When Captain Malcolm S. Pickering of Trans-Global Air-ways started to walk down the corridor toward the Dewey Suite, he was mildly curious to see an American in a busi-ness suit-a young one, not more than twenty-one, he thought-sitting in an armchair in the corridor reading the Stars and Stripes.
He had apparently been there some time, for on a table beside him was a coffee Thermos and the remains of breakfast pastries.
Pick just had time to guess, some kind of guard, when there was proof. The young man stood up and blocked his way.
"May I help you, sir?" he asked.
"I'm going in there," Pick said, pointing at the next door down the corridor.
"May I ask why, sir?"
"I'm here to see General Pickering."
"Are you expected, sir?"
"No, I'm not."
"Sir, I'm sorry...."
"Knock on the door and tell General Pickering that Cap-tain Pickering requests an audience," Pick ordered, sound-ing more like a Marine officer than an airline pilot. He heard himself, and added, "I'm his son. It'll be all right."
After a moment's indecision, the young man went to the door to the Dewey Suite and knocked.
Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, in khakis, tieless, opened the door, then made a gesture to the young man to permit Pick to pass.
He entered the room. His father, dressed like McCoy, was looking at a map spread out on a table in the middle of the sitting room. He smiled when he saw his son.
"When did you get in?" he asked.
"A couple of hours ago. I dropped Stu James off at the Hokkaido and then came here. What's with the guard?"
"That's General Willoughby's idea," Fleming Pickering said.
"Oh?"
"He said it was his responsibility to see that `someone like me' was `secure.'"
"Secure from what?"
"Captain McCoy," Pickering said wryly, "who some people suspect is a cynic, suggests that General Willoughby wants to keep an eye on me for his security. Anyway, when I declined to move into some officers' com-pound where he could keep an eye on me, he sent me a guard here for the same purpose. Guards, plural. There's some young man sitting out there around the clock."
"I thought maybe he was there to protect our well-publicized hero-Dead-Eye McCoy-from a horde of adoring fans."
General Pickering chuckled.
"You saw the story, I gather?"
"The whole world has seen the story," Pick said. "I un-derstand the recruiters have long lines of eager young men wanting to emulate him."
"I knew that fucking woman was trouble the first time I saw her," McCoy said.
"Speaking of women, Dead-Eye," Pick said, "you better clean up your language and send the native girls back to the village. Your wife's about to arrive."
"I hope you're kidding," General Pickering said.
"Uh-uh," Pick said. "Expect her in seventy-two hours, more or less."
"Jesus, couldn't you talk her out of it?" McCoy asked.
"Your wife took lessons in determination from his wife," Pick said, nodding at his father. "I tried, honest to God."
"I won't be here," McCoy said.
"Ken's been sort of commuting to Korea," General Pick-ering said. "It's the only way I can get accurate informa-tion in less than a week."
"And how are things in the `Land of the Morning Calm'?"
"Not good, Pick," General Pickering said.
"Well, fear not, the Marines are coming," Pick said. "You know there's a provisional brigade on the high seas, for Kobe, I suppose?"
"They're being diverted to Pusan," General Pickering said. "We found out yesterday."
"If we still hold Pusan when they get there," McCoy said.
"Are things that bad?" Pick asked.
"Yeah, they are," McCoy said, matter-of-factly.
"What shape is the provisional brigade in?" General Pickering asked.
"I saw General Dawkins at Pendleton," Pick said. "Ed Banning was there. They knew I was coming here, and asked me to relay this to you."
"Relay what?" McCoy asked.
"Okay. The 1st Marine Division at Pendleton was not, apparently, a division as we remember. Way understrength. And that got practically stripped to form the provisional brigade. So the way the Corps decided to deal with that was to transfer people from the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune to Pendleton to fill out the 1st Marine Divi-sion, bring it to wartime strength. Since there weren't enough people to strip from the 2nd Division to do this, they also ordered to Pendleton whatever Marines they could find anywhere-Marine Barracks at Charleston, re-cruiting offices, et cetera, et cetera. No sooner had they started this than the word came to bring the 2nd Division to wartime strength. The only way to do that was mobilize the entire reserve!'
"Including you?" General Pickering asked.
"VMF-243 was mobilized two days ago," Pick said.
"So what are you doing here?" McCoy asked.
"I got a delay for Stu James and me, so that we could come here and get the lay of the land," Pick said. "We go on active duty when the squadron gets here." He paused and looked at McCoy. "I don't suppose you're brimming with information about airfields, et cetera, in Korea?"
"Not much," McCoy said. "The ones we still hold are full of Air Force planes."
"I really want to take a look at what's there," Pick said. "Dad, can you get me an airplane?"
"Get you an airplane?" General Pickering asked, incred-ulously.
"I'm not talking about a fighter. What I'd really like to have is a Piper Cub, something like that."
"I don't know, Pick," General Pickering said, dubiously.
"There's a Marine Corps air station at Iwakuni," Pick said. "I don't know what's there. That's one of the things I want to find out."
"Where's that?" McCoy asked.
"Not far from Hiroshima, east," Pick said.
McCoy bent over the map, found what he was looking for, and laid a plastic ruler on the map.
"It's almost exactly two hundred miles from Iwakuni to Pusan," McCoy announced. "Most of it over the East China Sea. Can you fly that far in a Piper Cub?"
"If I wind the rubber bands real tight," Pick said. "From the coast, it's just a little over a hundred miles. You can make that in a Cub. Step one, get a Cub. Step two, fly to Iwakuni. See if there isn't a small field on the coast some-where where I could take on fuel...."
"Pick, that sounds-"
"General," McCoy interrupted, "if Pick had a Cub in Korea, it would make things a lot easier for Zimmerman and me."
"What about this Marine Corps air station?" General Pickering asked. "Couldn't you borrow a plane there? Or-with Ken and Zimmerman in the picture-borrow one from the Army, or the Air Force, there?"
"General," McCoy said. "I have to steal Jeeps in Korea. What light airplanes Eighth Army has they are not about to willingly loan to anybody. And I would really hate to make them loan us one; they need what they have."
"What makes you think there's an airplane here they don't need and would willingly lend us?"
McCoy and Pick smiled at each other.
"With all possible respect, General, sir," Pick said, smil-ing, "we lower grade officers sometimes suspect that se-nior officers sometimes have more logistical support than they actually need."
"In other words, if I decide you really need an airplane, better that I take one away from the brass?"
"Very well put, sir, if I may say so, with all due respect, General, sir," Pick said.