0815 6 April 1943



Lieutenant (j.g.) Max Schneider, USNR, into whose twenty-year-old hands the United States Navy had three weeks before placed command of PT-197, had absolutely no idea what he and his vessel were doing floating around the Kaiwi Channel at a point equidistant between the islands of Oahu and Molokai. And he had been specifically ordered to ask no questions.


He had been summoned to the office of the Squadron Commander shortly after lunch the day before. «I have a mission for PT-197, Max,» Lieutenant Commander James D. Innis, USN, had announced. «A classified mission.»


«Aye, aye, sir. May I inquire into the nature of the mission?»


«The precise nature of the mission will be made known to you in due course, Mr. Schneider,» Commander Innis had said.


Lieutenant Commander Innis, in fact, had no idea himself about the nature of the mission. But he was naturally reluctant to admit this to a twenty-year-old newly promoted j.g. who still believed his skipper knew everything.


When Innis picked up his telephone half an hour before, he was somewhat astonished to find himself talking to an admiral.


«This is Admiral Wagam, Commander.»


While Commander Innis was not familiar with all the senior officers of CINCPAC, he did know who Admiral Wagam was. Admiral Wagam was not only close to Admiral Nimitz, he had the reputation of relieving, on the spot, officers who did not measure up to his standards. Being in command of a PT boat squadron was infinitely better than being, for example, a morale officer, or a VD control officer, which is usually what happened to officers who incurred Admiral Wagam's displeasure.


What the hell does he want with me?


«Yes, sir?»


«If I told you you were going to lose one of your boats and its crew, for up to a month, which of your boats could you best spare?»


I

suspect that no matter how I answer the question, it will be wrong

.


When in doubt, tell the truth.


«That would be PT-197, sir.»


«Why?»


«It has a new skipper, sir. And some new crewmen. There hasn't been time to bring him and the boat up to speed.»


The next question will be, «Why not, Commander? What are you doing all day, lying around on your tail?»


«But the skipper can handle the boat?»


«Yes, sir.»


«You sound very sure, Commander.»


That's both a statement and a question.


«Sir, Lieutenant Schneider has more experience handling boats than any of my other boat commanders.»


Or, for that matter, me. The problem is he doesn't know diddley-shit about anything else in the Navy.


«How is that?»


«Sir, his family operates a fleet of tuna boats out of San Francisco. He was the master of an eighty-footer when he was sixteen.»


«He's my man,» Admiral Wagam said. «It always pays to ask questions, Commander.»


«Yes, sir, I'm sure it does.»


«Has this officer got a big mouth? Rephrased: can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?»


I

have absolutely no idea

.


«He's a good young officer, sir.»


«Impress upon him, and have him impress upon his crew, that they are not to discuss this mission with anyone.»


«Aye, aye, sir. Sir, may I inquire as to the nature of the mission?»


«Not over a nonsecure landline, Commander,» Admiral Wagam said. «You will be contacted shortly by either Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, who is my aide-de-camp, or Major Homer C. Dillon, a Marine. They will tell you what they feel you should know. From this moment, you will consider PT-197 attached to me until relieved.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


The line went dead, and Commander Innis sent for Lieutenant (j.g.) Max Schneider.


Major Homer C. Dillon, USMCR, driving a Ford station wagon bearing the logotype of the Pacific & Far East Shipping Corporation, showed up as darkness was falling. He was followed by a Marine Corps General Motors six-by-six. The truck was driven by a chief carpenter's mate who had apparently lost his cap somewhere.


Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider quickly descended the ladder from PT-197 to the wharf. «Major Dillon, sir?» he asked, saluting.


«Right,» Jake Dillon replied, returning the salute. «Lieutenant Schneider?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Where's the captain?» the chief carpenter's mate asked.


«I command PT-197, Chief,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider replied coldly.


«No shit? You don't look old enough,» the chief carpenter's mate said.


«You'll have to excuse the chief, Mr. Schneider,» Major Dillon said. «He's only been in the Navy nine months.»


«Before I came in the Navy, Chief, I ran tuna boats out of San Francisco,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider said. «What did you do?»


«No shit?» Chief Carpenter's Mate Peter T. McGuire, USNR, replied. «I spent some time on boats like that. Remember

They Go Down to the Sea

, Jake?»


Dillon nodded. «It laid an enormous egg,» he said.


«That was a movie,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider said. «They rented some boats from my father. I was ten, eleven years old.»


«They were your father's boats?» Chief McGuire said. «I'll be damned.»


«Can you muster a labor detail, Mr. Schneider?» Major Dillon asked. «The truck is loaded with boxes we need aboard your boat. And two rubber boats.»


«It would be best if you could lash this stuff outside,» Chief McGuire said. «Rather than put it inside, I mean.»


«To the vessel's

superstructure

, you mean, Chief?» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider asked. «Rather than

below


«Right,» Chief McGuire agreed with a smile.


«Sir,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider said, looking at Dillon. «May I ask what the crates contain?»


Jake Dillon smiled at him. «Sand,» he said.


«There's twenty-seven of them,» Chief McGuire amplified. «Average weight, fifty pounds. Total weight, thirteen hundred and fifty pounds.»


«And as soon as Lieutenant Lewis can get here,» Major Dillon said, «there will also be two hundred and fifty gallons of avgas, in five-gallon jerry cans. Fifty cans.»


«Total weight seventeen hundred fifty pounds, give or take,» Chief McGuire added.


«And when we come back in the morning,» Dillon said, «in addition to myself, Lieutenant Lewis, and Chief McGuire, there will be five other men with us.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider said. He was nearly consumed with curiosity, but he had been ordered to ask no questions, and didn't. Even when he saw Major Dillon's boxes. They were of various odd sizes and constructed of what looked like aircraft aluminum. Each bore a number, (1) through (27).


The crew of PT-197 had just about finished moving the boxes and rubber boats from the truck to the boat when another GM 6 X 6—this one painted Navy gray—drove up.


Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, climbed down from the cab. He was wearing the aiguillette of an aide-de-camp.


He and Major Dillon and Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider exchanged salutes. Chief McGuire did not.


«I was told the skipper would be here,» Lieutenant Lewis said to Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider.


«You're looking at him,» Chief McGuire informed him. «And we lucked out. He used to run a tuna boat out of 'Frisco. He probably knows more about boats than you do.»


«I'm sure he does,» Lieutenant Lewis said with a strained smile.


Major Dillon coughed into his balled fist. Or laughed.


«My name is Lewis,» Lewis said to Schneider, offering his hand.


«Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider, sir.»


«Has the chief explained what we need, Mr. Schneider?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Any problems?»


«No, sir. Sir, may I ask where we are going?»


«We'll let you know that in the morning,» Lewis said. «I hate to be so secretive, but we've had a bad experience with an aviator who couldn't keep his mouth shut.»


«Yes, sir.»


«The distance involved will be about seventy-five nautical miles, one way. We may be there a couple of hours. Does that pose any fuel problems?»


«No, sir.»


«We will want to put out at first light,» Lewis said. «So we'll be here ten minutes before that. Will that give you enough time?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Permission to come on the bridge, Captain?» Lieutenant Lewis asked at the next morning.


«Granted,» Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider replied. «Good morning, sir.»


At least one of these people knows how to treat the master of a man-of-war,


Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider thought, pleased.


The good feeling was immediately dissipated when Major Dillon and Chief McGuire came onto the bridge right after Lewis, having apparently decided the permission obviously included them.


Lieutenant Lewis handed Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider a nautical chart, and Schneider examined it in the light of a flashlight. There was an X approximately equidistant between Oahu and Molokai in the Kaiwi Channel. «Right about there, please,» Lewis said.


«Aye, aye, sir.»


By the time they had cleared the antisubmarine net guarding Pearl Harbor, it was light. Lieutenant Schneider was thus able to see for the first time where the twenty-seven oddly shaped aluminum boxes and the fifty cans of aviation gasoline in jerry cans had been lashed to his vessel. Patrol torpedo boats are not very large vessels. The packages and jerry cans were lashed all over the deck, fore and aft.


My God, we look like a garbage scow!


The seas in the Kaiwi Channel were moderate. Under ordinary circumstances, Lieutenant Schneider would have been able to push the throttles of PT-197 full forward, and her Packard engines would have sent her sailing magnificently over the water at better than thirty knots. But Lieutenant Schneider, who was in fact very experienced in handling small vessels in the ocean, knew it would be unwise to get her speed up. Sooner or later, her bow would inevitably crash into a swell. She—and the torpedo tubes and gun mounts—had been designed with that in mind. They would take the shock. But not with the added weight of fifty jerry cans and twenty-seven odd-shaped packages weighing an average of fifty pounds strapped to them wherever a line could find a hold.


They had crossed the antisubmarine net at 0450. It was 0750 before Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider felt secure in informing Lieutenant Lewis that they were at the point he had specified on the chart.


«Captain, please, maintaining headway speed, circle this position,» Lieutenant Lewis ordered, then turned to Chief McGuire. «Go get the radio, please, Chief.»


«Right,» Chief McGuire replied.


The radio equipment came in two pieces: The radio itself sat on a tripod. McGuire handed that up to Lewis on the bridge, and Lewis and Dillon set it up. There was a telescoping antenna on top, like an automobile antenna, but longer, stronger, and colored black. There was also a telegrapher's key, and a microphone was clipped to the side of the case. The second piece looked like a stationary bicycle. McGuire set this on the deck, handed a cable to Lewis, then mounted the bicycle. Lewis connected the cable to the radio, put a headset on his ears, then made a motion to McGuire to start pumping. He did so.


There was a barely perceptible humming noise, and then the dials on the radio illuminated. When he was satisfied with the position of the dials and the switches,


Lewis began tapping the telegrapher's key. «This is supposed to have a range of twenty-five miles,» he said. «With the telescoping antenna. Let's see.» He tapped the key, threw a switch and listened, and then tapped the key again, repeating the process for several minutes.


So far as Lieutenant Schneider could make out—and he had done well in his radio telegrapher's course at the University of California before getting commissioned—Lewis was sending a gibberish of short Morse code letters: A, E, I, N, and so on.


Then, while listening, Lieutenant Lewis smiled.


«They've got us,» he said. He threw a switch and resumed tapping the telegrapher's key, tapping it for longer periods, sixty seconds or so at a time, before listening for fifteen seconds.


Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider wondered whom he had contacted, but he had been ordered not to ask questions, and did not.


Lewis finally picked up the microphone. «Seagull, Seagull,» he said into the microphone. «This is Texaco, Texaco. How do you read?»


He listened, but shook his head to Dillon to indicate that he was hearing nothing.


Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider became aware of the sound of aircraft engines in the distance. He located the source of the sound a second after Jake Dillon did. Jake pointed out the airplane to Lewis. It was several miles away, no more than a thousand feet off the surface of the Kaiwi Channel.


«Seagull, Seagull, we have you in sight. If read, say how. Also wiggle your wings,» Lieutenant Lewis ordered.


The airplane lowered first one wing and then the other. By now it was close enough for Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider to recognize as a Catalina… though something wasn't quite right about it.


«Make note, Major Dillon, sir,» Lewis said, «that voice communications from the aircraft using the telescopic antenna are somewhat below expectations. They can hear us.»


Dillon chuckled. But Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider saw that Dillon had a clipboard in his hand and was writing something on it.


«Seagull, Seagull, we can't hear you. Set it down, please,» Lieutenant Lewis said into his microphone.


The Catalina immediately wiggled its wings again, then began to drop toward the water.


«We need someone to pump the bicycle,» Chief McGuire announced. «I'm getting tired.»


«You're a chief petty officer, you're not supposed to get tired,» Dillon replied.


«Fuck you, Jake,» Chief McGuire replied, and got off the generator.


It was evident on the face of Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider's helmsman that he had never before heard a chief petty officer tell an officer to fuck himself.


«Captain, please make us dead in the water,» Lieutenant Lewis said. «We'll let him come to us. And can you get someone to pump the generator, please?»


Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider retarded PT-197's engines to idle, then took them out of gear. The boat slowed. Then he reached for the speaker switch to order someone up from below, but changed his mind.


He touched the arm of his helmsman and indicated that he should get on the generator bicycle. For one thing, if boat handling was going to be involved, he would do it himself. His helmsman was a nice kid—he was, in fact, six months younger than Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider—but all he knew about boat handling was what he had been taught in a five-week course. For another, the decks of PT-197 were about to get crowded. The fewer people there, the better.


Chief Peter McGuire came onto the bridge. «I think the first thing to do is get the boats in the water,» he said to Lieutenant Schneider. «Your people know how to do that?» he went on without giving Schneider a chance to reply. «First you tie the rope on front to something, and then throw it into the water. Then you jerk on the rope and the boat will blow up.»


«I'm sure we can handle that,» Lieutenant Schneider said, and reached for the speaker switch. «Chief of the Boat to the bridge,» he commanded.


Schneider saw that the Catalina was about to touch down. It created a huge splash, bounced back in the air, and then touched down again, this time staying on the surface of the water.


«I wish the seas were a little rougher,» Major Dillon said.


«Yeah,» Lieutenant Lewis agreed thoughtfully.


The Chief of the Boat, a first class bosun's mate who was at least five years older than PT-197's captain, came onto the bridge.


«Can you get the rubber boats over the side, Boats?» Lieutenant Schneider asked.


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Lieutenant Schneider saw that Major Dillon had a stopwatch in his hand. As he watched, he pushed the button to start it.


The helmsman was now pumping the generator.


«Seagull, how read?» Lieutenant Lewis said into his microphone, and a moment later said, «Five by five now, Jake.»


«Got it,» Dillon said.


«Bring it alongside,» Lewis ordered over the microphone.


The Catalina turned toward FT-197.


Lieutenant Schneider now understood the vague feeling he had had when he first saw the airplane. Normal Catalinas were originally conceived as observation aircraft; they were to be «the eyes of the fleet.» That meant they had a large


Plexiglas «blister» on each side of their fuselages to facilitate observation and, secondarily, to be used as a machine-gun position. There was also a machine-gun position on the bow.


The blisters and the forward machine-gun position on the Catalina approaching PT-197 were missing. They had been faired over with aluminum.


«Big Steve reports the main tanks have been topped off,» Lewis announced.


«Which should leave the auxiliaries nearly empty,» Dillon said. «The first thing we're going to do, Schneider, is move the avgas over there.»


«Which we will do with the sub's crew—for now, your guys—paddling the boats over to the plane twice,» Chief McGuire amplified. «We figure if they can carry ten jerry cans with them at a time.»


»

Sub's crew» ? What «sub's crew»

? Lieutenant (j.g.) Schneider wondered. But having been ordered not to ask questions, he didn't.


«If the seas aren't rough,» Lieutenant Lewis said.


«Like I said, I wish they were a little rougher,» Major Dillon said. «I think we have to count on something worse than this millpond.»


«If the water's too rough for the boats to carry three hundred and fifty pounds,» Chief McGuire argued, «it'll be too rough for the airplanes to land, much less take off.»


»

Airplanes» ? Plural? What the hell is going on

? Lieutenant Schneider wondered, but kept his mouth shut.


«Don't even think about that,» Dillon said.


«Worst case,» Lewis said. «They would have to try to land—they wouldn't have enough fuel to get back. I would really hate to have to jump into the Yellow Sea this time of year.»


«Jesus!» Chief McGuire said. «Let's see how this works, anyhow. Two trips over there and back, paddled by Schneider's men, and then a fifth trip with the weather guys—who don't come back—paddling.»


«Yeah,» Dillon said.


«Jake, I think I'm going to go over to the airplane in the first rubber boat,» McGuire said.


«I thought you said you were never going to get on another airplane as long as you live,» Dillon replied.


«I'm not going

flying

in it, for Christ's sake. I just want to see how topping off the auxiliary tanks works.»


Dillon looked at Lewis.


«Go ahead,» Lewis said. «Schneider, we need eight boat paddlers.»


«Sir, my men aren't experienced in rubber boats.»


«Yeah, we thought about that,» McGuire said. «We're trying to make this as realistic as possible.»


«What are we going to do with the jerry cans?» Lieutenant Lewis said.


«Fuck 'em,» Chief McGuire suggested. «Toss them in the water.»


«Where they would be spotted as debris by every other airplane flying over here,» Lewis said. «We don"t want that.»


«Empty, they'll float,» Dillon said. «Pete, if you're going over there, tie them together, and we'll pick them up.»


«Okay,» Chief McGuire said. «Why not? No problem.»


«For your general fund of nautical knowledge, Chief McGuire,» Lewis said, «the correct response should have been, 'Aye, aye, sir.' «


«Aye, aye, sir,» Chief McGuire said, smiling broadly. He left the bridge and stood on the deck of PT-197 watching the jerry cans of avgas being loaded into the rubber boats.


Schneider now saw that Major Dillon had not one but three stopwatches, all hanging from cords around his neck, and then, as the ferrying of the avgas to the Catalina was carried out, understood what he was doing with them.


He carefully timed how long it took each rubber boat to move to the Catalina and then return. He timed how long it took both boats to make the trip on a second stopwatch, and used the third to time how long the total operation took.


Finally the four trips paddled by PT-197 crewmen were completed. The weathermen were brought on deck from the tiny mess of PT-197. where they had been waiting, outfitted with Mae Wests, and then helped into one of the rubber boats.


«If they stay on the airplane, how's McGuire going to get back?» Lewis inquired.


«You heard what he said,» Dillon said. «Fuck 'em.»


«If we didn't need him, Major Dillon,» Lewis said. «I would readily concur with your recommendation, sir.»


Dillon chuckled.


«I think you better send the other boat back, Schneider, with a couple of extra paddlers,» Dillon ordered. «As Lieutenant Lewis points out, Chief McGuire cannot be left to paddle his own boat. We need him.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Ten minutes later, both rubber boats were back alongside PT-197, and Chief McGuire came back aboard.


«I'm not really happy with the topping off of the tanks,» he announced.


«What's wrong with it?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


«Big Steve and I have a couple of ideas,» McGuire said. «This will work, but it can be done faster. Safer. With fewer fumes. Big Steve says he wouldn't want to shut down his engines in rough water in the Yellow Sea, and we don't want the airplanes to blow up.»


Lewis grunted, then leaned over the bridge and spoke to the helmsman.


«You want to start pumping that thing again, son?»


When the dials on the radio lit up, he picked up the microphone.


«I think that's it,» he announced. «You can head back to Ewa.» Then he turned to Lieutenant Schneider. «As soon as we get the boats back aboard, and the jerry cans, we can start for home,» he said. «And on the way, Major Dillon will explain to you what this is all about.»



note 73


chungking, china

1515 7 April 1943


The first thing Brigadier General Fleming Pickering noticed as the B-17 turned off the active runway onto a taxiway was the contrast between Espiritu Santo and here. Espiritu Santo was a forward base, but it was neat and clean and looked new. This was China, where very little was neat, clean, or new.

