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

"Jesus," Master Sergeant Youngman said softly.

"Take it over to the comm center and get it out right now," Almond said.

"Yes, sir."

[FOUR]

Haneda Airfield

Tokyo, Japan

213O 2 November 195O

Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, wishing he had thought to wear his raincoat, stood in the cold drizzle until he was sure the four-engine airplane landing was indeed the Bataan. Then he got in the front seat of the Buick.

He was not in a very good mood. For one thing, he wasn't sure that McCoy was even going to be on the airplane.

When he had—five hours before, in desperation—telephoned General Douglas MacArthur and asked for his assistance in finding McCoy, MacArthur had asked why.

"May I ask why you need him here so urgently? And frankly, I'm a bit surprised to hear that he has recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be in Korea at all."

"Mrs. McCoy called me from Tokyo General an hour ago, sir. She felt it best to be in a hospital—"

"She's having the baby?"

"Possibly, sir. They don't know if this is another false alarm or not, but. . . if she delivers, the child would be a month, maybe five weeks, premature, so they're hoping for the false alarm. I'm at the hospital now. I just spoke with her physician, and he said it would benefit her—perhaps keep her from delivering now—if her husband could be with her. And if something goes wrong . . . Sir, I thought it over carefully before asking. I think McCoy is entitled to a little extra consideration."

"I quite agree. A splendid young officer. I'll get an urgent off immediately to General Almond, asking him to locate him, and making sure he has a space on the Bataan."

"Sir? What about the Bataan?

"General Almond ordered the Bataan to Korea. I don't know why, but I sus­pect he wishes to bring his disagreement with General Willoughby about the possibility of the Chinese entering the war to me personally. Anyway, the Bataan is there, and it can bring Major McCoy when it returns here."

"Sir, has there ... I realize this line is not secure, sir ... been any change in General Willoughby's position on that matter?"

"No. And that's the source of the friction between Willoughby and Al­mond. Between you and me, Fleming, I sent Willoughby over there to placate Almond. Apparently, it wasn't enough, and he wants to plead his case in per­son. Almond has dug in his heels like a mule, frankly."

"Yes, sir. General, I very much appreciate your courtesy to me in what re­ally is a personal matter."

"That's what friends are for, Fleming," MacArthur said, "if I may coin a phrase. I'll tell Jean about Mrs. McCoy, of course. I'm sure she will want to call on her."

A telephone call five minutes before to the hospital had reported there was no change in Mrs. McCoy's condition, and Pickering tried to console himself with that knowledge.

He was more than a little annoyed with McCoy for a number of reasons, based on what he had learned when he finally got through to Fishbase looking for him.

Zimmerman had told him he didn't know where he was exactly.

"When he brought the bodies back from the exfiltration this morning, General . . . Did you get that message, sir?"

"There were KIA?"

"Four, sir. The Chinks apparently did a real job on them. To send us a mes­sage, the Killer said."

"Define 'real job' for me, Zimmerman."

"Well, sir, it looks like they tortured them before they killed them, and then they cut up the bodies pretty badly. It wasn't pretty. The Killer was pretty upset."

"Did I understand you correctly, Zimmerman? McCoy made the run in the H-19 to extract the teams?"

"That's 'exfiltrate,' sir," Zimmerman had courteously corrected him. "Yes, sir. He was on one of the Big Black Birds, and I was on the other."

"I expressly ordered him not to go on infiltration missions," Pickering had said. "And I thought you were aware of that."

"Sir," Zimmerman said uncomfortably, "what the Killer said you said we couldn't do was stay behind ourselves."

"I'll discuss that with him when I see him," Pickering had said. "But—and this is in the nature of an order, Ernie, so pay attention—if you see McCoy be­fore I do, you are to relay to him my orders that neither of you are to make ex­traction runs anymore under any conditions. Is there anything about that you don't understand?"

"Yes, sir, there is."

"What's that?"

"I understand about the Killer, sir. He's really in shitty shape. But I'm fine, sir. Why can't I go?"

"Ernie McCoy is in the hospital again—"

"Oh, shit!"

"—and if I can locate him, he's coming to Japan. That leaves you in charge, and I can't risk losing you. Okay? No further questions?"

"No, sir."

"I'll let you know what happens with Mrs. McCoy," Pickering said.

"That's the Bataan," Pickering said to Captain George F. Hart, USMCR, who was in the backseat, and Master Sergeant Paul T. Keller, USA, who was behind the wheel.

"I saw it out the window, General," Hart said innocently.

"Meaning I didn't have to stand out there and get rained on?" Pickering snapped.

"Now that I think of it, General . . ."

Keller chuckled.

"I don't know why I put up with either one of you," Pickering said.

"Maybe because we're lovable, sir?" Hart asked.

"I'm going to really give McCoy hell—if he's on that airplane—and I will be highly annoyed if either of you acts as if it's funny," Pickering said.

"General ..." Hart said.

"What?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Out with it, goddamn it, George!"

"General, you've told me—Christ, I don't know how many times—never to give an order you know won't be obeyed."

"And I should have known McCoy was not going to obey that order? Is that what you're saying?"

"General, you asked me," Hart said.

"Here it comes," Keller said, pointing out the window, as the Bataan turned off the taxiway and approached the tarmac in front of the hangar.

"You two stay in the car," Pickering ordered. "If McCoy is on the Bataan, I'm going to take him under the wing and bite off a large chunk of his ass, and I don't want an audience."

Ground crewmen rolled up movable steps to the rear door of the airplane. Pickering got out of the front seat and walked toward it.

The Bataans door opened and four military policemen, wearing steel hel­mets and other battlefield accoutrements, and carrying Thompson submachine guns, came down the stairs and quickly assumed positions facing the stairs.

What the hell is going on here?

McCoy appeared at the door, a Thompson hanging from his shoulder. He looked around the area, then started down the stairs. Then he saw General Pick­ering. He smiled and raised his hand in salute.

That smile's not going to do you a goddamn bit of good, McCoy!

Your ass is mine. You won't forget this ass-chewing for the rest of your life.

Pickering marched coldly toward the stairs.

He watched McCoy start down the stairs again, saw him slip, or stagger, saw him grab the railing, and then fall. He ended up sprawled on his stomach at the foot of the stairs.

Two of the MPs rushed to help him.

"Back where you were!" McCoy snapped, and tried to push himself up. And fell back down again.

Pickering rushed to him. He heard two car door slams, which told him that Hart and Keller had seen what happened, and were coming.

"You all right, Ken?" Pickering heard himself asking with concern.

There goes the goddamned ass-chewing.

"Let me sit here a second, sir," McCoy said. "I'll be all right."

"What the hell happened?"

"I guess I got a little dizzy, sir," McCoy said.