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

"Colonel, this airplane belongs to the U.S. Army," Vandenburg said. "And I have what I'm sure is the highest priority to put it to use."

"I'd like to see that authority!"

"Certainly," Vandenburg said, and handed him an envelope.

The eyes of both lieutenant colonels grew wide as they read it.

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JULY 8TH 1950

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

MAJOR GENERAL RALPH HOWE, USAR, IN CONNECTION WITH HIS MISSION FOR ME, WILL TRAVEL TO SUCH PLACES AT SUCH TIMES AS HE FEELS APPROPRIATE, ACCOMPANIED BY SUCH STAFF AS HE DESIRES.

GENERAL HOWE IS GRANTED HEREWITH A TOP-SECRET/WHITE HOUSE CLEARANCE, AND MAY, AT HIS OPTION, GRANT SUCH CLEARANCE TO HIS STAFF.

U.S. MILITARY AND GOVERNMENTAL AGENCIES ARE DIRECTED TO PROVIDE GENERAL HOWE AND HIS STAFF WITH WHATEVER SUPPORT THEY MAY REQUIRE.

Harry, S. Truman

HARRY S TRUMAN

PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

1st Indorsement

Headquarters, Presidential Mission

In the Field (Korea) 7 October 1950

Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, of my staff is designated Deputy Chief of

Mission.

Major Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, of my staff is designated Vice Chief of Mission.

Ralph Howe

RALPH HOWE

MAJOR GENERAL

CHIEF OF MISSION

"Are there any questions, gentlemen?"

"General Walker's not going to like this!" the lieutenant colonel with the aide-de-camp insignia said as he handed the orders back.

"Colonel," Vandenburg said, man-to-man, "I understand how you feel. In your place, I'd feel the same way. Hell hath no fury like a general who doesn't get what he wants, right? But what can I do? We all live under the Chain of Command. General Howe, who reports directly to the President, doesn't need any more authority than what I've shown you he has. And he sent me here to get a Beaver and two L-19s. I don't have any more choice in this matter than you do."

Neither lieutenant colonel replied.

"Now, while the corporal is taking that paint off the door, can we look at what L-19s are available?" Vandenburg asked reasonably.

"There's only one here at the moment," the Transportation Corps lieu­tenant colonel said. "There should be some more coming in in the next three or four days."

"I can only hope General Howe will understand," Vandenburg said, his voice suggesting he didn't believe that at all. "He sent me to get two."

[FIVE]

Hangar 13

Kimpo Airfield (K-16)

Seoul, South Korea

1245 8 October 19SO

Major Kenneth R. McCoy was driving the Russian jeep and Major William Dunston was sitting behind him. The Marines on perimeter guard around the hangar recognized them and passed them without question, but the moment they reached the hangar, Staff Sergeant Sam Klegger, who had been left in charge when the others went to Socho-Ri, came through the door.

He saluted, and McCoy and Dunston returned it.

"From the look on your face, Sergeant," McCoy said, "you have a question on your mind."

"Good afternoon, sir," Staff Sergeant Klegger said. "Yes, sir. Actually, some of the men have been a little curious why we're guarding a hangar with noth­ing in it."

"There is about to be something in it," McCoy said. "About an hour ago, we got a message from Taejon saying that two airplanes will arrive here right about now. A Beaver and an L-19. When they get close to the hangar, I want the doors opened, quickly, and as quickly closed once we get the air­planes inside."

"Aye, aye, sir. Is that what they call those helos, 'Beavers'?"

"No. A Beaver is a regular airplane," McCoy said.

Sir, can I ask what's going on? What are we going to do with these air­planes?"

"We 'borrowed' them from the Army," McCoy said. "We're going to use them to look for a Marine aviator who's down somewhere between Suwon and the east coast."

"You 'borrowed' them from the Army?"

"You could put it that way, Sergeant, yes," McCoy said.

Staff Sergeant Klegger smiled approvingly.

Dunston touched McCoy's arm, and, when he had his attention, pointed skyward.

A Beaver was making its final approach.

"Right on time," McCoy said.

"If that's ours," Dunston said.

"Odds are it is," McCoy said. "There aren't that many of them."

They lost sight of the Beaver as it landed, but it quickly appeared on a taxi-way headed for them.

"Open the doors, Sergeant," McCoy ordered.

Five Marines grunted as they slid open the hangar doors.

The Beaver stopped before the open doors and shut down the engine. Lieu­tenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg and Major Alex Donald climbed down from the cockpit. The Marines and all the officers pushed it into the hangar. Before they were finished, an L-19 taxied up, shut down its engine, and was pushed into the hangar by the two officers in it. The doors were closed with a loud screeching noise.

"The good news," Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg said to Majors McCoy and Dunston, "is that—obviously—I was able to make good on my promise to try to get us a Beaver and an L-19. The bad news is that that particular Beaver was supposed to go to the Eighth Army commander, and I think we have to count on General Walker making a serious—one might even say furious— effort to get it back."

"Ouch," McCoy said.

"If we can keep General Walker, or his people, from getting their hands on it—or us—for three, four days, a week, I think they'll probably be able to get him another one, and the furor will die down. But until then . . ."

"You have any ideas how we can do that?" McCoy asked.

"As a matter of fact, Major Donald and I did discuss the problem on the way up here," Vandenburg said, smiling.

"All suggestions gratefully received, Colonel," Dunston said, smiling.

"Since we can't hide the Beaver, I suggest we camouflage it," Vandenburg said, a little smugly.

"I don't follow you, sir."

"We change the tail number," Vandenburg said. "They will be looking for . . ." He looked up at the Beaver. ". . . 507179. We change that to, say, 507167. General Walker's Beaver is now invisible."

"Very clever," McCoy said.

"We landed here as Army five zero mumble mumble mumble," Donald said. "When they asked me to 'say again,' I blew into the microphone. I figured that might buy us a little time."

"Only a little," Vandenburg said. "I think General Walker's pilot was on the horn to him before we took off from Pusan. It won't take them long to figure out we're the airplane Walker is looking for."

"And there are problems with painting new tail numbers," Donald said. "It can't be done in fifteen minutes, even if we had somebody to do it, and the paint to do it with. There's paint in the mechanics' tool kits, but they're at Socho-Ri."

"Then we'll have to change them at Socho-Ri," McCoy said. "Why can't we just take off now and tell the tower we're headed for the Race Track?"

"And never land there, you mean?" Donald asked.

McCoy nodded.

"If the Race Track tower asks questions, I'll think of something to mum­ble," Donald said. "But we don't have enough fuel to make it to Socho-Ri. We're going to have to refuel the airplanes."

"Sergeant," McCoy said to Staff Sergeant Klegger, "isn't there a trailer of AvGas here?"

"Yes, sir. Two, each with five hundred gallons."

"Drag one of them in here, and get started refueling these airplanes," McCoy ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And then get ready to move out," McCoy went on. "Mr. Zimmerman left you maps so that you can drive to Socho-Ri, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"As soon after the airplanes take off as you can, you get going."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Bill, can you stay with them until they're out of Seoul?" McCoy asked Dun­ston. "Get them through roadblocks?"