EYES ONLY BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING, U8MCR
FOLLOWING PERSONAL PROM DIRECTOR OSS TO BRIG GEN PICKERING
BEGIN MESSAGE
DEAR FLEMING:
THE PRESIDENT IS NEARLY AS HEARTSICK AS I AM ABOUT THE BAD LUCK CAPTAIN MCCOY APPARENTLY HAS HAD, AND VERY ANXIOUS FOR INFORMATION OF ANY KIND REGARDING WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO HIM.
BY DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT, IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY MADE ARRANGEMENTS TO HAVE SOMEONE WITH THE PROPER QUALIFICATIONS MEET THE NATIONALIST ARMY SUPPLY CONVOY ON ITS RETURN TO YUMEN, WITH THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF LEARNING WHAT IF ANYTHING THEY KNOW ABOUT CAPTAIN MCCOY'S FATE, YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY DO SO.
YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY ACKNOWLEDGE BY SPECIAL CHANNEL RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE YOU WILL FURNISH BY SPECIAL CHANNEL THE DETAILS OF YOUR COMPLIANCE WITH THE PRESIDENT'S DIRECTIVE. ALL REPEAT ALL INFORMATION OBTAINED IN YUMEN WILL SIMILARLY BE DISPATCHED BY THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS.
SIMILARLY, YOU WELL ADVISE ARRIVAL IN CHUNGKING OF WEATHER PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT, AND PROGRESS IN EXECUTING BACK UP OPPLAN.
BEST REGARDS,
BILL
END MESSAGE
T O P S E C R E T
Pickering looked up at Banning as he handed the Special Channel to Hart. "I sent the 'we got it', sir," Banning said.
"I'd like to go up there myself," Pickering said. "God knows, I feel as useless as teats on a boar hog around here."
"You can't do that, sir," Hart said.
"I could send Colonel Platt," Pickering said.
"I wouldn't give the sonofabitch the satisfaction, sir," Banning said.
" 'Son of a bitch'?" Pickering quoted.
"You know the expression 'crocodile tears'?" Banning asked. "He calls twice a day to ask if we have any word from McCoy. He is always so very sorry to hear we haven't."
"Sampson is with McCoy," Pickering said.
"Sampson is the price he's perfectly willing to pay for having everybody know he was right in the first place."
"I hope you have been able to keep your distaste for Colonel Platt to yourself, Colonel," Pickering said.
"With great effort, sir."
After a moment, Pickering went on: "Easterbrook doesn't speak Chinese, and neither does George. Moore does, but Stillwell likes to bounce ideas about the Japanese mind off him. Rutterman doesn't speak Chinese. And I don't want to send any of Platt's people up there, unsure as I am about where their loyalties lie. That leaves you, Ed."
"Aye, aye, sir. What about getting there?"
"Send a Special Channel to Donovan over my signature. Tell him that I'm sending you. Take this Special Channel, and the one to Donovan, and show them to General Stillwell. He'll either get you on a plane, or get you your own plane. The Commander in Chief has spoken."
"Aye, aye, sir," Banning said. Something in his tone caught Pickering's attention.
"Say it, Ed," Pickering said.
"You don't want to go see General Stillwell yourself, sir?"
"I don't have the balls," Pickering confessed. "I just about promised him he wouldn't have to come up with two companies of Chinese infantry he can't spare, and now it looks like I'm going to have to ask him to do just that."
[FIVE]
T O P S E C R E T
VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL
1605 LOCAL TIME 30 APRIL 1943
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
FROM OSS DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR PACIFIC OPERATIONS
TO DIRECTOR OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES
WASHINGTON
EYES ONLY WILLIAM R DONOVAN
1. METEOROLOGICAL PERSONNEL AND THEIR EQUIPMENT ARRIVED SAFELY BUT IN NEED OF REST 1400 LOCAL TIME THIS DATE.
2. IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO MOVE THE PERSONNEL AND THEIR EQUIPMENT TO YUMEN BY AIR. GENERAL STILLWELL HAS ARRANGED FOR A 14TH US AIR FORCE C-47 TO MAKE THE TRIP DEPARTING CHUNGKING MORNING OF 1 MAY WITH ETA YUMEN LATE SAME AFTERNOON, PRESUMING GOOD WEATHER.
