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

Pick's footlocker appeared five minutes later, and he had just enough time to shower and shave and put a uniform on before there was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, the CIC guard in the corridor opened it and Major General Almond entered the room.

"You wanted to see me, General?" Almond asked.

That question was asked for the benefit of the CIC guy, Pickering realized. Almond knows that Willoughby-and possibly MacArthur, too-gets a report on everything that happens here.

"Yes, sir, I did. Thank you for coming."

The CIC agent closed the door.

"General, this is my son, Major Malcolm Pickering," Pickering said. "I wanted you to meet him. He has some-thing to ask you."

Almond met Pickering's eyes for a moment before of-fering his hand to Pick.

We have just agreed on our story. "Pickering wanted me to meet his son."

God, poor Almond. He has to spend his life walking the razor's edge between disloyalty to his general and keeping his integrity.

"How do you do, Major?" Almond said. "You're here with General Cushman?"

"In a sense, sir. My squadron, VMF-243, was mobilized on the twenty-third. When the squadron gets here, we'll be under General Cushman's command."

"And when do you think that will be?"

"Sir, they should sail within a day or two. They may al-ready have."

"That sounds a little improbable, Major," Almond chal-lenged.

"Sir, we trained to be able to fly aboard a carrier within forty-eight hours."

"And you won't need any additional training, equipping, filling out the ranks, that sort of thing, before you go aboard an aircraft carrier for active service?"

"We're a little better than ninety percent on our enlisted men, sir. And we have one hundred percent of our officers. The squadron's ready to go, sir."

"You're here," Almond said, making it a question.

"Yes, sir. My exec and I flew in this morning, commer-cial, as sort of the advance party."

"Sort of?"

"Well, sir, we won't go on active duty until the squadron gets here."

"You're in uniform."

"Sir, the CO of VMF-243 has the authority to call up people for seventy-two hours for special training. I called myself and my exec up."

Almond smiled. "That sounds highly practical and very irregular."

Pick shrugged.

"What do you know about the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade?" Almond asked.

"Sir, I'm not sure I understand the question."

Almond turned to McCoy.

"You're Captain McCoy, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You look familiar, Captain," Almond said, as he shook McCoy's hand. "Do we know each other?"

"No, sir."

"Captain McCoy was stationed here recently, General," General Pickering said. "With the Naval Element, SCAP."

"I thought I'd seen the face," Almond said.

Either he's got one hell of a poker face, or he doesn't know a thing about McCoy's analysis, or that Willoughby buried a knife in McCoy's back.

"Major," Almond went on, "your father's aide-de-camp reported to your father, who relayed the information to me, that when a regiment arrived for Korean duty yesterday in Pusan, the ranks were filled with recent basic training graduates; there had been no opportunity for the unit to train together; no opportunity for the men to zero their in-dividual weapons; and that their crew-served weapons, heavy machine guns and mortars were still packed in cosmoline." He paused and looked at McCoy. "That is the essence of what you said?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"So my question to you, Major, is what is the 1st Provi-sional Marine Brigade like, in that context?"

"I think it will be in much better shape than that, sir," Pick said.

"Is that Marine Corps pride speaking, or do you know?"

"Sir, I know a lot of the officers who are with the brigade. They tell me that most of the officers, and non-coms are War Two veterans, and most of the Marines have been with the 1st Marine Division for some time. When they formed the brigade, they didn't just send in bodies, but intact squads, platoons, companies from the division, with their officers and noncoms. Men who have trained to-gether, sir." He chuckled. "Sir, these are Marines. I can't believe they haven't zeroed their rifles. Or that their ma-chine guns are packed in cosmoline. They'll get off their ships ready to fight."

"How is it that you, an aviator, know the officers of a di-vision?"

"Sir, we train together. When we get a call from the ground to hit something, we usually recognize the voice asking for the strike."

"How far down does that go? Battalion? Company?"

"Sometimes to platoon, sir."

"Well, I'm impressed," Almond said. "And frankly a lit-tle relieved. Generals Cushman and Craig told me essen-tially what you've been telling me, but I like to get confirmation from the people actually doing things. Senior officers can only hope the junior officers are doing what they're supposed to do."

"Yes, sir," Pick said.

"General," General Pickering said, "Pick made an inter-esting observation a little while ago, just before you came. He said that most senior officers have more logistical sup-port than they actually need."

"Interesting," Almond said. `Tell me, General, why am I getting the feeling I am about to be ambushed by Marines?"

"I have no idea, General," Pickering said.

"And that there's a hook in the phrase `more logistical support than they actually need'?"

"Now that you mention it, General..." Pickering said.

"What, Pickering?" Almond said, smiling.

"Pick wants to borrow a light aircraft, and make a per-sonal survey of airfields in Korea," Pickering said. "And my aide-de-camp tells me that having access to a light air-plane in Korea would make his work there considerably easier."

Almond looked at Pickering for a long moment.

"Is that an official request from the Assistant Director of the CIA for Asia?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"There are very few light aircraft left in Japan," Almond said. "I ordered almost all of them sent to Korea."

Disappointment showed on Pick's face.

"I was afraid that might be the case, sir. But I had to ask."

"There are four at SCAP," Almond went on. `Two L-19s, one L-4-that's a Piper Cub-and one L-17, that's a four-seater North American Navion."

"Sir, if I could have the Cub for a couple of days..."

"You can't," Almond said. "That's mine. I call it `The Blue Goose.'"

"I understand, sir," Pick said.

Curiosity overwhelmed General Pickering.

"Why the `Blue Goose' he asked. "Goose suggests... the index finger raised in a vulgar manner."

"Somehow that lettering appeared on the nacelle shortly after every other general officer on the SCAP staff got a new L-19 but me," Almond said. "You are the first senior officer to ask me what it means."

Pickering chuckled.

"The L-19s are out, too," Almond went on. "One be-longs to General Willoughby, and the other to the G-3, who really needs it. That leaves General MacArthur's Navion. He rarely uses it. General Willoughby uses it rather often. So what I'm going to do is go back to the Dai Ichi Building and inform the Supreme Commander that General Pickering asked to see me here to meet his son, and to ask for the use of a light aircraft. I'm going to tell the Supreme Commander that I told you, General Picker-ing, that I would bring your request to his attention, and that, barring objections from him, I would see if I could find one for you. I don't think the Supreme Commander will object. Then I'm going to send Al Haig, my aide, out to Haneda to inform the people there that with the permis-sion of the Supreme Commander, the L-17 will be picked up by General Pickering's pilot for purposes not known to me."

"Thank you, sir," Pick said.

"It might be wise to get the aircraft out of Tokyo as soon as possible," Almond said.