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

What she would have to do is fly first to K-1, then see what she could do there about further transportation to Wonsan.

With some difficulty, she managed to get a seat on the next Pusan-bound C-54.

The dispatcher at Pusan base operations was polite but firm.

To board a Wonsan-bound aircraft, it would be necessary for her to have an authorization from the Eighth Army Rear Press Officer. There could be no exceptions. And no, he could not provide her with transportation to the Eighth Army Rear Press Office. Perhaps if she called them, they might be willing to send a jeep for her.

Jeanette went to the highway, took off her cap, unbraided her long blond hair, and let it fall around her shoulders.

The drivers of the first two jeeps to pass her stared openmouthed at the sight of a fatigues-clad lady with long blond hair hitchhiking. The driver of the third jeep slammed on his brakes, backed up, and told her he would carry her any­where in the Orient she wanted to go.

He dropped her at the Eighth Army Rear Press Office, a collection of Quonset huts near the railroad station in downtown Pusan.

There, first a corporal, then a technical sergeant, then a captain, and finally a major with a very neatly trimmed pencil-line mustache told her essentially the same thing, that there was a lot of demand for air passage to Wonsan— "Every reporter in Korea wants to be able to say they were waiting on the beach when X Corps landed"- —and there was only a limited amount of space available for nonessential travelers, like reporters.

There was a list, to which her name would be appended. With a little luck, she might be able to get on a plane to Wonsan tomorrow, but it would most likely not be until the day after.

Jeanette hitchhiked back to K-1, and wandered around the field until she saw a C-47 standing in front of a hangar from the doors of which hung a huge red cross.

A little investigation revealed that this was the point at which medical sup­plies, which have the highest priority, were loaded aboard transport aircraft.

She dazzled the pilot with a smile, asked him where he was going, and was told that he was going round robin Pusan-Seoul-Wonsan-Pusan, which meant, he explained, that he would first fly to Seoul, where he would discharge cargo and take on enough fuel to fly across the peninsula to Wonsan, where he would discharge the rest of his cargo and take aboard wounded requiring evacuation via Pusan, and fly to Pusan.

Jeanette told him that was really fascinating, the sort of a human-interest story her editors were always interested in, the sort of a story that would be reprinted in a lot of newspapers.

"Where did you say you were from, Lieutenant?" Jeanette asked, taking the lens cap off her Leica.

"Louisville, Kentucky."

"'The Louisville Courier usually prints everything I write," Jeanette said. "Why don't you just stand there by the boxes with the big red crosses on them."

"That's human blood, ma'am," he said, "fresh human blood, straight from the States."

"Fascinating," Jeanette said. "Let me make sure 1 have your name spelled right."

Lieutenant Jefferson C. Whaleburton, of Louisville, Kentucky, did not ques­tion Miss Priestly's statement that he didn't have to get permission to take her on the round robin, that journalists such as herself could go anywhere the story took them. She showed him her "invitational orders" from Supreme Head­quarters, which authorized her to travel anywhere with the Far East Command.

As they flew up the Korean Peninsula—Jeanette sat on a fold-down seat be­tween the pilot's and copilot's seats—Lieutenant Whaleburton pointed out the windshield and told her the dark clouds on the horizon were a front moving down from Manchuria.

"Weather said it's not moving very fast and shouldn't give us any trouble, either to Seoul of across to Wonsan," he said.

[SEVEN]

No. 7 Saku-Tun Denenchofu,

Tokyo, Japan

15O5 14 October 195O

Jai-Hu-san, the housekeeper for Major and Mrs. Kenneth R. McCoy, did not speak English. Master Sergeant Paul T. Keller, U.S. Army, did not speak Japa­nese. Jai-Hu-san, moreover, was very fond of Mrs. Ernestine McCoy, aware of the problems of her pregnancy, and absolutely unwilling to disturb her rest by waking her simply because some Yankee soldier said he had to speak to her.

It was only when the barbarian sergeant began to shout Ernie-san's name that Jai-Hu-san relented and went to the McCoy bedroom.

"The sergeant with the red face is here," Jai-Hu-san announced after gently waking her employer. "He is very rude, and he will not go away."

"I'll deal with it," Ernie said, "thank you."

She hurriedly put on and buttoned a kimono over her sleeping gown and swollen belly. Then she saw herself in the mirror. Not only was her hair mussed, but she had smeared her makeup tossing around on the bed, trying to get to sleep.

The baby was now kicking with some regularity, very often when she was trying to take her mind off Ken, Pick, and her condition and get some sleep.

"I can't go out there like this!" she said, aloud, and went into her bathroom.

She began to remove her lipstick with a tissue.

Who am I kidding? I don't give a damn what I look like. I'm afraid to go to the door. Paul wouldn't be here in the middle of the afternoon unless he had something to tell me that won't wait. And I'm afraid to hear what it is that won't wait.

She reapplied her lipstick and ran a brush through her hair, then looked at herself in the mirror again, exhaled audibly, and then walked through the house to the front door. Jai-Hu-san walked behind her.

"Hi, Paul," she called cheerfully. "What's up?"

"What did I do, get you out of bed? The Dragon Lady wouldn't let me in until I raised hell."

"I was taking a nap," Ernie said. "What's going on?"

"Major Pickering is aboard the Badoeng Strait" Keller said. " 'Dirty, un­shaven, very hungry, but not wounded or injured, and in sound psychological condition.'"

"Major Pickering has never been in sound psychological condition," Ernie said. "Are you sure, Paul? How do you know?"

"There was an Operational Immediate from the Badoeng Strait" Keller said. "Signed by the major."

"What major?"

"Your husband, my boss," Keller said. "I guess the Killer carried him there after he found him. I just finished encrypting it and sending it to the States."

"Don't call him Killer," Ernie said.

And then she felt herself starting to fall, and the lights went out.

The next thing she knew, she was looking up at Keller, who was gently wiping her face with a cool wet cloth.

Ernie pushed his hand away and sat up.

She saw she was on cushions on the tatami.

"Jesus, you went down like a polled ox, whatever the hell that means," Paul said. "Are you all right, Ernie?"

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

Ernie saw the look on Jai-Hu-san's face. It was clear that she thought Keller had told her something so awful that it had caused her to pass out.

"The red-faced barbarian brought very good news, Jai-Hu-san," Ernie said. "He is a very good man."

"You went unconscious," Jai-Hu-san said. "You could have hurt yourself and the baby."

"I think I better call for an ambulance," Paul Keller said, getting to his feet.

"No," Ernie said flatly. "I don't need an ambulance."

“I think I should call an ambulance," Paul said.

Ernie looked at him.

He's trembling; his face is as white as a sheet. Christ, is he going to faint?

"What you should do, Paul," Ernie said, "is first sit down. Before you fall down. Jai-Hu-san will get you a stiff drink. I will watch you drink it, because I don't get any in my condition. That out of the way, we will then try to put a call in to Pick's mother."