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

"Hey, look at that!"

All along a quarter of the horizon, to port from dead ahead of LST-450, there were white flashes, immediately followed by fiery red glows. Ships-and in some cases, their naval cannon-appeared momentarily in the black-ness, and then a moment later, the sound of projectiles passing overhead became continuous.

He turned to see Captain Dunwood's reaction. Dunwood was nowhere in sight.

Goddamn, now what? Did he fall overboard? Did I col-lide with one of those fucking Higgins boats?

"Take the wheel," McNair ordered. "Hold what we have!"

"Hold what we have, aye, aye, sir," the helmsman said.

McNear found Dunwood leaning on the aft rail of the flying bridge, looking down the Flying Fish Channel.

"Howard, I guess the naval gunfire has commenced," McNear said, dryly.

"Yeah," Dunwood said. But then he added what he had been thinking-this was not the first time he'd heard naval gunfire passing overhead-"but it's not landing on my is-lands. It's landing way the hell and gone down the channel."

"Yeah," McNear agreed thoughtfully.

"And that light over there, the fire, whatever. What's that?" Dunwood asked, pointing.

McNear looked.

"Unless I'm a hell of a lot more lost than I think I am, that's the lighthouse that was supposed to be leveled yes-terday by that massive naval gunfire barrage we heard so much about that didn't come until just now."

"I thought lighthouse lights went, you know, on and off," Captain Dunwood said.

"They rotate," Captain McNear said. "That one's not ro-tating. But that's the lighthouse. Come back inside, Howard, I may need you."

Three minutes later as LST-450's chief boatswain (actu-ally a petty officer second class) reported to Captain McNair that the Higgins boats were tied alongside, and McNair had been debating with himself whether he should make another 180-degree turn so that he would be pointed down the Flying Fish Channel again, the radio operator came onto the bridge with a new Urgent Message from ComNavFor. McNair read it and handed it to Dunwood.

SECRET

URGENT

0335 13 SEP 1950 FROM COMNAVFORCE

TO LST-450

ON RECEIPT YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY DEPLOY FROM USMC LANDING TEAM ABOARD AND LANDING CRAFT

ATTACHED AS FOLLOWS:

ONE HIGGINS BOAT WITH MARINES ABOARD TO FLYING FISH CHANNEL LIGHTHOUSE PURPOSE OF

GARRISONING ISLAND, MAINTAINING EXISTING LIGHTHOUSE FIRE UNTIL DAYLIGHT, AND EVACUATING

USMC PERSONNEL PRESENTLY HOLDING LIGHTHOUSE.

TWO HIGGINS BOATS WITH MARINES ABOARD TO TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND PUR-POSE OF GARRISONING ISLAND, AND EVACUATING USMC PERSONNEL PRESENTLY HOLDING ISLAND.

USMC PERSONNEL EVACUATED WILL BE TRANSPORTED TO USS MOUNT MCKINLEY.

COMNAV FORCE WILL BE ADVISED MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS OF DEPARTURE OR LANDING CRAFT; LANDINGS ON LIGHT-HOUSE AND TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND, AND ETA EVACUEES MOUNT MCKINLEY.

END

SECRET

"What the hell is this all about?" Dunwood asked.

"Howard, I haven't a clue," Captain McNair confessed. "But it looks like somebody beat you to those islands."

Dunwood considered that.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "Maybe all we were was a backup force, in case something went wrong."

"Could be," McNair agreed.

They could have told us that, the sonsofbitches, Captain Dunwood thought, instead of giving us the whole-invasion-depends-on-you-grabbing-those-islands bullshit.

Goddamn the Marine Corps!

Dunwood felt a little better after he told his Marines about the change of orders. After he went through the "Any questions? Anything?" business, Staff Sergeant Schmidt raised his hand.

"Okay, Sergeant?"

"Captain, right after we landed at Pusan, they put out a call for all former Marine Raiders..."

"And?"

