"You should have come inside, Ken," Pickering greeted him. "That was an historic moment."
"I wanted to see what, if anything, Billy Dunn came up with," McCoy said matter-of-factly, then added: "Nothing, I'm afraid, sir."
"And what do you make of that, Ken?" Pickering asked.
"He's moving again, sir. Probably north. Zimmerman told Colonel Dunn where we think he might be headed. Either almost due east, toward Wonju, or northeast, toward Chunchon. There's not many paved roads in that area, mostly rice paddies. I think he wants to be somewhere where there won't be much movement on the roads. ..."
"Like yours, for instance," Jeanette said.
The men looked at her but said nothing.
". . . and where he can easily find rice paddies to stamp out his arrows," McCoy finished.
"Explain that, please," Pickering said. " 'Easily find rice paddies'?"
"We have to presume, sir, that the NKs have also come across one of Pick's stampings. And that they would be looking for others. The advantage we have is that we've got air superiority, which means they have to look at paddies from the ground. The more paddies there are, the more they have to look at. . . ."
Pickering nodded.
"I take your point. You think Pick has thought of this?"
"I'm sure he has," McCoy replied. "General, there's often been two- and three-day intervals between sightings. There may be another this afternoon; if not, then probably tomorrow. When there is—"
"You'll go out again," Pickering finished the sentence for him.
"Yes, sir. Of course."
"Pick is really putting a lot of lives at risk, isn't he?" Pickering said, and then he heard what he had said and added: "That sounded pretty stupid, didn't it?"
"General," McCoy said, "we're Marines. We go after people who find themselves in trouble."
"What I meant to say was that the lives we're putting at risk are yours and Zimmerman's, and I can't afford to lose either of you. Isn't there someone else who could go out there and look for him?"
"As of right now, sir, 1st MarDiv hasn't said anything about wanting to get back the people—it's an understrength company—who were on the Flying Fish Channel Islands. If I knew I could keep at least twenty or so of them, Ernie and I could bring them up to speed in three or four days. That would at least allow Ernie to go with one recon patrol, and me with another."
"You're talking about the Marines that are now at that hangar with the helicopters?"
"Yes, sir," McCoy said. "The problems with that are taking rations-and-quarters care of them, getting enough vehicles to carry them, and then deciding what, if anything, we tell them about why it's so important we get Pick back—and, for that matter, who Ernie and I work for. They're going to wonder."
Pickering considered that for a moment.
"I'll tell General Smith—he'll be at the airport—that I'd like to keep those Marines for a while. And I'll tell General Almond you're going to need jeeps and so forth."
“Yes, sir.”
"And if General Smith goes along, I'll decide later what they're to be told."
"Yes, sir."
He looked back at the Capitol Building. Officers and other dignitaries were getting into the staff cars to accompany MacArthur back to Kimpo Airfield.
"The Imperial procession is forming," he said. "I've got to go." He put his hand out to Jeanette Priestly. "It was good to see you, Jeanette. Is there anything I can send you from Tokyo?"
"Thank you, but no thank you. I'm going with you."
"On the Bataan?” Pickering asked, surprised.
"I've already asked El Supremo," she said. "I don't know about you guys, but when I smile at him, I get just about anything I want."
She jumped nimbly out of the backseat of the Russian jeep.
[SIX]
Kimpo Airfield
Seoul, South Korea
1425 29 September 195O
The two senior commanders in Korea, Lieutenant General Walton Walker, the Eighth Army commander, and Major General Edward M. Almond, the X Corps commander, accompanied the Supreme Commander to the stairs of the Bataan.
Both were still wearing their newly awarded Distinguished Service Crosses pinned to their fatigue jackets.
Of the two, the shorter, almost rotund Walker presented the most military appearance. His fatigues had obviously been tailored to his body, and they were starched. He wore a varnished helmet with the three silver stars of his rank fastened to it, and polished "tanker" boots, as he had while serving under General George S. Patton in Europe.
Almond was wearing clean but rumpled fatigues and what the Army called "combat" boots. These looked like rough-side-out work shoes to which had been sewn a band of smooth leather fastened to the lower calf with a double buckle. The only things that distinguished him from any of the soldiers in his command were the stars pinned to his collar points and fatigue cap—which was crumpled and looked too large for him—and the general officer's leather pistol belt around his waist.
"You are both to be congratulated," MacArthur intoned. "And I shall expect equally great things from you in the future."
He first shook Walker's hand, then let go. Walker saluted. MacArthur returned it. Then he shook Almond's hand, let it go, and returned his salute.
He then took one step up the stairway and stopped and turned.
"By the way, Ned . . ." he began.
"Yes, sir?" Almond asked.
"This is addressed to you in your capacity as Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters."
"Yes, sir?"
"Those helicopters we saw?"
"Yes, sir."
"Dog and pony shows are sometimes necessary, but under the present circumstances, I can't see that the time and effort are justified. Have them transferred immediately to the CIA here in Seoul."
"Sir?" Almond asked, more than a little surprised by the order.
"Do that today, if you can," MacArthur said. "The helicopters, the pilots, the mechanics, everything, go to the CIA, and I don't want to see photographs of them in the press. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
MacArthur nodded at Almond, then went up the stairs and, ducking his head and without looking back, passed through the door.
"What the hell was that all about?" General Walker inquired of General Almond.
General Almond shrugged.
"I have no idea," he confessed, "but the Supreme Commander didn't leave any doubt about what he wants done, did he?"
They stood in front of the base operations tents watching as the Bataan taxied away, reached the end of the runway, ran up its engines quickly, and then raced down the runway.
The two men then looked at each another. There was no love lost between them, but there was a certain mutual respect.
"Well, Ned," Walker said as he put out his hand, "we'll no doubt be in touch."
Almond shook the hand, then saluted.
"Yes, of course we will," Almond said.
Walker nodded at him, then turned and started to walk to the Air Force C-47 that would carry him to his Eighth Army headquarters in the south.
Almond did not wait for the C-47 to take off. Even before Walker got to it, he walked toward the end of the base operations tents.
The fleet of staff cars that had been used to carry the Supreme Commander and his entourage from the airport to the Capitol Building and back—it had been assembled with no little effort; some cars had come from as far away as Pusan on an LST for the occasion—was no longer needed. Outside Seoul, with few exceptions, the roads were unpaved, in very bad shape, and not usable by passenger cars. The staff cars had been turned over to an X Corps Transportation Corps captain, who had arranged them in neat rows and was waiting for orders on what to do with them.