IN THIS LATTER CONNECTION, I AM VERY IMPRESSED WITH VANDENBURG AND VERY WORRIED THAT WILLOUGHBY WILL TRY— AND PROBABLY SUCCEED—TO GET CONTROL OF HIM. I RECOMMEND THAT YOU ORDER—AS OPPOSED TO SUGGEST—THAT HE BE PLACED ON TDY TO THE CIA AND PLACED UNDER PICKERING.
BY NOW, HARRY, YOU MUST SENSE THAT MY POSITION IS "A POX ON BOTH THEIR HOUSES." IT IS. YOU MUST ALSO SENSE THAT I HAVE TAKEN SIDES. I HAVE. I REALLY THINK MY USEFULNESS TO YOU HERE IS OVER, AND I RESPECTFULLY REQUEST RELIEF.
PICKERING CAN DO FOR YOU WHAT I HAVE BEEN DOING, AND IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT THAT'S THE WAY IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN DONE ALL ALONG. AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF YOU ARE ENTITLED TO GET THE FACTS, AND IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THE CIA IS WHERE YOU SHOULD GET THEM.
I'M GOING TO SHOW PICKERING THIS BEFORE I SEND IT, LARGELY BECAUSE I WANT HIM TO KNOW WHAT I'M TELLING YOU.
RESPECTFULLY, AND WITH BEST REGARDS TO BESS
RALPH
END PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM GENERAL HOWE
TOP SECRET/PRESIDENTIAL
Pickering raised his eyes to Howe.
"Jesus, Ralph," he said.
"Is there anything in there you disagree with?" Howe asked.
"No," Pickering said simply. "Except you wanting to leave me here to face the lions all by myself."
"I've outlived my usefulness," Howe said. "And I really think you can do anything for the President that I can."
He put out his hand for the message, and when Pickering handed it to him, he turned to Di-san. She was sitting at the keyboard of the decryption machine, her fingers flying over the keys.
As they watched, the electric typewriter section of the machine began to clatter as it typed the now decrypted message.
She waited until it had finished, then ripped the yellow paper from the machine and handed it to Howe.
"Thank you," he said, and handed her his message. "Put the correct date time block on this, please, and send it."
Di-san nodded and turned back to the keyboard.
Howe read the back-channel, then handed it to Pickering.
FROM KELLER
TO ROGERS OR JENNINGS
PASS TO GEN PICKERING ON ARRIVAL: COL HUFF CAME TO IMPERIAL LOOKING FOR HIM. HE FINALLY TOLD ME WHY. MACARTHUR HAD SENT HIM TO TELL THE GENERAL THAT MAJ PICKERING WAS TRANSFERRED FROM THE CARRIER TO THE DESTROYER MANSFIELD AT 1500. MANSFIELD IS EN ROUTE PUSAN, ETA EARLY TOMORROW. MAJ PICKERING WILL BE FLOWN IN HOSPITAL PLANE TO SASEBO, AND THEN ON TO THE NAVY HOSPITAL IN SAN DIEGO. TELL THE GENERAL I THOUGHT ERNIE AND MRS PICKERING WOULD WANT TO KNOW, AND SO I HAVE PASSED THE WORD.
"Well," Howe said, "I guess you'll want to be in Pusan when he gets there."
"I'll have Hart get us seats on the Round Robin in the morning," Pickering said.
"The Beaver's at your disposal, Flem," Howe said. "If you want, you can use that."
"I hadn't thought about that," Pickering replied. "I guess what I could do is leave early, and go to Pusan by way of Socho-Ri. Would that be possible?"
"You could also wait to go to Socho-Ri after you see your boy," Howe said. "Your call, Flem."
"Let's go see what the pilot says," Pickering said, and then had another thought. "Keller didn't mention Jeanette Priestly. I'm sure Pick's lady friend'll want to see him. She's in Wonsan, right? Maybe we could pick her up at the same time."
"I don't know if she's in Wonsan or not," Howe said. "Or, for that matter, where she is."
"Really?" His surprise showed in his voice.
"I know Dunston and McCoy were looking for her, but I never heard where they found her."
