"What the hell was that?" Captain Dunwood asked, his eyes tightly closed. He now saw an almost painful red ball, which took a long time to fade, even after the white light went out.
"I think we were just about to run over the Higgins boats," McNear said.
In the next few minutes, it became apparent to Captain Mc-Near that he had two choices regarding maintaining his po-sition-three, if dropping anchor was included, something he did not want to do under any circumstances. One was to put his ship into reverse and try to hold it against the heavy tide now moving northward into the Flying Fish Channel. Backing any vessel is difficult, and backing an LST is very difficult. He elected his other option.
He went to his flying bridge and picked up the bullhorn.
"Ahoy, the Higgins boats, I am about to turn 180, into the current."
There was no reply.
"Anybody out there?" Captain McNear called over the bullhorn.
"We heard you, Captain," a voice unaided by a bullhorn replied, faintly, but audibly.
"Bring her around 180 to port," McNear ordered, as he went back on the bridge, and himself took over the controls to quickly turn his ship around.
"Hey, look at that!" Captain Dunwood called in surprise.
"Not now, for Christ's sake, Howard!" McNear said, an-grily, disgustedly.
Captain Dunwood, more than a little embarrassed, fell silent, and then after a moment left the bridge and stood on the flying bridge.
And then, Captain McNear, as the bow of his ship fin-ished its turn, said exactly the same thing Captain Dunwood had said.
"Hey, look at that!"
All along a quarter of the horizon, to port from dead ahead of LST-450, there were white flashes, immediately followed by fiery red glows. Ships-and in some cases, their naval cannon-appeared momentarily in the black-ness, and then a moment later, the sound of projectiles passing overhead became continuous.
He turned to see Captain Dunwood's reaction. Dunwood was nowhere in sight.
Goddamn, now what? Did he fall overboard? Did I col-lide with one of those fucking Higgins boats?
"Take the wheel," McNair ordered. "Hold what we have!"
"Hold what we have, aye, aye, sir," the helmsman said.
McNear found Dunwood leaning on the aft rail of the flying bridge, looking down the Flying Fish Channel.
"Howard, I guess the naval gunfire has commenced," McNear said, dryly.
"Yeah," Dunwood said. But then he added what he had been thinking-this was not the first time he'd heard naval gunfire passing overhead-"but it's not landing on my is-lands. It's landing way the hell and gone down the channel."
"Yeah," McNear agreed thoughtfully.
"And that light over there, the fire, whatever. What's that?" Dunwood asked, pointing.
McNear looked.
"Unless I'm a hell of a lot more lost than I think I am, that's the lighthouse that was supposed to be leveled yes-terday by that massive naval gunfire barrage we heard so much about that didn't come until just now."
"I thought lighthouse lights went, you know, on and off," Captain Dunwood said.
"They rotate," Captain McNear said. "That one's not ro-tating. But that's the lighthouse. Come back inside, Howard, I may need you."
Three minutes later as LST-450's chief boatswain (actu-ally a petty officer second class) reported to Captain McNair that the Higgins boats were tied alongside, and McNair had been debating with himself whether he should make another 180-degree turn so that he would be pointed down the Flying Fish Channel again, the radio operator came onto the bridge with a new Urgent Message from ComNavFor. McNair read it and handed it to Dunwood.
SECRET
URGENT
0335 13 SEP 1950 FROM COMNAVFORCE
TO LST-450
ON RECEIPT YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY DEPLOY FROM USMC LANDING TEAM ABOARD AND LANDING CRAFT
ATTACHED AS FOLLOWS:
ONE HIGGINS BOAT WITH MARINES ABOARD TO FLYING FISH CHANNEL LIGHTHOUSE PURPOSE OF
GARRISONING ISLAND, MAINTAINING EXISTING LIGHTHOUSE FIRE UNTIL DAYLIGHT, AND EVACUATING
USMC PERSONNEL PRESENTLY HOLDING LIGHTHOUSE.
TWO HIGGINS BOATS WITH MARINES ABOARD TO TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND PUR-POSE OF GARRISONING ISLAND, AND EVACUATING USMC PERSONNEL PRESENTLY HOLDING ISLAND.
USMC PERSONNEL EVACUATED WILL BE TRANSPORTED TO USS MOUNT MCKINLEY.
COMNAV FORCE WILL BE ADVISED MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS OF DEPARTURE OR LANDING CRAFT; LANDINGS ON LIGHT-HOUSE AND TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND, AND ETA EVACUEES MOUNT MCKINLEY.
END
SECRET
"What the hell is this all about?" Dunwood asked.
"Howard, I haven't a clue," Captain McNair confessed. "But it looks like somebody beat you to those islands."
Dunwood considered that.
"Yeah," he said, finally. "Maybe all we were was a backup force, in case something went wrong."
"Could be," McNair agreed.
