W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire

by Under Fire(Lit)

  -who knew how to use their Japanese Arisaka rifles, and killed or wounded three of the twenty North Korean soldiers on the launch before it could be turned around and gotten out of the line of fire.

  The launch didn't come back for two days, and when it put troops ashore, it found Nae-ri deserted.

  The launch left a six-man squad under a corporal at Nae-ri, and then went to the village of Oe-ri, at the southern end of the island, where they landed unopposed. They left an-other six-man squad at Oe-ri, and sailed off confident of having restored Socialist Rule.

  Kim's Cops had had the North Korean troops at Nae-ri disarmed and trussed and bound for shipment out aboard the next small fishing boats before the power launch had reached Oe-ri, and the NKs left at Oe-ri disarmed and trussed and bound fifteen minutes after the power launch left the harbor.

  It took the North Koreans three days to discover that all was not right in Nae-ri, and when they sailed back into that port, they were brought under a hail of fire that killed three more of their troops before the lieutenant in charge with-drew to reassess the situation.

  With slight variations, the same scenes had played at Taemuui-do and Taebu-do. Both islands provided suffi-cient resistance for the North Koreans to have to really consider whether massing enough troops to overcome it would be worthwhile, or-since all it seemed to be was a group of misguided capitalist lackeys-whether it would be best to wait and see what happened.

  It had been what McCoy had told Major Kim he wanted to happen, and it had happened, almost entirely because of Kim's control of his men.

  And now, unless the D Minus 1 assault on the channel islands was called off, the national police were going to get blown away by a phrase Zimmerman confessed he never understood: "friendly fire."

  The other thing that was worrying McCoy was that there had been no North Korean investigation at all of Tokchok-kundo. Not one boat, of any size, had nosed into their harbor, much less one of the thirty-five-foot power launches.

  There were, McCoy decided, several possible reasons for that. One was that Tokchok-kundo was the farthest is-land from the NK positions on the mainland, except for the lighthouse island, and that was really not an island but a large rock jutting out of the water.

  It was also possible that Tokchok-kundo was on a list, to be investigated, and if necessary-from their point of view- neutralized and pacified after Taemuui-do, Yonghung-do, and Taebu-do.

  And it was also possible that one, or two, or a half-dozen of the friendly local fishermen who had been sell-ing Kim information-or giving it to him-had also sold-or given-to the NKs the information that not only were there a bunch of Americans on Tokchok-kundo, but that they had a boat, and were, among other things, using the island as a temporary holding pen for North Korean prisoners.

  McCoy made a joke of it, always smiling when he said, with great pomposity, "I devoutly believe that bad things in-evitably happen, and when they happen, happen at the worst possible time, and therefore, we have to do thus and so."

  But the truth was, he devoutly believed just that.

  The bad that was inevitably going to happen was a North Korean investigation of the island of Tokchok-kundo, and the worst possible time for that to happen was right now.

  So far, they had been lucky. Luck runs out.

  The D Minus 1 assault of the islands was apparently on for first thing in the morning. If it wasn't on, there would have been word from General Pickering. The USS Mount McKinley had as good a commo center aboard as-proba-bly better than-the one in the Dai Ichi Building. If he had something to say to them, George Hart would have heard it.

  In this case, no news was bad news.

  There was only one slim chance to avoid the gunfire: When the warships steamed up to the Flying Fish Channel in the early hours of tomorrow morning, the lighthouse had to be showing light.

  The lighthouse keeper that Kim had talked about had not been on Tokchok-kundo when McCoy and Taylor arrived, so to get it up and running the way it should be was out of the question, but there was plenty of diesel fuel available, and diesel fuel burns.

  Captain McCoy called an Officers' Call of his staff. It convened in the captain's cabin of the Wind of Good For-tune. Present were Lieutenant Taylor, Captain Hart, and Master Gunner Zimmerman.

  "I have reason to believe the North Koreans may come into port tonight, probably just before dark," McCoy began.

  "Where'd you get that, Killer?" Zimmerman asked, cu-riously.

  My worst-thing-at-the-worst-time theory, Ernie.

  "I thought you knew, Mr. Zimmerman," McCoy said. "God tells me things."

  "Oh, Jesus Christ, McCoy!" Taylor said, half in disgust, half laughing.

  "And there have been two changes of plan," McCoy said. "The first is that if they do come in, we're going to have to kill everybody on board, or sink the launch, prefer-ably both."

  "Not just run them off, to come back and play later?" Taylor asked.

  "The minute they come in the harbor, they're going to see the boat," McCoy said. "So the first thing we shoot on the boat is wherever the radio is likely to be, and anybody who looks like he has a microphone."

  "Why are they going to see the boat?" Hart asked.

  "Because the camouflage will be off it."

  "Oh?"

  "Because you and me, Hart, the moment we finish with the NKs, are going to go to the lighthouse. Maybe, just maybe, if that's lit up in the wee hours of the morning, they won't lay naval gunfire on the islands."

  "No, you're not," Zimmerman said.

