W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire

by Under Fire(Lit)

  "And why is it, if I may ask, you don't want this operation of yours to come to the attention of the fools in the Dai-Ichi Building?"

  "Because I know they would object to it," Pickering said. "Probably forbid me to go on with it."

  "They almost certainly would object, and object rather strenuously, for the very good reason that it makes a bloody hell of a lot more sense than what they're propos-ing. Your intention is to present them with a fait accom-pli?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "How can I help without-how do I phrase this deli-cately?-without exposing my scrotum to the butcher's ax on the chopping block to the degree you are?"

  "Taylor," Pickering said. "Tell the admiral what you need."

  "Two small boats, sir, lifeboats would do. Capable of carrying eight or ten men and their equipment. Preferably with an auxiliary engine-"

  "No problem," the admiral interrupted.

  "-delivered as soon as possible as near as possible to Tokchok-kundo," Taylor finished.

  "Ah!" the admiral said.

  He looked around for his drink, found it, took a sip, and then frowned.

  "Fitz, when is Charity due to leave Sasebo?" he asked, finally.

  "At first light on the sixteenth, sir."

  "Round figures, she should be able to make twenty knots easily; it's about five hundred miles to Inchon. That would put her off the Flying Fish Channel lighthouse twenty-four hours later. At first light, and I don't think Mr. Taylor wants to do this in the daylight."

  The admiral paused, and everyone waited for him to go on.

  "Signal the yardmaster at Sasebo that (one) I should be seriously distressed to hear Charity didn't make that at-first-light departure schedule, and (two) before she sails, he is to mount on her two ten-man open boats with functioning auxiliary engines-emphasize functioning-in such a manner that they may be launched quickly on the high seas."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And when he inquires, as he doubtless will, what in the hell is going on, as politely as you can, hint that I have been at the gin again, and you haven't an idea what it's all about."

  "Yes, sir."

  The admiral turned to Taylor.

  "HMS Charity is a destroyer. Before she leaves Sasebo to return to her blockade duty in the Yellow Sea, I will have a private word with her captain-or Fitz will, he's his brother-in-law and that might attract less attention-telling him, (one) that two Americans will board her as super-cargo on the night of August fifteenth, for a purpose to be revealed to no one but him until after she is under way, and (two) that he is to authorized to make whatever speed is necessary to put Charity three miles off the Flying Fish Channel lighthouse not later than 0300 17 August, where he will put the boats and the Americans over the side."

  He paused again.

  "This all presumes that nothing will go awry," he went on, "as it almost certainly will. But it is the best I can do under the circumstances. Will that be satisfactory?"

  "I don't know how to thank you, Admiral," Pickering said.

  "One way would be to make sure that when Charity starts down the Flying Fish Channel on fifteen September, the lighthouse will be operating, and she will not come un-der artillery fire."

  Chapter Eighteen

  [ONE]

  HANEDA AIRFIELD

  TOKYO, JAPAN

  1530 15 AUGUST 1950

  There were seven officers-the senior of them a captain and eleven enlisted men-ranging in rank from, technical sergeant to corporal-in USMC Platoon Aug9-2 (Provi-sional). The platoon was the second of two that had been organized at the Replacement Battalion (Provisional) at Camp Joseph J. Pendleton, California, six days before, on August 9. All of the members of Aug9-2 were Marine re-servists, involuntarily called to active duty by order of the President of the United States for the duration of the pres-ent conflict, plus six months, unless sooner released for the convenience of the government.

  Both platoons had the same purpose, to get replace-ments to the First Marine Brigade (Provisional) in Pusan, South Korea, as expeditiously as possible. The size of Aug9-2 had been determined by the number of seats avail-able on Trans-Global Airways Flight 1440, San Francisco to Tokyo, with intermediate stops at Honolulu, Hawaii, and Wake Island.

