Under Fire

by Griffin, W. E. B.

  “The Coronado Beach? The hotel?”

  “Yes, sir. VFM-243—the officers and the staff non-coms—stay there when they’re on El Toro for training. Buck sergeants and under stay on El Toro in the barracks.”

  “Let me be sure I understand you, Sergeant. You’re telling me that the officers and staff noncommissioned officers of VMF-243 have been staying in a hotel when they’re on active duty for training?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How can they afford that?”

  “I think the hotel gives them a special rate, sir.”

  At this point, General Taylor told Sergeant Cohen to bring him the records of both Major Pickering and Captain Stuart W. James, the executive officer of VFM-243.

  It didn’t take him long to learn that neither officer had come into the Marine Corps—as he had—from the United States Naval Academy. Major Pickering had graduated from Harvard, and gone through Officer Candidate School. Captain James had gone through the Navy V-12 program at Yale, which earned him a commission on his graduation.

  Both had good records in World War II. Major Pickering had become an ace on Guadalcanal, and one more downing of an enemy aircraft would have made Captain Stuart an ace. James had not been on Guadalcanal, but flipping between the records, General Taylor learned that both had been assigned to the same squadron later in the war, during the last campaigns, including the invasion of Okinawa.

  Both had had some problems living up to the standards expected of officers and gentlemen. Pickering’s record included three letters of official reprimand for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, and Stuart’s record had two such letters. One of them made reference to joint action. They both had been reprimanded for using provoking language to a shore patrol officer then acting in his official capacity.

  When he saw that, since their release from active duty after World War II, both officers had been employed by Trans-Global Airways, and that both had been in VMF-243 since its organization as a reserve component of the Corps, it was not hard for General Taylor to form an initial opinion of the two:

  Hotshot, Ivy League-educated, Marine fighter pilots, wartime buddies who had probably joined the Marine Corps reserve because it gave them the opportunity simultaneously to continue flying high performance aircraft and get paid for doing so. They had apparently not been able to secure civilian employment as pilots. Trans-Global Airways was employing both as “flight coordinators.” General Taylor wasn’t sure what a “flight coordinator” was, but it didn’t seem to imply that either officer was involved in actual flight.

  At 1015, Sergeant Cohen knocked at the door of General Taylor’s—until recently, Lieutenant Colonel John X. O’Halloran’s—office, was granted permission to enter, entered, and reported that both Major Pickering and Captain Stuart were in the office.

  They were supposed to be here forty-eight—no, fifty— hours ago.

  “Sergeant, will you please find Colonel O’Halloran and ask him to drop whatever he’s doing and come here?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  When Sergeant Cohen left, General Taylor got a quick look through the door and saw Major Pickering and Captain Stuart. They were in flight clothing, that is to say, brownish, multipocketed coveralls and fur-collared leather jackets. So far as General Taylor knew, the wearing of flight clothing was proscribed when not actually engaged in flight operations.

  Both officers were bent over a newspaper, spread out on Technical Sergeant Cohen’s desk.

  There was also reverse observation. One of them looked through the open door, saw General Taylor, elbowed the other, who then had a moment’s glance at General Taylor before Sergeant Cohen closed the door.

  Lieutenant Colonel O’Halloran came into his old office by a side door three minutes later.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Colonel, but I thought you should be here for this,” General Taylor said.

  “No problem, sir. For what, sir?”

  General Taylor pressed the lever on his intercom box.

  “Sergeant Cohen, would you ask Major Pickering and Captain Stuart to come in, please?”

  After a polite knock at the door, the two officers entered. The taller of them had the newspaper tucked under his arm, where his cover would normally be. His cover, if any, was not in sight.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said to General Taylor, adding, “How goes it, Red?” to Lieutenant Colonel O’Halloran.

  “You are?” General Taylor inquired, somewhat icily.

  “General Taylor,” O’Halloran said. “This is Major Malcolm S. Pickering.”

