"Hook him up, Chief," Dunn ordered. "He's going."
"I am like hell!" Pick protested.
"You're going, Pick," Colonel Dunn said. "Goddamn you!"
"In my delicate condition, I really think it's ill-advised," Pick said lightly, and added, "I really would prefer to wait for weather that will permit me to fly off this vessel, as befitting a Marine officer, aviator, and gentleman, if that's all right with you, Colonel, sir."
"No, it's not all right with me, you self-important sonofabitch," Dunn said furiously. "Your delicate condition is your own goddamn fault. And we both know it." Dunn turned to Orlovski: "Snap it up, Chief!"
"What the hell is wrong with you, Billy?" Pick demanded.
"There's not a damn thing wrong with me. Your problem is that you have never, not fucking ever, really understood you're a Marine officer who does what he's ordered to do."
"What brought this on?" Pick asked, genuinely surprised at Dunn's tone.
"You really don't care how much trouble your childish behavior has caused, do you? Or how many good people have put their necks out to save you from the consequences of your sophomoric showboating, do you?"
"Jesus Christ!" Pick said softly.
"Haul him away, Chief!" Dunn ordered coldly.
Chief Petty Officer Felix J. Orlovski bellowed, "CHAIR AWAY!"
Ninety seconds later, after a brief but thoroughly soaking dip in the Sea of Japan, Major Pickering was sitting on the deck of the USS Mansfield.
A ruddy-faced chief bent over Pickering to help him out of the bosun's chair.
"I'm really sorry you got dunked, Major," he said, obviously meaning it. "It was the last goddamn thing I wanted to have happen to you."
"Chief, the skipper says the major is to go to his cabin," a voice said.
Pickering moved his head and saw a full lieutenant standing beside the chief.
"You all right, sir?" the lieutenant asked.
"I'm fine," Pick said.
The chief and the lieutenant hauled him to his feet and gently led him through a port into the Mansfield's superstructure.
Pick felt the Mansfield lean as she turned away from the Badoeng Strait.
[FOUR]
USAF Airfield K-16
Seoul, South Korea
175O 16 October 195O
Major William R. Dunston, TC, USA, was waiting in the passenger section of base operations at K-16 when the 1500 courier flight from Haneda arrived.
He saluted somewhat sloppily when Pickering walked into the building, trailed by Banning and Hart.
Pickering restrained a smile when he saw that Dunston, who was not what could be described as a fine figure of a man, and additionally was wearing mussed, somewhat soiled fatigues and could have used a haircut, had failed the First Impressions Test of Colonel Edward J. Banning, USMC.
"Bill, this is Colonel Ed Banning," Pickering said.
"Welcome to the Land of the Morning Calm," Dunston said. "Your reputation precedes you."
"Does it really?" Banning said a little stiffly.
Pickering thought: What's ruffling Banning's feathers? Dunston's appearance? Or that he hasn't used the word "sir"?
"Yeah," Dunston continued, "when the Killer heard you were coming, he told me all about you."
Pickering saw that Hart was also amused by the exchange.
"Where is Major McCoy?" Pickering asked.
"I don't really know," Dunston said. "When I got the heads-up from Keller, I got on the horn to Socho-Ri, and Zimmerman said they got the three clicks a little after three this morning."
" 'The three clicks'?" Banning asked.
"Meaning they got ashore okay. . . . Should we be talking about this in here?"
"Good point. Let's go outside," Pickering said.
Dunston led them to the end of a line of parked vehicles.
"What the hell is this thing?" Pickering asked.
"This is the Killer's Russian jeep," Dunston said. "He took it away from an NK colonel. He had it over in Socho-Ri, but when he sent Jennings here, he sent the Russian Rolls with him and said to keep it here."
"Is that what you call it, the Russian Rolls?" Pickering asked, chuckling.
"Who's Jennings?" Banning asked. It was almost an interruption.
"Tech Sergeant," Dunston said. "He and Zimmerman and the Killer were in the Marine Raiders. Good man. He's been with us since Pusan."
"You know McCoy hates to be called Killer, don't you, Major?" Banning asked.
"Yeah, well, I guess I'm one of the privileged few who can," Dunston said. "We're pretty close, Colonel."
Pickering saw that Banning found that hard to accept.
Dunston got behind the wheel, and Pickering got in beside him.
"Nobody can hear us here," Pickering said when Banning and Hart had climbed over the back into the rear seat. "What about McCoy? Where is he?"
"Well, they—the Killer and two of my Koreans—went ashore a few miles north of Chongjin," Dunston said. "The Wind of Good Fortune got the three clicks a little after three this morning."
"Your Koreans?" Banning asked.
"The Wind of Good Fortune is the flagship of our fleet, Colonel," George Hart offered quickly. "It's a diesel-powered junk."
He did that, Pickering thought, because he sensed that Dunston has had enough of Banning's attitude and was about to snap back at Banning. What the hell is wrong with Ed Banning?
Banning's glance at Hart did not suggest anything close to gratitude.
"My Koreans, Colonel," Dunston said coldly, "are what few agents I have left of the agents I had before the war. McCoy's Koreans are the ones he's borrowed from Colonel Pak at I ROK Corps. We tell them apart that way."
"Three clicks?" Pickering asked, more to forestall another question from Banning than for information. He had made a guess—as it turned out, the right one—about what three clicks meant.
"You push the mike button three times, General, but don't say anything," Dunston said. "It means you're safely ashore."
"Ashore a few miles north of where?" Banning asked.
"Chongjin," Dunston said. "It's a town—"
"On the Sea of Japan, about sixty miles from the Chinese and Russian borders," Banning said impatiently. "I know where it is. What's he doing there?"
"Vandenburg got him some radios from the Army Security Agency," Dunston said. "He's going to listen to what he calls low-level Russian radio traffic."
"I was under the impression the ASA was responsible for intercepting enemy communications," Banning said.
"That's their job," Dunston agreed a little sarcastically.
"Then what—"
Pickering, who was sitting sidewards on the front seat of the vehicle, dropped his hand to Banning's knee and silenced him.
Pickering thought: I don't know what's wrong with Banning—maybe fatigue from the long flight; or maybe he doesn't think Dunston is showing him the proper respect—but he's acting like an inspector general, and Dunston doesn't like it. I don't want—can't have—the two of them scrapping.
Dunston started the engine and backed out of the parking slot.
[FIVE]
The Mouse
Seoul, South Korea
191O 16 October 19S0
Major General Ralph Howe, NGUS, Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, Master Sergeant Charley Rogers, NGUS, Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, and an Army captain wearing a fur-collared aviator's jacket were sitting at the dining room table when Pickering, Banning, Hart, and Dunston walked in.