"No shit. Go see the stupid movie. It's your duty."
"What about you, General? You were an OSS agent, too. We'll both go."
"No, I was an OSS executive, not a lowly agent, and be-sides I'm a general, and we get to make our own rules. Go on, George, I really would like to be alone."
"Aye, aye, sir," George had said, reluctantly.
Drink in hand, his tie pulled down, Pickering pulled the door open.
Colonel Sidney L. Huff, a tall, rather handsome officer, was standing there. The aiguillette of an aide-de-camp hung from the epaulette of his splendidly tailored tropical-worsted uniform, and on its lapels was a small shield with a circle of five stars.
Huff saluted.
"The Supreme Commander's compliments, General Pickering," Huff said. "The Supreme Commander desires that you attend him at your earliest convenience."
Pickering returned the salute a little uncomfortably. For one thing, Marines don't salute indoors, and for another, he was aware that he was standing there a little smashed with a drink in his hand.
"Come on in, Sid," he said. "I'll have to get my tunic."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't suppose you can tell me what's going on?" Pickering asked.
"Sir, the Supreme Commander sent me to present his compliments, that's all I know."
Pickering felt his chin.
"Fix yourself a drink, Sid," Pickering said. "I'll need a quick shave and a clean shirt."
"Thank you, sir, but no, thank you, General."
"I'll be right with you," Pickering said, and went into his bedroom.
The Supreme Commander's black 1941 Cadillac limousine was parked in the circular drive of the hotel. The red flag with five stars in a circle that normally flew from the left fender was now shrouded, but the small American flag on the right hung limply from its chrome pole. The chauffeur, a master sergeant in crisp khakis, stood by the rear door.
It was enough to attract a crowd of the curious-even reverent-who stood under the marquee and along the drive hoping to catch a glimpse of Mac Arthur.
The master sergeant saluted as Pickering and Huff en-tered the limousine, then walked around to the front of the car and slipped a red flag with one star-the flag to which Pickering was entitled-over the shrouded flag. Then he got behind the wheel and started down the drive.
"I think we have some disappointed people standing there, Sid," Pickering said.
"The Supreme Commander's car always attracts that kind of attention, sir," Huff said. "The Japanese people re-vere him."
"They really do, don't they?" Pickering agreed, thought-fully.
Huff led Pickering into what had been the U.S. Embassy and was now The Residence-and so called-of the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers, and now Supreme Commander, UN Forces, and to the MacArthur apartment.
He knocked at a double door, but did not wait for a re-sponse before pulling it open and announcing, "Brigadier General Pickering, United States Marine Corps."
General of the Army Douglas MacArthur carefully laid a long, thin, black cigar into the ashtray and then rose from a red leather armchair. He was wearing his usual washed-soft khakis.
He started toward Pickering, but before he reached him, Mrs. Jean MacArthur, in a simple black dress with a single strand of pearls, walked to Pickering, took his hand in both of hers, and said, "Oh, Fleming, we're so sorry."
She then stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Pickering could smell her perfume.
I wonder if she can smell the scotch; I should have used Sen-Sen or something.
MacArthur came up and laid a hand on Pickering's shoulder.
"I got the word only now, just before I sent Sid to the ho-tel," he said. "I'm so very sorry, Fleming."
"Thank you," he said.
"You should have told us," Jean MacArthur said.
"Yes," her husband agreed.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Call up and say, "General, I thought you would like to know my son has just been shot down " ?
Pickering didn't reply.
MacArthur looked in his eyes, then patted his shoulder and turned and walked to a sideboard.
"I think a little of this is in order," he said, picking up a bottle of Famous Grouse by the neck.
"Thank you, sir," Pickering said.
Jesus, what's wrong with me? The last thing I need is another drink. Not here.
MacArthur poured an inch of scotch in a glass, walked to Pickering, handed it to him, and then returned to the sideboard, where he poured white wine in a glass, walked to his wife and handed it to her, then returned to the side-board a final time to pour scotch in a glass and then re-turned.
He solemnly touched his glass to Pickering's. His wife touched her glass to Pickering's.
"Major Pickering," MacArthur said, solemnly.
They all sipped at their glasses.
Not that I really give a damn, but how did he find out? He's not on a next-of-kin list-anything like that-and I can't believe he reads a report with the names of every-body who's KIA or MIA on it.
"General Cushman was at the Dai-Ichi Building... ," MacArthur said.
My God, is he reading my mind?
"... briefing General Almond and myself on the splen-did-absolutely splendid!-job Marine aviation is doing in the Pusan area. He concluded his briefing by saying that `sadly, our operations have not been without a price' and then told us what has happened to Major Pickering."
"General Cushman was kind enough to message me with the details," Pickering said, and took a pull at his drink.
