“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Will you still fit in your uniforms?”
“A young Navy doctor told me that I’m in remarkably good shape for my age. Where are my uniforms?”
“I found a couple here in the apartment. Shall I bring them?”
“Please, sweetheart. Thank you.”
“How in the world did a couple of nice girls like Ernie and me wind up as Marine Corps camp followers?”
“You have very good taste, maybe?”
McCoy heard Patricia Fleming laugh, and then she hung up without saying anything else.
[FOUR]
HEADQUARTERS BEAUFORT USMC AIR STATION BEAUFORT, SOUTH CAROLINA 0830 1 JULY 1950
Colonel Edward J. Banning, USMC, in a fresh but already sweat-stained tropical worsted uniform, and carrying a canvas Valv-Pak, walked into the headquarters building and got his hand up in time to keep the Technical Sergeant on duty from leaping to his feet and bellowing “attention on deck.”
“As you were,” he said. “Sergeant, is Colonel Dunn somewhere around?”
“Sir, if you’re Colonel Banning, he’s expecting you.”
“Guilty,” Banning said. “Where do I find him?”
“Hold on, sir,” the sergeant said, and picked up his telephone. He dialed a number, then announced, “Sir, Colonel Banning is here.”
Lieutenant Colonel William C. Dunn, USMC, appeared a minute later, wearing a flight suit and holding a mug of coffee in his hand.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
“Hello, Billy,” Banning said, as they shook hands.
He reached into his pocket and took out a sheet of teletype paper, the second, carbon copy of what had come out of the machine, and handed it to Dunn.
Dunn reached in the knee pocket of his flight suit and handed Banning a sheet of teletype paper.
“The Colonel,” he said, dryly, “might find this of interest. I think I know what yours says.”
Both men read the teletype messages:
PRIORITY
CONFIDENTIAL
FROM: HQ USMC 1610 30 JUNE 1950
TO: COMMANDING OFFICER USMC BARRACKS CHARLESTON, SC
INFO: COMMANDING OFFICER MCAS BEAUFORT, SCISSUE APPROPRIATE ORDERS IMMEDIATELY DETACHING COLONEL EDWARD M. BANNING FOR INDEFINITE PERIOD OF TEMPORARY DUTY HQ USMC.
COL BANNING WILL REPORT TO OFFICE OF THE COMMANDANT, USMC.
TRAVEL BY USMC AIRCRAFT FROM MCAS BEAUFORT, SC IS DIRECTED. PRIORITY AAAAA. TRAVEL WILL COMMENCE WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR (24) HOURS.
NO INQUIRIES CONCERNING OR REQUESTS FOR DELAY IN EXECUTION OF THESE ORDERS IS DESIRED.
FOR THE COMMANDANT USMC:
WILLIAM S. SHALEY MAG GEN USMC
PRIORITY
CONFIDENTIAL
FROM: HQ USMC 1610 30 JUNE 1950
TO: COMMANDING GENERAL USMC RECRUIT TRAINING DEPOT PARRIS ISLAND SC
INFO: COMMANDING OFFICER MCAS BEAUFORT, SCISSUE APPROPRIATE ORDERS IMMEDIATELY DETACHING MASTER GUNNER ERNEST W. ZIMMERMAN FOR INDEFINITE PERIOD OF TEMPORARY DUTY HQ USMC.
SUBJECT OFFICER WILL REPORT TO OFFICE OF THE COMMANDANT, USMC.
TRAVEL BY USMC AIRCRAFT FROM MCAS BEAUFORT, SC IS DIRECTED. PRIORITY AAAAA. TRAVEL WILL COMMENCE WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR (24) HOURS.
NO INQUIRIES CONCERNING OR REQUESTS FOR DELAY IN EXECUTION OF THESE ORDERS IS DESIRED.
FOR THE COMMANDANT USMC:
WILLIAM S. SHALEY MAG GEN USMC
“I think I know what this is, Colonel,” Dunn said, as they exchanged the teletype messages. “The Commandant is holding a convention of real estate tycoons.”
"You can go to hell, Colonel,” Banning said. “I have no idea what this is all about.”
