Retreat, Hell! Part 59

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got your pad?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go over this together," Captain Young said. "What do we know, Commander Davis?"

"We know the major was shot down, sir."

"Okay. Let's go with that. To get shot down, he had to go up, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Despite severe weather conditions that in other circ.u.mstances would not have permitted flight operations, Major . . . What's his name?"

"Pickering, sir, Major Malcolm S., USMCR," Harrison furnished.

"Hereafter Pickering," Captain Young went on, ". . . 'took off from the USS Badoeng Strait Badoeng Strait to render air support'- make that 'desperately needed air support'-'to U.S. Marine forces then engaged in combat'-make that 'outnumbered U.S. Marine forces' and 'fierce combat' . . ." to render air support'- make that 'desperately needed air support'-'to U.S. Marine forces then engaged in combat'-make that 'outnumbered U.S. Marine forces' and 'fierce combat' . . ."

"Sir, I get the idea," Chief Harrison said. "Why don't you give me the basics and let me fill in the blanks?"

"Okay. He was shot down while doing this."

"Wounded?"

"I don't think so, but he almost certainly suffered painful injuries making the crash landing. . . ."

"Because he crash-landed the airplane away from civilian houses?" Chief Harrison asked.

"Good thought, Harrison!" Captain Young agreed. "And if he got shot down, the plane had to be on fire, right?"

"Got it," Harrison said. "Then what?"

"While he was supporting the troops on the ground, he encountered fierce antiaircraft fire. . . ."

"Which, at great risk, he ignored?"

"Right."

"Then what?"

"He spent the next . . . what?"

"Find out when he was shot down and when he was rescued. That many days. 'Avoiding the determined efforts of the enemy to capture him,' et cetera. . . ."

"Got it, sir."

"We need that now, Harrison."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Length is a criterion here, too. Make sure that the citation fills a sheet of paper, and that the signature block goes on the next page," Captain Young said.

"Signature blocks sometimes get lost, sir, right?"

"I guess they do," Captain Young said.

"Take me thirty or forty minutes, sir."

"Good man, Harrison!"

[THREE].

U.S. NAVAL HOSPITAL U.S. NAVY BASE, SASEBO SASEBO, j.a.pAN 2205 19 OCTOBER 1950.

Security for U.S. Naval Hospital, Sasebo-the guards at the gate and around the perimeter-was provided by a five-man detachment of U.S. Marines who set up and supervised the system, using sailors from the hospital staff-Corpsmen, others-a.s.signed to "Sh.o.r.e Patrol" duty on a roster basis to man the various posts.

Sergeant Victor C. Wandowski, USMC, very rarely spent any time at all at Post Number One, which was the guard shack at the main gate, but tonight was an exception. He had been given a heads-up that a Marine major, named McCoy, was going to arrive at the hospital either sometime tonight or-probably-early tomorrow morning. The major was to be sent immediately to see the medical officer of the day, and the hospital commander, Captain Schermer himself, was to be notified of Major McCoy's arrival, no matter what the hour.

Under these circ.u.mstances, Sergeant Wandowski had decided, it behooved him to be at the main gate around 2200. He knew there was a courier flight arriving at the airfield around 2130, and it seemed likely this Major McCoy would be on it.

When he saw an Air Force jeep approaching just after 2200, Sergeant Wandowski congratulated himself on his foresight. If one of the swabbie p.e.c.k.e.r-checkers f.u.c.ked up meeting this major-which was very likely-it would have been his a.s.s in the crack, not theirs.

"I'll handle this one," he said to the swabbie on duty, and stepped out of the guard shack, crisply raising his hand to stop the jeep.

An Air Force buck sergeant was driving the jeep. If his pa.s.senger was a Marine major, he G.o.dd.a.m.ned sure didn't look like it.

He was coverless, insignia-less, and wearing an Army field jacket.

Whatever it was, it did not rate a salute, and Sergeant Wandowski did not offer one.

"What can I do for you?" he demanded.

"You can tell me where I can find Brigadier General Pickering," McCoy said.

"Never heard of him," Sergeant Wandowski said, both truthfully and as sort of a challenge.

"Trust me, Sergeant," McCoy said. "He's somewhere around here. How about getting on the horn and calling the officer of the guard and asking?"

"I'm the officer of the guard," Wandowski said.

"Then call the officer of the day," McCoy said patiently.

"Can I ask who you are?"

"My name is McCoy," McCoy said.

"You're Major Major McCoy?" McCoy?"

McCoy nodded.

