Under Fire

by Griffin, W. E. B.

  “I’ve talked to a lot of officers here since I got here,” Pickering said. “They place the blame on Louis Johnson. Johnson’s ‘defensive economies’ went far beyond eliminating fat—they cut to the bone and scraped it. The First Marine Division was at half—half, Averell, half—wartime strength. And there’s been almost no money for the Army. When there’s no money, there’s no training, and without training, armies cannot prepare to fight.”

  “By inference—Louis Johnson serves as Secretary of Defense at the President’s pleasure—you’re saying the officers you spoke with, and perhaps you yourself, place the blame for this mess on the President.”

  “The last time I was in the Oval Office,” Howe said, “there was a sign on Harry’s desk that read ‘The Buck Stops Here.’ ”

  “ ‘Harry’s desk’, General?” Harriman asked. “General, you’re referring to the President of the United States.”

  Howe looked uncomfortable.

  Pickering laughed. Everybody looked at him in surprise. “I just figured out what you’re doing, Harriman,” he said. “I’m an amateur playing your game. It took me a little while.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, General,” Harriman said smoothly.

  “You’re collecting damaging quotes from me—and from Ralph—that you can use as aces in the hole with Harry Truman if we don’t go along with what you have already decided he should hear.”

  “Now see here, Pickering. . .”

  “Let me save some time for you,” Pickering said. “I think Douglas MacArthur is a military genius; I’ve seen him at work. He’s a soldier who fully understands how to obey an order, especially one that comes from the Commander-in-Chief. He thinks an invasion at Inchon is the best—and probably the only—way to avoid a very bloody and lengthy battle back up the Korean peninsula. I agree with him. If there are those who don’t agree with him, in my opinion, they’re wrong.

  “What the President is going to have to do is decide who is best qualified to run this war: MacArthur, or someone half a world away in the Pentagon. That’s obviously his right. But until he decides the brass in the Pentagon is right and MacArthur is wrong, what he should do is get out of the way—and keep his people out of the way—of MacArthur, and let him fight this war. Relieving him, or sending Pentagon brass here to look over his shoulder, nit-picking his plans, would be almost criminally stupid.”

  Harriman’s face tightened.

  “Do you include General Ridgway in your definition of Pentagon brass, Pickering?” Harriman asked.

  “I wish, Mr. Ambassador,” Howe said icily, “to associate myself completely with General Pickering’s comments. I shall so inform the President of the United States.”

  Harriman looked at him with cold disdain.

  “Nothing personal, certainly, General Ridgway,” Pickering said. “But the number-two man in the Army is by my definition ‘Pentagon brass.’ ”

  “I never considered ‘Pentagon brass’ to be a pejorative term,” Ridgway said, smiling. “Becoming Pentagon brass is every second lieutenant’s ambition. And I agree that General MacArthur is a military genius.”

  That earned Ridgway a look of disdain from Harriman.

  “Thank you,” Pickering said.

  “On the other hand,” Ridgway said, “there are certain members of the Pentagon brass—General Collins and myself among them—who are yet to be convinced than an amphibious landing at Inchon is either the best tactical move to make, or, indeed, that it’s even possible. That’s not saying we’re against it. Just that right now we don’t have sufficient information to take a pro or con position. I intend to ask General MacArthur to tell me in detail what he plans to do. I don’t know if that could be deemed ’nit-picking.’ ”

  “He’s prepared to tell you anything you want to know,” Pickering said. “And he’ll probably do it from memory.”

  “My mission here is to gather information for General Collins,” Ridgway said. “And to solicit opinions, specifically from General Howe and yourself, about General MacArthur and the situation here, not limited to the invasion at Inchon.”

  “I just thought of something, General Ridgway,” Howe said. “If Truman fires MacArthur, you’d be the likely choice to take his place, wouldn’t you?”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ridgway said. “Are you asking if that doesn’t pose a conflict of interest for me?”

  “That thought ran through my mind, frankly,” Howe said.

