Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 09 - Under Fire

She took a moment to consider that.

"That would be a good story," Jeanette said. "And, under these circumstances, it would be an exclusive, wouldn't it?"

He nodded.

"Not as good a story-not one that would get as much front-page play as `CIA Chief's Marine Hero Son Shot Down in Korea,' of course-but a pretty good little story."

McCoy didn't reply.

"But, obviously, I couldn't write about Pick, could I?"

"Why `obviously'?"

"You dumb sonofabitch, you don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"I'm in love with the sonofabitch!"

After a moment, McCoy asked: "When did that hap-pen?"

"It probably happened in the hotel, the night I met him," she said. "Or maybe when he came back from that first sor-tie, kissed me, and I practically dragged him to bed."

"I didn't know," McCoy said. "I'm sorry."

"But I didn't know until just now," she said. "When you told me."

McCoy said nothing.

"Oh, Jesus, McCoy!" she said.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. He felt her shud-der, and the next thing either of them knew, she was sob-bing shamelessly in his arms, and he was patting her comfortingly.

Chapter Fifteen

[ONE]

ABOARD WIND OF GOOD FORTUNE

34 DEGREES 18 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE,

126 DEGREES 30 MINUTES EAST

LONGITUDE

THE YELLOW SEA

0445 6 AUGUST 1950

They had not wanted to attract attention to themselves by leaving Pusan Harbor under power-McCoy guessed there were probably a hundred North Korean agents in Pusan-so they had sailed out into deep water. Once out of sight of Pusan, they'd lowered the sails, started the diesel, and "steamed"-Lieutenant Taylor's term-as fast as Taylor thought prudent, through the night.

McCoy volunteered to relieve Taylor at the tiller for however long he wanted, but Taylor said he'd catch up on his sleep when they reached Tokchok-kundo, and sug-gested that McCoy get as much sleep as he could.

When wakened by the first light that came through the small window-he couldn't think of it as a port, since it was wooden, thin-glassed, and even had a small curtain- McCoy went to the bridge and found both Zimmerman and Jeanette Priestly were already there.

A shoreline was just visible to starboard. He guessed the distance to be four miles. He thought he could smell bacon frying.

"Well, Captain Kidd has finally woken," Jeanette greeted him.

"I prefer to think of myself as Jean Lafitte," McCoy replied. "He was one of the good pirates, we won that war, and he was pardoned for his crimes, and lived happily ever after. They hung Captain Kidd."

Taylor chuckled.

"Is that bacon I smell?" McCoy asked. "And who do you have to know to get coffee?"

"Me," Zimmerman said, and pointed to the deck where an olive-drab Thermos chest on which was stenciled d co. 24TH inf was lashed to the railing.

McCoy went to it and opened it. It held two canteens, presumably full of coffee, and a stack of aluminum can-teen cups. He helped himself, then offered the canteen cup to Taylor, who nodded and smiled.

"Breakfast will be served shortly," Zimmerman said. "Bacon-and-egg sandwiches."

"All the comforts of home," McCoy said. "What else could anyone ask for?"

"A flush toilet would be nice," Jeanette said.

"Where are we?" McCoy asked, handing Taylor the cof-fee.

"Well, if we are where I hope we are, we made it through the Cheju Strait, and are now in the Yellow Sea, heading north, and it's decision time."

"Let me get myself a cup of coffee before I start making decisions," McCoy said, and went back to the Thermos chest. Then he went and stood by Taylor.

"I meant it, you know, when I said you were the cap-tain," McCoy said.

Taylor didn't reply directly.

"It's getting light," he said. "I don't know if we're going to meet anybody out here-and there would be less chance we would if we went another couple of miles offshore- but if we did meet somebody, using the diesel, questions would be asked. Our speed will be cut in half if we raise the sails. Decision time."

"We have to get to Tokchok-kundo as soon as we can," McCoy thought aloud. "Operative words: `have to get to' and `as soon as we can.' The options conflict."

"Your decision, McCoy."

"I think `as soon as we can' justifies a certain risk."

"In other words, keep the diesel running?"

"If we run into a navy vessel, ours, British, or South Ko-rean," McCoy said, "they'd probably fire a shot across our bow and stop us. We could talk our way out of that."

"All these waters are closed to all but local fishermen," Taylor said. "If we get spotted by a reconnaissance air-plane, all they're going to see is a junk under power. Local fishermen don't have powered junks. If I were a pilot, I'd think North Koreans."

"Why?"

"Because I would have been told if a friendly vessel was going to be in the area."

"Well, let's hope if we get spotted by one of our guys, he'll make a low and slow pass before blowing us out of the water. I don't see how we can justify moving at six knots when we can make twelve."

"What about her?" Taylor asked.

"She's a war correspondent, right? They get in the line of fire."

"I like her," Taylor said. "As a person, I mean."

"Yeah, me too," McCoy said, without thinking.

I'll be damned. I mean that.

McCoy saw that Taylor, with an effort, was making a major course change with the tiller, heading away from the coastline.

Ten minutes later, the Wind of Good Fortune made an-other course correction, and McCoy saw they were now headed north. He looked at the landmass.

"Mr. McCoy!" Taylor called, trying to sound like Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty.

McCoy turned and then walked to him.

"You called, Captain?"

"You have the conn, sir," Taylor said.

"You better tell me what to do with it, Captain."

"Steer the course we're on," Taylor said, pointing to the compass.

"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy replied, and put his hand on the smooth wood of the tiller.

Taylor went below and immediately returned with an air mattress and two sleeping bags, with which he quickly made himself a bed on the deck and lay down on it.

And then he went to sleep, without even waiting for their egg-sandwich breakfast.

When, a few minutes later, breakfast arrived, Jeanette took an egg sandwich from another Army Thermos chest and handed it to McCoy.

"Thank you."

"When are we going to get wherever we're going?" she asked.

He did the arithmetic in his head-so many miles to go at so many knots-and concluded that the voyage would take just about twenty-four hours.

"We're going-I thought I told you-to an island called Tokchok-kundo, and the way I figure it, we should get there between four and five tomorrow morning."

She nodded.

McCoy had another thought, and repeated it aloud.

"It'll still be dark at 0400, and I don't think Taylor will want to dock this thing in the dark, so it will probably be later, maybe a couple of hours later."

"And when we get off the Queen Mary, then what?"

"The first thing we do is get the SCR-300 up and running," McCoy said. "Kim says there is a diesel generator on the island, but probably little-or no-fuel. We brought fuel, and also a small, gas-powered generator that'll work-if we're lucky-for a couple of hours, if we have to use it."

"What does SCR stand for?"

"Signal Corps Radio," McCoy said.

Jeanette took a notebook from her pocket and wrote that down.

"And once it's up and running, then what?"

"We radio Tokyo and let them know we're here, and see if they have anything for us."

"Like maybe word about Pick?" she asked.

"If there's word about Pick, General Pickering will pass it on," McCoy said.

"And then?"

"We're going to unload the stuff we brought with us, take an inventory of what's on Tokchok-kundo that we can use, and start planning to take Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do."