“OK, OK,” General Black said. “You win.”
“Your Supreme Commander may not always be right, but he’s always your Supreme Commander,” the UN Commander said. He looked at his watch. “Time, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant General E. Z. Black said. The intimate conversation between friends was over. It was the responsibility of the XIX Corps (Group) commander to insure that the schedule of the visiting United Nations Commander was followed. He didn’t even finish the inch of 24-year-old scotch in his glass.
“Finley!” he called, and in a moment a full bird colonel wearing the insignia of an aide-de-camp to a three-star general stuck his head into the Jade Room.
“Anytime, General,” Colonel Finley said.
The two general officers put on their headgear—a helmet with a taut sandbag cover in the case of the XIX Corps commander, a stiffly starched fatigue cap for the UN Commander—checked to see that their buttons were buttoned and that the gold buckles of their special general officer’s leather pistol belts were properly centered on the bellies, then walked out of the Jade Room.
A platoon from each battalion of the units assigned to XIX Corps (Group) were lined up on one side of the small parade ground between the rows of prefabricated tropical buildings. Each platoon had the national colors, and there was a sea of divisional and regimental flags and company guidons. Before the assembled troops was a three-cannon battery of 105 mm howitzers.
The moment the two general officers appeared before the headquarters’s quonset huts, the band began to play. First “ruffles and flourishes” and then “The Star Spangled Banner.” When that was over, the cannons fired, fifteen rounds, the prescribed tribute to a four-star general officer.
Then both general officers climbed into a glistening jeep, which bore a four-star plate on both bumpers. Steel railings permitted both of them to stand up. The jeep started off, followed by a half dozen other jeeps containing lesser officers. As they reached the assembled troops, an order was shouted, and all the flags except for the national emblem dipped in respect. Both general officers saluted, holding the salute as the jeeps slowly passed before the troops and dipped colors.
At the end of the line, they completed their salute, and then sat down and drove across the oiled dirt road to the XIX Corps (Group) airstrip where an Air Force C-47 sat waiting.
The aircraft had already been loaded with the baggage of the visiting party. All that remained now was for them to board the plane. The last to board was the UN Commander. He returned the salute of the XIX Corps commander, made a final personal remark (“Marge’ll want to have you and Marilyn to dinner, of course”), and then got on the airplane. The door closed, and the engine starters began to whine.
The XIX Corps commander’s jeep driver looked at General Black for instructions.
“We’ll wait until they get off the ground,” the XIX Corps commander said, as he lowered himself into the front seat.
The C-47 got its engines going and taxied down to the far end of the runway.
The XIX Corps commander suddenly had a crisp and clear image of his wife. He could almost smell her, could almost feel the softness of her breasts against him, see her still shapely legs flashing under her skirt, see her (it still excited him, after all these years) rubbing her breasts when she took off her brassiere.
The C-47’s engines roared, and it came racing down the runway toward them.
It had been General E. Z. Black’s intention to stand in the jeep and render a final hand salute as the C-47 passed over them. That was now quite impossible. If the XIX Corps commander stood up, it would be immedately obvious to the two dozen or more senior officers and enlisted men standing near him that their commander had a hard-on.
Sitting down, the XIX Corps commander waved an informal farewell to the United Nations Commander.
(Two)
Tokyo, Japan
24 August 1951
The 1941 Cadillac limousine (which had been MacArthur’s) picked up Lieutenant General E. Z. Black at the Imperial Hotel a few minutes after the UN Commander’s personal car, a Buick, had picked up Mrs. Black to deliver her to the UN Commander’s quarters for cocktails with the headquarters ladies.
It drove him to the Dai Ichi Building, where an MP who must have been six feet six opened the door for him. A bird colonel, one of the UNC’s aides, saluted and smiled and escorted him into the building, through the lobby, and into an elevator.
