert itself?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “The bandits don’t concern you?”

  “I think there’s a way to handle that, sir,” McCoy said.

  “I’d like to hear it,” Platt said.

  “So would I,” Pickering said, his eyes on Captain Sampson. “But what I think we should do right now, before that, is ask Captain Sampson to deliver that Opplan briefing again. I’d like to know what McCoy and Zimmerman think of it.”

  It took Sampson forty-five minutes this time to lay out again the Chungking station’s Opplan. During this time, McCoy didn’t ask questions or otherwise interrupt the briefing. Pickering had no idea what he was thinking.

  “I’m learning to be a general,” Pickering said when Sampson was finished. “What generals do, when asking for opinions, is ask the junior man first. That keeps their answers from being colored by what someone senior to them has said first. So, Gunny Zimmerman—or should I say Major Zimmerman?—what do you think?”

  Everyone but Zimmerman chuckled, and it was a long moment before he finally spoke. “With respect, sir, McCoy’s idea makes more sense.”

  Is that his considered opinion, or did he say that because he knows McCoy and doesn’t know these people?

  “You want to expand on that, please, Gunny?” Pickering said.

  “Sir?”

  “General Pickering wants to know what you don’t like about Captain Sampson’s Opplan, Ernie,” McCoy said.

  “Too many people,” Zimmerman said immediately.

  “Perhaps you don’t fully understand the threat the bandits pose, Sergeant,” Captain Sampson said.

  Pickering happened to look at McCoy, and saw ice come briefly to his eyes.

  “Both Captain McCoy and Gunny Zimmerman, Sampson, have had experience with Chinese bandits,” Banning said.

  Zimmerman glanced at Banning with gratitude in his eyes.

  “You don’t think the bandits pose much of a threat, is that it, Zimmerman?” Pickering asked.

  “Sir, they only attack when it ain’t going to cost them much,” Zimmerman said.

  “With that in mind, Gunny,” Banning said, “let me go off on a tangent. What do you think are the chances that the people we think are in the Gobi have had a run-in with bandits?”

  “I think we have to take that as a given, Colonel,” Lieutenant Colonel Platt said. “I personally would be very surprised if we’ll be able to find them.”

  “Meaning, you think they’ve been killed?” Banning asked.

  “I think that’s a reasonable assumption.”

  “Zimmerman?” Pickering asked.

  “Sir, they only attack when it ain’t going to cost them much,” Zimmerman repeated doggedly. He turned to McCoy for support. “You know Sweatley, Killer, and he’s not dumb enough to go into the Gobi—”

  “Who is Sweatley?” Captain Sampson interrupted.

  “One of the men whose names we have,” McCoy said. “He was a buck sergeant with the Marine guard detachment at the legation in Peking. I think Gunny Zimmerman is saying that we can reasonably assume that the people in the desert are armed.”

  “Yeah,” Zimmerman said.

  “They may even have machine guns,” McCoy went on. “I know there were four air-cooled Browning .30s in the armory there.”

  “How do you know that?” Captain Sampson asked.

  McCoy glared at him icily.

  “Tell him, Captain McCoy,” Banning said.

  “Before I went to work for Colonel Banning, I had the machine-gun section in Baker Company, Fourth Marines in Shanghai,” McCoy said. “I used to maintain the Peking legation guard’s weapons.”

  “I see,” Sampson said.

  “What did the sergeant call you, Captain? ‘Killer’?” Colonel Platt asked.

  “Gunny Zimmerman is one of two people who can call Captain McCoy ‘Killer’ without running a great risk of severe bodily harm,” Pickering said.

  “Oh, really? And who is the other one?” Platt asked.

  “I am, Colonel,” Pickering said, and turned to Zimmerman. “To get to the bottom of this, what you’re saying, Gunny—and presumably McCoy agrees with you—is that you believe these people in the desert are well enough armed to keep the bandits from thinking they would be an easy target?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zimmerman said.

  “In other words, you would bet they’re out there somewhere?”

  “Sir, with respect, I’d say it’s fifty-fifty,” Zimmerman said.

  “I hope the sergeant is right, of course,” Platt said. “But if I may speak freely?”

  “Of course,” Pickering said.

  “I don’t think we can mount this operation on a fifty-fifty chance that these people are still out there, and an even slimmer chance that we can find them if they are.”

  “Colonel,” McCoy said, “Marines don’t abandon their own because there’s a good chance they might be dead.”

  “That’s
a very noble sentiment, Captain, but I would suggest this is a question of priorities.” He looked at Pickering, obviously seeking support.

  “How do you see the priorities here, Colonel?” Pickering asked.

  “It seems to me that getting this weather station up and operating is the obvious priority.”

  “May I speak freely, sir?” McCoy asked.

  “That’s what this is all about,” Pickering said.

  “The priority is to have a weather station operating over a long period of time, not just get it up and running,” McCoy said.

  “Of course,” Platt said. “That’s understood.”

  “This place is crawling with Japanese spies, or maybe more accurately, Chinese selling information to the Japs,” McCoy said. “There’s no way you could send a convoy carrying two companies of Nationalist infantry into the desert without the Japs learning about it. They would wonder what was going on.”

  “They have radio intercept capabilities, as I’m sure you know, Captain,” Colonel Platt said, his tone making it clear that he felt McCoy did not know. “Once the weather station begins to transmit data, they’ll know something is going on.”

  “The station will be on the air no more than ten minutes a day,” McCoy responded. “It will probably take the Japanese some time to figure out what’s being transmitted, and even when they do that, they’ll have to find the transmitter.”

  “Finding a transmitter using triangulation isn’t at all difficult,” Captain Sampson said.

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds, either,” McCoy said. “Have you seen the SOI for the weather station?”

  “No,” Sampson said.

  “A different time every day, a different frequency, a different code. I don’t think they’ll be able to locate the station by triangulation easily, and if we move the station, it will be even harder for them.”

  “How are we going to move the station?”

  “In the ambulance,” McCoy said. “Send it twenty, twenty-five miles from the radio station, in a different direction, every day.”