3. LTCOL BANNING, PRESENTLY IN YUMEN, ESTIMATES STAGING OF DEPARTURE FROM YUMEN WELL TAKE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER ARRIVAL OF NATIONALIST CHINESE INFANTRY ESCORT. GENERAL STILLWELL ADVISES TROOPS CANNOT BE MADE AVAILABLE BEFORE 0600 4 MAY 1943.
4. LTCOL BANNING FURTHER ADVISES THAT ORIGINAL ETA OF SUPPLY CONVOY RETURNING TO YUMEN HAS BEEN INDEFINITELY EXTENDED DUE TO WEATHER CONDITIONS AND OTHER FACTORS, AND FURTHER THAT DESPITE INTENSIVE EFFORT HE HAS BEEN UNABLE TO DEVELOP ANY INTELLIGENCE REGARDING LOCATION OF MCCOY.
FLEMING PICKERING, BRIG GEN USMCR
T O P S E C R E T
[SIX]
Somewhere in the Gobi Desert
Mongolia
0900 1 May 1943
Nothing but snow could be seen in any direction. Three days before, the skies had cleared following two days of intermittent blowing small-flake snow. When the sun came out, it came out brightly, reflecting off the snow. It didn't quite blind them, but it effectively limited their vision to about one thousand yards, less sometimes when the wind blew the snow especially hard.
McCoy's decision was to keep moving day and night, despite the snowfall.
It was very cold. The ambulance-designed to provide as much comfort as possible for the wounded-had a heater mounted on the firewall. The weapons carrier had an open cab and no heater. But those crowded onto the seat-McCoy, Sampson, and two of the Chinese-found a certain amount of warmth from the engine and transmission by draping a blanket over their laps.
They moved on what McCoy hoped was a dead easterly course, determined by a U.S. Army-issue compass. McCoy had no idea how much the metal mass of the weapons carrier was affecting the compass, but at least they were moving in a straight line. They used a kind of stop-and-go technique. That is to say, the ambulance would be stopped and used as a reference point while McCoy drove the weapons carrier ahead, making every effort to keep the tracks through the snow perfectly straight, moving as slowly as he could in third gear to conserve fuel.
In order to keep further control of all this, he also stationed one of the Chinese on top of the mountain of supplies and jerry cans in the back of the truck, with orders to instantly report if the tracks didn't make a straight line, or if he lost sight of the ambulance.
At night, they drove without headlights. Doing that proved to be not so difficult as he feared, after Zimmerman removed the lenses of a "blackout light" mounted on the front of the weapons carrier, from one at the rear, and from the one mounted on the front of the ambulance. The bare bulb on the front of the weapons carrier and the ambulance provided enough light for steering, and the bare bulb on the rear of the weapons carrier was bright enough to guide the driver of the ambulance-even at a thousand yards.
Anytime he had difficulty seeing the ambulance during the day-or its bare bulb at night-McCoy stopped and shut down the engine. The ambulance then caught up with him.
Because Zimmerman maintained-with the certainty of an article of religious faith-that after sixty seconds, more fuel was conserved by shutting an engine down and then starting it again, than by letting it idle, McCoy decreed to do that. but only so long as the batteries held up. And under no circumstances would both batteries be shut down at once. That way they could attempt to start a vehicle whose battery was exhausted by pushing it with the other vehicle.
In third gear each truck would go about fifteen miles per hour. That meant it took not quite three minutes for McCoy to drive the weapons carrier as far as he could without losing sight of the ambulance, and then it took the ambulance about that long to catch up. Thus the engines of each vehicle could be shut down for nearly three minutes during each stop-and-go cycle.
