Again, the colonel paused to give McCoy time to absorb what he had told him.
"And there will, of course, be another attack. If not this afternoon, then during the night, or at the very latest, very early in the morning. The only question is where." He paused. "That, Captain, is `what's going on.' I really hope you can find communications somewhere and get through to the Dai Ichi Building. Somehow, I suspect that they don't know what's going on.'"
"Colonel, your prisoners are from the 83rd Motorcycle Regiment. It's one of their best-sort of an elite regimental combat team-normally attached to their 6th Division. Maybe if I-"
"If you know that, Captain, I have to presume that's common knowledge around the Dai Ichi Building. I won-der why they didn't think we would be interested to know that."
"I'm not sure how common that information is around SCAP, sir."
"So you-whatever organization you work for-had that information, but didn't pass it on?"
There was a perceptible pause before McCoy replied.
"Colonel, I'm only a captain. I gather intelligence, not disseminate it. I can't answer your question."
"You were saying, about the prisoners?"
"Maybe I can learn something from them, sir, about their intentions. Because it's highly mobile, I suspect that its officers have to be told more about the overall picture than officers are in standard units."
"That would be helpful," the colonel said. "Providing you do it quickly. I want you-especially the woman-out of here as soon as possible. I'm going to have enough on my platter without having to worry about her. Or you."
"Sir, with respect. I have no authority over Miss Priestly. Even if I returned her Jeep to her, there's no way I can make her leave, go back to Eighth Army. And I need that Jeep."
"And if I order you to get in your Jeep and, taking Miss Priestly with you, to get the hell out of here?"
"Sir, with respect, I'm not subject to your orders."
The colonel looked at him intently for a long moment.
"You intend to stay, then?"
"Yes, sir, for the time being. I really would like to talk to some more prisoners."
"It's occurred to you, I presume, that if you stay, you're likely to become a prisoner yourself?"
"Yes, sir, it has."
After a moment, the colonel nodded.
"Okay. I gave it my best shot. Will you need me, or any of my men, to deal with the prisoners?"
"No, thank you, sir."
[THREE]
"The corporal speaks Cantonese," Zimmerman reported outside the room where the prisoners had been held. "He was willing to talk, but he didn't know much. But you're right, they are from the 83rd Motorcycle Regiment, and the little guy is an officer."
"Who speaks English?"
"And Russian."
"That's interesting," McCoy said. "What's his rank?"
Zimmerman nodded, in agreement with "interesting," and then shrugged.
"The corporal didn't know. He said when he got drafted to do a little reconnaissance-there were originally five of them, two of them got killed when they ran into one of our patrols, where they got caught-the little guy was already wearing the private's jacket. But one of the others, one who got blown away, called him `sir,' and he was obviously in charge."
"What else did the corporal have to say?"
"He said that after they took Seoul, the regiment was taken out of action, and sent down the peninsula right be-hind the units on the line. Now they're getting ready to go back into action. Soon."
"No specifics?"
"No, but it can't be far off, Ken. It looks to me as if this guy, the officer, is an intel officer. Maybe not even from the 83rd. He wanted a closeup of where they were going, and got himself bagged."
"Did the 6th Division come up?"
"They're here. The corporal didn't know if the 83rd was attached to them or not."
"How's your Russian these days, Ernie?"
"Not bad. Milla Banning and Mae-Su decided the kids should know how to speak it, and then Banning got in the act. We have Russian suppers, talk only Russian. I'm all right with it."
"Let's go talk to the officer," McCoy said. "Where's the corporal?"
"I had him put in another room, to get him away from the officer."
"You go in there, tell the guard to put the sergeant with the corporal, make a show of chambering your Thompson, and in a couple of minutes, I'll come in. You pop to when I do."
"Got it," Zimmerman said.
"Where's Priestly?"
Zimmerman pointed out the door, to where Jeanette Priestly was talking to several GIs, who were beaming at her.
McCoy nodded and motioned for Zimmerman to enter the room where the prisoners were being held. A minute later, the American sergeant came out, holding his carbine in one hand, and with his other on the North Korean sergeant's shoulder.
McCoy looked at his watch, then helped himself to a cup of coffee from an electric pot next to one of the radios- and thus a source of 110 volts AC-and exactly five min-utes later, put the mess kit coffee cup down and walked into the room where the North Korean officer was being held.
Zimmerman, who had been sitting on a folding chair, popped to rigid attention. McCoy made an impatient ges-ture with his hand, and Zimmerman relaxed slightly.
"My friend," McCoy said, conversationally, in Russian, "I'm a little pressed for time, so I suggest it would be to your advantage to make the most of what time I can give you."