They rode to the third floor, and then walked down a corridor to a conference room. There were chairs at the enormous table for thirty people, but there were only a handful in the room. Someone called “attention” when E. Z. Black walked in the room, which told him that the UNC wasn’t here yet.
“Rest,” E. Z. Black said. He identified, as well as he could, the people in the room. The only two he recognized were the UNC’s G-2 and a colonel, whose name for the life of him he could not recall, but whom he recognized as a spook, an army officer on sort of permanent TDY to the CIA.
Then he remembered the name: Hanrahan. He had met Hanrahan at a party at Jim Van Fleet’s quarters in Washington. He had been introduced as a civilian, but Van Fleet had quietly informed Black that Hanrahan had been one of his people in Greece and was one of the officers the army had sent over to the CIA. A good man, Van Fleet had told him. For Jim Van Fleet, that was a compliment of the highest order.
Black walked over to him.
“Hello, Red,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
“I’m flattered the general remembers me,” Hanrahan said.
“I see you’ve reenlisted,” Black said. He wanted Hanrahan to know that he knew.
There was also a captain, a little Jew, who wore a CIB and parachutist’s wings and the crossed rifles of infantry.
“Why don’t you sit down, General?” the aide-de-camp said. “I’m sure the general will be along in a moment.”
An interior door opened, and the UN Commander walked in. Everyone came to attention without formal order.
“Sit down, gentlemen,” the UNC said, and took a seat at the head of the table. “Howard, get us some coffee, and then secure the place,” he ordered.
A master sergeant, who had apparently been waiting outside, rolled in a tray with a silver coffee service, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Do we all know each other? Hanrahan, have you met General Black?”
“I know Colonel Hanrahan, General,” Black said.
“And do you know Captain Feldman?” the UN Commander asked.
“It’s Felter, sir,” the captain said. “How do you do, General?”
Captain Felter was wearing a ring. General Black took a good look at it when Felter crossed the room to shake his hand. I’ll be goddamned, he’s a ring-knocker, E. Z. Black thought. Will wonders never cease?
“Before I turn this over to Colonel Hanrahan,” the UN Commander said, “I want to officially announce this meeting is classifed Top Secret/Mulberry. Everyone present is so cleared.”
What the hell is “Mulberry”? General Black wondered.
Hanrahan got to his feet. “To get right to the heart of the matter, General Black, I’m afraid we’re going to take one of your assets away from you.”
“What asset is that?”
“The 8045th Signal Detachment,” Hanrahan said.
General Black had to think a moment before he could identify the 8045th Signal Detachment. His troop list, the list of units assigned to XIX Corps (group), filled three single-spaced typewritten pages, everything from the “40 US Inf Division” through the 8807th Ordnance Ammo Bn” to the “8656th Signal Pigeon Platoon.” He was finally able to sort out the 8045th Signal Detachment as the outfit where he had cached Mac MacMillan. They were the people over on the East Coast at Socho-Ri, the radio relay outfit also charged with supporting a South Korean intelligence operation of some sort.
After he had been over there about a month, flying an L-20 “Beaver” back and forth between the Jade
CP and the East Coast, MacMillan had asked that he be assigned to them rather than to headquarters. They needed an old soldier assigned to them, Mac had said, one who knew how to deal (the General had read “scrounge”) with Eighth Army and Korean Communications Zone (KCZ) supply depots on their behalf. They were doing a hell of a lot, MacMillan had said, with very little; and with adequate supplies, they could really earn their pay.
He had given in. There had been repercussions to his “Captain MacMillan has been assigned essential noncombatant duties” TWX, and it would be better if he were able to honestly say that MacMillan was assigned to some unimportant rear area Signal Corps unit, rather than to XIX Corps (Group) Headquarters.
He had smiled on learning from the XIX Corps (Group) aviation officer that the first thing MacMillan had scrounged on behalf of the 8045th Signal Detachment was an H23 helicopter to go with the Beaver.