"General Cushman also told me that Major Pickering flew the Marines' first combat sortie of this war, during which he destroyed an enemy train..."
"I understand that's the case, sir."
"... and is in complete agreement with me that Major Pickering's flying skill and valor entitle him without ques-tion to the Distinguished Flying Cross. The citation at this moment is being prepared."
What am I supposed to do, say "thank you"?
"Thank you."
"Thanks are not in order, Fleming. Your son upheld the finest traditions of the Marine Corps."
"Pick was a fine Marine officer," Pickering said.
"Indeed, he was."
"I don't know why I said that, past tense," Pickering heard himself say. "Colonel Billy Dunn flew over the site where Pick crashed his Corsair and said the cockpit was empty. It's entirely possible that he's alive. That was not the first Corsair he was shot down in."
You know better than that: "Never end a sentence with a preposition."
You're pissing in the wind, and you know it.
If he didn't get killed in the crash landing, the odds are that he was shot by the North Koreans.
MacArthur looked at him intently for a moment.
"Jean, darling," he said. "Would you give Fleming and me a moment alone?"
Jesus, what's this? Does he know something I don't? Did Cushman find Pick's body?
He imagined the exchange:
Does Pickering know that they found the body?
No, sir. I'd planned to go to the Imperial from here to tell him myself.
That will not be necessary. I will tell him. We are old friends.
"Of course," Mrs. MacArthur said, softly, touched Pick-ering's arm for a moment, and then walked out of the room.
"Let us speak as soldiers," MacArthur said.
Pickering waited for him to go. He was aware that his stomach ached.
"General Willoughby believes there is more than a seventy-thirty probability that Major Pickering survived the crash," MacArthur said.
"He does?"
"And, if that is the case, that there is an eighty-twenty probability that Major Pickering is now a prisoner of the enemy."
Pickering didn't reply.
"I know you're as aware as I am, Fleming, that the en-emy has been executing prisoners out of hand," MacArthur went on, "but-and this is Willoughby's professional judg-ment, not a clutching at straws-in this case, because (a) y
our son is an officer; and (b) a Marine aviator, about whom the enemy knows very little, it would be in the en-emy's interests to keep him alive."
"I see," Pickering said.
"As one soldier to another, Fleming, there is something that might happen to turn this situation."
"Sir?"
"As we speak, Ambassador Averell Harriman and Gen-eral Matt Ridgway are somewhere between San Francisco and Hawaii, en route here."
"General Howe told me, sir," Pickering said.
"Did he tell you why?"
"In general terms, sir."
"Harriman is coming because the President didn't quite understand my going to Taipei to meet with Chiang Kai-shek," MacArthur said. "I had no intention of asking for Chinese Nationalist troops for the war in Korea, and not only because all he would have to offer is poorly trained and poorly equipped troops. What I feared at the time was that the Chinese might see our difficulties in Korea as an opportunity for them to invade Formosa. I wanted to disa-buse them of the notion that the United States would per-mit them to do so without instant retaliation. My presence there made that point. I was prepared to send several fighter squadrons to Formosa, but intelligence developed by Willoughby has convinced me that will not be neces-sary. The Chinese Communists are not preparing to attack Formosa. They do not wish to go to war with us."
"I see."
"The President, as I say, apparently didn't quite under-stand my motives. When I meet with Harriman, I will be able to put any misunderstanding to rest once and for all."
"And General Ridgway?"
"General Ridgway is coming for two reasons, I believe. He is the prime candidate to become chief of staff. I think he wants to see for himself what's going on in Korea. There is-again, a question of not having firsthand knowl-edge of the situation-some concern with the manner in which General Walker is waging that war. There is also, in the Pentagon, far from the scene of action, a good deal of uneasiness about my plan to invade the west coast of Ko-rea, at Inchon, at the earliest possible date."
"You have decided to make the Inchon invasion?"
"I hope to convince General Ridgway, and through him the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President, that not only would such an action bring this war to a satisfactory con-clusion very quickly, but also that it is the only way to avoid a lengthy and bloody conflict to drive the enemy from the Korean peninsula. The President committed the United States to the defense of South Korea, which means the defeat, total defeat, of North Korea's army. There is no substitute for victory, Fleming, as you are well aware."
"And you think that Ridgway is the key to JCS approval of Inchon?"
"Yes. And I don't see that as a problem. When I lay the operation on the table, he can't help but see-he has the reputation of being not only a fighter, but one of the finest brains in the Army-how it would cut the enemy's supply lines, leaving the troops now in South Korea unable to wage war, in a position where they can be annihilated."
"General, I'm way over my head here, but I understand there are problems involved in bringing an invasion fleet to Inchon."
"Ned Almond and I have considered them carefully," MacArthur said. "They can be overcome."
"Yes, sir," Pickering said.