When the aircraft had been parked and the engines shut down, he went through the door in the fuselage and stretched his legs.

This smells like China, too

, he thought.


If I never have to get on another B-17 as long as I live, it will be too soon.


The pilot came through the door. «The tower says they will

try

to find us a truck, sir,» he said. «It looks like a hell of a walk from here to base operations.


«That was an interesting flight,» he went on. «It reset my longest flight record by an hour and ten minutes.»


«How much fuel did we have left?»


«I don't believe the General really wants to know that, sir. We ran into some really stiff head winds.»


«You're right, I don't want to know,» Pickering said. «Well, why don't you and I hike to base operations? Maybe I can pull a little rank in person and get us a truck.»


They were halfway to base operations when two Studebaker President sedans came down the taxiway. The first, driven by a sergeant, carried the starred plate of a brigadier general, and Pickering saw Brigadier General H. A. Albright and a younger officer riding in the backseat.


Probably his brand-new aide-de-camp to go with his brand-new star. It didn't take him long to take advantage of a general's perks, did it?


What the hell is that matter to me? Albright is a damned good man, who would have been a general long ago if it hadn't been for that idiot, that Secretary of the Joint Chiefs.


The second car was driven by an Army captain. There were two officers in thebackseat. one of them was colonel John J. Waterson. The other was an Army lieutenant colonel.


That, no doubt, is the Chungking station chief, whose name I still don't know.


Where's Banning? I wonder. And McCoy?


Albright's car stopped beside them, and Albright was out of the backseat before the driver could get out of the front seat to open the door for him. He saluted. «Welcome to Chungking, General,» he said.


«It's good to see you,» Pickering said, desperately searching his memory for Albright's first name. «Especially with that star on your collar.» The name didn't come.


«Being a general is not what I thought it would be,» Albright said.


«My experience exactly,» Pickering said. «But that was a well-deserved promotion.»


The second Studebaker had by then stopped, and Waterson and the two officers got out.


They all saluted.


«How are you, Jack?» Pickering said to Colonel Waterson, offering his hand, pleased that he could remember his first name.


«Did you have a good flight, sir?»


«It was a very long flight,» Pickering said. «There is no such thing as a good very long flight.»


Everyone chuckled.


Dutifully, of course. That wasn't very funny. But I am a general.


«Sir, may I introduce Colonel Richard C. Platt?» Waterson said. «The Chungking station chief?»


«Welcome to Chungking, General,» Platt said. He was a rather handsome lieutenant colonel, wearing the crossed cannons of Artillery.


«Thank you,» Pickering said.


«And this is my adjutant,» Platt said. «Captain Jerry Sampson.»


Nice-looking kid

, Pickering thought.

About as old as Pick

.


«I believe I have the privilege of the General's acquaintance, sir,» Captain Sampson said.


I

don't remember ever having seen this fellow before

.


«Oh, have we met?»


«I was trying to remember where, sir. Possibly in Shanghai. My father— Harrison Sampson?—was general manager of First National City Bank. And then I was at Harvard with Malcolm.»


«Malcolm» ? God, he means Pick. But no one's called Pick «Malcolm» since the day he was christened. So they weren't buddies. What is this kid trying to do, charm me?


What was it Drew Pearson said OSS stood for? «Oh So Social» ?


«I remember your father, of course,» Pickering said, and shook his hand. He turned to Albright. «With that new star on your collar, Hugh,» he said—

Thank God! His name came to me

—«I presume you've got some influence around here? We need a truck.»


«I think I can get you a truck, General, but to answer your question, do I have any influence around here? Very little. Almost none.»


Pickering introduced the OSS officers to the pilot and then to Lieutenant Hart, who had taken their baggage off the plane. «The Captain and his crew need a place to stay. With good beds and decent food,» Pickering said.


«I suggest, sir,» Albright said, «that you and I need a moment alone, before General Stillwell learns you're here and sends for you.»


Pickering saw that neither Waterson nor Platt liked that announcement.


«I want to see him, too, as soon as possible,» Pickering said. «But not until I've had a shower and a shave. And a chance to talk to you, Waterson, and Banning. Where is Banning, by the way?»


«General, General Stillwell has left word with the air base commander that he wants to see you immediately after you get off the plane,» Colonel Platt said.


«Did you give the tower General Pickering's name, Captain?» Albright said.


«I'm afraid I did, sir.»


«Then he will expect to see you immediately, sir,» Albright said.


«What's the rush about seeing General Stillwell?» Pickering asked.


«Right now, he hates everybody connected with his having been ordered to relieve Dempsey and Newley,» Albright said. «And he thinks you're the man responsible.»


«Is there someplace where I can get a quick shower and change my uniform?»


«You'll be staying at the VIP guest house, General,» Colonel Platt said.


«Doesn't the OSS have a house here?» Pickering asked.


«Yes, sir, of course, we do,» Colonel Platt said. «But I felt you would be more comfortable in the VIP house.»


«If General Stillwell has left word here that he wants to see me, I'll bet he left word at the VIP place,» Pickering said. «So long as I don't have his invitation to come to see him, I can't be accused of ignoring it, can I? And I have no intention of going to see General Stillwell looking like a bum and smelling like a horse.»


«There's a staff car coming this way,» George Hart said. «That might be the air base commander.»


«Waterson, you have not heard about General Stillwell's kind invitation, and I did not tell you where I was going.»


«Yes, sir.»


«And you can take care of the Captain and his crew? Get them a truck, whatever they need?»


«Yes, sir.»


«I'll want a word with you, too, and you, too, Colonel Platt, before I see General Stillwell. Will you meet me at the OSS house?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Let's go, Albright,» Pickering said, and quickly got into Albright's Stude-baker.


Hart hastily stuffed their luggage in the trunk, then crowded into the front seat beside General Albright's aide-de-camp.


At the last moment, Captain Jerry Sampson jumped into the backseat.


«Colonel Platt suggested I go with you, sir, to take care of things at the house.»


«Fine. Thank you,» Pickering said, although he was annoyed. He had things to discuss with Albright he could not discuss within the hearing of Sampson.


Or for that matter, in the hearing of either Albright's aide or his driver. So no harm done.


«You never told me where Banning is,» he said to Albright.


«He's either in the crypto room—with the Special Channel up; there's a lot of traffic—or out looking for McCoy.»


» 'Looking for McCoy'? That sounds as if he's missing.»


«Yes, sir,» Albright said.


Pickering bit off the impulse to ask for details.


That, too, will have to wait until we're alone.


It was impossible to tell from the cobblestone street what was behind the gray stucco wall surrounding the building on three sides. The compound backed up against a vertical sandstone hill. The wall was topped with broken glass bottles that looked as if they had been there for half a century, and by coiled barbed wire now uniformly covered with rust. On an ornate wrought-iron gate now-rusty corrugated-steel sheets had been affixed, to keep people from seeing what was inside.


A guard shack was occupied by two Chinese soldiers, wearing quilted cold-weather jackets and trousers. Both were armed with Thompson .45-caliber submachine guns. One of them came out of the guard shack when the Studebaker stopped before the gate. He saluted and then pulled the gate open.


Pickering wondered if the guard knew Albright by sight, which was possible, or if he simply passed any car with a general's star on it, in which case security might just be a little lax.


Inside the wall, Pickering saw a three-story, tile-roofed old building, with its rear wall against the sandstone hill, and four small outbuildings, three against the left wall and one against the street-side wall.


Several vehicles were parked nose-in against the front wall of the house: four jeeps, battered and unwashed; a Dodge three-quarter-ton weapons carrier; adodge ambulance, with the usual Red Crosses painted over not quite completely with a brownish paint that did not match the olive drab of the rest of the body; and another Studebaker President sedan.


Heavy closed shutters were on all the windows. Pickering wondered if they were closed for security or as protection against the freezing winds.


Captain Sampson jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped. «I'll get things set up inside,» he said.


«All I need, Hugh, is a place to take a shower and to have a word with you.» Pickering said to General Albright.


«You make these people nervous, General,» Albright said, «in case you haven't noticed.»


Pickering got out of the car and walked to its rear, intending to help Hart with their luggage.


Three Chinese in black ankle-length gowns not unlike a priest's vestments came trotting out of the house and snatched the luggage from their hands.


Captain Sampson appeared at the door. «What I've done. General, is put you into our visitor's room,» he said. «It's not much—«


«All I want to do, Captain,» Pickering said, «is have a quick shower and change my uniform.»


«Yes, sir.»


They followed him into the house, through an empty foyer furnished with large, dark, and uncomfortable-looking furniture, and up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. Halfway down a narrow corridor illuminated with bare bulbs, Sampson pushed a door open and waved Pickering into a large, sparsely furnished room. The house boys scurried into the room after them with the luggage and started to unpack it.


«That can wait,» Pickering said. «Where's the shower?»


«Right in here, sir,» Sampson said, and showed him a small bathroom. It was equipped with a showerhead on a rubber hose and a hole-in-the floor toilet. A china toilet bowl and seat had been jury rigged over the toilet.


«If you like, sir, I can put you in Colonel Platt's room.»


«This will do,» Pickering said. «Thank you, Captain. That will be all.»


«Would the General like a cup of coffee? Something else, perhaps?»


«That will be all, Captain. Thank you,» Pickering said.


He waited until Sampson had left.


«Okay, Hugh, first of all, tell me about Captain McCoy. What is this missing business?»


«When Banning got here and Dempsey was being an ass, Banning told McCoy to disappear. To stay in touch, but to disappear. He's disappeared, except for one visit here, when he asked for Banning and disappeared again. He had a run-in with Platt.»


"what kind of a run-in?»


«Platt told him to stay here, consider himself part of the station, no matter what his orders from Banning. Frankly, I would have told him the same thing under the circumstances.»


«And McCoy elected not to?»


«That's the last time anyone has seen him. Or Zimmerman.»


«Do you think something's happened to him?»


«Banning feels that McCoy can take care of himself,» Albright said. «I wish I shared his confidence.»


«See if you can get word to Banning to come here. Before I go to see General Stillwell, if possible. But come here. I need to talk to him.»


«Yes, sir.»


«Is there anything I should know before I see Stillwell?»


«He really doesn't like what's happened,» Albright said. «He made a point of telling me I was

acting

signal officer, pending his discussion with you.»


«I guess I should have asked this first: how badly has magic been compromised?»


«I don't really know. General Dempsey won't talk to me.»


«What do you mean, Dempsey won't talk to you?»


«He has the right, under

The Manual for Courts-Martial

, 1928, to refuse to answer any question that might

tend

to incriminate him. And that's what he's doing.»


«Christ!»


«The sooner you get over there and see Stillwell, the better,» Albright said. «By now, he knows you're here.»


«I need a shower, and I'm going to have one,» Pickering said.


«I suggest you make it a quick one,» Albright said.


«Anything else I should know?»


«To further brighten your day, General, Platt knows all about Operation Gobi, and has his own Opplan—already furnished to Donovan—which he feels is considerably better than yours.»


«That wouldn't be hard,» Pickering said. «But who told him about Operation Gobi?»


«I don't know,» Albright said.


«Okay, Hugh, that's enough bad news for now. Let me have my shower.»


Pickering came out of the bathroom wearing only a used towel. It offered little protection against the damp chill, and he was shivering.


He saw with genuine gratitude that Hart had laid out a change of underwear and a clean shirt on the bed for him. He walked quickly to it and pulled a T-shirtover his head. hart, meanwhile, was trying to get the wrinkles out of their clean uniforms, which were hanging from a light fixture on the wall.


«Thanks, George,» he said, as he reached for his shorts.


«We have a shoe problem, General,» Hart said.


«What?»


«This is no place to wear low-quarters,» Hart said. «Snow, mud, dirt, et cetera. The Army's wearing—did you notice?—boots, like boondockers, except that they have a strap thing on the top, you tuck your trousers in it. General Albright was wearing them?» The USMC ankle-high field shoe, constructed with the rough side of the leather out, were known as boondockers.


«I didn't notice,» Pickering confessed. «I don't think I would have noticed if Albright's pants were on fire.»


«And they shine them.»


«They shine boondockers?» Pickering asked incredulously.


«Their version, yes, sir. And what we have is boondockers. I didn't think to pack puttees.»


»

Good

thinking. I didn't wear puttees on Guadalcanal, and I'm not going to wear them here. Can you get us, do you think, some of the Army shoes?»


«Aye, aye, sir, I'll get us some.»


«In the meantime, we have boondockers?»


«Yes, sir,» Hart said, and went to Pickering's luggage. As he bent over it, Pickering saw that he had a Colt Model 1911A1 .45 pistol in the small of his back.


«What happened to your .38, George?» Pickering asked.


«I've got it, sir. But General Rickabee said I was to carry a .45 once we got here.»


«And did General Rickabee tell you how he thinks I should arm myself?»


«Not exactly, sir,» Hart said. «But he did send this along, and asked me to show you how it works.»


Hart stood up with a pair of Marine Corps boondockers in one hand and a Colt 1911A1 .45 pistol in a shiny leather shoulder holster in the other.


«For your information, Lieutenant, I qualified as Expert with the .45 when I was younger than you are now.»


«I think he meant the shoulder holster, sir.»


«I've never worn one,» Pickering said. «I think it would make me feel like a gangster.»


«I also have a regular holster and a web pistol belt for you, sir.»


«You're not using either,» Pickering said.


«You can only do this for a couple of hours,» Hart said, patting the .45 in the small of his back. «And even then, sometimes it's uncomfortable. I've got a shoulder holster for it.»


«Okay, I'm convinced. Show me about the shoulder holster.»



«General Rickabee told me he got these from the Secret Service, sir,» Hart said. «The pistol is held by a leather-covered spring. All you have to do is pull on it to get it out.» He demonstrated by pulling the pistol from the holster and laying it on the bed.


«And it gets some support from a clip on your belt,» he went on, «as well as the strap over your shoulder. The weight is distributed.» Hart adjusted the various clips and springs and buckles until the holster fit Pickering's body. Then he picked up the pistol and ejected the magazine. Next he worked the action to make sure the chamber was empty, then reinserted the magazine and handed the pistol to Pickering.


«Seven rounds in the magazine, sir,» he said. «The chamber is empty.»


«Thank you, George,» Pickering said. He put the pistol in the holster, took it out again, then put it back. He waved his arms around to see how the shoulder holster fit, and smiled at Hart. «Very nice,» he said.


After that, he started to take the holster off, looking for the snap holding the bottom of the holster to his waist belt.


«Why don't you keep it on, sir?» Hart asked, too politely. «See how it fits after a couple of hours? Get used to it.»


A very clear image of the voice of Brigadier General Fritz Rickabee popped into General Pickering's brain. «

And you make goddamn sure Pickering wears it, Hart, I don't care how»


«If you think I should, George, why not?» Pickering said.


Hart's relief showed on his face.


Pickering sat down on the bed. «Toss me the boondockers, and then we'll go face the lion in his den,» Pickering said.


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«Did Colonel Banning show up?»


«No, sir.»


«Don't take offense, George, but couldn't you use a bath?»


«There's not time, sir. You heard what General Albright said about getting to see General Stillwell as quickly as possible.»


«Fuck General Stillwell,» Pickering said. «Take a shower, George.»


Hart looked at him in surprise.


«I will deny under oath that I said that,» Pickering said.


«Said what, sir?» Hart said. «And now, with the General's permission, I think I'll have a shower and change into a clean uniform.»



note 74


Office of the Commanding General



United States Military Mission to China


Chungking, China



1625 7 April 1943




Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, and Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, freshly shaved and in clean—if somewhat mussed—uniforms marched into the office of General Joseph Stillwell, USA, and saluted in front of his desk. «Brigadier General Pickering, sir,» he said. «Thank you for seeing me.» Another officer was in the room, an Army colonel, dressed like General Stillwell, in a belted olive-drab jacket—which to Pickering looked like something a white hunter in Africa would wear—over a tieless khaki shirt. Both officers wore the insignia of their rank on their collar points, but not on the epaulets of their jackets.


As Pickering entered, the Colonel rose out of the chair beside Stillwell's desk.


Stillwell returned Pickering's salute with a wave in the general direction of his forehead. He was a trim, lean, sharp-featured man in his middle fifties. He examined Pickering coldly and very carefully for a very long moment—long enough to give Pickering cause to worry that the meeting was not going to go well. «I left word at the airfield that I wanted to see you immediately upon your arrival,» he said.


«If I have kept the General waiting, I apologize.»


«I understand you traveled here by B-17?»


«Yes, sir.»


«You must be a very important man, General,» Stillwell said finally. «Washington tells me they don't have enough B-17s at the moment to send here. And I know for a fact that General Mac Arthur has bitterly complained he doesn't have nearly as many as he feels he needs. And yet General MacArthur—who is known for his reluctance to divert assets—seems to have seen fit, in your case, to provide one to fly you here.»


Pickering could not think of any reply he could make.


«You may stand at ease, gentlemen,» Stillwell said.


«Thank you, sir,» Pickering said. He and Hart assumed a position that was closer to Parade Rest than At Ease. «Sir, this is my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Hart.»


Stillwell nodded at Hart.


«This is Colonel Easterbrook,» he said. «He's my IG, and my son-in-law.» Easterbrook walked over to Pickering, and they shook hands without speaking. Easterbrook actually smiled at Hart.


To show him, no doubt, that he doesn't believe in guilt by association.


«I'd like to have Colonel Easterbrook sit in on our conversation, General. Is that all right with you?» Stillwell asked, his tone making it clear that he would be surprised by any negative response.


«Sir, with respect, there are some things we have to talk about that I am not at liberty to discuss in Colonel Easterbrook's presence,» Pickering said.


Stillwell's pale face colored, and he met Pickering's eyes for a long moment. Finally, he shrugged.


«Ernie, get yourself a cup of coffee,» he ordered. «And take the lieutenant with you.»


«Yes, sir,» Colonel Easterbrook said, and with Hart trailing him, left the room.


«Frankly, General, you're not what I expected,» Stillwell said when the door had closed behind Easterbrook and Hart. «When General Marshall informed me you were coming, I got out my Navy Register to look you up. You don't seem to be listed therein, General.»


In peacetime, the Navy Register, issued annually, provided a brief biography of every officer in the Naval Service, which of course included the Marine Corps. The biographies included the dates of promotion, assignments, and schooling. Pickering had subscribed to it for years, both to keep track of his World War I friends who had stayed in the Corps, and to identify Navy officers who had some sort of business with Pacific & Far East Shipping.


«I don't believe I am, sir,» Pickering said.


