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

"The Jeep stays," the Marine sergeant said.

"Wait for me," Keller said to the driver, who nodded.

The reason the captain was walking and the Jeep denied access to the wharf became immediately clear.

The wharf was jammed with men, equipment, and sup-plies. Lines of Marines-their rifles stacked using the stacking swivels near the muzzles, something Keller hadn't seen since Germany-waited for cargo nets jammed with supplies being lowered from the two ships to touch the dock, then began to carry the individual cartons and crates to waiting U.S. Army GMC 6x6 trucks.

Other booms lowered Marine 6 x 6s, and trailers for them, many of them stacked high with supplies, to the dock. The trucks were joined with their trailers, and then quickly driven off to make room for other trucks, trailers, and other piles of supplies dumped from cargo nets.

The closest ship was the USS Clymer. The captain started up her ladder. There was a Navy officer and a sailor in a steel helmet at the top of the ladder. As the captain was explaining to the Navy officer who Keller was, Keller could see, farther down the wharf, the USS Pickaway, and past her-too far away for him to read her name-some kind of a Navy freighter unloading artillery pieces and M-26 "Patton" tanks.

"This way, please, Sergeant," the captain said, and Keller followed him onto the deck of the Clymer and then down a passageway and a narrow stairway and then an-other passageway until they reached a door guarded by two Marines. A sign read "Mess and Wardroom II."

"Wait here, Sergeant," the captain said, and went through the door.

A moment later, a tall, silver-haired man in Marine fa-tigues came through the door.

"My name is Craig," he said. "You have a message for me?"

"Yes, sir," Keller said. "General Pickering called from Tokyo and first asked if Captain McCoy was available. When I told him I believed Captain McCoy was on the pier, he gave me a message for you and Captain McCoy, and asked if I could deliver it personally."

He paused. Craig waited for him to go on.

"The message is `Permission denied. Repeat denied. Re-turn immediately. Repeat immediately. Signature, Picker-ing, Brigadier General, USMC "

"I'll see that he gets the message, Sergeant. Thank you."

"Sir, General Pickering asked me to confirm that the message was delivered. To call him, sir."

Craig looked at him for a moment, then went into the mess.

"Gentlemen," Keller heard him say, loudly enough to be heard, "Captain McCoy will take one more question. We have to get on with the off-loading. Please join me, Captain McCoy, after the next question."

Then he came back into the passageway.

"He will be here shortly, Sergeant," he said. "How is it you-a master sergeant-are doing this personally?"

"I told General Pickering I would, sir."

A minute later, he heard someone in the mess call "At-ten-hut," and there was the sound of scraping chair legs.

Then McCoy, followed by Zimmerman, came into the corridor.

Craig steered him to the right of the door.

"The sergeant has a message for you, McCoy," Craig said. "For us. Go ahead, Sergeant."

"Permission denied. Repeat denied. Return immedi-ately. Repeat immediately. Signature, Pickering, Brigadier General, USMC "

McCoy's face showed surprise, then regret.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said to General Craig.

"Never be sorry when you've tried to do a good thing, Captain," Craig said. "At least we got a splendid briefing out of you before other duty called."

"Thank you, sir," McCoy said.

"I presume General Pickering's order includes Mister Zimmerman?"

"I believe it does, sir."

"How will you get to Tokyo? You have orders?"

"Yes, sir, we do. We'll catch a ride out to K-l...."

"You have a Jeep."

"Sir, I'd just have to leave it at K-l for somebody to steal, and I wouldn't be surprised if that Jeep was already wearing some kind of Marine insignia."

"I'll get you a ride out to K-l," Craig said.

"Captain," Master Sergeant Keller said. "I've got a Jeep. I'll run you out to K-l."

"By your leave, sir?" McCoy said, coming to attention.

"Carry on, Mister McCoy," General Craig said.

[FOUR]

"I'll drive," Master Sergeant Keller said to the driver of the message center Jeep.

"Sergeant, I don't think you're supposed to do that."

"What I know you're supposed to do is what I tell you," Keller said. "Get in the back."

Keller got behind the wheel. McCoy got in beside him, and Zimmerman clambered over the back to sit beside the driver.

"Captain, before we go out there," Keller asked, "what are you going to do with that rifle, and Mr. Zimmerman's Thompson, when we get to K-l?"

"I don't understand the question," McCoy said.

"The Air Force... K-l is now a MATS terminal," Keller said. "They won't let you get on a plane with a weapon."

"Jesus!" Zimmerman said, disgustedly.

With our orders, McCoy thought, I could load a 105-mm howitzer on the plane. But that would mean using the CIA orders, and I don't really want to do that.

"What do you suggest, Sergeant?" McCoy asked.

"Well, if you're coming back, sir, I could keep them for you."

"What's in it for you?"

"You might not come back..." Keller said.

"In which case, you end up owning a first-rate Thomp-son and a National Match M-l?" (Standard M-l rifles that demonstrated especial accuracy, and were fine-tuned by master gunsmiths, were set aside for use in the annual National Matches rifle competition.)

"Yes, sir. It looks to me like your choice is maybe get-ting your weapons back from me, or for sure losing them to the Air Force," Keller said.

"Ernie, we're going to leave the Thompson and the Garand with this doggie," McCoy said. There was a tone of approval in McCoy's voice. "How come a smart guy like you didn't join the Marines?" he asked.

"I couldn't, sir. I didn't qualify. My parents were mar-ried, sir," Keller said.

McCoy's eyebrows went up. Zimmerman guffawed, then laughed out loud.

"You're okay, Keller," Zimmerman said. "For a god-damn doggie."

"Thank you very much, sir," Keller said, straightfaced.

This time McCoy laughed.

"Keep your pistol, Ernie," McCoy ordered.

The pistols Master Gunner Zimmerman had drawn for them from a fellow master gunner at Camp Pendleton were also National Match, far more accurate and reliable than a standard-issue Pistol, 1911A1, Caliber.45 ACP. They were worth trying to sneak past the Air Force.

As they approached the base operations building at K-l, there was a new sign, neatly painted on a four-by-eight sheet of plywood.

United States Air Force

Military Air Transport Service

U.S. Air Force Station K-1

Pusan, Korea

There was an Air Force C-54, a four-engine Douglas transport, sitting in front of the building, with a ladder leading up into it.

"Looks like you got here just in time," Keller said.

"When we come back, Keller," Zimmerman said, "and there's rust on my Thompson, I will turn you into a so-prano."

They shrugged out of their field gear and put their Na-tional Match.45's in the small of their backs, under their utilities jackets, which they wore outside their trousers.

"In case you do wind up owning that Garand, Keller," McCoy said. `Take care of it. And thank you for every-thing."

"Forget it, Captain."

"Forget what? The thanks or the M-l?"

"Maybe both, sir," Keller said. "I'll wait until you're air-borne, then call General Pickering and tell him you're on the way."

"Thank you, Number Two," McCoy said.

Keller saluted. McCoy and Zimmerman returned it, and went into the terminal building, where there was an Air Force staff sergeant behind a counter.

"Can I help you, Captain?"

"If that C-54's headed for Tokyo, we need to be on it."