"Well, let's go find out," Pickering said. "I think Pick will be far more interested in seeing her than me."
"General," Bill Dunston said a little uncomfortably. "The first thing I did when I got the Killer's Operational Immediate was call the Press Center at Eighth Army Rear in Pusan. They told me they expected her but she hadn't arrived yet. I left word for her to call me the minute she got in."
"And she didn't call?" Pickering said.
"No, she didn't. So—maybe around suppertime—I went there myself. She had been there—they told me they had given her my message, and that she had signed on to the roster for a Gooney Bird flight to Wonsan. They said it was a long roster and she almost certainly wouldn't get out the next day, more likely the day after that. They didn't know where she was. So I called around town, and couldn't find her."
"And you left it there?" Colonel Ed Banning inquired, not pleasantly.
Dunston replied, "You don't know this lady, Banning ..."
Pickering picked up on that—"Banning," not "Colonel"—and thought, Dunstons resentment is starting to show.
". . . she's a free spirit," Dunston went on. "There's no telling where she would be. I figured maybe she arranged her own ride to Wonsan—she doesn't like waiting—and that that had happened in such a way that she didn't have time to call me. Or didn't want to."
"So you stopped looking?" Banning asked.
"What I did, Banning, was get on the horn to Wonsan, specifically to the Capital ROK Division—we have a friend there, a colonel named Pak—and asked him to look for her, to have her call me, and then I called Zimmerman at Socho-Ri. Ernie knew about the major having been picked up, and he had already started checking around for the Priestly woman. I told him to keep looking, and to give me a yell if he found her."
"And he never called, Bill?" Pickering asked.
"He never called."
"Gunner Zimmerman looked all over for her, sir," Jennings said, "and when I came here, he told me to call him and let him know where she was. I guess he figured if she wasn't in Wonsan, or anywhere on the east coast, she had to be either here or in Pusan."
"So the bottom line," Banning began unpleasantly, "is that you were ordered to find Miss Priestly, and not only haven't done so, but didn't inform anyone that you failed—"
"That will enough, Colonel," Pickering interrupted him, coldly.
Banning was visibly surprised by both the order and the tone of Pickering's voice.
"He's right, General," Dunston said. "I guess I dropped the ball."
"I don't look at it that way," Pickering said. "You did what you thought had to be done. But I'm open for suggestions."
"I'll go out to K-16 and check with the Air Force," Dunston said. "The base commander is a pretty good guy. And while I'm doing that, Jennings is first going to get on the horn to Zimmerman, and then start calling all the division public information officers. She has to be here somewhere."
"When are you going to do this?" Pickering asked.
"That whoosh you hear, General, is me going out the door," Dunston said. He put his champagne glass on the table. "I'll finish this," he said, "when I have put my hands on the lady."
He walked out of the dining room. Zimmerman followed him.
Pickering looked at Banning.
"Come with me, please, Colonel," he said.
He walked out of the dining room with Banning on his heels, and led him out of the building into the courtyard. He stopped in the middle.
"Okay, Ed," he said. "You've got a hair up your ass. Tell me what it's all about."
"Sir, I don't know what you—"
"You've been pissing everybody off with your attitude since you got here, and I want to know why."
"With respect, sir, I don't—"
"You can either tell me what's bothering you, Ed, or I'm going to tell George to get you a seat on the first flight out of here tomorrow, and that will be the first leg of your flight to the States. I like you, we're—I have always thought— old and good friends, but I cannot afford to have you come in here with an attitude that's pissing off good people. You understand me?"
They locked eyes.
"That was a question, Colonel," Pickering said.
Banning exhaled audibly.
"Milla's in the hospital," he said softly.
"Milla's in the hospital? When did this happen?"
"She went in yesterday, or the day before—I don
't even know what day it is in the States, much less what time—to have a lump removed from her breast. Or maybe the whole breast, depending on what they find."
"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Pickering said.
"You sent for me," Banning said simply.
"Jesus H. Christ! If I had known about your wife . . ."
"I'm a Marine officer," Banning said.
"And a good one. But as a human being, you're a goddamn fool," Pickering said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, sir," Banning said.
