A Jeep, painted in a checkerboard pattern, and with a follow me sign and a large checkerboard flag mounted on its rear, came out and led the Avenger to Base Operations. Dunn parked the airplane and shut it down, and he and Mc-Coy climbed down from the cockpit.
The crew chief, a slim, nineteen-year-old, blond crew-cutted aviation motor machinist's mate, came through the small door in the fuselage.
"Thanks for letting me ride on top," McCoy said.
"Anytime, Captain," the Navy crew chief said.
"Thank you, sir, for the ride," McCoy said.
"I'll go see the Marine liaison officer with you," Dunn said.
"I've already spoken with him, sir," McCoy said. "But thank you."
"But you're a captain, and I'm a lieutenant colonel," Dunn said. "It has been my experience that Marine cap-tains pay more attention to lieutenant colonels than they do to other captains. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, sir. I suppose that's true. Thank you, sir."
"This won't take long," Dunn said to the crew chief. "Why don't you see if anything important fell off, or is about to."
"Aye, aye, sir," the crew chief said, smiling.
As Dunn and McCoy walked to the Base Operations building, a Marine with a Thompson submachine gun stepped out of the shadows and walked up to them and saluted.
"Good evening, sirs," he said. "Captain McCoy, sir?"
McCoy returned the salute.
"I'm McCoy."
`Technical Sergeant Jennings, sir. Mr. Zimmerman sent me to meet you."
"Where is he?"
"In a warehouse on the pier, sir. With the others."
"You've got wheels?" McCoy asked.
"Yes, sir."
"I'll be with you in a minute," McCoy said.
There was someone else waiting for McCoy. When they entered the tiny room assigned to the Marine liaison offi-cer, there was a plump army transportation corps major sit-ting backwards in a folding metal chair talking across a small wooden desk to the Marine liaison officer, whose folding chair was tilted back against the wall.
Both got up when McCoy and Dunn entered the room.
"Captain McCoy?" the Army major said.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Captain Overton, sir," the Marine officer said to Dunn.
Dunn nodded at him and looked curiously at the Army major.
"My name is Dunston, McCoy," the major said, and first handed McCoy a sheet of radio teletypewriter paper, and then before McCoy could unfold it to read it, extended a small, folding leather wallet, holding it so he could read it. It was the credentials of a CIA agent.
McCoy nodded, then said, "You better show that to Colonel Dunn."
Somewhat reluctantly, the major did so, while McCoy read the sheet of paper.
URGENT
SECRET
4 AUGUST 1950
FROM STATION CHIEF, TOKYO
MESSAGE TOKYO 4AUG50 05
TO STATION CHIEF, PUSAN
CAPTAIN K. R. MCCOY, USMCR, AND MASTER GUNNER E. ZIMMERMAN, USMC, OF THE PER-SONAL STAFF OF THE CIA ASSISTANT DI-RECTOR FOR ASIA ARE IN KOREA IN CONNECTION WITH A CLASSIFIED MISSION.
BY AUTHORITY OF BRIG GEN FLEMING PICK-ERING, USMCR, CIA ASST DIR ASIA, SHOULD EITHER OF THESE OFFICERS CON-TACT YOU FOR ANY ASSISTANCE IN CONNEC-TION WITH THEIR MISSION, YOU WILL FURNISH THEM WITH WHATEVER THEY ASK FOR FROM ASSETS UNDER YOUR CONTROL.
IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO PROVIDE WHAT THEY REQUEST, STATION CHIEF TOKYO WILL BE ADVISED BY URGENT RADIOTELETYPE, CLAS-SIFIED TOP SECRET, OF WHAT YOU ARE UN-ABLE TO PROVIDE, WHY, AND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE AND ARE DOING TO ACQUIRE THE UNAVAILABLE REQUESTED SUPPORT.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF RECEIPT OF THIS MES-SAGE WILL BE MADE TO STACHIEF TOKYO BY RADIO TRANSMISSION OF THE WORD SHOP-KEEPER REPEAT SHOPKEEPER.
LOWELL C. HAYNES
STACHIEF TOKYO
SECRET
McCoy handed the radio teletype to Dunn, then noticed that the major didn't seem to like this.
"Colonel Dunn is cleared for this operation," McCoy said.
"I don't even know what this operation is all about," the major said.
"Major, it looks to me that if you had the need to know, that would have been spelled out in that," McCoy said, nodding at the teletype message.
The major visibly didn't like that.
Dunn handed the major the teletype message.
"Have you seen that, Captain?" McCoy asked the Ma-rine liaison officer.
Marine captains are not required by protocol to use the term "Sir" when speaking with other Marine captains. But there was a certain tone of command in McCoy's voice that triggered a Pavlovian response in the liaison officer.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"Forget you ever saw it," McCoy ordered.
"Yes, sir," the liaison officer repeated.
"McCoy," Major Dunston said, "he wouldn't admit ever having heard your name until I showed him my credentials."
