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

Balancing precariously on the forecastle, they managed to manhandle the two more seriously wounded men into the lifeboat. Then the man who could walk and finally the American jumped into the lifeboat.

The line holding the junk to the lifeboat was cut, and the junk's helmsman turned her away from the Mount McKinley.

Electric motors whirred and the lifeboat began to rise against the McKinley's hull, and then was swung inboard.

The American with the bloody compress on his thigh jumped to the deck first.

He winced in pain, then saluted an officer on the deck.

"Permission to board, sir?" he asked.

"Granted," the officer said, visibly surprised.

The man saluted the colors aft.

A Navy doctor and half a dozen Corpsmen began to take the wounded from the lifeboat and to place them on aluminum stretchers.

"How are you, Major McCoy?" General Edward M. Almond asked. "That is not pro forma. What's with your leg?"

McCoy saluted him.

"I took a piece of shrapnel, sir," he said. "I don't think it's serious."

"Take Major McCoy to sick bay," Almond ordered.

"Sir, with respect, I need to get a message off as soon as I can. Sick bay will have to wait."

"What sort of a message?"

"We lost our radios, sir," McCoy said. "I don't want them mounting a res­cue mission when they don't hear from us."

Almond turned to Admiral Feeney.

"The Navy can accommodate the major, can it not?" he asked. "Admiral, this is Major McCoy."

"Welcome aboard, son," Admiral Feeney said. "If you're able to walk, I know the way to the radio room."

"I can walk, sir. Thank you."

McCoy gave the chief radioman the frequency, then eased himself into a plas­tic upholstered metal chair before a rack of communications equipment. The chief handed him a microphone and headset.

"Fishbase, this is Flying Fish," McCoy said into the microphone. "Fishbase, Flying Fish."

The reply came immediately: "Go, Flying Fish."

"Flying Fish is three clicks as of 0530."

"Understand three clicks as of 0530. What are your coordinates?"

"Aboard a Navy vessel at sea. If Bail Out is under way, cancel. If Bail Out is underway, cancel. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge cancel Bail Out. Bail Out was just about to launch."

"Who’s this?"

"Car Salesman."

"Killer here. Where Fat Kraut?"

"Sasebo."

“Say again?”

"Fat Kraut Sasebo. Big Daddy en route Sasebo."

"What’s up?"

"From Big Daddy. Killer will proceed Sasebo ASAP. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge proceed Sasebo ASAP. What's up?"

"Little Daddy is in Sasebo. Lady Friend bought farm. Fat Kraut carrying bad news."

"Say again?"

"Fat Kraut carrying bad news, Lady Friend bought farm, to Little Daddy in Sasebo."

"Understand Lady Friend bought farm. Where's Beaver?"

"Beaver here."

"Send Beaver Korean Marine. Wait for me. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge Beaver to wait for you at Korean Marine."

"Contact Wild Bill Junior. Arrange transportation for me Seoul Sasebo. ETA Korean Marine 1200. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge Killer ETA Korean Marine 1200. Wild Bill Junior to arrange transportation Seoul Sasebo."

"What happened to Lady Friend?"

"Gooney Bird went in on way to Wonsan."

"Advise Big Daddy I'm en route Sasebo. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge advise Big Daddy Killer en route Sasebo."

"Send replacement crew for Wind on Beaver. We took two KIA, three WIA. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledge replacement crew on Beaver. How Killer?"

"Killer fine. Mind the store, Car Salesman. Flying Fish out."

"Fishbase clear."

McCoy laid the microphone on the desk and took off the headset.

"About the only thing I understood about all that, Major McCoy," General Almond said, "was 'Killer fine.' And that's just not so. You're bleeding all over the linoleum."

He pointed. There was a small puddle of blood on the linoleum under McCoy's chair.

"Can you make it to sick bay under your own power? Or shall we get you onto a stretcher?" Almond asked.

"I've got to get to Wonsan, sir. I'm all right."

"You're not going anywhere until they have a look at your leg. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, there's nothing in there," Lieutenant Warren Warbasse, MC, USNR, said to Major McCoy, who was lying prone on a medical table in sick bay. "And no serious muscle damage that I can see."

"They got lucky," McCoy said. "Hitting something with a mortar from a small boat under way isn't easy. I think I actually saw the round coming in."

"A half inch the other way, and what sliced your thigh would not have bounced off," Dr. Warbasse said.

"Four inches the other way, and I'd be a soprano," McCoy said.

"The sutures I'm going to put in will disappear," Dr. Warbasse said. "There is a danger of infection, of course. The penicillin I'll give you will probably take care of that. You need a day on your back, and when you get up, it will hurt like hell every time you put weight on it."

"I don't have time to spend a day on my back. Can you give me something for the pain that won't turn me into a zombie?"

"I can give you something—reluctantly—that will handle the pain," Dr. Warbasse said as he started the first stitch. "The more you take of it, the more you'll become a zombie."

"Fair enough," McCoy said evenly, then: "Jesus, that hurt!"

"If I don't put these in right, they won't stay in. Understand?"

"May I come in?" Major General Almond asked from the doorway.

Dr. Warbasse looked up from McCoy's thigh.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"How is he?"

"He was very lucky," Dr. Warbasse said. "And what he should do is spend at least a day on his back."

"Unfortunately, Major McCoy is not subject to my orders," Almond said.

Almond held an olive-drab shirt, and trousers and a field jacket, in his hands.

"A present from Al Haig, McCoy," he said. "You're pretty much the same size."

"Thank you, sir. Tell him thank you, please."

As Almond watched, Dr. Warbasse finished the installation of the last of half a dozen sutures, painted the area with a purple antiseptic, covered the sutured area with an/adhesive bandage, and then wrapped the leg with gauze.

"If you get off that table, Major," Dr. Warbasse said, "you are doing so against medical advice."

"Thank you, Doctor," McCoy said, and sat up.

Dr. Warbasse prepared a hypodermic and stabbed McCoy three times, twice in the thigh and once in the arm.

"With that much of this stuff in you, if you were so inclined, Major, you could carouse all night with little chance of acquiring a social disease," Dr. Warbasse said. "I will now go get you a bottle of zombie pills."

"Thanks," McCoy said.

When he left the treatment room, Dr. Warbasse left the door open. Almond went to it and closed it.

"You want to tell me what's happened, McCoy?" Almond said. "Officially, or otherwise?"

McCoy did not immediately respond.

"Where were you when this happened?" Almond asked.

"A couple of miles offshore of Chongjin," McCoy said.

"You had been ashore?" Almond asked.

McCoy nodded.

"Doing?"

"Listening to Red Army low-echelon radio chatter," McCoy said.

"And?"

"I don't think the Russians are going to come in, at least now," McCoy said.

"And the Chinese?"

McCoy didn't answer.

"Why do I suspect your analysis of the situation is again not in agreement with that of General Willoughby?"

"The Chinese are going to come in, General," McCoy said. "I think there's probably as many as fifty thousand of them already in North Korea, and I now know there's five, maybe six times that many just across the border waiting to come in."

"Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for the Americans to get close to the Yalu," McCoy said.