Retreat, Hell! tc-10

by W. E. B Griffin

  He wanted to make a man who never commanded a company, much less a reg­iment, a major general!

  Who are you to talk, General Pickering? The only unit you've ever commanded was a squad.

  MacArthur had left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but when he saw the surprise on Pickering's face, he went on.

  "I was surprised, too," he said. "I thought Bradley would arrange it as a per­sonal courtesy to me, but all he said was that he would 'look into it,' which, of course, is a polite way of saying no."

  Pickering couldn't think of a reply.

  "I thought I would tell you this," MacArthur went on, "because you've just learned you're not going to get the promotion you so richly deserved."

  "Are you talking about General Smith being named Director of the CIA, sir?"

  "Of course."

  "You heard that I was being considered?"

  "I have a few friends in the Pentagon," MacArthur said. "Not many, but a few. You were the logical choice for the job. But you were obviously tarnished with the brush of being someone held in very high regard by the Viceroy of Japan."

  Pickering's surprise was again evident on his face.

  "Oh, I know they call me that," MacArthur said. "They also call me 'Dugout Doug,' which I don't really think is fair. And 'El Supremo.' "

  "I'm guilty of the latter, General," Pickering said. "I don't think anyone uses that as a pejorative. It's sort of like calling a company commander 'the Old Man.' "

  MacArthur smiled but said, "That too. 'The Old Man in the Dai Ichi Building.' "

  "General, before President Truman named General Smith, I told him I didn't think I was qualified to be Director of the CIA."

  "It got as far—before you took a Pentagon knife in the back—as the Pres­ident actually offering you the job, did it?"

  "The President told me, when he told me that he had named General Smith, that he had considered me but decided General Smith was the best man for the job. I told him I completely agreed."

  "You know Smith?"

  "I met him for the first time after I spoke with the President."

  "From everything I hear, he was the brains behind Eisenhower," MacArthur said. "Well, for the record, I think you would have been the best man for the job."

  "I respectfully disagree," Pickering said with a smile.

  "Well, it's water over the dam," MacArthur said.

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "As soon as we get within radio range of Tokyo, I'll set the wheels in mo­tion about your son," MacArthur said. "The first step, obviously, is to get a more precise indication of his physical condition than . . . What did the message say, 'very dirty and very hungry'?"

  Pickering chuckled.

  "It also said, 'uninjured, unwounded, and in sound psychological condition,'" he said.

  MacArthur acted as if Pickering hadn't spoken.

  "And once we have that information," he went on, "which shouldn't take long to acquire, we can decide whether it would be best for you to fly out to the Badoeng Strait, and arrange for that, or to wait until your boy is to be flown from the carrier to Tokyo."

  "That's very kind of you, General," Pickering said.

  "Not at all," MacArthur said. "I'm delighted that everything has turned out so well for you."

  MacArthur stood up. After a moment, Pickering realized that he was being dismissed and got hurriedly to his feet.

  MacArthur put his hand on Pickering's arm in an affectionate gesture.

  "I hate to turn you into a runner, but would you mind sending Colonel Thebideaux in here as you pass through the cabin? He's the plump little chap with the shiny cranium."

  "Yes, sir, of course. And thank you again, General."

  MacArthur didn't reply. He smiled faintly and sat back down.

  Pickering left the compartment, closing the door after him. Halfway down the aisle, he spotted a plump little lieutenant colonel with a shiny cranium. When he got closer, he saw that he was wearing a nameplate with thebideaux etched on it. When he got to the seat, Pickering squatted.

  "Colonel Thebideaux," he said, "General MacArthur would like to see you."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Pickering went to the cheap seats and slipped in beside George Hart.

  "What's up?"

  "As soon as we're in radio contact with Tokyo," Pickering replied, "El Supremo will 'set the wheels in motion' to get me together with Pick. Either fly me out to the carrier or have Pick flown to Tokyo."

  "That was nice of him," Hart said.

  "I thought so."

  "That's all he wanted?"

  "That's all he wanted."

  Hart pursed his lips and shrugged.

