Everybody Else included everyone with some reason, however questionable, to be in the area. There were perhaps two hundred people in this category, officers and enlisted, Marines and soldiers.
The entire area was surrounded by still more tape on rods to keep the rest of the world away. This was guarded by MPs, and the outer of the two MP checkpoints was located here.
Under the supervision of a military police second lieutenant, who was sitting with his driver in a jeep equipped with a pedestal-mounted .30-caliber air-cooled machine gun, a sergeant and three other MPs stopped every approaching vehicle to determine in which area the passengers belonged, if any, and to show them where to park their vehicles.
Getting a glimpse of General of the Army Douglas MacArthur in the flesh was right up there with, say, getting a look at Marilyn Monroe or Bob Hope.
No one really knew how the word of his pending arrival had gotten out, but no one was surprised that it had.
"Lieutenant!" the MP sergeant called when he saw the funny-looking vehicle fourth in line, and thought, but could not be sure, that he saw silver stars gleaming on the collar points of the passenger.
The MP lieutenant got out of his jeep in time to be at the sergeant's side when the funny-looking vehicle rolled up. His attention on the vehicle, he did not at first see the stars on General Howe's fatigues.
Then he did, jerked to attention, and saluted.
"Sorry, sir," he said. "The General's star is not mounted on the bumper, and I didn't—"
"It's not my vehicle," Howe said reasonably. "No problem."
"Sir, VIP parking is right beside the tent," the lieutenant said, pointing.
"Thank you," Howe said. "The two in the jeep behind us are with us."
The lieutenant had seen the people in the jeep were a Marine master sergeant—he could tell because his chevrons were painted—and a warrant officer, and thus falling into Category (3), Everybody Else, but the lieutenant had been in the service long enough to know that it is far wiser to go along with general officers than to argue with them.
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said, and raised his hand to salute again.
When both vehicles were out of earshot, the sergeant asked the lieutenant, "Sir, what the hell was that?"
"Damned if I know," the lieutenant confessed. "What was that, a Russian jeep?"
A high-pitched voice from The Press caught their attention.
The voice had screamed, "McCoy, you sonofabitch!"
The lieutenant and the sergeant looked. One of the members of The Press had ducked under the minefield tape and was running toward the Russian jeep, which slowed and then stopped.
Two MPs rushed toward the member of The Press to keep the Fourth Estate where it belonged. The lieutenant and the sergeant rushed to join them.
The journalist, who had two 35-mm cameras hanging from the neck, nimbly dodged the two MPs intent on maintaining the established order, by force if necessary, reached the Russian jeep, and quickly scrambled into the backseat.
The lieutenant now could identify the errant member of the Fourth Estate as Miss Jeanette Priestly of the Chicago Tribune, primarily because as she climbed into the Russian jeep she dislodged her brimmed fatigue cap and long blond hair cascaded to her shoulders.
The lieutenant reached the Russian jeep.
"Sorry about this, General," he said, and added, sternly, to Miss Priestly, "Miss Priestly, you know the rules. You'll have to get behind the tape."
Miss Priestly smiled, revealing an attractive mouthful of white teeth, and said, "Fuck you!"
"Please don't cause a scene, Miss Priestly," the lieutenant implored.
"It's all right, Lieutenant," General Howe said. "Miss Priestly is also with us."
"General, she's supposed to ..."
"If anyone gives you any trouble about this, Lieutenant," Howe said, motioning for McCoy to drive on, "refer them to me."
How the hell am I supposed to refer anybody to you if I don't know who the hell you are?
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said.
If either General Howe or Major McCoy expected at least a word of gratitude from Miss Priestly for having rescued her from the military police, it was not forthcoming.
"Killer, goddamn you," she said. "You promised to let me know what you found, you sonofa—"
McCoy snapped, "Shut up, Jeanette," and then added, evenly: "One more word out of that sewer of a mouth of yours and I'll drive you to the end of the runway and throw you out."
"Oh, sh—" she began, and then fell silent.
Why do I suspect, General Howe thought, that at some time in the past McCoy has threatened her, then made good on the threat?
An MP was directing the parking of senior officers' vehicles to the left of the base operations tents.
He saluted and had just started to say something to General Howe when a four-car convoy of olive-drab 1950 Chevrolet staff cars, preceded by an MP jeep, rolled up. The first car in line had a two-starred major general's license plate on its bumper.
A tall, erect captain in starched fatigues jumped out and trotted around the car to open the rear passenger door.
Major General Edward M. Almond, commanding general of X U.S. Corps, got out. He was in fatigues, but wearing his general officer's dress pistol belt (A calfskin leather belt and holster, fastened with a gold-plated circular buckle.) around his waist.
The tall captain said something to him, and Almond looked over at Howe and McCoy, then walked over to the Russian jeep. Howe and McCoy got out of the jeep. McCoy saluted crisply. Generals Howe and Almond sort of waved their right hands at each other.
"I'm glad you're here, General Howe," Almond said. "I know that's important to the Supreme Commander."
"Good morning, General," Howe said.
Almond looked at the backseat of the jeep.
"Good morning, Miss Priestly."
"Good morning, sir," Jeanette said with a warm smile, and very politely.
"McCoy," Almond said.
"Good morning, sir."
"I've been informed General Pickering is on the Bataan" Almond said. "Have you got some good news for him?"
"Not good news, but not bad news, either, sir."
Almond looked at his wristwatch.
"I've also been informed the Supreme Commander's ETA is 0950," he went on. "So we have some time. Have you got a few minutes for me, General?"
"Of course," Howe said. "McCoy, why don't you take Miss Priestly aside and tell her what you know about Major Pickering?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you get the Russian jeep, McCoy?" Almond asked.
Howe answered for him: "He took it away from a North Korean colonel."
Almond leaned over the vehicle and inspected the interior.
"Interesting," he said, then turned to the tall captain.
"Al, why don't you set up the convoy," he said, "while General Howe and I ride over to the other side of the field."
He gestured for Howe to go to his staff car.
"Yes, sir," the captain replied.
Howe turned to Jeanette Priestly.
"You are going to behave, right, Jeanette?"
"Yes, sir," she said docilely.
Howe walked to Almond's staff car.
They went through a little "After you, Alfonse." / "No, after you, Gaston" routine dance at the door, but eventually Almond got in first, Howe slid in behind him, the tall captain closed the door, and the car, preceded by an MP jeep, drove off across the airfield.
'Interesting woman," Almond said. "What's she doing with you?"
She's . . . romantically involved . . . with young Pickering, and she knows McCoy's been looking for him."