Retreat, Hell! Part 29

"And they won't stay up long," Zimmerman said, reading McCoy's mind, "if you get close to them with the rotors rotors turning." turning."

"Collect some men and push them over and get them out of sight," McCoy ordered.

Zimmerman nodded.

Dunston walked away from them, toward the ma.s.s grave.

"You want some breakfast, Killer?" Zimmerman asked innocently. "Couple of fresh eggs, maybe? The Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune brought some. And a couple of fresh suckling pigs, too, come to thing of it." brought some. And a couple of fresh suckling pigs, too, come to thing of it."

McCoy glowered at him.

"You want me to throw up, too, right?" he said, pointing toward the helicopter pilot, who was now sitting, pale-faced, on the ground, trying to regain control of himself.

Zimmerman smiled at him.

McCoy, Dunston, Zimmerman, Dunwood, and Donald were sitting on the stone wharf, where the smell didn't seem as bad. There was a breeze from the sea, and the smoke of the fires built over where the dead had been left to rot had sort of diluted the smell of the bodies.

"Then we're agreed?" Dunston asked.

McCoy looked at him and made a little come on come on gesture with his hand. gesture with his hand.

Dunston began to lay out the plan of action. "The priority is to get some agents up north as quickly as possible, the more the better, but for right now, three teams is all that seems feasible.

"We call the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune back, to dock here an hour after dark. She picks up the agents and goes north. Using just one of the rubber boats-keeping the other in reserve; the back, to dock here an hour after dark. She picks up the agents and goes north. Using just one of the rubber boats-keeping the other in reserve; the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune can bring more boats on her next trip-she puts them ash.o.r.e and then heads for Pusan. She has enough fuel aboard to run the diesel, b.a.l.l.s to the wall, all night. can bring more boats on her next trip-she puts them ash.o.r.e and then heads for Pusan. She has enough fuel aboard to run the diesel, b.a.l.l.s to the wall, all night.

"Unless they come across something really interesting, the agents will not get on the radio for twenty-four hours, or forty-eight. If they get in trouble, they will yell for help. If they do-Donald makes the decision whether or not the risk is manageable-we'll send one of the helicopters after them and see what happens.

"Presuming they don't get in trouble: Donald, Dunwood, and Zimmerman will start preparing to use the choppers as flying trucks to take a squad of men wherever they have to go. As I understand you, Alex, most of that training will be pretty basic.

"First, Zimmerman decides how they'll be armed and equipped. Then we'll find out how many men we can load on a chopper. Then we practice their getting out of the chopper in a hurry. None of this will require flying the choppers. When they get pretty good at that, we'll start making dry runs, first just taking off and landing here, and finally, flying inland a little to practice insertion and withdrawal on the kind of terrain they'll find up north.

"By the time we do all this, maybe the war will be over. If not, the Wind of Good Fortune Wind of Good Fortune will be back here, and we'll decide what to do next." He paused. "That's about it." will be back here, and we'll decide what to do next." He paused. "That's about it."

"Ernie?" McCoy asked.

"Sounds fine to me," Zimmerman said.

"Donald?"

"What about me going back with you, McCoy? We talked about that. To see about getting a fixed-wing airplane? I'd rather stay here, but . . ."

"Let's see what Dunston and I can do, begging on our knees," McCoy said.

Donald nodded.

"Dunwood?" McCoy asked.

"I don't have any problems with any of this," Dunwood said.

"Okay. That's it," McCoy said, and then added: "I don't think Bill Dunston and I should go back to Seoul together. I think we should go separately-say, an hour apart, in two jeeps. Dunwood, can you let each of us have, say, six Marines? With a couple of BARs?"

"No problem," Dunwood said.

"You go first, McCoy," Dunston said. "I'll want to explain all this to the Koreans, and I'd like to see what I can do about identifying my people the NKs found here."

"The sooner I get out of here, the better," McCoy said, scrambling to his feet. "Ernie, I don't care if you have to keep those fires burning all week."

"That thought ran through my mind, Major, sir," Zimmerman said.