  [THREE]

  Haneda Airfield

  Tokyo, Japan

  21O5 15 October 19SO

  As the Bataan taxied up to what he thought of as "El Supremo's Hangar," Brigadier General Fleming Pickering saw Master Sergeant Paul Keller leaning on the front fender of his Buick.

  So much for the secrecy about El Supremo's movements, he thought. Willoughby and Company almost certainly didn't call Keller and give him our ETA. Paul knows how to find out "top secret" things like that.

  As usual, he waited until the important members of MacArthur's staff de­planed before unfastening his seat belt and standing up.

  When he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see MacArthur standing impatiently by the open door of his black Cadillac limousine. Willoughby was with him.

  When MacArthur saw him, he motioned him over.

  "Fleming, why don't you get a good night's sleep and then come by the of­fice first thing in the morning?" MacArthur said. "Willoughby is still collect­ing information about your boy, and by, say, eight, we should know just about everything."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you."

  MacArthur nodded and ducked inside the Cadillac. Willoughby trotted around the rear of the limousine and got in beside him. The limousine, pre­ceded by the usual escort of chrome-helmeted MPs in highly polished jeeps, rolled off.

  Pickering walked to his Buick. Keller straightened and saluted. Pickering re­turned it.

  "You got the good news, General?" Keller asked.

  "The President told me at Wake Island," Pickering said, and got in the front seat. Keller got behind the wheel and turned to him.

  "Okay, while George is getting the luggage, this is what I know," Keller said.

  Master sergeants are not supposed to refer to commissioned officers by their Christian names, but rather than being disrespectful, Pickering thought, it was an indication that Keller both liked Hart and considered everybody part of a special team.

  "As soon as I got The Killer's message off," Keller began, "I went to Denenchofu and told Ernie."

  "Good for you," Pickering said.

  "Whereupon, she passed out," Keller said. "Scaring the bejesus out of me."

  "My God! Is she all right?"

  "She says she is. I tried to make her go to the hospital, or at least let me call a doctor, but she wouldn't let me."

  "Before we go to the hotel, Paul, we'll swing by Denenchofu," Pickering ordered. Yes, sir.

  "Did she hurt herself when she fell?"

  "She says no, but I still think she ought to see a doctor."

  "So do I."

  "Anyway, right after that happened, we put in a call to Mrs. Pickering. We found her in Washington."

  "So she knows?"

  "Yes, sir. She said that she'd just gotten off the line with Colonel Banning and he'd already told her."

  "He probably called her immediately after reading the decrypt of McCoy's message."

  "Yes, sir, that's what I thought. I haven't been able to get in touch with the blond war correspondent. Ernie said I missed her at the house by a couple of hours, that she's on her way to Wonsan. I tried to call her at Wonsan. They said she wasn't there, so I called the Press Center at Eighth Army Rear in Pusan. They didn't know where she was, but she's on a list of press people trying to get to Wonsan. She'll
turn up."

  "And what do we hear about my son?"

  "All I know is what's in Killer's message. I think that's probably what it is. He isn't hurt, he's okay psychologically, he's hungry, and he needs a shower and a shave."

  "Thank you, Paul," Pickering said. "I suppose we'll have more news in the morning."

  "I'm sure we will, sir."

  [FOUR]

  The Imperial Hotel

  Tokyo, Japan

  O21O 15 October 195O

  Master Sergeant Paul Keller answered the telephone before it had a chance to ring twice.

  "General Pickering's quarters, Sergeant Keller," he said. Then he listened briefly, covered the microphone with his hand, and turned to Pickering, who was sitting sprawled beside Captain George Hart on the couch. Both were holding drinks in their hands.

  "I've got Mrs. Pickering on the horn, General."

  "Thank you," Pickering said. "You two can now go to bed."

  Hart stood up, drained his drink, and nodded at Keller as a signal for him to precede him out of the room. When Keller had gone through the door, Hart looked at Pickering, who was looking at him curiously, his raised eyebrow ask­ing,

  "Jesus, right now, George?"

  "General," Hart said, "would it be too much to ask Mrs. Pickering to call my wife and tell her we got Pick back? She's been holding her breath. Actually, she's been praying."

  "Of course not," Pickering said, reaching out his hand for the telephone.

  "Good night, sir," Hart said, and walked out of the room.

