W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire

by Under Fire(Lit)

  "Mr. McCoy!" Taylor called, trying to sound like Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty.

  McCoy turned and then walked to him.

  "You called, Captain?"

  "You have the conn, sir," Taylor said.

  "You better tell me what to do with it, Captain."

  "Steer the course we're on," Taylor said, pointing to the compass.

  "Aye, aye, sir," McCoy replied, and put his hand on the smooth wood of the tiller.

  Taylor went below and immediately returned with an air mattress and two sleeping bags, with which he quickly made himself a bed on the deck and lay down on it.

  And then he went to sleep, without even waiting for their egg-sandwich breakfast.

  When, a few minutes later, breakfast arrived, Jeanette took an egg sandwich from another Army Thermos chest and handed it to McCoy.

  "Thank you."

  "When are we going to get wherever we're going?" she asked.

  He did the arithmetic in his head-so many miles to go at so many knots-and concluded that the voyage would take just about twenty-four hours.

  "We're going-I thought I told you-to an island called Tokchok-kundo, and the way I figure it, we should get there between four and five tomorrow morning."

  She nodded.

  McCoy had another thought, and repeated it aloud.

  "It'll still be dark at 0400, and I don't think Taylor will want to dock this thing in the dark, so it will probably be later, maybe a couple of hours later."

  "And when we get off the Queen Mary, then what?"

  "The first thing we do is get the SCR-300 up and running," McCoy said. "Kim says there is a diesel generator on the island, but probably little-or no-fuel. We brought fuel, and also a small, gas-powered generator that'll work-if we're lucky-for a couple of hours, if we have to use it."

  "What does SCR stand for?"

  "Signal Corps Radio," McCoy said.

  Jeanette took a notebook from her pocket and wrote that down.

  "And once it's up and running, then what?"

  "We radio Tokyo and let them know we're here, and see if they have anything for us."

  "Like maybe word about Pick?" she asked.

  "If there's word about Pick, General Pickering will pass it on," McCoy said.

  "And then?"

  "We're going to unload the stuff we brought with us, take an inventory of what's on Tokchok-kundo that we can use, and start planning to take Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do."

  "Those are the islands in the Flying Fish Channel," Jeanette asked.

  McCoy nodded.

  "You know how to spell them?" she asked, taking out her notebook again.

  "The more information you have, the more I'm tempted to leave you on Tokchok-kundo until this operation is over."

  She met his eyes.

  "And you'd do just that, wouldn't you?" she asked. "How did a nice girl like Ernestine Sage get involved with a ruthless bastard like you?"

  "She was lucky, I guess," McCoy said.

  "I thought I had made it plain that I now have a personal interest in this war," Jeanette said.

  "I don't know how far I can trust you," McCoy said. "If at all."

  "Okay. Leave me on the fucking island if you think you have to. But spell the fucking islands for me now."

  "When it gets light, Taylor has charts with the islands identified. I'm not sure of the spelling."

  "You're going to invade islands you can't even spell?" she asked.

  "We're Marines-we can do anything," McCoy said.

  "The sad thing is you really believe that," she said. "And after you get the Queen Mary unloaded, and make your plans to invade the unspellable islands, then what?"

  `Taylor and I go back to Pusan with a couple of Koreans for crew. Everybody else-probably including you-stays on the island, and starts training the Koreans for the opera-tion. Taylor and I've got a lot to do in Pusan, and maybe in Tokyo, too."

  "For instance?"

  "Well... Jeanette, you understand I'm serious about leav-ing you on Tokchok-kundo? And the more you know...."

  "I'd stay on that fucking island forever if I thought it would help Pick," she said. "Okay?"

  "Okay. That's settled. We're going to need boats to make the assault," McCoy said, "which means (a) we have to find boats, and (b) find some way to get them to Tokchok-kundo."

  "What kind of boats? How many?" she asked.

  What the hell, as long as I'm physically sitting on her, and she has no access to communications, it doesn't mat-ter how much she knows. And talking an operation like this through is always a good idea. You almost always come up with something you didn't think of.

  So he told her what kind of boats, and how many of them, they were going to need. And everything else she asked him.

  [TWO]

  THE DEWEY SUITE

  THE IMPERIAL HOTEL

  TOKYO, JAPAN

  1730 6 AUGUST 1950

  When the knock at the door came, Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, was sprawled on a couch in the sitting room, reading a paperback copy of Mickey Spillane's My Gun Is Quick.

  He went quickly to the door and pulled it open.

  Major General Ralph Howe was in the corridor, dressed as Hart was, in a tieless uniform shirt and trousers.

  "Professional reading, George?" Howe asked.

  "I can't believe this thing," Hart said.

  "Maybe that's why they call it fiction," Howe said. "Where's your boss?"

  Hart pointed to the bedroom.