“Otherwise known as ‘MacMillan’s Floating Circus,’” Colonel Hanrahan said.
“You know Mac, don’t you, Colonel?” General Black said, smiling. “I didn’t have the heart to send him home. So I sent him over there.”
“I found it very interesting, General Black,” the UNC said, dryly, “that I knew virtually nothing about the little operation of yours until Colonel Hanrahan brought it to my attention.”
“It was hardly worth bringing to the general’s attention,” General Black said. “A couple of officers, a handful of men, who when they were not otherwise occupied with a radio relay mission, were helping, I guess, now that I see him here, Colonel Hanrahan.”
“‘Helping Hanrahan,’ as you put it, E. Z.,” the UNC said, “is not all they’ve been up to.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir,” Black confessed.
“You mean you don’t know about the blowing up of railroad tunnels, the knocking down of bridges?”
“No, sir,” Black said. Goddamn that MacMillan! He should have known that MacMillan’s silence was proof that he had not quietly accepted an assignment that put him on ice.
“What about the PT boat, E. Z.?” the UNC asked, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. “Did you know about that?”
“I knew he got a boat from the navy,” Black said, somewhat lamely. Before he had asked for a transfer, MacMillan had asked for permission to scrounge a boat from the navy, to “make it easier to get around.”
Hanrahan was smiling broadly.
“I didn’t know it was a PT boat,” General Black went on. “I thought maybe an LCI, or an admiral’s barge, or something.”
“But you did know about Task Force Able, didn’t you, E. Z.?” the UNC asked.
“Yes, sir. That was explained to me as a logistic convenience. If the Signal Detachment and the Koreans were under a joint command, they’d have an easier time getting logistic support.”
“Persuasive chap, this Major MacMillan, isn’t he?” the UNC said, dryly.
“I didn’t hear about that, either,” General Black confessed. “The last I heard he was Captain MacMillan.”
“That just came through, General,” Hanrahan said. “Mac doesn’t know about that yet, either.”
“I plead guilty and throw myself on the mercy of the court,” General Black said. He sensed that he was in over his head here, and wondered what the hell it was all about; what MacMillan had done to get all this attention.
“General,” Black said, deciding to get it all out in the open, “I have probably indulged MacMillan more than I should have.”
“Indeed?” the UNC said, with a strange smile.
“Yes, sir. Hell, what he is is an old-time regular army sergeant. He’s a good officer, but I suspect that he would really be happier to be first sergeant at Scofield Barracks. Sending him home to be a hero on display at the White House would kill him. What the hell, he was in a kraut prisoner cage with Porky Waterford’s son-in-law. He won the Medal going in, that and a commission, and he won the DSC breaking out. He got another Silver Star, his third, the day this war started. If I’ve given him special consideration, I plead guilty. But I’d probably do it again for him tomorrow. What I don’t understand is how this got all the way back to you.”
“What about the Chinese junks, E. Z?” the UNC asked. “Do you know about those, too?”
“I know about one of them,” Black said. “Until just now, I thought it was a supply vessel for the Koreans.”
“He has two, Colonel Hanrahan informs me,” the UN Commander said. “And has a third under construction. He has paid for them with gasoline. Do you have any idea where MacMillan could lay his hands on enough gasoline to buy three oceangoing, very fast, multiple-engined, diesel-powered junks?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
“I am really impressed, General,” the UNC said, “with this demonstration of your firm hand on the logistics pipeline.”
“As General Black is aware,” Colonel Hanrahan said, “the Koreans are running an intelligence operation out of Socho-Ri. The point is, that the intelligence operation is really a diversion for another intelligence operation.”
“I don’t understand that at all,” General Black said.
“Under cover of infiltrating low-level operatives, General, we have been inserting, and withdrawing, more important people.”
“I still don’t understand,” Black admitted.
Hanrahan thought it over before replying.
