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

Pickering restrained a smile when he saw that Dunston, who was not what could be described as a fine figure of a man, and additionally was wearing mussed, somewhat soiled fatigues and could have used a haircut, had failed the First Impressions Test of Colonel Edward J. Banning, USMC.

"Bill, this is Colonel Ed Banning," Pickering said.

"Welcome to the Land of the Morning Calm," Dunston said. "Your repu­tation precedes you."

"Does it really?" Banning said a little stiffly.

Pickering thought: What's ruffling Banning's feathers? Dunston's appearance? Or that he hasn't used the word "sir"?

"Yeah," Dunston continued, "when the Killer heard you were coming, he told me all about you."

Pickering saw that Hart was also amused by the exchange.

"Where is Major McCoy?" Pickering asked.

"I don't really know," Dunston said. "When I got the heads-up from Keller, I got on the horn to Socho-Ri, and Zimmerman said they got the three clicks a little after three this morning."

" 'The three clicks'?" Banning asked.

"Meaning they got ashore okay. . . . Should we be talking about this in here?"

"Good point. Let's go outside," Pickering said.

Dunston led them to the end of a line of parked vehicles.

"What the hell is this thing?" Pickering asked.

"This is the Killer's Russian jeep," Dunston said. "He took it away from an NK colonel. He had it over in Socho-Ri, but when he sent Jennings here, he sent the Russian Rolls with him and said to keep it here."

"Is that what you call it, the Russian Rolls?" Pickering asked, chuckling.

"Who's Jennings?" Banning asked. It was almost an interruption.

"Tech Sergeant," Dunston said. "He and Zimmerman and the Killer were in the Marine Raiders. Good man. He's been with us since Pusan."

"You know McCoy hates to be called Killer, don't you, Major?" Banning asked.

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm one of the privileged few who can," Dunston said. "We're pretty close, Colonel."

Pickering saw that Banning found that hard to accept.

Dunston got behind the wheel, and Pickering got in beside him.

"Nobody can hear us here," Pickering said when Banning and Hart had climbed over the back into the rear seat. "What about McCoy? Where is he?"

"Well, they—the Killer and two of my Koreans—went ashore a few miles north of Chongjin," Dunston said. "The Wind of Good Fortune got the three clicks a little after three this morning."

"Your Koreans?" Banning asked.

"The Wind of Good Fortune is the flagship of our fleet, Colonel," George Hart offered quickly. "It's a diesel-powered junk."

He did that, Pickering thought, because he sensed that Dunston has had enough of Banning's attitude and was about to snap back at Banning. What the hell is wrong with Ed Banning?

Banning's glance at Hart did not suggest anything close to gratitude.

"My Koreans, Colonel," Dunston said coldly, "are what few agents I have left of the agents I had before the war. McCoy's Koreans are the ones he's bor­rowed from Colonel Pak at I ROK Corps. We tell them apart that way."

"Three clicks?" Pickering asked, more to forestall another question from Banning than for information. He had made a guess—as it turned out, the right one—about what three clicks meant.

"You push the mike button three times, General, but don't say anything," Dunston said. "It means you're safely ashore."

"Ashore a few miles north of where?" Banning asked.

"Chongjin," Dunston said. "It's a town—"

"On the Sea of Japan, about sixty miles from the Chinese and Russian bor­ders," Banning said impatiently. "I know where it is. What's he doing there?"

"Vandenburg got him some radios from the Army Security Agency," Dun­ston said. "He's going to listen to what he calls low-level Russian radio traffic."

"I was under the impression the ASA was responsible for intercepting enemy communications," Banning said.

"That's their job," Dunston agreed a little sarcastically.

"Then what—"

Pickering, who was sitting sidewards on the front seat of the vehicle, dropped his hand to Banning's knee and silenced him.

Pickering thought: I don't know what's wrong with Banning — maybe fatigue from the long flight; or maybe he doesn't think Dunston is showing him the proper respect — but he's acting like an inspector general, and Dunston doesn't like it. I don't want — can't have — the two of them scrapping.

Dunston started the engine and backed out of the parking slot.

[FIVE]

The Mouse

Seoul, South Korea

191O 16 October 19S0

Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, Master Sergeant Charley Rogers, NGUS, Technical Sergeant J. M. Jen­nings, USMC, and an Army captain wearing a fur-collared aviator's jacket were sitting at the dining room table when Pickering, Banning, Hart, and Dunston walked in.

Everyone but Howe made some movement to stand. Pickering signaled for them to stay where they were.

"I will claim the privilege of rank, Flem," Howe said, "and be the first to tell you how delighted I am your son's safe."

"Thank you," Pickering said.

"I suppose I'd better do the introductions," Howe said. "General, this is Colonel D. J. Vandenburg . . ."

Pickering offered him his hand.

"How are you, Colonel?"

"Sir, we're all happy Major Pickering is back with us."

"Thank you," Pickering said.

". . . and this is Captain Lew Miller," Howe went on, "who flies the Beaver."

"I've heard about the Beaver," Pickering said, smiling at Vandenburg. "How are you, Captain?"

"How do you do, sir?" Miller said.

"And J. M. Jennings," Howe said, "who has the dubious distinction of hav­ing been a Marine Raider with McCoy and Zimmerman."

" 'Dubious distinction'?" Jennings said, and then: "How do you do, sir?"

"The phrase, General Howe," Pickering said, "is great distinction."

"Thank you, sir," Jennings said.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant," Pickering said, "that you've had to be alone with all these dogfaces, but that's changed. Ed Banning and I have landed, and the sit­uation is well in hand."

"Oh, God!" Howe said, shaking his head. He put out his hand to Banning. "I've heard a lot about you, Colonel, all good. And this is Charley Rogers, who the jarheads around here refer to—behind our backs, of course—as the 'Retread Doggie General's Retread Dog Robber.' "

"How do you do, General?" Banning said to Howe, and shook his hand. He shook Rogers's hand but said nothing to him.

Howe said, "I don't know if Marines drink champagne—for that matter, if they even know what it is—but when Bill Dunston heard about your son and you coming, he put a couple of bottles in the refrigerator in case a celebration was in order, and I suggest one is."

"My God!" Pickering said. "A house like this, with champagne in a refrig­erator, in what my favorite journalist refers to as 'the battered capital of this war-torn nation'? Pay attention, Ed, these doggies really know how to live. See if you can find out how they do it!"

There was laughter from everyone but Banning, who came up with a some­what restrained smile.

Dunston went through the door to the kitchen, and a moment later Lai-Min, the housekeeper, came through it carrying a tray with two bottles of champagne in coolers and champagne glasses on it. She set it on the table, went back into the kitchen, and came back with another tray. This one held hors d'oeuvres.

"I will be damned!" Pickering said.

"More than likely," Howe said, mock serious.

Dunston came back into the room, and he and Hart opened the champagne and poured.