"What made you think he would know my name?" Mc-Coy asked.
"This is what I do for a living, Captain," the major said. "Figure things out. I figured you would be using K-l, and probably be dealing with the Marine liaison officer here."
"Captain," Billy Dunn said. "Let me explain your role in this."
"Yes, sir?"
`Tomorrow, probably before eleven hundred, a COD Avenger will land here. The pilot will hand you a sealed envelope. You will treat that envelope as if it contains Top Secret material, and secure it appropriately until either Captain McCoy or Master Gunner Zimmerman, only, re-peat only, either of those two officers relieves you of it. You will not, repeat not, log the envelope-or any message from McCoy going out to me on the Badoeng Strait-in your classified-documents log."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"If I have to say this, you will not comment on the mys-terious envelopes from and to the Badoeng Strait to any-one. Clear?"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"The idea is the fewer people who know about this, the better. Clear?"
"Understood, sir."
"That about take care of it, Captain McCoy?" Dunn asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Then I'd better be getting back to the Badoeng Strait," Dunn said.
"I'll walk you out to the plane, sir," McCoy said. "I'll be with you shortly, Major."
"Thank you, Billy," McCoy said when they were standing at the wing root of the Avenger, outside Base Operations, where he was sure no one could hear them. "That helped, and I appreciate it. I really need those pictures. I don't want to paddle up to those islands and find half the North Korean army waiting for us. But I really didn't want to have to show that captain the White House orders."
"I think he was sufficiently dazzled by that CIA fellow's badge," Dunn said. "And the message from Pickering."
"More by Colonel Dunn," McCoy said.
"Ken, what if there are more North Koreans on those islands than you think are there? Then what?" Dunn asked.
"I guess we'll have to play that by ear. With a little luck, your pictures will let us know, one way or the other."
"Ken, we have some pretty good photo interpreters on the Badoeng Strait. Maybe they'd be better at looking at the photos than you are."
"Maybe, hell," McCoy said. "But they'd have to be told what we're looking at, and for."
Dunn nodded. "I understand. I noticed you didn't tell that CIA guy much. What's his role in this?"
"I don't know. I wish the general hadn't done that. I know his intentions were good...."
"But?"
"I'm afraid he's clever and will be able to figure things out from what I ask him to get for me. And I'm afraid of who he will tell what's he's thinking."
"But, Christ, he's a CIA agent-an intelligence officer. He's not liable to talk too much, is he?"
"From the tone of the radio teletype, he's obviously sub-ordinate to the Tokyo station chief, which means he would like to prove how clever he is to his boss."
Dunn considered that for a moment, then touched Mc-Coy's shoulder.
"Take
care of yourself, Ken," Dunn said. "If you hear anything... you'll let me know?"
"Absolutely," McCoy said.
"Get the bastard back for me," Dunn said. "I really want to burn him a new anal orifice."
"I'm sure as hell going to try," McCoy said, and then: "I'm glad you brought that up. I can turn the CIA guy onto that, and maybe away from what we're going to be doing."
Dunn squeezed McCoy's shoulder with his fingers, and then hoisted himself onto the Avenger's wing root.
McCoy waited until Dunn had started the Avenger's en-gine and was taxiing after the follow me Jeep to the run-way, then started back toward Base Operations, looking for the sergeant Zimmerman had sent to meet him....
Technical Sergeant Jennings found him first. He pulled a Jeep behind McCoy and flashed the headlights on and off to get his attention. McCoy got in beside him.
"Where did you say Mr. Zimmerman was?" McCoy asked.
"In a warehouse on the pier, sir."
"What's he doing there?"
"I really don't know, sir," Sergeant Jennings said, his tone telling McCoy that he knew what Zimmerman was doing but was a wise enough noncom not to be the one who told the new commanding officer.
"Where are we headed, sir?"
"Stop right here and rum the headlights off," McCoy said. "Before we go to the pier, I need some answers."
"Yes, sir?"
"You're going to be part of this operation?" McCoy said.
"Whatever it is, yes, sir."
"Welcome aboard," McCoy said. "Did Mr. Zimmerman tell you what we're going to do?"
"He said you'd get into that, sir."
"Is there a Navy officer with Mr. Zimmerman? Lieu-tenant Taylor?"
"Yes, sir."
"What else is there?"
"There's a dozen of us, sir."
"Mr. Zimmerman was trying to recruit ex-Marine Raiders," McCoy said, but it was a question.
"I was a Raider, sir."
"And that's why you volunteered for this?"
"Yes, sir," Sergeant Jennings said, then added, "Raiders are something special, sir."
"Yes, we are, aren't we? Women find us irresistible, and movie stars ask for our autographs."
Sergeant Jennings chuckled.
"You were a Raider, sir?"
"A long time ago. At the beginning. I was just out of OCS, a really bushy-tailed second lieutenant."
"There was a Lieutenant McCoy on the Makin Island raid...."
"I was at Makin," McCoy said.
"I thought...," Jennings said, and stopped.