  Platoon Aug9-2 had been formed at 0715 in the morn-ing, and had departed Camp Pendleton by Greyhound Bus for San Francisco at 0755. Travel was in utilities. The trip took a little more than ten hours, including a thirty-minute stop for a hamburger-and-Coke lunch outside Los Angeles.

  There was just time enough at the airfield in San Fran-cisco for the members of Aug9-2 to make a brief telephone call to their families. Most of them did so, and although each member of Aug9-2 had been admonished not to in-form their family members of their destination until they reached it, with the exception of one officer, a second lieu-tenant, all of them told their family members they were in San Francisco about to get on an airplane for Tokyo and eventually South Korea.

  Why the hell not? Who did the goddamn Crotch think it was fooling? What was the big goddamn secret? Where else would the goddamn Crotch be sending people except to goddamn Korea?

  The flight aboard Trans-Global Airways Flight 1440 was a pleasant surprise. It was a glistening-apparently not long from the assembly line-Lockheed Constellation. There was a plaque mounted on the bulkhead just inside the door, stating that on June 1,1950, the City of Los Ange-les had set the record for the fastest flight time between San Francisco and Tokyo.

  The seats were comfortable, the stewardesses good-looking and charming. Almost as soon as they were in the air, the stewardesses came by asking for drink orders. Drinks were complimentary.

  One of the staff sergeants of Aug9-2, who three weeks before had been a maritime insurance adjuster in Seattle, and often flew to Honolulu on Trans-Global and other airlines, was surprised that Trans-Global was passing out free booze in tourist class, and asked about it.

  "I don't really know," she said. "I heard something that the president of the company was a Marine, or something. All I know is that all our military passengers get compli-mentary refreshments."

  The military passengers in tourist class also got the same meal-filet mignon, baked potato, and a choice of wine-that was being served in first class. The civilians in the back got a chicken leg and no wine.

  Still, with the fuel stops in Hawaii and Wake Island, it was a hell of a long flight to Tokyo, and all of Aug9-2 got off the plane at Haneda on 12 August tired, needing a bath and a shave, and in many cases, more than a little hung-over.

  They were taken by U.S. Army bus to Camp Drake, out-side Tokyo, for processing, which included a review of the inoculation records; their service record; an opportunity for those who didn't have it to take out an insurance policy that would pay their survivors $10,000 in the case of their death; zeroing their individual weapons; issuance of 782 gear and a basic load of ammunition; and two hour-long lectures.

  One of the lectures, by an Army captain, told them what they could expect to find, in a military sense, once they got to Korea. It surprised none of them, for they had all read the newspapers.

  The goddamned Army was getting the shit kicked out of it, and-what else?-had turned to the goddamn U.S. Ma-rine Crotch to save its ass.

  The second lecture, by a Navy chaplain, told them what they could expect to find in Korea in a sexually-transmitted-diseases sense. It included a twenty-minute color motion picture of individuals in the terminal stages of syphilis, and of other individuals whose genitalia were covered with suppurating scabs.

  At 1200 15 August 1950, Marine Corps Platoon Aug9-2 (Provisional) was fed a steak-and-eggs luncheon, causing many of its members to quip cleverly that the condemned men were getting the traditional hearty last meal.

  Then they were loaded on an Army bus that took them back to the Haneda Airfield. There, they were told, they would board a Naval Air Transport Command Douglas R5D, which would depart at 1400, and after several inter-mediate stops-Osaka, Kobe, and Sasebo-would deposit them at K-l Ai
rfield, Pusan, South Korea, where they would be met by a Marine liaison officer who would get them to the First Marine Brigade (Provisional), where Aug9-2 would be disestablished, and they would be as-signed billets in the brigade according to the needs of the brigade at the moment.

  Shortly after boarding the aircraft-half of the fuselage was devoted to cargo-they were told there was an unex-pected delay in the departure time, they were going to have to wait for some big shot, and since it was going to get hot as hell in the aircraft, those who wished could get off and wait in the shade offered by a hangar.