"Where is she? What hospital?"
"Charleston," Banning said.
"These are your orders, Colonel. You are to go up to the third floor of this building. There you will find a Korean woman named Di-san. You will order her to send an Urgent Message to the Commanding Officer, Marine Barracks, Charleston. Quote—Urgently require report status Mrs. Milla Banning, presently in Whateverthehell Hospital Charleston. Update hourly or more frequently, as necessary, until notified otherwise. Signature, Pickering, Brig. Gen. CIA Deputy Director for Asia—Unquote."
"General, with respect, that's . . ."
"What? Not authorized?"
"No, sir."
"Well, maybe not, Colonel. But the only person who can challenge me is a retired Army general named Smith, and I don't think he will. You have your orders, Colonel."
After a long moment, Ed Banning said, "Aye, aye, sir."
He started back toward the entrance and then turned.
"Sir, I'd really be grateful if you could keep this between us."
"You'd rather appear to be a horse's ass than admit you have human emotions? Like hell I will."
Banning didn't reply, but neither did he continue toward the house.
"Get moving, Ed," Pickering said. After a moment, Banning nodded and then walked quickly toward the house.
Chapter Thirteen
[ONE]
USS Badoeng Strait (CVE-116)
39.58 Degrees North Latitude
128.33 Degrees East Longitude
The Sea of Japan
1125 17 October 195O
The Badoeng Strait was at sea about fifty miles east of a midpoint between Hungnam and Wonsan.
There had not been much call for air strikes from any of the units of I ROK Corps, which was pursuing the retreating North Korean army up the rugged east coast of the Korean Peninsula.
With about two-thirds of his fuel remaining, Lieutenant Colonel William C. Dunn, USMC, had decided to take his three-Corsair flight north of Chongjin, which would place them close to the borders between North Korea and China, and North Korea and Manchuria.
He could then take a look around, then fly down the east coast of the peninsula, looking for targets of opportunity on the way back to the Badoeng Strait.
For a number of reasons, starting with the fact that he was a good Marine officer who obeyed his orders, he was very careful not only not to cross the border but to keep far enough south of it so that it could not be credibly charged that he had violated either Chinese or Russian territory, even by mistake.
But he did take the flight inland far enough and high enough so that over extreme Northern Korea, he could look down and across the borders into both China and Manchuria.
He saw nothing that suggested the presence of troops massed on either side of the border prepared to enter the conflict. He had in mind, of course, what McCoy had told him and the skipper in the captain's cabin on the Badoeng Strait about 600,000 Chinese either on their side of the border, or already starting to cross into North Korea.
It was possible, of course, that McCoy was dead wrong. It was also possible that McCoy was right. Again.
On the way back down the coast, they found the targets of opportunity they knew would be there, and made strafing passes at North Korean troops either on the roads or hiding on either side of them. They stopped this only when the fuel available became sort of questionable and most of their ammunition had been expended. It made no sense to either run out of fuel or to return to the Badoeng Strait with a lot of ammunition unfired.
Colonel Dunn brought the flight down pretty close to the deck and flew over Socho-Ri. The H-19As were not in sight, which meant either that their camouflage was very good or that they were off someplace. He decided it was the camouflage, because Major Donald, the Army pilot, had told him they preferred to make their flights in the very early hours or just before nightfall, so as to provide as small a "window of possible observation" as possible.
He dipped his wings as Marines on the ground, recognizing the gull-winged fighters, came out of the thatch-roofed, stone-walled houses and waved at them.
Then he climbed to 5,000 feet and headed for the Badoeng Strait.
He landed last, as was his custom, caught the second wire, and was jerked to a halt.
As he hauled himself out of the cockpit, he saw one of the ship's officers on the deck, obviously waiting for him.
The officer, a blond-headed lieutenant j.g., saluted as Dunn jumped from the wing root to the deck.
"Shooting back, were they, Colonel?"
"Excuse me?" Dunn asked as he returned the salute.
The j.g. pointed to the rear of the Corsair's fuselage and its vertical stabilizer.