«So I went from that—the reputation of the OSS precedes you, unfortunately…«


Oh, Jesus, this is really going to be bad.


He doesn't like the OSS any more than Douglas MacArthur or Nimitz does.


»… to the presumption that I was about to be visited by one of Colonel Donovan's—what is it they call them?—Twelve Disciples? A distinguished member of the business community, perhaps. Or an academic. A

civilian

given a brevet rank as a general officer to better carry out his clandestine intelligence duties…«


«I must confess, sir, that's pretty close to the truth,» Pickering said.


«Then that Navy Cross on your chest is part of—what shall I say?—your disguise? The Navy Cross and the Purple Heart with how many clusters?»


«I am wearing no decoration to which I am not entitled,» Pickering said.


Pickering's quietly cold—even angry—tone of voice penetrated Stillwell's contemptuous rage.


«That's your Navy Cross?» he asked dubiously.


«Yes, sir.»


«The Navy Cross isn't passed out with the rations,» Stillwell said. «Where'd you get it?»


«In France, sir. At Chateau-Thierry.»


«And you were wounded four times in France?»


«Three times in France, sir. Once in this war.»


«Where in this war?»


«I was aboard a destroyer, sir, between Guadalcanal and Espiritu Santo. We were hit by a Japanese bomber.»


«You were on Guadalcanal?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Doing what?»


«I was filling in as G-2 of the First Marine Division, sir. Until a replacement could be sent in to replace the G-2 who was killed in action.»


«And the Silver Star? Where'd you get that?»


«Aboard the destroyer.»


«Why?»


«I assumed command when her captain was killed, sir. We got the Jap who bombed us.»


«There's more to it than that,» Stillwell said. He put what he thought of as two and two together. «You didn't happen to be wounded when you took command?»


«Yes, sir. I'd been hit.»


«Where did you learn to command a destroyer?»


«I'm a master mariner, sir. That's what I did before I came back in the Corps.»


«That adds up to two things. General,» Stillwell said. «First, that I owe you an apology for thinking what I did.»


«No apology is necessary, sir.»


«And also, as someone used to exercising command, that you should understand how I felt when General Marshall ordered me to place in arrest-to-quarters two general officers in whose professional ability and character I have great confidence. One of whom has been a friend for years.»


«I'm sure it was distasteful sir,» Pickering said.


«I'm a soldier. I comply with whatever orders I am given. Even orders I consider grossly unjust and stupid. But I don't have to pretend I like it, and I won't.»


«The decision to relieve Generals Dempsey and Newley, sir, was made by the chief of staff to the President. I had nothing to do with it, sir, but I must tell you frankly that I wholly agree with it.»


«You don't really think, do you, General, that the Japanese are unaware we're reading their messages?»


«1 can only hope they are,» Pickering said.


«There is really no such thing as a military secret. You should know that.»


«I respectfully beg to disagree, sir. magic, so far as anyone knows, has never been compromised.»


«Until General Dempsey compromised it, you mean?»


«We have no reason, at this point, to know if it was compromised by General Dempsey or not. sir.»


«Then why was I ordered to place him and his deputy—another fine officer— in arrest-to-quarters?»


«I have an opinion, sir. That's all.»


«All right, in your opinion.»


«He was tainted by those who did act in a manner that made compromise a real possibility. He learned about it, and he should not have. I think it's entirely possible that Admiral Leahy, or General Marshall, wanted to make an example of him. And of General Newley.»


»

Pour l'encouragement de les autres

?» Stillwell quoted sarcastically.


»

Oui, mon general

,» Pickering replied.


«You take my meaning? You remember in France, in the First War, when certain regiments mutinied, the French shot every tenth man in those regiments, innocent men, to 'encourage the others'?»


«Yes, sir. I know that happened.»


«Would something like that have 'encouraged' you, Pickering?»


Pickering hesitated.


«Would it have, General?» Stillwell pursued.


«I was about to say, sir, that as far as I know, Marines have never refused to fight. But that wouldn't answer your question, would it?»


«No, it would not have,» Stillwell said.


«No, I don't think it would have,» Pickering said. «I was a kid at the time. If they had shot innocent Marines, I would have hated the Corps. But that's not the situation here.»


«What is the situation here, General? You tell me.»


«I am reluctant to do so, sir.»


«I don't give a damn if you're reluctant or not.»


«General Dempsey behaved in an unacceptable manner, considering the importance of keeping magic uncompromised. He is a general officer. General officers have to be held to a higher standard.»


«But he did not, Pickering, compromise magic.»


«He took action which might have compromised it.»


«Whoever told him about it before he was supposed to know is the man who took such an action. What about him? Who was he? What happened to him? Can you tell me, or is that something else you are 'not at liberty' to discuss?»


«There were two men, General, the Secretary of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and—«


«General Adamson?» Stillwell asked incredulously.


«Yes, sir.»


«What happened to General Adamson?»


«When I left Washington, he had been relieved and placed in arrest-to-quarters. I was led to believe he will be reduced to his permanent rank. He may be court-martialed.»


«I wasn't aware Adamson was involved in this,» Stillwell said, and added: «You said there were two officers?


«The OSS's Deputy Director for Administration, sir. He was also relieved of his duties.»


«That's all?»


«Colonel Donovan ordered him placed in St. Elizabeth's Hospital for evaluation.»


«He was crazy? I have to ruin the careers of two fine officers because some civilian in the OSS was crazy?»


«Sir, so far as I know, this man was not out of his mind.» Stillwell looked at him curiously for a moment, then took his meaning. «That's what happens to OSS people who talk too much?»


«It's what Colonel Donovan believed to be the appropriate action to take in the case of someone who jeopardized the security of magic.»


Stillwell paused to take a cigarette from a battered case and light it. He did not offer one to Pickering, and it was obvious to Pickering that Stillwell was thinking over their conversation.


«Are you carrying orders for me about what I am to do with Generals Dempsey and Newley? Or are you relaying a 'recommendation' like the one I got to name General Albright as my signal officer, a man I never saw before in my life?»


«No, sir.»


«Isn't that a little odd?»


«I suspect that General Marshall is waiting to hear how badly—if at all— magic has been compromised. But I would expect, General, as a minimum, that both officers will be reduced to their permanent grade and ordered home.»


«To encourage the others?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Not court-martialed?»


«A court-martial couldn't be held without getting into magic,» Pickering said. «Something, sir—I feel obliged to bring this up to you—that has apparently occurred to General Dempsey.»


«Excuse me?»


«Sir, I spoke very briefly with General Albright before I came here. He met me at the airport. He told me that when he tried to speak with General Dempsey, to determine how many other people might have been told about magic, General Dempsey invoked his right to decline to answer any questions that might tend to incriminate him.»


«And General Newley?»


«I don't know, sir,» Pickering said. «My suspicion would be that he would follow General Dempsey's lead.»


«Well, I certainly can understand how they feel,» Stillwell said. «If I found myself under arrest for nothing more than having somebody tell me something I wasn't supposed to know, I wouldn't be in much of a mood to cooperate with the people who'd put me there either.»


«Sir, the importance of magic—«


«But we can't have that, can we?» Stillwell interrupted. «I'll speak to both of them. Despite their—wholly justified—feeling they have been handed the short end of a very dirty stick, they have the obligation, the duty, to tell General Albright everything he wants to know. Or you. Do you want to talk to them?»


«I think General Albright would be better at that than I am, sir. I was also going to suggest that Colonel Banning talk to them. He is an intelligence officer, and has a magic clearance.»


«I'll see that he does,» Stillwell said immediately. «Tell them to come see me before they see Generals Dempsey and Newley.»


«Thank you, sir.»


«Was this little chat of ours the sole reason you came to Chungking, General?»


«I think it has become the primary reason I'm here, sir.»


«You want to explain that?»


«I was coming here anyway, sir, in connection with Operation Gobi.» Pickering hesitated, and then asked, «General, did either General Albright or Colonel Waterson discuss Operation Gobi with you?»


Stillwell shook his head negatively.


«They both tried,» he said. «I wasn't in the mood to listen. Waterson got here first, carrying Admiral Leahy's not very comprehensive letter of explanation. It said, as you probably know, that you were coming to explain everything in person. I told Colonel Waterson that I didn't at all like having a secret operation running in my zone of responsibility that I don't know anything about, and that I would discuss that operation with you when you arrived. General Albright arrived the next day. I told him that in compliance with my orders, I was appointing him

acting

signal officer until such time as I could discuss that appointment, and this secret operation, with you.»


«I understand how you felt, sir.»


Stillwell looked at him closely again. «Oddly enough, General, I think maybe you do,» he said. «You were saying something about the primary reason you're here?»


«I have come to believe, sir, that General Marshall—or perhaps Admiral Leahy—decided I was the only senior officer with a magic clearance available to come here and see how badly—if at all—magic has been compromised. Andas the letter said, to answer your questions. I can think of no other reason why I was flown here so quickly from Pearl Harbor.»



Stillwell grunted.


«And I think—repeat, think, sir—that is Admiral Nimitz's belief as well.»


«And Douglas MacArthur's?»


«That seems to me to be a reasonable presumption, sir.»


Stillwell grunted thoughtfully. «It would explain Douglas's parting with one of his precious B-17s, wouldn't it?» he said. «Okay. Tell me about your secret operation.»


Pickering took ten minutes to explain Operation Gobi.


Stillwell listened without responding until he was finished. «For what it's worth, Pickering,» he said, «I think you're going to have a hell of a time contacting those people in the Gobi. That's bandit country, and so is the country between here and there.»


«Sir?»


«Bandits. Warlords, fighting for the Japanese or the Nationalist Chinese or the Communists, depending on who is paying the most money today. Have you heard from these people lately?»


«No, sir.»


«That raises the very strong possibility that they encountered the bandits, and the bandits killed everybody,» Stillwell said. «That's their standing operating procedure.»


«That's not very good news, sir.»


«I suppose there is a reason you could not just air-drop a weather station in there? Together with the necessary operating personnel?»


«We wouldn't know where to drop them, sir. And one of the considerations is concealing the weather station from the Japanese.»


«Of course,» Stillwell said thoughtfully. «Let me ask some questions, Pickering,» he added. «Maybe one of my Chinese can come up with something.»


«I would very much appreciate that, General.»


«I owe you,» Stillwell said. «That wasn't much of a welcome you got from me.»


Pickering sensed that he was being dismissed. «By your leave, sir?» he asked.


«Granted,» Stillwell said.


Pickering came to attention and saluted. Stillwell returned it casually. Pickering did an about-face movement and walked to the door.


Chapter Twenty


note 75


OSS Station


Chungking, China


1920 7 April 1943



Brigadier General Fleming Pickering got out of the Studebaker President and walked to the wooden door and tried it. It was locked. He rapped on it with his knuckles. There was still no reply.


«I guess the doorbell doesn't work,» Second Lieutenant Hart observed, then politely nudged General Pickering aside and hammered on the door with the butt of his .45 automatic.


A young Army lieutenant whom Pickering did not remember from his first visit to the house opened the door. As he was pulling the door fully open. Lieutenant Colonel Ed Banning appeared in the corridor behind him. The two men shook hands. «I'm glad you're here, Ed,» Pickering said.


«I'm sorry I wasn't at the airport. General.» Banning said. «I was in the cryptographic room. They call it 'the dungeon' here, too.»


«1 understand,» Pickering said.


«I came as soon as General Albright told me you were here, sir.»


«No time lost,» Pickering said. «I was 'received' by General Stillwell.»


«General Albright told me. How did that go?»


«I may be kidding myself, but I think I have calmed him down to the point where he no longer wants to cut me in small pieces with a dull saw and will settle for something like crucifixion. He's one tough cookie.» And then he added what he was thinking: «But I like him. I understand why he was sore.»


«You were the bearer of bad tidings, sir,» Banning said. «Didn't that kill-the-messenger business start over here?»


Pickering chuckled, then asked, «Where's McCoy, Ed?»


«I don't know, sir,» Banning said.


«How did that happen?» Pickering asked.


«Right after I had my initial run-in with General Dempsey, I told him to make himself scarce. He's good at that.»


«I got that much from your Special Channel. McCoy has made no attempt to contact you at all?»


«He was here once…«


«Albright told me.»


»… and apparently had words with Colonel Platt.»


«He told me that, too,» Pickering said. «That doesn't sound like McCoy. What was that all about?»


«Platt felt that as the OSS station chief here, everybody in the OSS belonged to him. McCoy didn't think so—« He cut himself off in midsentence when he noticed Colonel John J. Waterson and Lieutenant Colonel Richard C. Platt walking across the foyer toward them.


«Good evening, General,» Waterson said.


«We were about to get into the subject of Captain McCoy,» Pickering said. «But I need first to visit the head, and then I want a drink.»


«The facility is right over there, General,» Platt said, pointing. «And we could talk in the bar, if you'd like.»


«I'd hate to run your people out of the bar, Colonel.»


«All of my people have Top Secret clearances, General.»


«But none of them, so far as I am aware, have the Need To Know about Operation Gobi,» Pickering said.


«Sir,» Platt said uneasily, «Washington has been keeping us up-to-date on Operation Gobi.»


«That was done without my knowledge, Colonel,» Pickering said. «From this moment, no one is to hear anything more about Operation Gobi unless it comes from Colonel Banning or myself.» He turned and walked across the foyer to the toilet.


«I don't really understand this, sir,» Lieutenant Colonel Platt said to Colonel Waterson.


«I'm sure the General is about to explain it all to you, Colonel,» Waterson said. «Right now, I suggest that you either clear everybody out of the bar, or find some other place where we can all talk.»


When Pickering entered the room Platt was calling the «bar,» he found Waterson, Platt, and Banning standing at a bar, but there was no liquor in sight. George Hart, seeing his boss, lifted himself out of the chair in which he had been sitting at a small table. Pickering signaled for him to keep his seat.


He looks about as tired as I feel.


«Is there any scotch?» Pickering asked.


«No Famous Grouse, sir,» Banning said. «I guess I should have thought to bring some with me.»


«Beggars can't be choosers,» Pickering said. «I'd like a weak one, Ed, if you'd—«


«Coming right up, sir.»


«And I'd rather not drink alone,» Pickering said.


Banning went behind the bar. Hart got out of his chair and joined him. Hart found glasses and put ice in them. Banning rummaged under the bar and came up with two bottles of scotch whisky. Cutty Sark, and a brand Pickering had never seen before. He held them up to give Pickering his choice.


«The Cutty, please, Ed,» Pickering said. «And, if there is any, a little soda.»


«There isn't any, sir. Water?»


«Please,» Pickering said.


Hart poured water from a pitcher into a glass and then carried it to Pickering.


Pickering waited until the others had drinks. «I feel that a toast is called for,» he said. «But all I can think of is somewhat obscene, so I'll have to settle for 'your health, gentlemen.' «


Everybody took a sip.


«Jack, the first thing that comes to mind,» he said to Colonel Waterson, «is getting you back to Brisbane. Unless you go back on the B-17 that brought me here, God only knows how long it will take to get you there. So make sure that airplane doesn't leave without you.»


«Yes, sir.»


«Next question, Jack, how much did you tell Colonel Platt about what brought you here?»


«Almost nothing,» Platt answered for him.


«I told Colonel Platt, sir, that I was not at liberty to discuss why I was here, other than that I carried a letter to General Stillwell.»


«I should have known that, but I had to ask,» Pickering said. «You did the right thing. And what did you tell Colonel Banning?»


«I thought the Colonel should know you were on your way here, sir. And that the relief of Generals Dempsey and Newley had been ordered. And that General Albright was also en route. I told him all of that.»


«You spoke with General Albright, Ed. How much did he tell you?»


«Not much, sir, other than that you were en route, that Generals Dempsey and Newley were out of the Special Channel loop, that he had been appointed acting signal officer of USMMCHI, and, until further orders from you, we would be taking our orders from him—we being Easterbrook, Rutterman, and me.»


«Okay,» Pickering said. «Colonel Platt, there has been a possible breach of security. I'm afraid I can't tell you more than that, except it was of such importance—

potentially

of such importance—that Generals Dempsey and Newley here have been relieved of their duties, and so have the Secretary of the JCS and the OSS's Deputy Director for Administration.»


«Jesus Christ!» Colonel Platt said.


«I hope you understand, Colonel,» Pickering said, «that the fact that you cannot be given more information about this is in no way a reflection on you. You just don't have the Need To Know.»


«I understand, sir.»


«You've said you were advised of Operation Gobi?»


«Yes, sir.»


«By the Deputy Director Administration?»


«Yes, sir.»


«That was something else he shouldn't have done,» Pickering said. «Or at least shouldn't have done without my knowledge and permission.»


«Sir…«


«That wasn't your fault,» Pickering said. «And General Albright tells me you have some ideas of your own—a proposed Opplan—on how Operation Gobi should go forward?»


«Yes, sir.»


«And that you sent this Opplan to Washington?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Addressed to whom?»


«The Director, sir.»


«I want to see that. I was about to say tonight, but I wouldn't know what I was reading tonight. First thing in the morning.»


«Yes, sir.»


«You can give it to Colonel Banning tonight,» Pickering said. «I'll want his opinion. Which brings us to Colonel Banning. Colonel Banning, and the people he brought with him, work for me. They are not part of the Chungking OSS station. Having said that, I want them housed here.»


«Yes, sir. May I ask why, sir?»


«Because they are engaged in work that can't help but attract the curiosity of their fellow cryptographers. Banning knows how to say none of your goddamn business, but it's a little harder for two junior officers and a warrant officer to say that to senior officers. If they're not in the BOQ, no one can ask them questions.»


«I understand, sir.»


«Going off at a tangent. Ed. Did John Moore arrive?»


«Yes, sir. Two days after I did. It took him a long time to get here from Brisbane.»


«That's probably my fault, General,» Colonel Waterson said. «I got him a triple A air priority. I didn't think there was a rush, and I didn't want to call attention to him.»


«He's here, that's all that matters,» Pickering said, and then asked, «Where's he billeted, Ed?»


«In the company-grade BOQ, sir.»


«Among other things Moore does, Colonel Platt,» Pickering said, «he's a special kind of intelligence analyst. I can't go further into that. And I want him to do that, rather than what a headquarters company commander—who can't be toldwhat moore really does—thinks are appropriate duties for a second lieutenant. I want him moved in here right away.»


«Yes, sir.»


«The next priority is to find McCoy,» Pickering said.


There was a knock at the door.


«With a little bit of luck;' Banning said. «That will be the Killer.»


Hart went to the door and opened it. It was Second Lieutenant Robert F. Easterbrook, USMCR.


«We just got a Special Channel for you, General Pickering,» he said. «I thought I'd better get it right to you, sir.»


«How are you, Easterbrook?» Pickering said, rising from his chair and walking over to him. «I was just talking to your cousin Slats.»