  The lieutenant (j.g.) who gave them this word also re-minded them that anyone who missed the departure of the aircraft would be subject to far more severe penalty under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, 1948, than provided for simple absence without leave. Missing this flight would be construed as absence without leave to avoid hazardous service.

  All of Aug9-2 got off the airplane and sat down in the shade on the concrete before the doors of an enormous hangar.

  At 1525, the big shot they were holding the flight for showed up in a two-U.S.-Army-staff-car convoy. The first of the two glistening olive-drab 1949 Chevrolet staff cars had the single-starred flag of a brigadier general flying from a short staff mounted to the fender.

  An Army sergeant jumped out and opened the door. A Marine brigadier general got out, and then a Marine cap-tain, and then a Navy lieutenant. The sergeant opened the trunk, and the Navy officer took a suitcase from it.

  A Marine captain-wearing, like the other Marine offi-cers, a crisply pressed uniform-got out of the second staff car and went to the trunk. Then a-Jesus H. Christ, will you look at that?-well-dressed, quite beautiful American woman got out of the car and watched the captain take a suitcase from the trunk.

  She walked with him as he walked to the brigadier gen-eral. They exchanged salutes. The general shook hands with the captain and the Naval officer. The captain touched the cheek of the goddamn beautiful woman, and then she threw herself into his arms, and he held her for a moment.

  Then he and the naval officer walked to the airplane and went up the ladder. The general put his arm around the beautiful woman in a fatherly, comforting manner.

  The Navy officer who'd told them they could wait in the shade appeared at the door of the airplane and waved at USMC Platoon Aug9-2 (Provisional), signaling them that it was now time for them to reboard the aircraft.

  They did so.

  McCoy leaned across Taylor and waved at Ernie, although he was reasonably sure that she couldn't see him.

  "That's tough on you, isn't it, Ken?" Taylor asked, thoughtfully. "Having her here, and you commuting to the war?"

  "What about the Air Force guys?" McCoy responded. "They do it every day: `How was your day, honey?' `Oh, I bombed a couple of bridges, shot up a convoy, took a little antiaircraft in my landing gear, and had to land wheels-up. Nothing special. How about you?' `My day was just awful. Ellsworth, Junior, kicked Marybelle Smith, Colonel Smith's little girl, and you have to call Mrs. Smith and apologize. The battery's dead in the car, and the PX doesn't know when they're going to get the right one. They want you on the PTA committee, and I didn't know how to tell them no-`"

  He was interrupted by the roar of the engines as the pilot set the throttles to takeoff power, but Taylor had heard enough to laugh.

  The R5D began its takeoff roll.

  When McCoy decided that the roar of the engine had gone down enough for Taylor to hear him, McCoy said: "All we have to worry about now is (one) whether Jennings and the other guys and the stuff from Pusan made it to Sasebo, and (two) whether we'll be allowed to take them and it with us on the destroyer. I wish the general had been able to come to Sasebo. People usually find it hard to say `no' to gener-als."

  "I wonder what the hell Howe's doing for so long in Ko-rea?" Taylor asked. Howe being in Korea was the reason Pickering had to stay in Tokyo.

  McCoy shrugged.

  "I don't know. But whatever it is, he thinks it's impor-tant. He's a good man."

  "I think Jennings will be waiting for us at Sasebo," Tay-lor said. "The Marine guy at K-l... ?"

  "Captain Overton," McCoy furnished.

  Taylor nodded and went on: ".., told me that a lot, prob-ably most, of the Air Force and Navy transports that land at K-l don't fuel up there. They head for Sasebo, which is both the closest field for large aircraft, and has a pretty good off-the-tanker-and-into-the-airplanes fueling setup. K-l, you saw that, doesn't. They don't even have a decent tank farm for avgas...."

  "You are a fountain of information I really don't give a damn about, aren't you, Mr. Taylor?"

