But the only alternative is not going, which means surrendering, just as soon as the Japs find time to go to the legation. If the Japs don't just line the Marines up and shoot us. Or use us for bayonet practice.
Fuck it, Marines are supposed to fight, not surrender. This way, maybe we can do the flicking Japs some damage, somewhere, somehow, and we sure as hell can't do that if we just put our hands in the air and walk out of the legation and hope they don't shoot us, or bayonet us.
But it was still tough to actually go to the go-down where they had the stolen (and repainted in Marine Green) International trucks, and open the doors and drive away, when everybody knew they were supposed to be in the legation, putting into execution the Plan in the Event of Hostilities.
They had the duty of burning the classified records and smashing the code machine and everything else they didn't want the Japs to get their hands on— including the stock of whisky and wine—and they weren't doing it.
They managed to get out of Peking without trouble, taking back roads to avoid the roadblocks they knew the Japs would set up on the Peking-Changchiak highway. There were roadblocks, of course, but they were manned by Chinese, who were not yet ready to challenge two U.S. Marine Corps trucks guarded by Marines in field gear and steel pots, Springfields at the ready.
It took them a long time, at low speed on dirt or mud back roads, to make it around the Japanese roadblocks and onto the Peking-Changchiak highway beyond them. And it was dark when they reached the Great Wall of China, no more than a hundred miles from Peking. That put them behind schedule, but Sweatley decided it made more sense to stop for the night rather than risk what they might find at the gate in the wall without looking at it first.
At first light, he took a long, good look with a pair of binoculars at the passage through the wall. When he saw only Chinese, no Japs, he decided they could probably bluff their way through this one the same way they'd bluffed their way through the others near Peking.
That worked, too. And by one in the afternoon—five hours after passing through the Great Wall—they were outside Changchiak. There three men stepped into the road to flag them down—scaring Sweatley more than a little. But they turned out to be Chief Brewer, Technical Sergeant Abraham, and Staff Sergeant Willis T. Cawber, Jr., U.S. Army, Retired.
Cawber had brought with him the other retirees from the 15th Infantry, along with their wives and children. One of the wives was a White Russian, and one of them a French woman. They had seven children among them.
Cawber, whom he had not met before, immediately got off on the wrong foot with Sweatley. «You were supposed to be here last night,» he complained in a sour voice.
Deciding to let that pass, Sweatley explained why he had spent the night on the other side of the Great Wall.
«You were supposed to be here last night, Sergeant,» Cawber repeated.
«You better get this straight,» Sweatley snapped. «I don't have to explain a fucking thing to you. So far as I'm concerned, you're just going along for the ride.»
And then Cawber made things worse by trying to tell Sweatley how he thought they should organize the convoy of vehicles.
«You don't listen, do you?» Sweatley said. «I've been running convoys around China for six years, and I don't need a retired Doggie to tell me how to do it.»
Chief Brewer and Technical Sergeant Abraham took Staff Sergeant Cawber aside, and Sweatley proceeded to set up the convoy the way he thought it should be run.
Chief Brewer would head it up in his Oldsmobile, with another car behind him, and a Marine would be in each car. Then would come the first of the Marine trucks, with four Marines in it—including Technical Sergeant Abraham. There were seven other cars. These would follow the first truck, with either a Marine or one of the 15th Infantry retirees, carrying a weapon, in each. Cawber could ride in any of the cars he wanted to. The second Marine truck, carrying Sweatley and the rest of the armed Marines, would be at the tail of the convoy.
That day they met a pretty fair amount of traffic on the road; and because the Great Wall of China made a U-shaped loop to the west, they had to pass through it again. That meant they didn't reach Chining, 150 miles down the highway, until half past seven that evening. As night began to fall, Sweatley made another decision.
When Brewer stopped to talk things over, Sweatley explained that he thought it would be better to keep going and pass through Chining right now, even if it proved difficult to find someplace to stop on the other side in the dark. By morning, he explained, the Chinese might have gotten word to arrest westerners. Sergeant Abraham agreed with Sweatley, and so did Brewer. Even though Staff Sergeant Cawber didn't say anything, Sweatley sensed he didn't like it when Brewer agreed to the plan without asking him.
They spent the night parked by the side of the road. Sweatley put out a perimeter guard and spent most of the night awake, but there was no trouble.
They started moving again at first light, and made the 175 miles to Huhehot by three in the afternoon. On the other side of Huhehot, Brewer stopped the convoy again. There were problems. Three of the eight automobiles were running low on gas. Though Sweatley's trucks had more than enough gasoline, in five-gallon Texaco tin cans, to refuel them, Sweatley was opposed to doing that.
«We're going to abandon the cars in Baotou anyhow,» he said. «Hiding them will be a problem. What we should do is load the people in the trucks and other cars and get rid of the cars here.»
«You're making all the decisions, are you, Sweatley?» Staff Sergeant Cawber asked, sarcastically.
«I'll get rid of my Olds,» Chief Brewer said, nipping the argument in the bud, «and the Packard and the Buick. The more gas we can take with us, the better. And I don't think we can be sure of finding gas in Baotou.»
The supplies the Oldsmobile, Packard, and Buick were carrying were transferred to Sweatley's trucks, while the passengers were distributed among the other cars and trucks. Several miles farther down the road, they came to a narrow trail leading to the left. The cars were abandoned there, out of sight from the road. At Sweatley's suggestion, their ignition keys were left in place, but the Peking license plates were removed.
It began to snow thirty minutes after they resumed their march to Baotou. They reached the city after dark. By then it was covered with snow.
The women and children were put into a go-down Brewer had arranged for, guarded by several of the Marines and soldiers. Meanwhile, the Sick, Lame, and Lazy; the Marines; and the other able-bodied men spent the night at a stable transferring the supplies to the rubber-tired wagons and carts. The cars and trucks were then abandoned—scattered in inconspicuous areas all over Baotou.
Again, the keys were left in the ignition switches. With a little bit of luck, the vehicles would be stolen, and therefore concealed from the authorities.
Chief Brewer and Sergeant Abraham came early the next morning to the stable where Sweatley had spent the night.
«We have a couple of problems,» Brewer said. «The snowfall is heavy; under it is ice. We're going to have trouble moving.»
«We don't have any choice,» Sweatley said. «We have to get out of here before someone turns us in.»
«That's just about what I decided,» Brewer said. «But as part of that problem, the wagons are pretty heavily loaded. Some of them are likely to get stuck.»