"How is that, sir?"
Here it comes, but what the hell is it?
"Think about it, Howe. Napoleon's aides-de-camp-for that matter, probably those of Hannibal, marching with his elephants into the Pyrenees in 218-were far more than of-ficers who saw to their general's comfort. They were his eyes and his ears, and when they were in the field, they spoke with his authority."
"Neither General Pickering nor I have any authority, General, to issue orders to anyone," Howe argued.
"The difference there is that when one of Hannibal's aides was in the field, he was not in communication with Hannibal. You are in communication with our Commander-in-Chief. Pickering was in private communication with President Roosevelt all through the war until Roosevelt died. If he then, or you now, told me it was the President's desire that I do, or not do, thus and so, I would consider it an order."
Where the hell is he going?
"I can't imagine that happening, General," Howe said.
"Neither can I," MacArthur said. "The other difference being that if the Commander-in-chief wishes to issue an order to me, or anyone else, directly, he now has the means to do so. But that wasn't really the point of this."
Okay. Finally, here it comes.
"Oh?"
"I was leading up to the other function of aides-de-camp: being the commander's eyes and ears. Has it oc-curred to you that that's what you're doing? You and Pickering?"
"Yes, sir. It has. Our mission is to report to the President anything he tells us to look into, or what we see and hear that we feel would interest him."
"Of course, Fleming Picking has the additional duty-or maybe it's his primary duty; it doesn't matter here for the moment-of running the CIA and its covert intelligence, and other operations."
"That's true, sir," Howe said.
Okay. Now we have a direction. I think.
There was a knock at the door, and a white-jacketed Japanese entered bearing a tray on which was a silver cof-fee set and a plate covered with a silver dome.
"Our egg sandwiches, I believe," MacArthur said. "Just set that on the table please."
"That was quick," Howe said.
"It's nice to be the Emperor," MacArthur said, straight-faced, and then when he saw the look on Howe's face, suddenly shifting into a broad smile, showing he had made a little joke.
"I suppose it is, sir."
"I am a soldier, nothing more," MacArthur said. "And I really have done my best to discourage people from think-ing I am anything more, and more important, than I think I am."
I don't know whether to believe that or not. But I guess I do.
MacArthur lifted the dome over the plate.
"Help yourself," he said. "They are much better when hot."
"Thank you, sir."
"They take me back to West Point," MacArthur said. "My mother had the idea I wasn't being properly nour-ished in the cadet mess, and when I went to see her at night in the Hotel Thayer, she would have egg sandwiches sent up."
Howe remembered hearing that MacArthur's mother had lived in the Hotel Thayer at West Point during all of his four years there. He had a sudden mental image of a photo-graph he had once seen of Douglas MacArthur as a cadet.
He looked like an arrogant sonofabitch then, too. And a little phony. How many other cadets were coddled by their mothers, and fed fried-egg sandwiches at night?
And why did he tell me that?
Ralph, you're out of your league with this man. Watch yourself!
The Supreme Commander Allied Powers in Japan and United Nations Command thrust most of a triangular piece of fried-egg sandwich into a wide-open mouth, chewed ap-preciatively, and announced.
"Very nice. I'm glad you thought of this, Howe."
"I learned to really loathe powdered eggs during the war," Howe said. "That was the menu at K-l."
"Not a criticism of you, of course, Howe, but whenever I am served something I don't like, I remember when we were down to a three-eighths ration on Bataan and Corregidor, and suddenly I am not so displeased."
Was that simply an observation, or is he reminding me that I am eating a fried-egg sandwich in the presence of the Hero of Bataan and Corregidor?
"Powdered eggs aside, I ate better in Korea just now than I often ate in Italy," Howe said.
"That's good to hear, Howe, and it actually brings us to the point of this somewhat rambling conversation we've been having."
Is this it, finally?
"What occurred to me, Howe," MacArthur went on, "is that Hannibal, Napoleon, and Roosevelt had-and Presi-dent Truman now has-something I don't, and, I am now convinced, I really should have."
"What's that, sir?"
"And, come to think of it, that General Montgomery was wise enough to have during his campaigns in the Second War: experienced, trusted officers-aides-de-camp in the historical sense of the term-who moved around the bat-tlefield as his eyes and ears, and reported to him what they thought he should know, as differentiated from telling him what they think he would like to hear."
"Yes, sir, I suppose that's true."
"I don't know where I am going to find such officers to fulfill that role for me-it will have to be someone who is not presently on my staff-but I will. And just as soon as I can."
Here it comes.
But what did that "it will have to be someone who is not presently on my staff" crack mean?
"I'm sure that you would find that useful, sir."
"In the meantime, Howe, with the understanding that I am fully aware that your reports to President Truman enjoy the highest possible level of confidentiality, and that I would not ask you to violate that confidence in any way, I sent Colonel Huff to Haneda to ask you to come to see me in the hope that you would be able to share with me what you saw, and felt, in Korea."
The sonofabitch wants me to tell him what I'm reporting to Truman. Jesus Christ!
"I can see on your face that the idea makes you uncom-fortable, Howe, and I completely understand that. Let me bring you up to date on what has happened since you've been in Korea, to give you an idea what I'm interested in, and then I will ask you some questions. If you feel free to answer them, fine. If you don't, I will understand."
"Yes, sir," Howe said.
"I don't think I managed to convince General Collins that the Inchon invasion is the wisest course of action to take-" MacArthur interrupted himself, went to his desk and pulled open a drawer, took out a radio teletype mes-sage, and then walked around the desk and handed it to Howe. "Read this, Howe."
It was an eight-paragraph Top Secret "Eyes Only MacArthur" message from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. MacArthur waited patiently until Howe had read it.
"Stripped of the diplomatic language, I think you will agree, Howe," MacArthur said, "that what that doesn't say is that the JCS approves of Inchon. That they agree with Collins that the invasion-and they don't even call it an `invasion' but rather a `turning operation'-should take place somewhere, preferably at Kunsan, but anywhere but Inchon."
"That's what it sounds like to me, sir," Howe agreed.
"But what it also doesn't say," MacArthur went on, `Is that I am being denied permission to make the Inchon landing. That suggests to me, frankly, that someone in Washington is reluctant to challenge my judgment about Inchon-and that someone is the President himself. Who else could challenge the judgment of the Joint Chiefs of Staff but the President? And why would the President, ab-sent advice he's getting from person or persons he trusts that I'm right about Inchon and General Collins is wrong, challenge the judgment of the JCS?"