Part 24 (1/2)
McCoy looked at Donald.
”What should I call you? Donald or Alex?”
”Either's fine.”
”My name is Ken,” McCoy said. ”Dunston's is Bill.”
”Okay,” Donald said.
”Let me give you the problem, and then you give me the solution.”
”Okay.”
”When the helos first came to K-14, I presume they went through the same kind of radio chatter-'Kimpo, this is Army six six six or whatever, request landing instructions, ' et cetera-that you went through when you brought us back?”
”Yes, they did.”
”We have to presume NK agents saw the helos flying over Inchon to come here. And it's a given that somewhere within range of the Kimpo tower is an NK agent with a radio. So they heard that radio chatter. So they now know there are two H-19s in Korea. And didn't you give them a number?”
”What they call the 'tail number,' ” Donald said. ”You use that to identify yourself when you call the tower.”
”And when the other chopper went back to Kimpo, alone, he used his tail number?”
Donald nodded.
”So now they know we have two helos, and even know their tail numbers.” He paused, smiled, and went on: ”What all the secrecy, all the Marines guarding the hangar, has done is keep the H-19s a secret from everybody but the enemy.”
”That's a problem, Ken?” Howe asked. ”What's the difference? The enemy will see them eventually.”
”Yes, sir. But if we're going to use the helos to insert and extract agents across the line, I don't want to telegraph our intentions. They now know we have helos. They'll figure out in a hurry that we're using them to do the insertions and extractions. That's not a problem. The problem is if we have to go on the radio every time we take off, that's when they'll start looking for helicopters.”
”I get it.”
”Another thing I don't know is when General Pickering is coming back here,” McCoy said. ”Can you tell me, sir?”
”All I know is that he was sent for,” Howe said. ”What do you need from him?”
”I was going to ask him to ask General Smith if we could keep at least some of the Flying Fish Marines,” McCoy said. ”They're at the hangar with the helos. General Almond had them guarding them.”
”I saw them,” General Howe said.
He exchanged glances with Master Sergeant Rogers, who knew about his luncheon conversation with General Smith.
”Would you like me to ask General Smith for those men, Ken? To at least loan them to you for a while?”
”I hate to ask you to do that, sir. And for all I know, the 1st MarDiv may need them.”
”All he can say is no,” Howe said. ”I'll ask him when I see him in the morning.”
”If you think it would be all right, sir.”
”I have a feeling it will be,” Howe said. ”Okay, Ken. Presuming you can keep the Flying Fish Channel Marines for a while, what are you going to do with them?”
”These helos are supposed to be able to carry ten men. That would be twelve, if we got rid of the copilot and the crew chief. I figure that's about the same weight as a pretty heavily armed eight-man fire team. I'd like to train maybe six or eight teams to get carried somewhere-for example, if we find Pick, or to pick up an agent the NKs have discovered on their side of the line.”
”You think that can be done?”
”We won't know until we try it, sir.”
”It sounds like a pretty good idea to me.”
”That still leaves us with the problem of how to get the helos into the air without going on the radio and announcing, 'Here we come.' ”
”Is there any way, Major,” Howe asked Donald, ”not to use the radios?”
”Not on an airfield, sir. It's a question of being clear to land or take off-I mean, so there's no midair collisions.”
”You'd need, in other words, your own airfield?” Howe asked.
”Where would we get our own airfield?” McCoy asked.
”Killer,” Zimmerman said. ”You don't need an airfield for these things. You saw where we landed at Inchon. All we need is a good-sized parking lot, far enough away from an airfield so airplanes don't run into them.”
”He's right, McCoy,” Donald said.
”Okay. Shoot this down, please,” McCoy said. ”We find a large enough parking lot someplace, preferably with a building we can hide the helos in in the daytime-”
”You get me some canvas and some camouflage netting, and I'll hide them,” Zimmerman said.
”-Okay. And we paint them black, so they can't be seen at night.”
”Black or not, they make a h.e.l.l of a racket,” Zimmerman said.
”But they would be harder to see,” McCoy said.
It was not an argument, Major Donald understood. The almost new, very expensive, glossy olive-drab paint scheme on the H-19s was about to be covered with flat black paint.
”What do we do now?” Zimmerman asked. ”Start looking for a parking lot?”
”That would seem logical, Mr. Zimmerman,” McCoy said, lightly sarcastic.
”It would be easier if we knew where to look for a parking lot.”
”Ken, do you know Socho-Ri?” Dunston asked.
McCoy shook his head no.
”It's on the east coast, close to the 38th Parallel,” Dunston went on.
”And?” McCoy asked.