"All of this is to bring a ray of hope-faint but real-into your painful situation," MacArthur said. "The situation as I see it is this: The North Koreans have failed to sweep us into the sea at Pusan. Walker's Eighth Army grows stronger by the day, and the enemy weaker. Willoughby believes, and I concur, that they are growing desperate. They will make every effort to continue their attack, and every day Walker will be better prepared to turn the attack. In that cir-cumstance, the movement of prisoners of war to North Ko-rea-if indeed they ever intended to do so-has a low priority.
"If Ned Almond can land with a two-division force at Inchon and cut the head of the dragon from its body-and I believe he can-then it is entirely possible that rapidly moving armored columns can sweep through the territory now held by the enemy and liberate our men from their prison compounds. In much the same way the First Cav-alry operated-you were there, you remember-when I returned to the Philippines."
"I remember," Pickering said.
That's more pissing in the wind. But right now, pissing in the wind is all I have.
"Your glass is empty, Fleming. Another?"
"Thank you, sir, but no."
"One more, Fleming, and then you can go. It will help you to sleep."
"All right," Pickering said. "Thank you."
[TWO]
Master Sergeant Charley Rogers was sitting in one of the armchairs in the lobby of the Imperial Hotel when Picker-ing walked into it. He was in civilian clothing, and there was a copy of Life magazine in his lap. He rose quickly and intercepted Pickering.
"Hello, Charley," Pickering said. "What's up?"
"General Howe thought maybe you'd feel up to a night-cap, General," Rogers said. "But he said it was a sugges-tion, not an order."
Howe has heard about MacArthur's limousine hauling me off.
"Sure," Pickering said. "Why not? How was dinner?"
"We went to a place that serves Kobe beef," Rogers said. "What that means is they massage the cattle to make it ten-der. The steaks were beautiful, cost an arm and a leg, and tasted like bread dough."
Pickering chuckled.
"I had ham and eggs for breakfast years ago in a hotel in-here, come to think of it, Yokohama-and it looked like a magazine advertisement. Just beautiful. But it was ice cold. They'd made it the night before and put it in the refrigerator."
Rogers smiled. "The CIA guy was here. Hart wasn't here, so I took the message. The CIA guy in Pusan got your message about McCoy."
"Thank you."
"How are you doing, General?"
Pickering shrugged.
"First, I feel sorry for my wife, then for me, and finally I get around to feeling sorry for my son. I think my priorities are screwed up."
"I lost a boy in War Two," Rogers said, and left it at that.
"Thank you for coming, Fleming," General Howe said. "Bullshit aside, I wondered what the Viceroy had to say." He turned to Rogers and signaled that he was to make Pickering a drink.
"He was very gracious about my son," Pickering said, "and I wondered how he found out. And then I got-now that I think about it-a very skillful pitch that I should do what I could to convince General Ridgway that Inchon makes sense."
"I got a message he and Harriman are in-I suppose were in-Hawaii. It was just a fuel stop," Howe said, and then asked, "What did he say about his going to see Chiang Kai-shek?"
"That the President misunderstood his intentions. He said he never wanted Chinese Nationalist troops because they'd have to be trained and equipped, and he went there solely to impress on the Communists that we were behind Chiang and wouldn't permit an invasion of Formosa."
"You believe him?"
Pickering nodded.
Master Sergeant Rogers handed him a drink. Pickering noticed that he'd made himself one.
Rogers is far more to Howe than an errand boy. What is that line, "Command is a lonely thing"? I guess the next step is "Even generals need friends."
I'll bet that when I get to my room, George Hart will be sitting there, waiting for me, wondering, worrying, where the hell I am.
"You mind if I message the President, and tell that to Harriman when he gets here?" Howe asked.
"No, of course not. I should have thought of messaging President Truman myself."
"You heard that, Charley," Howe said. "Find Sergeant Keller and have him get that off right now."
Rogers nodded.
"If you see Captain Hart, Charley," Pickering said. "He doesn't know where I went. Tell him I'm here."
"Ask him if he wants a drink, Charley," Howe ordered.
Rogers wordlessly left the room.
"You think he can carry it off, don't you?" Howe asked.
"The Inchon invasion?"
Howe nodded.
"Yes, I do," Picke
ring said.
"Right now, it's the Viceroy, that gang of sycophants around him, and you, versus the collective wisdom of the Joint Chiefs of Staff," Howe said.
"I thought the Bible salesman had made a convert of you," Pickering said.
"I've been thinking about that," Howe said. "I started thinking about McCoy and Taylor. What that is, really, Fleming, is two junior officers, a squad of Marines, and maybe two squads of Korean policemen taking two small islands. The invasion can't succeed unless they succeed. On solemn reflection, that seems to be a lousy way to stage an invasion."
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 50
