Retreat, Hell! tc-10

by W. E. B Griffin

  Pick chuckled. "I didn't think about that," he said. "I guess I'm now a 42-Skeletal, right?"

  "Something like that. I also am entertaining boyish hopes that when we're through burying people, you'll understand that I really am trying to be a friend, and that you'll start talking to me."

  "Life is funny, McGrory," Pick said. "The one thing you can be sure of is that you can't predict the future."

  Chapter Seventeen

  [ONE]

  8O23d Transportation Company (Depot, Forward)

  Wonsan, North Korea

  1335 31 October 195O

  "You can look at it now, sir," First Sergeant Jackson J. Jamison said to Captain Francis P. MacNamara. "It's just about done, and I think we have the finest crapper in Wonsan."

  "Well, let's have a look at it," MacNamara said, and left his tent and fol­lowed Jamison past a long line of three-quarter-ton trucks to the edifice to which Jamison had made reference.

  It sat on a small rise in the compound close to—but not too close to; Mac­Namara had selected the site himself—the men's tents. It had a wooden frame, to which canvas had been nailed.

  There was a door at each end, for ventilation. Inside was a four-holer of smooth, unpainted wood. There was a sort of center pole, a sturdy six-by-six timber, to which a box had been nailed. The box held a dozen rolls of toilet paper, half a dozen spray cans of DDT, which would both kill the flies and sort of serve as a deodorant, and a box of candles.

  MacNamara walked to the rear of the structure and examined his person­ally designed waste-disposal system. This consisted of cut-in-half fifty-five-gallon fuel barrels to which handles had been welded. A wooden shelf structure permitted the half-barrels to be slid under the holes in the four-holer. They would be changed twice a day.

  Five minutes later, just as Captain MacNamara decided he was very pleased with the latrine he had designed and ordered constructed for his men, First Sergeant Jamison touched his arm and directed his attention to the line of three-quarter trucks down which they had recently walked.

  A jeep was now coming down the line. Standing up in the front seat was Colonel T. Howard Kennedy, the X Corps Transportation Officer.

  Captain MacNamara had three thoughts.

  He's looking for me. I wonder what he wants?

  Who does he think he is? Patton?

  If I handle the sonofabitch right, he might be helpful in me getting to stay on active duty when the war is over, as it looks like it's going to be any day now.

  MacNamara said, "Damn good job, First Sergeant. Tell the men."

  "Yes, sir."

  MacNamara then hurried around to the front of the latrine, and saluted crisply as Colonel Kennedy drove up.

  "You weren't in your office, MacNamara," Colonel Kennedy said, more of an accusation than an observation.

  "I was having a look at the new latrine, sir. Perhaps the colonel would like to have a look?"

  Kennedy gave him a strange look.

  "Perhaps some other time, MacNamara," Colonel Kennedy said.

  "Yes, sir. I realize the colonel's a busy man."

  "You have no idea how busy," Kennedy agreed, then turned to the business at hand. "MacNamara, I want you, right now, to start moving your vehicles up around Hamhung. You're too far south to do anybody any good here."

  "Yes, sir. Where in Hamhung would you like me to set up, sir?"

  "Anyplace you can do your job, Captain," Colonel Kennedy said, somewhat abruptly. "But start moving now. Not after supper, not tomorrow morn­ing—now."

  "Yes, sir," MacNamara said.

  Colonel Kennedy looked at him for a moment, then said: "It's important that we get your vehicles north, MacNamara. X Corps is attacking north, and we'll be moving rapidly. If you have any trouble, let me know. Can you think of any problems right now?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well?"

  "Drivers, sir," MacNamara replied.

  "What about drivers?"

  "Sir, I have right at six hundred vehicles to move. I have four officers and one hundred thirty-seven men—I have eight in hospital—and with just that many men, I'll have to make a lot of trips. Four, at least."

  "You know, I didn't think about drivers," Colonel Kennedy confessed. "Let me get back to you, MacNamara. In the meantime, get off the dime."

  "Yes, sir."

  An hour later, Colonel Kennedy returned.

  "We're going to kill two birds with one stone, MacNamara," he said, sound­ing pleased with himself. "Maybe more than two."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "The 7th Infantry Division Replacement Company has to be moved to Hamhung, too. Tents, equipment, and men. Instead of having them moved by a Transportation Truck Company, you're going to move them."

  "Yes, sir."