«Sir?»


«Colonel Easterbrook. General Stillwell's son-in-law. Isn't he kin?»


«Not so far as I know, sir,» Easterbrook said seriously.


«What have you got for me, Bobby?» Pickering asked.


Damn, I did it again. He's a Marine officer, and you shouldn't call a Marine officer Bobby. Unless he's six feet three, weighs two hundred twenty pounds, and comes from Alabama.


I must be tired. Of course I'm tired.


Easterbrook opened his buttoned-to-the-collar overcoat, reached inside, and produced a manila envelope. He handed it to General Pickering, who tore the envelope open and read it.



T O P S E C R E T




FROM ACTING STACHIEF OSS HAWAII


1210 GREENWICH 7 APRIL 1943


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


TO BRIGGEN FLEMING PICKERING USMCR


OSS DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


THRU: US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA CHUNGKING


SUBJECT: PROGRESS REPORT


1. SIMULATED RENDEZVOUS REFUELING OPERATION USING PT BOAT AND ONE AIRCRAFT SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED 6 APR 43.


2. PROBLEMS REVEALED BELIEVED TO HAVE BEEN RESOLVED. A SECOND SIMULATION USING PT BOAT AND BOTH AIRCRAFT WILL TAKE PLACE 10 APR. THE VOLUNTEER PILOTS ARE NOT REPEAT NOT YET AVAILABLE, BUT IT IS BELIEVED THEY WILL BE AVAILABLE IN TIME FOR THE DRY RUN WHICH WILL INVOLVE THE SUN-FISH.


3. POTENTIAL PROBLEMS BEYOND OUR CONTROL FOLLOW:


(A) THE POSSIBILITY OF INABILITY OF AIRCRAFT TO EFFECT RENDEZVOUS WITH SUNFISH BECAUSE OF RADIO NAVIGATION AND OR WEATHER PROBLEMS.


(B) POSSIBLE ROUGH SEAS AT RENDEZVOUS POINT WHICH MAY MAKE LANDING AND ESPECIALLY TAKE OFF OF HEAVY LADEN AIRCRAFT IMPOSSIBLE.


(C) ADMIRAL WAGAM POINTS OUT THAT IF CONDITION OF SEAS PROHIBITS LANDING, AIRCRAFT WILL NOT REPEAT NOT HAVE SUFFICIENT FUEL REMAINING TO DIVERT. THE NECESSARY ABANDONMENT OF AIRCRAFT AT RENDEZVOUS SITE WILL POSE GREAT HAZARDS TO AIRCREWS, AS WATER TEMPERATURE WILL LIKELY CAUSE DEATH BY HYPOTHERMIA WITHIN MINUTES OF PERSONNEL ENTERING WATER.


(D) AN ABSOLUTE MINIMUM OF FORTY FIVE (45) MINUTES WILL BE REQUIRED TO TRANSFER FUEL, PERSONNEL AND CARGO. THIS PRESUMES SMOOTH SEAS. CONDITION OF SEAS MAY DOUBLE THE TIME REQUIRED. THERE IS THE POSSIBILITY OF DETECTION BY ENEMY VESSELS OR AIRCRAFT. ADMIRAL WAGAM HAS DIRECTED THE CAPTAIN OF THE SUNFISH, IN SUCH AN EVENT, TO DESTROY THE AIRCRAFT, MAKE EVERY REASONABLE EFFORT TO TAKE THE AIRCREWS ABOARD BEFORE SUBMERGING, THEN RETURN TO PEARL HARBOR.


(E) A SECOND RENDEZVOUS ATTEMPT WILL NOT BE POSSIBLE UNTIL TWO REPLACEMENT CATALINAS CAN BE MODIFIED (MINIMUM ESTIMATED WORK TIME SIX DAYS), REPLACEMENT METEOROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT CAN BE OBTAINED AND TRANSPORTED FROM MAINLAND US TO PEARL HARBOR, AND SUNFISH CAN RETURN TO PEARL HARBOR TO TAKE METEOROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT ABOARD AND RETURN TO RENDEZVOUS SITE.


HOMER C. DILLON


MAJOR, USMCR


T O P S E C R E T



Pickering handed it to Colonel Waterson.


«Pass it around, please, Jack,» he said, «when you've finished.»


«To Colonel Platt, too, sir?»


«Uh-huh,» Pickering said. «Platt, that message deals with refueling a Catalina at sea, from a submarine. Did Washington get into that with you?»


«Only in a general sense, sir.»


«Well, until we come up with a better idea, that's how we're going to go. This was good news. The first dry run they had, with a submarine, was a disaster. They've apparently got it working now. Jake Dillon recruited a Seabee chief petty officer he knew in the movie business to help, and he's apparently fixed the problems.»


Colonel Richard C. Platt looked mystified at the reference to a Seabee and the movie business.


Banning chuckled.


«I don't believe. General,» he said, «that Colonel Platt knows Major Dillon.»


«Of course, he doesn't,» Pickering said. «How could he? Well, I'll leave that to you, Ed. I'm too bushed to tell Jake Dillon stories tonight, much less to get into the implications of that Special Channel, or listening to Platt's ideas on Operation Gobi. We can have all of it first thing in the morning. What I need now is some sleep.»


He got up and walked to the door. Everyone stood up.


Pickering turned.


«Make sure Colonel Platt has a good idea of everything, Ed.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Colonel Platt looked pleased.


As if

Pickering thought,

he was just told he can play with the big boys after all

.


«Good evening, gentlemen,» Pickering said and, with Hart trailing him, left the bar.



note 76


OSS Station

Chungking, China

0715 8 April 1943


Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, lay in his bed and wondered if he was about to become sick. He would not be at all surprised. He was wide awake— had been for fifteen minutes—but did not seem able to muster enough energy to sit up and drag himself out of the bed. Simply being awake was itself surprising. He'd barely been able to keep his eyes open before he went to bed, and would have bet he'd sleep for at least twelve hours.

«There are obviously

some

drawbacks to the miracle of faster-than-a-speeding-bullet transoceanic flights,» he said aloud, and then added, «Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself, you old bastard, haul your ass out of bed and get to work.»


«Sir?» Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, asked. A moment later, his face appeared from behind a screen in one corner of the room.


I

didn't know that he was in there

.


«I was talking to myself, George, something that old men tend to do,» Pickering said. «Sorry to wake you.»


«I thought I'd sleep into next week when I went to bed last night,» Hart said. «But I've been wide awake for thirty minutes.» He walked into the room, wearing his uniform, except for the tunic.


Pickering pushed himself up and swung his legs out of the bed. Then he pushed himself to his feet and reached for his trousers. «And you are presumably bursting with energy, eager to face the challenges of the new day?» he asked.


«Actually, sir, my ass is really dragging. I really didn't want to get out of bed.»


«I'm glad to hear you say that, George,» Pickering said. «I feel exactly the same way. I thought maybe I was getting sick.»


«We spent a lot of time on those airplanes, General.»


«Where did you sleep, George?»


«There's a little alcove behind the screen, General. I had them get me a cot.»


«Have we got a phone number for Banning?» Pickering asked. «I want to know if he's located McCoy.»


«We do, sir,» Hart said. «But he said, last night, that he would be here about seven. He's probably on his way by now.»


«I want to talk to Albright, too,» Pickering said, as much to himself as to Hart. «Let's find ourselves some breakfast. I need a cup of coffee. Give me a minute to finish dressing.»


«Yes, sir.»


Captain Jerry Sampson, the one who'd been at Harvard with «Malcolm,» was standing by a double sliding door off the foyer of the house. He was wearing what Pickering thought of as «a white hunter's jacket.»


He came to attention. «Good morning, General,» he said.


«Good morning,» Pickering said, smiling at him.


«Ah-ten-HUT!» Sampson bellowed in Pickering's ear, startling him.


There was the sound of scraping chairs and six officers sitting around a large table got to their feet and came to attention.


«Good morning, gentlemen,» Pickering said. «Please take your seats.» He turned to Sampson. «That was very nice. Captain, but we'll dispense with that in the future. And we will also dispense with anybody waiting for me to show up to eat.»


«Yes, sir,» Captain Sampson said.


The table was set for breakfast. There was even a rack of toast before an empty place—where Pickering knew he was expected to sit—at the head of the table. Colonel John J. Waterson remained standing at the position to the right, Lieutenant Colonel Richard C. Platt remained standing to the left.


«May I introduce my officers, sir?» Platt asked.


«Of course,» Pickering said.


Platt led him around the table and introduced him to the officers of OSS station Chungking.


They all look like they were stamped from the same mold as Sampson

, Pickering thought.

Nice-looking, intelligent-looking, young men

.


«I'll gratefully eat whatever is put before me,» Pickering announced when he had taken his seat.


Lieutenant Colonel Platt rang a small silver bell, and a line of houseboys marched into the room and began serving breakfast.


Lieutenant Colonel Ed Banning came through the door, noticing as he did an empty place beside Colonel Waterson. He wondered if it was left empty by coincidence or was reserved for him. He slipped into it. «Good morning, General,» he said.


«Any word on McCoy, Ed?» Pickering asked.


Banning, looking uncomfortable, shook his head, «no.»


«I did talk to the B-17 pilot, sir. He'd like to take off at four, if that fits in with Colonel Waterson's schedule.»


«You have any problem with that, Jack?»


«No, sir.»


«Okay, Ed, confirm that.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Banning said. «And there's been another Special Channel for you.» He reached into his tunic pocket and handed Pickering a sealed envelope.


'"Special Channel'?» Captain Sampson quoted curiously. «May I ask—«


«No, you may not,» Colonel Platt said.


Well, at least Platt learns quick

, Pickering thought, suppressing a smile at the look on Captain Sampson's face. He tore open the envelope and read the Special Channel.


T O P S E C R E T



CINCPAC HAWAII


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


0905 GREENWICH 8 APRIL 1943



US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA


EYES ONLY BRIGGEN FLEMING PICKERING, USMC


BEGIN PERSONAL FROM ADM NIMITZ TO BRIG GEN PICKERING


DEAR FLEMING:


REFERENCE REPORT FROM YOUR MAJOR DILLON DATED 7 APR 43:


FOR YOUR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, I HAVE BEEN ADVISED BY MAJGEN MCINERNEY THAT FULLY QUALIFIED VOLUNTEER PILOTS WILL BE ON STATION HERE WITHIN NO MORE THAN FORTY-EIGHT (48) HOURS.


SUBMARINE SUNFISH WILL BE AVAILABLE TO OPERATION GOBI AS OF 1600 GREENWICH 8 APRIL AND DRY RUN IN HAWAIIAN WATERS INVOLVING BOTH AIRCRAFT WILL BE CONDUCTED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE THEREAFTER.


INASMUCH AS ESTIMATED BEST POSSIBLE SAILING TIME TO RENDEZVOUS POINT FOURTEEN (14) DAYS TWELVE (12) HOURS AND ACTUAL SAILING TIME WILL LIKELY TAKE AS MUCH AS FOUR (4) DAYS LONGER, REARADM WAGAM RECOMMENDS THAT SUNFISH SAO, FOR RENDEZVOUS POINT IMMEDIATELY AFTER CONCLUSION OF SUCCESSFUL DRY RUN AND REMAIN ON STATION UNTIL RENDEZVOUS IS MADE OR MISSION ABORTED. IN ABSENCE OF OBJECTION FROM YOU THIS WILL BE ORDERED.


AGAINST THE POSSIBILITY THAT THE FIRST RENDEZVOUS ATTEMPT MAY FAIL, WITH THE LOSS OF AIRCRAFT, AND MAY TAKE PLACE AFTER SUNFISH HAS BEEN ON STATION FOR SOME TIME WITH RESULTANT EXHAUSTION OF FUEL AND FOOD, I HAVE DIRECTED REARADM WAGAM TO HAVE TWO ADDITIONAL PBY-5A AIRCRAFT MODIFIED AT EWA IMMEDIATELY, AND TO BE PREPARED IMMEDIATELY UPON NOTIFICATION THAT THE FIRST RENDEZVOUS ATTEMPT HAS BEEN UNSUCCESSFUL AND SUNFISH IS RETURNING TO PEARL HARBOR TO DISPATCH A SECOND SUBMARINE FROM PEARL HARBOR TO EFFECT AN AT SEA RENDEZVOUS WITH SUNFISH. REARADM WAGAM ESTIMATES PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT ABOARD SUNFISH CAN BE TRANSFERRED TO SECOND SUBMARINE IN ONE HOUR.


I HAVE EVERY CONFIDENCE YOU HAVE BEEN ABLE TO EXPLAIN TO GENERAL STILLWELL THE SERIOUSNESS OF THE SECURITY PROBLEMS THAT HAVE OCCURRED.


BEST PERSONAL REGARDS


CHESTER W. NIMITZ


ADMIRAL, US NAVY


CINCPAC


END PERSONAL FROM ADM NIMITZ TO BRIGGEN PICKERING



T O P S E C R E T


Pickering handed the message to Colonel Platt. «Give this to Colonel Waterson when you've read it,» Pickering ordered. «Then it goes to Hart.»


«Yes, sir.»


«Ed, several questions. Are you familiar with Platt's proposed Opplan?»


«Yes, sir. General Albright showed it to me.»


There was a look of surprise on Platt's face.


«Among Ed's other responsibilities, Colonel,» Pickering said, «is keeping me up to speed on whatever's going on. To do that, he gets to read everything.»


«Yes, sir, of course,» Platt said.


«Same thing applies to Hart,» Pickering said.


«Yes, sir.»


Pickering turned back to Banning. «Was Moore up all night, Ed?»


«No, sir, the Easterbunny had the duty.»


«General Stillwell wants to talk to you before you talk to Generals Dempsey and Newley. What I'm thinking of doing is sending you there with last night's Special Channel and this one—and Lieutenant Moore.»


«Yes, sir?»


«I don't want General Stillwell to get the idea we're not showing him everything he has every right to know,» Pickering said. «And I want him to meet Moore and to know what Moore's function is. That make sense to you?»


«Yes, sir.»


«That 'yes. sir,» Platt,» Pickering said, «was not an automatic reflex on Banning's part. If he doesn't agree with me, he says so. I want you to do the same thing.»


«Yes, sir.»


«It's not hard, Colonel,» Banning said. «The Boss is usually right.»


«Flattery will get you everywhere. Colonel Banning.» Pickering said. «And while you're with General Stillwell, Platt will show me his Opplan.»


«Makes sense, sir,» Banning said.


«And when you have finished with General Stillwell, Ed, you go find McCoy.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Banning said. «I'll try, sir.»


«I'm really getting concerned, Ed.»


«I don't think he would take off without telling me,» Banning said.


«The operative words in that sentence, Ed. are 'I don't think.' «


«Yes, sir.»


«You have any ideas on that subject, Platt?» Pickering asked.


«Chungking is a large city, General,» Platt said. «If someone wants to make himself scarce here, it's not hard.»


«Even for two westerners with beards?» Pickering asked.


«He's right, General,» Banning began. «I'll look—«


«If the plane is leaving at four,» Pickering interrupted him. «That means Colonel Waterson will have to leave here at three. Be back here by then, Ed. Whatever you learn from Dempsey and Newley I'll want Waterson to know so that he can tell MacArthur the minute he gets to Australia.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»



note 77


OSS Station

Chungking, China

1450 8 April 1943


After breakfast, Pickering and Hart followed Platt to his office, which had been set up for a briefing. On either side of a blackboard, there were two easels, supporting maps covered with a sheet of canvas. Four armchairs faced the easels and blackboard.

«Sir,» Lieutenant Colonel Platt said to Pickering a little uneasily, «I'm aware, sir, of what you said about no more information about Operation Gobi being made available to my people without your permission…«

«But?»


«Captain Sampson has spent a good deal of time with my proposed Opplan. He knows details about it I don't.»


«And you would like him in on this?»


«The truth is, he can give you a better briefing than I can.»


«Okay,» Pickering said. «Let's get on with it.»


The briefing lasted more than an hour, and Captain Sampson did a good job, calling to Pickering's attention facts about the Gobi Desert that he had not learned in Washington. Platt's proposed Opplan—mostly written by Sampson, Pickering quickly concluded—to go into the Gobi and establish a weather station had obviously been given a good deal of thought. With one major exception, Pickering could find nothing wrong with it. The one exception: despite Platt's obvious ability and experience in China, and Sampson's intelligent attack on the problem, the two of them had no more idea how to find the Americans thought to be in the desert than he did.


Platt's Opplan was essentially based on the premise that the Americans could not be found. It was also obvious that neither of them thought much of the idea of sending the meteorological team into the Gobi on Navy reconnaissance aircraft. The phrasing they used was, of course, polite: «

In the event transport of the meteorological personnel and equipment by Naval aircraft proves not to be feasible

…«


»

In the event that it proves impossible to locate the American personnel believed to be somewhere in the Gobi Desert

…«


The tone of the Opplan made it clear that they regarded «in the event» to be as likely as the sun rising.


Practically, their Opplan called for two companies of Nationalist Chinese infantry, mounted on trucks, accompanied by a six-man team of OSS agents. These would take the meteorologists and their equipment through the desert on known caravan routes until they found the Americans who were supposed to be there.


In the event

Americans could not be found, the weather station would be in the desert ready to go to work. Meanwhile, the two companies of Chinese infantry would provide adequate security for the weather station against the possibility that the Japanese would learn they were there, and against the bands of bandits roving the area.


After the.briefing, Pickering made no comments, announcing—truthfully— that before he offered his own thoughts he wanted to think it over, and discuss it with both Banning and Captain McCoy, if and when he turned up. At one point, however, he openly disagreed with Platt, when Platt announced that «Chungking agents have more experience in this sort of thing than Captain McCoy does, and that certainly is not intended as a reflection on Captain McCoy.»


The implication was clear: he and Sampson didn't think McCoy was necessary, and further that he would get in the way of the local experts. Pickering decided he couldn't let that pass unchallenged. «I don't think there is anyone in the Marine Corps, or the OSS, better equipped for this sort of thing than Captain McCoy,» he said. «And no matter what we ultimately decide is the best way to go about doing what we have to do, McCoy will be involved.»


Am I doing the right thing

? he immediately wondered.

Platt has offered me a perfectly valid reason for not sending McCoy off

again

on a dangerous mission

.


And how much is my ego involved: Bill Donovan will be delighted to report to Leahy and the President that

, «once he got over there, Pickering decided that the OSS people on the scene were better able to carry out the mission than that young captain he had originally put in charge.»


Pickering spent the rest of the morning reading Platt's after-action reports of the various operations OSS Chungking station had carried out.


After making half a dozen trips to the filing cabinet, taking out one file at a time and then replacing it when he was finished, he finally—with Hart helping—took all the files from the cabinet and stacked them on the floor on the right side of his armchair, and then as he read them, stacked them, none too neatly, on the left.