  “I’d like to think that I’m a soldier, obeying his orders,” Ridgway said. “You’ll have to take my word I didn’t come here looking for MacArthur’s job.”

  “Your word is good enough for me,” Howe said.

  “Thank you,” Ridgway said.

  “What other opinions of ours are you after?” Howe asked.

  “There are those who wonder if General Walker is up to the challenge.”

  “Relieving General Walker would have enormous political implications,” Harriman blurted.

  Howe and Pickering looked at him.

  Well, that’s the first Harriman’s heard of that, Howe thought.

  I thought diplomats were supposed to have poker faces, Pickering thought.

  “Like most Americans, Averell,” Pickering said, “I like to think our senior officers consider political implications as little as possible when making military decisions.”

  “Frankly, Pickering, that’s a little naive.”

  Pickering shrugged contemptuously.

  “If you’re asking whether I think he’s ‘up to the challenge, ’ ” Howe said, “I wouldn’t presume to make a judgment like that.”

  “Neither would I,” Pickering said.

  “The question in General Collins’s mind—and mine— given that General MacArthur has never been reluctant in the past to relieve underperforming officers is why he hasn’t relieved General Walker. Is it because he’s satisfied with his performance? Or because he feels the same loyalty to him he shows to those who were with him in the Philippines? Or because he doesn’t want to be accused of looking for a scapegoat? Or because if he relieves him, he’s likely to get a replacement not of his choosing?”

  “Walker is not a member of the Bataan Gang,” Pickering said. “I don’t think MacArthur even likes him. MacArthur’s not going to criticize a senior officer like Walker to a lowly part-time brigadier, but, having said that, I think I would have picked up on unspoken criticism, and there’s never been even a suggestion of that.”

  "MacArthur’s been trying very hard to get General Almond promoted.”

  “I’m not surprised. It would be well-deserved,” Pickering said.

  “I agree. Almond strikes me as a very competent officer,” Howe said. “I’ve wondered why he’s only a two-star.”

  “General Collins does not share those opinions of General Almond,” Ridgway said. “I don’t know why. How does Almond get along with Walker?”

  “They don’t like each other,” Pickering said. “But I don’t know why.”

  “General Collins is particularly upset by General MacArthur’s plans to have Almond command X Corps. . . .”

  “Why?” Howe said. “Isn’t picking his subordinate commanders MacArthur’s prerogative?” Howe asked.

  “And by MacArthur’s frankly odd decision to have him command it as an additional duty,” Ridgway went on without replying. “Without relieving him of his post as chief of staff, which is what normally would happen.”

  “He hasn’t discussed that with me, either,” Pickering said. “But that could damned well be because he doesn’t want Almond replaced by someone he didn’t choose.”

  “And X Corps will be established as a separate corps, not as part of Eighth Army,” Ridgway said. “Not under General Walker’s command. That also raises questions in General Collins’s mind—and mine.”

  “There could be a number of reasons for that,” Pickering said. “The first that comes to me is that Almond has been in on the Inchon invasion from the beginnin
g, and Walker hasn’t. Neither Walker nor Almond has amphibious invasion experience. I get the feeling that MacArthur, who has enormous experience, plans to command the invasion itself, and that would be awkward if X Corps were under Eighth Army.”

  Ridgway nodded.

  “If the Inchon invasion goes forward,” Harriman said, “and fails—”

  “I don’t think it will fail,” Pickering said.

  “But if it does, it would be a monumental disaster, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “For which Douglas MacArthur would take full responsibility, ” Pickering said. “I think he would resign if it did. And that’s another reason I think he wants to command it himself, so it will not fail.”

  “General, you’ve been asking all the questions,” Howe said. “I’d like to ask one. What’s the problem between Collins and MacArthur?”

  Ridgway hesitated a moment before deciding to answer the question.

  “Quick answer: I don’t think General Collins thinks General MacArthur pays him, or the office he holds, the respect he and it deserve.”