  "You care about this, Mr. McCoy, because the aircraft that fly from K-l to Sasebo to take on fuel are very often empty. That means Jennings will be able to find space for himself, the other jarheads, the camouflage nets, the ra-tions, the medical supplies, and whatever else he stole from the Army aboard one of these empty airplanes headed for Sasebo."

  "I stand corrected, sir," McCoy said.

  "And I don't think Her Majesty's Navy's going to give us any trouble about taking Jennings, et cetera, aboard the Charity with us," Taylor said. "But let's say they do..."

  "In which case we're fucked. The Brits are going to give us lifeboats. You can't hide a lifeboat on Tokchok-kundo.

  And that means the North Koreans will learn sooner or later, probably sooner, that there're two lifeboats on Tokchok-kundo and start wondering why."

  "In which case-I admit this is a desperate measure- we get General Pickering to get us an airplane to fly the stuff back to Pusan, and ship it to Tokchok-kundo on the Wind of Good Fortune."

  "I thought about that. There's a few little things wrong with it. If Pickering asks for an airplane, they'll want to know what for, and this is supposed to be a secret opera-tion. And who would sail it?"

  "Her. Sail her. Either of those two Koreans we had aboard is capable of sailing her to Tokchok-kundo."

  "Okay. Let's say we did that, and it worked. The Wind of Good Fortune couldn't make it to Tokchok-kundo until we'd been there-which means the lifeboats would have been there, exposed to the curious eyes of every sonofabitch in the Flying Fish Channel-three or four, maybe five days-"

  "Hi," someone said. "I'm Howard Dunwood."

  McCoy turned and found himself looking at the smiling face of one of the Marine officers he'd seen waiting in the shade of the hangar at Haneda.

  Three weeks before, Howard Dunwood had had a reserved parking spot for his top-of-the-line DeSoto automobile- identified as being reserved for "Salesman of the Month"- at Mike O'Brien's DeSoto-Plymouth in East Orange, New Jersey.

  He had been just about to leave the dealership for an early-afternoon drink at the Brick Church Lounge & Grill-he was actually outside the showroom, about to get in his car-when there came a person-to-person long- distance telephone call for him.

  A week after that, Captain Howard Dunwood, USMCR, had reported to the Replacement Battalion (Provisional) at Camp Joseph J. Pendleton, California. On 9 August, Dun-wood had been given command of USMC Platoon Aug9-2.

  High above the Pacific Ocean seventy-four hours later, as Trans-Global Airways Flight 1440 was nearing the end of its journey to Tokyo, Captain Dunwood had had the foresight aboard to slip into his utilities jacket pockets eight miniature bottles of Jack Daniels' sour mash whiskey.

  You never know, he had reasoned, when a little belt would be nice.

  He had consumed four of the miniatures at Camp Drake, two of them in the darkened auditorium during the motion picture portion of the chaplain's presentation. He had con-sumed two on the bus to Haneda, and the last two while in the shade of the hangar, waiting for the big shots to come so they could take off.

  What the hell, the veteran of four World War II amphibi-ous invasions-including Tawara and Iwo Jima-had rea-soned, why not? I suspect they're going to be shooting at me in Korea, and you don't want to be half-shitfaced when people are shooting at you.

  There were, of course, no refre
shments of any kind aboard NATS Flight 2022, except for a water Thermos mounted on the wall. But there was an illuminated fasten seat belts sign, and when, several minutes into the flight, he had seen the light go off, Captain Howard C. Dunwood, USMCR, the commanding officer of USMC Platoon Aug9-2 (Provisional), had unfastened his seat belt and walked down the short aisle to the seats in which the two candy-asses in their neatly pressed uniforms were sitting.

  He squatted in the aisle, smiled, and put out his hand.

  "Hi," he said. "I'm Howard Dunwood."

  "How are you?" McCoy said.

  "You don't look like you're going to Korea."

  "No, we're not," McCoy said.

  "I sort of didn't think so," Dunwood said. "No weapons, and the wrong kind of uniform."