“Yes, sir. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
The line went dead in Pickering’s ear.
He realized that, having had nothing else to say, General Stillwell had hung up.
[THREE]
Office of the Commanding General
U.S. Military Mission to China
1010 11 April 1943
General Pickering was inside Stillwell’s office door just long enough to notice Colonel Easterbrook’s presence when Stillwell began the conversation by saying, “Pickering, I feel compelled to tell you I am not, at the moment, in a very good mood.”
“Good morning, General,” Pickering said, shifted his eyes to Easterbrook and added, “Colonel,” and then met Stillwell’s eyes again. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Yesterday afternoon, Ernie and I drove Colonel Dempsey and Lieutenant Colonel Newley—now reduced to their permanent grades—to the airfield, where, in compliance with orders from the JCS, they will proceed by air to Calcutta and from Calcutta by sea to the United States for further assignment.”
Pickering said what came to his mind: “That was very gracious of you, sir.”
Stillwell gave him a strange look. “They are both fine officers, Pickering,” he said finally. “Who will now contribute to this war by commanding a WAC basic training battalion, or perhaps serving in public relations.”
This is not the time to tell him I think their relief came just in time to keep them from doing real damage.
“I think I understand how you feel, sir,” Pickering said.
This earned him another cold glance.
“And then, just before we spoke, your Lieutenant Moore delivered a Special Channel Personal to me from General Marshall.” This was delivered as a challenge. “May I infer from the look on your face, General, that you know of General Marshall’s ‘request’?”
“I learned about it thirty seconds before I called you, General. I got a Special Channel Personal from Colonel Donovan which told me such a message would be sent. I knew nothing about it before then.”
He reached into his pocket and handed General Stillwell Donovan’s message.
“Presumably I have the appropriate security clearance to be made privy to a communication from the Director of the OSS marked ‘Eyes Only General Pickering’?”
“General, so far as I am concerned, you have every right to read everything that moves over the Special Channel.”
Stillwell examined him carefully for a moment and then read the Donovan message. “May I show this to Colonel Easterbrook?”
“Please do, sir.”
Stillwell handed the message to Easterbrook, then turned to Pickering. “Okay. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Having established that General Marshall’s ‘request’ was not your idea, you’re now going to ask me for troops and other logistical support for this operation of yours, right?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Sir, are you familiar with the Opplan proposed by Colonel Platt?”
“No.”
“I can have a copy of it here in ten minutes, sir.”
“Tell me about it,” Stillwell said with an impatient wave of his hand.
“The bottom line, sir, is that I don’t agree with it.”
“The chief of staff of the United States Army, as well as your boss, apparently think it’s a better plan than what you’ve come up with.”
“Yes, sir. And I disagree with them.”
“Briefly, what don’t you like about a plan that has General Marshall’s approval?”
“I’ve decided that sending that large a force into the Gobi—not to mention keeping it there, with the supply operation that would require—would call too much attention to the operation, General.”
“You’ve ‘decided,’ against the recommendation of General Marshall and Colonel Donovan?”
“Yes, sir. As I interpret Colonel Donovan’s message, it was a suggestion, not an order.”
“You are officially declining my offer to give you what logistical support I have been directed to provide? And ‘a force of at least two companies of infantry’?”
“Yes, sir. But I may have to come back if my plan fails.”
“And your plan is what? To send a couple of your men into the Gobi in a couple of trucks to see if they can find the people that are supposed to be there? And then supply them by air?”
“Initially by air, sir. It may be possible to get everybody but the essential personnel out, and then supply them from here. The Japanese, so far as we know, have not shown any interest in the people who are already in the desert. I want to make every effort to keep it that way.”
“You’re presuming that. For all you know, the people who were out there may be in a Japanese POW camp. Or dead. Either from Japanese action, or else because the bandits got to them.”
“Yes, sir, that’s true. If Captain McCoy cannot make contact with them by the time his fuel runs out, he will call for the Catalinas to bring the equipment and the meteorologists to wherever he is.”
“I have two questions about that,” Stillwell said. “‘By the time his fuel runs out’?”
“Captain McCoy has an ambulance, a weapon carrier, and two five-hundred-gallon trailers. He plans to accompany a routine Chinese Army resupply convoy into the Gobi, then strike off on his own. He believes, and I concur, that doing so will not attract much attention.”
“Question two. If the resupply by aircraft fails?”
“Then we’ll have to follow the Platt Opplan, sir. By then, the extra equipment and the meteorological team will be here.”
“That suggests your man—just the two of them…”
“He plans to take four Chinese with him, sir.”
“…is not concerned with the bandits?”
“I’m sure he’s very concerned, sir. But he believes he will be able to avoid them, or be able to run away from them, or, in the worst case, be able with six men to make them decide any attack on them would be too costly.”
“I can see why General Marshall and Colonel Donovan don’t like your plan,” Stillwell said.
Colonel Easterbrook grunted in agreement.
“Ernie, what do you think?” Stillwell asked.