Sergeant Wandowski was unable to accept that.

"Sir, have you got any identification?"

"Get on the horn-and right now, Sergeant," McCoy said icily. "Call the OD and tell him to get word to General Pickering that Major McCoy is at the gate."

There was something about Major McCoy's tone of voice that made Sergeant Wandowski decide that he really didn't have to check the major's ID card.

He picked up the telephone, and had the operator connect him with the commanding officer's quarters.

"Hold the major there, Sergeant," Captain Schermer ordered. "Someone will be there shortly."

Captain Schermer's Navy-gray 1950 Ford station wagon rolled up to the main gate several minutes later. A Marine captain, who looked like a circus strong man, jumped out of the front pa.s.senger seat and walked quickly to where Sergeant Wandowski was standing by the Air Force jeep. Sergeant Wandowski saluted.

The Marine captain returned the salute.

"Good evening, sir," he said.

Major McCoy, shaking his head, returned the salute.

"The general's compliments, sir," the Marine captain went on. "The general hopes that you had a pleasant flight, sir, and asks that you join him in his car."

Sergeant Wandowski took a closer look at the Ford station wagon. There was a man in the backseat from whose collar points and epaulets gleamed the silver stars of a brigadier general. Sergeant Wandowski popped to attention and saluted. The general returned the salute.

"Thank you, Captain," McCoy said. "I would be delighted to do so." He got out of the Air Force jeep, said, "Thanks for the ride, Sergeant," to the driver, and walked toward the Ford. The captain ran ahead of him, pulled the rear door of the station wagon open, and stood to attention as Major McCoy got in the back beside the brigadier general. Then he ran around the front and got in beside the driver.

As the station wagon drove away, Sergeant Wandowski saluted again. The captain returned his salute.

"What the h.e.l.l was that all about?" Brigadier General Pickering asked.

"Considering the circ.u.mstances," Captain George F. Hart said, "I thought a little levity was in order."

"What circ.u.mstances, George?" McCoy asked.

"Where should I start?" Hart said. "For openers, Banning showed up with a hair up his a.s.s, and the boss had to pull it out of him that Milla's in the hospital in Charleston with breast cancer."

"Jesus Christ!"

"You could have phrased that with a bit more tact, and substantially more respect for a senior officer," Pickering said. "But let's start with you, Ken. How are you?"

"Fine, sir."

"Then you weren't wounded very early this morning?"

"How'd you hear about that?" McCoy asked, genuinely surprised. "I took a little shrapnel hit, nothing serious."

"We shall shortly find out how accurate a statement that is," Pickering said.

"Sir?"

Pickering pointed out the windshield. McCoy looked and saw they were approaching a three-story building. An illuminated arrow pointed to the emergency entrance.

"General, I just had this thing bandaged. . . ."

"And now the hospital commander himself is going to have a look at it," Pickering said.

Two hospital Corpsmen, a nurse, and a gurney were waiting outside the emergency room door.

"I don't need that," McCoy protested.

"I had to talk him out of sending an ambulance to the airport," Hart said.

One hospital Corpsman and the nurse came quickly to the station wagon. The second Corpsman pushed the gurney up to it.

McCoy winced when he got out of the station wagon. Pickering saw it.

"I don't need that," McCoy said. "Thanks anyway."

"Get on the gurney, Ken," Pickering said. "That's not a friendly suggestion. The response I expect is 'Aye, aye, sir.' "

"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy said.

He winced again as the Corpsmen helped him onto the stretcher.

"Where'd you get it, Ken?" Hart asked.

"Left leg, four inches from the family jewels," McCoy said, and then remembered the nurse, and added, "Sorry."

The nurse ignored the apology.

"Where were you first treated, Major?" she asked. "Forward aid station?"

"In the sick bay of the Mount McKinley, Mount McKinley," McCoy answered, then made the connection. "Oh. What did General Almond do? Send a message?"

"He suspected-correctly, obviously-that you might not mention what had happened to you," Pickering said.

Captain F. Howard Schermer, MC, USN, looked up from his examination of McCoy's now-unbandaged upper thigh.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," he said, then stepped away from the table and made a gesture to the nurse to apply fresh bandages.

"I presume you've been given some penicillin, Major?"

McCoy reached into the pocket of Al Haig's Army OD shirt, took out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to the doctor.

"The doctor gave me this as I was walking out of sick bay, sir," he said.

"Walking or limping, Major?" Captain Schermer asked. He read the note. "Well, you're full of penicillin. Did he give you anything for the pain?"