  "Patricia?" Pickering said to the telephone.

  "Flem?"

  She sounds sleepy.

  Jesus Christ, I have no idea what time it is in the States. Did I wake her up?

  "How many other calls do you get from men at this time of day?"

  "Quite a few, actually," she said. "And two minutes ago I got a telegram from the Secretary of the Navy ..." She paused, and he had a mental image of her picking it up and reading from it. "... who is 'pleased to inform you that your son Major Malcolm Pickering has been returned to U.S. control' and that 'fur­ther information will be furnished when available.' "

  "I guess the system kicked in," he said.

  "Have you seen him? Where are you?"

  "In the Imperial. We got back here a couple of hours ago."

  "Thank you for calling me immediately," she said sarcastically.

  "I was with Ernie," he said, trying to explain and apologize. "Trying to get her to see a doctor."

  "What's wrong with her?" she asked, concern replacing her anger.

  "I don't think anything is. But when Keller told her about Pick, she fainted."

  "What did the doctor say?"

  "She wouldn't see a doctor," he said.

  "Tell her that her mother and I are on the way," Patricia said.

  "Here?"

  "No, to Acapulco."

  "I don't think that's such a good idea, sweetheart."

  "My son has just been rescued after more than two months and my preg­nant goddaughter has just passed out, and it's not a good idea that her mother and I come over there? What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "As soon as he's up to it, they're going to fly him to the States. You're going to be asked to which hospital he should be sent."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Harry Truman told me."

  "Spare me your sarcasm, Flem."

  "Just before he took off from Wake Island, the President told me that he has ordered that Pick be sent to the States as soon as his physical condition permits."

  " As soon as his physical condition permits'? What do you know that I don't? When Ernie called, she said he was in great shape."

  "He's in the sick bay on the Badoeng Strait. Patricia, he spent seventy-seven days running around Korea avoiding capture; they haven't found anything wrong with him, according to McCoy, but they . . . they want to make sure nothing is wrong with him."

  "So something is wrong with him."

  "I expect a full report on his condition in the morning. As soon as I get it, I'll call."

  "Elaine and I will be traveling by tomorrow morning," Patricia declared. "She's on her way here from New Jersey."

  Elaine Sage was Ernie's mother.

  "Ernie doesn't want her mother over here, she told me."

  "She's pregnant—she doesn't know what she wants."

  "Obviously, I can't stop either of you, but if you come over here, it will be one goddamned big mistake. What's probably going to happen is that when you get here, you'll learn that you passed Pick flying in the other direction in the middle of the Pacific," Pickering said.

  There was a long pause.

  "So what are you telling me you think we should do, Flem?" she asked finally.

  "Go to San Francisco. To the apartment. By the time you get there, I'll have more information. I'll call and give it to you."

  "Elaine's determined to go over there."

  "Talk her out of it, sweetheart."

  "You'll call me at the apartment the minute you hear anything?"

  "Of course I will."

  "You sound tired, Flem."

  "I am tired."

  "Get some rest."

  "I will," he said, then added: "Patricia, would you please call George Hart's wife in Saint Louis and tell her."

  "I will, but—"

  "George said she's been praying for him. Call her, please, Pat."

  "I said I would."

  "I don't know what the hell you're mad at me for."

  "I'm not mad at you, Flem."

  "That's not what it sounds like."

  "I love you, Flem. I often wonder why."

  "I love you, too, and I know why."

  "I'll talk to you tomorrow," Patricia said, and hung up.

  [FIVE]

  The Dai Ichi Building

  Tokyo, Japan

  O8O5 16 October 19SO

  A chrome-helmeted MP stepped into the street and held up his hand somewhat imperiously to stop Pickering's Buick.

  "El Supremo's coming," Master Sergeant Paul Keller, who was in the front seat beside the driver, said. "Everybody look busy."

  Pickering and Hart, in the backseat, laughed. The sergeant driver—no one knew his name; they changed frequently, and were, not in their hearing, uni­versally referred to as "the CIC guy"—looked at Hart, visibly surprised that a sergeant would dare mock the Supreme Commander, and even more so that a brigadier general and his aide-de-camp would laugh with him.

