Retreat, Hell! Part 30

[SEVEN].

THE HOUSE SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA 1145 4 OCTOBER 1950.

Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings came through the door in the metal gate to the house as the weapons carrier carrying McCoy stopped in front of it.

"That was a quick trip, sir," he said as he saluted.

"I got lucky," McCoy said. "Get a phone number from the corporal, and then get on the horn and tell his officer I had to borrow the truck."

"Aye, aye, sir," Jennings said. "Major, there's an Army light colonel inside. . . ."

"How did he get inside?" McCoy asked.

"Sir, I'm a tech sergeant, and he showed me orders signed by some general at UNC."

"Did he say what he wants?"

"He wants to see Major Dunston," Jennings said.

"Where's General Howe?"

"He went south to see General Walker," Jennings said. "He said to tell you he'll try to get back tonight, if not first thing in the morning."

"I'll deal with it," McCoy said. "When you talk to the corporal's officer, say something nice about the corporal."

"Aye, aye, sir."

A stocky, neat, but not natty Army lieutenant colonel was sitting at the dining room table with a tall, thin, natty Army first lieutenant. Both were drinking coffee.

"Can I help you, Colonel?"

"I'm looking for Major William Dunston," the colonel said.

"He's not here right now," McCoy said.

"Where is he?"

"May I ask who you are, Colonel?"

"And you are?"

"My name is McCoy, sir."

"My name is Vandenburg," the colonel said, then took a sheet of paper folded twice from the breast pocket of his fatigues and laid it on the table. "Those are my orders."

McCoy went to the table, picked up the orders, and unfolded them.

TOP SECRET.

Supreme Headquarters Commander-in-Chief United Nations Command Tokyo, j.a.pan2 October 1950SUBJECT: Letter Orders Letter OrdersTO: LtCol D.J. Vandenburg, Inf Supreme Headquarters CINCUNC LtCol D.J. Vandenburg, Inf Supreme Headquarters CINCUNC1. You will proceed at the earliest possible date to Korea, and such other places as you may deem necessary to carry out a mission of great importance, taking with you such personnel as you may deem necessary. Travel priority AAAAA-1 is a.s.signed.2. In order to facilitate the execution of your mission, authority is granted for you to requisition whatever support you may require from any source, and all UNC commands are directed to provide such support.3. Any questions regarding your mission are to be directed to the undersigned.FOR THE SUPREME COMMANDER: Charles Willoughby CHARLES WILLOUGHBY.

Major General a.s.sistant Chief of Staff, J-2TOP SECRET McCoy refolded the orders and handed them back to Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg.

"Thank you, sir."

"With regard to paragraph two of those orders," Vandenburg said, "what I require of you is your helicopters. And these premises, which I will use as my headquarters."

McCoy didn't reply.

"Where are those helicopters, Major?"

"With respect, sir, I don't think you have the need to know that."

"You can read, Major, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. I can read."

"You did notice those orders were issued in the name of the Supreme Commander, General MacArthur, and signed by the Supreme Commander's intelligence officer, Major General Willoughby?"

"With respect, sir, we are not a subordinate unit of the United Nations Command. And I'm sure, sir, if you would ask General Willoughby, he would confirm that."

Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg tried to stare McCoy down, and failed.

"Harry," he said. "Take a walk."

The slim, natty lieutenant, surprise on his face, got to his feet and walked out of the room.

When the door had closed, Vandenburg smiled at McCoy and said: "You're not what I expected, Killer. I sort of expected a gorilla in a Marine Corps uniform."

McCoy didn't reply.

"You're not going to deny that you're the legendary Killer McCoy, are you, Major?"

"I've been called that, sir," McCoy said. "I don't like it."

"Relax, Killer," Vandenburg said. "I'm one of the good guys. We even have a mutual friend."

McCoy said nothing.

"You're not curious, Killer, who that might be?"

"Yes, sir, I'm curious."

"Back in War Two, when Charley Willoughby and his boss finally got off the dime and sent an officer in a submarine onto Mindanao to establish contact with Wendell Fertig, what General Fertig told that officer-me-was that Killer McCoy and some other Marines had beat me there by two weeks."

Vandenburg let that sink in, then smiled.

"That shook you up a little, didn't it, Killer?" he asked.

McCoy didn't reply.

"Come on, fess up," Vandenburg said.

"I heard an Army officer went in later," McCoy said. "I wasn't there long."