  “Blunt response,” Pickering said. "MacArthur respects the office of chief of staff—and understands its problems—because he served as chief of staff. He has five stars—he had them when General Collins had two. During World War Two, when Collins was a corps commander, MacArthur was a theater commander. He had more men under his command then—and I don’t think anyone faults his command of them—than are now in the entire U.S. Army. Under those circumstances, I think it’s understandable that MacArthur is not as awed by the chief of staff as the chief of staff might prefer.”

  “But he’s subordinate to the chief of staff,” Harriman said.

  “And he has been taking, and will take, his orders from the chief of staff,” Pickering said. “That does not mean he has to be very impressed with the officeholder personally. So far as MacArthur is concerned, the officeholder is just one more general, junior to him in rank and experience.”

  “Is that how he will think of me?” Ridgway said.

  “This may be violating a confidence, General: I hope not,” Pickering said. "MacArthur referred to you admiringly as about the best brain in the Army, or words to that effect.”

  “I’ve never met him,” Ridgway said.

  “Then it will be an interesting experience for you,” Howe said. “You’re tempted to back out of his presence with your head bowed.”

  Pickering laughed.

  “I have one more question for you, General Pickering,” Ridgway said.

  “Shoot,” Pickering said.

  “There has been some talk that Admiral Hillenkoetter will resign . . .”

  “Voluntarily?” Howe asked.

  Ridgway didn’t reply.

  “. . . and that you will be offered the position.”

  “I’m wholly unqualified to be Director of the CIA,” Pickering said. “If I was offered the job, I wouldn’t take it.”

  “That will disappoint the President,” Howe said. “The last time I talked to him, he asked if I had come to know you well enough to have an opinion about you taking over the CIA. I told him I thought you’d do just fine.”

  “Then, obviously, you don’t know me well enough,” Pickering said.

  “Gentlemen,” Harriman said. “Doesn’t this about conclude our business?”

  I think the sonofabitch has decided that since he can’t control the meeting—meaning me, Howe, and Ridgway— there’s no point to it.

  They looked at each other, and Howe, Pickering, and Ridgway each shrugged or made other gestures indicating that he had nothing else to say or ask.

  Harriman stood up.

  “I’m going to stick around a little longer,” Pickering said. “I want to spend a little time with Ernie McCoy.”

  “Me, too,” Howe said.

  “Shall we send the car back for you?” Ridgway asked.

  “Please,” Pickering said.

  “Would you please tell Ernestine we very much appreciate her hospitality?” Harriman asked.

  Pickering nodded.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

  “Fleming,” Harriman said. “I regret the . . . tone . . . this sometimes reached.”

  “Me, too,” Pickering said.

  “You’re not going with us to meet General MacArthur tomorrow?” Ridgway asked.

  “Pickering and I have heard the Viceroy’s opinions,” Howe said.

  “ ‘The Viceroy’s’?” Harriman asked.

  “There you go again, Averell,” Pickering said. “Collecting quotes.”

  Howe chuckled.

  Pickering gestured for Harriman and Ridgway to go ahead of him through the dining room door.

  Surprising him, Howe followed them all out to the street, and watched as Ridgway and Harriman got in the staff car and drove off.

  Pickering started to go back through the passage in the wall. Howe stopped him by touching his arm.

  “That was interesting, wasn’t it?” Howe said. “You made it pretty plain what you think of Harriman. What did you think of Ridgway?”

  “Good man,” Pickering replied instantly.

  “Could he take over for the Viceroy?” Howe asked. “The President’s going to want to know what we think about that.”

  “No man is indispensable,” Pickering said thoughtfully. “I learned that when my father—whom I regarded much as I regard MacArthur—suddenly checked out and left me in change of P&FE. But I repeat what I said before: Relieving MacArthur would be criminally stupid.”

  “Harriman was right about one thing, Flem. You are naive. At this level, political considerations do matter to military brass.”

  “I had the feeling in there, again, Ralph, that I was out of my league,” Pickering said.