  Major Pickering offered General Taylor his hand.

  “How do you do, sir?” he asked, adding, “My friends call me ’Pick.’ ”

  General Taylor was about to comment that he had virtually no interest in what Major Pickering’s friends called him, when Pickering went on:

  “You’ve seen the paper, Red?”

  O’Halloran shook his head, “no.”

  “Guess who’s already in Korea?” Pickering said.

  O’Halloran indicated by gesture and shrug that he had no idea.

  “The Killer,” Major Pickering said. “The story’s on page one.”

  “No kidding?” O’Halloran said, as he reached for the newspaper. He then remembered General Taylor, and added: “Major Pickering is referring to a mutual friend, sir. A Marine officer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Killer McCoy, sir,” O’Halloran said.

  “What I really would like to know, Colonel, as I’m sure you would, is why Major Pickering is some fifty hours late in reporting as ordered.”

  “I’m sorry about that, sir,” Major Pickering said. “When I got the word, I came—Stu and I came—as quickly as we could.”

  “And that took fifty hours?”

  “Actually, sir—I figured it out just a couple of minutes ago—from the time we got the word, it took us thirty-one hours.”

  “Where were you? In Siberia?”

  “Scotland, sir.”

  “Scotland?”

  “Prestwick, Scotland, sir.”

  “I reviewed your records a day or so ago, Major. I found nothing indicating that you had permission to leave the continental United States.”

  “We don’t need permission, sir,” Pickering said. “We’ve got a waiver.”

  “That’s the case, General,” Colonel O’Halloran said.

  “I’m fascinated,” General Taylor said. “Who granted a waiver? Why?”

  “Eighth and Eye, sir. They chose to interpret the regulation as not applying to us. As much time as we spend out of the country, it would be a real pain in the ass for them, as well as for us, to have to fill out those permission requests, and go through the routine, every time we left.”

  “I see. Colonel O’Halloran, I assume you’re familiar with this?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Why didn’t you inform me?”

  “Sir, the subject never came up.”

  “Why, Major, do you spend as much time as you tell me you do out of the country?”

  It was obvious from the look in Major Pickering’s eyes that he was surprised at the question.

  “Sir, we’re in the airline business,” Pickering said.

  “And your duties as ‘flight coordinator’ require extensive travel outside the country? What exactly is a flight coordinator? ”

  For the first time, there was a crack in what General Taylor thought of as an offensive degree of self-confidence in Major Pickering’s demeanor.

  Major Pickering looked nervously at Lieutenant Colonel O’Halloran.

  “In the case of Captain James and myself, General,” he said, carefully, “it means that we sort of supervise the flight activities of Trans-Global Airways.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Sir,” Colonel O’Halloran said, “Major Pickering is president of Trans-Global Airways and chief pilot. And you’re what, Stu?”

  “Standardization pilot,” James repl
ied.

  President and chief pilot? Standardization pilot? That’s not what it says in their records.

  “Major, I’m a little curious. Why does it say ‘flight coordinator’ on your records?”

  “A year or so ago, sir, there was concern that, in the event of mobilization, some pilots would try to get out of it by saying that they were essential to an essential industry. The phrase ‘airline pilot’ raised a red flag at Eighth and Eye. So we got around that by changing our job titles.”

  “You didn’t consider that deceptive? Perhaps even knowingly causing a false statement or document to be issued? ”

  “Well, sir, since it was not my intention—or Captain James’s—to try to get out of being mobilized, we didn’t think it mattered.”

  “And your employer went along with this deception?”

  “Sir, I figured I could call myself a stewardess if I wanted, and it got the chair-warmers at Eighth and Eye off my back.”

  Prior to his attendance at the War College, General Taylor had spent a three-year tour in administrative duties at Eighth & Eye.

  It is beyond comprehension that an Annapolis man, even a Marine aviator, would have knowledge of something like this, and not only do nothing about it, but, by not doing anything about it, lend it respectability.