  "They have about three hundred replacements waiting assignment," he said. "I figure one in two of them should be able to drive a truck, and just about all of them should be able to drive a jeep."

  "Yes, sir."

  "That should give you all the drivers you need. Hie thee over to the Reple-Deple, MacNamara, they'll be expecting you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Time is of the essence, MacNamara. Time is of the essence."

  "Yes, sir."

  Captain Roscoe T. Quigley, Adjutant General's Corps, who commanded the 7th Infantry Division Replacement Company, had quickly informed Captain Mac­Namara that he wasn't exactly happy with his orders from Colonel Kennedy, which he described as "verbal and vague in the extreme."

  "I don't even know where I am to set up in Hamhung," he said, almost wistfully.

  The moment he laid eyes on Captain Roscoe T. Quigley, AGC, a tall and slender officer with a pencil-line mustache, MacNamara had decided that Quigley (a) would much prefer to be in a heated office somewhere carefully checking Daily Morning Reports for prohibited strikeovers than where he was, trying to keep warm and dry in a leaking, dirt-floored tent, with the responsi­bility for feeding and housing three hundred-plus soldiers and (b) that Quigley, like most AGC officers in his experience, would be a real pain in the ass if he didn't quickly understand who was giving the orders.

  "I think I know what we should do, Captain Quigley," MacNamara had said, firmly.

  "What's that?"

  "You and I will lead the advance party," MacNamara said. "A small convoy—say, no more than twenty six-by-sixes ..."

  "That's a small convoy?"

  "We have six hundred vehicles to move. Yes, Quigley, I'd say twenty against six hundred is a small convoy. Wouldn't you?"

  "I had no idea there were that many vehicles."

  "You and I—taking with us two of my officers and, say, forty of my men, and as many of your officers and men as you think you'll need—will go to Hamhung, reconnoiter the area, locate suitable areas for your replace­ment depot and my unit, and start setting up. Then you and I, having learned the route and the problems encountered on it, will bring enough non-coms back here, where they will set up convoys of the others. In the mean­time, while you and I are up north, I will have my first sergeant run what I suppose you could call a driver's school for the drivers. You have any prob­lems with that?"

  "When had you ... uh ... planned to ... uh ... launch your convoy?"

  "In an hour," MacNamara said.

  "You mean today?"

  "Colonel Kennedy told me, Quigley, that time is of the essence," MacNamara said. "You can do what you like, of course, but I'm going to start for Hamhung in an hour."

  "Oh, I'll go with you, of course, Captain MacNamara," Captain Quigley said. "But I was wondering about an escort, I guess is what I mean."

  "What do you mean by an escort?"

  "I think we have to consider the possibility that we may encounter the enemy on the road."

  "I doubt it," MacNamara said. "If there were enemy forces in the area, I'm sure Colonel Kennedy would have told me. Anyway, we're going to have, say, at least five men on each truck, times twenty trucks, which means we'll have at least a hundred men. That ought to
be enough to defend ourselves."

  "Well, I'll get right on it, of course, but it will take some time to issue am­munition to ... What did you say, one hundred men?"

  "They have weapons but no ammunition?"

  "You wouldn't believe the incidents that happen when the men in the re­placement stream have access to live ammunition," Captain Quigley said. "It's like the O.K. Corral."

  "Well, they better have live ammo now," MacNamara said. "A full com­bat load."

  "You're right, of course," Quigley said.

  "I'll be back in an hour," MacNamara said.

  [TWO]

  The Director's Office

  East Building, The CIA Complex

  243O E Street

  Washington, D.C.

  1615 31 October 195O

  "May I come in, General?" Major General Roger J. Buchanan, USA, Ret'd., in­quired of Walter Bedell Smith after he had been standing for two minutes—it seemed longer—in the open door, waiting for Smith to look up from what he was reading.

  Smith lifted his eyes to the door and made a waving motion with his hand.

  "Sure, Roger," Smith said. "What have you got?"

  General Buchanan had worked for Smith through most of the time Smith had been General of the Army Dwight David Eisenhower's Chief of Staff at Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force in Europe, and had come to work for Smith shortly after Smith had been named Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

  "An urgent Eyes Only The Director from General Pickering," Buchanan said, walking to the desk and laying a manila folder on Smith's desk. Smith opened it. It was a thin sheaf of paper, each sheet bearing stamps reading TOP SECRET and EYES ONLY THE DIRECTOR at the top and bottom.

  Smith picked up the sheet and started to read it, then looked at Buchanan.