"Well, sir, grabbing these islands sounds like something the Raiders would do, sir. Just a thought, Captain."

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" Dunwood said. "But you're right, Schmidt. Grabbing these islands does sound like something the Marine Raiders would do."

[FOUR]

TOKCHOK-KUNDO ISLAND

0515 15 SEPTEMBER 1950

"Captain, there's an American flag flying on the back of that junk," Staff Sergeant Schmidt called to Captain Howard Dunwood as the two Higgins boats closed on Tokchok-kundo.

"Yeah, I see it. Careful. I don't like the smell of this place."

"I think that's the drying fish, sir," Staff Sergeant Schmidt said.

"Very goddamn funny," Dunwood said. "I'll tell your widow you died with a smile on your face. Now be careful, goddamn it!"

The Higgins boat touched shore. The ramp fell onto the rocky shore with a loud clang.

The Marines ran down the ramp and turned right and left, spreading out, weapons at the ready. Captain Dun-wood was in the center of what ultimately was a formation in the shape of a V, holding his carbine in one hand.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" a voice shouted, an ob-viously American voice.

A figure appeared. He was in black pajamas, and had a band of the same material around his forehead. He held his hands over his head in a gesture of surrender.

"That's Jennings, Captain," Staff Sergeant Schmidt said.

"You know him?"

"Sir, when they put out the call for Marine Raiders..."

"He was one of them, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Schmidt said. "Jennings?"

"How they hanging, Smitty?" Technical Sergeant Jen-nings inquired.

"You're a Marine Raider, Sergeant?" Captain Dunwood asked. He'd never actually seen a Marine Raider before.

"No, sir, they put the Raiders out of business a long time ago. But it's like being a Marine, Captain. Once a Raider, always a Raider. There's a bunch of us here."

"You're in charge, Sergeant?"

"No, sir," Jennings said.

"I am," a voice said, and Dunwood saw another charac-ter in black pajamas with a black headband, his hands over his head in gesture of surrender. A Garand was hanging from his shoulder, and he had some kind of knife strapped to his wrist.

"You're a Marine officer?"

"Captain K. R. McCoy, USMCR, at your service, sir."

Captain Dunwood looked at Captain McCoy.

He didn't look much like what Dunwood thought a Ma-rine Raider should look like, but there was something fa-miliar about him.

"Don't I know you?"

"We've met," McCoy said, smiling, and then asked: "How's your finger?"

"I'll be a sonofabitch. You're the candy-ass on the air-plane!"

"Is it safe to put my hands down now?" McCoy asked.

[FIVE]

USS MOUNT MCKINLEY

THE FLYING FISH CHANNEL

0610 15 SEPTEMBER 1950

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Captain K. R. McCoy inquired of the officer of the deck.

"Granted."

McCoy stepped onto the deck, saluted the OD and the national colors, and then Brigadier General Fleming Pick-ering.

"How are you, Ken?"

"In great need of a bath," McCoy said.

"I don't care how you smell," Miss Jeanette Priestly, of the Chicago Tribune, said. "I'll kiss you anyway."

She kissed his cheek and hugged him enthusiastically.

Pickering greeted every man as he stepped from the lad-der on the deck. The next to the last to come aboard was Technical Sergeant Jennings.

"Jennings," McCoy ordered, and Jennings walked to them.

"Show her," McCoy ordered.

Jennings dug in the pocket of his black pajamas and came out with three aluminum cans of 35-mm film.

"Jennings, in addition to his many other talents," McCoy said, "is an amateur photographer. I told him you'd proba-bly give him a good price for those."

"If they're what I think they are, I damned sure will."

"I couldn't take money," Jennings said.

"The hell you can't," McCoy said.

"I don't know if they came out, Miss Priestly," Jennings said. "But I was in the lighthouse with Mr. Taylor when the barrage started."

"Like I said, Jeanette, a picture like that would be worth a lot of money," McCoy said.