  "What did you say, Mr. Zimmerman?" McCoy snapped icily.

  "Hart and me'll go to the lighthouse," Zimmerman said. "We'll take two of the guys with us." He paused, then went on: "Who do you want to be here if the general gets on the radio?" Zimmerman said. "You or me?"

  "Taylor will be here."

  "He's right, Ken," Taylor said. "You can't leave here. But I don't think Ernie should, either. Hart and I can han-dle the lighthouse if you give us two men, and Ernie can work the radio."

  "For what it's worth, I vote with the Navy," Hart said. "I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of Killer steering me around in the boat in the dark."

  "Okay," Taylor said. "That's settled. We just had a vote."

  "A vote?" McCoy said. "What does this look like, Con-gress?"

  "What I'd like to know, Ken," Taylor said, ignoring him, "is how you can be so sure the NKs are going to suddenly show up."

  "I've got a gut feeling," McCoy admitted. "That's all."

  "That's good enough for me, Killer," Zimmerman said, matter-of-factly. "I will go alert the troops to prepare to re-pel boarders."

  He got up and walked out of the cabin.

  Hart and McCoy looked at each other.

  "You stick by the radio, George," McCoy ordered. `Tell Kim to turn the engine on and leave it running. Maybe, with a little luck, we'll hear from the general, and none of this John Wayne business will be necessary."

  Hart nodded, and then said, "Aye, aye, sir."

  The John Wayne business proved to be necessary. Twenty minutes later, as Technical Sergeant Jennings was hauling the camouflage netting off the boat, the lookout posted on the end of the wharf suddenly started to run down the wharf toward the shore.

  Jennings waved at him to stay where he was, and after another half-dozen steps, the lookout jumped to one side of the wharf and concealed himself in the rocks.

  Jennings dropped the camouflage net and jumped ashore, and, bent double, ran into the alley between the closest two houses. He ran behind the houses until he came to the one where he thought Captain McCoy would be.

  He wasn't.

  He ran to the next house.

  McCoy was there, taking up the squatting firing position with his Garand as if he were on the range at Camp LeJeune.

  "Captain!"

  "I see them, Jennings," McCoy said.

  Jennings looked through the window, and for the first time saw the boat, and the North Korean soldiers in then-co
tton uniforms manning what looked like an air-cooled.50 on her bow.

  The partially uncovered boat caught their attention, and they fired a short burst at it.

  "Shit," McCoy said. "I was hoping they'd try to capture it intact!"

  Then his Garand went off, and then again, and then again, and Jennings saw the two Koreans on the machine gun fall, one backward, as if something had pushed him, and the other just collapse straight downward.

  "If you remember how to use that rifle, Sergeant," Mc-Coy said, "now would be a good time."

  [TWO]

  ABOARD LST-450

  37 DEGREES 11 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

  125 DEGREES 58 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE

  THE YELLOW SEA

  1615 13 SEPTEMBER 1950

  LST-450 was now hobbling in a wide circle in the Yellow Sea about fifty miles off the lighthouse marking the en-trance to the Flying Fish Channel. She was alone, in the sense that she was not escorted by-under the protection of-a destroyer or any other kind of warship, but there had always been some sort of aircraft more or less overhead since she had sailed from Sasebo, and the farther north they had moved, there seemed to be more ships just visible on all sides of her.

  Not a convoy, Captain Howard Dunwood, USMCR, had reasoned, although there certainly was a convoy out there someplace, surrounded by men-of-war. What he was looking at were ships of the invasion fleet who someone had judged did not need protection as much as some other ships-an LST was not as valuable as an air-craft carrier or an assault transport, obviously-and had been placed, for the time being, far enough from where the action was likely to occur to keep them reasonably safe.

  After reviewing with his men for the umpteenth time the role Baker Company was to play in the Inchon invasion, Dunwood turned them over to the first sergeant and went to the bridge. He would have a cup of coffee with the captain before the evening meal was called.

  The major sent to Sasebo from Division G-3 had been- as Dunwood expected he would be-a bullshitter, but the more Dunwood thought about what Baker Company was going to be expected to do, the more he came to believe the major had been right about one thing. Baker Company's role in the invasion was going to be critical.

  You just can't sail large unarmored vessels slowly past artillery, and that's exactly what was going to happen un-less Baker Company could (a) seize the islands, and (b) hold them against counterattack long enough for the Navy to get some cruisers and destroyers down the channel past them.

  And the more often Baker Company rehearsed its role, the more Dunwood was sure that Division G-3 had come up with a pretty good plan to do what had to be done, and that the plan-now changed by what they'd learned in re-hearsal-was now as good as it was going to get.

  What was going to happen now was that during the hours of darkness-probably meaning as soon as it really got dark-LST-450 would end its circling and move to a position just off the lighthouse marking the entrance to the Flying Fish Channel.

  There, it would rendezvous with five Higgins boats put into the water from the USS Pickaway (APA-222).

