W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire

by Under Fire(Lit)

  McCoy didn't reply.

  "Stationed in Japan, are you? I couldn't help but notice the lady. Your wife, was she? Maybe the general's daugh-ter?"

  "What's on your mind, Captain?" McCoy asked.

  "I'm just a little curious about you," Dunwood said. "We're both Marine officers, right?"

  "Okay, we're both Marine officers."

  "Well, I was just wondering what the hell you're doing in Japan that's so important they hold up a plane taking Marines to Korea for more than an hour to wait for you."

  "Captain, you've had a couple of drinks," McCoy said. "Why don't you go back to your seat and sleep them off before you get to Korea?"

  "And why should I do that, you candy-ass sonofabitch?"

  And then Captain Dunwood yelped in pain, and ex-claimed, "Goddamn you!"

  Taylor, who had been studiously ignoring the exchange between the two Marine officers-by looking out the win-dow, from which he could see Mount Fuji-now snapped his head toward the aisle, and saw that McCoy had grabbed the index finger of the captain who had been squatting in the aisle looking for a fight, moved it behind his back, and forced him from his squatting position to his knees.

  "Okay. I'm a candy-ass and you're drunk," McCoy said. "Agreed?"

  "Fuck you, candy-ass!"

  Captain Dunwood then yelped in pain again, almost a shriek.

  "Agreed?" McCoy asked.

  "Agreed, Okay. Agreed. Let go of my finger!"

  Two other officers of Aug9-2 came down the aisle.

  "What the hell?" one of them-a large lieutenant, who looked like a football tackle-asked.

  McCoy let go of Dunwood's finger. Dunwood looked at the finger McCoy had held, then moved it, then yelped, not so loud this time, in pain.

  `Take the captain back to his seat and make sure he stays there," McCoy ordered.

  "What the hell happened?"

  "Nothing happened. Just put him back in his seat before something does."

  "Well, Okay," the large lieutenant answered, a little re-luctantly.

  " `Well, Okay'? Is that the way you acknowledge an or-der?" McCoy snapped.

  "No, sir. Aye, aye, sir."

  The two lieutenants helped Dunwood to his feet-he was still staring at his hand in disbelief-and started him down the aisle.

  "Jesus Christ," Taylor asked. "What the hell was that all about?"

  "Nobody likes a candy-ass," McCoy said. "And you and I, to a bunch of Marines headed for Korea, look like candy-asses."

  "Did you really break his finger?"

  "I started to disjoint it," McCoy said, matter-of-factly. "It'll probably go back in by itself. If it doesn't, any corps-man can put it back in place."

  "Jesus," Taylor said, chuckling.

  "We were talking about how to hide the lifeboats, I think," McCoy said.

  [TWO]

  U.S. NAVY BASE SASEBO

  SASEBO, KYUSHU, JAPAN

  1740 15 AUGUST 1950

  Lieutenant Commander Darwin Jones-Fortin, RN, who was well over six feet tall, obviously weighed no more than 145 pounds, and was wearing a white open-collared shirt, white shorts, and white knee-high stockings, was standing outside the passenger terminal when McCoy and Taylor came down the ladder.

  "I think that's our captain," Taylor said softly, as he started down the stairs.

  "Let's hope my friend doesn't see him," McCoy said.

  "If he's commanding a destroyer, he's no candy-ass," Taylor said.

  "Appearances are often deceiving," McCoy said. "Didn't you ever hear that?"

  When he saw Taylor and McCoy come down the ladder, Captain Darwin-Jones walked toward them from the pas-senger terminal and met them halfway.

  "I suspect you two gentlemen are my supercargo," he said. "My name is Jones-Fortin."

  "My name is Taylor, Captain," Taylor said, returning the salute and putting out his hand. "And this is Captain Mc-Coy."

  "Delighted to meet you both," Jones-Fortin said. "Cap-tain, there's a Marine sergeant in there..."

  Jones-Fortin nodded toward the terminal building.

  "... who asked if I was from Charity. I thought it a bit odd."

  "Captain McCoy and I were just discussing the best way to bring this up to you, Captain," Taylor said.

  "Let me make a stab in the dark," Jones-Fortin said. "You would like to bring him and that mountain of what-ever that is"-he nodded his head toward a stack of crates and a camouflage net sitting next to the small passenger terminal-"wherever you're going."

  McCoy smiled.

  "You don't know where we're going, Captain?" he asked.

  "I was under the impression that it was a military se-cret," Jones-Fortin said.

  "Yes, we really would, sir," Taylor said. "Will that be possible?"

  "I've had a chance to think about that," Jones-Fortin said. "I believe it falls within my orders from Admiral Matthews to make Charity as useful as possible."

  "Thank you, Captain," Taylor said. "That's a large weight off our shoulders."

  "I made discreet inquiries," Jones-Fortin said. "There are apparently three Marines in addition to the one I spoke with."

  "Let me see what's going on, sir," McCoy said, and started toward the terminal.

