Retreat, Hell! tc-10

by W. E. B Griffin

  "What made you think I'd be out here?"

  "I just knew. I know how you think."

  Jesus Christ, I hope not.

  He didn't reply.

  "I'm surprised they let you in. You really don't work for Trans-Global any­more, do you? I mean, you're on military leave, right?"

  "I own the airline," Pick said. "That probably had something to do with the station manager letting me in."

  "You own the airline like I'm Marilyn Monroe."

  Jesus Christ, she doesn't know!

  "I slipped him twenty bucks from my poker winnings," Pick said.

  Jesus, I can smell her.

  "What happened to your shoes? Blister?" he asked.

  "No. I didn't want to startle you, so I took them off. How you doing?"

  "After twenty, thirty minutes of solemn contemplation, I decided that Jeanette is not really inside this Container, Human Remains," Pick said. "So it doesn't really matter that it's not covered with the flag."

  "There'll be a flag tomorrow, won't there?"

  "Probably. I don't know. I don't care. I'm not going. I said good-bye to her twice, once over there, and I'm doing it again now. Have just finished doing it, now."

  She took his hand with both of hers.

  You don't really want to do that, Mrs. Babs Mitchell. My high moral charac­ter is weakened in direct proportion to the amount of imbibed booze. The needle on the Moral Scruples Remaining indicator is already in the red.

  "I'm sorry, Pick."

  "You shouldn't be. Despite popular legend to the contrary, the real bastards of this world do get what is coming to them. Or don't get what they would re­ally like to have."

  "I'm not sure I follow that."

  "That's probably because I am just a wee bit tiddly."

  "I noticed," she said matter-of-factly. "If you're really finished, I'll take you home."

  By that, obviously, you mean home to room 39A in the loony ward.

  "I thought I'd catch a cab and go back to the Coronado Beach," he said. "But I will take a ride as far as the passenger terminal, where I can catch a cab."

  "Why there?"

  "Because that's where the cabstand is."

  "I meant the Coronado Beach Hotel?"

  "Because I have an apartment there, where I can have a few drinks in pri­vate, and thus not disgrace my officer's uniform by being shitfaced in a public establishment, or run afoul of the hospital O Club regulations."

  "You have an apartment there?"

  "Yeah, I have an apartment there."

  "If you're ready, I'll take you there."

  "That would be a very bad idea," he said. "As a matter of fact, I will not, thank you just the same, take a ride to the passenger terminal."

  "Why would that be a very bad idea?"

  "Because I'm having a hell of a hard time keeping from putting my arms around you while standing in front of Jeanette's casket, and I know goddamn well what would happen in your car. Much less my apartment."

  She looked into his eyes.

  "Okay. Now you know," Pick said. "That's the kind of a prick I am. And the sooner you get away from me, and the farther away you get, the better."

  "Okay. I'm warned," she said. "Let's go."

  "Didn't you hear what I said?"

  "I heard you."

  "But you don't believe me? Is that it?"

  "I had a couple of drinks before I went looking for you," Babs said. "Time to think very seriously about the dangers of someone like myself being desper­ate for another man in my life, of someone like you being especially vulnera­ble to someone like me."

  "And?"

  "I had another drink and went looking for you."

  "Jesus, Babs!" he said softly.

  "The drinks I had are wearing off, so if we're going to do this, you'd better get another couple in me pretty soon."

  "I don't think you know what you're saying," he said.

  "Yeah, I do. Why not, Pick? Who are we going to hurt?"

  "The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you, add to your prob­lems," Pick said.

  "I know," she said. She put her hand on his cheek. "Likewise. Who knows? Maybe we can solve each other's problems. It seems to me worth trying. What has either one of us got to lose?"

  "Jesus H. Christ!"

  "Come on, let's go," she said, and took his hand and led him away from the Container, Human Remains. Halfway to the hangar door, he freed his hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Six steps farther, he stopped, put both arms around her, and kissed her.

  [NINE]

  Apartment A

  The P&FE/Trans-Global Suite

  Coronado Beach Hotel

  San Diego, California

  O83O 3 November I95O

  "I think this is what your friend Dr. McGrory would call 'postcoital depres­sion,' " Babs Mitchell said to Pick Pickering.

  They were having a room-service breakfast; both were wearing hotel-furnished terry-cloth robes. The robe concealed all the curvature of her body.

  It doesn't matter. I can see her face. Even without makeup, she's beautiful.

  Okay. Here it comes. You knew goddamn well it would.

  "Now that I've thought it over..."

  "Something bothering you?"

  "I had too much to drink last night," she said. "You must think I'm really a slut."

  "No I don't," he said.

  "You don't?"

  "I don't."

  "I wish I could believe that."

  "Believe it."

  "Oh, God, what have we done?"

  After a moment, Pick solemnly said, "If that question was addressed to the Deity, I'm sorry to have to tell you He's not available at the moment. But—as one of His favorite people on this particular planet—I feel confident in telling you that when He finally gets around to answering your query, He will say something like 'Nothing wrong.' Or 'Good for you.'

  " 'One of His favorite people'?" Babs parroted incredulously.

