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

"In handcuffs, a coffin, or when you retire," McCoy said, smiling. Now there was laughter. "I'll tell you what I can when I can. But for the time being, that's it."

"I'd like to see you alone, please, Major," McCoy said to Donald, and started walking toward the rear of the hangar. Dunston, Zimmerman, and Jennings fol­lowed him, and in a moment, so did Donald and Dunwood.

"Major," Donald said when they were out of earshot of the others, "if I'm . . . You can't tell me what we'll be doing, either?"

"Because that hasn't been decided," McCoy said. "We didn't know we were getting you and these aircraft until seventeen thirty yesterday. I don't think you should share that information."

"I understand."

"We have some ideas, but we won't know if they're any good until we know what these machines can and can't do. I never saw one of them until I walked into the hangar. Can we start with that?"

"Yes, sir. What would you like to know?"

"Everything," McCoy said.

Donald looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then began what McCoy quickly decided was a recitation he had given before.

"These are Sikorsky H-19A helicopters," Donald recited. "They are pow­ered by a Wright R 1340-57 550-horsepower engine, which gives them a max­imum speed of 98 mph, a cruising speed of 80 mph, and a range of about 410 miles. The helicopter itself is 42 feet long and has a wingspan of 53 feet. The empty weight is 5,250 pounds and the maximum takeoff weight 7,500 pounds. There is a three-man crew, pilot, copilot, and crew chief. It can carry ten men, in addition to the crew."

McCoy smiled.

"I think you and Mr. Zimmerman will get along, Major. He, too, is a walk­ing encyclopedia of technical information." He paused and then went on. "On the other hand, I have to have things explained to me."

"Ask away."

"You said the empty weight was ..."

"Fifty-two hundred and fifty pounds," Donald furnished.

"And the maximum takeoff weight 7,500 pounds. Does that mean these things will carry—what is that?—2,250 pounds?"

"You have to deduct the weight of the fuel," Donald explained. "AvGas weighs about seven pounds a gallon."

"Okay. You said it will carry ten men. Riflemen? With their weapons? Ammo? Rations?"

"That figure is based on an average weight, man and equipment, of 180 pounds."

"But these things will carry 1,800 pounds of whatever 180 miles someplace, and then be able to return?"

"'That would be pushing the envelope a little," Donald said.

"The what?" Zimmerman asked.

"They call the capabilities of aircraft 'the envelope,' " Donald explained. "Just about everything affects everything else. The more you exceed the cruising speed, for example, the more fuel you burn and the less range you get."

"What about carrying 1,500 pounds 150 miles and back?" McCoy asked.

"That could usually be done," Donald said.

"Do you need the crew chief?" McCoy asked. "If he weighs 180, that's twenty-five gallons of gas."

"Crew chiefs are handy if the bird breaks," Donald said. "And they have other in-flight duties."

"Essential, yes or no?" McCoy pressed.

"Desirable, not absolutely essential."

“And the second pilot? That's another twenty-five gallons of gas."

"Same answer. There is also the possibility that pilots take hits, and a spare pilot is a nice thing to have."

“Desirable, but not absolutely essential?" McCoy pressed again.

"Right."

"You can fly one of these?" McCoy asked.

"Yes. I was the assistant project officer on this aircraft."

"Can you fly it without help?"

"If necessary. Why do you ask? If I can ask that."

"I'd like to see what you can see from the pilot's seat. I don't think anybody can see very much looking out the side door."

Donald nodded but didn't say anything.

"Do you have another pilot who can fly one of these things by himself?"

"They all can."

"Are these things fueled up and ready to go?"

"I had them topped off yesterday afternoon."

"When you flew them here, did you fly over Inchon?"

"I really don't know what route they took. I'll have to ask one of the pilots who did fly in here."

"What's going on, Kil—Major?" Zimmerman asked.

"I just had one of my famous inspirations," McCoy said. "Major, would you ask one of the pilots who flew over Inchon if he would join us?"

"Sure," Donald said, walked to the nearest H-19, and returned with a young-looking captain.

"This is Captain Schneider, Major," Donald said.

McCoy shook his hand, then asked, "When you flew here yesterday, Cap­tain, did you fly over Inchon?"

"Yes, sir."

"There's supposed to be an Army vehicle depot there. Did you see it?"

"I saw a motor park of all kinds of vehicles, sir."

"Was there someplace in this motor park where you could land one of these aircraft?"

"I'd have to make a couple of passes over it to make sure there's no telephone or power lines, but yes, sir, there was plenty of room to land the H-19s."

"Okay. This is what I'm thinking. We need vehicles. We need them," he said, pointing to Dunston, Zimmerman, Jennings, and then himself. "And you need them. And the Marines need them. The original plan was to go there and dazzle whoever's in charge with our CIA identification and orders. We're authorized vehicles, but we get hung up in the bureaucracy. It just oc­curred to me that if we flew in there in these helos, showed them our or­ders, and said we needed the vehicles right now, they'd be double dazzled and we'd be out the gate before they had time to think things over—and try to get permission from somebody who would need three days to make a decision."

Major Donald and Captain Schneider smiled.

"How many vehicles are you going to need to support the helicopters and your men?" McCoy said. "Make a list right now. You, too, Dunwood."

"Aye, aye, sir," Dunwood said.

"If you had a tank truck, or tank trailers, could you get AvGas somewhere?" McCoy asked.

"From the Air Force," Donald said. "I don't know if there's a tank park at Inchon or not."

"Make sure you have tank trucks, or plenty of trailers, on your list," Mc­Coy said.

"Yes, sir," Major Donald said.

"On the helos, I want enough men to drive what vehicles we're going to take, plus enough to manhandle the food and whatever else we're going to draw from the Quartermaster Depot," McCoy said.

[SIX]

After the H-19s were pushed outside the hangar, Major McCoy managed with some difficulty to climb into the cockpit of one, and then—with some assis­tance from Major Donald—to strap himself into the copilot's seat.

Donald then handed him a headset and a microphone, and showed him how to press the microphone button to talk, and the switch that allowed se­lection of TRANSMIT and INTERCOM.

"Got it?" Donald's voice came through the earphones.

McCoy checked to make sure the switch was set on INTERCOM and then pressed the microphone button.

"Got it," he said.

Donald put his face to the open cockpit window.

"Wind it up, Schneider," he called to the other H-19.

A moment later, there came the whine of the engine cranking, a cloud of blue smoke, and a lot of vibration.

For the first time, McCoy realized that he and Donald were practically sit­ting on the engine.

The rotor blades began to turn very slowly, and then ever faster, over them. And produced more vibration.

He looked around Donald at the other helicopter and saw Zimmerman, who looked as uncomfortable as he felt, sitting beside Captain Schneider.

Donald checked a baffling array of instruments on the control panel and exercised the controls. McCoy had no idea what Donald was doing.

After about a minute, Donald's voice came over the earphones.