Since McCoy, Mrs. Ernestine and later McCoy, Major K. R. had been admitted, Captain Schermer had found the time to make morning and afternoon rounds of the maternity ward every day, and Commander Stenten had been free to accompany him.
There were several reasons for this, and chief among them was that both Captain Schermer and Commander Stenten genuinely liked the young couple sharing the sumo wrestler's bed. But Schermer was also aware that he had a delicate situation in his care of Major and Mrs. McCoy.
It hadn't been, for example, the first time General of the Army and Mrs. MacArthur had come to Sasebo to visit the wounded and ill. Since the war had started, they had made ten, maybe twelve such visits. But never had Mrs. MacArthur brought a box of candy to a maternity ward patient.
And never, to his knowledge, had the hospital had in its care a CIA agent who had suffered wounds behind enemy lines. And whose commanding officer, a brigadier general, the assistant director of the CIA for Asia, obviously had an interest in both of them that went beyond official to in loco parentis.
Captain Schermer, followed by Commander Stenten and then by the Rounds Staff, marched into room 308, where the patients were lying beside one another reading Stars and Stripes and So, You're Going to Be a Mother!
"Good morning," Captain Schermer said. "And how are we this morning?"
"I don't know how we are, Doctor," Mrs. McCoy replied. "But speaking for my husband and myself, I'm pregnant and uncomfortable, ready to go home, and he's pawing the ground to get out of here."
Commander Stenten chuckled.
Captain Schermer picked up their medical record clipboards from the foot of the bed and studied both.
"Well," he said. "Why don't we get Major McCoy into a wheelchair, and have Dr. Haverty have a look at you?"
One of the nurses rolled a wheelchair to his side of the bed, and another started to pull the drapes around the bed.
"I won't need that, thank you," McCoy said, and got out of the bed and slid his feet into slippers.
Dr. Schermer thought: He seems to be able to do so without pain.
Or without much pain.
Or he's very good at concealing pain.
As the privacy drapes were drawn around the bed and Lieutenant Commander Robert Haverty, MC, USNR, Chief of Gynecological Services, and a nurse went behind it, McCoy walked to the window and rested his rear end on the sill.
Dr. Schermer walked over to him.
"She means that, sir," McCoy said. "She wants to go home. Is there any reason she can't?"
"To the States? I'm afraid she doesn't meet the criteria for medical evacuation, and I don't think a flight that long would be the thing for her to do."
"She means Tokyo, sir," McCoy said. "We have a house there."
"You know what happened when she came here from Tokyo," Schermer said.
"She couldn't get a sleeper—for that matter, even a first-class seat—on the train, so she sat up all the way, all night, on a wooden seat in third class," McCoy said.
"I didn't know that," Schermer said as Commander Stenten stepped up beside him.
"Neither did I, until I tried to talk her out of going back to Tokyo," McCoy said. "You're going to have to convince her there is good reason—that she would lose the baby—if she went back to Tokyo in a sleeper on the train."
"Why does she want to go to Tokyo?" Commander Stenten asked.
"She says she'd rather be in her own bed, at home, than here."
"Especially since you won't be here?" Commander Stenten asked.
"Yes, ma'am," McCoy said.
"Let me think—long and hard—about this. After I speak with Dr. Haverty," Dr. Schermer said.
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"And how's your leg?"
"I don't think I'd want to do any squat jumps, sir," McCoy said. "But I can maneuver, and I really have to get out of here and back to work."
"Back to what you were doing when you were hit?" Commander Stenten asked.
"No, ma'am," McCoy said, chuckling. "I don't think I'm quite up to that yet. But I'm okay for limited duty."
"Let me talk this over with Dr. Haverty," Dr. Schermer said.
[TWO]
Office of the Hospital Commander
U.S. Naval Hospital
U.S. Navy Base, Sasebo
Sasebo, Japan
O855 25 October 195O
"I didn't know about her sitting up all night on a train," Dr. Haverty said. "That explains a good deal."