  “Colonel O’Halloran,” General Taylor said. “I will wish to discuss this with you at some length.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Major Pickering, it is my belief that your squadron will shortly be called to active duty. . . .”

  “As of 23 July, sir. And I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “The twenty-third?” Colonel O’Halloran asked. “You’re sure about that, Pick?”

  Pickering nodded.

  “I’m sure, Red.”

  Majors do not call lieutenant colonels by their nicknames, certainly not in the presence of a flag officer they have never seen before. O’Halloran should have called him on that. But flag officers do not question, much less reprimand, lieutenant colonels in the presence of majors. I will deal with that later.

  “You seem to be privy to information Headquarters, USMC, has not yet seen fit to share with me, Major,” General Taylor said.

  “Yes, sir, I probably am. The warning order will be issued tomorrow, with the order itself coming the next day.”

  “How do you know that, Major?”

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you that, sir. But I’m sure General Dawkins will confirm the mobilization dates.”

  “General Dawkins told you, is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, sir. I happened to be with General Dawkins when we both learned about the dates.”

  “From whom?” General Taylor snapped.

  He heard the tone of his voice and was thus aware that he was a hairbreadth from losing his temper.

  “Sir, that’s what I’m not at liberty to tell you.”

  “Can you tell me what you were doing with General Dawkins?”

  “Yes, sir. I knew the mobilization was coming, and I wanted to ask General Dawkins about getting a week, ten days’ delay for Captain James and myself before reporting. ”

  “And General Dawkins’s reaction to this request?”

  “He said it made sense to him, and you would be the man to see, sir.”

  “You have to fly off to Scotland again,” General Taylor heard himself saying, “and reporting for active duty in two days would be inconvenient. Is that what you’re saying, Major? ”

  Again there was a visible crack in Major Pickering’s composure.

  “Sir, what I told The Dawk was—”

  “ ‘The Dawk’? ‘The Dawk’?” General Taylor exploded. “Do I have to remind you, Major, that you’re speaking of a general officer?”

  “Sorry, sir. That slipped out,” Pickering said. “General, I’m not trying to get out of mobilization. . . .”

  “You just told me you wanted a delay!”

  General Taylor was aware he was almost shouting, which meant that he was losing/had lost his temper, and this made him even more angry.

  “General,” Colonel O’Halloran said. “I’m sure Major Pickering intended no disrespect to General Dawkins, sir. Sir, both Major Pickering and I flew for General Dawkins out of Fighter One on Guadalcanal . . .”

  “Is that so?”

  “. . . and everyone there referred to then Lieutenant Colonel Dawkins as ‘The Dawk’ in much the same respectful way one refers to the commanding officer as ‘the old man’ or ‘the skipper,’ sir.”

  Taylor glowered at O’Halloran, but didn’t reply directly. “Tell me, Major Pickering,” General Taylor said, “why you think it would be to the advantage of the Marine Corps to delay for a week or ten days your recall to active duty? And that of Captain James?”

  “Sir, with your permission, Captain James and I will catch the 0800 Trans-Global flight to Tokyo tomorrow morning. There’s a lot we can do if we get over there now, before the squadron. . . .”

  “What makes you think your squadron will be sent to Korea? More information to which I’m not privy?”

  “No, sir, but VMF-243 is the best prepared squadron on the West Coast. We’re ready to go, sir. I think Colonel O’Halloran will confirm that.”

  “Yes, sir, VMF-243 can be ready to fly onto a carrier twenty-four hours after mobilization,” O’Halloran said.

  “And if James and I can get over there now, there’s all sorts of things we can do for the squadron. Or squadrons, if they decide to send more than one right away. And then we would just go on active duty to coincide with the arrival of the carrier in Kobe.”

