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

He discussed the possibility of support from Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalist Army on Formosa, and dismissed it as probably not going to be worth very much. And his opinion of the war-fighting capabilities of the Eighth U.S. Army in Korea was anything but flattering.

"Their equipment is old, their training is inadequate, and they don't have any armor to match the Russian T-34s the North Koreans have. The bridges in Japan won't take the weight of an M-26, which is arguably as good as the T-34, so there are no M-26s. The M-24s they do have are light tanks that don't stand a chance against the T-34."

That was frustrating to hear, of course, and so was con-templation of what they were all going to be doing in the CIA.

Banning agreed that it was possible, even likely, that Ad-miral Hillenkoetter would be fired for not being able to predict the sudden North Korea attack.

"Probably," Banning said, "not right away. If the Presi-dent is worried about a Pearl Harbor reaction to the attack, the last thing he wants to do is fire the Director of the CIA. That makes what General Cates said, that he's thinking of you to replace Hillenkoetter, make a kind of sense."

"I'm not equipped to run the CIA."

"One scenario is that Hillenkoetter will stay on until you feel you can take over," Banning argued. The door chime sounded.

"The ladies, I hope," Pickering said, and went to the door.

Patricia Foster Pickering and Ernestine Sage McCoy walked into the room, trailed by four bellmen carrying luggage and cardboard boxes from Brooks Brothers. Both women looked around the mess in the room, and the four Marines, all of whom had their field scarves pulled down, their collars unbuttoned, and their sleeves rolled up.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Patricia Pick-ering said, lightly sarcastic.

"We were getting worried," Pickering said.

"I'm sure you were," Patricia Pickering said, now seri-ously sarcastic. "If there's any scotch left, I really would like a drink."

Her husband scurried to get her a drink. McCoy went to his wife and kissed her.

"How many have you had?" Ernie asked.

"A couple," he confessed.

"There is a difference between a couple, which is two, and several, which is any number three or greater."

"Several," McCoy said.

Ernie laughed. "Aunt Pat, I told you. They can't be trusted alone, but they don't lie."

"What's in the boxes?" McCoy asked.

"We went by Brooks Brothers and got you some uni-forms," Ernie said.

"Good little camp followers that we are," Patricia said. She went to Ed Banning. "I see that you-smell that you- can't be trusted out of Milla's sight, either."

But she kissed his cheek nevertheless, and then Zimmer-man's.

"And for lunch we had a hot dog with sauerkraut and a Coke on the sidewalk outside Brooks Brothers," Patricia said. "It was good, but it wasn't enough. Plan on an earlier dinner, boys."

Pickering handed his wife a drink. "Here you go, sweetheart," he said.

"You don't have one?"

"On the coffee table."

"Make it last," she said. "That's your last. I didn't fly across the country in the middle of the night, and then spend the morning in Brooks Brothers and the afternoon driving here from Manhattan just for the privilege of watching you snore in an armchair."

"Yes, dear," Pickering said, mockingly. He was more amused than annoyed, and certainly didn't appear chas-tised.

Patricia turned to McCoy.

"Say, `thank you, Ernie, for coming and going to Brooks Brothers for me.'"

"Thank you, honey, for coming and going to Brooks Brothers for me," McCoy said, with a smile.

"You're welcome," Ernie said.

The telephone rang.

Banning answered it, then extended it to Pickering.

"Senator Fowler, sir," he said.

Mrs. Pickering looked annoyed.

Pickering took the phone.

"Hello, Dick," he said. "Come down the corridor and have a drink with us. Patricia just walked in the door."

Fowler's end of the conversation could not be heard by Patricia Pickering, although she tried hard.

"Dick, I really don't want to do that. Patricia is in one of her fire-breathing moods....

"Hey, don't you listen? I said I didn't want to.

"Oh, goddamn it, Dick. All right. We'll be there in a minute." He put the phone down and looked at his wife. "Our senator wants to see me for a minute. Ken and me. He says it's important."

She didn't reply.

"I owe him a couple of favors," he said.

"Like him getting you back into your goddamn Marine Corps?"

They locked eyes for a moment, and then Pickering said, rather firmly, "Patricia, we'll only be a few minutes. Why don't you order dinner?"

He motioned for McCoy to follow him, and they left the room.

" `Goddamn Marine Corps,' Aunt Pat?" Ernie said.

"Goddamn Marine Corps," Patricia Pickering confirmed. "He's too old-he's fifty, for God's sake-to go rushing off..."

She stopped, looked at Ernie, and started for the door. "I know him and Richardson Fowler. And he's already had enough to drink. You coming?"

Ernie considered this a moment, then shook her head, "no."

"Suit yourself," Patricia Pickering said, and walked into the corridor. After a moment, Ernie followed her.

"We'll be right back," she said.

"'Goddamn Marine Corps'?" Ernie Zimmerman quoted. "She sounds just like Mae-Su."

"If the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife, Gunner Zimmerman," Banning replied, delighted at his own wit, "they would have issued you one."

"Luddy's not pissed?"

"Actually, she's not. She would really like me to go over there and start killing Communists," Banning said.

A muscular man in a gray suit stepped in front of Patri-cia Pickering.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said. "May I ask where you're going?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to see Senator Fowler."

"I'm afraid that's not possible just now, ma'am," he said. "Could you come back in, say, thirty minutes?"

"Not possible? What do you mean not possible? Get out of my way!"

"I'm afraid I can't let you pass."

"You can't let me pass?" Mrs. Pickering asked in outrage. "I own this hotel-no one tells me I can't pass.'"

Another muscular man walked quickly up as the first Secret Service agent was taking his credentials from his suit jacket pocket, and then the door of Senator Fowler's suite opened.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Patricia," Fleming Pickering said to her, then turned to someone in the room. "It's my wife."

"Let her in," a voice came from inside the room, and then President Truman appeared in the open door. "Let the lady pass."

"Ladies," Ernie said from behind the second Secret Ser-vice agent. "I'm with her."

"Ladies," the President agreed, smiling.

"Good evening, Mr. President," Patricia Pickering said.

"Good evening, Mrs. Pickering," Truman said. "I apolo-gize for this. Won't you come in for a minute?"

He offered his hand to Ernie McCoy.

"Admiral Hillenkoetter told me Captain McCoy was married to a very beautiful young woman. How do you do? You are Mrs. McCoy?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. President," Ernie said.

"Hello, Patricia," Senator Fowler said.

"I suspected that my overage adolescent was going to crawl into a bottle with you, Dick, and I see I was right."

"Mrs. Pickering, Mrs. McCoy," the President said, "this is Major General Ralph Howe, an old friend of mine."

"How do you do, ladies?" General Howe said, in a twangy Maine accent. He seemed to be amused.

"How do you do, General?" Patricia said, as she shook his hand.

"I think what we have here, Harry," General Howe said, smiling broadly, "is proof of the adage that behind every great man there really is a beautiful woman."

Truman chuckled.

"Mrs. Pickering," the President said. "I wanted a few min-utes with General Howe, your husband, and Captain Mc-Coy. A few private minutes that no one would know about. That's why I imposed on Senator Fowler's hospitality...."