W E B Griffin - Corp 10 - Retreat, Hell!

by Retreat, Hell!(Lit)

  There were two L-4s parked, one on each side of National Route 5. The ROKs were apparently using the narrow road for an airstrip.

  The L-4, essentially a Piper Cub, was the two-passenger, high-wing, low-and-slow observation and liaison aircraft that preceded the Cessna L-19.

  McCoy thought the ROKs were like the Marines, being issued only equip-ment the Army thought it no longer needed.

  There was a small tent city on both sides of the road, too, U.S. Army squad tents that had apparently been erected in the belief they would soon have to be struck and moved someplace else.

  In front of two tents assembled end-to-end he spotted three flags: the Ko-rean national colors; the blue flag of the United Nations; and a red flag with two stars on it. Two soldiers were standing with the butts of their Garands rest-ing between their feet were guarding the tents, several jeeps parked in front of them, one highly polished with half-doors and a rack of radios in the back.

  He drove up to it, the second jeep following.

  The guards raised their rifles.

  "Stand at ease," McCoy barked in Korean. The guards assumed a position not unlike Parade Rest, and saluted by crossing their right hands to the muz-zles of the Garands.

  McCoy got out of the jeep and walked into the tent.

  It was full of officers and soldiers, radios, telephone switchboards, and desks.

  A Korean colonel wearing impeccably fitting and perfectly starched and pressed fatigues, polished boots, with a.45 in a tanker's shoulder holster turned from the map board when McCoy pushed the flap aside and light en-tered the tent.

  McCoy saluted.

  "Good morning, Colonel," he said in Korean. "May I have a moment of your time?"

  Everybody in the tent was now looking at him.

  The colonel returned McCoy's salute crisply.

  "Good morning," he said in faultless English. "I'm Colonel Pak. I'm sur-prised, Major, to see a Marine officer this far east."

  "May I have a moment of the colonel's time?" McCoy said, continuing in Korean.

  "And, if you don't mind my saying so, one who speaks Korean so well," the colonel replied in English. "How may I be of service to the Marines?"

  McCoy decided the colonel was an officer who had most likely learned his English while an officer in the Japanese Army, and had then been one of the rare ex-Japanese officers selected to start up the South Korean Army, and as a result of that had been sent to one or more U.S. Army schools in the States. His English was American accented.

  "May I come to the map board, sir?"

  Colonel Pak gestured that he could.

  McCoy went to the map, found Socho-Ri, and pointed to it.

  "Sir, I have established a small camp here," he said.

  "That far north?" Pak asked rhetorically. "How long have you been there?"

  "The first element arrived two days ago, sir."

  "Why do I suspect you are not the lead elements of the First Marine Division?"

  "We are not, sir," McCoy said.

  Colonel Pak grunted.

  "What can I do for you, Major?"

  "Two things, sir. I hoped you could get word to your people before they move in that direction that my people are there."

  Pak nodded, then picked up a grease pencil and made a check mark on the acetate covering the map.

  "And the second?"

  "Colonel, it is important that I get to Seoul as quickly as possible," Mc-Coy said.

  "And you would like a ride in one of our L-4s?"

  "If they are not required for a more important mission, yes, sir."

  "At the moment, the CG is at I ROK Corps seeking permission to move north," the general said. "Until we get that permission, they are not very busy. Observation has not revealed any enemy forces within thirty miles of here. Have you seen any indications of the enemy?"

  "No, sir. I suspect-but do not know for sure-that they are no closer than twenty miles north of Socho-Ri." Colonel Pak grunted.

  "As I said, our aircraft are not being utilized at the moment, Major. But the problem I have is that I cannot afford to lose either of them-either to enemy action or, bluntly, to one of my fellow senior ROK officers who might com-mandeer it at the Race Track in Seoul. Having one's own aircraft, I'm afraid, has become the ROK equivalent of the German field marshal's baton. My gen-eral is known for his temper; I don't want to have to tell him, when he flies back in here in the third of our aircraft, that I loaned one of the others to a Marine who didn't give it back."

  McCoy smiled.

  "Colonel, if you would have me dropped at the Race Track, your pilot would not even have to shut the engine down, and anyone trying to comman-deer your airplane would have to go through me."

  Colonel Pak grunted, then replied: "At Quantico, Major, one of the lessons I learned-in addition to how to drink martinis-was that a Marine officer's word is his bond.'

  "We try to keep it that way, sir," McCoy said, and then curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask what you were doing at Quantico, sir?"

  "The idea was that South Korea was to have Marines," the general said. "But that, obviously, is going to have to be put off for the moment." He smiled at McCoy. "May I offer you a cup of tea before you take off, Major?"

  "That's kind, but unnecessary, sir."

