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

by Retreat, Hell!(Lit)

  General Bradley walked up to them, then led them toward another of the identical frame buildings.

  Pickering decided that since he had not been invited to attend the official conference, he would just stay in the background. He was glad for the oppor-tunity: That Pick was coming home didn't seem quite real yet. He realized that he had really given up hope, and was ashamed that he had. He knew he needed a couple of minutes to set himself in order.

  He walked between two of the frame buildings and leaned against the wall of one of them. He became aware that his forehead was sweaty, and took a hand-kerchief from his pocket to mop it.

  Jesus Christ, he's really alive! And unhurt. Thank you, God!

  "General, the President would like to see you, sir," an Army colonel said. Pickering hadn't seen him come between the buildings.

  "Right away, of course," Pickering said, and pushed himself off the building.

  "General, are you all right? Sir, you look-"

  "Colonel, I couldn't possibly be any better," Pickering replied. When he turned the corner of the building, he saw the President standing with General Bradley and MacArthur in front of the conference building. When Truman saw Pickering, he motioned him over.

  Pickering wasn't sure what the protocol was, whether he was supposed to salute or not. He decided if he was going to err, it would be on the side of cau-tion. He saluted, which seemed to surprise both Bradley and MacArthur, who nevertheless returned it.

  "Delbert," the President began, "... the cryptographer?... has had time to decode only a couple of messages. One of them is this one. I thought you'd be interested."

  The President handed him the message.

  "General, I can't tell you how happy that message made me," Truman said as Pickering read the message again.

  "Thank you, sir," Pickering said.

  "May I show it to General Bradley and General MacArthur?" the President asked.

  "Yes, sir. Of course." Bradley read it first.

  "That's very good news, indeed," he said as he handed the message to MacArthur.

  MacArthur's left eyebrow rose in curiosity as he read the message. Then he wrapped an arm around Pickering's shoulder.

  "My dear Fleming!" he exclaimed emotionally. "Almighty God has answered our prayers! A valiant airman will be returned to the bosom of his family! Jean will be so happy!"

  Bradley could not keep a look of amazement off his face.

  "I'd like a word with General Bradley before we go in here," Truman said. "I think if you two went in, the others would follow suit."

  "Of course, Mr. President," MacArthur said.

  "I'm to be at the meeting?" Pickering blurted.

  "Of course," Truman said. "You're really the middleman, General. You're the only one who knows everybody."

  MacArthur entered the building with Pickering on his heels. Truman waited until they were out of earshot, then until the others who would participate in the conference had entered the building, and then turned to Bradley.

  "General, I want that young officer returned to the United States as soon as he's fit to travel. And I want to make sure the people Major McCoy named are notified as soon as possible, by an appropriate person. Have you got some-one who can handle that for me?"

  "Yes, sir," Bradley said. He raised his voice, just slightly. "General Mason!"

  An Army major general walked quickly to them.

  "General," Bradley said. "I want you to read this."

  General Mason read the message and raised his eyes curiously to Bradley.

  "General," Bradley began, "the President desires-"

  "What the President desires," Truman interrupted, "is that Major Pickering- as soon as he is physically up to it-be flown to the United States to whichever Naval hospital is most convenient for his mother. And I want the people listed in that message to be notified personally-without anything said to them about keeping this a secret-by a suitable person just as soon as that can be arranged. You understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Thank you," the President said.

  "May I keep this message, sir?"

  "Why not?" Truman said, then gestured for Bradley to precede him into the conference building.

  Truman slipped into an ordinary wooden office chair at the head of a table around which the participants had arranged themselves, those who had come with the President on one side, and MacArthur and those who had come from Tokyo with him on the other.

  Everyone was standing, in deference to the President.

  "Take your seats, please," Truman said. "General Bradley will take notes, and each of you will later get a copy, but it is for your personal use only, and not to be shared with anyone else. Clear?"

  There was a chorus of "Yessir."

  "But before we get started, I want to tell you that General Pickering has just been informed that his son, a Marine pilot, who was shot down early in the war... How long ago, General?"

  "Seventy-seven days ago, Mr. President," Pickering said softly.

  "... who was shot down seventy-seven days ago," the President went on, "and has gone through God only knows what evading capture, was rescued be-hind the lines yesterday and is as we speak aboard the carrier USS Badoeng Strait.'"

  There was a round of applause.

  "Mr. President," MacArthur said. "If I may?"

  Truman gestured for him to go on.