The files showed that Platt, generously using OSS nonaccountable funds, had been running a wide range of generally successful operations intended to harass the Japanese and/or garner information about their troop dispositions. As he read through them, Pickering had a growing feeling that Platt really knew what he was doing here, and that he himself did not.


I'm a mariner, a business executive. What the hell am I doing in the intelligence business, trying to tell

from a position of monumental ignorance

people who know all about this sort of thing how they should do it

?


McCoy—the missing McCoy—was never out of his mind for long, and McCoy was the first thing that came to his lips when Brigadier General H. A. Albright, USA, and Lieutenant Colonel Edward J. Banning, USMC, came into Platt's office.


«You find McCoy, Ed?»


«I have no idea where he might be, General,» Banning said.


«For the good news, General…« Albright said.


«Let's have some of that,» Pickering said.


«We talked to Dempsey and Newley. General Stillwell had them come to his office, and we talked in his conference room. Banning and I are agreed that they are telling the truth when they say that, with the exception of Dempsey's sergeant major, they told no one else about magic.»


«And the sergeant major?»


«He told us that it went no further,» Banning said. «I believe him.»


«Maybe because he felt that was what you wanted to hear?»


«I don't think so, sir. I believe him.»


«What do we do about him?» General Albright asked.


«That would seem to be up to you, Hugh,» Pickering said. «You're going to need a sergeant major.»


«I think I'll keep him,» Albright said. «He understands the importance of magic now, for sure. Banning really read the riot act to him.»


«Your decision, Hugh. But I think you had better apply that 'no duty in which there is any chance at all that he would be captured' restriction to the sergeant major.»


«He was a cryptographer at one time,» Albright said. «Since he already has his nose under the tent flap, how do you feel about getting him a magic clearance? Banning's going to need more people to handle the Special Channel than he has.»


«Up to you.»


«No, sir. It's up to you.»


«Ed?»


«I'd go along with him,» Banning said. «Rutterman likes him.»


«Okay, then. I wouldn't even mention his name to Waterson when we tell him he can tell MacArthur we think the genie didn't get out of the bottle.»


«You're going to have to let Washington know that, too,» Albright said.


«Draft a message for me to Admiral Leahy, copy to Donovan, Ed, please, right here and now. I don't know the jargon.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«There's a typewriter over there,» Pickering said, pointing. «Do it now, so I can have a look at it before I take Waterson to the airport.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«And there is more good news,» Albright said. «Stillwell seemed pleased with Lieutenant Moore. He apparently fancies himself an analyst of the Japanese mind himself. And he told me I can consider myself his signal officer, not just acting.»


«I like him,» Pickering said. «In his shoes, I think I would have been just as angry.»


There was another knock at the door. Banning opened it. Colonel Waterson was standing there.


«Sir, I'm going to have to leave for the airport right about now,» he said.


«I'll see you off,» Pickering said. «George, can you find the airport?»


«Yes, sir, I'm sure I can.»


«Then get us one of those Studebakers, without a driver. Then I can talk to Colonel Waterson on the way.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


General Pickering rode to the airfield with Colonel Waterson in the backseat of the Studebaker. After Waterson was safely aboard the B-17 and the aircraft had taken off, Pickering got in the front seat beside Hart for the trip back into town. Five hundred yards beyond the gate, as they drove down the dirt road paralleling the runway, Pickering became aware of a horn bleating imperiously behind them. He turned and looked out the rear window. «It's an ambulance with the red crosses painted over,» he said. «Let him by, George.»


«Goddamn Chinamen,» Hart said, and steered to the left of the road. He cursed again when the Studebaker leaned precariously with its right wheels in the ditch beside the road. The ambulance pulled parallel but did not move ahead. Hart got a brief glimpse of a Chinese officer in the passenger seat. He was gesturing for Hart to pull over.


«I don't like this, General,» Hart said. Hart's hand was inside his overcoat, obviously reaching for his pistol.


Then the ambulance cut them off, and Hart slammed on the brakes.


Pickering took out his pistol and worked the action. He noticed that Hart merely pulled the hammer back on his pistol. «You better charge that piece, George,» he said.


«I carry it charged,» Hart said matter-of-factly. He was now holding the pistol in a position essentially out of sight from outside, but from which he could easily fire it through his side window.


The passenger door of the ambulance opened and the Chinese officer stepped out and walked back toward the Studebaker. He was wearing a well-tailored Nationalist Chinese army uniform, complete to a shiny Sam Browne belt, from which hung a molded leather pistol holster.


«Oh, shit!» General Pickering said.


The Chinese officer walked to the driver's side of the Studebaker, leaned down to it, and smiled. Hart cranked the window down.


«Do you realize, young man,» the Chinese officer said, «that you were going forty-five in a twenty-five mile zone?»


«McCoy, goddamn you,» Brigadier General Pickering said. «Where the hell have you been?»


«Good afternoon, sir,» McCoy said. «Sir, I didn't know for sure until about half past one that you were here.»


«You sonofabitch,» Pickering said. «I'm really glad to see you.»


«I'm glad to see you, too, sir,» McCoy said. «I'm even glad to see your dog-robber. You can put your pistol away now, George.»


«He almost shot you,» Pickering said. «Goddamn it!»


«He's probably a lousy shot, sir.»


«Was this necessary?» Pickering said. «Why didn't you just go to the OSS house?»


«I'm not one of Colonel Platt's favorite people, sir. And I wanted to talk to you before he made good on his promise to have me thrown in the stockade.»


«Who's driving the ambulance?» Pickering asked.


«Zimmerman, sir.»


«Well, tell him to follow us to the OSS house,» Pickering said. «And then get in here.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» McCoy said. Then he added, to Lieutenant Hart, «You have an honest face, young man. I'm going to let you off with a warning this time.»


«Fuck you, McCoy!»


McCoy laughed and walked to the ambulance, which immediately started to move out of the way. He started back to the Studebaker.


«I'll be a sonofabitch if he doesn't look like a Chinese, dressed up that way,» Hart said. «I wonder what the hell that's all about?»


«Me, too, George,» Pickering said, and waited for McCoy to get in the backseat.


McCoy got in the backseat of the car and closed the door. Pickering turned to look at him, resting his arm on the back of the front seat. «First things first, Ken,» he began. «Tell me about your run-in with Colonel Platt.»


«Sir, I don't know how much Colonel Banning told you about telling me to make myself scarce?»


«You tell me, Ken.»


«First, he told me that Zimmerman and I were detached from the guard detail. Then he told me that he had been ordered—by the army signal officer here, the one that's in arrest to quarters now… What's that all about?»


«One thing at a time, Ken.»


«Yes, sir. Then he told me he had been ordered by the signal officer here to order me to report to OSS station Chungking. But that since I had been detached, he could no longer give me orders. Can I talk out of school?»


«You can always talk out of school to me, Ken,» Pickering said.


«That wasn't hard to figure out. Colonel Banning didn't want me to report to the OSS here. Until that moment, I didn't even know there was an OSS station here.»


«Neither did Banning until he got that order from General Dempsey,» Pickering said.


«He told me that, sir.»


«And neither did I. If it makes you feel any better. Ken, the man responsible for not telling us, your friend the OSS Deputy Director for Administration, is now in St. Elizabeth's.»


«For not telling you about an OSS station here?» McCoy asked incredulously, and then, a moment later, added, «Oh.»


My God, he knows!


«Explain that 'Oh!', Ken.»


«I'm guessing, sir.»


«Guess.»


«I heard—what, four, five days later—that General Dempsey and the other one?»


«Newley?»


«Yes, sir. That they had been placed in arrest to quarters. That had to be serious; they don't relieve general officers without good reason. And then Colonel Waterson shows up from Brisbane, and right after him, Colonel Albright, now a general himself, and takes General Dempsey's place. And now you tell me that the guy from the OSS has been put in St. Elizabeth's. The only explanation for that is magic.»


«What do you know about magic, Ken?»


«It's only another guess, sir,» McCoy replied.


«Guess.»


«First of all, it's a special cryptographic system, one that regular crypto people don't know anything about. With special crypto devices. Which we brought here.»


«Anything else?»


«It has something to do with Japanese cryptography. Pluto and Moore are analysts, as well as crypto people. That looks to me like we've broken Japanese codes, are reading their communications, and damned sure don't want them to even suspect we are.»


«I'm not going to comment on your guesses, Captain McCoy,» Pickering said. «But I am going to give you a direct order.»


«Yes, sir?»


«You are forbidden to discuss with anyone, except Colonel Banning or myself, in any manner whatsoever, anything connected with magic.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


All I have done, of course, is let him know his guesses are right on the money.


«How did you hear about General Dempsey being placed in arrest?»


«I sent Zimmerman to the NCO Club to find out whatever he could.»


«In uniform presumably, and freshly shaven?»


«Yes, sir, the beards were the first thing to go. They made us stand out like a couple of whores in church.»


«And the word was out that General Dempsey had been relieved?»


«Yes, sir. Nobody seems to know why. I sent Zimmerman back another time to see if he could find out, and what the NCO's were saying… I'm not sure you want to hear this, General.»


«Yes, I do.»


«That they were queer,» McCoy said.


«magic never came up?»


«No, sir.»


«Go on, Ken.»


«So I put on my uniform and went to the OSS house to see what I could find out. I was hoping to see Colonel Banning, but he wasn't there. Colonel Platt was.»


«And?»


«I showed him my ONI credentials and told him I was Navy Intelligence, and was looking for Colonel Banning. That didn't work too well. He had my name from someplace. Probably this General Dempsey gave it to him. And he told me he knew that I was in the OSS, that he knew all about Operation Gobi, and told me I was now under the orders of the OSS station here. Meaning him. I told him, with respect, that I couldn't put myself or Zimmerman under his orders.»


«And what did he say?»


«First, if I «remained insubordinate' he would court-martial me, and then if I tried to leave the OSS compound, he would have me shot. He was really pissed. He actually took his pistol out when I started to leave.»


«You weren't worried that he would actually shoot you?»


«He's not the type to shoot somebody,» McCoy said. «And neither was the captain —Sampson, I think—in his office. But if he'd had a couple of MPs around, he

would

have ordered them to throw me in the stockade.»


«So then what happened?»


«Well, I started making preparations to go into the Gobi.»


«General,» Hart said. «We're getting close to the house. Do you want me to drive around the block?»


«Go very slow for a minute, George,» Pickering ordered. «How did you know I was here, Ken?»


«I had a couple of Chinese boys watching the airport, sir,» McCoy said. «And a couple more watching the OSS compound. When they reported that a tall American general got off an enormous airplane, and General Albright and Colonel Waterson met him and took him to the OSS house, I thought it would probably be you.»


«You've been spying on the OSS?» Pickering asked.


«I thought some 'discreet surveillance' wouldn't hurt anything, sir. I didn't get the reports about you until about an hour and a half ago. I came as soon as I could. When I got to the OSS house, I saw you driving out with Colonel Waterson, so I followed you to the airfield.»


«Sir, we're at the gate,» Hart said. «What do I do?»


«Go in, George,» Pickering ordered. «I want to properly introduce Captain McCoy to Colonel Platt and Captain Sampson.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Hart stopped the car before the OSS compound gate. One of the Chinese guards came out of the guard shack and ambled slowly to the gate in the wall.


McCoy rolled down the window and barked something in Mandarin.


The guard spun around, came to quivering attention, and saluted.


McCoy said something else in Mandarin.


The guard saluted again and hastily opened the gate.


«What was that all about?» Pickering asked.


«Nothing important, sir.»


«I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much, Captain McCoy.»


«I told him to pass the ambulance, he's with us, sir,» McCoy said.


«He didn't pop to attention like that because you told him to pass the ambulance through,» Pickering said.


«I also told him that if he ever fails to salute you again, I will send his private parts back to his commanding officer on the point of a bayonet,» McCoy said. «In the Chinese army, they take threats like that seriously.»


The Chinese sentry saluted crisply when the Studebaker rolled through the gate, and again when the unmarked ambulance passed.


«Oh, I'm glad you're still here, Ed,» General Pickering said to Banning when he pushed open the door to Platt's office and found Banning, Platt, and Sampson standing before a map of northern China on one of the easels. «Look who found me.»


«I'll be goddamned,» Lieutenant Colonel Banning said.


«Good afternoon, sir,» McCoy said, smiling.


«Colonel Platt, I understand you and Captain Sampson have met Captain McCoy,» Pickering said. «But I don't think you've met Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman.»


Platt and Sampson were literally wide-eyed at the sight of the two American Marines wearing the uniforms of officers of the Nationalist Chinese Army. «Captain,» Colonel Platt said uneasily, «I hope you understand that when we met, I wasn't fully aware of the situation.»


«Yes, sir,» McCoy said.


«I was about to clear the air between you two, Colonel,» Pickering said, «to tell you that Captain McCoy was correct in his decision not to place himself under the authority of OSS Chungking, but just now I had an unpleasant thought.»


«Sir?» Platt asked.


«Captain McCoy tells me that when he showed you his ONI credentials that you already knew his name?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Where did you get his name?»


«General Dempsey telephoned me about Captain McCoy, sir.»


«And what exactly did he say?»


«He said there were two OSS agents, one of them Captain McCoy, whom he had ordered to report to me, and that he hoped that I would quickly order them to shave and get into uniform.»


«I thought that might be it,» Pickering said. «I have something to say about that. Until just this moment, I was actually very sympathetic about General Dempsey. Maybe, as an individual, I still am. But as an officer, I just lost my sympathy for him. Captain McCoy's orders were issued by the JCS and were classified Top Secret. General Dempsey did not have the authority—and damned sure should have known he did not—to pass on to you any Top Secret information that had come into his hands just because he knew you had a Top Secret clearance and thought you should know what was in Banning's and McCoy's orders.»


«Sir, with respect,» Platt said, «I'm the Chungking station chief. Are you saying… ?»


«I'm saying, Colonel, that you had no right to know anything about Banning's and McCoy's Top Secret orders until it was determined by competent authority that you had the Need To Know. Banning has the authority to show you his orders—or anyone else he deems has the Need To Know. That's spelled out in the orders. General Dempsey did not have that authority, but he assumed it. Presumably because he thought that as a major general he had that authority. It has nothing to do with rank, and everything with the Need To Know.»


«Yes, sir.»


«I think, Ed,» Pickering said, «that General Dempsey's relief came just in time. Before, in other words, he started talking about other things because he thought somebody should know, and that he had the authority to determine Need To Know.»


«Yes, sir,» Banning said. «That occurred to me, General.»


«I want you to have a talk with your people, Colonel Platt, to make sure they understand the importance of Need To Know.»


«Yes, sir.»


«I dislike delivering lectures,» Pickering said. «But it seemed to me that one was necessary.» He looked around the room at each man in turn. «The immediate application of what I just said, Captain Sampson, is that from this moment— despite what they know about it already—no further details concerning Operation Gobi will be provided to anyone in OSS Chungking unless I, Colonel Banning, or Captain McCoy determines they have the Need To Know. Do you understand that?»


«Sir, Colonel Platt told me that yesterday.»


«Okay, now let's talk about Operation Gobi,» Pickering said. «To begin…«


«Sir. may I suggest we begin by asking Captain McCoy why he is wearing the uniform of a Nationalist Chinese major?» Banning asked with a smile.


«Why not?» Pickering said. «It was your idea, as I recall. Ken, to pass yourselves off as caravan people. What's with those Nationalist uniforms? Not that you don't look very natty.»


«It didn't take me long to figure out that wasn't going to work, sir. But the real reason is that almost as soon as Colonel Banning ordered me and the gunny to make ourselves scarce, I realized that probably the worst way to do that was to wander around Chungking wearing beards and civilian clothing. We really attracted a lot of attention at first.»


«Why Chinese uniforms?» Pickering asked.


«Well, so far as I know, the Marines in this room are the only Marines in Chungking,» McCoy replied. «And when I came here to see Colonel Platt, it seemed to me my Marine uniform attracted as much attention in Kiangpeh—«


«Kiangpeh?» Pickering interrupted.


«It's a town down the river a little, sir. A suburb, I suppose.»


«And that's where you've been?» Banning asked.


«Yes, sir. I rented a house there.»


«Before or after you became a Chinese major?» Banning asked.


«After,» McCoy said. «When I came back here in my Marine uniform, that attracted as much attention as the beard and civvies. But I had noticed a dozen, maybe more, westerners in Nationalist uniforms. And found out they were White Russians. The only people who ask questions about Nationalist Army majors are lieutenant colonels or better.»


«Why a major, Ken?» Pickering asked. «Or is that a dumb question?»


«The Chinese have to make mercenaries they recruit at least majors, sir. They don't pay much in the Nationalist Army.»


«Where'd you get the uniforms?» Pickering asked.


«We went to a tailor.»


«And did you give some thought to what might happen to you, Captain,» Colonel Platt asked, «if you were stopped by the Chinese military police and asked for identification?»


«Yes, sir,» McCoy said, and reached in his pocket and came out with an oblong piece of cardboard. It was printed in Chinese and had a photograph stapled to it.


«Major K. R. MeeKoy,» he said, handing it to Pickering. «Of the 2035th Liaison Group, Nineteenth Corps.»


«That looks legitimate,» Pickering said, handing it to Platt.


Platt looked at it, then handed it to Banning.


«That's what it says,» Banning said. «It identifies him as Major MeeKoy of the 2035th Liaison Group, whatever the hell that's supposed to be.»


«Zimmerman got them from the same printer that does them for the Chinese Army,» McCoy said. «And with the Nansen passports we got in Maryland, it works like a charm.»


«You hope,» Banning said.


«We've been stopped,» McCoy said simply, «several times.»


«You don't speak Russian,» Colonel Platt challenged. «What do you do about that?»


«I speak Cantonese, Wu, and Mandarin,» McCoy said. «That seems to be enough.»


«Why did you rent a house?» Banning asked.


«Because the houses here come with outside walls, making the building lot into a little compound, an interior court? You know what I mean. I needed someplace behind a wall to hide our ambulance. We also have a weapons carrier and a couple of water trailers.»


«Where did you get the ambulance? And why?» Banning pursued.


«Where? From a Chinese merchant who had one to sell. I don't know where he got it.»


«He probably stole it from the Nationalist Army,» Captain Sampson said, a trifle indignantly.


«Probably,» McCoy agreed with a smile.


«What are you going to do with it? Drive it to and across the Gobi?» Banning asked, not unkindly, but sarcastically.


«Yes, sir,» McCoy said. «That seems the best way to go, sir.»


«You're serious?» Banning asked, surprised.


«Yes, sir.»