There was a flicker of surprise on the North Korean offi-cer's face, immediately replaced by one intended to show that he didn't understand a word.
"All right, we'll do it in Korean," McCoy said, switching to that language, "although my Korean is not as good as my Russian." He switched to English: "Or perhaps you would prefer English?"
The officer looked at him in what was supposed to con-vey a complete lack of comprehension.
McCoy went back to Russian:
"The fortunes of war have gone against you, Major," he said.
There was another flicker of surprise in the North Ko-rean's eyes, and McCoy thought it was reasonable to pre-sume that his guess that the man was a major was right on the money.
"With a little luck, Major, at this very minute, you could be sitting in a POW enclosure, as a simple private, biding your time until the forces of international socialism over-whelmed the capitalist imperialists and you were liberated. But that didn't happen. What happened is that I happened to come by here. We are not soldiers. We are Marines. Moreover, we are more or less-probably more than less-in the same line of work."
"He understood that, Captain," Zimmerman said, in En-glish. "I could tell by his eyes. But I also saw in his eyes that he won't be useful, so may I suggest, considering the time, that-"
"I would rather not dispose of him," McCoy said, and chuckled. "Professional courtesy, Ernest. You and I could easily find ourselves in his position."
"Sir, with respect, I suggest we have him shot, and be on our way."
"Kim Si Yong," the North Korean said, in English. "Seven-five-eight-eight-nine."
"Ah," McCoy said, now in English, "the major is par-tially familiar with the Geneva Convention."
"Partially?" Zimmerman asked.
"The Convention requires that prisoners of war furnish their captors with their name, rank, and service number. I did not hear a rank, did you?"
"No, sir," Zimmerman said.
"He has therefore not complied with the Geneva Con-vention," McCoy explained. "Not that it matters anyway, for under Paragraph Seventeen, Subsection B, since he is an officer, wearing a private soldier's uniform, it may be presumed that he is not a combatant, entitled to the protec-tion of the convention, but instead a spy, who may be legally executed."
"Under those circumstances, may I respectfully suggest we have him shot, and be on our way?"
McCoy looked at the North Korean officer, then shrugged, and appeared to be on the verge of leaving the room.
"Kim Si Yong,"
the North Korean said, in English. "Ma-jor, seven-five-eight-eight-nine. I claim the protection of the Geneva Convention."
McCoy switched to Russian.
"Major Kim," he said. "There's one small problem with that. Your government is not a signatory to the Geneva Convention. That means that it is at the option of your cap-tors-and that means me-whether or not to apply it to prisoners. The other problem you have is your confession that you are an officer masquerading as a private soldier, which changes your position from prisoner of war to spy."
"Sir, with all respect," Zimmerman said, in Russian. "He probably doesn't know anything we don't already know. Sir, we're already going to be very late-"
McCoy held up his hand to silence him.
"Major, as a professional courtesy between fellow intel-ligence officers, let me explain your options," McCoy said. "They do not include being returned to your side anytime soon, so put that out of your mind. They do include being shot in the next few minutes as a spy. Keep that in your mind. Now we know that the 83rd Motorcycle Regiment, which has been kept out of the fighting since Seoul, will lead the attack of the 6th Division. We don't know when that attack will take place. If you tell us when that attack will take place, you will not be shot immediately. You will be kept here until the time you tell us the attack will take place. If it occurs when you say it will, I will personally deliver you to Eighth Army Headquarters, and guarantee that you are treated as an officer prisoner under the Geneva Convention. If it does not take place when you tell us it will, you will be shot at that time. I will give you as long as it takes me to go to the latrine to make up your mind."
McCoy walked out of the room, looked at his watch, picked up the mess kit coffee cup where he had laid it down, finished drinking it, and precisely five minutes after he had left the room, walked back into it.
Five minutes after that, he walked back out of the room, found the colonel, and told him what he had learned.
"You believe this officer, Captain?"
"Sir, I believe he thought I was prepared to have him shot. What he may have done is tell me that attack will be at 0300, because he knows it will be earlier; if it's earlier, and we're overrun, then he might be freed. I don't think it will be after 0300, because he thinks he'll be shot if it doesn't happen then."
"They don't usually start anything in the middle of the night," the colonel said, thoughtfully. "But they're on a roll, and it would give them the advantage of surprise."
McCoy didn't reply. The colonel paused again, obvi-ously in thought, and then said, "I'll pass this on to divi-sion. And order a fifty-percent alert from nightfall. You're still determined to stay here?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Miss Priestly?"
"If Zimmerman and I stay, sir, I don't think there's much chance of getting her to leave."