  "I have the proof," Pick said. "He put us together, didn't he? Just when we really needed each other. Would He have done that if He didn't like us?"

  "Oh, God, I'd like to believe that."

  "I told you, He's not available at the moment. But you can believe it."

  She stood, walked around the room-service cart, and put her arms around his neck from behind.

  "Oh, God, I really hope this works," she said.

  "For the third time, I'm sorry to have to tell—"

  "I'm going to have to stop saying that, aren't I?"

  "I don't know. He'll probably wonder why you stopped talking to Him."

  She pulled on his ears, and he twisted in his chair, and somehow his face wound up inside her bathrobe. And then, somehow, the bathrobe became com­pletely unfastened and fell from her shoulders.

  He had just picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder and announced, "Me Tarzan, you Jane! We go make whoopee-whoopee, okay?" when the door chimes sounded.

  "Come back next year," Pick callled loudly.

  "It's Captain McGowan, sir."

  "Oh, shit," Pick said softly. Then he raised his voice. "Be right with you, Art."

  He carried Babs into the bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and went to answer the door.

  "Got a message for you, sir," Captain McGowan said.

  "From General Dawkins?"

  "No, sir. From Japan." He handed it to him, then said, "Sir, when you go back to the hospital . . . The general told them he'd asked you to spend the night, and didn't think he had to ask their permission. They were about to send the Shore Patrol looking for you."

  "My compliments to the general,, Captain, and please relay my appreciation for his understanding of the situation."

  "Yes, sir, I'll do that. Good morning, sir."

  Pick tore open the envelope.

  UNCLASSIFIED

  URGENT

  OFFICE OF THE CIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR ASIA TOKYO

  0305 3NOVEMBER1950 TOKYO TIME

  TO MA
JOR MALCOLM S. PICKERING, USMCR

  DETACHMENT OF PATIENTS

  US NAVAL HOSPITAL SAN DIEGO

  VIA BRIG GEN C W DAWKINS, USMC CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA

  PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO TO MAJ PICKERING

  BEGINS

  MAJOR AND MRS KENNETH R. MCCOY, USMCR, ANNOUNCE THE BIRTH OF THEIR SON, PICKERING KENNETH MCCOY, IN TOKYO JAPAN AT 0215 3NOVEMBER1950. MOTHER AND CHILD ARE DOING WELL.

  END PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DDCIA TOKYO

  Pick went to the bedroom door. "What was that all about?"

  "One more proof that He likes me, sweetheart," Pick said, and sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the message.

  Christ, she doesn't even know who the Killer and Ernie are.

  She handed it back to him.

  "Friends of yours?" Babs asked.

  "Yeah. You'll like them," Pick said.

  "If you're happy," Babs said, "I'm happy."

  AFTERWORD

  I was an X Corps sergeant/combat correspondent in Korea shortly after the events fictionally chronicled in this book took place. As such, I was able to read the official version of what happened in the X Corps and 1st Marine Division After Action Reports.

  What follows are the facts as we now know them, from our own sources and from those of the Communist Chinese, more than half a century after the conflict.

  On 3 November 1950, Major General Charles Willoughby announced to the press that there "possibly" were from 16,500 to a maximum of 34,000 Red Chinese soldiers in Korea.

  There were, in fact, 180,000 Chinese soldiers facing the Eighth United States Army on the west of Korea, and about 120,000 facing the X United States Corps in the east. They had begun crossing the Yalu River and entering North Korea in October 1950, each carrying a personal weapon, eighty rounds of am­munition, sometimes three or four "stick" hand grenades, and a week's supply of rations, dried fish, rice, and tea. There were some machine guns and some mortars, all hand-carried.

  They moved in at night, halting two hours before daybreak to prepare camouflaged positions. They then slept through the day. Anyone seen moving was shot on the spot, and his body hastily concealed from American aerial ob­servation.

  Red Chinese and American historians are generally agreed that the first bat­tle of the Chinese intervention was the attack by the Communists' 124th Di­vision on the 3d ROK Division, which was then advancing near the Chosin Reservoir. The 3d ROK retreated thirty miles south. The 7th Marines coun­terattacked, killing more than 1,500 Chinese and virtually destroying the 124th Division in a three-day battle.

  The Chinese pulled back to plan, and it was decided then that the primary mission of their Ninth Army Group would be the destruction of the U.S. 1st Marine Division.

  Misinterpreting this inactivity of the Chinese—and still grossly underesti­mating the size of the enemy forces—General of the Army Douglas MacArthur ordered X Corps and Eighth Army to stage attacks designed to, as MacArthur said, "end the war by Christmas."

  The attacks didn't.

  On Friday, 25 November 1950, preceded by a heavy and lengthy artillery barrage, General Walton Walker's Eighth Army began its march to the Yalu.

  Initially, there was very little resistance. But on the night of 25-26 No­vember 1950, the Chinese struck with overwhelming force. By morning, they had broken through Walker's lines, and the Eighth Army's right flank was ex­posed. The Turkish Brigade was sent to plug the hole, and was virtually de­stroyed.

  By nightfall, Walker had ordered the beginning of what has been called the longest retreat in the history of the U.S. Army: 275 miles in six weeks, during which the Eighth Army suffered 10,000 casualties.

