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

"What made him think Jeanette was on this plane?" Ernie McCoy asked.

Zimmerman ignored the question.

"They'd gone looking for it after it had gone missing," he went on. "There were no Maydays or anything. Anyway, they found the crash site near the topof a goddamn mountain, but (a) they hadn't been able to get anybody to it, be­cause it was in middle of nowhere, and (b) it had exploded and burned, andthere were no signs of survivors, and it was . . . Getting to the site could wait until they'd been to other crash sites where there could be survivors."

"So?" Pick asked.

"So Dunston called me—"

"Where's the Killer been all this time?" Pick interrupted.

Zimmerman took a look at Captain Schermer, then shrugged.

"He's in North Korea, listening to the Russians," Zimmerman said. "We're going to pick him up tomorrow morning at first light."

"You had to tell her that, right?" Pick snapped. "Sometimes you have the sensitivity of an alligator."

"I'm a big girl, Pick," Ernie said. "I know what Ken does."

"Captain," Zimmerman said to Schermer. "With respect, do I have to tell you that whatever is said in here has to stay here?"

"I understand," Schermer said.

"So Dunston called me, gave me the coordinates, and at first light this morning, we went to the site."

"We is who?" Ernie McCoy asked. "And I thought you said getting to the site was difficult?"

"We is me, a doggie major—real good guy—named Alex Donald, who flew the Big Black Bird, and four Marines in case they were needed."

"By which, Ernie, he means a great big Sikorsky helicopter painted black," Pick said. "Your husband has a couple of them."

"And?" Ernie replied, impatience in her voice.

"Well, we found the crash site. The Gooney Bird clipped the top of a moun­tain, went in, exploded, and then slid down the mountain. Nobody walked away from the crash. And it was quick. No question about that."

"Well, that's comforting," Pick said sarcastically. "To know it was quick. And you found—what's the euphemism?—the remains of those on board?"

"We found four bodies," Zimmerman said. "There was a three-man crew on the Gooney Bird. We figured, even before I found the camera, that the fourth had to be Jeanette."

"You couldn't tell?" Ernie asked.

"There was a lot of fuel on the Gooney Bird," Zimmerman said. "They topped off their tanks at K-16. They were planning to go on to Pusan, and maybe all the way to Japan, after Wonsan. There wasn't much left of the bodies."

"So where are the remains?" Pick asked.

"We took them to Seoul, to Eighth Army Graves Registration. It'll take them at least a couple of days to identify them."

"Well, that's no problem, really, is it?" Pick said. "There's no rush, right? As a matter of fact, who the hell cares?"

"Pick," Ernie McCoy said. "Oh, Pick, I'm so sorry."

“Yeah, so am I," Pick said unpleasantly. "But I should have known better. Something that good was never really going to happen to me."

"Pick," she said, and started to push herself out of the chair. Her face suddenly showed pain and went pale. "Oh, for Christ's sake!" she said faintly but angrily.

"Mrs. McCoy, are you all right?" Captain Schermer said as he walked across the room to her.

"No, I don't think I am," Ernie said. "Goddamn it all to hell!"

Captain Schermer took a close, if brief, look at her.

"Young woman, you stay right where you are," he ordered, and then went to the door.

"Nurse!" he called loudly. "Get a gurney in here!"

He went back to Ernie.

"Doctor, I don't want to lose this baby," she said softly.

"Of course you don't," Captain Schermer said. "And we're going to do everything we can to see that you don't.'

"Jesus H. Christ!" Pick said.

"Hang in there, Ernie!" Pick called as the gurney rolled out the door.

"Oh, shit," Ernie Zimmerman said when the gurney was gone and the door had swung closed. "Why the hell did I tell her about Jeanette?"

"She would have found out," Pick said. "If you are looking for the culprit in this little tragedy, you have to look no further than me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Zimmerman asked.

"Think about it, old buddy," Pick said. "If I hadn't been engaged in trying to become the first locomotive ace in Marine Corps history, I wouldn't have been shot down, would I?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Pick," Zimmerman said.

"And if I hadn't been shot down, then Ernie wouldn't have been worried about me for all that time, would she?"

"We were all worried about you," Zimmerman said.

"Yeah, but I don't think you love me, old buddy, and, more to the point, you are not with child," Pick said. "This is the fourth time she's tried to make the Killer a daddy. Did you know that?"

"He told me."

"And having been shot down, and not having the balls to do the decent thing, I hung around for all that time, until God, in his infinite wisdom, made that Army convoy make a wrong turn, so I could find them and thus save my miserable ass."

"Jesus!"

"And if I had not been flown here, then Ernie would not have felt obliged to take a daylong train ride in her delicate condition to come all the way down here to welcome the hero home, would she?"

"Coming here was dumb," Zimmerman agreed.

"Where, upon arrival, you told her that the hero's girlfriend, her friend be­cause of me, was now a corpse burned beyond recognition. . . ."

"Jesus, I told you I feel sorry as hell about that. I should have known better."

"And I told you she would have found out," Pick said. "This isn't your fault, old buddy, it's mine."

The door opened and Lieutenant (j.g.) Rosemary Hills entered the room.

"Mrs. McCoy has been taken to the women's ward," she announced. "There are several very skilled gynecologists on staff—"

"Whoopee!" Pickering said sharply.

"Captain Schermer says that you are to wait here for him," Lieutenant Hills said to Zimmerman. "He wants to talk to you."

"Okay," Zimmerman said.

"And he wants the telephone number of her sponsor."

"What the hell is a sponsor?" Pick asked.

"Her husband, for example."

"Her husband doesn't have a telephone right now," Zimmerman said.

"He's in Korea?" Lieutenant Hills asked. Zimmerman nodded. "Then we'll want to send a message to his unit," she said.

"That's not possible," Zimmerman said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I can't get into that," Zimmerman said.

"You're going to have to explain that," she said.

"I don't have to explain anything to you," Zimmerman said flatly.

"What would you say, Florence Nightingale," Pick asked, "if I were to tell you that the lady's husband, as we speak, is in enemy territory, behind the lines, so to speak, eavesdropping on the Russians?"

She looked at him almost in horror.

"And if it's all the same to you," Pick went on, "I would rather not have him learn right now that the man the poor bastard thinks of as his best friend has caused his wife to have another miscarriage."

"Pick, shut the fuck up," Zimmerman said.

Lieutenant Hills looked between them, then fled the room.

[THREE]

The USS DeHaven (DD 727)

39 Degrees 36 Minutes North Latitude

128 Degrees 43 Minutes East Longitude

The Sea of Japan

O72S 19 October 195O

The vessels transporting the X United States Army Corps from Inchon to Wonsan—attack transports, cargo ships, tankers, and the "screening force" to pro­tect them against any potential danger—were spread out over miles of the Sea of Japan.

At the head of the screening force as it steamed north was the destroyer DeHaven. Her commander, Commander J. Brewer Welsh, USN, a lithe thirty-seven-year-old with closely cropped brown hair, was on the bridge.