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

Taylor came aboard last.

"General, I don't know what's going on..."

"The 5th Marines are about to land on Wolmi-do," Pick-ering said.

"I've got some last-minute intel-fresh as of about 0500."

"Then we'll get it and you to General Willoughby," Pickering said.

"Dressed like this, sir?" Taylor said.

"Yes, Mr. Taylor, dressed just like that," Pickering said. "And you come along, too, McCoy."

In the passageway en route to the command center, Picker-ing put his hand on McCoy's arm.

"A heads-up, Ken," he said. "I told General MacArthur about your report."

McCoy seemed surprised.

"And?"

"I don't know, Ken," Pickering admitted. "I can't imag-ine him dumping Willoughby, but he knows. And I think he now believes."

"So you're telling me watch my back again?"

"Let me put it this way, Ken. Look surprised when MacArthur tells you he and the Commandant have decided you're entitled to put on the gold leaf again and I'm sure he'll tell you."

"What's MacArthur got to do with that?"

"He personally messaged the Commandant. Had a num-ber of nice things to say about you."

"And you had nothing to do with that?"

"I'm a little ashamed-I should have done something about it a long time ago-to admit he beat me to it," Pick-ering said. "Anyway, it's effective today, Major McCoy."

General of the Army Douglas MacArthur was leaning on the map table in the command room, supporting himself on his hands, with his staff around him jockeying for position.

Pickering had the thought that it looked not unlike pho-tographs he had seen of Hitler and his generals at Rastenburg.

"Ah," he said as Pickering, Taylor, and McCoy entered the room; "Gentlemen, for those of you who-for reasons I am sure you understand-I was not able to bring into the picture previously, these are the two officers, Lieutenant David Taylor, USN, and Major K. R. McCoy, USMC, who supervised, with great skill and courage, the covert opera-tion I put into play to seize the Flying Fish Channel Is-lands."

[SIX]

STATEROOM B-65

USS MOUNT MCKINLEY

THE FLYING FISH CHANNEL

0915 SEPTEMBER 1950

"Very nice," McCoy said, as he, Taylor, Hart, and Zimmer-man followed Pickering into the stateroom. "I've never been in this kind of officer's country before."

"There're two like this," Pickering said. "You fellows can decide who bunks with who. I put all the luggage in the one next door."

"These are flag officer's quarters," McCoy protested.

"They were assigned to me, and now I'm letting you use them," Pickering said. "The original idea was to put you all in sick bay."

"I thought you got one for you and one for Jeanette," Hart said, sitting down on the bed. "Jesus, that feels good."

"Jeanette batted her eyes at the captain," Pickering said, "whereupon he offered her his cabin, and I moved into General Howe's just before you came aboard."

"Where's he?"

"When last seen, headed for Inchon," Pickering said. "With the announced intention of hitching up with Chesty Puller and his First Marines."

"He must have a death wish," McCoy said.

Pickering picked up on the bitter tone. He started to say something, men changed his mind, and instead went to a metal chest of drawers, the top drawer of which had a combi-nation lock. He worked the combination, opened it, and came out with a bottle of Famous Grouse wrapped in a towel.

"I suspect you can use one of these, Ken," Pickering said. "Or two."

"The last I heard booze aboard ships was an absolute no-no," McCoy said. "And thank you, General, but no."

"Speak for yourself, John Alden," Hart said. "You can hand me that, boss."

Pickering did so, then asked, "What's bothering you, Ken?"

McCoy shrugged.

"El Supremo taking credit for the operation?"

"That didn't surprise me at all," McCoy said. " `Fertig the Crazy Man' became `my brilliant guerrilla leader in the Philippines,' remember?"

"Very well," Hart said.

"I don't know that story," Taylor said.

"I guess what pisses me off is that Willoughby is going to walk," McCoy said. "Isn't he?"

"What did you think was going to happen to him? They'd march him to the door of the Dai-Ichi Building, cut the stars and buttons off his uniform, and toss him into the gutter?"

"That would be one solution," McCoy said, and then said, "Oh, hell, George, hand me that."

"For one thing, Ken, he rendered long and faithful ser-vice to El Supremo...."

"Covering his own ass, I suspect, every step of the way," McCoy said, and took a pull from the neck of the bottle. He handed it to Taylor, who looked for a moment as if he didn't know what to do with it, but then took a pull. And then handed it to Zimmerman.

"Ken," Pickering said, "look at it this way. MacArthur will never completely trust him again. That hurts both of them. MacArthur has learned that somebody he trusted completely was not trustworthy. And Willoughby will know for the rest of his life that the only reason MacArthur doesn't sack him, doesn't publicly humiliate him, is for the good of the 5ervice. And I know Douglas MacArthur well enough to know that's why he's acting as he has. I think he thinks Willoughby will now ask to retire, and he'll let him, and that will be the end of it, without getting into accusa-tions and excuses or denials."

McCoy met Pickering's eyes for a long moment.

"If you say so, sir," he said after a moment.

"That was a speech, Ken, not an order," Pickering said.

McCoy opened his mouth to reply, and there came a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Pickering asked, and gestured to Zimmer-man to get the scotch bottle out of sight.

"Ship's doctor. Let me in, please," a male voice called.

"This is General Pickering, what is it?"

"Captain Arnold, General. Please let me in."

"Hold your hands in front of your mouths," Pickering ordered softly. "Just a moment, Doctor!"

"What are they going to do if they catch us, boss?" Hart asked. "Send us to bed without our supper?"

It wasn't that funny, but it produced chuckles, and very soon the chuckles were uncontrollable giggles.

Pickering, making a valiant effort not to smile, opened the door to the doctor, who was carrying a small cardboard carton. What the doctor, a silver-haired man Pickering's age, saw were four apparently hysterical men in black pa-jamas sitting on the two beds.

"General," the ship's doctor said, "General MacArthur asked me if I didn't think this was medically indicated for these gentlemen."

He held the box up. It contained twenty-four 1.5-ounce bottles of Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey for medical pur-poses only.

That pushed Pickering over the edge.

"Gentlemen," he said. "General MacArthur thinks you should have a drink." And then he was laughing so hard he had to hold on to the door.

The ship's doctor had practiced medicine long enough, and had been in the Navy long enough, to know when pursu-ing suspicions was neither sound medical nor naval practice.

"I'll leave these with you, General," the doctor said. "I'm sure you will dispense them with discretion."

"Doctor, what about my Marines?"

"You are?" the doctor asked.

"Major McCoy, sir."

Jesus, I said that without thinking. I really must have wanted that gold leaf back. And goddamn it, "Major" sounds good.

"I'll take care of your Marines, Major," the ship's doctor said. "Rest assured of that."

The hysteria-which Pickering had decided was just that, a condition induced by their sudden change from a life-threatening situation to one where they were relatively safe-had almost passed when, five minutes later, Jeanette Priestly knocked on the door of Stateroom B-65.

"I'd hate to tell you what it smells like in here," she said.

"What can we do for you, Jeanette?" Pickering asked.