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

What he needed was a cave to hide in.

There being no convenient caves, he did the next best thing. He put his back against the earthen wall of a rice paddy, then held the A-Frame over him. It would, he believed, break his human figure outline, shade his face from the sun, and make him difficult to see from the air.

The fluckata-fluckata-fluckata grew louder. Pickering pushed the A-Frame away from his head and glanced skyward, trying to get a look at it. Where the hell is it? Jesus Christ, it sounds like it's right here! He leaned his neck back as far as it would go, just in time to see the shiny olive-drab fuselage of an enormous helicopter—the largest he had ever seen— hanging beneath an enormous rotor cone flash— fluckata-fluckata-fluckata-fluckata-fluckata-fluckata —not more than 100 feet over him. It headed down the hill, then turned to the left.

Pickering could see U.S. ARMY painted in large letters on the fuselage. The helicopter turned right, rose above the crest of the next hill, and then dropped out of sight below it.

He waited for a long time to see— Please, God!- —if it would reappear again, and maybe turn around and come back. It didn't.

[THREE]

Headquarters, First Marine Division

Seoul, South Korea

1225 3O September 195O

Master Gunnery Sergeant Allan J. Macey, USMC, who looked very much like Master Gunner Ernest W. Zimmerman, backed through the canvas flap that served as the door to the office of Major General Oliver P. Smith, Command­ing 1st MarDiv. He held a stainless-steel food tray and a mess kit set of spoon, knife, and fork in each hand.

"Chow, sir," he announced. "Salisbury steak, for a real treat." He laid the trays on a simple wooden picnic-type table. "I'll get the coffee, sir," Gunny Macey said, and looked at General Smith's luncheon guest. "Canned cow and sugar, General?"

"No, thanks," Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, said. "Black's fine. You'll take care of Sergeant Rogers, right?"

"We old men have to stick together, General," Macey said.

"I apologize for the scarcity of the fare, General," Smith said.

"I'm an old infantryman General," Howe said. "If it's warm and served in­side, that's all I ask, and I'm grateful to get it."

Smith smiled and grunted. He waved Howe to a seat at the table.

"So what can I do for you today, General?" Smith asked.

"General Almond told me an hour ago about MacArthur's plan to move the division by sea to Wonsan as soon as Eighth Army cleans up the peninsula as far as Seoul," Howe said.

Smith grunted again and said nothing.

"That was in the nature of a question, General," Howe pursued.

Gunny Lacey came back through the flap with a white china mug of cof­fee in one hand and a canteen cup of coffee in the other. He set the mug be­fore Howe and the canteen cup before Smith and then left.

"Why do I think he gave me your mug?" Howe asked, and reached for the canteen cup.

"That's his mug," Smith said. "I broke mine. I guess he likes you."

"I've got a couple of spares in the jeep," Howe said. "You can have them."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I would be very surprised if Macey didn't have me one by supper. Probably before."

"You're welcome to them," Howe said, shrugging.

"What you're asking, General, is what do I think of the idea."

"That's what I'm here for."

"I'm a Marine. Marines go where they're ordered, and fight whomever they're ordered to fight," Smith said.

"In other words, you think it's a dumb idea," Howe said.

"Your words, General, not mine."

"Whatever you tell me will go to no one but the President," Howe said. "No. The President and General Pickering. We have an arrangement to share infor­mation."

"Did they find his boy?"

"They think he's still alive, somewhere around Suwon," Howe said.

"That has to be tough for him."

"It is."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"If there were, I'd ask. You know Major McCoy?"

"Killer McCoy? I've met him a couple of times. Is he in charge of finding Pickering's son?"

Howe nodded. "And I think if anybody can get young Pickering back, McCoy can," he said.

Smith grunted.

"In terrain like that of northeast Korea, General," Smith said, "cohesion of your forces is critical. You can't string them out, and, worse, you can't outrun your logistics."

"I know. I had a division in Italy. It's hard to get ammunition—not to men­tion hot rations—up the side of a mountain in a snowstorm."

"So, I understand General Almond had a division in Italy," Smith said. "And in the presumption that General Almond learned what you did there, and will not issue orders requiring me to separate elements of the division, or order me to move so far or so fast that my ration and ammo trains will be strained, I have no objection to the Marines going ashore at Wonsan. Or anywhere else they think we can do the job."

"Thank you," Howe said. "That will not go further than Pickering and the President."

"God, I hate canned peaches," Smith said, holding a peach half aloft on his fork.

"I hate to admit this, but I'm getting to like the Salisbury steak," Howe said.

"You've been here too long, General," Smith said, chuckling.

"You ever see McCoy?" Smith asked.

"Frequently."

"When you see him, ask him, please—tell him I told you to ask—what, if anything, I can do to help him."

"I will, of course, but he will say, 'Thank you, sir, I have everything I need.' "

Smith looked at him for a moment. "Why do I think something went un­said, General?" he asked.

"General, does Baker Company, 5th Marines, ring a bell?" Howe asked.

"Yes. They're the people who were the reserve for the clandestine operation on the Flying Fish Channel Islands."

"They're now at K-16, guarding a couple of secret Army helicopters."

"Secret Army helicopters?" Smith parroted incredulously. "Almond asked me if he could have them for a couple of days. I said, 'Yes, sir.' I didn't know what they would be doing."

"McCoy doesn't have enough people," Howe said.

"Is that what he's doing now, guarding secret Army helicopters?"

"I meant for his intelligence activities, and looking for Major Pickering."

"He tell you that?"

"That's my opinion."

"And he asked for these people?"

"No."

Smith grunted, then raised his voice. "Gunny!"

Master Gunnery Sergeant Macey came through the canvas flap.

"Sir?"

"Baker Company, 5th Marines," Smith said.

"They're in Division Special Reserve, sir. They're the people who were de­tached when we left the Perimeter—"

"I know," Smith cut him off. "Tell the G-3 they are to remain in Special Reserve until released by me, personally."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And send a messenger to the company commander. . . Where did you say they were, General Howe?'

"In a hangar across from base operations at K-16," Howe furnished.

"... that, until further orders from me to the contrary, he will take his or­ders from Major McCoy. He knows who he is."

"Aye, aye, sir."

[FOUR]

The House

Seoul, South Korea

1625 3O September 19SO

Major Alex Donald, who was in the act of extending his hand to take a crys­tal whiskey glass full of beer from a tray extended to him by a middle-aged Korean woman, was surprised when Majors McCoy and Dunston, Master Gunner Zimmerman, and Technical Sergeant Jennings suddenly rose to their feet and stood to attention as military men do when a senior officer suddenly appears.

This—"mansion" was the only word that fit—did not seem to be a bastion of the fine points of military courtesy and the customs of the service. And nei­ther did its inhabitants. Technical sergeants do not normally sit around drink­ing with officers.