“It might have something to do with what’s going on in Korea,” Dunn said. “It just came over the radio that MacArthur went over to have a look.”
Banning grunted but didn’t reply.
“Zimmerman here?”
“He and Mae-Su, in my office. I thought you’d want to go together. Luddy drive you up?”
Banning nodded, and nodded toward the parking lot. “And passed the time delivering lecture 401 on the evils of the communist empire. She’s convinced the Russians—excuse me, the Bolsheviks; Luddy is a Russian—are behind this Korean business.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Billy, I just don’t know,” Banning said.
“Well, your chariot awaits, Colonel. Unless you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“I hate long farewells,” Banning said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”
“I’ll go get the Zimmermans,” Dunn said.
“What kind of a chariot do we have?”
“Gooney-Bird,” Dunn said. “Driven by yours truly.”
“That’s very nice, Billy. But I know you’ve got things to do around here.”
“I could say, ‘my pleasure, sir, there’s nothing I would rather do,’ but being a Marine officer, the truth is that I’m headed for Eighth and Eye, too. I think somebody up there thinks we’re going to have a war; they want to talk about mobilization. Taking you in the Gooney-Bird means I can take some of my officers and senior noncoms with me.”
[FIVE]
ROOM 505 EAST BUILDING, THE CIA COMPLEX 2430 E STREET WASHINGTON, D.C. 1400 1 JULY 1950
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, was sprawled somewhat uncomfortably on a chrome framed, tweed-upholstered couch reading The Washington Star and Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMC, was sitting behind General Pickering’s desk, reading The Washington Post, when the telephone on the desk rang.
McCoy looked at Pickering for guidance, and Pickering mimed picking up the telephone.
“General Pickering’s office, Captain McCoy speaking, sir.” He listened, and then added, “Pass them up, please.” He put the telephone back in its cradle and looked at Pickering. “Banning and Zimmerman are downstairs,” he said.
“That was quick,” Pickering said. “Cates told me he would get them assigned here, but that was yesterday afternoon. ”
He sat up, put the newspaper on the couch, and stood up, looking thoughtful.
“Try to get Admiral Hillenkoetter again, will you, Ken?” he asked.
McCoy consulted a stapled-together telephone book and dialed a number.
“General Pickering calling for Admiral Hillenkoetter,” he said into the telephone, listened again, said “thank you,” and hung up. He looked at Pickering. “The admiral is not in the building,” he said.
“Which means the admiral is not in the building, or the admiral doesn’t want to talk to me,” Pickering said. He walked to the window and looked out of it.
Escorted by an armed guard in a police-like uniform, Colonel Edward J. Banning, USMC, and Master Gunner Ernest Zimmerman, USMC, arrived three minutes later.
“Colonel Banning, Edward J., reporting as ordered with a party of one, sir,” Banning said.
“Hello, Ed,” Pickering said. “Ernie, how are you?”
They shook hands all around.
“General,” the guard said, “when these gentlemen leave, please have them escorted to the lobby, or call the guard captain, and he will send someone here.”
Pickering looked at him a moment, then nodded.
The guard left and closed the door.
“I knew you were coming,” Pickering said. “But I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“ ‘Travel will commence within twenty-four hours,’ ” Banning quoted, and handed Pickering the sheet of teletype paper he had shown Billy Dunn at the Beaufort Marine Air Station earlier. “Ernie’s got one just like it, with only the names changed to protect the guilty. We went to Eighth and Eye, and they sent us over here. Orders will be cut sometime today placing both of us on indefinite TAD1here.”
“Colonel Dunn flew us up,” Zimmerman said. “He sends his respects, sir. Can I ask what’s happening?”
“Ernie, I don’t know,” Pickering said. “But I’m damned sure about to find out.” He turned to McCoy. “Look in that phone book, Ken,
and see if you can come up with a deputy director, or a deputy director, administration, something like that.”
“Yes, sir,” McCoy said.
Sixty seconds later, he reported: “There’s a deputy director and deputy director for administration. In this building. Shall I try to get one of them—tell me which one—on the phone?”
“Does it give room numbers?”