So far, the batteries of both vehicles seemed to be holding up, and McCoy was beginning to hope that the fuel-saving technique would work indefinitely. If a battery did become exhausted, he decided, he would get the vehicle started by pushing it. And then he'd try shutting the engines down every other time, or every third time. That way they'd have a running time of six or nine minutes to keep the batteries charged.
The move-stop-wait, move-stop-wait routine quick
ly became automatic and boring.
McCoy was startled when the Chinese lookout came crawling down from his perch.
He braked to a stop as the lookout began to climb over the passengers and windshield onto the hood, in the process striking with his boot the head of the Chinese soldier sitting next to Sampson. "Your mother is a whore who fucks dogs," the one kicked muttered in Cantonese.
After a glance at the rearview mirror, which proved he could see the ambulance clearly, McCoy turned his full attention to the lookout, who had by now made it onto the hood of the weapons carrier. He was pointing into the distance. McCoy stared hard but could see nothing.
Sampson stood up, awkwardly hanging on to the windshield frame. "There's a guy on a horse out there," he said, and corrected himself: "On a pony."
McCoy finally saw the same thing, as the man and the pony suddenly came to life and trotted off into the distance. They were lost to sight within seconds because of the glare.
"What the hell was that?" Sampson said.
"He was probably as surprised to see us as we were to see him," McCoy said. "What was he, an outrider?"
"If he was, he saw us, that's for sure."
McCoy put the weapons carrier in gear again and resumed moving. As he stopped to let the ambulance catch up, the pony and its rider came into sight again. Not moving, just watching.
The ambulance began to move.
"What do we do now?" Sampson asked.
"Wait," McCoy said.
The ambulance caught up with them two minutes or so later.
The rider on the pony moved toward them.
"He's not afraid of us, obviously," Sampson said. "Is that good or bad?"
"He's got a rifle slung over his shoulder," McCoy said.
He suddenly pushed himself out of the seat and started to climb over the windshield.
"Let them see that we have soldiers with rifles," he ordered. "But for God's sake, don't point a rifle at him. If he unslings his rifle, be prepared to kill him."
McCoy climbed onto the hood, then slid forward and climbed down to the ground over the jerry cans and burlap sacks tied to the bumper.
He held his hands away from his body to show that he wasn't holding a weapon, and walked toward the man on the pony.
The man on the pony started to unsling his rifle, then changed his mind. He waited for McCoy to approach.
The man on the pony had a full beard, and in the moment it occurred to McCoy that few Chinese had luxuriant beards, it occurred to the man on the pony that the Chinese officer approaching him with the flaps of his cap tied under his chin had a white man's skin.
"Major," the man on the pony said in Cantonese, "do you speak English?"
"Who are you?" McCoy replied in Cantonese.
The man didn't reply.
"Do you speak English?" McCoy asked in English.
"Yes."
"Are you American?" McCoy asked.
"Yes. Are those American Army vehicles?"
"Actually, they're Marine Corps vehicles," McCoy said. "Does the name Sweatley mean anything to you?"
"Sergeant Sweatley?"
"Sergeant James R. Sweatley," McCoy amplified.
"He's the tactical officer," the man on the pony said.
"What does that mean?" McCoy asked, and then, without giving the man on the pony a chance to reply, "Where is Sweatley?"
The man on the pony gestured over his shoulder. "We're not moving," he said. "Waiting for the snow to blow away."
"Let's go to see Sergeant Sweatley," McCoy said. "How many of there are you?"
"You are an American, right?" the man on the pony asked.
"I'm an American," McCoy said. "Get going."
He waved at the weapons carrier to come after him.
The man on the pony turned the animal and started moving off. The weapons carrier and the ambulance followed him.
Twenty minutes later, they came to a circle of wagons covered with snow. Smoke and steam rose from inside some of the wagons.
If we had passed this five hundred yards to either side, we never would have seen it.