"How is she?" Dr. Schermer asked.
"At the moment, she's fine," Haverty replied. "But the idea of her taking another train ride ..."
"Even flat on her back in a sleeper?" Commander Stenten asked.
The question seemed argumentative. Nurses are not permitted to question the opinions of physicians, much less argue with them. But this was not an ordinary nurse, this was the Dragon Lady.
"Well, what if she had trouble on the way?" Dr. Haverty asked.
"Yeah," Dr. Schermer agreed. "The husband wouldn't be much help. If something happened . . . anything could start her off again."
"She would need medical attention right then," Dr. Haverty said.
"But nothing a nurse couldn't handle, right?" the Dragon Lady asked. "Worst case, she starts—"
"You're not suggesting we send a nurse with her, are you?" Dr. Schermer asked. "I couldn't authorize anything like that."
"In addition to the train ride," the Dragon Lady said, "she got a hell of an emotional shock when she heard her friend had been killed. And when she got a good look at Major Pickering. You don't think that had anything to do with the trouble she had?"
"Of course it did," Dr. Haverty said.
"Then you would suggest her mental peace would be a factor in whether she can carry to term or not?'
"Obviously," Dr. Haverty said.
"She's a nice young woman, a very nice young woman," the Dragon Lady said. "Tough, but not as tough as she thinks she is. Who is far from home and alone."
"That's true."
"The prospect of being here alone terrifies her. She wants to be in her own home," the Dragon Lady said. "I can understand that."
"So can I," Captain Schermer agreed. "But what if something happens at home? She'd be alone there, too."
"They have three live-in servants. She speaks Japanese."
"Three live-in servants?" Captain Schermer said. "In a major's quarters?"
"How do you know that?" Dr. Haverty asked.
"I've talked to her. Yeah, three live-in servants. Maybe the CIA pays better than the Marine Corps. But she's got three servants, and she doesn't live in government quarters. They own a house in Denenchofu."
"Which brings us back to the question of the trip to Tokyo. As much as I'd like to, I can't authorize sending a nurse with her.'
"I'm up to my ears in use-it-or-lose-it leave," the Dragon Lady said. "I herewith apply for up to thirty days' ordinary leave."
They both looked at her in surprise.
"I've got some friends at Tokyo General," the Dragon Lady said. "I can explain the situation to them and make sure they lay on whatever might be needed if it's needed."
Dr. Schermer looked at Dr. Haverty, and said, "Bob, if she's not in immediate danger of losing the baby ..."
"She really would be better off in her own bedroom. If she had quarters here, I'd recommend her release and tell her to get in bed and stay there, and to call for help the moment . . . But she doesn't have quarters here."
"So the question, then, is how to get her to her quarters?"
Haverty nodded.
"Commander Stenten," Captain Schermer said, "in connection with your Temporary Duty to confer with the nursing staff of the U.S. Army General Hospital, Tokyo, you are authorized up to thirty days' ordinary leave."
"Thank you, sir," the Dragon Lady said.
[THREE]
Room 16, Neuro-Psychiatric Ward
U.S. Naval Hospital
San Diego, California
<
br /> O83O 26 October 195O
"Come on in, Major," Lieutenant Patrick McGrory, MC, USN, said to Major Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR.
Pickering was in pajamas, a blue bathrobe, and felt slippers. After a moment's hesitation, he walked into the office.
"Have a seat," McGrory said. "I'm Pat McGrory."
He leaned across his desk and put his hand out.
Pick made no move to take the hand.
"Funny about the seat," Pick said. "I seem to remember that officers are supposed to get out of their seats when a more senior officer enters a room."
McGrory stood up. "Sorry," he said.
"As you were," Pick said.
McGrory smiled.
"Does that mean I can sit down now?" he asked.
"Be my guest, Mr. McGrory," Pick said.