  "I hope he's asleep," Hart said, and added: "The drinks I fed him at the cocktail hour were stiff ones."

  Howe's eyebrows rose.

  "Not drunk," Hart said. "I've never seen him drunk."

  "I have to talk to him, George," Howe said.

  "Yes, sir," Hart said, tossed My Gun Is Quick onto the couch, and went to Pickering's door. He knocked twice and then went in without waiting.

  Pickering-also dressed in only a uniform shirt and trousers-was lying on his bed.

  "Sorry to disturb you, boss," Hart said.

  "No problem," Pickering said. "I've already counted the kimonoed ladies on the wallpaper twice. What's up?"

  "General Howe, sir."

  Pickering swung his feet out of bed and walked into the sitting room in his stocking feet.

  "Sorry to wake you, Flem," Howe said.

  "I was awake," Pickering said. "Would you like a drink?"

  "I'd love one, but this may not be the time," Howe said.

  "I had a telephone call from Harriman. They just landed at Haneda, and they're coming here to see us. They want to see us both, and separately."

  "They meaning Harriman and Ridgway?" Pickering asked.

  Howe nodded.

  "Get us some coffee, George, while I put my shoes on," Pickering ordered.

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "You all right, Flem?" Howe asked.

  "Meaning am I plastered? No. I gave getting plastered some serious thought and decided it wasn't the smart thing to do."

  Howe followed Pickering and leaned on the bedroom door as Pickering put his shoes on.

  "The other day, McCoy's wife said she knew Harriman. Do you?"

  Pickering nodded.

  "That's probably why he said he wants to see you, first," Howe said.

  "We're not pals," Pickering said. "I've met him, oh, a bunch of times over the years. My wife knows him better than I do. And can't stand him."

  "What's he like?"

  "You never met him?"

  "Only briefly. Truman is impressed with him."

  "Interesting man. His father died when he was eighteen, leaving him the Union Pacific Railroad. And the Southern Pacific. He was our ambassador to Russia during the Sec-ond War. I always thought that was Roosevelt playing Machiavelli again, sending one of the richest men in Amer-ica to be ambassador to the Communists."

  "I got the feeling that he was one of the first-and very few-of that bunch around Roosevelt to warn Truman that Uncle Joe "The Friendly Bea
r' Stalin was a real sonofabitch," Howe said.

  "Could be," Pickering said, grunting as he tied his shoelaces. "He's working for Truman. Most of the rest of that bunch, thank God, is gone."

  He stood up and walked into the bathroom.

  "Five o'clock shadow," he said. "I don't know if Ernie Sage thought that line up, but it's made him a hell of a lot of money."

  "Ernie Sage?" Howe asked, walking across the bedroom to stand in the bathroom door.

  "McCoy's father-in-law," Pickering said. "First, Ameri-can Personal Pharmaceuticals-that was actually Ernie's father-made men ashamed of having beards, and then started selling them safety razors and shaving cream. You ever think about how stupid shaving is?"

  Howe chuckled.

  "You ever have a beard?" he asked.

  "I had a beard from the time I got out of the Corps after the First War until the day I got married. Literally, the day I got married. Patricia said she wouldn't marry me with `that fur on your face,' and I believed her. I should have held my ground."

  "From what I've seen of her, she's a formidable lady," Howe said. "You said before she doesn't like Harriman?"

  "Can't stand him."

  "Why?"

  "Patricia has always had the odd notion that men should not have carnal knowledge of ladies to whom they are not joined in holy matrimony," Pickering said, as he lathered his face.

  "I wonder where they get that silly idea," Howe said.

  "And the sin is compounded when the chap boffing the lady to whom he is not married is himself married."

  "Of course," Howe said. "You're talking around Harri-man? He looks-and acts-like the Chairman of the Vestry."

  "And he probably is," Pickering said.

  "But?"

  "During the war, Patricia was in London a good deal- she was on the War Snipping Board. She kept an apartment in Claridge's Hotel. Claridge's was where Ambassador Har-riman stayed when he flew in from Moscow to confer with Eisenhower and, incidentally, to boff Pamela Churchill."

  "Pamela Churchill?"

  "Winston's daughter-in-law," Pickering said. "His son Randolph's wife."

  "I never heard this before," Howe said.

  "Well, it was hardly a secret," Pickering said. "I heard about it over here, in one of Wild Bill Donovan's Top Se-cret monthly reports on Important World Events, before Patricia told me. And if Wild Bill knew about Harriman and his girlfriend, then Roosevelt did. You were in Europe during the war, Ralph. You ever hear about Eisenhower's `driver,' the English girl he had commissioned into the U.S. Army as a captain?"

  Howe nodded.

  "My God, I am running off at the mouth, aren't I?" Pick-ering said. "Maybe George's drinks were stronger than I thought."

