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

"At least, sir, until the fucking crotch gets its head out of its ass and decides what the fuck to do with us."

Under the circumstances, Captain Dunwood had decided that pending or­ders, moving into the hangar was the prudent thing to do.

A captain from G-3, Headquarters, 1st Marine Division, had shown up the next day and announced that Baker Company was still in Division Special Re­serve and further orders would be forthcoming. He didn't say when, but warned Dunwood to be prepared to move out on four hours' notice, maximum.

Captain Dunwood's plan of action remained the same. Have Baker Com­pany prepared to move out on command, and in the meantime to make his men as comfortable as possible, at the same time making no waves that would call attention to his command.

With a little bit of luck, they might be forgotten again.

When he finished his ham chunks and baked beans, he took a bite of the chocolate bar that came with the rations, spit it out, and decided it had prob­ably already been bad when packaged just before the Civil War.

He slipped his feet into his boondockers, then sort of slid across the con­crete floor to the door and went outside the hangar. He put a cigarette in his mouth and reached for his Zippo. Then he went back inside the building and, with his back to the door, lit the cigarette.

He thought it was highly unlikely that a North Korean sniper was lying in the mud out there somewhere, waiting to take a shot at some Marine careless enough to light a cigarette in the open and make a target of himself, but it never hurt to be careful.

Besides, he had warned his men of snipers lying in the mud waiting for a chance to shoot a careless Marine so often that he felt he should practice what he preached.

Holding the cigarette with the coal in his cupped hand, he went outside again, thinking that for the evening's amusement he would watch the red glow of the artillery bounce off the clouds to the northeast of Seoul.

What he saw was the headlights—not the blackout lights—of two jeeps coming down the runway at high speed, and he wondered if no one had ever told them about North Korean snipers lying in the mud, hoping for an oppor­tunity to shoot people foolish enough to run around at night with their head­lights blazing.

Surprising him, the jeeps turned off the runway and onto the service road leading to his hangar.

A hundred yards from the hangar, they were stopped by one of Dunwood's perimeter guards. In the headlights, he could see the sentry gesturing toward him. Or, he thought, more accurately, the hangar, as there probably was not enough light to make him visible.

And then the jeeps were on him. There were two. In the first were three of­ficers. The second was an MP jeep with a pedestal-mounted .30-caliber air-cooled Browning machine gun.

The driver of the jeep got out of it quickly and walked up to Dunwood. Dunwood saw that he was an Army officer, a major, wearing a classy fur-collar zipper jacket with the blue-and-white X Corps patch sewn to it. He was armed with a .45 in a tanker's shoulder holster.

Dunwood saluted.

The major returned the salute and inquired, not unpleasantly, "Who are you?"

"Captain Dunwood, sir. Commanding Baker Company, 5th Marines."

"When we couldn't find you, we thought you'd moved out."

“Sir?”

"You're 1st Marine Division Special Reserve, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you've been assigned to us for this mission," the major said.

"What mission is that, sir?"

The major didn't reply directly.

"We looked for you back there," the major said, indicating the main area of the airfield. "And when we couldn't find you, we thought you'd moved out. And we didn't expect to find anyone in this hangar."

"Yes, sir," Dunwood said.

"But all's well that ends well, right?" the major said, and turned to one of the officers with him, a young lieutenant. "Better get on the horn, Dick, and tell the colonel we've found the Marines, are now at the hangar, and we'll get back to them when we know more."

"Yes, sir," the young lieutenant said. He got into the backseat of the jeep, picked up a microphone, and called, "Jade Bird, this is Jade Bird Three."

"I'm the assistant Army Aviation officer for X Corps," the major said. "My name is Alex Donald." He put out his hand.

"How do you do, sir?"

"What's your strength, Captain? Nobody seemed to know."

"Three officers and ninety-eight men, sir."

"That ought to be enough. We can always get more if needed."

"Yes, sir. May I ask, enough for what?"

"To protect the aircraft," Major Donald said.

"What aircraft, sir?"

"This is to go no further than here, you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"At first light, Captain, two aircraft are going to land here, and immediately be placed inside this hangar. . . . The doors do function, don't they?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea, sir," Dunwood said. He saw that Staff Sergeant Al Preston had come around the corner of the hangar.

"Why not?" Major Donald asked.

"Sir, I had no reason to open them."

"Jesus Christ, Captain!" Major Donald exclaimed. "What good is a hangar if you can't get the doors open?"

"Yes, sir," Dunwood said. "Sergeant Preston, do you know if the doors of the hangar work?"

"Don't have a clue, sir."

"Get a couple of men and try to open them," Dunwood ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir," Sergeant Preston said.

Major Donald gave Captain Dunwood a thumbs-up.

"That's the spirit!" Major Donald said, and then explained, "It's very im­portant that the enemy . . . and I think it's reasonable to assume they left spies behind when we ran them out of Seoul, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's important that the enemy not see these aircraft before we're ready for them to see them, you understand?"

"I think so. What kind of aircraft are these, Major?"

"I'm afraid you don't have the need to know that, Captain," Major Donald said. "And the problem is compounded because we think a senior officer, a very senior officer, is probably going to want to have a look at these aircraft—you take my meaning, Captain?"

“I'm afraid not, sir."

"Well, then, I'd better not get into that, either. It will all become clear at first light when these aircraft arrive."

"Yes, sir."

"I can tell you this, Captain," Major Donald said. "You are going to be present to personally witness the beginning of a new era in battlefield mobility."

"I don't know what that means, I'm afraid, sir."

"You'll see in the morning, Captain. But right now, I suggest you establish a really secure perimeter around this hangar."

"Yes, sir," Captain Dunwood said, and thought, This is fucking surreal. "With your permission, sir, I'll get dressed and see about setting up a perime­ter guard."

Major Donald gave Captain Dunwood another thumbs-up signal and said, "That's the spirit!" Then he raised his voice. "Dick!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get on the horn again and tell the colonel that everything's set up. And then bring in the sandwiches and coffee."

"Yes, sir," the young lieutenant replied.

"It's going to be a long night, but it's always better to be early than late."

"Yes, sir."

[TWO]

Hangar 13

Kimpo Airfield (K-16)

Seoul, South Korea

O5IO 29 September 195O

Major Alex Donald, USA, and Captain Howard Dunwood, USMCR, stood on the tarmac before the open doors of Hangar 13. It had grown light enough in the last few minutes for Dunwood to see the perimeter guard he had established in the dark around the hangar.

The Marines of Baker Company were set up in and around foxholes, cul­verts, wrecked vehicles, crashed aircraft fuselages, and in a really shot-up little building painted in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, their weapons forming fields of fire that would keep the enemy away from the hangar that was to house the aircraft soon to arrive.