  “I was a buck general, a division artillery commander, when the division commander had a heart attack. My corps commander named me commander over two other guys, regular army guys, who I thought were far better qualified than me—not modesty, Flem. I had spent my life learning how to run a company that makes machines for the shoe industry, with a little time out to be a captain in War One, and to be a weekend warrior between wars—I knew I was out of my league as a division commander. I took that division from the Rhine to the Elbe, and they gave me a second star and a medal. When, two days after Roosevelt died, Harry Truman told me he knew he was out of his league being President, I knew just how he felt.”

  Pickering looked at him, but didn’t reply.

  “The President sent the both of us over here to do a job for him,” Howe went on. “I’m not sure how I did in that meeting, but you damned sure did what the President hoped you would.”

  “Thank you,” Pickering said.

  “Now let’s go inside and have a drink,” Howe said. “Or two drinks.”

  [FIVE]

  USS BADOENG STRAIT 35 DEGREES 42 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE, 130 DEGREES 48 MINUTES EAST LONGITUDE THE SEA OF JAPAN 1105 7 AUGUST 1950

  There were large sweat stains on the flight suit of Lieutenant Colonel William C. Dunn, USMC, under his arms, down his back, and on his seat. When he opened the door to the photo lab, he almost instantly felt a chill as the air-conditioned air blew on him.

  He had been flying all morning, and he had flown all day the day before. The fatigue was evident on his face.

  Reinforcements had begun to flood into Pusan, enough for General Walker’s Eighth Army to begin more serious counterattacks than had been possible a short time before. That was the official line. In Dunn’s judgment, counterattacks with only a slight chance of success were a better alternative than allowing the North Koreans to push Eighth Army into the sea.

  The proof of that seemed to be that the First Marine Brigade (Provisional) was being used as Eighth Army’s fire brigade, putting out the fires either when American counterattacks failed, or the North Koreans broke through American lines anywhere along the still-shrinking perimeter.

  The day before, for example, Walker had ordered counterattacks by the A
rmy’s 19th Infantry Regiment on North Korean positions on terrain south of a village called Soesil. Because of its shape, the area was known as “Cloverleaf Hill.” The attack was to begin at first light.

  The attack didn’t begin on time, and when it finally began, just before noon, the 19th learned that during the previous night, the North Koreans had moved a battalion of troops across the Naktong River, and that this reinforcement of their positions—plus, Dunn believed, the delay in making the attack, which had given the enemy time to prepare their positions—was enough to defeat the counterattack.

  To the south, an attack by the Army’s 35th Infantry was at least partially successful. It started when planned, but three miles from the departure line, ran into a tank-supported North Korean position that took five hours to overwhelm.

  Lieutenant Colonel Dunn, who had flown three strikes against the tanks, privately thought, Better late than never.

  Even farther south, a counterattack by the Army’s 24th Infantry against enemy positions in the Sobuk mountains simply failed.

  And farther south than that, an attack by the Army’s 5th Regimental Combat Team and a large portion of the 1st Marine Brigade had turned out to be, in Colonel Dunn’s opinion, even more of a Chinese fire drill.

  The 5th RCT, which was supposed to move west on the Chinju road, came to a road junction and took the wrong fork, down which the Marines had already passed. By noon, they were in positions on hills three miles south of the road fork, instead of on the hill where they were supposed to be, northwest of the fork.

  The North Koreans promptly moved onto the unoccupied hill, and in the confusion, Fox Company of the 5th RCT found itself surrounded by the enemy on yet another hilltop, which was now dubbed “Fox Hill.”

  While this was going on, the enemy, with other troops, also managed to block the MSR (main supply route) from Masan.

  All of this forced Eighth Army to order the Marines to halt, turn around—which meant abandoning the terrain they’d just taken—and go to work trying to put these fires out.

  The 2nd Battalion of the brigade tried, and failed, to get through to the surrounded men of Fox Company of the 5th, and the 3rd Battalion of the brigade, together with some troops from the 2nd Battalion of the Army’s 24th Infantry, tried—and failed—to destroy the enemy’s roadblock of the MSR.