W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire

by Under Fire(Lit)

  Lieutenant Colonel Fuster said, "Aye, aye, sir," and ges-tured to the G-2, the aide, and the sergeant major to leave the general's "office."

  "Okay," Craig said. "What's on your mind?"

  "Sir, I need a dozen men, noncoms, staff sergeants, and weapons and ammunition. Zimmerman has a list."

  "Not that I have either men, weapons, or ammo to spare, but what for?"

  "A clandestine operation, sir."

  "Simple answer, no," Craig said. "Sorry."

  "Sir, I was instructed to show you this, by General Pick-ering, as his authority to conduct the operation."

  He took the White House orders from his utilities pocket and handed them to General Craig. Craig read them and handed them back.

  "Am I permitted to know the nature of this clandestine operation?"

  "Yes, sir. But General Pickering directed me to tell you, sir, that this is classified Top Secret/White House, and is not to be divulged to anyone."

  "Understood," Craig said.

  "There are two NK-occupied islands in the Flying Fish Channel leading to Inchon, sir, from which artillery could be brought to bear on vessels attempting to reach Inchon. We intend to occupy them now, using South Korean na-tional police."

  "I thought they called that invasion operation off-Op-eration Bluehearts was what they called it-when we lost Taejon," Craig said. "Now it's back on?"

  "I don't know if that operation is back on, sir, but Gen-eral Pickering thinks there will be an amphibious operation at Inchon."

  "And you and a dozen noncoms are going to-invade is the wrong word; a dozen men can't invade anything-infil-trate these islands and secure them?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Won't that tip the North Koreans that we're going to land at Inchon?"

  "We hope they will believe it is a South Korean national police operation, sir. What I'm going to do with the non-coms is train and arm South Koreans-"

  "South Koreans already on the islands?"

  "Yes, sir. And I understand there's a lot of refugees from the mainland on the islands, too."

  "What makes you think they'll volunteer?"

  "When the North Koreans took Seoul and Inchon, they shot a lot of people they thought might cause trouble. The refugees want to pay them back."

  "Okay," Craig said.

  "South Koreans, recruited into the South Korean national police, will be the bulk of the landing force. The Marines will wear South Korean national police uniforms...."

  "I suppose wearing the uniform of a cobelligerent is per-mitted under the rules of land warfare, but I wonder what would happen to a Marine who was caught on these islands dressed as a Korean national policeman."

  "Realistically, sir, they'd shoot him."

  "I can't order Marines to do something like this, McCoy. They'll have to be volunteers, and they'll have to know what they're getting themselves into. How do you plan to handle that?"

  "Sir, I don't know, but I'll bet there's some old Raiders in the brigade," Zimmerman said. "They'd volunteer, I'm sure, for something like this, and they'd be ideal."

  "There'd be no way to find them without going through all the records," General Craig said.

  "Sir, what about passing the word that all former Marine Raiders are to report here now?" McCoy asked.

  "I said they would have to volunteer, McCoy," Craig said.

  "I will ask whatever old Raiders who show up to volun-teer-"

  " `For a classified mission, unspecified, involving great personal risk to life?'"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And if you don't get a dozen volunteers, then what?"

  "We'll get some, sir, I'm sure," Zimmerman said.

  "Why are you sure?"

  "If I'd been a Raider, and somebody gave me a choice between doing a small-unit operation, and what I was go-ing to have to do here..."

  "Meaning what, Mr. Zimmerman?"

  "Saving the Army's ass, sir," Zimmerman said, a little uncomfortably. "That's liable to be really dangerous."

  General Craig seemed about to reply, but didn't.

  After a moment, Zimmerman went on: "And say I come up with four ex-Raiders who are willing to go-"

  "You're going to be the recruiting officer for this, I gather?" Craig interrupted.

  "Yes, sir. Captain McCoy's got other things to do. So if I get four ex-Raiders, I'll ask them who else they know who would like to go along. What might be a problem is getting their commanding officers to let them go."

  "You get the volunteers, Mr. Zimmerman. I'll deal with their commanding officers."

  "Aye, aye, sir. Thank you."

  Craig looked at McCoy.

  "The idea, then, is to seize this island and make it look as if the South Korean national police did it on their own? Is that about it, McCoy?"

  "Yes, sir. And if we do it now, and an invasion doesn't immediately follow, we think they'll relax."

  "That's a long shot, isn't it?"

  "Sir, the alternative is taking the islands on D Minus One. That would really tip them off that an invasion was coming."

  Craig nodded his agreement, then raised his voice: "Sergeant Major!"

  The sergeant major walked very quickly down the tent to them.

  "Sir?"

  "Get on the horn right now. Call the battalions-make sure they know the order came from me-and have them send anybody who was once a Marine Raider here, and right now."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "We've been levied for twelve noncoms," General Craig said. "Ex-Marine Raiders would be ideal, according to Mr. Zimmerman. If he can't turn up a dozen of them, we'll have to look elsewhere. He's also going to need some weapons and ammunition. He'll tell you what."

