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

McCoy smiled.

"Colonel, if you would have me dropped at the Race Track, your pilot would not even have to shut the engine down, and anyone trying to comman­deer your airplane would have to go through me."

Colonel Pak grunted, then replied: "At Quantico, Major, one of the lessons I learned—in addition to how to drink martinis—was that a Marine officer's word is his bond.'

"We try to keep it that way, sir," McCoy said, and then curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask what you were doing at Quantico, sir?"

"The idea was that South Korea was to have Marines," the general said. "But that, obviously, is going to have to be put off for the moment." He smiled at McCoy. "May I offer you a cup of tea before you take off, Major?"

"That's kind, but unnecessary, sir."

"It would be my pleasure, I insist," Colonel Pak said. "And, if you don't mind, I'd like to have your—unofficial, of course—thoughts on the possibility that the Chinese will enter this conflict."

"Frankly, sir, I was wondering if I could ask you the same thing," Mc­Coy said.

Twenty minutes later, one of the Capital ROK Division's two aircraft bounced down National Route 5 and lifted off, very slowly, into the air.

It took an hour and forty minutes against a headwind to reach the Race Track in Seoul.

McCoy spent the entire time looking down at the ground for a stamped-out arrow or any other sign of Pick Pickering. He found none.

But there was time to think, of course, and he thought that perhaps if he couldn't get anybody to let him have an L-19—not to mention the other air­plane Donald had said would be really useful, the Beaver—he might be able to get his hands on an L-4.

And he wondered what Dunston's agents were going to find up north. Both he and Colonel Pak—whom he now thought of as "the Quantico ROK colonel"—were uncomfortable with the idea that the war was just about over, and that the Chinese and the Russians were just going to stand idly by and watch while their surrogate army was annihilated by the Americans and their surrogate forces.

And the Quantico ROK colonel was right about the hunger of senior ROK officers for their own airplanes, too. No sooner had the L-4 landed at the Race Track and taxied to a fuel truck than an ROK colonel appeared and told the L-4 pilot that he had an important mission and would require the use of the L-4.

"You'll have to look elsewhere, Colonel, I'm afraid," McCoy said. "This air­craft has been assigned to me."

McCoy showed him his CIA credentials. He thought the colonel backed off more because of McCoy's fluent Korean than because of the credentials. Since the Korean didn't try to argue with him in English, there was a good chance he had no idea what the CIA credentials were, or what they said.

He stayed with the L-4 until it taxied off to the strip for takeoff.

And then, when he tried—and failed—to get a jeep from the officer in charge of the airstrip to take him to the house, he had to make his own irreg­ular requisition.

He walked to a street not far from the Race Track, waited until the first Ma­rine vehicle—a weapons carrier—came down it, flagged it down, and told the corporal driving that he needed a ride.

"Sir, I can't—"

"All I want to hear from you, Corporal, is Aye, aye, sir.' "

"Aye, aye, sir."

[SEVEN]

The House

Seoul, South Korea

1145 4 October 195O

Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings came through the door in the metal gate to the house as the weapons carrier carrying McCoy stopped in front of it.

"That was a quick trip, sir," he said as he saluted.

"I got lucky," McCoy said. "Get a phone number from the corporal, and then get on the horn and tell his officer I had to borrow the truck."

"Aye, aye, sir," Jennings said. "Major, there's an Army light colonel inside "

"How did he get inside?" McCoy asked.

"Sir, I'm a tech sergeant, and he showed me orders signed by some general at UNC."

"Did he say what he wants?"

"He wants to see Major Dunston," Jennings said.

"Where's General Howe?"

"He went south to see General Walker," Jennings said. "He said to tell you he'll try to get back tonight, if not first thing in the morning."

"I'll deal with it," McCoy said. "When you talk to the corporal's officer, say something nice about the corporal."

"Aye, aye, sir."

A stocky, neat, but not natty Army lieutenant colonel was sitting at the dining room table with a tall, thin, natty Army first lieutenant. Both were drinking coffee.

"Can I help you, Colonel?"

"I'm looking for Major William Dunston," the colonel said.

"He's not here right now," McCoy said.

"Where is he?"

"May I ask who you are, Colonel?"

"And you are?"

"My name is McCoy, sir."

"My name is Vandenburg," the colonel said, then took a sheet of paper folded twice from the breast pocket of his fatigues and laid it on the table. "Those are my orders."

McCoy went to the table, picked up the orders, and unfolded them.

TOP SECRET

Supreme Headquarters

Commander-in-Chief

United Nations Command

Tokyo,Japan

2 October 1950

SUBJECT: Letter Orders

TO: LtCol D.J. Vandenburg, Inf

Supreme Headquarters CINCUNC

You will proceed at the earliest possible date to Korea, and such other places as you

may deem necessary to carry out a mission of great importance, taking with you such personnel as you may deem necessary. Travel priority AAAAA-1 is assigned.

In order to facilitate the execution of your mission, authority is granted for you to

requisition whatever support you may require from any source, and all UNC commands are directed to provide such support.

3 . Any questions regarding your mission are to be directed to the undersigned.

FOR THE SUPREME COMMANDER:

CHARLES WILLOUGHBY

Major General

Assistant Chief of Staff, J-2

TOP SECRET

McCoy refolded the orders and handed them back to Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg.

"Thank you, sir."

"With regard to paragraph two of those orders," Vandenburg said, "what I require of you is your helicopters. And these premises, which I will use as my headquarters."

McCoy didn't reply.

"Where are those helicopters, Major?"

"With respect, sir, I don't think you have the need to know that."

"You can read, Major, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. I can read."

"You did notice those orders were issued in the name of the Supreme Com­mander, General MacArthur, and signed by the Supreme Commander's intel­ligence officer, Major General Willoughby?"

"With respect, sir, we are not a subordinate unit of the United Nations Command. And I'm sure, sir, if you would ask General Willoughby, he would confirm that.'

Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg tried to stare McCoy down, and failed.

"Harry," he said. "Take a walk."

The slim, natty lieutenant, surprise on his face, got to his feet and walked out of the room.

When the door had closed, Vandenburg smiled at McCoy and said: "You're not what I expected, Killer. I sort of expected a gorilla in a Marine Corps uniform."

McCoy didn't reply.

"You're not going to deny that you're the legendary Killer McCoy, are you, Major?"

"I've been called that, sir," McCoy said. "I don't like it."

"Relax, Killer," Vandenburg said. "I'm one of the good guys. We even have a mutual friend."

McCoy said nothing.

"You're not curious, Killer, who that might be?"

"Yes, sir, I'm curious."

"Back in War Two, when Charley Willoughby and his boss finally got off the dime and sent an officer in a submarine onto Mindanao to establish con­tact with Wendell Fertig, what General Fertig told that officer—me—was that Killer McCoy and some other Marines had beat me there by two weeks."