  Starting at 0330 the next morning-14 September-af-ter they had had their breakfast, Company B would begin to transfer from LST-450 to the Higgins boats. There would be twenty men and one officer on three of the boats, and twenty men under the first sergeant on the fourth, and twenty men under a gunnery sergeant on the fifth.

  The naval gunfire directed at the channel islands would begin at 0400 and end at 0430. As soon as it lifted, the Hig-gins boats would enter the Flying Fish Channel, move down it, and occupy, first, Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do Islands, and then, depending on the situation, other islands in the immediate vicinity.

  They would then establish positions from which they could defend the islands from enemy counterattack. That was the plan.

  What Captain Dunwood privately believed would hap-pen was that when the Higgins boats appeared off Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do, North Korean troops would come up from the underground positions in which they had been-successfully-shielding themselves from the naval gunfire, unlimber their machine guns, and fire upon the Higgins boats approaching their shores.

  Captain Dunwood's experience had been that light ma-chine guns (the Japanese rough equivalent of the U.S..30 caliber) would sometimes penetrate the sides of a Higgins boat and that heavy machine guns (the Japanese rough equivalent of the U.S..50 caliber) almost always would do so.

  With the result that if the projectiles did not immediately encounter a body inside the boat, they would often ricochet around the interior until they did.

  To take his mind off that unpleasant probability for himself and his men, Captain Dunwood called to mind again the face of that candy-ass "Marine" captain who'd dislocated his finger, and was at that very moment proba-bly having a predinner cocktail with his wife, the gen-eral's daughter, in the O Club at Sasebo. The sonofabitch had probably heard there were some real Marines on the base and been smart enough to make himself scarce while they were there.

  Lieutenant John X. McNear, USNR, waved Dunwood onto the bridge.

  "My orders are pretty open," McNear volunteered. " `The hours of darkness' is a pretty vague term. I was thinking I'd wait until about 2100 and then start edging over."

  "I was wondering," Dunwood said, as he helped himself to coffee.

  "I'm supposed to check in with ComNavForce-the Mount McKinley-when I leave here. I expect that I'd hear from them soon enough if they thought I should have left earlier."

  "I'm sure you would," Dunwood replied.

  "Bridge, Radio," the intercom metallically announced.

  McNear pressed the lever beside his chair.

  "Go, Sparks," he said.

  "Skipper, I'm getting an Urgent from ComNavForce."

  "Well, then, when you have it typed up and logged in, why don't you bring it to the bridge?" McNear said, and turned to Dunwood. "See, I told you."

  Two minutes later, the radio operator, a nineteen-year-old in blue dungarees, came onto the bridge and handed McNear a sheet of typewriter paper.

  McNear read it and handed it to Dunwood.

  SECRET

  URGENT

  1530 13 SEP 1950

  FROM COMNAVFORCE

  TO LST-450

  REFERENCE OPS ORDER 12-222

  PARA III B 6. IS CHANGED TO READ AS FOLLOWS:

  LST-450 WILL DROP ANCHOR AT POSITION 23-23 NLT 0400 15 SEPTEMBER 1950 AND RENDEZVOUS WITH

  LANDING CRAFT FROM USS PICKAWAY.

  REMAINER OF ORIGINAL PARA III B 6 IS DELETED AS IS ALL OF PARA III B-7.

  FURTHER AMENDMENTS TO FOLLOW.

  END

  SECRET

  "What's it mean?" Captain Dunwood asked. "You saw where it said the fifteenth?" McNear asked. Dunwood nodded.

  "It used to read the fourteenth, tomorrow morning," Mc-Near said. "For reasons ComNavFor has not chosen to share with me, it means he has changed his mind. Or MacArthur himself has. Specifically, it means we don't have to go to the mouth of the Flying Fish Channel until the day after tomorrow, and when we get there, you don't have to get in the Higgins boats-that we just sit there un-til they make up their minds what to do with us," the cap-tain said.

  [THREE]

  ABOARD LST-450

  37 DEGREES 36 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

  126 DEGREES 53 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE

  THE YELLOW SEA

  0320 15 SEPTEMBER 1950

  As oceangoing vessels go, LSTs are not very large, and LST-450 was moving at steerage speed, so ordinarily she would not be thought to be posing much of a threat to other vessels operating in the vicinity of the mouth of the Flying Fish Channel.

  However, to the coxswain of one of the five Higgins boats bobbing in the water, the bulk of the LST approach-ing them, even barely moving, was a bit disturbing.

  "Fuck him," the twenty-one-year-old coxswain of the nearest boat said to no one in particular, and then took ac-tion that he considered to be necessary and of paramount importance to the safety of his vessel and crew.


  He took a powerful searchlight from its compartment, turned it on, and shined it directly at the bridge of LST-450.

  "We're dead ahead of you, you dumb fuck!" the coxswain said. "See us now?"

  On the bridge of LST-450, the sudden very bright light coming out of the blackness literally blinded the master, the helmsman, and Captain Howard Dunwood, USMCR.

  "Full astern!" Captain McNear ordered. "Keep your eyes closed until that fucking light goes out! Where the fuck were the lookouts?"