  As he did, Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, came out and saluted.

  "Well, I see you made it here," McCoy said.

  "It was easy, Captain," Jennings replied. "There's a lot of transports leaving K-l empty that come here..."

  "I know," McCoy said, smiling. "How'd you know about the Charity?"

  "I went out to the wharfs," Jennings said. "And there was this Limey destroyer, and swabbies lashing a couple of lifeboats to her."

  "You are a clever man, Sergeant Jennings," McCoy said. "And where're the other guys?"

  "In the Metropole Hotel, sir. I thought it better to get them off the base."

  "How'd you know about the hotel?"

  "I was here before, sir, in `48. I was the gunny of the Marines on board the Midway."

  "Okay. Come with me, I'll introduce you to the captain of the Charity. And don't use the word `Limey.'"

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Ah, yes," Lieutenant Commander Jones-Fortin said, "the Hotel Metropole. If I may make a suggestion, gentlemen?"

  "Of course, sir," Taylor said.

  "Your people here were kind enough to provide me with a lorry. A weapons carrier, I believe you call them?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I propose that we load your materiel onto the lorry. I think it will hold it all. Then we will drop you gentlemen and the sergeant off at the Metropole. Then I will have the materiel loaded aboard Charity. When it is dark, I will have you picked up at the Metropole. I would be pleased if you were to join me for dinner at the Officers' Club, and after that, we can board Charity."

  "That's fine, Captain, except that we insist you be our guest at dinner," Taylor said.

  "We can argue that later," Jones-Fortin said. "Shall we deal with whatever it is?"

  [THREE]

  There was a neatly lettered sign mounted on the wall next to the reception desk in the Hotel Metropole.

  IMPORTANT NOTICE !!!

  ALL LADIES USED IN THE HOTEL

  MUST BE

  PROVIDED BY THE MANAGEMENT!!!

  NO EXCEPTIONS

  THANK YOU. THE MANAGEMENT

  Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, opened the door to Room 215 and bellowed, "Ah-ten-hut on deck!" just before Captain McCoy and Lieutenant Taylor marched in.

  There is something essentially ludicrous in the sight of three naked men standing rigidly at attention, especially when two of the three have naked Japanese women hang-ing from their necks, and Captain McCoy was not able to resist the temptation to smile.

  "As you were," he managed to say, which caused the two Marines with the ladies dangling from their necks to disen-gage themselves and all three Marines to quickly attempt to cover their genital areas with their hands.

  Captain McCoy found it necessary to cough;
Lieutenant Taylor found it necessary to turn and look through the door.

  "Lieutenant Taylor and I are pleased to see that you've taken advantage of your spare time to sample the cultural delights of Sasebo," McCoy said. "But all good things must come to an end."

  The three Marines looked at him, stone-faced.

  "Shortly after dark, a weapons carrier will be here to take-"

  "I like the Marine," one of the ladies said to one of her sisters, speaking, of course, in Japanese.

  "Thank you very much," McCoy replied, in Japanese. "And I like you, too, but I am a married man."

  All three ladies tittered behind their hands.

  "So what?" the first lady asked.

  "My wife is much stronger and larger than I am, and when she is angry she beats me severely," McCoy said.

  All three ladies tittered delightedly again, and Taylor laughed. The three Marines looked baffled and very curi-ous.

  "... as I was saying before the lady asked me if all Marines have dongs the size of their little fingers, or whether you three were just shortchanged-"

  "She didn't ask that," one of the Marines challenged, se-riously. "Did she, sir?"

  "You don't think I made that up, do you, Sergeant?"

  After a long moment, the sergeant said, "No, sir, I guess not."

  He looked at his lady, then dropped his eyes to his geni-tals.

  "As I was saying," McCoy went on, "a weapons carrier will be here shortly after dark to take us where we are go-ing. I don't think the chow there will be as good as the chow Sergeant Jennings tells me you can get here. Your choice. But you're finished with the booze, and in an hour, you will be all dressed and sober and with all the bills paid. Are there any questions?"

  All three said, "No, sir."

  "You have anything, Mr. Taylor?"

  "I think you covered everything," Taylor said.

  "Sergeant Jennings?"

  "No, sir."

  "In that case, men, carry on," McCoy said. "I will see you in an hour."

  He did an about-face and marched out of the room, with Taylor and Jennings marching after him.

  [FOUR]

  ABOARD HMS CHARITT

  33 DEGREES 10 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

  129 DEGREES 63 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE

  (THE EAST CHINA SEA)

  0635 16 AUGUST 1950

  Lieutenant Commander Darwin Jones-Fortin, RN, saw the face of Lieutenant David R. Taylor, USNR, peering through the round window in the interior bulkhead. He waved at him, then pointed first at the door in the bulk-head-Taylor nodded his understanding-and then at the sailor standing behind the helmsman, indicating that he should go to the door and help undog it.

  Undogged and unlatched, the heavy steel door swung open as Charity buried her bow in the sea, and it was all the sailor could do to hold it. Taylor came onto the bridge and leaned against the bulkhead, then was followed by McCoy.