"Actually, that's Dr. McGrory, sir."
"Be my guest, Dr. McGrory."
"I'm a psychiatrist," McGrory said as he sat and motioned for Pick to do the same. "And you are in the psychiatric ward of the U.S. Naval Hospital, San Diego. This is our initial—sometimes called 'the welcoming'—interview."
"I never would have guessed, with the locked doors and the steel screens on the windows."
McGrory smiled at him.
"Funny, nobody told me I was nuts in Japan," Pick said. "They told me— rather unnecessarily—that I was a little underweight and that my teeth are loose in my gums, but the word 'nuts' never came up. At least until yesterday when the guy on the airplane threatened to stick a needle in my arm unless I got on his gurney and allowed myself to be strapped in."
"I heard about that," McGrory said. "And I understand you said rude things to the nurse when she wouldn't let you use the telephone."
"I wanted to call my mother," Pick said. "And I am unable to understand why I couldn't."
"Well, for one thing, you had just got in, and you hadn't had your initial interview, in which the rules are explained. You can call your mother as soon as we're finished here."
"And when will that be?"
"Shortly."
"Tell me about the rules," Pick said.
"They vary from patient to patient—"
"Tell me about the ones that apply to me."
"—depending on that patient's problems."
"My problems are my teeth are a little loose in my gums and I'm a little underweight."
"You have gone through what I understand is one hell of an ordeal. Do you want to tell me about that?"
"No."
"Any reason why not?"
"I'd prefer to forget about it."
"That's understandable," McGrory said. "But from my viewpoint, the Navy's viewpoint, we have to wonder what damage your ordeal caused."
"We're back to the loose teeth and lost weight," Pick said.
"The lost weight we can deal with by giving you a lot to eat. The food here's pretty good. And, I'm told, as you get your weight back, the loose teeth problem will gradually go away."
"Then why am I locked up in the booby hatch? That's all that's wrong with me."
"And I hope to be able to soon certify, after we've talked some, that there are fifty-two cards in your deck."
"Plus a couple of jokers. Take my word for it."
"There are three categories of patients here. You—because you just got here and have not been evaluated—are in Category One, which means that you are restricted to the ward. If you need anything from the Ship's Store, for example, you give a list to the nurse, and she'll see that you'll get it. You're not allowed to have money in your possession. When you move up to Category Two . . ."
"Let me guess. I can have money in my possession?"
"With which you can settle your Ship's Store bill. Which brings that up. When was the last time you were paid?"
"I guess four months ago, something like that." McGrory made a note on a lined pad.
"When you move up to Category Two, they'll give you a partial pay," he went on. "It will take some time before your records catch up with you."
"What other great privileges go with Category Two?"
"You have freedom of the building, which means that you can go to the Ship's Store, and the movies—"
"Whoopee!"
"—and the Officers' Club for your meals, if you so desire, and where, I understand, intoxicants of various types are on sale."
"You trust the loonies with booze, do you?"
"Until they demonstrate they can't be trusted with it," McGrory said. "The uniform for Category Two patients is the bathrobe and pajamas. That's so we can easily recognize them if they give in to temptation and walk out the door. Then they're brought back and it's Category One all over again."
"Fascinating! And Category Three?"
"When you work your way up to Category Three, you are permitted passes. That means you can go, in uniform, on little tours of the local area we organize. Free bus service, of course. And, sometimes, when accompanied by a responsible family member or friend—have you got a girlfriend?"
"Not anymore."
"Pity. What happened?"
"None of your goddamn business, Doctor."
"Well, in Category Three, if you had—or get—a girlfriend, and we thought she was responsible, you could get a six-hour, sometimes an all-day, pass with her."
"No girlfriend."
"As I said, a pity."
"Is there a Category Four?"
"No. If we don't think you're going to hurt yourself or someone else, there's no sense in keeping you here."
