Retreat, Hell! Part 28

"We don't want to talk to the tower, sir," the Army aviator said.

"Why not?"

"We have to presume the NKs have people monitoring your tower traffic," the rumpled major said.

"What we hope to do, sir," the Marine said, "by taking off in the dark, and not talking to the tower, is get those machines out of here without letting the NKs know."

"You really think they're listening to the tower traffic?" Lowman asked.

That possibility had never occurred to him.

"I'm sure they are," the Marine said. "And since they were listening when the helos first arrived, and when the helos made their only flight out of here and back, they know about the helos. What we hope to do now is get the helos out of here without them knowing-with a little luck, thinking they're still in that hangar."

"How do you propose to do that?" Lowman asked.

"Sir, we'll fire them up, warm them up, inside the hangar," the Army aviator said. "Then shut them down and roll them out of the hangar. Then we'll call the tower-'K- 14, this is Air Force two oh seven, radio check.' If there's no reason we can't take off, the tower will give the radio check. We'll then reply, 'K-14, thank you,' fire them up again, and take off immediately. If you have incoming or departing traffic, just ignore our call, and we'll wait five minutes and call again."

Colonel Lowman considered that a moment.

"That should work. You want me to be in the tower, right?"

"If you would, please, sir," the Marine said. "And if you would, sir, make the point to your tower people that they didn't hear or see anything at all."

"Got it," Colonel Lowman said. "At this hour, there's only one-well, maybe two-guys in there anyway. Give me a minute to get my clothes on."

There were two NCOs, a staff sergeant and a buck sergeant, in the control tower-which was also mounted on a GMC 6 6 truck-when Colonel Lowman climbed up on the truck and went into the small, green, gla.s.s-walled, boxlike structure. Both, visibly surprised to see The Colonel, came to attention.

"Good morning," Lowman said. "What's going on?"

"Quiet as a tomb, sir," the staff sergeant said. "It won't be light for another thirty minutes or so."

"We heard some engines starting, sir," the buck sergeant said. "Over there."

He pointed across the field.

"You're sure?" Colonel Lowman said doubtfully.

"Well, sir, it sounded sounded as if it was coming from over there." as if it was coming from over there."

"As far as I know, there's nothing over there but a shot-up hangar," Colonel Lowman said.

The ground-to-air radio came to life.

"K-14, Air Force two oh seven, radio check."

"We don't have anything coming in or going out right now, do we?" Colonel Lowman asked.

"No, sir," the staff sergeant said.

Colonel Lowman took the microphone the buck sergeant held in his hand.

Into it he said, "Air Force two oh seven, read you five by five. Niner, eight, seven, six, fiver, four, three, two, one."

"K-14, thank you," the radio said.

Colonel Lowman handed the microphone back to the staff sergeant.

Across the field, there were suddenly two spots of orange light, as if coming from the exhaust of an engine. And a moment later, there was the rumble of an engine and a fluckata-fluckata-fluckata. fluckata-fluckata-fluckata.

"There it is again," the buck sergeant said. "I knew d.a.m.ned well I heard something."

"I don't hear anything," Colonel Lowman said.

"From over there, there, Colonel!" the buck sergeant insisted. Colonel!" the buck sergeant insisted.

"Sounds like a helicopter to me, sir. Helicopters," the staff sergeant said.

The fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata sound grew louder. sound grew louder.

Lowman thought he could just faintly see one of the H- 19s moving rapidly across the field, then taking off into the darkness.

"G.o.ddammit," the staff sergeant said. "That was two helicopters, and not a G.o.dd.a.m.n navigation light on either of them. What the f.u.c.k?"

"I want you two to listen to me carefully," Colonel Lowman said. "I have been here all the time with you. I neither heard or saw anything that sounded remotely like a helicopter."

"But, sir-" the staff sergeant said.

"And neither did you," Colonel Lowman said. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir," they said, almost in unison.

"And I don't want it to get back to me that whatever you thought you saw or heard, but didn't, is the subject of any conversation anywhere. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," they said.

"Keep up the good work, men," Colonel Lowman said, smiled at them, and left the control tower.

Outside, he could hear the fluckata-fluckata-fluckata fluckata-fluckata-fluckata of rotor blades diminishing to the southeast. of rotor blades diminishing to the southeast.

Colonel Lowman wondered where the h.e.l.l they were going with the H-19s and what they were going to do with them.

But there had been something in the eyes of the Marine major that had told him that his curiosity would have been not only highly unwelcome but maybe even a little dangerous, and he hadn't asked.

[FIVE].

SOCHO-RI, SOUTH KOREA 0545 4 OCTOBER 1950.

Major Donald had told McCoy there were three ways to get to Socho-Ri, one flying at an alt.i.tude that would permit them to look for an arrow stamped out in a rice paddy. The trouble with that option was, Donald said, that if they could see a sign like that, people on the ground could see them.

The second option was to fly what he called "nap of the earth," which meant flying just a few feet off the ground. That would expose them to eyes on the ground for only a fleeting moment, but flying at ninety knots, that wouldn't be much different from driving over the ground at that speed; the chances of spotting a stamped-out arrow would be slim, unless they just happened to fly right over it and were paying close enough attention not to miss it.

The third option-which Donald recommended- would be to ascend quickly to, say, 9,000 feet, which would for all practical purposes make them invisible to eyes on the ground, and incidentally keep them safely above any rock-filled clouds they might encounter en route. There was a line of mountains running down the peninsula, Donald said, and he did not have a deep and abiding faith in the navigation charts he had been given.