  "You haven't read this, right?" he asked.

  "Of course not, General," Buchanan said. "It's classified Top Secret, Eyes Only The Director."

  They both chuckled. It was a private joke. They both knew that it was im­possible to transmit an Eyes Only message that would be seen only by the eyes of the addressee. It had to be seen by the cryptographer (and probably, since this was a high-level message, by the officer supervising the cryptographer) when it was dispatched, and then by the cryptographer at the receiving end (and again, more than likely by his superior). And then, after it had been deliv­ered—in this case, to the director's office—it had to be read by the Director's Executive Assistant (General Buchanan), who had to know everything the di­rector knew.

  About the only use Smith and Buchanan thought the Eyes Only classifica­tion had was that Eyes Only messages—if they weren't immediately shredded and burned—had their own filing cabinet. Which also meant that the officer in charge of classified documents had to read it to know where to file it, or what it was he was shredding and burning.

  Smith bent slightly over his desk and began to read the message.

  TOP SECRET

  URGENT

  TOKYO 1605 30 OCTOBER 1950

  FROM DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA

  TO (EYES ONLY) DIRECTOR, CIA, WASHINGTON

  DEAR MR. DIRECTOR,

  ATTACHED HERETO IS A MESSAGE I RECEIVED TWO HOURS AGO FROM MAJOR KENNETH R MCCOY, USMCR, PRESENTLY IN KOREA.

  I ATTACH GREAT IMPORTANCE TO IT FOR SEVERAL REASONS:

  1 . IT IS THE FIRST TIME MCCOY HAS FLATLY STATED THAT SUBSTANTIAL CHINESE COMMUNIST FORCES ARE ALREADY IN NORTH KOREA. HERETOFORE, HE HAS MADE IT CLEAR THAT HE HAS HAD NO HARD INTELLIGENCE TO BACK HIS BELIEF THAT THIS IS THE CASE. I CONSIDER IT GERMANE TO POINT OUT THAT MCCOY SPEAKS CANTONESE FLUENTLY AND IS A HIGHLY SKILLED INTERROGATOR. THERE IS NO POSSIBILITY THAT HE DID NOT UNDERSTAND, OR MISCONSTRUED, WHAT WAS SAID TO HIM BY THE CHINESE PRISONERS.

  I ATTACH GREAT IMPORTANCE TO THE POSSIBILITY MCCOY SUGGESTS THAT THE PRISONERS ARE IN EFFECT MESSENGERS SENT TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT CHINESE MILITARY FORCES WILL ENTER THE CONFLICT IF EIGHTH ARMY AND X CORPS CONTINUE TO ADVANCE TOWARD THE MANCHURIAN AND SOVIET BORDERS.

  I HAVE JUST CONFERRED WITH MAJOR GENERAL CHARLES WILLOUGHBY, GENERAL MACARTHUR'S INTELLIGENCE OFFICER. WITHOUT MAKING REFERENCE TO MAJOR MCCOY'S MESSAGE, I ASKED GENERAL WILLOUGHBY IF HE HAS HAD ANY NEW INTELLIGENCE WHICH HAS GIVEN HIM CAUSE TO RECONSIDER

  HIS BELIEF THAT THE ENTRY OF THE CHINESE INTO THE CONFLICT IS HIGHLY UNLIKELY, AND EVEN IF THERE WAS SUCH INTERVENTION, IT COULD BE EASILY DEALT WITH BY EIGHTH ARMY AND X CORPS. GENERAL WILLOUGHBY STATED HE HAS HAD NO INDICATION WHATEVER THAT ANY CHINESE FORCES HAVE

  CROSSED INTO NORTH KOREA FROM MANCHURIA, AND HE THEREFORE HAS HAD NO REASON TO RECONSIDER HIS POSITION.

  RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

  FLEMING PICKERING, DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA

  ONE ATTACHMENT, TOP SECRET URGENT MSG FISHBASE 1125 30 OCTOBER 1950 TO DEP DIR FOR ASIA

  TOP SECRET

  "Very interesting," Smith said, raising his eyes to General Buchanan.

  "He's putting a lot of weight on the judgments of a pretty junior officer, isn't he?"

  "From what I hear, a rather unusual 'pretty junior officer,' " Smith said. "The President is taken with him, I know that."

  "What are you going to do, General?"

  Smith pointed to a red telephone on his desk.

  "Get on there, Roger," Smith ordered, "and ask when the President can see me."

  "Yes, sir."