They could have told us that, the sonsofbitches, Captain Dunwood thought, instead of giving us the whole-invasion-depends-on-you-grabbing-those-islands bullshit.
Goddamn the Marine Corps!
Dunwood felt a little better after he told his Marines about the change of orders. After he went through the "Any questions? Anything?" business, Staff Sergeant Schmidt raised his hand.
"Okay, Sergeant?"
"Captain, right after we landed at Pusan, they put out a call for all former Marine Raiders..."
"And?"
"Well, sir, grabbing these islands sounds like something the Raiders would do, sir. Just a thought, Captain."
"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" Dunwood said. "But you're right, Schmidt. Grabbing these islands does sound like something the Marine Raiders would do."
[FOUR]
TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND
0515 15 SEPTEMBER 1950
"Captain, there's an American flag flying on the back of that junk," Staff Sergeant Schmidt called to Captain Howard Dunwood as the two Higgins boats closed on Tokchok-kundo.
"Yeah, I see it. Careful. I don't like the smell of this place."
"I think that's the drying fish, sir," Staff Sergeant Schmidt said.
"Very goddamn funny," Dunwood said. "I'll tell your widow you died with a smile on your face. Now be careful, goddamn it!"
The Higgins boat touched shore. The ramp fell onto the rocky shore with a loud clang.
The Marines ran down the ramp and turned right and left, spreading out, weapons at the ready. Captain Dun-wood was in the center of what ultimately was a formation in the shape of a V, holding his carbine in one hand.
"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" a voice shouted, an ob-viously American voice.
A figure appeared. He was in black pajamas, and had a band of the same material around his forehead. He held his hands over his head in a gesture of surrender.
"That's Jennings, Captain," Staff Sergeant Schmidt said.
"You know him?"
"Sir, when they put out the call for Marine Raiders..."
"He was one of them, huh?"
"Yes, sir," Schmidt said. "Jennings?"
"How they hanging, Smitty?" Technical Sergeant Jen-nings inquired.
"You're a Marine Raider, Sergeant?" Captain Dunwood asked. He'd never actually seen a Marine Raider before.
"No, sir, they put the Raiders out of business a long time ago. But it's like being a Marine, Captain. Once a Raider, always a Raider. There's a bunch of us here."
"You're in charge, Sergeant?"
"No, sir," Jennings said.
"I am," a voice said, and Dunwood saw another charac-ter in black pajamas with a black headband, his hands over his head in gesture of surrender. A Garand was hanging from his shoulder, and he had some kind of knife strapped to his wrist.
"You're a Marine officer?"
"Captain K. R. McCoy, USMCR, at your service, sir."
Captain Dunwood looked at Captain McCoy.
He didn't look much like what Dunwood thought a Ma-rine Raider sh
ould look like, but there was something fa-miliar about him.
"Don't I know you?"
"We've met," McCoy said, smiling, and then asked: "How's your finger?"
"I'll be a sonofabitch. You're the candy-ass on the air-plane!"
"Is it safe to put my hands down now?" McCoy asked.
[FIVE]
USS MOUNT MCKINLEY
THE FLYING FISH CHANNEL
0610 15 SEPTEMBER 1950
"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Captain K. R. McCoy inquired of the officer of the deck.
"Granted."
McCoy stepped onto the deck, saluted the OD and the national colors, and then Brigadier General Fleming Pick-ering.
"How are you, Ken?"
"In great need of a bath," McCoy said.
"I don't care how you smell," Miss Jeanette Priestly, of the Chicago Tribune, said. "I'll kiss you anyway."
She kissed his cheek and hugged him enthusiastically.
Pickering greeted every man as he stepped from the lad-der on the deck. The next to the last to come aboard was Technical Sergeant Jennings.
"Jennings," McCoy ordered, and Jennings walked to them.
"Show her," McCoy ordered.
Jennings dug in the pocket of his black pajamas and came out with three aluminum cans of 35-mm film.
"Jennings, in addition to his many other talents," McCoy said, "is an amateur photographer. I told him you'd proba-bly give him a good price for those."
"If they're what I think they are, I damned sure will."
"I couldn't take money," Jennings said.
"The hell you can't," McCoy said.
"I don't know if they came out, Miss Priestly," Jennings said. "But I was in the lighthouse with Mr. Taylor when the barrage started."
"Like I said, Jeanette, a picture like that would be worth a lot of money," McCoy said.
Taylor came aboard last.
"General, I don't know what's going on..."
"The 5th Marines are about to land on Wolmi-do," Pick-ering said.
"I've got some last-minute intel-fresh as of about 0500."
"Then we'll get it and you to General Willoughby," Pickering said.
"Dressed like this, sir?" Taylor said.
"Yes, Mr. Taylor, dressed just like that," Pickering said. "And you come along, too, McCoy."
In the passageway en route to the command center, Picker-ing put his hand on McCoy's arm.
"A heads-up, Ken," he said. "I told General MacArthur about your report."