  "Aye, aye, sir. Can I ask what he needs them for? For how long?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's classified," General Craig said. "It's important, Sergeant Major. I can tell you that much. Some very senior Marines think so, and so do I."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Mr. Zimmerman is concerned that their commanders won't want to give up the kind of really good Marines he has to have."

  "I can deal with that, sir," the sergeant major said.

  "Let's see how many Raiders we come up with, and play it by ear from there," General Craig said. "Captain McCoy and Mr. Zimmerman get anything they ask for. Clear?"

  "Aye, aye, sir," the sergeant major said.

  "Anything else, McCoy?"

  "That's about it, sir. Thank you, very much."

  "Good luck, McCoy," General Craig said. "You, too, Zimmerman."

  General Craig raised his voice again.

  "Colonel Fuster, you wanted to see me?"

  Colonel Fuster came down the tent as McCoy, Zimmer-man, and the sergeant major went the other way.

  The sound-reflecting characteristics of the tent were such that all three heard General Craig say, "Don't ask me what that was all about, Fuster. I can't tell you."

  [TWO]

  USAF AIRFIELD K-l

  PUSAN, KOREA

  1635 4 AUGUST 1950

  K-l was a busy airport.

  Lieutenant Commander Andrew McDavit, USNR, in his TBM-3G Avenger, (The Grumman TBF- and TBM-series aircraft (most of which were actu-ally built by the Eastern aircraft division of General Motors) were single-engine torpedo bombers with a three-man crew. Powered by a 1,900-horsepower Wright engine, it had a top speed of 275 mph, and could carry 2,000 pounds of bombs or torpedoes, etc. It served in that role throughout World War II. Some Avengers were COD (Carrier On Board Delivery) modified to serve as small transport aircraft able to operate from aircraft carriers, by the addition of seats in the torpedo/bomb bay.

  During World War II, the youngest aviator in the U.S. Navy was forced to crash-land his combat-damaged Avenger in the sea. Rescued almost im-mediately by a submarine improbably in the area, Ensign George Herbert Walker Bush, USNR, survived to become the forty-first President of the United States and father of the forty-third) was third in the landing pattern behind a C-54 of the Air Force air transport command
, and an R5D of the Naval air transport command. Behind him was a Marine F4-U from the Sicily, then a two-plane flight of USAF P-51 Mustangs, and, he thought, maybe half a dozen other aircraft.

  "K-l, Marine Double Zero Four," the pilot of the F4-U called.

  "Double Zero Four, go ahead."

  "I have a fuel warning light blinking at me. Could you get those elephants to let me in ahead of them?"

  "Double Zero Four, are you declaring an emergency?"

  "Negative at this time. Ask me again in sixty seconds."

  "Air Force Four Oh Nine, you are clear to land on One Six," the K-l tower operator ordered. "Navy Six Six Six, you are number two after the C-54. Acknowledge."

  "Four Oh Nine, understand Number One. Turning on fi-nal at this time."

  "Six Sixty-six understands Number Two behind the Air Force."

  "Navy Five Niner Four."

  "Niner Four."

  "Five Niner Four, turn ninety degrees right, climb to five thousand, and reenter the landing pattern after an Air Force C-47. I have a Marine F4-U with low fuel. Acknowledge."

  "Shit," Lieutenant Commander McDavit said, then pushed the button on his microphone. "Niner Four making a right ninety-degree at this time. Understand climb to five thou-sand to reenter pattern after an Air Force Gooney-Bird."

  "Marine Double Zero Four, you are number three on One Six after the two transports."

  "Thank you kindly, K-l. And sorry about this, Navy Niner Four."

  "Fuck you, jarhead," Lieutenant Commander McDavit said, without pressing his microphone button.

  Goddamn hotshot jarheads do this all the goddamn time-linger so long looking for something to shoot at that they don't have the fuel to make it back to the carrier.

  It was another fifteen minutes before Lieutenant Com-mander McDavit was able to land.

  Which will make me fifteen fucking minutes late getting back to the Badoeng Strait. Which means that I will proba-bly get back to her just in time to have the sun right in my fucking eyes when I line up on final.

  Ground control directed Navy Five Niner Four to the tarmac in front of Base Operations.

  Lieutenant Commander McDavit shut the aircraft down and then he and Aviation Motor Machinist's Mate 2nd Class Richard Orwell climbed down to the ground.

  "You start unloading the mail," Commander McDavit ordered. "And I'll see about getting us a Jeep or some-thing."

  "Right," Orwell said.

  The proper response to an order was "Aye, aye, sir," but Orwell was a good kid, and meant no disrespect, so Mc-Davit decided to let it pass.