“There is no question that sending two companies of infantry into the desert would attract Japanese attention,” Easterbrook said. “And they’re tenacious. They would keep looking until their curiosity was satisfied.”
“What makes you so sure the Chinese will be willing to let your Captain McCoy accompany them?”
“He plans to compensate them for their effort, sir, and he also believes that the patrol officers have probably heard more about the Americans out there than they have reported to their superiors.”
“Why wouldn’t they report what they’ve heard, General?” Colonel Easterbrook asked.
“If they did, they would probably be ordered to investigate further,” Pickering replied.
“And your Captain McCoy plans to ‘compensate’ the Chinese for whatever other information they may have and have neglected to pass upward?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is an implication in what you’ve said that you intend to commence this operation in the immediate future?”
“Yes, sir. McCoy is en route to Yümen right now. The Nationalist troops who go into the Gobi on patrol are stationed there.”
“That’s a thousand miles,” Easterbrook said.
“He plans on making twenty-five miles an hour,” Pickering said. “That’s forty hours on the road. If he can average thirty miles an hour, that’s thirty-three hours.”
“That’s if he gets there at all,” Stillwell said. “There’s Nationalist roadblocks every fifty miles or so. I’ve heard some unpleasant reports from Americans sent into the hinterlands. They are stopped at roadblocks and detained until their bona fides are established. By the time that’s been done, their vehicles and supplies seem
to get stolen by party or parties unknown.”
“I don’t think Captain McCoy will have any trouble getting past roadblocks, sir.”
“Why not?”
“McCoy and Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman both speak fluent Wu, Cantonese, and Mandarin and are wearing the uniforms of Nationalist Chinese officers, sir, and carry very credible-looking identification documents. They’re both old China hands, sir. Fourth Marines.”
“Passing themselves off as White Russians?” Easterbrook asked.
“They have Nansen stateless person passports,” Pickering said.
General Stillwell looked at Colonel Easterbrook for a long moment, but Pickering could detect no reaction on Easterbrook’s face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Ernie?” Stillwell asked.
“I hope so, sir,” Easterbrook said.
Stillwell turned to Pickering. “Whether you like it or not, General, I am going to augment your force with a couple of Chinese,” Stillwell said.
Easterbrook chuckled.
“There is on my staff an interesting Nationalist officer. Educated at the University of Chicago and Yale Law School. Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon. He’s connected with Chiang Kai-shek’s family—I think they’re second cousins, something like that. I’m going to put him and his aide—an enormous Mongolian major—on a plane to Yümen. I think the two of them can make things considerably easier for this Captain McCoy of yours.”
“That’s very good of you, sir.”
“No, Pickering, actually it’s selfish,” Stillwell said. “I’m chief of staff to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek. No one would question my authority to order two companies of Nationalist infantry—and the necessary logistical tail—into the Gobi. But I would have to pay for it—with interest—sooner or later, by having to replace the troops and their supplies. And I have better things to do with my available troops and supplies than taking them from what they’re doing and sending them to Yümen to replace troops and supplies which have disappeared in the Gobi.”
“Nevertheless, thank you, General,” Pickering said. “Sir, would it be possible for me to accompany General…?”
“Sun Chi Lon,” Stillwell furnished. “He lets his friends call him ‘Sunny.’ Sure, if you want to go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ernie, will you see if you can find the General? Ask him to come in here for a minute.”
“Yes, sir,” Colonel Easterbrook said, and. left the room.
Pickering realized that Stillwell was smiling at him. “It just occurred to me, Pickering,” Stillwell said, “and I have been around the Army a long time, that you are the first person I ever met who is cheerfully ignoring a ‘suggestion’ from the chief of staff of the U.S. Army.”
“With respect, sir, ‘cheerfully’ is not the appropriate word.”
“Well, since you’re obviously not a fool, ‘cheerfully’ may not be the appropriate word. You have decided it’s the right thing to do. The word for that is ‘courageous.’”
“How about ‘with great trepidation’?” Pickering said.
“Stop fishing for compliments, General, it’s unbecoming,” Stillwell said. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you, sir.”
Two minutes later, a very small and slight Chinese officer entered Stillwell’s office, trailed by a heavily built, flat-featured man who Pickering guessed had 250 pounds on his six-foot-four-inch frame.
“Sunny,” General Stillwell said, “this is General Pickering. He’s a friend of mine, and he needs your good offices.”
“Anything I can do, of course,” Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon said in accentless English, offering Pickering his hand. “It’s a pleasure, General.”
[FOUR]
Kiangpeh, Chungking, China
1700 11 April 1943
From the moment Stillwell summoned General Sun to his office, it was obvious to Pickering that the small and natty Chinese officer would have to be brought in on all the details of Operation Gobi. Otherwise, he could not bring to bear his good offices on the Chinese authorities in Yümen to solicit their support.
