Where they had once been lined up before the base operations tents, there was now a line of jeeps, the vehicles in which the senior officers had come from their units to participate in the liberation ceremony.
As General Almond walked toward his jeep, his aide-de-camp got out of the front seat and called his name.
"General Almond! Over here, sir."
Almond headed for his jeep. The aide took the canvas cover from the two-starred license plate.
Just as he reached the jeep, he was intercepted by Major Alex Donald.
"General Almond, if I may—"
Almond looked at him curiously, then held up his hand in a gesture telling him to wait.
"Al," he ordered, "see if you find Colonel Scott, or, failing him, Colonel Raymond, and bring one or the other here."
Colonel Charles Scott was the X Corps G-2, and Lieutenant Colonel James Raymond his assistant.
"Yes, sir," Haig said, and walked quickly down the line of jeeps.
Almond turned to Major Donald.
"Okay, Major," he said. "Donald, isn't it? What can I do for you?"
"Sir, I wondered what General MacArthur's reaction to the helicopters was," Major Donald said.
"I've been wondering about that myself," Almond said. "Is that why you . . . ?"
"No, sir. Sir, I was going to suggest that rather than returning to the X Corps CP by jeep, you fly there in one of the H-19s."
"I don't think that will be possible," Almond said. "But thank you, Major, for the thought."
Major Donald was surprised and disappointed by the general's refusal, but he was not yet ready to quit. If General MacArthur were to ask General Almond what he thought of the H-19s—as he almost certainly would—Donald wanted to make sure he had kind, even enthusiastic, things to say about them.
"Sir, I can have you there in fifteen minutes, and, sir, I really would like to demonstrate the capabilities of the H-19s to you."
Almond looked at him a moment, then gestured for Donald to follow him. Almond walked far enough away from the line of jeeps so that he was sure no one could overhear the conversation, then stopped and faced Donald.
"Major," he said, "you will consider the following to be classified."
"Yes, sir."
"Top Secret, and to be related to no one without my specific permission in advance."
"Yes, sir."
"As of"—Almond consulted his wristwatch—"1445 hours, the helicopters, their crews and maintenance personnel, everything and everyone connected with them, are transferred to the Central Intelligence Agency."
"Sir?"
"What didn't you understand?" Almond asked.
Major Donald was visibly shaken. It took him a moment to frame his reply.
"I understood that the helicopters and everyone and everything connected with them have been transferred to the Central Intelligence Agency, sir. Sir, does that include me?"
"You are connected with the helicopters, are you not?"
"Yes, sir, but—"
"Then you're included in the package," Almond said, cutting him off. "What you will do now, Major, is go back to the hangar. Someone will shortly contact you with further orders. Any questions?"
"No, sir."
"That will be all, Major," Almond said. "Thank you."
Major Donald saluted and then, after a moment, started to walk to where he had parked his jeep.
Almond looked toward the line of jeeps and saw that Haig had located Lieutenant Colonel James Raymond, the assistant G-2. He gestured for him to come to him. Haig looked dubious, so Almond gestured again, meaning for him to come along.
Lieutenant Colonel Raymond saluted.
"Yes, sir?"
"Raymond, do you know how to find the CIAs—'headquarters,' I suppose is the word—in Seoul?"
Raymond looked slightly uncomfortable.
"Not officially, sir."
"Explain that to me."
"They don't like people to know where they are, sir. But they told Colonel Scott, and he thought I might have a need for the information, and he told me."
"But you know?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to go there, right now, and deliver a message for me to the station chief or his deputy. No one else. If necessary, wait there for one or the other to show up."
"Yes, sir."
When Almond did not hand him a sheet of paper or an envelope, Lieutenant Colonel Raymond took a small notebook and a pencil from his pocket.
"Don't write this down," Almond said. "Memorize it."
"Yes, sir."
" 'Classification Top Secret,'" Almond began to dictate. " As of 1445 hours this date, by order of the Supreme Commander, Allied Powers, two H-19 helicopters, together with their crews, maintenance personnel, and all available supporting equipment, have been transferred to you. The officer-in-charge has been notified, and is awaiting your orders in the hangar across from base operations at Kimpo Airfield. Signature, Almond, Major General, Chief of Staff, Allied Powers.' Got that?"
"Sir, would you give it to me again?" Lieutenant Colonel Raymond asked. Almond did so.
"Got it, sir."
"When you have delivered the message, report to me at the CP," Almond ordered. "Let's go, Al."
Chapter Five
[ONE]
Near Yoju, South Korea
17O5 29 September 195O
Major Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, was three quarters of the way toward the top of a hill that had been terraced into rice paddies. He had only a vague idea where he was, except. . .
He knew he was somewhere to the east of where he had seen the jeep with the American flag flying from its antenna.
He knew that he had been moving, and making pretty good time, since daylight—that is, for fifteen hours.
He knew that he had crossed a dirt road three hours before and an hour after that a paved road, which in Korea meant a highway, and he suspected that it was the highway connecting Suwon, to his west, with Wonju, to his east.
And he knew that he had waded and swum across a river, which he was pretty well convinced was the Han.
From where he was sitting, on a dirt footpath, his back resting against the earth-wall dam of a rice paddy, he could see in the valley below him the "highway" bridge of the paved road across the river. The bridge had been mostly blown into the water, but there were signs that vehicles had forded the river near the shattered bridge.
He had no idea whose vehicles, or when they had crossed.
There were the burned remnants of buildings and stone-walled, thatch-roofed huts on both sides of the river by the bridge. There had been no signs of people or of travel on the dirt road, the highway, or the river when he had crossed them, and there had been no signs of anything human and alive in the thirty minutes he had been watching now.
The only sign of human life he had seen all day had been very early that morning, shortly after he had started moving, when he had come across three rice farmers tending a paddy.
They had had with them their lunch—balls of rice flecked with bits of chicken or pork—and two bottles of water. He had taken half the rice and one of the bottles of water, even though he was almost positive the water wasn't safe to drink, and had vowed he wasn't going to take a sip unless he absolutely had to.
He had paid for the rice and water with a U.S. twenty-dollar bill from a thick wad of currency held together by a gold money clip that had been either a birthday or a Christmas present from either his mother or his father. He couldn't quite remember which.
He wasn't at all sure if the rice farmers knew what the twenty-dollar bill was, and was just about convinced the farmer's pleasure in taking it was because they would have been just as happy to take any colored piece of paper if that meant the large bearded American with the large pistol wasn't going to shoot them to ensure they would not report him to the authorities.