"I'll be damned!" Dunn said. There were seven holes in the Corsair—five in the fuselage and two in the vertical stabilizer. They looked like .50-caliber holes.
"I didn't see any tracers coming close," Dunn said, as much to himself as to the j.g.
"The captain's compliments, Colonel. The captain would be pleased if you would take lunch with him."
"Would the captain be pleased to see me immediately, or more pleased after I've had a shower?"
"I think the captain would prefer the latter, sir," the j.g. said, smiling.
"My compliments to the captain, Lieutenant."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Dunn went to the pilot's ready room and listened as Captain Jack Derwinski and Lieutenant Sam Williams, the two pilots who had flown the sortie with him, were debriefed by an air intelligence officer.
Finally, the AIO turned to him.
"Colonel?"
"I have nothing to add," Dunn said.
That was true. They had flown an observation/interdiction mission, seen nothing of interest, and engaged targets of opportunity—small units of North Korean ground troops—and then come home. Then he remembered, and added: "There was some antiaircraft fire from the ground, probably .50-caliber machine gun."
"How do you know that, Colonel? For the record."
"Because there are seven half-inch holes in my fuselage and vertical stabilizer," Dunn said, "that I know weren't there when I took off."
"No shit, Colonel?" Jack Derwinski said, obviously surprised. "I didn't see any tracers."
"Either did I, Captain Derwinski," Dunn said with a smile, "which, as a devout believer in the adage that the one that gets you is the one you don't see, I find just a wee bit disconcerting."
"You didn't feel anything?" Derwinski pursued.
Dunn shook his head no.
"They must have just gone through the skin without hitting anything else," Dunn said, then turned to the AIO. "You better make that fourteen holes in my airplane. Seven in and seven, thank the good Lord, out."
"Yes, sir," the AIO said, smiling. "Fourteen holes."
Dunn filled a china mug with coffee from the machine and carried it with him to his cabin.
He showered, shaved, put on fresh khakis, and made his way to the bridge.
The captain waved him onto the bridge.
"I understand the bad guys have been shooting back at you, Colonel," he said.
"Worse than that, sir," Dunn said. "Somebody has apparently been teaching them how to shoot."
"Ready for a little lunch?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The captain pushed himself out of his chair and led Dunn off the bridge to his cabin, where a white-jacketed steward and a table set for two were wa
iting for them.
"We can serve ourselves, Danny. Thank you," the captain said to the steward as he waved Dunn into a chair.
He waited for the steward to leave them, then said, "You went pretty far north today, did you?"
"Yes, sir."
"See anything interesting? Of the sort your friend in the black pajamas was talking about?"
"No, sir."
"He stared me with that talk of six hundred thousand Chinese," the captain said. "You think he was right?"
"Killer McCoy, over the years, has been right most of the time," Dunn said.
The captain lifted a dome off one serving plate and then another, and lowered this domes to the table. Lunch was pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans.
"Help yourself," the captain said as he forked a pork chop to his plate.
Dunn, filling his plate, said: "I was thinking—today, as a matter of fact, on our way back to the ship, when I didn't see a sign of a Chinese platoon, much less a field army—that if I had to bet, I'd bet on McCoy. He doesn't say something unless he believes it."
"I hope he's wrong now," the captain said. "This part of the world is a lousy place to have to fight a war in the winter."
"The troops seem to think they'll be home for Christmas," Dunn said.
"Let's hope they're right," the captain said, then: "Changing the subject, you have a message straight from CNO."
"I have a message from CNO?"
"Yeah," the captain said, then took it from his pocket and handed it to him.
"I thought you were pulling my chain, sir," Dunn said as he unfolded the single sheet of teletypewriter paper.
SECRET
URGENT
WASHINGTON DC 0945 16 OCTOBER 1950
FROM: CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS
SUBJECT: CITATION FOR DECORATION FOR MAJOR M.S. PICKERING, USMCR
TO: COMMANDING OFFICER MAG 33 ABOARD BADOENG STRAIT
INFO: CHAIRMAN JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF
NAVAL LIAISON OFFICER TO THE PRESIDENT
SUPREME COMMANDER UNITED NATIONS COMMAND TOKYO
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