[SIX].

HEADQUARTERS, CAPITAL ROK DIVISION NEAR SAMCHOK, SOUTH KOREA 0830 4 OCTOBER 1950.

McCoy's two-jeep convoy was stopped by two diminutive South Korean soldiers who stepped out of the ditches alongside National Route 5, about twenty miles south of Socho-Ri, with their rifles at their shoulders and aimed at McCoy, who was driving the lead jeep.

They wore the shoulder patches of the Capital ROK Division safety-pinned to the shoulders of their too-large U.S. Army fatigues, and looked, on one hand, slightly ludicrous in their outsized uniforms, not looking as if they were large enough to effectively wield the M-1 Garands with which they were armed. But on the other hand, they looked tough and mean.

They were visibly surprised to see two jeeps carrying Americans coming toward them from what, so far as they knew, was territory still controlled by the North Koreans.

And even more surprised when McCoy snapped at them, in Korean, "Don't soldiers of the Capital ROK Division salute American officers?"

The rifles were lowered, and almost ludicrous salutes rendered, which McCoy returned with a salute worthy of the parade ground at Camp Lejeune.

The ROK soldiers told him that Capital ROK Division headquarters straddled the highway a mile farther south.

"Get back in your positions," McCoy ordered, and put the jeep in gear.

There were two L-4s parked, one on each side of National Route 5. The ROKs were apparently using the narrow road for an airstrip.

The L-4, essentially a Piper Cub, was the two-pa.s.senger, high-wing, low-and-slow observation and liaison aircraft that preceded the Cessna L-19.

McCoy thought the ROKs were like the Marines, being issued only equipment the Army thought it no longer needed.

There was a small tent city on both sides of the road, too, U.S. Army squad tents that had apparently been erected in the belief they would soon have to be struck and moved someplace else.

In front of two tents a.s.sembled end-to-end he spotted three flags: the Korean national colors; the blue flag of the United Nations; and a red flag with two stars on it. Two soldiers standing with the b.u.t.ts of their Garands resting between their feet were guarding the tents, several jeeps parked in front of them, one highly polished with half-doors and a rack of radios in the back.

He drove up to it, the second jeep following.

The guards raised their rifles.

"Stand at ease," McCoy barked in Korean. The guards a.s.sumed a position not unlike Parade Rest, and saluted by crossing their right hands to the muzzles of the Garands.

McCoy got out of the jeep and walked into the tent.

It was full of officers and soldiers, radios, telephone switchboards, and desks.

A Korean colonel wearing impeccably fitting and perfectly starched and pressed fatigues, polished boots, with a .45 in a tanker's shoulder holster, turned from the map board when McCoy pushed the flap aside and light entered the tent.

McCoy saluted.

"Good morning, Colonel," he said in Korean. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Everybody in the tent was now looking at him.

The colonel returned McCoy's salute crisply.

"Good morning," he said in faultless English. "I'm Colonel Pak. I'm surprised, Major, to see a Marine officer this far east."

"May I have a moment of the colonel's time?" McCoy said, continuing in Korean.

"And, if you don't mind my saying so, one who speaks Korean so well," the colonel replied in English. "How may I be of service to the Marines?"

McCoy decided the colonel was an officer who had most likely learned his English while an officer in the j.a.panese Army, and had then been one of the rare ex-j.a.panese officers selected to start up the South Korean Army, and as a result of that had been sent to one or more U.S. Army schools in the States. His English was American accented.

"May I come to the map board, sir?"

Colonel Pak gestured that he could.

McCoy went to the map, found Socho-Ri, and pointed to it.

"Sir, I have established a small camp here," he said.

"That far north?" Pak asked rhetorically. "How long have you been there?"

"The first element arrived two days ago, sir."

"Why do I suspect you are not the lead elements of the First Marine Division?"

"We are not, sir," McCoy said.

Colonel Pak grunted.

"What can I do for you, Major?"

"Two things, sir. I hoped you could get word to your people before they move in that direction that my people are there."