McCoy opted for the high alt.i.tude. The priority was to get the helos to Socho-Ri intact and undetected. Even if they were spotted by only friendly forces-I ROK Corps-the sudden appearance of two black helicopters would very likely cause some South Korean commander to make a report of "unidentified, black, type previously not seen, rotary-wing aircraft" flying over his position.

There was also a chance that the two helos would be spotted by Air Force, Navy, or Marine fighters making an early-morning reconnaissance. Their pilots would more than likely-out of curiosity, if nothing else-make a pa.s.s at them before shooting them down. In that case, Donald said, he would get on the emergency radio frequency and try to contact them.

"You could enthusiastically sing 'The Marines' Hymn,' " Donald said.

Pick would just have to wait. There had been no word from the Badoeng Strait Badoeng Strait that any signs of Pick had been found, anyway. that any signs of Pick had been found, anyway.

But as it had grown light, turned into day, as they had flown eastward across the peninsula, McCoy rarely took his eyes from the ground far below them.

When the coastline appeared and Donald flew over it and above the Sea of j.a.pan, McCoy wondered what was happening and looked at Donald, who read his mind.

"I'm going to fly a couple of miles out to sea before I make the descent," Donald explained. "And then approach Socho-Ri with our wheels just far enough above the water to keep them from getting wet."

McCoy gave him a thumbs-up.

"You're pretty good at this, Alex. A quick learner."

"I had another thought," Alex said. "Just now. How are you and Dunston going to get back to Seoul?"

"I thought we'd get in a jeep. Maybe we could talk somebody in I ROK Corps into giving us a ride. Dunston and I talked about it. He said they have a few L-4s and L-19s."

"And if they won't, it's a long ride back to Seoul," Donald said. "We need our own fixed-wing airplane. What we really need is an L-20, a Beaver, but I think we'd have a better chance of getting an L-19."

"What's a Beaver?"

"Single-engine, six-place DeHavilland. Canadian. Designed for use in the Alaskan bush. The Army bought a dozen-and ordered a h.e.l.l of a lot more-off the shelf when this started. There were six of them on the baby aircraft carrier with the H-19s. The bra.s.s will be fighting over them like a nymphomaniac at a high school dance."

"I think you had better get in the jeep with me, and see about getting us one or the other," McCoy said.

His stomach then rose in his chest as Donald put the H- 19 into a steep descending turn.

As they approached the coastline, not fifty feet off the water, they came across a junk plodding slowly southward, maybe a mile and a half offsh.o.r.e and half a mile away from them.

"That has to be the Wind of Good Fortune, Wind of Good Fortune," McCoy said.

"You want me to take a closer look?"

"G.o.d, no! There's an air-cooled .50 on the prow, and another on the stern. By now-they've seen us-they've taken the covers off and fed ammo belts into both."

"Why is it leaving Socho-Ri?"

"She dropped off a generator, a good base station radio, and some other supplies," McCoy replied. "Chow, a couple of rubber boats, sandbags, stuff-I guess you call it 'thatch'-to put the roofs back on the hootches. And some of Dunston's Koreans. And then she got out of there before anyone could draw the right conclusion."

Donald took his hand off the cyclic control long enough to point. They were approaching Socho-Ri. As McCoy followed Donald's pointing, Donald put the H-19 into a steep turn to the left, then to the right, and then as suddenly straightened up. They were now lined up with the dirt strip.

McCoy could see enough of the activity on the ground to know that Zimmerman-and Dunwood's Marines-had done a lot of work even before the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune had brought them the supplies they needed. had brought them the supplies they needed.

He saw what had to be Marines in two emplacements overlooking the path from Route 5, and another emplacement facing out to the Sea of j.a.pan.

And a patch of recently turned earth twenty-five feet by eight. Burying the bodies had obviously been a priority.

Jesus, that's a h.e.l.l of a big hole to have to dig by hand!

The H-19 stopped forward movement, and a moment later its wheels touched the ground.

McCoy saw the second helo flutter to the ground to their right, and then Dunwood and Zimmerman walking out to them.

Donald began to shut the machine down. McCoy unfastened his seat and shoulder belts but made no move to get out until the rotor blades stopped turning.

He had just jumped to the ground from the wheel when the smell of putrefying flesh hit him.

Dunston and the pilot of the other helicopter started to walk over to them. The pilot didn't make it. He suddenly bent over and threw up.

Dunston ignored him and joined the others in time to hear McCoy snap at Zimmerman: "Jesus! When did you finally get around to burying the bodies?"

"We waited until this morning, of course, Killer, knowing you were coming," Zimmerman answered, not daunted by McCoy's anger. "Jesus! It was the first thing we did. We could smell this place a mile off."

"How do we get rid of the smell?" McCoy asked.

"Sir," Dunwood said, "we don't think it's coming from the bodies, from the grave, but from the ground where they were lying. I was thinking maybe if we soaked the ground with gas, and then-"

"Do it," McCoy said.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Some of the bodies were in the hootches, Killer. And they stink too."

"Well, use gas on them before we put the roofs back on," McCoy said. "That smell's got to go."

Zimmerman nodded.

He looked at Major Donald.

"I don't suppose we could just drape fishnet over those propellers, could we, Major?"

He made a swirling motion with his index finger, pointing at the helicopter.

"Rotors," Donald corrected him. "No. I don't think that would be smart."

"I was afraid of that," Zimmerman said, and pointed toward the side of the landward hill, one hundred yards from where they stood. "That's what I came up with."

Against two very steep parts of the slope, two enormous flies of fishnet had been erected. Their outer edges were supported by flimsy "poles" made of short, nailed, and tied-together pieces of wood. Vegetation of all sorts had been laced into the net.

McCoy thought: Boy, that's really a jury-rig! Boy, that's really a jury-rig!