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

General Pickering had smiled at Colonel Huff.

"Let me think about that, Sid. Thank you for bringing the subject up."

After that, George's leather jacket—and of course his—were set in con­crete. Brigadier General Pickering, the Assistant Director of the CIA for the Far East, was not a lowly brigadier on the staff of the Supreme Commander, as much as the staff—and probably El Supremo himself—would like it so. He was, de jure, subordinate only to the Director of the CIA, Rear Admiral Roscoe Hillenkoetter, USN, but, de facto, only to President Harry S Truman.

MacArthur's people had to be reminded of that every once in a while. If the petty nonsense about who could wear leather jackets and who couldn't served to accomplish this, so much the better.

General MacArthur somewhat impatiently returned the salutes being of­fered and hurried up the stairway into the aircraft, trailed by Colonel Huff and some of the others.

Air Force ground crewmen hurried to move the stairway away from the air­craft, and there immediately came the whine of an aircraft engine being started.

MacArthur entered the cabin, knocked politely at the door of the VIP suite on the right, entered, and a moment later reappeared in the aisle.

He looked around, spotted what he was looking for, and gestured for Brigadier General Pickering to join him.

"I guess you get to sit on the right hand of God," Captain Hart said.

"George, you're going to get us both in trouble," Pickering said, but he was smiling.

Hart got out of the way, and Pickering made his way to the VIP cabin on the right.

There were six leather-upholstered seats in the compartment, two double sets facing forward, and two against a bulkhead that faced to the rear. A table, on which sat a coffee thermos, cups and saucers, and a map case, was between the forward- and rear-facing seats.

MacArthur was in the window seat of the first forward-facing row, in the process of fastening his seat belt. He waved Pickering into one of the seats op­posite him.

Colonel Huff stepped into the compartment.

"That will be all, Huff. Thank you," MacArthur said, dismissing him.

There was the sound of a second engine starting, and the aircraft began to move.

"Good morning, General," Pickering said.

"Good morning, Fleming," MacArthur replied. "I'm pleased you could come with me."

There was a discreet knock at the door, and then, without waiting for per­mission, an Air Force colonel entered.

"Good morning, General," he said.

"Storms, turbulence, and a bad headwind all the way, right?" MacArthur greeted him.

"Quite the contrary, sir. Weather's fine en route and there."

He laid a sheet of paper on the table and went on: "I think we'll be wheels-up at six thirty-five, which should put us in Seoul a few minutes before ten."

"Splendid! Thank you, Colonel."

The colonel left, and a white-jacketed airman came in with a plate of pastry.

The Bataan taxied to the end of the runway, ran the engines up quickly, and then began to race down the runway.

When the rumble of the wheels stopped and the whining of the gear being retracted ended, MacArthur said: "I think dignity and simplicity should be the style for this business in Seoul, Fleming. Do you agree?"

"I would trust your judgment about that above anyone else's," Picker­ing said.

I meant that, even if it made me sound like a member of the Palace Guard.

"Let me make a note or two," MacArthur said. He reached for a lined tablet on the table, then changed his mind and instead picked up the coffeepot.

He held it over a cup, then asked with a raised eyebrow if Pickering wanted some, and when Pickering said, "Please," poured coffee for him.

He poured a second cup for himself, then picked up a pencil and slid the tablet to him.

Pickering pulled the sheet of paper the pilot had left on the table to him.

It was their routing. There was a simple but adequate map, and the data:

Direct Haneda-Kimpo.

Ground Miles: 739

Estimated Air Speed en route 227 mph

Estimated Flight Time 3 hours 16 min

Rendezvous with fighter escort over Fukui (before reaching Sea of Japan)

No Adverse Weather Expected.

Presuming Haneda Take-Off 0635

ETA Kimpo 0951

Pickering thought: The Constellations cruise at 323; that's almost 100 knots faster than this. No wonder El Supremo wants one.

General Pickering knew more about aircraft than he ever thought he would. In another life, he was chairman of the board of the Pacific and Far East Ship­ping Corporation. Among the wholly owned subsidiaries of P&FE was Trans-Global Airways.

The first president of Trans-Global—Pickering's only child, Malcolm, then just out of Marine Corps service as a fighter pilot—had argued long, passion­ately, and in the end successfully that Trans-Global should start up with Lock­heed L-049 aircraft, rather than with surplus (and thus incredibly cheap) military aircraft.

Pick's argument had been threefold:

First, the maiden flight of the DC-4—Air Force designation C-54—had been in 1938, and the first Constellation flight in 1943, five years later. It had, thus, five years' design experience on the Douglas, longer really if you consid­ered the development money thrown at the aviation industry with war on the horizon.

Second, Pick argued, the Connie had a range of 5,400 miles, more than twice the 2,500-mile range of the Douglas, which would permit them to open routes in the Pacific that the Douglas simply couldn't handle.

And third, Pick had argued, if the fledgling Trans-Global acquired, as it could with the 323-knot Constellation, a reputation for providing the fastest transoceanic service, it would keep that reputation even after the other airlines smartened up and got Connies themselves.

"Nobody, Pop, has ever accused Howard Hughes of being stupid." The legendary Howard Hughes was known to have had a heavy hand in the design of the Constellation, and Trans-World Airlines, in which he held a ma­jority interest, was equipping itself with Constellations as quickly as they could come off the Lockheed production line.

Fleming Pickering had given in to his son's recommendations, in part be­cause he thought Pick was right and in part because he was—P&FE was—cash heavy from the sale of all but two of P&FE's passenger liners to the Navy dur­ing World War II.

Shortly after Pearl Harbor, Flem Pickering had flown over the Boeing plant in Seattle and seen long lines of B-17 aircraft, each plane capable of flying across any ocean in the world. He had known that day that the era of the lux­urious passenger ship was over. Time was money.

He had willingly sold seventeen of his passenger ships to the Navy, but flatly refused to sell them one P&FE merchantman. Airplanes were not about to haul heavy materials.

When MacArthur ordered/invited Pickering to ride in his private compart­ment, Pickering had assumed MacArthur wanted to chat, either about military matters or the Good Old Days in Manila or Australia, or to perhaps deliver one of his lectures on strategy.

But, surprising Pickering, he busied himself with his lined pad until, forty-five minutes later, Pickering said, "General," and pointed out the window.

A Chance Vought Corsair fighter plane, with MARINES lettered large on its fuselage behind the cockpit, was on their wingtip. Others were visible else­where in the sky.

"Our fighter escort," MacArthur said needlessly.

The cockpit of the Corsair was open, and they could clearly see the pilot, a young redhead with earphones cocked on one ear. He saluted crisply, held his position a moment, then shoved the throttle to the firewall. The Corsair then pulled very rapidly ahead and upward, then turned and began to assume a po­sition above and just ahead of the Bataan.