  And it was indeed the Supreme Commander, United Nations Command & U.S. Forces, Far East, arriving at his headquarters.

  Preceded by a jeep loaded with chrome-helmeted MPs, his black Cadillac limousine rolled regally past Pickering's Buick, and other cars behind it, and up before the steps leading to the door of the Dai Ichi Building.

  A crowd of people, mostly Japanese but including some Americans and others in uniform, waited on the sidewalk behind a line of MPs.

  Two more chrome-helmeted MPs stood on the sidewalk at the spot where the rear door of the limousine would open. As it approached them, they raised their hands in salute and held it. The instant the Cadillac stopped, one of them opened the door while the other held his salute.

  MacArthur came out of the limousine and, looking straight ahead, walked quickly up the stairs to the building. He acknowledged the salutes given him three times.

  Colonel Sidney Huff, MacArthur's senior aide-de-camp, got out of the lim­ousine and followed MacArthur into the building.

  The limousine drove off. The crowd—the show over—began to disperse. The MP who had stopped them now motioned just as regally for them to start moving.

  When the car stopped before the building, Pickering was out of the back­seat before either the CIC guy or Keller could get out of his seat to open it for him.

  Trailed by Hart and Keller, Pickering walked across the lobby to the bank of elevators.

  "If there's anything of interest, bring it upstairs," Pickering said to Keller.<
br />
  "Yes, sir."

  Keller got on one elevator, which would carry him to the Communica­tions/Cryptographic Center in the basement, and Pickering and Hart got on another, which carried them to the lobby outside the door of the Office of the Supreme Commander.

  Hart walked quickly to the door, pushed it inward, and held it open for Pickering.

  There were two outer offices, one manned by one of MacArthur's junior aides, a receptionist, and other clerical types. Pickering strode purposefully through the first outer office into the second, which was occupied by Colonel Sidney Huff and some clerical types.

  Shortly after arriving in Tokyo, he had decided that stopping in the outer office and asking to see Colonel Huff was not the thing to do. It gave him a place in the pecking order. He was not only a brigadier general but the Deputy Director of the CIA. He did not need to ask a major if he could see a colonel on MacArthur's staff, even if that colonel was MacArthur's aide-de-camp and a founding member of the Bataan Gang.

  "Good morning, Sid," Pickering said. "General MacArthur expects me. Would you tell him I'm here?"

  "Good morning, sir," Huff said. "Before you see the Supreme Commander, may I have a minute of your time?"

  "Sure, Sid. What can I do for you?"

  "I thought you would be interested in this, General," Huff said. "And I don't think I have to tell you we were all delighted to hear that Major Pickering came through his ordeal.''

  "Thank you, Sid," Pickering said, and reached out for the first of several documents Huff was obviously prepared to hand him.

  SECRET

  URGENT

  FROM BADOENG STRAIT

  0300 16 OCTOBER 1950

  TO CHAIRMAN JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF ATTN MAJGEN MASON

  INFO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS

  SUPREME COMMANDER UNC

  COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF PACIFIC

  COMMANDANT USMC

  REFERENCE YOUR URGENT DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT SUBJ: PICKERING, MAJ MALCOLM USMCR

  15OCT50

  SUBJECT OFFICER SUFFERED NO WOUNDS OR INJURIES DURING THE CRASH LANDING OF HIS AIRCRAFT

  OR IN THE PERIOD FOLLOWING UNTIL HIS RESCUE.

  ON ARRIVAL BADOENG STRAIT SUBJECT OFFICER SUFFERED FROM EFFECTS OF MALNUTRITION AND DYSENTERY AND WAS INFESTED WITH INTESTINAL PARASITES. AS A RESULT OF THE FOREGOING, HE HAS LOST BOTH FAT AND MUSCLE TISSUE AND WEIGHS 58 (FIFTY-EIGHT) POUNDS LESS THAN HE DID AT THE TIME OF HIS LAST FLIGHT PHYSICAL EXAMINATION. IT IS NOT BELIEVED THAT HE WILL LOSE ANY TEETH, ALTHOUGH THE CONDITION OF HIS GUMS REFLECTS THE AFOREMENTIONED MALNUTRITION AND DYSENTERY.