That was almost a classic definition of Need To Know. But for reasons Pickering did not really understand, he was reluctant—unable—to bring himself to discuss Operation Gobi with Sun, either in Sun’s office, where they went after leaving Stillwell, or at lunch in a private room in the General Officers’ Mess.
I want to think about this—maybe talk it over with Banning—before I start telling Sun anything.
During their luncheon, Sun almost conspicuously avoided discussing their forthcoming—just-as-soon-as-an-aircraft-could-be-found-and-the-weather-permitted—trip to Yümen. Pickering suspected that the Chinese general did not want to embarrass him by asking questions Pickering would not want to answer. Sun made it subtly clear, however, that since the request for his good offices had come from General Stillwell, that was all he needed to know. He would do whatever he could for Pickering.
Later Pickering had the feeling that by not telling him what was going on, he had, if not insulted General Sun, then at least hurt his feelings.
If I had come recommended by General Stillwell, prepared to help in any way I could, and the guy I’d been sent to help avoided telling me what he wanted and why, I’d be hurt. Insulted. Pissed.
It was five o’clock before Banning came through the door of the house in Kiangpeh. Pickering immediately told him about General Sun, and the funny feeling he’d had that he should not divulge to him anything about Operation Gobi.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ed!”
“That was a mistake, sir. Probably no lasting harm was done, but it was a mistake. He came recommended by Stillwell. If you didn’t want this guy’s help, you should have told Stillwell.”
“How do I fix the mistake?” Pickering asked once Banning had confirmed what he had already concluded.
“Have George Hart call him and ask him to dinner,” Banning began. “No, better you call him yourself, and tell him that you’ve gathered together all the details of what you were reluctant to discuss earlier, and would he be available to go over them with you at dinner?”
“Where do I take him to dinner?”
“Here. The cook McCoy hired is really first class. I’ll make sure you’re left alone.”
“If he doesn’t tell me to go fuck myself,” Pickering said. “Which I would do under the circumstances. I’ll want you at dinner.”
“I’ve got an even better idea,” Banning said. “You remember the name of his aide? The Mongolian?”
“Major Kee Lew See,” Pickering furnished.
“I’ll call Major Kee, identify myself as your deputy, and ask him to ask his boss to dinner, so that the two of you can discuss what obviously you couldn’t discuss in the headquarters building earlier. And I’ll tell him that you would be honored if he, too, were free.”
“You think that’ll do it, Ed?”
“I really hope so. We really need to stay on the right side of this guy. The last thing we want to do is piss off the Chinese.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” Pickering said, adding a little ruefully, “more than I have already.”
“I’m talking about McCoy,” Banning said.
“I don’t think I follow you,” Pickering confessed.
“When McCoy gets to Yümen—and he may be there already—I don’t think he’s going to walk into Headquarters of the Thirty-second Military District, either as Major MeeKoy of the Nationalist Army or Captain McCoy of the U.S. Marine Corps, ask to see the General, and tell him that he wants to sneak into the Gobi with one of their supply convoys.”
“I’m still a little confused,” Pickering said.
“I know how Ken operates well enough to know what he’s going to do. As inconspicuously as possible—which means in his Chinese uniform—he’s going to nose around Yümen until he finds the Chinese major or lieutenant colonel who actually runs the convoys. Then he�
��ll bribe him to take him along. That was a good idea until this Chinese general, who is a second cousin once removed or something of the Generalissimo, turned up. He flies into Yümen with you, and says he wants to make sure Captain McCoy gets what he wants, and the General there says, ‘Captain who? I have seen no American captain.’ Who authorized this American to put on the uniform of a major in the Nationalist Army? Et cetera, et cetera. This could get out of hand in a hurry.”
“God, I didn’t even think about that.”
“Let’s just hope we can convince General Sun that what McCoy was doing was necessary,” Banning said. “Have you got his telephone number?”
Pickering reached into his pocket and handed Banning the slip of paper with General Sun’s number.
Banning picked up the EE-8 field telephone connected to the USMMCHI switchboard and cranked the generator on its side. He gave the extension he wanted to the operator in English, but the moment there was an answer began to speak Chinese, of which Pickering understood not a word.
What the hell am I doing here? Not being able to speak the language is a minor item on a long list of things that make me wholly unqualified to do what I’m doing.
Banning was smiling a good ninety seconds later when he cranked the phone again and said, “Break it down.”
“Don’t tell me. The General regrets?” Pickering said.
“The General would be delighted to accept the General’s kind offer of dinner at half past seven,” Banning said. “Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe all isn’t lost.”
General Sun arrived at precisely seven-thirty, accompanied by his enormous Mongolian aide-de-camp.
The meeting went well from the beginning.
“General, may I present my deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Banning?”
Sun smiled at him. “Major Kee tells me you speak Wu like a native, Colonel.”
Banning replied in Wu.
“And obviously you do,” General Sun said, still in English.
Kee, grinning broadly, shook Banning’s hand, then handed him a package.
I don’t care what Banning’s doing around here, he’s going to Yümen with me, Pickering thought.
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