  "It would be my pleasure, I insist," Colonel Pak said. "And, if you don't mind, I'd like to have your-unofficial, of course-thoughts on the possibility that the Chinese will enter this conflict."

  "Frankly, sir, I was wondering if I could ask you the same thing," Mc-Coy said.

  Twenty minutes later, one of the Capital ROK Division's two aircraft bounced down National Route 5 and lifted off, very slowly, into the air.

  It took an hour and forty minutes against a headwind to reach the Race Track in Seoul.

  McCoy spent the entire time looking down at the ground for a stamped-out arrow or any other sign of Pick Pickering. He found none.

  But there was time to think, of course, and he thought that perhaps if he couldn't get anybody to let him have an L-19-not to mention the other air-plane Donald had said would be really useful, the Beaver-he might be able to get his hands on an L-4.

  And he wondered what Dunston's agents were going to find up north. Both he and Colonel Pak-whom he now thought of as "the Quantico ROK colonel"-were uncomfortable with the idea that the war was just about over, and that the Chinese and the Russians were just going to stand idly by and watch while their surrogate army was annihilated by the Americans and their surrogate forces.

  And the Quantico ROK colonel was right about the hunger of senior ROK officers for their own airplanes, too. No sooner had the L-4 landed at the Race Track and taxied to a fuel truck than an ROK colonel appeared and told the L-4 pilot that he had an important mission and would require the use of the L-4.

  "You'll have to look elsewhere, Colonel, I'm afraid," McCoy said. "This air-craft has been assigned to me."

  McCoy showed him his CIA credentials. He thought the colonel backed off more because of McCoy's fluent Korean than because of the credentials. Since the Korean didn't try to argue with him in English, there was a good chance he had no idea what the CIA credentials were, or what they said.

  He stayed with the L-4 until it taxied off to the strip for takeoff.

  And then, when he tried-and failed-to get a jeep from the officer in charge of the airstrip to take him to the house, he had to make his own irreg-ular requisition.

  He walked to a street not far from the Race Track, waited until the first Ma-rine vehicle-a weapons carrier-came down it, flagged it down, and told the corporal driving that he needed a ride.

  "Sir, I can't-"

  "All I want to hear from you, Corporal, is Aye, aye, sir.' "

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  [SEVEN]

  The House

  Seoul, South Korea

  1145 4 October 195O

  Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings came through the door in the metal gate to the house as the weapons carrier carr
ying McCoy stopped in front of it.

  "That was a quick trip, sir," he said as he saluted.

  "I got lucky," McCoy said. "Get a phone number from the corporal, and then get on the horn and tell his officer I had to borrow the truck."

  "Aye, aye, sir," Jennings said. "Major, there's an Army light colonel inside "

  "How did he get inside?" McCoy asked.

  "Sir, I'm a tech sergeant, and he showed me orders signed by some general at UNC."

  "Did he say what he wants?"

  "He wants to see Major Dunston," Jennings said.

  "Where's General Howe?"

  "He went south to see General Walker," Jennings said. "He said to tell you he'll try to get back tonight, if not first thing in the morning."

  "I'll deal with it," McCoy said. "When you talk to the corporal's officer, say something nice about the corporal."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  A stocky, neat, but not natty Army lieutenant colonel was sitting at the dining room table with a tall, thin, natty Army first lieutenant. Both were drinking coffee.

  "Can I help you, Colonel?"

  "I'm looking for Major William Dunston," the colonel said.

  "He's not here right now," McCoy said.

  "Where is he?"

  "May I ask who you are, Colonel?"

  "And you are?"

  "My name is McCoy, sir."

  "My name is Vandenburg," the colonel said, then took a sheet of paper folded twice from the breast pocket of his fatigues and laid it on the table. "Those are my orders."

  McCoy went to the table, picked up the orders, and unfolded them.

  TOP SECRET

  Supreme Headquarters

  Commander-in-Chief

  United Nations Command

  Tokyo,Japan

  2 October 1950

  SUBJECT: Letter Orders

  TO: LtCol D.J. Vandenburg, Inf

  Supreme Headquarters CINCUNC

  1. You will proceed at the earliest possible date to Korea, and such other places as you

  may deem necessary to carry out a mission of great importance, taking with you such personnel as you may deem necessary. Travel priority AAAAA-1 is assigned.

  2. In order to facilitate the execution of your mission, authority is granted for you to

  requisition whatever support you may require from any source, and all UNC commands are directed to provide such support.

  3. Any questions regarding your mission are to be directed to the undersigned.

  FOR THE SUPREME COMMANDER:

  CHARLES WILLOUGHBY

  Major General

  Assistant Chief of Staff, J-2

  TOP SECRET

  McCoy refolded the orders and handed them back to Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "With regard to paragraph two of those orders," Vandenburg said, "what I require of you is your helicopters. And these premises, which I will use as my headquarters."