McCoy seemed surprised.
"And?"
"I don't know, Ken," Pickering admitted. "I can't imag-ine him dumping Willoughby, but he knows. And I think he now believes."
"So you're telling me watch my back again?"
"Let me put it this way, Ken. Look surprised when MacArthur tells you he and the Commandant have decided you're entitled to put on the gold leaf again and I'm sure he'll tell you."
"What's MacArthur got to do with that?"
"He personally messaged the Commandant. Had a num-ber of nice things to say about you."
"And you had nothing to do with that?"
"I'm a little ashamed-I should have done something about it a long time ago-to admit he beat me to it," Pick-ering said. "Anyway, it's effective today, Major McCoy."
General of the Army Douglas MacArthur was leaning on the map table in the command room, supporting himself on his hands, with his staff around him jockeying for position.
Pickering had the thought that it looked not unlike pho-tographs he had seen of Hitler and his generals at Rastenburg.
"Ah," he said as Pickering, Taylor, and McCoy entered the room; "Gentlemen, for those of you who-for reasons I am sure you understand-I was not able to bring into the picture previously, these are the two officers, Lieutenant David Taylor, USN, and Major K. R. McCoy, USMC, who supervised, with great skill and courage, the covert opera-tion I put into play to seize the Flying Fish Channel Is-lands."
[SIX]
STATEROOM B-65
USS MOUNT MCKINLEY
THE FLYING FISH CHANNEL
0915 SEPTEMBER 1950
"Very nice," McCoy said, as he, Taylor, Hart, and Zimmer-man followed Pickering into the stateroom. "I've never been in this kind of officer's country before."
"There're two like this," Pickering said. "You fellows can decide who bunks with who. I put all the luggage in the one next door."
"These are flag officer's quarters," McCoy protested.
"They were assigned to me, and now I'm letting you use them," Pickering said. "The original idea was to put you all in sick bay."
"I thought you got one for you and one for Jeanette," Hart said, sitting down on the bed. "Jesus, that feels good."
"Jeanette batted her eyes at the captain," Pickering said, "whereupon he offered her his cabin, and I moved into General Howe's just before you came aboard."
"Where's he?"
"When last seen, headed for Inchon," Pickering said. "With the announced intention of hitching up with Chesty Puller and his First Marines."
"He must have a death wish," McCoy said.
Pickering picked up on the bitter tone. He started to say something, men changed his mind, and instead went to a metal chest of drawers, the top drawer of which had a combi-nation lock. He worked the combination, opened it, and came out with a bottle of Famous Grouse wrapped in a towel.
"I suspect you can use one of these, Ken," Pickering said. "Or two."
"The last I heard booze aboard ships was an absolute no-no," McCoy said. "And thank you, General, but no."
"Speak for yourself, John Alden," Hart said. "You can hand me that, boss."
Pickering did so, then asked, "What's bothering you, Ken?"
McCoy shrugged.
"El Supremo taking credit for the operation?"
"That didn't surprise me at all," McCoy said. " `Fertig the Crazy Man' became `my brilliant guerrilla leader in the Philippines,' remember?"
"Very well," Hart said.
"I don't know that story," Taylor said.
"I guess what pisses me off is that Willoughby is going to walk," McCoy said. "Isn't he?"
"What did you think was going to happen to him? They'd march him to the door of the Dai-Ichi Building, cut the stars and buttons off his uniform, and toss him into the gutter?"
"That would be one solution," McCoy said, and then said, "Oh, hell, George, hand me that."
"For one thing, Ken, he rendered long and faithful ser-vice to El Supremo...."
"Covering his own ass, I suspect, every step of the way," McCoy said, and took a pull from the neck of the bottle. He handed it to Taylor, who looked for a moment as if he didn't know what to do with it, but then took a pull. And then handed it to Zimmerman.
"Ken," Pickering said, "look at it this way. MacArthur will never completely trust him again. That hurts both of them. MacArthur has learned that somebody he trusted completely was not trustworthy. And Willoughby will know for the rest of his life that the only reason MacArthur doesn't sack him, doesn't publicly humiliate him, is for the good of the 5ervice. And I know Douglas MacArthur well enough to know that's why he's acting as he has. I think he thinks Willoughby will now ask to retire, and he'll let him, and that will be the end of it, without getting into accusa-tions and excuses or denials."
McCoy met Pickering's eyes for a long moment.
"If you say so, sir," he said after a moment.
"That was a speech, Ken, not an order," Pickering said.
McCoy opened his mouth to reply, and there came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Pickering asked, and gestured to Zimmer-man to get the scotch bottle out of sight.
"Ship's doctor. Let me in, please," a male voice called.
"This is General Pickering, what is it?"
"Captain Arnold, General. Please let me in."
"Hold your hands in front of your mouths," Pickering ordered softly. "Just a moment, Doctor!"
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 75