«You're aware, Captain,» Colonel Platt said, «that there is a good deal of bandit activity between here and the Gobi Desert, and all over the desert itself?»


«Yes, sir, I am.»


«The bandits don't concern you?»


«1 think there's a way to handle that, sir,» McCoy said.


«I'd like to hear it,» Platt said.


«So would I,» Pickering said, his eyes on Captain Sampson. «But what I think we should do right now, before that, is ask Captain Sampson to deliver that Opplan briefing again. I'd like to know what McCoy and Zimmerman think of it.»


It took Sampson forty-five minutes this time to lay out again the Chungking station's Opplan. During this time, McCoy didn't ask questions or otherwise interrupt the briefing. Pickering had no idea what he was thinking.


«I'm learning to be a general,» Pickering said when Sampson was finished. «What generals do, when asking for opinions, is ask the junior man first. That keeps their answers from being colored by what someone senior to them has said first. So, Gunny Zimmerman—or should I say Major Zimmerman?—what do you think?»


Everyone but Zimmerman chuckled, and it was a long moment before he finally spoke. «With respect, sir, McCoy's idea makes more sense.»


Is that his considered opinion, or did he say that because he knows McCoy and doesn't know these people?


«You want to expand on that, please, Gunny?» Pickering said.


«Sir?»


«General Pickering wants to know what you don't like about Captain Sampson's Opplan, Ernie,» McCoy said.


«Too many people,» Zimmerman said immediately.


«Perhaps you don't fully understand the threat the bandits pose, Sergeant,» Captain Sampson said.


Pickering happened to look at McCoy, and saw ice come briefly to his eyes.


«Both Captain McCoy and Gunny Zimmerman, Sampson, have had experience with Chinese bandits,» Banning said.


Zimmerman glanced at Banning with gratitude in his eyes.


«You don't think the bandits pose much of a threat, is that it, Zimmerman?» Pickering asked.


«Sir, they only attack when it ain't going to cost them much,» Zimmerman said.


«With that in mind, Gunny,» Banning said, «let me go off at a tangent. What do you think are the chances that the people we think are in the Gobi have had a run-in with bandits?»


«I think we have to take that as a given, Colonel,» Lieutenant Colonel Platt said. «I personally would be very surprised if we'll be able to find them.»


«Meaning, you think they've been killed?» Banning asked.


«I think that's a reasonable assumption.»


«Zimmerman?» Pickering asked.


«Sir, they only attack when it ain't going to cost them much,» Zimmerman repeated doggedly. He turned to McCoy for support. «You know Sweatley, Killer, and he's not dumb enough to go into the Gobi—«


«Who is Sweatley?» Captain Sampson interrupted.


«One of the men whose names we have,» McCoy said. «He was a buck sergeant with the Marine guard detachment at the legation in Peking. I think Gunny Zimmerman is saying that we can

reasonably assume

that the people in the desert are armed.»


«Yeah,» Zimmerman said.


«They may even have machine guns,» McCoy went on. «I know there were four air-cooled Browning .30s in the armory there.»


«How do you know that?» Captain Sampson asked.


McCoy glared at him icily.


«Tell him. Captain McCoy.» Banning said.


«Before I went to work for Colonel Banning. I had the machine-gun section in Baker Company, Fourth Marines in Shanghai,» McCoy said. «I used to maintain the Peking legation guard's weapons.»


«I see,» Sampson said.


«What did the sergeant call you, Captain? 'Killer'?» Colonel Platt asked.


«Gunny Zimmerman is one of two people who can call Captain McCoy ' Killer' without running a great risk of severe bodily harm,» Pickering said.


«Oh, really? And who is the other one?» Platt asked.


«I am, Colonel,» Pickering said, and turned to Zimmerman. «To get to the bottom of this, what you're saying. Gunny—and presumably McCoy agrees with you—is that you believe these people in the desert are well enough armed to keep the bandits from thinking they would be an easy target?»


«Yes, sir,» Zimmerman said.


«In other words, you would bet they're out there somewhere?»


«Sir, with respect, I'd say it's fifty-fifty,» Zimmerman said.


«I hope the sergeant is right, of course,» Platt said. «But if I may speak freely?»


«Of course,» Pickering said.


«I don't think we can mount this operation on a fifty-fifty chance that these people are still out there, and an even slimmer chance that we can find them if they are.»


«Colonel,» McCoy said, «Marines don't abandon their own because there's a good chance they might be dead.»


«That's a very noble sentiment. Captain, but I would suggest this is a question of priorities.» He looked at Pickering, obviously seeking support.


«How do you see the priorities here, Colonel?» Pickering asked.


«It seems to me that getting this weather station up and operating is the obvious priority.»


«May I speak freely, sir?» McCoy asked.


«That's what this is all about,» Pickering said.


«The priority is to have a weather station operating over a long period of time, not just get it up and running,» McCoy said.


«Of course,» Platt said. «That's understood.»


«This place is crawling with Japanese spies, or maybe more accurately, Chinese selling information to the Japs,» McCoy said. «There's no way you could send a convoy carrying two companies of Nationalist infantry into the desert without the Japs learning about it. They would wonder what was going on.»


«They have radio intercept capabilities, as I'm sure you know, Captain,» Colonel Platt said, his tone making it clear that he felt McCoy did not know. «Once the weather station begins to transmit data, they'll know something is going on.»


«The station will be on the air no more than ten minutes a day,» McCoy responded. «It will probably take the Japanese some time to figure out what's being transmitted, and even when they do that, they'll have to find the transmitter.»


«Finding a transmitter using triangulation isn't at all difficult,» Captain Sampson said.


«It's not as easy as it sounds, either,» McCoy said. «Have you seen the SOI for the weather station?»


«No,» Sampson said.


«A different time every day, a different frequency, a different code. I don't think they'll be able to locate the station by triangulation easily, and if we move the station, it will be even harder for them.»


«How are we going to move the station?»


«In the ambulance,» McCoy said. «Send it twenty, twenty-five miles from the radio station, in a different direction, every day.»


«Where are you going to get the gasoline to do that. Ken?» Pickering asked. «That's one of the things I haven't figured out yet,» McCoy said. «One possibility is to have caches of it, and another is having it flown in by the Catalinas. I figure it would take five gallons of gas a day, a hundred and fifty gallons a month, to send the ambulance twenty-five miles away from the weather station every day.»


«Caches of gasoline?» Colonel Platt asked. «Where would you get those?»


«I think it's time,» Pickering said, «that we hear Ken's ideas on this operation. Start at the beginning, Ken.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» McCoy said. He paused, obviously collecting his thoughts. «Well, when we started to ask questions, we heard about the bandits—which was not exactly news—and we heard that the Nationalists are sending patrols into the deserts. Long range patrols, on camels and Mongolian ponies.»


«We're aware of those patrols,» Sampson said. «In addition to their intelligence-gathering function, they are supposed to suppress the bandit activity.»


Pickering looked at McCoy, who was staring at Sampson with a strange look in his eyes.


Is he annoyed at the interruption? Pickering wondered. Or is he amused? Or disgusted? Or maybe all three?


«More likely,» McCoy said, «they're holding hands with the bandits.»


«I don't think I understand,» Pickering said.


«Sir, it's more than likely that, in exchange for letting the bandits operate, the patrols—or at least the patrol's officers—get a cut of what the bandits have stolen, and the bandits provide intelligence about the caravans, and maybe even about the Japanese.»


«Or, Ken,» Banning said thoughtfully, «maybe about a group of westerners running around out there.»


«We are regularly furnished with intelligence reports from the Chinese about what those patrols have turned up,» Colonel Platt said. «We have specifically requested information about any Americans. There has been nothing, absolutely nothing.»


McCoy ignored him.


«The Nationalist Chinese, on patrol and off,» he went on, «have to live a lot off the land. They have to, or starve. Which is one of the reasons Mao Tse-Tung's Communists are so popular; they don't steal from the peasants the way the Nationalists do.»


«You sound as if you approve of the Communists, Captain,» Colonel Platt said.


«I don't, sir, but if I were a peasant, and the Communists didn't steal my last pig, and the Nationalists did, I probably would.»


«What's your point, Ken?» Banning challenged.


«The first thing I thought was that I would get in touch with these Nationalist patrols, to see if they had heard anything about westerners that they hadn't sent up through channels.»


«If they had heard something, why wouldn't they have reported it?» Colonel Platt asked.


«Because, sir, they might get orders to investigate further,» McCoy said. «If I was a Nationalist lieutenant, I wouldn't want to get an order like that. Life is tough enough as it is without me almost volunteering to stick my neck out to look for a bunch of westerners.»


«You said that was the first thing you thought of, McCoy?» Pickering asked.


«Yes, sir. Then I realized that there is no way that a long-range patrol can live off the land in the Gobi. There's nothing to steal out there except from caravans. And caravans would not have enough food to feed forty men for long. Which meant that the patrols would have to be resupplied. And I found out they run regular truck convoys out there, to preestablished rendezvous points. Sometimes it's just rations, and sometimes they take troops, even horses, out there to replace lost horses and bring back the sick, lame, and lazy.»


He stopped and took a thin cigar from his pocket and lit it. Then he went on.


«That's when I started to think that if Zimmerman and I could hook up with one of these motor supply convoys, we could go as far as they go, then take off on our own. With a little bit of luck, maybe we could get them to tell me what they've heard about a group of westerners.»


«What makes you think they'd tell you something they haven't reported through the appropriate channels?» Captain Sampson asked.


McCoy looked at him coldly, then decided the question was a request for information rather than a challenge.


«I'd pay them,» McCoy said. «They aren't getting paid by whoever sends them out there.»


«What makes you think they'd tell you truth?» Colonel Platt asked.


«I'd have to take a chance on that, sir,» McCoy said. «But my gut feeling is that if I was a Nationalist officer, I'd be a little afraid to lie to a White Russian officer.»


«Why?» Captain Sampson asked. Again McCoy gave him the benefit of any doubt that it might be a challenge.


«They all came out of the Imperial Army,» he explained. «A lot of them say they were colonels and generals—and maybe they were. The way I understand it, if you lied to an officer in the Czar's army—for that matter, talked back to one— they shot you on the spot, and let the paperwork catch up later.»


«You seem to know a good deal about both the Chinese and Czarist armies, Captain McCoy,» Colonel Platt said.


He's barely able

, Pickering thought,

to control his sarcasm. Well, that's understandable. They not only had a serious run-in the first time they met, but now the man who in essence told him to go fuck himself is making it very clear he thinks very little of an Opplan Platt thinks solves all our problems

.


«I knew some Chinese officers in Shanghai, sir,» McCoy said. «And some White Russians.»


McCoy's and Banning's eyes met.


«Going along with your line of thinking, Captain,» Platt went on. «As I understand you, you're suggesting that you just drive off into the Gobi in your ambulance…«


«And the weapons carrier, sir. Both towing five-hundred-gallon water trailers filled with gas.»


»… in the hope that you will be able to establish contact with this group of Americans thought to be somewhere in the desert.»


«Yes, sir.»


«And what if you run out of gasoline before finding the Americans?»


«Then we fire up the radio, sir, and hope the Catalinas can find us.»


«Wouldn't it really make more sense, Captain, to just find some good location for the weather station and establish contact from there? Without running around an immense desert looking for people who might not be there?»


«I'm not prepared to give up on the Marines out there, sir, without trying.»


«That may not be your decision to make, Captain,» Colonel Platt said.


«No, sir,» McCoy said. «As I understand it, that would be General Pickering's decision to make.»


«That's pretty close to insolence, Captain!» Platt flared.


«Whoa!» Pickering said sharply. «For one thing, I'm sure Captain McCoy didn't intend to be insolent. For another, he's right. This is my decision, and I just realized that I'm not prepared to make it without further information.»


He waited a moment, until he thought Colonel Platt had regained control of his temper.


«What I suggest we do now is have a drink,'» Pickering went on. «Maybe more than one. And then dinner. Then we'll sleep on this, and have another go at it in the morning. Is there room for Captain McCoy and Gunny Zimmerman to spend the night here, Platt?»


«Sir, we could put a couple of cots in my room,» Captain Sampson said.


McCoy looked at him in surprise. Then he turned to Pickering.


«I'd hate to put the Captain out, sir. And our place isn't that far away.» He turned to Sampson. «But thanks, anyway.»


«Tell me about your place,» Pickering said.


«Actually, sir, it's pretty comfortable. It's a nice house, and we have a pretty good cook.» He looked at Banning. «I'd almost forgotten how nice it was in Shanghai to have houseboys bring you a cup of tea in the morning, when they deliver your wash and pressed uniform.»


«You have houseboys?» Banning asked, smiling.


«And you don't think your house and your houseboys have attracted attention?» Platt asked.


«You really can't hide anything in China, Colonel,» McCoy said, on the edge of condescension. «What you

can

do is make something look like something else. What we look like is a couple of White Russian officers living like White Russian officers. In other words, well. Zimmerman got uniforms for the houseboys. Every White Russian officer in the Nationalist Army has at least two orderlies. And orderlies are expected to have rifles.»


«How many 'orderlies' do you have?» Pickering asked, smiling.


«Fourteen,» McCoy said. «Two of them take care of us, two take care of the vehicles, and the others are our perimeter guard, and run errands.»


«Errands like watching this place and the airport?»


«Yes, sir.»


Pickering saw that Colonel Platt did not at all like hearing that McCoy had had people watching his compound.


«Your own private army, huh?» Pickering chuckled.


«More like my private squad, sir,» McCoy said.


«What had you planned to do with this private army of yours if you followed your original plan and went into the Gobi by yourself?» Platt asked. «Take them all with you?»


There is an implication in that question

, Pickering thought,

none too subtly phrased, that he has decided McCoy's plan is dead

.


He looked at McCoy and saw in his eyes that McCoy had come to the same conclusion.


«When I go into the desert, Colonel,» McCoy said, «I'm going to take four of the Chinese with me—maybe six; I haven't thought that through yet. The rest I'd planned to turn over to Colonel Banning. The men, and the house.»


«What's that all about?» Platt asked.


«Sir,» McCoy replied, but looked at Pickering as he did. «I thought Colonel Banning—and the Easterbunny and the others…«


«The '

Easterbunny'?

Colonel Platt asked incredulously.


»… would need a place to stay besides a BOQ…« McCoy went on.


«The '

Easterbunny»

?» Platt repeated.


»… and I didn't think they'd want to live here,» McCoy finished doggedly.


Platt glowered at him.


«Unfortunately, Colonel Platt,» Pickering said, «Captain McCoy can't seem to remember not to call Lieutenant Easterbrook 'The Easterbunny.' Worse, neither can I.»


«Sorry, sir,» McCoy said.


«There'd be room for all of us in this house of yours?» Banning asked.


«Yes, sir.»


«It's got beds, et cetera?»


«Not enough for everybody, sir. But getting what else we need wouldn't be hard.»


«From the same place you got the vehicles, right?» Banning chuckled.


«Yes, sir, you can buy anything you want in Chungking, if you have gold.»


«You had five thousand dollars' worth of gold twenty-dollar pieces,» Banning said. «I'm almost afraid to ask, but how much is left?»


«About eighteen hundred. I got a good deal on the ambulance, the weapons carrier, and the five-hundred-gallon water trailers,» McCoy said, smiling. «But I had to pay six months' rent in advance on the house. And good tailors—as Pick taught me—don't come cheap. And then I have rations to buy, and ithe weekly payroll to meet.»


«In other words, you're going to need more money to go into the desert?» Pickering asked.


«Yes, sir, I am.»


«I think I want to see this house of yours, McCoy,» Pickering said. «Is there any reason we can't go there?»


«Would you mind riding in the back of the ambulance, sir? One of these OSS Studebakers would make people wonder.»


«I've no problem with that,» Pickering said. «After dinner we'll go there. At least Colonel Banning will know where to find you in the future.»


Chapter Twenty-One


note 78


Muku-Muku


Oahu, Territory of Hawaii


1745 9 April 1943



When Lieutenant Commander Warren T. Houser, commanding officer of the United States Submarine

Sunfish

, was shown onto the patio behind the house, he was wearing a fresh-that-morning khaki uniform that now bore grease and oil stains in several places. Commander Houser had not changed into a fresh uniform before leaving the

Sunfish

, reasoning that he was going directly—in a staff car—from the pier at Pearl Harbor to Muku-Muku, and directly back. He would almost certainly not be seen by anyone who might look askance at an officer attired in an oil-stained uniform. Soiling a uniform could not be avoided on a submarine—even on an extraordinarily shipshape boat, as he believed the

Sunfish

to be. Some Naval officers just didn't seem to be able to understand that. Usually, they were officers who had never been to sea on anything smaller than a battleship, and had spent the preponderance of their Naval careers behind a desk on the beach.


Furthermore, upon returning to the

Sunfish

, Commander Houser intended to inspect his boat from bow to stern planes. He was going to sea at first light, and he wanted to once again personally check the storage aboard of fifty five-gallon jerry cans of avgas; twenty-seven odd-shaped aluminum crates; and two inflatable rubber boats. Commander Houser was understandably nervous about having that much avgas in his boat.


Any uniform he wore when he made his way around the

Sunfish

would become oil-stained. Since the one he was wearing was only lightly stained (compared with what usually happened to his uniforms), it just made sense not to change it.


In the morning, of course, he would put on fresh, crisply starched khakis. He suspected that Rear Admiral Wagam would be on the pier to offer a few words of encouragement before the

Sunfish

sailed off into the Kaiwi Channel to try to move the avgas and the aluminum crates from the boat to a Catalina without drowning anybody and/or blowing up the airplane and/or the

Sunfish

.


Tonight, Major Jake Dillon, USMCR, had invited him out to Muku-Muku to have a couple of drinks and a nice dinner. They'd be joined there by Wagam's aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis

III.

Lewis was a submariner himself; heknew all about oil-stained uniforms; and Jake Dillon was not unfamiliar with them, either. It was also likely that Charley Galloway would be there, and Big Steve Oblensky; both of them were fliers, so both of them understood oil-stained uniforms. And it was also likely that Peter T. McGuire, the most incredible character he had ever encountered in the uniform of a chief petty officer of the U.S. Navy, would break bread with them. What McGuire thought about Houser's uniform was unimportant.


When Commander Houser walked onto the patio, he found that Rear Admiral Daniel Wagam had also been invited to Muku-Muku. He was standing, with a glass in hand, at the edge of the patio, gazing down at the surf.


Admiral Wagam was wearing a crisp, immaculate, pure white, high-collared dress uniform. Also attired in snow-white dress uniforms were the other Naval persons on the patio: Lieutenant Lewis; Commander Florence Kocharski Oblensky, NC, USN; and even Chief Carpenter's Mate Peter T. McGuire, of the Naval Reserve. When Commander Houser last saw Chief McGuire—two hours before, as the chief left the

Sunfish

—he was naked except for a pair of torn-off-above-the-knees khaki trousers and a pair of rubber-and-canvas sneakers.


