Part 18 (1/2)
What did I expect to find in here? A Humphrey Bogart type in a trench coat?
”You may,” the lithe one said, and put out his hand. ”My name is McCoy. That's Major Dunston,” he added, pointing, ”and Master Gunner Zimmerman, Technical Sergeant Jennings, and Sergeant Cole.”
”What's your message, Colonel?” Dunston asked.
Raymond ran it through his brain first before reciting, ” 'Cla.s.sification Top Secret. As of 1445 hours this date, by order of the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers, two H- 19 helicopters, together with their crews, maintenance personnel, and all available supporting equipment, have been transferred to you. The officer-in-charge has been notified and is awaiting your orders in the hangar across from base operations at Kimpo Airfield. Signature, Almond, Major General, Chief of Staff, Allied Powers.' ”
”Jesus!” Zimmerman said. ”Helos? Two helos?”
”Could you do that again, please, Colonel?” McCoy asked.
Raymond did so.
”Did General Almond say what we're supposed to do with these helicopters?” Dunston asked.
”If these are the two big Sikorskys that flew into Kimpo this morning, I know what we can do with them,” McCoy said.
”Yeah,” Zimmerman said.
”That's General Almond's entire message, sir,” Raymond said.
”Colonel, have you had your supper?” McCoy asked.
”Excuse me?”
”For two reasons, I hope you can have it with us,” McCoy said. ”The first is to thank you for the helos, and the second is that I think you're just the actor we need for a little amateur theatrical we're staging.”
”Yeah,” Zimmerman said. ”And, Killer, if we can find Howe's stars-and I'll bet there's a spare set in his luggage-we can pin them on him.”
”Even better,” McCoy said.
”I have no idea what you're talking about,” Lieutenant Colonel Raymond confessed.
”Colonel, we have a prisoner in the bas.e.m.e.nt. A North Korean colonel,” McCoy explained. ”We're just about convinced (a) he's a high-level intelligence officer and (b) that he knows something about either a planned Chinese Communist intervention or the situation which will trigger such an intervention. We've been working on him without much success. The one thing we do know for sure is that he has an ego. He wants us to know how important he is. What we've got set up for tonight is a dinner-”
”A dinner?” Raymond asked in disbelief.
”Roast beef, potatoes, rice, wine-lots of wine-and all served with as much cla.s.s as we can muster.”
Raymond had been eating his meals-prepared from Ten-In-One rations-off of a steel tray. There had been an infrequent beer, but it had been warm and in a can.
”Can I ask where you're getting all . . . of this?” he asked.
McCoy looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled. He said: ”Dunston's people managed to hide a lot of the crystal and silver and even some of the wine before the North Koreans took Seoul, and the day before yesterday Sergeants Jennings and Cole toured Inchon Harbor, swapping North Korean souvenirs-flags, weapons, et cetera-with the crews of the cargo s.h.i.+ps. You'd be surprised what a good Marine noncom can get for a Sudarev PPS-43 submachine gun.”
Raymond chuckled.
”Jennings and Cole,” McCoy went on, ”came back with a weapons carrier-and its trailer-full of frozen food and beer. The freezers and the reefers here still work, so we're in pretty good shape for a while.”
”So the idea is, you're going to feed this NK colonel and try to get him drunk?”
”I don't think he'll let us get him drunk, but he might take a little more wine than he should,” McCoy said. ”Enough to let something slip. Particularly if he thought he was impressing someone important. You're a distinguished-looking man, Colonel. Asiatics-who don't have much facial hair-are impressed with large mustaches. If we pin General Howe's stars on you, I think he'll buy you as a general officer.”
”He speaks English?”
”I think he does, but won't admit it. Dunston, Zimmerman, and I speak Korean. I suppose it's too much to hope-”
”Nothing but German-I was there for four years-and not very good German.”
In German, McCoy asked, ”But if I said 'Look doubtful, ' you'd understand?”
”Yes.”
”And you could say, in German, 'What did he say?' when I give you the nod?”
”Yes, I guess I could.”
”Colonel, I really hope you can stay for supper,” McCoy said.
Why not? Raymond thought. Raymond thought. As long as I get back to the CP by twenty-four hundred, so I can relieve the colonel. . . . As long as I get back to the CP by twenty-four hundred, so I can relieve the colonel. . . .
”If you think it would be useful, I will,” Lieutenant Colonel Raymond said.
”You're really going into the general's luggage and borrow his insignia?” Dunston said.
”Unless you've got a better idea where we can get a set of general's stars,” McCoy said.
Lieutenant Colonel Raymond decided that the lithe one, McCoy, was the station chief. He was the one giving the orders.
[THREE].
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, j.a.pAN 1805 29 SEPTEMBER 1950.
Fleming Pickering glanced out the window as the Bataan Bataan taxied toward the hangar that served as the departure and arrival point for the Supreme Commander and his entourage. taxied toward the hangar that served as the departure and arrival point for the Supreme Commander and his entourage.
He saw the line of staff cars lined up awaiting the Bataan Bataan's pa.s.sengers. MacArthur's black Cadillac limousine was first, and the cars of the other bra.s.s were behind it, strictly according to the rank of their intended pa.s.sengers. Pickering saw his black Buick Roadmaster sitting alone in front of the hangar, facing in the opposite direction from the others.
Pickering knew this would annoy the Palace Guard, who would have greatly preferred to have his car with the others. His single star would have seen his car five or six cars behind MacArthur's limousine, reminding him that he was actually just a minor planet revolving around MacArthur.
MacArthur's staff-and, for that matter, El Supremo himself-really didn't like having anyone in their midst who did not have a precisely defined place in the hierarchy of the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers.
There were two such burrs under the saddles of the Supreme Commander and the Palace Guard, Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, and Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR. Neither was subordinate to MacArthur, and both reported directly to the President of the United States.
Pickering had not been at all surprised when he came to Tokyo that the Palace Guard had immediately begun to attempt to get some degree of control over him-the more the better, obviously, from their point of view-and had been prepared to fight that battle, confident that he could win it again, as he had in the Second War.
The Buick-and his and George Hart's fur-collared Naval aviators' leather jackets-were more or less subtle statements that he was not subordinate to Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers.
The Buick was his. He owned it.
When he had first come to j.a.pan, he had been provided with an olive-drab Chevrolet staff car and a sergeant to drive it, and asked when it would be convenient for him to have the housing officer show him what government quarters were available for an officer of his rank, so that he could make a choice between them.