“Yes, sir. Four-oh-two for the deputy director, four-oh-six for the deputy director, administration.”
Pickering walked to the door of the office and made a follow me motion with his hand and arm.
They followed him down the corridor toward the elevator, and then Pickering spotted and opened a door to a stairwell.
“It’s only one flight down,” he said.
One flight down, the door from the stairwell to the fourth floor could not be opened.
“Goddamn it!” Pickering said, and started down the stairwell, taking them two at a time, with Banning, McCoy, and Zimmerman on his tail.
The door from the stairwell to the lobby opened. Pickering started for the bank of elevators, and was intercepted by another guard in a police-type uniform before he could punch the button to summon the elevator.
“Excuse me, sir,” the guard said. “May I see your badge, please?”
“I don’t have a badge,” Pickering said. “None of us have badges. It’s one of the things I’m going to discuss with either Admiral Hillenkoetter or one of his deputies.”
Another guard appeared.
“Sir, I can’t permit you to get on the elevator without a badge, or an escort.”
“Okay, escort me,” Pickering said.
“Sir, I can’t do that without permission from the party you wish to see.”
“Okay. Get on the horn, call Admiral Hillenkoetter, or his deputy, or the deputy director for administration, and tell him that General Pickering wishes to see him.”
“If you’ll wait here, please,” one of the guards said, and walked to the desk in the center of the lobby.
“How’d you get this far without a badge?” the other guard asked.
“I came down the goddamn chimney like Santa Claus,” Pickering said.
Two minutes later, the first guard walked back over to them. He was carrying a clipboard.
“I’ll have to see your ID cards,” he said. “And then this officer will escort you to the office of the deputy director for administration.”
That took another two minutes, but finally all five crowded into a small elevator.
They rose to the fourth floor, and the guard led them down the corridor to an office with a gold-lettered sign reading “Deputy Director, Administration” on the frosted glass of its door.
Inside was a reception room, occupied by a middle-aged secretary. A Navy captain stood beside her desk.
“General,” he said. “I’m Captain Murfin, the deputy director for administration. How can I help you?”
“Can we talk in there?” Pickering asked, pointing to the interior office.
“Yes, sir, of course. Can I offer you coffee?”
“That would be very nice, thank you,” Pickering said. He followed Captain Murfin into his office.
“Captain, this is Colonel Banning, Captain McCoy, and Mr. Zimmerman. For lack of a better description, they are my staff.”
They all shook hands. The secretary delivered coffee in mugs.
“Now, what’s on your mind, General?” Captain Murfin asked.
“For openers, I will need, we will all need, identification badges. I’m getting tired of being escorted around by your guards.”
“I’ll arrange for temporary badges, of course.”
“Does that imply you know we won’t be around here long?” Pickering asked.
“No, sir. What it means is that I don’t know how long you will be here.”
“Or what I’ll be doing?”
“That, too, General.”
“Okay. Let me try to clarify that point. I am here and Captain McCoy is here at the order of the President of the United States . . .”
“So I understand, General.”
“. . . and Colonel Banning and Mr. Zimmerman are here because they have been placed on indefinite TAD here, to work for me, by order of the Commandant of the Marine Corps. Orders to that effect are being cut today.”
“Yes, sir. I suppose I can get you and the captain identity badges, but until I actually have the Colonel’s and Mr. Zimmerman’s orders in hand . . .”
“Tell me, Captain, is the deputy director in the building? ” Pickering interrupted.
“No, sir. He’s not.”
“And I understand the director is likewise off somewhere? ”
“He’s at the Pentagon, sir.”
“Which leaves you the senior officer on duty?”
“Yes, sir. I suppose I am running the store at the moment. ”
“Well, Captain, in that case, let me tell you how you’re going to run the store,” Pickering said. “We are both in the Naval service, and I don’t think I have to tell you that a brigadier general outranks a captain.”
“Sir . . .”
“What you are going to do, Captain, is immediately take our photographs and fingerprints and whatever else you need to have ID cards printed up for all four of us. Those identity cards will be waiting for us in the lobby no later than 0800 tomorrow. You may consider that an order. If the director wishes to discuss this with me—or the deputy director, presuming he is senior in rank to me—wishes to discuss this with me, I will be—we will all be—in my apartment in the Foster Lafayette hotel. Do you have any questions?”