The Marine contingent—Major Jake Dillon, Captain Charles Galloway, and Master Gunner Big Steve Oblensky—was also magnificently attired in dress white uniforms.


«Good evening, Admiral,» Commander Houser said.


«Came right from the boat, did you, Houser?» Admiral Wagam asked.


«If I have kept the Admiral waiting, sir…«


«You didn't know I was coming,» Wagam said. «I didn't know I was coming myself until Commander Kocharski called at 1500.»


«Good evening, Commander,» Lieutenant Commander Houser said.


«I thought we all needed a little party,» Flo said. «You guys have been working around the clock.»


«I apologize for my appearance, sir,» Houser said.


«Your appearance? I thought all submariners look that way,» Admiral Wagam said, visibly pleased with his sense of humor.


A white-jacketed steward appeared with a tray of drinks. «Bourbon in the red glasses, Commander,» he said. «Scotch in the green. Or whatever you want, sir.»


«A little bourbon will do just fine, thank you very much,» Commander Houser said gratefully.


«The Chief,» Admiral Wagam said, «has just been telling me he anticipates no trouble at all in the dry run tomorrow.»


«We think, sir, we have everything under control,» Houser said. «But it's nice to have Chief McGuire's vote of confidence.»


«Don't mention it,» Chief McGuire said graciously.


Captain Galloway, in the midst of taking a swallow of his drink, suddenly found himself coughing.


«What I'm going to do tomorrow.» McGuire went on. «is just get out of the way, and let your boys do the whole thing themselves.»


«You think we can safely take that risk?» Houser asked, unable to restrain his sarcasm, which sailed six feet over Chief McGuire's head.


«Well, if they screw up, I'll be there to set them straight,» Chief McGuire said. «I was about to say that I won't be there when they do it for real, but I've been thinking about that. I've just about decided I'd better go along when you go on the real thing.»


«You've decided that, have you, Pete?» Big Steve Oblensky asked.


«Just about. I mean, what the hell, this is supposed to be damned important. Why take a chance?»


«Why indeed?» Admiral Wagam said. «Have you ever been aboard a submarine, Chief?»


«No, but I'm a deepwater sailor, Admiral.»


Captain Galloway had a second fit of coughing.


«Tell me. Chief,» Admiral Wagam said, «how do you define 'deepwater sailor'?»


Chief McGuire looked at the Admiral as if he thought an admiral should know how to define a deepwater sailor.


«Admiral, Chief McGuire,» Major Dillon answered for him, «was Errol Flynn's relief captain of choice when he had to leave his yacht someplace.»


«Really? You're a real sailor then, Chief?» the Admiral said. «I've seen pictures of that yacht. A sloop, as I recall?»


Chief McGuire looked at him without the faintest spark of comprehension.


«How many masts?» Admiral Wagam pursued.


«Two, I think,» McGuire said after a moment's thought. «No, three. Two in front and one in back. Errol had people who took care of that. I steered and handled the engine.»


«Well, let me say, Chief,» Admiral Wagam said, «that I think the Navy is fortunate to have someone like you.» He immediately regretted saying it. There was a strange look in McGuire's eyes, as if he had finally realized they were making fun of him.


I

don't want him to think that, although we were all guilty of it

.


«Both Major Dillon and Mr. Oblensky have told me, Chief,» Admiral Wagam went on seriously, «that the

Sunfish

wouldn't be going to sea tomorrow had it not been for your solving the fuel-transfer problems on the Catalina.»


«I've never seen anybody better at welding aluminum,» Big Steve chimed in.


Admiral Wagam was genuinely pleased to see the hurt look disappear from


McGuire's eyes. «So actually. Chief,» he went on. «You're the reason we can have this party tonight. You've given me genuine cause to celebrate.»


«Sir?» McGuire asked.


«Whenever a problem that CINCPAC asks me about twice a day is solved, I feel justified in celebrating.»


«Chief,» Commander Houser heard himself say, «if you want to come with us when we go into the Yellow Sea, we'll be glad to have you aboard.»


I'll be damned

, he thought, I

actually mean that

.


«So ordered,» Admiral Wagam said. «Chambers, you'll see he gets some Momsen lung training?»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Lieutenant Lewis said.


«And this is my contribution, Chief,» Commander Kocharski said, picking up her purse and coming out with two six-inch-tall medicine bottles, one filled with small yellow pills, the other with small white pills.


«What is this stuff?» McGuire asked, taking the bottles, which bore «US NAVAL HOSPITAL Pearl Harbor» prescription labels with his name on them.


«They affect the inner ear,» Commander Kocharski said very seriously. «Take one of each before boarding the

Sunfish

, one of each every six hours thereafter, and one—or two, if you think it necessary—the moment you start to feel a little queasy.»


«Well, gee, Flo, thank you,» McGuire said, visibly touched. «But it's really not necessary. I'm not going to get seasick. I have no problem with boats. It's airplanes that get me.»


«Really?» Admiral Wagam asked.


«All I have to do is look at one of the sonsofbitches, Admiral,» Chief McGuire explained. «And I start getting sick.»


«You take those with you, Chief,» Commander Kocharski said. «That's an order.»


«Okay, Flo,» Chief McGuire replied. «Whatever you say.»


None of the officers present, all but one of whom were career officers of the Naval Service, felt it necessary to point out to Chief McGuire that the correct response to an order was either «Aye, aye, sir» or «Aye, aye, ma'am.»



note 79


Kiangpeh, Chungking, China



0915 11 April 1943




«Who's there?» Brigadier General Fleming Pickering called in answer to a knock at the door.


«Bell Telephone,» Brigadier General H. A. Albright replied, as he pushed the door open.


He had a battered, French-style telephone in one hand, a leather-cased U.S. Army EE-8 field telephone in the other, and a second EE-8 was hanging around his neck on its strap.


«What the hell are you doing?»


«Dazzling my telephone sergeant,» Albright said. «He can now spread the word that the General actually knows how to hook up a field phone, and hasn't forgotten how to strap on climbers and go up a pole.»


«You really climbed a pole?»


«Three of them,» Albright said. «The one inside your wall, the one just outside your wall, and the one down the street. If the line in here is tapped, they're doing it someplace else. It may not be tapped at all, but I would not regard this magnificent instrument as anything close to a secure telephone line.»


He held up the ancient French-style telephone.


«I didn't know generals did this sort of thing,» Pickering said.


«Basic rule of leadership, General,» Albright said, smiling. «Have your subordinates convinced that you can do anything you tell them to do at least as well as they can.»


Pickering sensed that Albright was perfectly serious.


«The second rule of leadership,» Albright went on, «is to start out as a prick and get nice later.»


Pickering laughed. «My first sergeant told me that when I made corporal in France,» he said.


«When I get these hooked up,» Albright said, dropping to his knees by the wall, «the magnificent instrument will connect you to the Chungking telephone service. There's an extension downstairs and another in Banning's room. One of the EE-8s—on the case of which I wrote number one—is tied into the USMMCHI switchboard. Your number is 606, which I also wrote on the case. The other EE-8—marked number two—is connected to the OSS house switchboard. I put one of these in Banning's room, and there's another downstairs.»


«Hugh, what's the rule of leadership if a commander comes to believe a subordinate knows more about what he's doing than he does?»


Albright sensed that Pickering was asking the question seriously, and turned from the wall, still holding a telephone wire in needle-nose pliers. «Banning?»


«Oh, no. It's a given that Banning knows more than I do about the intelligence business. I was thinking of Platt.»


«Is there a specific problem?»


«I've spent most of the last two days reading Plan's after-action reports, and taking a look at his ongoing operations.»


«And?»


«He obviously not only knows what he's doing, but is a fine commander as well.»


«Then what's the problem?»


«Banning doesn't like him. McCoy doesn't like him. And neither do I.»


«Then get rid of him,» Albright said simply.


«I also think he's wrong—which makes McCoy right—about how to get the weather station into the Gobi, even if it means we don't make a real effort to find the Marines—and other escapees—out there.»


Albright grunted.


«I'm just not sure whether that is a judgment based on the facts, or because I don't like him—and whether I don't like him because Banning and McCoy don't.»


Albright cocked his head to one side and nodded, but didn't speak.


«This is the third operation like this I've run,» Pickering said. «The first time, I sent McCoy onto Buka Island, to make sure a Coastwatcher station stayed on the air, and to take a couple of Marines who were there—in very bad shape—out. The second time, I sent McCoy into the Philippines to establish contact with our guerrillas there.»


«And you pulled those operations off, as I recall,» Albright said.


«In neither case was there someone around who knew more than I did about how to do what had to be done. Or to tell me I was wrong. In this case, I know very little about China, and Platt knows a hell of a lot.»


«When do you have to make up your mind?»


«Soon. McCoy and Zimmerman went to Yümen to try to arrange to travel with one of the convoys the Chinese send out with supplies for their patrols in the desert. When they come back—«


«If you go along with Platt, what are you going to do about the meteorologists and their equipment?»


«The equipment, other equipment, could be sent from the States,» Pickering said. «And I suppose we could also recruit some more meteorologists.» He paused thoughtfully. «And I wonder if my ego isn't somehow involved. Bill Donovan would love to be able to report to the President that when I saw the situation here, I came to the conclusion that his people were better able to do this than I was.»


«I have one comment to make,» Albright said, «and pay attention, because it's the only comment I am going to make.»



«Okay,» Pickering said.


«Whatever you decide, you'll decide as a soldier—excuse me, a Marine— because you think it's the right thing to do, not because of your ego, or because you don't like Platt, or some other personal reason.»


«You don't think—«


«You weren't paying attention, General. I said one comment, and you have had it.»


«Okay, Hugh,» Pickering said. «Thank you.»


«For what?» Albright said, and turned back to the wall.


A moment later, he reached for one of the EE-8 field telephones and cranked the folding handle of the small generator on its side. «Unless someone has already stolen my brand-new wire, this should work,» he said. And then, his voice changing, «Ring niner zero one, please.»


«It works?» Pickering asked.


«So far,» Albright said, and then spoke into the telephone: «General Albright, Lieutenant,» he said. «Checking your boss's new telephone. How do we sound to you?» He paused, listening for a moment. «In that case, you better have somebody bring it over. He's here with me.»


He cranked the generator again, said, «Break it down, please,» and then turned to Pickering. «You have mail,» he said. «You may be sorry you spent so much effort to get the Special Channel up and running.»


Second Lieutenant George F. Hart announced the arrival of Master Gunner Harry Rutterman twenty minutes later, five minutes after General Albright had left. Rutterman had a World War I-vintage Winchester pump-action Model 97 12-gauge trench gun cradled in his arm like a bird hunter.


«Where'd you get the trench gun, Harry?» Pickering asked.


«Captain McCoy got it for me, sir,» Rutterman said, as he took a sealed envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to Pickering.


Probably from the same Chinese who sold him the ambulance and the truck

, Pickering thought.


«Stick around a minute, Harry, 'til I see what this says.»


«Aye, aye, sir. There's two of them, sir,» Rutterman said.


T O P S E C R E T



FROM ACTING STACHIEF OSS HAWAII


1005 GREENWICH 10 APRIL 1943



VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


TO BRIGGEN FLEMING PICKERING USMCR


OSS DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


THRU: US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA CHUNGKING


SUBJECT: PROGRESS REPORT NO. 2



1. RENDEZVOUS AND REFUELING DRY RUN USING SUNFISH AND TWO PBY-5A AIRCRAFT SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED 0900 LOCAL TIME THIS DATE.


2. SUNFISH WILL DEPART PEARL HARBOR 0600 LOCAL TTME 11 APR 43. LT CD. LEWIS AND CHIEF MCGUTRE WILL BE ABOARD.


3. BOTH PIL0TS-IN-C0MMAND OF DRY RUN PBY-5A AIRCRAFT HAVE VOLUNTEERED TO FLY MISSION, AND VOLUNTEER PILOTS FROM MAINLAND WILL ARRIVE HERE WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER UNEXPLAINED DELAY IN TRANSIT.


4. FIRST TWO PBY-5A AIRCRAFT ARE PREPARED TO COMMENCE MISSION ON THREE (3) HOURS NOTICE, AND CAN PROBABLY DO SO IN LESS TIME.


5. CONVERSION OF TWO BACKUP PBY-5A AIRCRAFT AT EWA WILL BE COMPLETED WITHIN SEVENTY-TWO (73) HOURS.


6. INASMUCH AS UNDERSIGNED CAN MAKE NO FURTHER CONTRIBUTION TO PREPARATION OF MISSION HERE, AND BELIEVE MY SKILLS WILL BE USEFUL DURING REFUELING OPERATION, UNDERSIGNED WILL BE ABOARD FIRST FLIGHT


RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED


HOMER C. DILLON


MAJOR, USMCR


T O P S E C R E T


«Goddamn him!» Brigadier General Pickering said.


«Sir?» Rutterman asked.


«Send Major Dillon a Special Channel, Rutterman,» Pickering said. «Quote. Not only no, but hell no.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Rutterman smiled. «I saw the Major wants in on this. I was thinking I'd sort of like to go myself.»


«Then you're as crazy as Dillon,» Pickering said. «Belay the 'hell no,' Harry. Send him…« He paused to frame his thoughts. «… send him: 'In absence of Lieutenant Lewis, your liaison function between—' «


«I think I'd better write that down, General,» Rutterman interrupted him. He took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket. «Go ahead, sir.»


«In the absence of Lieutenant Lewis, your liaison function between CINCPAC and the widely scattered elements of this mission is critical to success of mission, and cannot be performed by someone else,» Pickering dictated. «And therefore your request, while deeply appreciated, to accompany the flight element is denied.»


«Yes, sir.»


«And add, Harry, 'in other words, Jake, not only no, but hell no.' «


Rutterman chuckled. «Aye, aye, sir.»


Pickering turned to the second Special Channel message.


T O P S E C R E T



OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR


OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES


WASHINGTON



VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


0905 GREENWICH 10 APRIL 1943



USMILMISSI0N TO CHINA CHUNGKING


EYES ONLY BRIGGEN FLEMING PICKERING USMCR


BEGIN PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DIROSS TO OSSDEPDIR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


DEAR FLEMING:


IT SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING THAT EVERYONE CONCERNED IS DELIGHTED THAT THE POTENTIAL SECURITY PROBLEM WAS NIPPED IN THE BUD BEFORE ANY REAL DAMAGE TRANSPIRED, AND THAT EVERYONE APPRECIATES YOUR CONTRIBUTION.


IT SHOULD ALSO GO WITHOUT SAYING THAT I HAVE NO INTENTION WHATEVER OF SECOND GUESSING YOU ON THE EXECUTION OF OPERATION GOBI AND THAT YOU ENJOY THE COMPLETE CONFIDENCE OF ADMIRAL LEAHY, GENERAL MARSHALL AND MYSELF TO CARRY IT OFF SUCCESSFULLY.


HOWEVER, GENERAL MARSHALL AND I SEE IN THE OPPLAN SUBMITTED BY LTCOL PLATT SOME VERY INTERESTING POSSIBILITIES FOR THE EXECUTION OF OPERATION GOBI IN CASE THE PICKERING OPPLAN PROVES TO BE ULTIMATELY UNFEASIBLE OR FAILS. GENERAL MARSHALL AND ADMIRAL LEAHY ARE BOTH CONCERNED WITH THE GREAT POTENTIAL FOR DISASTER THAT AN AIRCRAFT/SUBMARTNE RENDEZVOUS ON THE HIGH SEAS AT THIS TIME OF YEAR POSES.


THEREFORE TAKING INTO CONSIDERATION THE NECESSITY TO GET THE WEATHER STATION UP AND RUNNING AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, GENERAL MARSHALL SUGGESTS AND I AGREE THAT YOU CONSIDER PROCEEDING WITH THE PLATT OPPLAN AS A BACKUP OPERATION TO THE ONE YOU PRESENTLY PLAN.


TO THAT END, THE FOLLOWING STEPS HAVE BEEN TAKEN:


(1) TWO COMPLETE SETS OF METEOROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT ARE BEING ACQUIRED AND WILL BE PRIORITY AIRLIFTED TO CHUNGKING AS SOON AS AVAILABLE. THEY SHOULD BE AVAILABLE TO YOU IN CHUNGKING WITHIN THREE WEEKS.


(2) AN URGENT CALL FOR VOLUNTEER METEOROLOGISTS HAS BEEN DISTRIBUTED WITHIN THE NAVY AND ARMY AIR CORPS. ADDITIONALLY, JCS HAS DIRECTED THE ADJUTANT GENERAL AND BUPERS TO IMMEDIATELY PREPARE A LIST OF FULLY QUALIFIED METEOROLOGISTS, FROM WHICH, IN THE EVENT THERE ARE INSUFFICIENT VOLUNTEERS WITHIN THE NEXT SEVEN DAYS, TWO TEAMS OF FULLY QUALIFIED METEOROLOGISTS WILL BE SELECTED AND AIRLIFTED TO CHUNGKING IN TIME TO COINCIDE WITH THE ARRIVAL OF THE METEOROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT.


(3) GENERAL STILLWELL IS BEING REQUESTED IN A PERSONAL FROM GENERAL MARSHALL TO PROVIDE WHATEVER TROOP AND LOGISTICAL SUPPORT YOU CONSIDER NECESSARY.


WITH BEST PERSONAL REGARDS,


BILL


END PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM DIROSS TO OSSDEPDIR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


T O P S E C R E T



«In a pig's ass,» Brigadier General Fleming Pickering said furiously.


«Sir?» Rutterman asked.


«You decrypt this, Harry?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Then you read what Donovan said about 'having no intention whatever of second-guessing' me?»


«If I may speak freely, General, in a pig's ass he doesn't,» Rutterman said.


«I'll tell you what he did do,» Pickering said. «He made up my mind for me.»


«Sir?»


«George, pick up the field phone—the one with number one painted on it. It's connected to the USMMCHI switchboard. Present my compliments to General Stillwell and ask him when he can find time to see me.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Hart said and went to the telephones—which were still sitting on the floor—and cranked the one marked «# 1.»


«General Stillwell's office, please,» he said when the operator answered, and then a moment later surprise—maybe shock—became visible on his face. He went on: «General, I'm Lieutenant Hart, aide-de-camp to General Pickering. Sir, the General presents his compliments…« He stopped, said, «One moment, sir,» and extended the telephone to Pickering.


«General Stillwell, sir,» Hart said.


Pickering went quickly to the telephone.


«Good morning, sir.»


«I don't know about your aide, Pickering, but mine has more important things to do than make manners on the telephone.»