  Somewhere on K-l was a small Navy detachment charged with dealing with the mail. It came from San Diego-sometimes San Francisco-on a Navy R5D. R5Ds could not land on "Jeep" carriers such as the Sicily and the Badoeng Strait, so a COD Avenger had to fly to K-l and pick it up.

  Commander McDavit was directed to the fleet post of-fice detachment, told "sorry, no Jeep," and walked to it, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get the Bado-eng Strait's outgoing mailbags from the Avenger to the FPO, and the incoming mailbags from the FPO to the Avenger, without a Jeep.

  There was a Marine captain, in utilities, leaning on an Army Jeep in front of the FPO. A Garand rifle was hanging from its strap, hooked on the corner of the windshield.

  The Marine captain stood straight and saluted.

  "You're the COD from the Badoeng Strait?" the Marine captain asked.

  "Right."

  "I need a ride out to her, Commander," the Marine said.

  "You're reporting aboard?"

  "Not exactly," the Marine captain said, and showed Mc-Davit a set of orders from SCAP, signed by some Army three-star general, saying he was authorized to go just about any place he wanted to go.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do, Captain," McDavit said. "You help me get the mailbags I brought from the Badoeng Strait here, and the mailbags that are going to the Badoeng Strait out to my airplane, and if I have the weight left, I'll take you out."

  "I'll help you with the mail," the Marine captain said, as he produced another set of orders, this one-Jesus Christ!- signed by the Commander-in-Chief himself, "but if it's a question of me or the mail going, the mail will have to wait."

  [THREE]

  THE USS BADOENG STRAIT

  35 DEGREES 60 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

  130 DEGREES 52 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE

  THE SEA OF JAPAN

  1945 4 AUGUST 1950

  "Badoeng, Badoeng, Niner Four at 5,000, five miles east. I have Badoeng in sight."

  "Niner Four, Recovery operations under way. You are number two to land after an F4-U on final approach."

  "Roger, I have him in sight. Badoeng, be advised I have aboard a passenger traveling on Presidential orders."

  "Say again, Niner Four?"

  "Be advised I have aboard a passenger traveling on Presidential orders."

  Commander McDavit set his Avenger down on Badoeng Strait's deck more or less smoothly, and the hook caught the second cable, which caused the aircraft to decelerate very rapidly.

  Which caused Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, to utter a vulgarity instantly followed by an obscenity, and then a blasphemy.

  There were no windows in the passenger/cargo area of the Avenger, and very little light. The seat faced the rear, which had produced a certain feeling of unease in Captain McCoy, especially during the last few moments of Com-mander McDavit's landing approach, during which he had abruptly moved the aircraft to the right, and then even more abruptly to the left, and then raised the nose sharply in the second before he touched down.

  Captain McCoy was recovering from this traumatic ex-perience when the hatch in the fuselage suddenly opened, filling the interior with brilliant light from the setting sun. It took Captain McCoy's eyes a long moment to adjust to the change in light intensity, but when they had, he saw a Marine corporal, in dress blue trousers, khaki shirt, and brimmed cap with white cover, standing at attention by the door, his right arm raised in a rigid salute.

  Captain McCoy unstrapped his harness and started to go through the hatch, then remembered the National Match Garand and backed into the passenger/cargo compartment to unstrap it.

  When he finally passed through the door and stood in the bright sunlight of the deck, he saw that he was being met by a welcoming party. There was a Navy lieutenant, in the prescribed regalia identifying him as the officer of the deck. There was also a commander, a lieutenant com-mander, a Marine lieutenant colonel-wearing aviator's wings-and a Marine staff sergeant.

  What's going on? Who the hell are all these people?

  The Badoeng Strait's captain, having been advised that an officer traveling on Presidential orders was about to come aboard, and not knowing that it was a lowly jarhead captain, had ordered that the distinguished guest be greeted with appropriate ceremony, and sent the Badoeng Strait's executive officer, the senior Marine officer aboard, and the two Marine orderlies on duty to do so.

  Captain McCoy remembered the protocol.

  He saluted the officer of the deck.

  "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

  "Granted."

  McCoy faced aft and saluted the national colors, then faced left and saluted the Navy commander and the Marine lieutenant colonel, who returned his salute.

  "Welcome aboard, sir," the officer of the deck declared. "May I ask to see the captain's orders, sir?"

  This time, McCoy decided, the White House orders first.

  He handed them to the officer of the deck, who read them, then handed them to the executive officer, who read them, handed them to the Marine lieutenant colonel, who read them and handed them back.

  "The captain's compliments, Captain," the executive offi-cer said. "The captain asks that you join him on the bridge."

  "Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.

  A little parade was formed and marched to the island, entered it, and then wended its way up several ladders to the bridge.

  The Badoeng Strait's captain rose from his swivel chair
when he saw the little parade file onto the bridge.

  "Captain McCoy, Captain," the executive officer said, "who is traveling under authority of the President."

  The captain looked amused.