"Let me tell you why I'm here, Killer," Vandenburg said. "You know what happened to General Dean of the 24th Division?"

"He was captured, early on, in Taejon."

"Well, the Army-the Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army-wants him back. I work for him, despite what those orders say, not Willoughby. My primary mission here is to spring Dean from durance vile. The first thing I have to do is find out where he is, and then I want to mount a mission to spring him. To find out where he is, I have to put agents into North Korea. And to spring him, I need some method of grabbing him by surprise. It occurred to me on the way over here that using those Sikorskys is the best way to do both. When I got to where they were supposed to be, in a hangar at K-14, the base commander- very reluctantly-told me that the CIA had them and had flown them out. He didn't know where to. So I came here to see Major Dunston. You with me so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"There's two ways we can handle this, Killer," Vandenburg said. "We can wage a turf war, which will neither help me get Dean back nor you do whatever it is you're doing. Or we can cooperate. Most of the Army doesn't like people like me any more than most of the Marine Corps likes people like you. We're social pariahs. But between us, I think we could probably do one h.e.l.l of a job, even if there would be d.a.m.ned little appreciation down the road."

McCoy didn't reply.

"I went looking for your boss, General Pickering. He's not at the Imperial Hotel. You want to tell me where he is?"

McCoy hesitated before replying.

"He's in the States. The President sent for him."

"And left you minding the store?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then the decision to cooperate, or not, is really yours to make, isn't it?"

"I don't know how you're defining 'cooperate,' Colonel. I don't want-General Pickering absolutely does not want-anyone around here who's going to report what he sees to General Willoughby."

"I don't like the sonofab.i.t.c.h any more than you do," Vandenburg said.

"You could be expected to say something like that."

"No, I wouldn't," Vandenburg said indignantly, then chuckled. "Yeah, of course I would. But that happens to be the truth."

"I wish I could believe that," McCoy said.

"I wish you could, too. What about it-do we cooperate? "

"I still don't have your definition of the word."

"Very basic. You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours."

"We have plans for the helos," McCoy said. "We're going to use them to insert and extract agents up north. There's a few of us who aren't so sure this war will be over in two weeks. We have to know what's going on."

"I don't think it will be, either," Vandenburg said. "You already have people up north?"

"We're going to make the first insertions tonight, by boat, if we get lucky," McCoy said. "We're also in the first stages of training some fire teams to use the helos. But I can't see any reason-with the understanding I don't lose control of them-why you couldn't have the helos, and for that matter, the fire teams, to make a raid to spring General Dean. Presuming you can find him. We haven't heard anything, and I wouldn't be surprised to finally learn he's in Peking."

"Neither would I," Lieutenant Colonel Vandenburg said. "Okay. It looks like we have a deal. I was wondering where I could get the men for the s.n.a.t.c.h operation and get them trained. Right now, my entire command is me and Harry. Aside from West Point and having had a Chinese nanny who taught him Cantonese, he doesn't have many qualifications for the sort of thing you and I do."

McCoy nodded.

"Your turn, Killer. What can I do for you?"

"You can stop calling me 'Killer,' " McCoy said.

Vandenburg laughed.

"I wondered when you were going to get around to that. Fertig told me you hate it. That's all?"

"You know what a Beaver is?"

"The airplane?"

McCoy nodded. "I need one. I would also like to have an L-19."

"There's a couple in Pusan. You have somebody who knows how to fly one?"

"I think so. Half a dozen pilots came with the helicopters. One of them should be able to fly a Beaver."

"I'll see what I can do," Vandenburg said. "I only promise what I know I can deliver. Chances are I can can get you a Beaver and an L-19. I'll give it my best shot. Okay?" get you a Beaver and an L-19. I'll give it my best shot. Okay?"

"Thank you," McCoy said.

"Does this also mean Harry and I can stay in this palace of yours?"

"Like you said, Colonel. We're social pariahs. We have to stick together."

VIII.

[ONE].

THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE SUITE THE FOSTER LAFAYETTE HOTEL WASHINGTON, D.C. 0905 5 OCTOBER 1950.

Mrs. Patricia Foster Fleming, a tall, shapely, aristocratic-looking woman whose silver hair was simply but elegantly coiffured, was in the living room of the suite when Pickering, Hart, two bellmen, and the on-duty manager entered.

She was at a Louis XV escritoire, talking on the telephone.

She held up a finger as an order to wait.