  “Sir, with respect,” O’Halloran said. “What Major Pickering suggests makes a good deal of sense. There are a large number of things—”

  General Taylor silenced Colonel O’Halloran by raising his hand.

  He did not trust himself to speak. No officer, much less a flag officer, should lose his temper in the presence of subordinates.

  After a moment, he decided he had his temper sufficiently under control.

  “Major,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, “would you and Captain James please step outside for a minute? I’d like a word with Colonel O’Halloran.”

  “Yes, sir,” Major Pickering said, and nodded his head to Captain James to precede him out of the room.

  General Taylor waited until the door had closed behind them, then looked at Colonel O’Halloran, who was smiling at him.

  “Major Pickering is an interesting officer, isn’t he, General? ”

  “ ‘Interesting’ is an interesting choice of word, Colonel,” General Taylor said. “Let me ask you—”

  The telephone on what had been Lieutenant Colonel O’Halloran’s desk rang. O’Halloran picked it up.

  “Colonel O’Halloran,” he said, and then: “Yes, sir. He’s right here.”

  He handed the telephone to General Taylor.

  “It’s General Dawkins for you, sir,” he said.

  General Taylor took the telephone.

  “Good morning, General,” he said.

  “You getting settled in all right over there?” Dawkins asked.

  “I’m working on that, General.”

  “Did Pick Pickering—Major Pickering—show up there yet?”

  “Yes, he did. As a matter of fact, General, he was fifty hours late in reporting.”

  “He said he was in Scotland,” Dawkins said. “He was just in here, suggesting that his recall be delayed for a week or ten days so he could go to Japan and set things up before his squadron gets there.”

  “He so informed me.”

  “I told him that you were the person to see about that, but after he left, I gave it a second thought.”

  “I see,” General Taylor said. “Colonel O’Halloran and I were just about to discuss that—”

  “I decided I could probably handle it easier than you could,” Dawkins interrupted. “I just got off the horn with Eighth and Eye. When the mobilization order comes down, it will
state that Pickering and his exec, Captain James, will enter upon active duty effective on the arrival in the Far East of VMF-243, or on 21 August, whichever occurs first.”

  “I see,” General Taylor said. “Isn’t that a little unusual, General?”

  “These are unusual times, Taylor, and Pickering is an unusual man.”

  “I’m sure you gave the matter thought, General,” Taylor said.

  “Actually, it didn’t require much thought,” Dawkins said. “The question was the best way to do it. I have to run, Taylor. Let’s see if we can find time to have lunch.”

  The line went dead.

  Taylor put the telephone in its cradle and looked at O’Halloran.

  “General Dawkins,” he reported evenly, “has arranged for Major Pickering and Captain James to enter upon active duty on the arrival of VMF-243 in the Far East, or on 21 August, whichever occurs first.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In these circumstances, I suggest that we call him back in here and so inform him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me, Colonel, is that the way things are normally done in Marine aviation?”

  “Well, sometimes, sir, we bend the regulations a little to get the job done.”

  “So I am learning,” General Taylor said.

  [THREE]

  THE SUPREME COMMANDER’S CONFERENCE ROOM HEADQUARTERS, SUPREME COMMANDER, ALLIED POWERS THE DAI-ICHI BUILDING TOKYO, JAPAN 1035 25 JULY 1950

  The briefer, a natty, crew-cutted major, turned from the map on which he had just located the positions of the North Korean forces advancing on Pusan, came almost to attention with his pointer held along his trouser leg, and, addressing Major General Charles A. Willoughby, who sat at the end of the table closest to the maps, said, “That’s all I have, sir.”

  “Do you have any questions, sir?” Willoughby asked.

  General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, the Supreme Commander, who was sitting at the far end of the long, highly polished table, took a long pull at a thin black cigar and after a moment, shook his head, “no.”

  “Anyone else?” Willoughby asked. He looked at Major General Edward M. Almond, the SCAP chief of staff who was at the left side of the table next to MacArthur. “General Almond?”