Jeff Shaara - The Frozen Hours

“I’ve been with Colonel Puller today. Quite a scamp, that one. Most accommodating, though. Rather in a mess up there. Making progress despite some rough going. He’s inflicting enormous casualties among the enemy, no doubt about that.”

“You tell the president all of that?”

“Indeed. As I’ve said, General, I’m happy to share those dispatches with you.”

Smith shook his head. “No. Your position here is clear. I prefer you keep your correspondence private. If I read what you’re saying, you might feel you should edit something, some observation about me. That wouldn’t be…appropriate.”

“If you say so, General. But I must say, everything I have observed here will be most satisfactory to the president. He has concerns, of course, and he hopes I can cut through some of the official blather.”

The name burst into Smith’s head. MacArthur . Of course, that’s the whole point. Mac will tell Washington what he wants them to hear. At least Truman is trying to go a little deeper than the headlines.

“How long do you expect to be here, General?”

“Please, I do wish you would call me Frank. We may share rank, but mine comes from the discretion of the president. Yours is well earned.”

“Thank you. But that’s difficult for me. My staff knows I don’t usually get terribly familiar, even with them.”

“As you wish, General. I’m not certain how long I will be here. Are you willing to offer some prediction just how long this effort will take?”

“As long as it takes.”

Lowe smiled. “Of course. Well, then, I might be here for the duration, unless the president changes his mind.”

“You’ll keep us on our toes, then. Can’t hurt.”

“I’d rather not have it that way. I’m not here to grade your performance. This is much more about the progress of the campaigns, the effectiveness of our strategy against the communists. What happens in Korea might well presage what happens everywhere else in the world. This is not a vacuum. The Russians are testing our resolve.”

“I don’t know much about the Russians, General Lowe. I’m concerned with those people out there killing my Marines. My job, unless someone tells me different, is to eliminate the North Korean army. That would be the most effective way to end this war.”

Lowe seemed to appraise Smith, said nothing. That will end up in one of his blooming letters, Smith thought. He stood abruptly, felt the need for air.

“Remain here, if you wish. Speak to any of my staff, as you require it.”

Lowe laughed. “But stay the hell out of your way, right?”

“Never said that, General Lowe. You are, apparently, my guest. Anything you need, or need to see, just ask. General Craig will see to it.”

He moved out the door, eased past his staff, the larger door that led outside. Behind him, Sexton scrambled to catch up, said, “Sir, might I know where you’re going?”

“Come with me if you like. Just going outside.”

Sexton followed him, and Smith realized the pipe was still in his hand. He lit it now, drew in the luscious smoke, and Sexton said, “How is it, sir? To your liking?”

Smith focused on the scent of the tobacco.

“Yes, quite so.” He recalled now, it was Sexton who had secured the pipe tobacco, the one brand Smith preferred, Sir Walter Raleigh. “Thank you, Captain.”

Sexton smiled, a short bow. “I put aside a good haul for you, sir. I keep it with my personal equipment. Ought not run out anytime soon.”

Smith thought of Lowe’s question, How long?

“What do you think, Captain? We in for a long haul here? Or you think Tokyo’s right, that this thing won’t last but a few weeks?”

“No idea, sir. I kinda hoped you could tell me. Maybe General Lowe might have some notion. He’s army, right, sir? Does he know what MacArthur’s planning?”

Smith enjoyed the pipe for a long moment, said, “He’s not about to go any closer to MacArthur than he has to. Right now, he’s Mr. Truman’s one-man army. The president believes he has to send a spy of sorts out here to find out what’s happening.”

“A spy? Really?”

“Don’t get excited, Captain. Real spies don’t go around telling everyone what they’re doing. He’s just the president’s eyes and ears. It’s a mystery to me why Mr. Truman needs such a thing. That’s what official communications are supposed to do. But apparently, Mr. Truman doesn’t believe everything he hears.”

“Do you, sir?”

Smith thought of the intelligence reports, G-2 section in Tokyo insisting the North Koreans were just fading away.

“Not a question you should be asking, Captain.”

TENTH CORPS HEADQUARTERS—YONGDUNG-PO, SOUTH KOREA—SEPTEMBER 24, 1950

No one seemed particularly happy to see him, something Smith was getting used to. Almond was leaning low over large maps, spread out across a long table. Various staff moved about, and Smith wondered how many of them actually had something to do. It was never far from Smith’s mind that Almond was still wearing the crown of MacArthur’s chief of staff. For reasons known only to MacArthur, Almond was continuing to hold two crucial jobs.

At one end of the table stood General David Barr, the commander of the army’s Seventh Division. Barr was nearly Smith’s age, had enjoyed a lengthy if not terribly distinguished career that went back to World War I. He seemed a pleasant enough man, had shown Smith a willingness to cooperate alongside the Marines as much as Smith required him to. It had not escaped Smith that Barr seemed as unimpressed with Almond as Smith had been.

“General Barr, hello.”

Barr offered a weak smile, said, “Is our boundary to your satisfaction, General? On General Almond’s order, we have moved our Thirty-second regiment in place even now, covering your right flank. There seems to be some stubbornness on the part of the North Koreans about our liberation of Seoul. I wish your people the best of success.”

It was a pleasant surprise, Barr acknowledging that, for now anyway, the job of pushing into the city belonged to the Marines, the army troops acting as protection to the south, along Chesty Puller’s vulnerable right flank.

“Thank you, General. We’re making progress, but it’s a little tougher than predicted.”

Both men looked directly at Almond, who seemed oblivious to the conversation. Almond straightened, seemed to notice Smith for the first time.

“Ah, welcome. Good, the party’s all here. I had hoped to go over troop dispositions and offer you both some ideas of my own. Tokyo is rather insistent that we pick up the pace a bit. I’ve instructed both of you to make haste, and there is some concern that things are, um, dragging. There are many eyes on us, gentlemen. The world is watching. We must live up to the reputation that brought us here in the first place. Our gallant troops deserve no less.”

Smith nodded along with Barr, thought, Perfect politics. The most important eyes watching you are in Tokyo. To one end of the room sat a small cluster of civilians, silent, observant, whom Smith assumed to be reporters. Of course, he thought. Those eyes, too.

Almond spread his arms apart, hands out, as though gathering in the room. “Gentlemen, particularly you, General Smith, I am confident that we will triumph in a timely way, satisfying our assignment as prescribed by General MacArthur. General Barr, you will move the Thirty-second Infantry across the Han River at oh–six hundred tomorrow. Smith, you get your amtracs on the road right now. There is no time for delay. I have taken steps to light a bit more of a fire under the backsides of a few of your officers. Colonel Puller and Colonel Murray are aware of my orders and have agreed to my plans for the envelopment of Seoul.”