  "Perhaps only I know nearly as much as General Pickering does about what Major Pickering was facing and has come through. One of the unpleasant things I have had to do recently is compose the phrasing of the citation for the decoration it was my intention to award-posthumously, I was forced to think-to this heroic young officer. I would like your permission, Mr. Presi-dent, to-"

  "Give him the medal anyway?" Truman interrupted. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Mr. President, it is self-evident that Major Pickering's valor on the battle-field was distinguished."

  "The Distinguished Service Cross?" Truman asked.

  "The major is a Marine, Mr. President," General Bradley said. "It would be the Navy Cross."

  "Yes, of course," the President said. "I agree. I don't know how that's done, but I'm sure that General Bradley and General MacArthur can handle that be-tween them."

  "Yes, sir," Bradley said.

  The President wasn't finished: "I also think whoever rescued him from be-hind enemy lines needs recognition," he went on. "That would be Major McCoy, wouldn't it, General Pickering?"

  "Either McCoy or one of his men, sir," Pickering said.

  "I would suggest, Mr. President," MacArthur said, "the Silver Star for the officer who risked his life to snatch Major Pickering from the midst of the enemy, and Bronze Stars for the others."

  Truman looked at Omar Bradley.

  "I agree, Mr. President," Bradley said.

  "You'll take care of all this?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Okay," the President said. "Let's get started with this. The first thing..."

  [TWO]

  Aboard the Bataan

  3O.59 Degrees North Latitude

  172.44 Degrees East Longitude

  The Pacific Ocean

  1615 15 October 195O

  Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, gently nudged Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, with his elbow, and, when he had his attention, directed it with a just-perceptible nod of his head down the aisle of the Bataan.

  There were few passengers on the Douglas C-54 four-engine transport. Pickering and Hart were seated toward the rear, in what Hart called "the cheap seats." In them were seated the junior officers-including the aides-de-camp of the senior officers-and the warrant officers and noncoms brought from Tokyo to do whatever was necessary for the senior officers.

  Pickering saw Brigadier General Courtney Whitney coming down the aisle to the rear of the airplane. In doing so he passed a number of rows of empty seats. There was little question in Pickering's mind that Whitney was headed for him. He was the only senior officer sitting in the chea
p seats.

  Whitney stopped at Pickering's seat.

  "General Pickering," he said, "the Supreme Commander would like to see you at your convenience."

  "Thank you, General Whitney," Pickering said.

  Whitney turned and started back toward the front of the aircraft.

  Pickering looked at Hart with a raised eyebrow. Hart smiled, hunched his shoulders, and feigned a shiver. Pickering smiled back. It had indeed been an icy encounter. Another one.

  Brigadier General Whitney and Brigadier General Pickering had not ex-changed a word on Wake Island, and Pickering hadn't thought-until Whit-ney came down the aisle-that they would exchange one on the way to Japan.

  Pickering waited until Whitney had taken his seat before unfastening his seat belt and standing up. Whitney took the seat nearest to the door of MacArthur's compartment. It was the seat traditionally reserved for the most senior of MacArthur's staff aboard.

  Pickering knocked at the door to MacArthur's compartment and was told to come in.

  "Ah, Fleming!" MacArthur said, coming half out of his chair to offer Pick-ering his hand. "I was afraid you might have been asleep. I told Whitney not to disturb you."

  "I was awake, sir," Pickering said.

  MacArthur waved him into the seat facing his.

  "First, of course, I had to go through the messages from Tokyo." He indi-cated several manila folders that were imprinted with Top Secret in red. "And then I had to let poor Whitney down gently."

  "Sir?"

  "Entre nous, "MacArthur said. "I have been trying for some time to get him a second star. I thought perhaps a private word between myself and General Bradley might help-"

  My God! Pickering thought. He actually tried to use a meeting between him and the President of the United States to get one of the Bataan Gang promoted!

  He wanted to make a man who never commanded a company, much less a reg-iment, a major general!

  Who are you to talk, General Pickering? The only unit you've ever commanded was a squad.

  MacArthur had left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but when he saw the surprise on Pickering's face, he went on.

  "I was surprised, too," he said. "I thought Bradley would arrange it as a per-sonal courtesy to me, but all he said was that he would 'look into it,' which, of course, is a polite way of saying no."

  Pickering couldn't think of a reply.

  "I thought I would tell you this," MacArthur went on, "because you've just learned you're not going to get the promotion you so richly deserved."

  "Are you talking about General Smith being named Director of the CIA, sir?"

  "Of course."

  "You heard that I was being considered?"

  "I have a few friends in the Pentagon," MacArthur said. "Not many, but a few. You were the logical choice for the job. But you were obviously tarnished with the brush of being someone held in very high regard by the Viceroy of Japan."