The deputy director for administration considered his reply for at least twenty seconds. Then he said, “General, if you and these gentlemen will come with me, I’ll take you to the photo lab.”
“Certainly,” Pickering said. “And there is one other thing, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please get word to Admiral Hillenkoetter that I will be here at 0800 tomorrow, and respectfully request a few minutes of his time as soon as possible thereafter.”
“I’ll give him that message, sir,” Captain Murfin said.
[SIX]
THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE SUITE THE FOSTER LAFAYETTE HOTEL WASHINGTON, D.C. 1805 1 JULY 1950
“I really don’t know what to think,” Colonel Ed Banning said, popping a bacon-wrapped oyster in his mouth. “I wish I’d known about the Killer’s assessment before now. . . .”
“Goddamn it, are you never going to belay that Killer crap?” McCoy snapped.
“Sorry, Ken,” Banning said.
“Never,” Pickering said, “at least not among those who know you and love you so well.”
“Sorry, Ken,” Banning said, sincerely contrite. “It just slips out.”
“Forget it,” McCoy said.
“As you have forgotten that good Marine captains don’t cuss at Marine colonels?” Pickering asked.
“Sir, Captain McCoy begs the colonel’s pardon.”
“It’s Okay, Killer, forget it,” Banning said.
That caused laughter.
The truth was while they were not drunk, they had been sitting, drinking, in the living room of Pickering’s suite— technically, he had commented, his wife’s suite; she was the chairman of Foster Hotels, Inc.—since 1645, when they had returned from the CIA complex, all the bureaucratic necessities for the issuance of identity cards having taken a little more than an hour.
Some of their conversation had dealt with wondering where the women were; they should have been in the hotel by noon, but most of it had dealt with what was going on, both in Korea and with themselves.
A bellman had been dispatched to the National Geographic Society building, several blocks away, to get a map of Korea—“On second thought, you’d better get half a dozen,” Pickering had ordered. “Everything they’ve got, the coast of China from the Burmese border, near Rangoon, to the Russian border, to the Sea of Okhotsk.”
Usi
ng the maps, McCoy had delivered an hour-long briefing, entirely from memory, of the disposition of North Korean forces on the Korean peninsula; of Chinese and Russian forces up and down the coast of the Asian continent; of U.S. Army forces in Korea—there were practically none in Korea—and Japan; and even of Nationalist Chinese forces on Formosa.
He traced the possible routes of invasion across the 38th parallel, and offered his assessment of the probable North Korean intentions.
“I don’t think they expected the Americans to intervene, but I don’t think that it will have any effect when we do. We probably can’t get enough forces over there quickly enough to stop them. What we do send is likely to be pushed into the sea here, in the deep South, around Pusan.”
He discussed the possibility of support from Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist Army on Formosa, and dismissed it as probably not going to be worth very much. And his opinion of the war-fighting capabilities of the Eighth U.S. Army in Korea was anything but flattering.
“Their equipment is old, their training is inadequate, and they don’t have any armor to match the Russian T-34s the North Koreans have. The bridges in Japan won’t take the weight of an M-26, which is arguably as good as the T-34, so there are no M-26s. The M-24s they do have are light tanks that don’t stand a chance against the T-34.”
That was frustrating to hear, of course, and so was contemplation of what they were all going to be doing in the CIA.
Banning agreed that it was possible, even likely, that Admiral Hillenkoetter would be fired for not being able to predict the sudden North Korea attack.
“Probably,” Banning said, “not right away. If the President is worried about a Pearl Harbor reaction to the attack, the last thing he wants to do is fire the Director of the CIA. That makes what General Cates said, that he’s thinking of you to replace Hillenkoetter, make a kind of sense.”
“I’m not equipped to run the CIA.”
“One scenario is that Hillenkoetter will stay on until you feel you can take over,” Banning argued.
The door chime sounded.
“The ladies, I hope,” Pickering said, and went to the door.
Under Fire Page 20