  McCoy didn't reply.

  "Where are those helicopters, Major?"

  "With respect, sir, I don't think you have the need to know that."

  "You can read, Major, can't you?"

  "Yes, sir. I can read."

  "You did notice those orders were issued in the name of the Supreme Com-mander, General MacArthur, and signed by the Supreme Commander's intel-ligence officer, Major General Willoughby?"

  "With respect, sir, we are not a subordinate unit of the United Nations Command. And I'm sure, sir, if you would ask General Willoughby, he would confirm that.'

  Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg tried to stare McCoy down, and failed.

  "Harry," he said. "Take a walk."

  The slim, natty lieutenant, surprise on his face, got to his feet and walked out of the room.

  When the door had closed, Vandenburg smiled at McCoy and said: "You're not what I expected, Killer. I sort of expected a gorilla in a Marine Corps uniform."

  McCoy didn't reply.

  "You're not going to deny that you're the legendary Killer McCoy, are you, Major?"

  "I've been called that, sir," McCoy said. "I don't like it."

  "Relax, Killer," Vandenburg said. "I'm one of the good guys. We even have a mutual friend."

  McCoy said nothing.

  "You're not curious, Killer, who that might be?"

  "Yes, sir, I'm curious."

  "Back in War Two, when Charley Willoughby and his boss finally got off the dime and sent an officer in a submarine onto Mindanao to establish con-tact with Wendell Fertig, what General Fertig told that officer-me-was that Killer McCoy and some other Marines had beat me there by two weeks."

  Vandenburg let that sink in, then smiled.

  "That shook you up a little, didn't it, Killer?" he asked.

  McCoy didn't reply.

  "Come on, fess up," Vandenburg said.

  "I heard an Army officer went in later," McCoy said. "I wasn't there long."

  "Let me tell you why I'm here, Killer," Vandenburg said. "You know what happened to General Dean of the 24th Division?"

  "He was captured, early on, in Taejon."

  "Well, the Army-the Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army-wants him back. I work for him, despite what those orders say, not Willoughby. My primary mission here is to spring Dean from durance vile. The first thing I have to do is find out where he is, and then I want to mount a mission to spring him. To find out where he is, I have to put agents into North Korea. And to spring him, I need some method of grabbing him by surprise. It occurred to me on the way over here that using those Sikorskys is the best way to do both. When I got to where they were supposed to be, in a hangar at K-16, the base commander-very reluctantly-told me that CIA had them and had flown them out. He didn't know where to. So I came here to see Major Dunston. You with me so far?" "Yes, sir."

  "There's two ways we can handle this, Killer," Vandenburg said. "We can wage a turf war, which will neither help me get Dean back nor you do what-ever it is you're doing. Or we can cooperate. Most of the Army doesn't like peo-ple like me any more than most of the Marine Corps likes people like you. We're social pariahs. But between us, I think we could probably do one hell of a job, even if there would be damned little appreciation down the road." McCoy didn't reply.

  "I went looking for your boss, General Pickering. He's not at the Imperial Hotel. You want to tell me where he is?" McCoy hesitated before replying. "He's in the States. The President sent for him."

  "And left you minding the store?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then the decision to cooperate, or not, is really yours to make, isn't it?"

  "I don't know how you're defining 'cooperate,' Colonel. I don't want- General Pickering absolutely does not want-anyone around here who's going to report what he sees to General Willoughby."

  "I don't like the sonofabitch any more than you do," Vandenburg said.

  "You could be expected to say something like that."

  "No I wouldn't," Vandenburg said indignantly, then chuckled. "Yeah, of course I would. But that happens to be the truth."

  "I wish I could believe that," McCoy said.

  "I wish you could, too. What about it-do we cooperate?"

  "I still don't have your definition of the word."

  "Very basic. You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours."

  "We have plans for the helos," McCoy said. "We're going to use them to insert and extract agents up north. There's a few of us who aren't so sure this war will be over in two weeks. We have to know what's going on."

  "I don't think it will be, either," Vandenburg said. "You already have peo-ple up north?"

  "We're going to make the first insertions tonight, by boat, if we get lucky," McCoy said. "We're also in the first stages of training some fire teams to use the helos. But I can't see any reason-with the understanding I don't lose con-trol of them-why you couldn't have the helos, and for that matter, the fire teams, to make a raid to spring General Dean. Presuming you can find him. We haven't heard anything, and I wouldn't be
surprised to finally learn he's in Peking."

  "Either would I," Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg said. "Okay. It looks like we have a deal. I was wondering where I could get the men for the snatch op-eration and get them trained. Right now, my entire command is me and Harry. Aside from West Point and having had a Chinese nanny who taught him Cantonese, he doesn't have many qualifications for the sort of thing you and I do."