The man on the pony kicked it in the ribs, and it moved a little more quickly toward the circle of wagons.
"Americans!" the man shouted. "Americans!"
Then he rode the pony inside the circled wagons. Several people appeared, some peering out of the tarpaulins covering the wagons, some brave enough to come out of the circled wagons to stare as the two vehicles drove up. Some of these had weapons, but no one brandished them threateningly.
McCoy dropped off the weapons carrier and walked up to them.
"I'm looking for Sergeant James R. Sweatley, formerly of the Marine detachment in Peking," McCoy said to an older man who looked as if he might be in charge.
"Go get Sweatley," the man ordered. "I'm Chief Frederick Brewer. I transferred to the Fleet Reserve off the Panay. Who are you?"
"My name is McCoy," McCoy said, and was interrupted by a tall, dark-haired woman.
"Oh, my God!" she said.
McCoy knew who she was.
"Corporal McCoy," she said. "Do you remember me? I was Mrs. Edward J. Banning. My husband was a captain in the Fourth Marines. You once came to our apartment."
"It's Lieutenant Colonel Banning now, Milla," McCoy said. "You're still Mrs. Banning. It's good to see you, Milla."
"Oh, my God! Ed is alive?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's alive. Is Zimmerman's wife here? Their kids?"
Milla nodded, unable to find her voice.
"Ernie," McCoy called, raising his voice. "Mae Su and the kids are here!"
Zimmerman came out of the ambulance and ran toward the circle of wagons.
"I'll be a sonofabitch," Sergeant James R. Sweatley, USMC, said, walking up as he shrugged into an ankle-length sheepskin coat.
"Hello, Sweatley," McCoy said, offering his hand. "Good to see you."
"Killer fucking McCoy in the fucking flesh!" Sweatley said. "What the fuck are you doing here, Killer?"
McCoy pulled his hand back. "It's Captain McCoy to you, Sergeant," he said icily. "And my first order to you is to watch your mouth in the presence of a lady. And don't you ever call me Killer again." He stared Sweatley down and turned to Chief Brewer. "Are you in charge here, Chief?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let's go find someplace to talk out of the cold," McCoy said. "We've got a lot to do." He turned to Sergeant Sweatley. "There's an Army officer getting a radio out of the back of the ambulance," he said. "Make yourself useful to him."
"Aye, aye, sir."
[SEVEN]
Naval Communications Facility
U.S. Naval Base, Pearl Harbor
Oahu, Territory of Hawaii
0530 Local Time 1 May 1943
"Flag officer on the deck!" the radioman first class called, as he rose to his feet from behind his desk in the foyer of the building.
"As you were," Rear Admiral Daniel J. Wagam, USN, said quickly, and then asked, "Commander Toner?"
"Right here, Admiral," Commander Lewis B. Toner, USN, said. "Good morning, sir."
Admiral Wagam needed a shave, and when he removed his gold-heavy uniform cap, his short hair was uncombed. Commander Toner also suspected that Admiral Wagam's white uniform was the one he had worn the day before.
"Good morning," Wagam said. "What have you got?"
"Contact, sir. Not much more than that. If you'll come with me, sir?"
He pointed to a steel door that had a large authorized personnel only beyond this point sign on it.
Wagam looked at the radioman first class. "A Major Dillon of the Marines is on his way here. See that he gets to wherever I'm going."
"Aye, aye, sir."
He followed Commander Toner through the steel door and down a corridor. They came to a Marine PFC armed with a Thompson guarding a second door.
"Open it," Commander Toner ordered.
The Marine pushed the lever of an intercom. "Passing the duty officer and an admiral," he announced.
<
br /> Bolts were slid open, and then the door was pushed inward. Toner waved Admiral Wagam into a large room. There was the peculiar odor of high voltage. A dozen sailors sat before communications radios, some working telegraph keys, others pounding typewriters. Two radio Teletype machines clattered against the wall.
W E B Griffin - Corp 08 - In Dangers Path Page 73