Pak nodded, then picked up a grease pencil and made a check mark on the acetate covering the map.

"And the second?"

"Colonel, it is important that I get to Seoul as quickly as possible," McCoy said.

"And you would like a ride in one of our L-4s?"

"If they are not required for a more important mission, yes, sir."

"At the moment, the CG is at I ROK Corps seeking permission to move north," the general said. "Until we get that permission, they are not very busy. Observation has not revealed any enemy forces within thirty miles of here. Have you seen any indications of the enemy?"

"No, sir. I suspect-but do not know for sure-that they are no closer than twenty miles north of Socho-Ri."

Colonel Pak grunted.

"As I said, our aircraft are not being utilized at the moment, Major. But the problem I have is that I cannot afford to lose either of them-either to enemy action or, bluntly, to one of my fellow senior ROK officers who might commandeer it at the Race Track in Seoul. Having one's own aircraft, I'm afraid, has become the ROK equivalent of the German field marshal's baton. My general is known for his temper; I don't want to have to tell him, when he flies back in here in the third of our aircraft, that I loaned one of the others to a Marine who didn't give it back."

McCoy smiled.

"Colonel, if you would have me dropped at the Race Track, your pilot would not even have to shut the engine down, and anyone trying to commandeer your airplane would have to go through me."

Colonel Pak grunted, then replied: "At Quantico, Major, one of the lessons I learned-in addition to how to drink martinis-was that a Marine officer's word is his bond."

"We try to keep it that way, sir," McCoy said, and then curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask what you were doing at Quantico, sir?"

"The idea was that South Korea was to have Marines," the colonel said. "But that, obviously, is going to have to be put off for the moment." He smiled at McCoy. "May I offer you a cup of tea before you take off, Major?"

"That's kind, but unnecessary, sir."

"It would be my pleasure, I insist," Colonel Pak said. "And, if you don't mind, I'd like to have your-unofficial, of course-thoughts on the possibility that the Chinese will enter this conflict."

"Frankly, sir, I was wondering if I could ask you the same thing," McCoy said.

Twenty minutes later, one of the Capital ROK Division's two aircraft bounced down National Route 5 and lifted off, very slowly, into the air.

It took an hour and forty minutes against a headwind to reach the Race Track in Seoul.

McCoy spent the entire time looking down at the ground for a stamped-out arrow or any other sign of Pick Pickering. He found none.

But there was time to think, of course, and he thought that perhaps if he couldn't get anybody to let him have an L-19-not to mention the other airplane Donald had said would be really useful, the Beaver-he might be able to get his hands on an L-4.

And he wondered what Dunston's agents were going to find up north. Both he and Colonel Pak-whom he now thought of as "the Quantico ROK colonel"-were uncomfortable with the idea that the war was just about over, and that the Chinese and the Russians were just going to stand idly by and watch while their surrogate army was annihilated by the Americans and their surrogate forces.

And the Quantico ROK colonel was right about the hunger of senior ROK officers for their own airplanes, too. No sooner had the L-4 landed at the Race Track and taxied to a fuel truck than an ROK colonel appeared and told the L-4 pilot that he had an important mission and would require the use of the L-4.

"You'll have to look elsewhere, Colonel, I'm afraid," McCoy said. "This aircraft has been a.s.signed to me."

McCoy showed him his CIA credentials. He thought the colonel backed off more because of McCoy's fluent Korean than because of the credentials. Since the Korean didn't try to argue with him in English, there was a good chance he had no idea what the CIA credentials were, or what they said.

He stayed with the L-4 until it taxied off to the strip for takeoff.

And then, when he tried-and failed-to get a jeep from the officer in charge of the airstrip to take him to the house, he had to make his own irregular requisition.

He walked to a street not far from the Race Track, waited until the first Marine vehicle-a weapons carrier- came down it, flagged it down, and told the corporal driving that he needed a ride.

"Sir, I can't-"

"All I want to hear from you, Corporal, is 'Aye, aye, sir.' "

"Aye, aye, sir."