Part 11 (1/2)
”One helo taking in six or eight people one at a time?” Dunn asked.
”I thought about that, too,” McCoy said. ”Same answer-it would attract too much attention. And then if the NKs saw how few people there were, and went after us . . .”
”You could not be evacuated,” Howe said.
”No, sir,” McCoy said. ”Not with one helo.”
”General,” Master Sergeant Rogers said. Howe looked at him. Rogers tapped his wrist.w.a.tch. Howe nodded, then stood up.
”Shower time,” he said. ”You said you have some clean fatigues for us, Bill?”
”Yes, sir, clean and starched, but I don't know what we'll do for chevrons for Charley.”
”Well, then I guess he'll just have to look like the oldest private in the Army,” General Howe said, then turned to McCoy. ”Ken, I want to hear what you and Ernie think of what this North Korean colonel has to say about the prospects of Chinese intervention.”
”I'll go down there right now, sir,” McCoy said.
Everyone rose from the table as General Howe and Master Sergeant Rogers walked out of the room.
[FOUR].
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, j.a.pAN 0620 29 SEPTEMBER 1950.
One hundred yards away from the Bataan, Bataan, General of the Army Douglas MacArthur's personal Douglas C-54, a very large MP sergeant, whose impeccable uniform included a chrome-plated steel helmet, a glistening leather Sam Browne belt, and paratrooper boots with white nylon laces, held up his hand to stop the 1950 black Buick Roadmaster. General of the Army Douglas MacArthur's personal Douglas C-54, a very large MP sergeant, whose impeccable uniform included a chrome-plated steel helmet, a glistening leather Sam Browne belt, and paratrooper boots with white nylon laces, held up his hand to stop the 1950 black Buick Roadmaster.
The Buick had an oblong red plate with a silver star mounted to the b.u.mper, identifying it as a car occupied by a brigadier general of the United States Marine Corps.
The MP bent over to look into the rear seat as the window rolled down.
There were two men in the rear seat, both of them wearing fur-collared zippered leather jackets officially known as Jacket, Flyers, Intermediate Type G-1. The driver was a U.S. Army sergeant.
”General Pickering,” the younger of the two men in the backseat said.
There was no insignia on the leather jacket, but the silver railroad tracks of a captain were visible on the collar points of his s.h.i.+rt. The captain, in his early thirties, was built like a circus strong man.
”Good morning, sir,” the MP said, courteously, then added, a little uneasily, ”Sir, the general is not on my list.”
”Then your list is wrong, Sergeant,” the captain said reasonably.
”Yes, sir,” the MP said, straightened, came to attention, raised his hand in a crisp salute, and said, ”Pa.s.s.”
Both men in the back of the Buick returned the salute.
The Buick drove up to the mobile stairway to the glistening C-54, around which were gathered half a dozen officers and men, including two impeccably and ornately uniformed military policemen, one standing at parade rest at each side of the ladder.
The driver of the Buick got out and hurriedly opened the rear door.
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, a silver-haired man of six feet one, 190 pounds, who thought of himself as being one year past The Big Five Zero, got out of the car. The captain followed a moment later.
Colonel Sidney Huff, a large, somewhat plump fifty-year -old wearing the insignia of an aide-de-camp to a General of the Army, walked up and saluted.
”Good morning, General,” he said. ”I wasn't aware you were coming along.”
Pickering and the captain returned the colonel's salute.
”Good morning, Sid,” Pickering said, and added, ”Neither was the MP back there.”
”May I suggest you board, sir?” Colonel Huff said. ”The Supreme Commander's due any moment, and you know he doesn't like to wait to board the Bataan Bataan.”
Pickering nodded.
”See you on board, Sid,” Pickering said, and started for the ladder, trailed by the captain, who now had a web pistol belt with a holstered Colt Model 1911A1 pistol in his hand.
The MPs at the foot of the stairway saluted as the two Marines climbed the ladder.
There was an Air Force master sergeant standing inside the aircraft at the door.
”Captain Hart will be sitting with me,” Pickering said.
The sergeant obviously didn't like to hear that, but sergeants do not argue with brigadier generals.
”Yes, sir,” he said. ”How about the fourth row back on the left of the aircraft, sir?”
Pickering found the row, slid in, and took the window seat. The captain opened the overhead bin, put the pistol belt in it, then sat down beside Pickering.
Pickering pointed out the window.
An olive-drab 1950 Chevrolet staff car had stopped at the foot of the stairway. One of the Army officers hurried to open the rear door, as Colonel Huff stood by.
A slight, elderly, gray-haired Oriental in a business suit somewhat awkwardly extricated himself from the car, then turned to offer his hand to the other pa.s.senger. This was a Caucasian woman in a black dress.
”Rhee?” Captain Hart asked softly.
Pickering nodded.
Colonel Huff saluted, then waved the couple to the stairway.
A moment later they appeared inside the aircraft. The Air Force master sergeant led them to one of the two VIP suites, the one on the right.
”So where does the Palace Guard get to sit?” Hart whispered.
Pickering smiled at him but held his finger in front of his lips, suggesting that further observations of that nature would be inappropriate. Then he pointed out the window again.
The Chevrolet staff car was gone, replaced by a black 1942 Cadillac limousine, which had a small American flag mounted on the right front fender and a small flag with five stars in a circle mounted on the left fender.
Colonel Huff personally opened the pa.s.senger door.
General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander, Allied Powers and United Nations Forces, got out.