  "Permission to come on the bridge, sir?" Taylor called out. "Permission granted," Jones-Fortin said. "Both of you." Taylor waited until the moment was right, then came quickly across the deck to where Jones-Fortin sat in his cap-tain's chair. McCoy followed him. The ship moved, and Mc-Coy half slid, half fell across the deck, ending up crashing into Taylor.

  "Smooth as a millpond, what?" Jones-Fortin said. "Seri-ously, is this weather going to be a problem? I'm afraid we're in for a bit of it. Possibly, very possibly, worse than what we're getting now."

  "Are we?" Taylor said.

  "And Charity is of course a destroyer," Jones-Fortin added. "She doesn't ride as well as the Queen Mary, or, come to think of it, better than any other man-of-war that comes to mind."

  "Try a destroyer escort sometime, Captain," Taylor said. "Or even better, an LST. Although calling an LST a man-of-war is stretching the term considerably."

  "Is that the voice of experience speaking?"

  "I had a DE during the war," Taylor said. "And LSTs since."

  "I was the first lieutenant on a DE some time ago. I've always thought the RN assigned to DEs people they hoped would get washed over the side. I've never been aboard an LST in weather."

  `Truth being stranger than fiction, when I was sailing LSTs through these waters after the war*" Taylor said, "I used to think back fondly on the smooth sailing characteris-tics in rough seas of the Joseph J. Isaacs, DE-403. In weather like this, the movement of an LST has to be experi-enced to be believed."

  "I wonder how my men took to waking up in a storm like this," McCoy said. "They were still feeling pretty good when we came aboard."

  "Didn't someone once say, `the wages of sin are death'?" Jones-Fortin said. "I suspect that a number of my crew are in the same shape." McCoy chuckled.

  "But I'm afraid, McCoy," Jones-Fortin went on, "that I have to correct you. This isn't the storm. This is what they call `the edges' of the storm. The storm itself is farther north, coming down from China into the Yellow Sea."

  "Right on our course to Inchon, right?" Taylor said.

  "I'm afraid so," Jones-Fortin said. "There's an overlay of the latest weather projection on the chart. Perhaps you'd like to have a look. We have a decision to make." He indicated the chart room, aft of the wheel.

  "Thank you, sir," Taylor said, and went for a look.

  "Did you see what I saw?" Jones-Fortin asked when Taylor returned.

  "I think so, sir," Taylor said, and turned to McCoy: "Ken, the way the storm is moving-and as the captain said, it's a bad one-I don't think we can put the boats over the side tomorrow morning. And maybe not even the morning after that."

  "You mean it would be risky, or we just can't do it?"

  "Tomorrow, we just can't do it. Period. The morning af-ter that, maybe, with more of a chance of something going wrong than I like."

  "So what do we do?" McCoy asked.

  "That's up to Captain Jones-Fortin," Taylor said.

  "It's a bit over six hundred miles," Jones-Fortin said. "I think Charity can make fifteen knots, even through the storm. A little less when it gets as bad as I suspect it's going to get, a bit more when there are periods of relative calm. That would put us off the Flying Fish Channel lighthouse in forty hours-sometime before midnight on 18 August. As Mr. Taylor saw, the storm will still be in the area at that time. Whether or not it will have subsided enough for us to safely put the boats over the side-or for you to be able to safely make Tokchok-kundo in them-by 0300 of the nineteenth is something we won't know until then."

  "And if it doesn't clear, sir, then what?" McCoy asked.

  "Then we shall have to spend the daylight hours of the nineteenth steaming in wide circles offshore. Or, for that matter, we could steam farther south, to the northern edge of the storm, and follow its movement southward and see where we are, and when."

  "You mean we would move at the speed of the storm, sir?" McCoy asked.

  "It's moving now," Taylor said, "somewhere between fifteen and twenty miles an hour."

  "As we followed it, we'd be out of it?" McCoy asked.

  "That would depend, Ken," Taylor said, tolerantly, as if explaining something to a backward child, "on how close we were to it as we followed it."

  "I will, of course, defer to the judgment of Captain Jones-Fortin," McCoy said. "And even to yours, Mr. Tay-lor. But if there were some way we could get out of the storm, that would be this landlubber's choice."

  "Well, Mr. Taylor," Captain Jones-Fortin said, "another option would be to steam on an east-northeasterly course, hoping to find calmer waters on the storm's eastern edge."

  "Your decision, of course, Captain," Taylor said, but his tone of voice made it clear what he hoped Jones-Fortin's decision would be.

  "Then that's what we'll do," Jones-Fortin said.

  "What that means, Ken," Taylor said, "is that it probably won't get much worse than it is now."

  "Wonderful," McCoy said.

  [FIVE]

  ABOARD HMS CHARITY

  39 DEGREES 06 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

  123 DEGREES 25 MINUTES EAS
T LONGITUDE

  (THE YELLOW SEA)