  Buchanan picked up the handset and was about to push Button Two, which would cause the telephone in the outer office of the President's office in Blair House to ring, when, with a sudden movement, Walter Bedell Smith reached over and pressed the switch in the base of the telephone, halting the call.

  Buchanan looked at him in surprise.

  "Roger," Smith said, "the Director would like to see the President, not Gen­eral Smith."

  "Whatever you say, sir," General Buchanan said.

  "These are white shirts and multicolored neckties we have on," Smith said. "And there are no epaulets with stars on them on our shoulders. We're going to have to keep that in mind. Starting with you. You can call me anything but 'General.' "

  "Certainly, Your Holiness," Buchanan said.

  Smith chuckled and took his finger off the telephone switch. Buchanan pushed Button Two.

  "This is Roger Buchanan of the Director's office," he said. "Director Smith would like to see the President as soon as possible."

  Smith mimed clapping his hands and mouthed, "Very good, Mr. Buchanan."

  Buchanan smiled at him, then said "Thank you" into the telephone. Then he covered the microphone with his hand. "He's there, Mr. Director. She's going to ask him."

  Less than thirty seconds later, Buchanan said, "Yes, sir, he is. Hold one, Mr. President."

  He handed the phone to Smith.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. President," Smith said into the phone, then listened for a moment and added, "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I would like his opinion of what I want to show you. I'll leave directly. Thank you, Mr. President."

  He put the phone in its cradle.

  "General Howe is with the President," Smith said. "Fresh from the Far East." He pushed himself out of his chair and walked quickly toward his office door. Buchanan picked up the red telephone and pushed Button Nine. "This is Gen . . . this is Roger Buchanan. The Director's car at the door— now," he ordered.

  [THREE]

  The President's Office

  Blair House

  Pennsylvania Avenue

  Washington, D.C.

  1655 31 October 195O

  "That was quick, Mr. Smith," Harry S Truman said to Walter Bedell Smith.

  Smith looked around the room and saw there was no one in it but the Pres­ident and Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, who was in civilian clothing. That pleased him. That meant that the President would not, out of courtesy, show Pickering's Eyes Only to any one of a number of people around him who really didn't have to—shouldn't—see it.

  "I came as quickly as I could manage, Mr. President," Smith said.

  "I think
I should say this," Truman said as he shook his hand. "I wasn't try­ing to be distant, formal, when I called you 'Mister.' I'm just not comfortable with 'Beetle.' It sounds disrespectful."

  "Mr. President, you can call me anything you'd like to call me."

  "How about 'Smith'? Would that be all right? Or even 'Smitty'?"

  "Either would be fine, Mr. President," Smith said.

  "Maybe 'Smitty' goes a little too far the other way," Truman said. "Smith, you remember General Howe, don't you?"

  "Yes, sir. Of course. Welcome home, General."

  "Thank you," Howe said.

  "When you called, Smith, I was just about to send Ralph over to see you. I have ordered him to repeat to you some of the unkind things he's been telling me about Douglas the First, Emperor of Japan, and his Royal Court."

  "I'll be interested to hear them, sir. At your convenience, General."

  "What Ralph tells you is to go no farther," Truman said. "Especially not across the Potomac to the Pentagon."

  "I understand, Mr. President," Smith said.

  "What have you got for me?" Truman asked.

  "An Eyes Only from General Pickering," Smith said.

  He started, somewhat awkwardly, to try to open his briefcase.

  "That would be a lot easier if you were sitting down," Truman said.

  "Thank you, Mr. President," Smith said, and found a place on a small couch.

  "Are you a drinking man, Smith?" the President asked. "Or is it a little early for you?"

  Smith hesitated, and finally said, "I take a drink from time to time, sir."

  "Ralph and I are about to have a very stiff Jack Daniel's," the President said. "Is that all right, or would you like something else?"

  "Jack Daniel's would be fine, sir, thank you."

  Howe got out of his chair and walked to the door.

  "Charley, get us three Jack Daniel's—better make that a bottle—and ice, et cetera," he ordered, then came back in time to carry the envelope Smith had finally gotten out of his briefcase to the President.

  Truman opened the envelope, took out the contents, and then pushed him­self far back in his red leather judge's chair to read it. He did so carefully, put the papers back in the manila folder, and then, just as Charley Rogers, also in civilian clothing, came into the office trailed by a white-jacketed steward, threw the folder on his desk and said angrily, "Sonofabitch!"