  Pickering's surprise was again evident on his face.

  "Oh, I know they call me that," MacArthur said. "They also call me 'Dugout Doug,' which I don't really think is fair. And 'El Supremo.' "

  "I'm guilty of the latter, General," Pickering said. "I don't think anyone uses that as a pejorative. It's sort of like calling a company commander 'the Old Man.' "

  MacArthur smiled but said, "That too. 'The Old Man in the Dai Ichi Building.' "

  "General, before President Truman named General Smith, I told him I didn't think I was qualified to be Director of the CIA."

  "It got as far-before you took a Pentagon knife in the back-as the Pres-ident actually offering you the job, did it?"

  "The President told me, when he told me that he had named General Smith, that he had considered me but decided General Smith was the best man for the job. I told him I completely agreed."

  "You know Smith?"

  "I met him for the first time after I spoke with the President."

  "From everything I hear, he was the brains behind Eisenhower," MacArthur said. "Well, for the record, I think you would have been the best man for the job."

  "I respectfully disagree," Pickering said with a smile.

  "Well, it's water over the dam," MacArthur said.

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "As soon as we get within radio range of Tokyo, I'll set the wheels in mo-tion about your son," MacArthur said. "The first step, obviously, is to get a more precise indication of his physical condition than... What did the message say, 'very dirty and very hungry'?"

  Pickering chuckled.

  "It also said, 'uninjured, unwounded, and in sound psychological condition,'" he said.

  MacArthur acted as if Pickering hadn't spoken.

  "And once we have that information," he went on, "which shouldn't take long to acquire, we can decide whether it would be best for you to fly out to the Badoeng Strait, and arrange for that, or to wait until your boy is to be flown from the carrier to Tokyo."

  "That's very kind of you, General," Pickering said.

  "Not at all," MacArthur said. "I'm delighted that everything has turned out so well for you."

  MacArthur stood up. After a moment, Pickering realized that he was being dismissed and got hurriedly to his feet.

  MacArthur put his hand on Pickering's arm in an affectionate gesture.

  "I hate to turn you into a runner, but would you mind sending Colonel Thebideaux in here as you pass through the cabin? He's the plump little chap with the shiny cranium."

  "Yes, sir, of course. And thank you again, General."

  MacArthur didn't reply. He smiled faintly and sat back down.

  Pickering left the compartment, closing the door after him. Halfway down the aisle, he spotted a plump little lieutenant colonel with a shiny cranium. When he got closer, he saw that he was wearing a nameplate with thebideaux etched on it. When he got to the seat, Pickering squatted.

  "Colonel Thebideaux," he said, "General MacArthur would like to see you."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Pickering went to the cheap seats and slipped in beside George Hart.

  "What's up?"

  "As soon as we're in radio contact with Tokyo," Pickering replied, "El Supremo will 'set the wheels in motion' to get me together with Pick. Either fly me out to the carrier or have Pick flown to Tokyo."

  "That was nice of him," Hart said.

  "I thought so."

  "That's all he wanted?"

  "That's all he wanted."

  Hart pursed his lips and shrugged.

  [THREE]

  Haneda Airfield

  Tokyo, Japan

  21O5 15 October 19SO

  As the Bataan taxied up to what he thought of as "El Supremo's Hangar," Brigadier General Fleming Pickering saw Master Sergeant Paul Keller leaning on the front fender of his Buick.

  So much for the secrecy about El Supremo's movements, he thought. Willoughby and Company almost certainly didn't call Keller and give him our ETA. Paul knows how to find out "top secret" things like that.

  As usual, he waited until the important members of MacArthur's staff de-planed before unfastening his seat belt and standing up.

  When he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see MacArthur standing impatiently by the open door of his black Cadillac limousine. Willoughby was with him.

  When MacArthur saw him, he motioned him over.

  "Fleming, why don't you get a good night's sleep and then come by the of-fice first thing in the morning?" MacArthur said. "Willoughby is still collect-ing information about your boy, and by, say, eight, we should know just about everything."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you."

  MacArthur nodded and ducked inside the Cadillac. Willoughby trotted around the rear of the limousine and got in beside him. The limousine, pre-ceded by the usual escort of chrome-helmeted MPs in highly polished jeeps, rolled off.

  Pickering walked to his Buick. Keller straightened and saluted. Pickering re-turned it.

  "You got the good news, General?" Keller asked.

 
; "The President told me at Wake Island," Pickering said, and got in the front seat. Keller got behind the wheel and turned to him.

  "Okay, while George is getting the luggage, this is what I know," Keller said.