"You thought what?"
"That you might be Killer McCoy, sir."
"Pass the word, Sergeant Jennings, that your new skip-per has the nasty habit of castrating, with a dull knife, peo-ple who call him that."
"Aye, aye, sir," Sergeant Jennings said. "But I have to say this. Knowing that makes me feel a lot better about volunteering for this... whatever it is."
"What we're going to try to do is, dressed up in Korean national police uniforms, take a couple of small islands off Inchon with as little fuss as possible. They're supposed to be lightly defended by second-class troops."
Sergeant Jennings considered that, but said nothing for several minutes.
"There's an army transportation corps major waiting for me in Base Operations," McCoy said. "He's actually a CIA agent, actually the CIA's station chief here. He's been or-dered to give us what support he can. But, I decided in the last couple of minutes, I want him to know as little as pos-sible about what we're doing. Make sure that word gets passed."
"Aye, aye, sir," Jennings said, then went on, somewhat hesitantly: "Mr. Zimmerman said you and he have been in Korea for a while, sir?"
"For a while."
"Why is the Army so fucked up, sir?"
"They didn't train," McCoy said. "It's as simple as that. And they're not all fucked up. There's one regiment-the 27th, they call themselves the `Wolfhounds'-that's first class. And there are others. But what it looks like to me is the brass just didn't expect a war, and just weren't prepared for this."
"Nobody thought this was coming?"
As a matter of fact, Sergeant, I told them it was coming. And they tried to get me kicked out of the Marine Corps be-cause they didn't want to hear it.
"Apparently not," McCoy said. "Okay, turn the lights on and drive me to Base Operations. Maybe this guy can get us someplace more comfortable to set up shop than a ware-house on the pier."
[FIVE]
Major Dunston was waiting for McCoy in a Jeep parked beside the base operations building.
McCoy got out of Jennings's Jeep and walked up to Dunston's Jeep.
"I have to go to the pier in Pusan," he announced. "We have to talk, obviously. Talking in the Jeep Okay with you?"
"Fine, get in," Dunston added. "I know where you're go-ing on the pier."
"You've got people on the pier?" McCoy asked.
Dunston nodded, started the Jeep, and drove off. McCoy made a follow me gesture with his arm, and Sergeant Jen-nings pulled his Jeep behind Dunston's.
"First things first, I suppose," McCoy said. "Are you a major?"
"I'm a civilian with the assimilated rank of major," Dun-ston said. "In War Two, I was an OSS captain in Europe. `Major' Dunston is a convenient cover."
"I'm a Marine captain who was a Marine major in the OSS during War Two," McCoy said. "In the Pacific."
"I know who you are, McCoy," Dunston said. "What do they say? `Your reputation precedes you.' I'm really look-ing forward to working with you."
What is that, soft soap?
What reputation precedes me? The Killer McCoy busi-ness? Or that I was sent home from Tokyo and almost booted out of the Corps?
"One of Colonel Dunn's Corsair pilots was shot down yesterday morning near Taejon, while shooting up a North Korean railroad train. Colonel Dunn flew over the crash site almost immediately afterward. He believes the pilot walked away from the crash."
"And?"
"Extraordinary measures are called for to get him back," McCoy said. "Or to determine beyond any doubt that he's KIA."
"Who is he, some congressman's son?"
"General Pickering's son," McCoy said.
"Jesus Christ!" Dunston exclaimed, genuinely sur-prised. "And the Marine Corps let him fly combat sorties?"
"Why not?" McCoy said. "Joseph Stalin's son was not only in the front lines as an infantry officer but was cap-tured by the Germans."
"I heard that," Dunston said. "He committed suicide in a POW camp by walking past the Dead Line. I also heard the Germans shot the two Germans on the Dead Line machine gun for gross stupidity."
"It would be gross stupidity on our part if we let the NKs know who they may have taken prisoner."
"Yeah."
"You have some reliable agents the other side of the line?"
"Some. A lot of them were caught up in the NKs shoot-anybody-who-even-might-be-dangerous occupation pol-icy."
"Gold talks," McCoy said. "You believe that?"
"Absolutely. What are you going to try to buy?"
"What do you think of putting a price on Pickering?"
"For what?"
"So much for locating him, so much more for hiding him from the North Koreans, so much more-a lot more- for getting him back."
"Let me think about that," Dunston said.
"Sure. But we don't have much time. In the meantime, I'm setting up a small unit to go after him, if he can be found...."
"That's the Marines on the pier?" Dunston asked.
"Right," McCoy said. "And I'm going to need a junk, a junk with a good engine."
"I have one," Dunston said, and added, somewhat smugly, "with a two hundred-horse Caterpillar diesel."
"No kidding?"
"It was used by smugglers," Dunston said. "The national police caught them-before the war started-and confis-cated it, and I swapped them a stock of Japanese small arms for it. Luckily, it was here when the war started-nor-mally I kept it up north, on the Ea
st Coast."
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 48