"Then I suggest you find someplace where you'll have protection from incoming," the colonel said. "They're cer-tainly going to fire their tubes-and probably the 105s they took from the 63rd Field Artillery-as a prelude to the at-tack, whenever they decide to make it."
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "Sir, I'd like to go see the 19th Infantry. Would you have objection to my taking the major with me?"
"What are you going to do, put him in the back of Miss Priestly's Jeep with Miss Priestly?"
"Actually, sir, I thought I'd put him in the front seat with Gunner Zimmerman and Miss Priestly, and I would ride in the back."
What could have been a smile appeared momentarily on the colonel's lips.
"Just make sure she's in the Jeep, Captain," he said.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Here, I'll show you on the map where I think the 19th CP is," the colonel said.
[FOUR]
HEADQUARTERS 19TH INFANTRY REGIMENT
24TH INFANTRY DIVISION
KONGJU, SOUTH KOREA
1805 15 JULY 1950
"Jesus H. Christ!" the Garand-armed corporal standing to one side of the sandbagged door of the command post ex-claimed when he saw the Jeep with a Korean in the front seat and the American woman in the back.
He walked over to the Jeep.
After apparently thinking it over first, he saluted.
"Yes, sir? Can I help you?"
"You can keep an eye on this enemy officer while we go inside," McCoy said.
"Enemy officer" caught the ear of a major who had been standing talking to a sergeant on the other side of the sand-bagged entrance. He walked over to the Jeep.
McCoy saluted.
"Enemy officer?" the major asked, then "Marines?" and finally, "War correspondent?"
"Yes, sir, three times," McCoy said.
"The only thing I can do for you is advise you to get back to Division," the major said. "We've just been advised to expect an attack anytime from darkness-which means just about now-`til 0300."
"Yes, sir, we know," McCoy said.
"This is no place for you, ma'am," the major said to Jeanette.
"Jeanette Priestly, Chicago Tribune" she said, with a dazzling smile, and offered the major her hand.
"We have a Korean sergeant who speaks some English," the major said to McCoy. "I'd like him to talk to your pris-oner." Then he had a second thought: "Public relations? What are you doing with a prisoner?"
Here we go again.
"Sir, Gunner Zimmerman and I are not public relations," he said, and handed the major the "Dai-Ichi" orders. "I found it necessary to commandeer her Jeep when Eighth Army didn't have one for us."
The major read the orders, his eyebrows rising as he did.
"I think we'd better go see the regimental commander, Captain," he said.
The regimental colonel was a slight man with a mustache. Somehow he had managed to remain dapper despite the heat, the dust and everything else.
"I don't want to seem inhospitable, Captain," he said, looking up at McCoy after he'd read the orders. "But we're a little busy here. Can we cut to the chase? What are two Ma-rine officers doing here with a female war correspondent?"
He, too, had a second thought.
"Fred, ask the lady and the other officer to come in here," he said to the major. "And bring the prisoner." He looked at McCoy. "We're expecting an attack at any time; there will certainly be artillery."
"Yes, sir," the major said, and went out of the sand-bagged CP.
"That information came from the prisoner, sir," McCoy said.
The colonel looked at him, waiting for him to go on.
"He's a major attached to the 83rd Motorcycle Regi-ment-probably their G-2. He was making a reconnais-sance when he was captured by a squad from the 34th Infantry doing the same thing."
"How do you know this?"
"He told me."
"You speak Korean?"
"Yes, sir."
The colonel's eyebrows rose.
"How'd you get him to talk?"
"I told him that since he was an officer wearing a pri-vate's uniform, he was subject to being shot as a spy."
"I'm starting to like you, Captain," the colonel said. "What else did he have to say?"
"He said the attack will start at 0300, with the 83rd Mo-torcycle Regiment and the 6th Division."
"And you believe him?"
"I told him if it doesn't happen at 0300, I'll have him shot. If it does, I'll take him to the 24th Division Head-quarters and see that he's treated as an officer prisoner."
"So you're not a two-man Marine bodyguard for a fe-male war correspondent?" the colonel asked, smiling.
"No, sir."
"With those orders, you could be anything. What is your `mission'? Your orders are a little vague about that."
`To see what's going on here, sir."
"For General Almond himself?"
"Actually for General Pickering, sir."
The colonel, as the 34th Regiment's commander had done, searched his memory back for "Pickering" and came up blank.
"In the Dai-Ichi Building?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Where does the la
dy fit in?"
"Eighth Army didn't have wheels for us, sir. So I com-mandeered hers."
"And brought her along?"
"Yes, sir."
W E B Griffin - Corp 09 - Under Fire Page 28