W.E.B. Griffin - Retreat, Hell!

No one said anything.

Charley Rogers handed him a fresh drink.

The President took it and leaned against his desk, and stirred the ice cubes thoughtfully with his index finger.

Then he smiled.

"Six months without VD, huh?" he chuckled. "I wonder if I should tell Bess about that one?"

"I wouldn't, Har . . . Mr. President," Howe said.

"Hell, I couldn't," the President said. "If I did, Bess would immediately start to examine the ribbons of every general she saw, and God help the poor gen­eral who didn't have a Legion of Merit." He laughed, then raised his glass to Rogers. "Thank you very much, Charley. I needed a laugh."

[FOUR]

The House

Seoul, South Korea

1655 1 November 195O

"All of my life, Major McCoy," Lieutenant Colonel J. D. Vandenburg, USA, greeted Major K. R. McCoy, USMCR, as McCoy walked into the dining room, "I was told that Marines, whatever the situation, are models of military sarto­rial splendor. I have to tell you, you are shattering that illusion."

McCoy was wearing black pajamas, U.S. Army combat boots, a fur-collared Army zippered flight jacket, and a huge black fur cap, which he took off as he smiled at Vandenburg.

"I really like the hat," Vandenburg said.

"I took it away from a Chinese officer—"

"You're sure he was a Chinese officer?" Vandenburg interrupted.

"I am sure he was a Chinese officer," McCoy said. "He told me he got it in Russia. I believed that because he spoke pretty good Russian. I'm going to give it to my wife. I think it's Persian lamb. I thought maybe she could make a muff out of it. Or a purse, maybe."

Vandenburg picked up the hat and examined it.

"Or wear it as a hat," he said. "That's very nice. Only senior officers would get such finery."

"He admitted to being a lieutenant colonel," McCoy said. "I suspect he's more than that."

"I was fascinated with your idea that the first Chinese you interrogated were messengers. ..."

"Can we talk about that after I get something to eat?" McCoy asked as he took off his flight jacket. "I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast, and that was cold powdered eggs."

"Sorry, I didn't think. You want something to drink?"

"I'd like a stiff shot of scotch, and then a cup—several cups—of hot coffee."

McCoy walked to the door to the kitchen and spoke with the housekeeper, who told him there was cold chicken and cold pork, but that it would take only a minute to heat it up."

"Heat it up, please," McCoy said, "but get me some coffee right now, please."

When he turned around, Vandenburg had put a bottle of Famous Grouse and a glass on the table.

"You want ice? Water?" he asked.

"This is medicinal, not social," McCoy said. "Straight is fine."

"Against the cold? Or do you hurt?"

McCoy lowered himself carefully into a chair, then splashed two inches of whiskey into the glass, picked it up, and drank about half.

He exhaled audibly, then said: "Both. If I keep moving, I'm fine. But when I sit with my knees bent—as I have just been doing in the L-19—it gets stiff, and then it hurts when I move. If I don't move and get cold—and it was cold as hell up in the L-19—it's worse."

"You probably should still be in the hospital in Sasebo," Vandenburg said.

"If I knew where I could lay my hands on somebody who speaks Russian and Cantonese and knows what questions to ask, that's where I would be."

The housekeeper appeared with a silver coffeepot and a cup and saucer. When she had half-filled the cup, McCoy told her to stop and poured the rest of the scotch in with the coffee.

He took a sip.

"You were telling me about the colonel with the hat," Vandenburg said.

"Let's do this like the professionals we're supposed to be," McCoy said. "We have a map?"

Vandenburg nodded, pointed to half a dozen maps rolled up and standing in a corner of the room, and then went and got one.

"Northeast Korea, right?"

"Better bring one of the northwest, too," McCoy said.

McCoy took a healthy sip from his coffee cup and then stood up as Van­denburg laid a map of northeast Korea on the table and anchored it in place with whiskey glasses.

"The first Chinese I talked to were captured here," McCoy said, using his finger as a pointer, "southeast of the Chosin Reservoir. The positions he gave me of ChiCom forces here, and here, and here, all checked out."

"Interesting," Vandenburg said.

"One of the reasons I came here was to get confirmation to General Pick­ering as soon as I could," McCoy said.

"And the other reason—reasons?"

"I thought if you had turned up the same sort of intel, it probably should go in the same report," McCoy said. "I have the feeling there are only two senior people who don't think I'm a nutcase on the loose. Pickering and Almond."

"Almond believes you?" Vandenburg asked.

McCoy nodded. Then he asked, "Have you got anything that would back me up?"

"A hell of a lot of rumors and unconfirmed sightings, but nothing solid, I'm afraid. Just before you came in, I got a report that the 24th Division—they're on the west coast, past Chongju, almost to the Yalu—has taken some Chinese prisoners, but it was too late for me to go up there today. I'm going to go at first light."

"I have to send my report tonight," McCoy said.

Vandenburg nodded his understanding.

"The colonel with the hat was captured here," McCoy said, pointing again at the map, "thirty miles east of the eastern shore of the Chosin Reservoir. Same scenario as before, except this guy was wearing an officer's uniform, and I didn't have to 'discover' that he was an officer. But he said and did the same things. The Chinese are coming in with overwhelming force, which they intend to use when X Corps is stretched out making a dash for the border. And he gave me troop dispositions. I hope I can check those out tonight, but I'm going to be very surprised if they don't check out."

"If they do, that would support your idea that they're sending us a message, right?"

"I think it would," McCoy said. "What the hell else could it mean?"

The housekeeper came into the dining room carrying a plate of roast pork, rice, and gravy.

"I should be noble and ignore that," McCoy said, "and go upstairs and send the report. But I'm hungry, and I don't want to climb all those goddamn stairs."

"I'll get a typewriter," Vandenburg said. "You can dictate it to me while you eat." He saw the look on McCoy's face. "I'm actually a very good typist. I used to be a CIC agent; a typewriter to a CIC agent is like a rifle to a Marine."

"I wasn't asking—"

"I know, Killer," Vandenburg said, and walked out of the dining room.

"Well, Major McCoy," Vandenburg said, handing McCoy the sheets of paper he had just pulled from the typewriter, "can this old soldier type, or can he type?"

McCoy took the papers and read them.

TOP SECRET

OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE

SEOUL »ENTER TIME DATE HERE

EYES ONLY BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING TOKYO

REFERENCE MY MESSAGE FROM FISHBASE 30 OCTOBER 1950: QUESTIONING OF THREE EXFILTRATED STAY-BEHIND TEAMS THIS DATE CONFIRMED IN EVERY SIGNIFICANT DETAIL THE CHICOM TROOP DISPOSITIONS FURNISHED THE UNDERSIGNED BY CHICOM PRISONERS YESTERDAY.

ADDITIONALLY, ONE OF THE TEAMS CAPTURED CHICOM CAPTAIN WON SON HI, WHO WAS EXFILTRATED WITH THEM AND INTERROGATED BY THE UNDERSIGNED. DESPITE CONSIDERABLE PRESSURE HE REFUSED TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT HIS UNIT, ORDERS, OR ANYTHING ELSE. HOWEVER, HIS IDENTITY DOCUMENTS AND A LETTER FROM HIS MOTHER, CAPTURED WITH HIM, ESTABLISHED THAT HIS UNIT WAS THE 2077TH

RECONNAISSANCE COMPANY, 42D FIELD ARMY. AT THE TIME OF HIS CAPTURE HI AND THREE NONCOMS WERE RECONNOITERING CREST OF HILL LINE WHERE TEAM HAD BEEN INSERTED. NONCOMS DIED IN ENGAGEMENT.