  "Indelicate question," Howe said. "You ever hear any-thing about the Viceroy?"

  "Not a word. And I would have. Of course, it's a lot eas-ier to be faithful to your wife if she's with you. What did Oscar Wilde say, `Celibacy is the most unusual of all the perversions'?"

  "If you don't ask me about my fidelity while overseas defending God, Mother, and Apple Pie," Howe said, "I won't ask you about yours."

  Pickering chuckled.

  "I think what really annoyed Patricia was that Harriman apparently didn't give a damn who knew about the Churchill woman, which had to be very embarrassing for Mrs. Harriman."

  "What does it say in the Good Book, Flem? `Judge not, lest ye be judged'?"

  "I've never met a woman who got that far in reading the Bible," Pickering said.

  He splashed water on his face, wiped it with a towel, and then splashed on aftershave.

  "Well, there we go. My shameful five o'clock shadow having been shorn, and smelling like a French whore, I am now prepared to meet with the ambassador. And Ken Mc-Coy's father-in-law is just a little bit richer."

  "When do you expect to hear from McCoy?" Howe asked.

  "When he has something to tell me," Pickering said. "He's very good at what he does, Ralph. My father taught me to get out of the way of people who know what they're doing, and let them do it."

  Howe nodded.

  "I'd better put a tie and my tunic on," Pickering said.

  "I've been thinking about that," Howe said. "I didn't particularly like Harriman's tone of voice."

  "What?"

  "He was giving orders," Howe said. "As if he had that right."

  "Doesn't he?"

  "And if he walks in here and finds us all dressed up in our general's suits," Howe said, "shoes shined, et cetera- and one of us freshly shaved and smelling like a French whore-he will have established the pecking order as he wants it. Harriman will be the exalted ambassador dealing with a couple of unimportant lower-ranking generals who may have some information he may find useful."

  "Isn't that what we are?"

  "Flem, what it says on our orders-which are signed by Harry Truman-is that we are on a mission for him. I don't know about you, but I haven't had word from the President that I'm supposed to place myself at the disposal of this guy, just that he's coming."

  Pickering didn't reply.

  "What about you?" Howe pursued.

  Pickering shook his head, "no."

  "Harry Truman sent me here to do a job for him-this isn't Ralph Howe's ego in high gear-and I don't think I can do that job if Harriman thinks I am-we are-just a couple of guys whose function is to assist him in his mis-sion. More important, that he can listen to what we have to say, and ignore it if it's not what he wants to hear."

  "Yeah," Pickering said thoughtfully.

  "I think the word is agenda" Howe said. "And I don't think ours is necessarily locked in step with his."

  Pickering nodded.

  "You know him well enough to call him by his first name?" Howe asked.

  Pickering considered that a moment.

  "Why not?"

  "Do you ever call the Viceroy `Douglas'?"

  "Not often," Pickering said. "Sometimes, on private oc-casions, when no one, not even his wife, is there, I do. I call her Jean, which greatly annoys the Palace Guard."

  "When you mention the Viceroy in conversation tonight, refer to him as `Douglas,'" Howe said. "Are we agreed on this, Flem?"

  Pickering nodded again.

  Howe smiled.

  "And I will manage at least several times to forget my status in life and refer to our President and Commander-in-Chief as `Harry,'" Howe said.

  [THREE]

  When Master Sergeant Charley Rogers, wearing khakis, and with his tie pulled down, answered the knock at the door, Major General Ralph Howe, USAR, Brigadier Gen-eral Fleming Pickering, USMCR, and Captain George F. Hart, all in their shirtsleeves, all looked toward it from the table at which they were sitting, playing poker.

  "Gentlemen," Colonel Sidney Huff announced, "Am-bassador Harriman and General Ridgway."

  "Come on in, Averell," Pickering called. "How was the flight?"

  Harriman came into the room, and Pickering remembered what Howe had said about Harriman looking like the Chair-man of the Vestry: He was a tall, slim, balding man with sharp features. His eyebrows were full and almost startlingly black.

  He walked toward the table, and Pickering and Howe rose to their feet.

  "Good to see you, Fleming," Harriman said, offering his hand. "When we can have a moment alone, I have a mes-sage and a small package from Patricia."

  "You know Ralph, don't you, Averell?" Pickering asked.

  "Yes, of course," Harriman said. "How are you, General?"

  General Matthew B. Ridgway was now in the room, walking toward the table. He was a large and muscular man, and when Pickering met his bright and intelligent eyes, he remembered what MacArthur had said about Ridgway being "one of the finest brains in the Army."

  Colonel Sidney Huff and a lieutenant colonel carrying a briefcase and wearing the aiguillette of an aide-de-camp came in and stood by the door.

  "It's good to see you again, sir," Howe said, offering his hand to Ridgway.