“I don’t think there is any harm in telling you that we’re dealing with the Chinese, via their forces in North Korea,” Hanrahan said. “I really can’t go any further than that, General.”
“OK,” Black said. “I get the picture.”
“So MacMillan was one of those things that sometimes happens,” Hanrahan said. “When I found him over there, the first thing I thought was to get him out of there as quick as I could. I’ve known Mac a long time, General. I knew there was no way he was going to sit there and fly rations back and forth for long.”
“No, that’s not exactly his style, is it?” General Black said.
“And then it occurred to me to let him run a little wild,” Hanrahan said. “The more trouble he caused, the more activity there was, the greater chance that our people could be concealed in the general confusion. You follow me, sir?”
“Yes,” General Black and the UNC said together. Black was not sure to whom Hanrahan had addressed his remark.
“So I’m responsible for a good deal of MacMillan’s success,” Hanrahan said. “I got him the PT boat, for example.”
“I see,” the UNC said.
“What has happened now,” Hanrahan said, “is that things are getting a little out of hand.” He was obviously choosing each word with care. “At a time when our operation is in a critical place.” He paused, and then went on: “We sent a submarine offshore to pick up one of our agents. They sent a team in rubber boats. They had just about reached shore when MacMillan blew up a railroad tunnel about a hundred yards away.”
“And your people got hurt?” General Black asked.
“No, they weren’t hurt,” Colonel Hanrahan said. “The agent we were picking up had enough sense to go back in the bushes when the tunnel went up. And there was, of course, an alternative pickup plan. But when the sub went back, they weren’t sure if they were going to have to fight off the North Koreans or what the sub commander referred to as ‘pirates.’”
“OK,” General Black said, “I get the picture. Colonel, you can take my word for it that as soon as I can get to a radio, MacMillan’s private army will be disbanded, and Captain…Major…MacMillan will be on the next plane to the States.”
“That isn’t what we have in mind, General,” Colonel Hanrahan said.
“Oh?”
“There has been a good deal of resistance from State, the State Department, about our using submarines. World opinion is apparently against submarines. They seem to be afraid that the other side can stage a sinking which would make us look bad.”
“Go on,” General Black said.
“After the incide
nt where the submarine extraction party arrived precisely at the moment MacMillan was blowing up a tunnel, State managed to convince the…State has been successful in having us forbidden the use of submarines in any further operations of this nature.”
“I see,” General Black said.
“Which leaves us with MacMillan, and his junks, as our only asset,” Colonel Hanrahan said.
“So you’re going to take over MacMillan, and his junks, and presumably whatever else you need?” the UNC asked.
“We’re going to take over direction of the MacMillan operation, General,” Colonel Hanrahan said. “The operation will continue, much as it has, but under our supervision. He will go on doing very much what he has been doing, with this major change in priority. Inserting and withdrawing our people takes priority. It’s as simple as that.”
“I understand,” General Black said.
“Now that I’ve been faced with the fact that submarines are no longer available to us,” Hanrahan said, “I think maybe State is right. MacMillan can, for example, go in with twenty people, and come out with nineteen, leaving an agent on the shore—or pick one man up at the same time he’s blowing a bridge—with a much lesser risk of being discovered, or even suspected, than if we use a sub. The Chinese are clever. They know you don’t use subs unless what you’re doing is very, very important.”
“You think MacMillan is capable of handling this for you?” General Black asked.
“That’s where Captain Felter comes in,” Hanrahan said.
General Black had been wondering about the role of the little Jew with the West Point ring.
“We’ve got a radio crew coming in from the States with some really fancy radioteletype cryptographic equipment,” Hanrahan went on. “We’ll have a direct link between Washington and Captain Felter, and Felter can give the word to MacMillan.”
“I have a rude question to ask,” General Black said. “And there’s nothing personal in this, Captain, believe me. But if this operation is as important as you tell me it is, isn’t Captain Felter a little junior for all that responsibility?”
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