"Why don't we just start with that? I'm not going to hurt myself or anyone else. I'm probably at least as sane as you are. So why do we have to play this game?"
"It's policy."
"Fuck your policy."
"You're fond of that phrase, aren't you? That's what you told the doctor on the med-evacuation flight."
"It's a useful phrase."
"Any questions, Major?"
"How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?"
McGrory laughed.
"By working your way up through Category Three. That means we're going to have to talk."
"About. . . what was it you said, my 'ordeal'?"
"Uh-huh."
"Don't hold your breath, Doctor."
"I hadn't intended to," McGrory said. "Well, that's it. You can go back to your room and fill out your Ship's Store list. And call your mother. If she wants to come see you, that can be arranged. The nurse'll explain the rules, visiting hours, et cetera. I'll see you later."
"I don't have any choice there, do I?"
"No. Afraid not. For what it's worth, Major: You can make this as easy or hard as you want. Your choice."
Pick stood up, looked at Dr. McGrory for a moment, and then started out of the office.
His right foot came out of the slipper. He looked down, then kicked off the left slipper and walked down the corridor barefoot.
[FOUR]
The Race Track
Seoul, South Korea
123O 28 October 195O
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, jumped nimbly to the ground from the rear door of the Beaver, exchanged salutes with Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, and then looked back at the airplane. Major Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, was climbing down from the copilot's seat.
McCoy could not conceal that stretching his leg to get his foot onto the step mounted on the landing gear strut was painful, or that it hurt like hell when he jumped the rest of the way to the ground.
Pickering glanced at Vandenburg and saw on his face that he had seen the same thing he had.
McCoy saluted Vandenburg crisply and smiled.
"I see the colonel has appropriated my vehicle," he said, gesturing toward the Russian jeep.
"I didn't expect to see you back so soon," Vandenburg said.
"He says he's fine," Pickering said. "I have very serious doubts about that."
"I'm all right, sir," McCoy said.
"In a pig's ass, you are," Vandenburg said.
Major Alex Donald, who had flown to Pusan to pick up Pickering and McCoy, finished shutting down the airplane and climbed down from the cockpit.
He saluted Vandenburg and said, "Every time I come in here in the Beaver, I devoutly hope there is truth in that crack that the best place to hide something is in plain sight."
"I'm told General Walker remains convinced his missing airplane is somewhere in Korea," Vandenburg said. "The last I heard, he was looking around Pusan." He paused and then looked at Pickering. "We're going to have to talk about that, sir. The Beaver is assigned to the Presidential Mission, and General Howe—"
"Let's talk about it at lunch," Pickering said. "Is there going to be any trouble about the airplane while it's here?"
Vandenburg pointed toward the base operations shack. Coming toward them from it were Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, and two other Marines, all armed with Thompson submachine guns.
"I thought a perimeter guard might be in order," Vandenburg said matter-of-factly.
Jennings saluted.
"You all right, Major?" he asked. "We heard you got—"
"I'm fine, Jennings, thank you," McCoy said.
"You may have to carry him to the Russian jeep, Sergeant," Pickering said. "But aside from that—"
McCoy trotted to the Russian jeep, jumped nimbly into the backseat, and called, "Anytime the general is ready, sir!"
Pickering turned his back to him and said to Vandenburg and Jennings, "That obviously hurt him. Let's act as if we don't think so. But one of the things I intended to tell you, Colonel, is that under no circumstances is he to go forward of our lines."
"I understand, sir."
"And if you or any of your men hear that he's planning to do something like that, Sergeant, you are to tell Colonel Vandenburg."
Jennings nodded. "Aye, aye, sir."
"Let's go get some lunch," Pickering said, and started toward the jeep.
Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, was sitting at the dining room table in The House, drinking coffee with Master Sergeant Charley Rogers. The table was set for lunch.
"I'm surprised to see you, McCoy," Howe said. "General Almond told me you took a pretty good hit."
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