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

"You have an apartment there?"

"Yeah, I have an apartment there."

"If you're ready, I'll take you there."

"That would be a very bad idea," he said. "As a matter of fact, I will not, thank you just the same, take a ride to the passenger terminal."

"Why would that be a very bad idea?"

"Because I'm having a hell of a hard time keeping from putting my arms around you while standing in front of Jeanette's casket, and I know goddamn well what would happen in your car. Much less my apartment."

She looked into his eyes.

"Okay. Now you know," Pick said. "That's the kind of a prick I am. And the sooner you get away from me, and the farther away you get, the better."

"Okay. I'm warned," she said. "Let's go."

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard you."

"But you don't believe me? Is that it?"

"I had a couple of drinks before I went looking for you," Babs said. "Time to think very seriously about the dangers of someone like myself being desper­ate for another man in my life, of someone like you being especially vulnera­ble to someone like me."

"And?"

"I had another drink and went looking for you."

"Jesus, Babs!" he said softly.

"The drinks I had are wearing off, so if we're going to do this, you'd better get another couple in me pretty soon."

"I don't think you know what you're saying," he said.

"Yeah, I do. Why not, Pick? Who are we going to hurt?"

"The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you, add to your prob­lems," Pick said.

"I know," she said. She put her hand on his cheek. "Likewise. Who knows? Maybe we can solve each other's problems. It seems to me worth trying. What has either one of us got to lose?"

"Jesus H. Christ!"

"Come on, let's go," she said, and took his hand and led him away from the Container, Human Remains. Halfway to the hangar door, he freed his hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Six steps farther, he stopped, put both arms around her, and kissed her.

[NINE]

Apartment A

The P&FE/Trans-Global Suite

Coronado Beach Hotel

San Diego, California

O83O 3 November I95O

"I think this is what your friend Dr. McGrory would call 'postcoital depres­sion,' " Babs Mitchell said to Pick Pickering.

They were having a room-service breakfast; both were wearing hotel-furnished terry-cloth robes. The robe concealed all the curvature of her body.

It doesn't matter. I can see her face. Even without makeup, she's beautiful.

Okay. Here it comes. You knew goddamn well it would.

"Now that I've thought it over ..."

"Something bothering you?"

"I had too much to drink last night," she said. "You must think I'm really a slut."

"No I don't," he said.

"You don't?"

"I don't."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Believe it."

"Oh, God, what have we done?"

After a moment, Pick solemnly said, "If that question was addressed to the Deity, I'm sorry to have to tell you He's not available at the moment. But—as one of His favorite people on this particular planet—I feel confident in telling you that when He finally gets around to answering your query, He will say something like 'Nothing wrong.' Or 'Good for you.'

" 'One of His favorite people'?" Babs parroted incredulously.

"I have the proof," Pick said. "He put us together, didn't he? Just when we really needed each other. Would He have done that if He didn't like us?"

"Oh, God, I'd like to believe that."

"I told you, He's not available at the moment. But you can believe it."

She stood, walked around the room-service cart, and put her arms around his neck from behind.

"Oh, God, I really hope this works," she said.

"For the third time, I'm sorry to have to tell—"

"I'm going to have to stop saying that, aren't I?"

"I don't know. He'll probably wonder why you stopped talking to Him."

She pulled on his ears, and he twisted in his chair, and somehow his face wound up inside her bathrobe. And then, somehow, the bathrobe became com­pletely unfastened and fell from her shoulders.

He had just picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder and announced, "Me Tarzan, you Jane! We go make whoopee-whoopee, okay?" when the door chimes sounded.

"Come back next year," Pick callled loudly.

"It's Captain McGowan, sir."

"Oh, shit," Pick said softly. Then he raised his voice. "Be right with you, Art."

He carried Babs into the bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and went to answer the door.

"Got a message for you, sir," Captain McGowan said.

"From General Dawkins?"

"No, sir. From Japan." He handed it to him, then said, "Sir, when you go back to the hospital . . . The general told them he'd asked you to spend the night, and didn't think he had to ask their permission. They were about to send the Shore Patrol looking for you."

"My compliments to the general,, Captain, and please relay my appreciation for his understanding of the situation."

"Yes, sir, I'll do that. Good morning, sir."

Pick tore open the envelope.

UNCLASSIFIED

URGENT

OFFICE OF THE CIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA TOKYO

0305 3NOVEMBER1950 TOKYO TIME

TO MAJOR MALCOLM S. PICKERING, USMCR

DETACHMENT OF PATIENTS

US NAVAL HOSPITAL SAN DIEGO

VIA BRIG GEN C W DAWKINS, USMC CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA

PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO TO MAJ PICKERING

BEGINS

MAJOR AND MRS KENNETH R. MCCOY, USMCR, ANNOUNCE THE BIRTH OF THEIR SON, PICKERING KENNETH MCCOY, IN TOKYO JAPAN AT 0215 3NOVEMBER1950. MOTHER AND CHILD ARE DOING WELL.

END PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO

Pick went to the bedroom door. "What was that all about?"

"One more proof that He likes me, sweetheart," Pick said, and sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the message.

Christ, she doesn't even know who the Killer and Ernie are.

She handed it back to him.

"Friends of yours?" Babs asked.

"Yeah. You'll like them," Pick said.

"If you're happy," Babs said, "I'm happy."

AFTERWORD

I was an X Corps sergeant/combat correspondent in Korea shortly after the events fictionally chronicled in this book took place. As such, I was able to read the official version of what happened in the X Corps and 1st Marine Division After Action Reports.

What follows are the facts as we now know them, from our own sources and from those of the Communist Chinese, more than half a century after the conflict.

On 3 November 1950, Major General Charles Willoughby announced to the press that there "possibly" were from 16,500 to a maximum of 34,000 Red Chinese soldiers in Korea.

There were, in fact, 180,000 Chinese soldiers facing the Eighth United States Army on the west of Korea, and about 120,000 facing the X United States Corps in the east. They had begun crossing the Yalu River and entering North Korea in October 1950, each carrying a personal weapon, eighty rounds of am­munition, sometimes three or four "stick" hand grenades, and a week's supply of rations, dried fish, rice, and tea. There were some machine guns and some mortars, all hand-carried.

They moved in at night, halting two hours before daybreak to prepare camouflaged positions. They then slept through the day. Anyone seen moving was shot on the spot, and his body hastily concealed from American aerial ob­servation.

Red Chinese and American historians are generally agreed that the first bat­tle of the Chinese intervention was the attack by the Communists' 124th Di­vision on the 3d ROK Division, which was then advancing near the Chosin Reservoir. The 3d ROK retreated thirty miles south. The 7th Marines coun­terattacked, killing more than 1,500 Chinese and virtually destroying the 124th Division in a three-day battle.