  In the east, on 27 November 1950, Major General Edward M. Almond's X Corps—about 100,000 men, including the 1st Marine Division—began to strike for the Yalu.

  The 1st Marine Division commander, Major General "Howling Mad" Smith—who openly disliked his orders from Almond and MacArthur but had nevertheless begun to comply with them—positioned about 7,000 Marines to lead the fight.

  They were unaware that three Red Chinese divisions, about 30,000 men, were in the mountains on either side of the Yudam-ni Valley, ready to attack, and that the rest of the Chinese Ninth Army Group was moving to cut the main supply route in many places once that attack began.

  Nor had they heard about the beating the Eighth Army had taken the day before, and was taking as their attack began.

  General Smith's 5th and 7th Marines had some initial success, destroying one Red Chinese division and mauling another. But by the end of the sec­ond day, the Chinese plan to chop up the main supply route was also meet­ing success.

  And on the Chosin Reservoir's east shore, the Chinese, in division strength, for all practical purposes wiped out the hopelessly outnumbered 7th Infantry Division's 31st Regimental Combat Team, including a reinforcement by just over a thousand men of the 1st Battalion, 32d Infantry (Task Force Faith, so named for its commander, Lieutenant Colonel Don Carlos Faith).

  On 30 November, General Almond ordered General Smith to withdraw, and thus began the thirteen-day retreat in sub-zero temperatures from Yudam-ni to Hungnam, which deservedly has become Marine legend:

  To move down the one-lane road, it was first necessary for the Marines to clear the Chinese from the ridges on each side of the valley.

  The Marines did so, one ridgeline after another.

  Marine Aviation flew close ground support missions whenever the weather permitted.

  Marine Artillery provided what support it could.

  For nine days, over the thirty miles from Yudam-ni to Chinghung-ni, where the 3d U.S. Army Infantry Division had established a line, the Marines were in constant combat with ten Chinese Communist divisions.

  It was during this period that General O. P. Smith was quoted as saying, "Retreat, hell! We're just attacking in another direction!"—although there is some doubt about the attribution.

  The first "Retreat, hell!" comment came in France during World War I, when orders were issued for the Marines to retreat. "Retreat, hell! We just got here!" one said. The line was already part of Marine legend by 1950, and some­body certainly must have said it at the Chosin Reservoir.

  During this period, too, the legendary Marine Colonel Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller, who was then commanding the 1st Marines, did say something near the Chosin Reservoir about which there is no question:

  "Don't you forget that you're 1st Marines! Not all the Communists in hell can overrun you!"

  The Marines came out, bringing with them their weapons, their vehicles, their wounded, most of their dead, and a substantial number of Army soldiers they had rescued from certain capture or death.

  The 1st Marine Division had suffered 718 Killed in Action, 3,508 Wounded in Action, and 7,313 "noncombat" casualties due to frostbite. There were 192 Marines Missing in Action.

  Fourteen Marines were named Medal of Honor recipients. The Marine Corps estimates 25,000 Chinese were killed and another 12,500 were wounded. The U.S. Army estimates there were 30,000 Chinese KIA and another 30,000 Chinese were frostbitten.

  On Christmas Eve, 1950, the 1st Marine Division, with the rest of the X United States Corps, was evacuated by sea from Hamhung. X Corps took with it more than 100,000 Korean refugees. The only thing they left for the enemy were some engineering bridge timbers.

  On Christmas Eve, 1950, Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker was killed in a jeep accident. Lieutenant General Matthew B. Ridgway was named to re­place him.

  On 11 April 1951, President Truman sent, through ordinary Army chan­nels, a message to General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, which read:

  "I deeply regret that it becomes my duty as President and Commander-in-Chief of the United States Military Forces to replace you as Supreme Commander."

  General Ridgway was named to replace him.

  After he came home, was promoted, and retired, I had the unique privilege of coming to know Lieutenant General Edward M. Almond and of having him talk to me—usuall
y in his basement office in his home—at length about his role in the Korean campaign, and his relationships with General of the Army Dou­glas MacArthur and other members of the Supreme Commander's staff.

  One day, when I—and if memory serves, my twelve-year old Boy Scout son Bill—arrived for lunch at General Almond's gracious hillside home in Anniston, Alabama, he met me at the door and handed me a letter he said he had just received.

  General Almond was then well into his seventies, but his eyes were still a brilliant blue, and when I looked at him, I thought I saw the beginnings of tears.

  The letter was on Marine Corps General Officer's stationery. There were three red stars at the top.

  The letter was from Lieutenant General Lewis B. Puller, USMC.

  It began:

  MY DEAR GENERAL ALMOND,

  ON THE OCCASION OF MY RETIREMENT FROM THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS, I FELT DUTY BOUND TO WRITE TO YOU TO TELL YOU THAT YOU WERE THE FINEST COMBAT COMMANDER UNDER WHOM I WAS EVER PRIVILEGED TO SERVE.

  There was more to the letter, now long forgotten, but I shall never forget those opening lines, or General Almond's reaction to them.

  W. E. B. Griffin

  Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina

  6 August 2003

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