«So does George, sir,» Pickering blurted. «I was trying to play the game by the rules, General.»


Stillwell snorted.


«Every time you play the game by the rules, somebody changes the rules,» Stillwell said. «I'm surprised you haven't learned that. What's on your mind, Pickering?»


«Sir, could you spare me a few minutes? It's important.»


«As a matter of fact, I was about to try to find you. I just got a personal I don't like much about you. You want to come right now?»


«Yes, sir. I can be there in fifteen minutes.»


The line went dead in Pickering's ear.


He realized that, having had nothing else to say. General Stillwell had hung up.



note 80


Office of the Commanding General

U.S. Military Mission to China

1010 11 April 1943


General Pickering was inside Stillwell's office door just long enough to notice Colonel Easterbrook's presence when Stillwell began the conversation by saying, «Pickering, I feel compelled to tell you I am not at the moment in a very good mood.»

«Good morning, General,» Pickering said, shifted his eyes to Easterbrook and added, «Colonel,» and then met Stillwell's eyes again. «I'm sorry to hear that, sir.»

«Yesterday afternoon, Ernie and I drove Colonel Dempsey and Lieutenant Colonel Newley—now reduced to their permanent grades—to the airfield, where, in compliance with orders from the JCS, they will proceed by air to Calcutta and from Calcutta by sea to the United States for further assignment.»

Pickering said what came to his mind: «That was very gracious of you, sir.»

Stillwell gave him a strange look. «They are both fine officers, Pickering,» he said finally. «Who will now contribute to this war by commanding a WAC basic training battalion, or perhaps serving in public relations.»

This is not the time to tell him I think their relief came just in time to keep them from doing real damage.


«I think I understand how you feel, sir,» Pickering said.


This earned him another cold glance.


«And then, just before we spoke, your Lieutenant Moore delivered a Special Channel Personal to me from General Marshall.» This was delivered as a challenge. «May I infer from the look on your face, General, that you know of General Marshall's 'request'?»


«I learned about it thirty seconds before I called you, General. I got a Special Channel Personal from Colonel Donovan which told me such a message would be sent. I knew nothing about it before then.»


He reached into his pocket and handed General Stillwell Donovan's message.


«Presumably I have the appropriate security clearance to be made privy to a communication from the Director of the OSS marked 'Eyes Only General Pickering'?»


«General, so far as I am concerned, you have every right to read everything that moves over the Special Channel.»


Stillwell examined him carefully for a moment and then read the Donovan message. «May I show this to Colonel Easterbrook?»


«Please do, sir.»


Stillwell handed the message to Easterbrook, then turned to Pickering. «Okay. Is that what you wanted to see me about?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Having established that General Marshall's «request» was not your idea, you're now going to ask me for troops and other logistical support for this operation of yours, right?»


«No, sir.»


«Why not?»


«Sir, are you familiar with the Opplan proposed by Colonel Platt?»


«No.»


«I can have a copy of it here in ten minutes, sir.»


«Tell me about it,» Stillwell said with an impatient wave of his hand.


«The bottom line, sir, is that I don't agree with it.»


«The chief of staff of the United States Army, as well as your boss, apparently think it's a better plan than what you've come up with.»


«Yes, sir. And I disagree with them.»


«Briefly, what don't you like about a plan that has General Marshall's approval?»


«I've decided that sending that large a force into the Gobi—not to mention keeping it there, with the supply operation that would require—would call too much attention to the operation, General.»


»

You've

'decided,' against the recommendation of General Marshall and Colonel Donovan?»


«Yes, sir. As I interpret Colonel Donovan's message, it was a suggestion, not an order.»


«You are officially declining my offer to give you what logistical support I have been directed to provide? And 'a force of at least two companies of infantry'?»


«Yes, sir. But I may have to come back if my plan fails.»


«And your plan is what? To send a couple of your men into the Gobi in a couple of trucks to see if they can find the people that are supposed to be there? And then supply them by air?»


«Initially by air, sir. It may be possible to get everybody but the essential personnel out, and then supply them from here. The Japanese, so far as we know, have not shown any interest in the people who are already in the desert. 1 want to make every effort to keep it that way.»


«You're presuming that. For all you know, the people who were out there maybe in a japanese pow camp. or dead. either from Japanese action, or else because the bandits got to them.»


«Yes, sir, that's true. If Captain McCoy cannot make contact with them by the time his fuel runs out, he will call for the Catalinas to bring the equipment and the meteorologists to wherever he is.»


«1 have two questions about that,» Stillwell said. « 'By the time his fuel runs out'?»


«Captain McCoy has an ambulance, a weapon carrier, and two five-hundred-gallon trailers. He plans to accompany a routine Chinese Army resupply convoy into the Gobi, then strike off on his own. He believes, and i concur, that doing so will not attract much attention.»


«Question two. If the resupply by aircraft fails?»


«Then we'll have to follow the Platt Opplan, sir. By then, the extra equipment and the meteorological team will be here.»


«That suggests your man—just the two of them…«


«He plans to take four Chinese with him, sir.»


»… is not concerned with the bandits?»


«I'm sure he's very concerned, sir. But he believes he will be able to avoid them, or be able to run away from them, or, in the worst case, be able with six men to make them decide any attack on them would be too costly.»


«I can see why General Marshall and Colonel Donovan don't like your plan,» Stillwell said.


Colonel Easterbrook grunted in agreement.


«Ernie, what do you think?» Stillwell asked.


«There is no question that sending two companies of infantry into the desert would attract Japanese attention,» Easterbrook said. «And they're tenacious. They would keep looking until their curiosity was satisfied.»


«What makes you so sure the Chinese will be willing to let your Captain McCoy accompany them?»


«He plans to compensate them for their effort, sir, and he also believes that the patrol officers have probably heard more about the Americans out there than they have reported to their superiors.»


«Why wouldn't they report what they've heard, General?» Colonel Easterbrook asked.


«If they did, they would probably be ordered to investigate further,» Pickering replied.


«And your Captain McCoy plans to 'compensate' the Chinese for whatever other information they may have and have neglected to pass upward?»


«Yes, sir.»


«There is an implication in what you've said that you intend to commence this operation in the immediate future?»


«Yes, sir. McCoy is en route to Yümen right now. The Nationalist troops who go into the Gobi on patrol are stationed there.»


«That's a thousand miles,» Easterbrook said.


«He plans on making twenty-five miles an hour,» Pickering said. «That's forty hours on the road. If he can average thirty miles an hour, that's thirty-three hours.»


«That's if he gets there at all,» Stillwell said. «There's Nationalist roadblocks every fifty miles or so. I've heard some unpleasant reports from Americans sent into the hinterlands. They are stopped at roadblocks and detained until their bona fides are established. By the time that's been done, their vehicles and supplies seem to get stolen by party or parties unknown.»


«I don't think Captain McCoy will have any trouble getting past roadblocks, sir.»


«Why not?»


«McCoy and Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman both speak fluent Wu, Cantonese, and Mandarin and are wearing the uniforms of Nationalist Chinese officers, sir, and carry very credible-looking identification documents. They're both old China hands, sir. Fourth Marines.»


«Passing themselves off as White Russians?» Easterbrook asked.


«They have Nansen stateless person passports,» Pickering said.


General Stillwell looked at Colonel Easterbrook for a long moment, but Pickering could detect no reaction on Easterbrook's face. «Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Ernie?» Stillwell asked.


«I hope so, sir,» Easterbrook said.


Stillwell turned to Pickering. «Whether you like it or not, General, I am going to augment your force with a couple of Chinese,» Stillwell said.


Easterbrook chuckled.


«There is on my staff an interesting Nationalist officer. Educated at the University of Chicago and Yale Law School. Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon. He's connected with Chiang Kai-shek's family—I think they're second cousins, something like that. I'm going to put him and his aide—an enormous Mongolian major—on a plane to Yümen. I think the two of them can make things considerably easier for this Captain McCoy of yours.»


«That's very good of you, sir.»


«No, Pickering, actually it's selfish,» Stillwell said. «I'm chief of staff to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek. No one would question my authority to order two companies of Nationalist infantry—and the necessary logistical tail—into the Gobi. But I would have to pay for it—with interest—sooner or later, by having to replace the troops and their supplies. And I have better things to do with my available troops and supplies than taking them from what they're doing and sending them to Yümen to replace troops and supplies which have disappeared in the Gobi.»


«Nevertheless, thank you, General,» Pickering said. «Sir. would it be possible for me to accompany General… ?»


«Sun Chi Lon,» Stillwell furnished. «He lets his friends call him 'Sunny.' Sure, if you want to go.»


«Thank you, sir.»


«Ernie, will you see if you can find the General? Ask him to come in here for a minute.»


«Yes, sir,» Colonel Easterbrook said, and left the room.


Pickering realized that Stillwell was smiling at him. «It just occurred to me, Pickering,» Stillwell said, «and I have been around the Army a long time, that you are the first person I ever met who is cheerfully ignoring a 'suggestion' from the chief of staff of the U.S. Army.»


«With respect, sir, 'cheerfully' is not the appropriate word.»


«Well, since you're obviously not a fool, 'cheerfully' may

not

be the appropriate word. You have decided it's the right thing to do. The word for that is 'courageous.' «


«How about 'with great trepidation'?» Pickering said.


«Stop fishing for compliments, General, it's unbecoming,» Stillwell said. «Can I offer you a cup of coffee?»


«Thank you, sir.»


Two minutes later, a very small and slight Chinese officer entered Stillwell's office, trailed by a heavily built, flat-featured man who Pickering guessed had 250 pounds on his six-foot-four-inch frame.


«Sunny,» General Stillwell said, «this is General Pickering. He's a friend of mine, and he needs your good offices.»


«Anything I can do, of course,» Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon said in accent-less English, offering Pickering his hand. «It's a pleasure, General.»



note 81


Kiangpeh, Chungking, China



1700 11 April 1943




From the moment Stillwell summoned General Sun to his office, it was obvious to Pickering that the small and natty Chinese officer would have to be brought in on all the details of Operation Gobi. Otherwise, he could not bring to bear his good offices on the Chinese authorities in Yümen to solicit their support.


That was almost a classic definition of Need To Know. But for reasonspickering did not really understand, he was reluctant—unable—to bring himself to discuss Operation Gobi with Sun. either in Sun's office, where they went after leaving Stillwell, or at lunch in a private room in the General Officers' Mess.


i

want to think about this

maybe talk it over with Banning

before I start telling Sun anything

.


During their luncheon, Sun almost conspicuously avoided discussing their forthcoming —just-as-soon-as-an-aircraft-could-be-found-and-the-weather-per-mitted—trip to Yümen. Pickering suspected that the Chinese general did not want to embarrass him by asking questions Pickering would not want to answer. Sun made it subtly clear, however, that since the request for his good offices had come from General Stillwell, that was all he needed to know. He would do whatever he could for Pickering.


Later Pickering had the feeling that by not telling him what was going on, he had, if not insulted General Sun, then at least hurt his feelings.


If I

had come recommended by General Stillwell, prepared to help in any way I could, and the guy I'd been sent to help avoided telling me what he wanted and why, I'd be hurt. Insulted. Pissed

.


It was five o'clock before Banning came through the door of the house in Kiangpeh. Pickering immediately told him about General Sun, and the funny feeling he'd had that he should not divulge to him anything about Operation Gobi.


«Permission to speak freely, sir?»


«Oh, for Christ's sake, Ed!»


«That was a mistake, sir. Probably no lasting harm was done, but it was a mistake. He came recommended by Stillwell. If you didn't want this guy's help, you should have told Stillwell.»


«How do I fix the mistake?» Pickering asked once Banning had confirmed what he had already concluded.


«Have George Hart call him and ask him to dinner,» Banning began. «No, better you call him yourself, and tell him that you've gathered together all the details of what you were reluctant to discuss earlier, and would he be available to go over them with you at dinner?»


«Where do I take him to dinner?»


«Here. The cook McCoy hired is really first class. I'll make sure you're left alone.»


«If he doesn't tell me to go fuck myself,» Pickering said. «Which I would do under the circumstances. I'll want you at dinner.»


«I've got an even better idea,» Banning said. «You remember the name of his aide? The Mongolian?»


«Major Kee Lew See,» Pickering furnished.


«I'll call Major Kee, identify myself as your deputy, and ask him to ask his boss to dinner, so that the two of you can discuss what obviously you couldn't discuss in the headquarters building earlier. And I'll tell him that you would be honored if he, too, were free.»


«You think that'll do it, Ed?»


«I really hope so. We really need to stay on the right side of this guy. The last thing we want to do is piss off the Chinese.»


«I have no intention of doing that.» Pickering said, adding a little ruefully, «more than I have already.»


«I'm talking about McCoy,» Banning said.


«I don't think I follow you,» Pickering confessed.


«When McCoy gets to Yümen—and he may be there already—I don't think he's going to walk into Headquarters of the Thirty-second Military District, either as Major MeeKoy of the Nationalist Army or Captain McCoy of the U.S. Marine Corps, ask to see the General, and tell him that he wants to sneak into the Gobi with one of their supply convoys.»


«I'm still a little confused,» Pickering said.


«I know how Ken operates well enough to know what he's going to do. As inconspicuously as possible—which means in his Chinese uniform—he's going to nose around Yümen until he finds the Chinese major or lieutenant colonel who actually runs the convoys. Then he'll bribe him to take him along. That was a good idea until this Chinese general, who is a second cousin once removed or something of the Generalissimo, turned up. He flies into Yümen with you, and says he wants to make sure Captain McCoy gets what he wants, and the General there says, 'Captain who? I have seen no American captain.' Who authorized this American to put on the uniform of a major in the Nationalist Army? Et cetera, et cetera. This could get out of hand in a hurry.»


«God, I didn't even think about that.»


«Let's just hope we can convince General Sun that what McCoy was doing was necessary,» Banning said. «Have you got his telephone number?»


Pickering reached into his pocket and handed Banning the slip of paper with General Sun's number.


Banning picked up the EE-8 field telephone connected to the USMMCHI switchboard and cranked the generator on its side. He gave the extension he wanted to the operator in English, but the moment there was an answer began to speak Chinese, of which Pickering understood not a word.


What the hell am I doing here? Not being able to speak the language is a minor item on a long list of things that make me wholly unqualified to do what I'm doing.


Banning was smiling a good ninety seconds later when he cranked the phone again and said, «Break it down.»


«Don't tell me. The General regrets?» Pickering said.


«The General would be delighted to accept the General's kind offer of dinner at half past seven,» Banning said. «Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe all isn't lost.»


General Sun arrived at precisely seven-thirty, accompanied by his enormous Mongolian aide-de-camp.


The meeting went well from the beginning.


«General, may I present my deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Banning?»


Sun smiled at him. «Major Kee tells me you speak Wu like a native, Colonel.»


Banning replied in Wu.


«And obviously you do,» General Sun said, still in English.


Kee, grinning broadly, shook Banning's hand, then handed him a package.


I

don't care what Banning's doing around here, he's going to Yümen with me

, Pickering thought.


«I thought we might have a little wine with our dinner,» General Sun said.


«That's very kind of you, General,» Pickering said, taking the package from Banning.


It held two bottles of French wine—good French wine—causing Banning to wonder where Sun had gotten it in wartime Chungking, and then to wonder if there was some significance in a gift of expensive wine.


«This is very nice,» Sun said, looking around. «I didn't know about this house.»


«Captain McCoy only recently rented it. He's the officer I hope you can help get into the Gobi Desert as inconspicuously as possible.»


«I thought this might have something to do with the Gobi Desert,» Sun replied. «I couldn't imagine what other interest the OSS would have in that part of China.»


«I hope you understand why I was reluctant to talk about the operation earlier, General.»


«Completely, General,» Sun said. «Unfortunately, China is not in a position to adequately compensate its officers. That too often results in the selling of information, especially information about the actions of someone else. The Japanese would be very interested to hear about your interest in the Gobi, and would pay very well for the information.»


«I'm glad you understand,» Pickering said.


«I would have been disappointed if the Deputy Director for Pacific Operations of the OSS had been less prudent,» Sun said.


Either he's swallowed that whole, or he's decided to be gracious.


«Why don't we try that fine-looking wine?» Pickering asked. «And I'll try to explain Operation Gobi to you.»


By the time the second bottle of wine was empty—before dinner—Pickering was able to hope that he had once again skirted a disaster by the skin of his teeth.


Sun seemed to understand the necessity of getting McCoy and Zimmerman into the Gobi Desert as quietly as possible.


«It was rather clever of you, I think,» General Sun said, «not to mount this operation from within China. There is no way it could have been kept secret.»


«The truth of the matter is that wasn't a consideration. We just didn't think it could be done from inside China. Or actually, I didn't think it could. The OSS station chief in Chungking, on the other hand, doesn't think we can do it the way we plan to. He wants to send the station in by truck, guarded by two companies of soldiers.»


«That would attract a good deal of attention from the Japanese,» General Sun said. «It's probably not my position to say so. but if keeping the weather station secret is a major consideration, I think he's wrong.»


Pickering chuckled.


«Did I say something funny?»


«General, did you ever hear that the true test of another man's intelligence is how much he agrees with you?»


«No,» General Sun said, smiling. «But now that I have, I'll remember it.»


That left only the question of McCoy to deal with, and Pickering decided this was the time to do that. «There is one thing I've done.» he began, «or at least didn't stop—this was before I knew you were going to be involved—that you should know about. Captain McCoy felt the best way for him to move around was in the uniform of a Chinese officer.»


General Sun's smile faded. «The uniform of a Chinese officer?»


«A major. Both of my men have Chinese Army identification, and Nansen passports identifying them as White Russians.»


Sun frowned and shook his head, then spoke, in Chinese, to Major Kee, whose face showed both disbelief and disapproval.


«And we don't think Captain McCoy has made himself known to the Thirty-second Military District Headquarters,» Pickering continued. «Or if he's not yet there, will when he gets there,» he added.


«That may cause serious problems,» Sun said. «Let me think about that. If they are discovered and arrested…«


«Captain McCoy is very capable, General,» Banning said, «and knows China.»


«I respectfully disagree, Colonel,» General Sun said. «If he thinks he can successfully masquerade as a Chinese officer, he is

not

capable, and he does

not

know China-He forced a smile, and went on. «But as I said, let me think about it.»



note 82


Headquarters, Marine Air Group 21



Ewa Marine Air Station


Oahu, Territory of Hawaii



1400 13 April 1943




When his attention was distracted by a Navy-gray Plymouth station wagon pulling up before his headquarters building, Lieutenant Colonel Clyde W. Dawkins, USMCR, was sitting in his spartan office, in a flight suit, tilted back in his chair, his feet resting on an open drawer, working his way through the day's supply of directives from higher headquarters—ninety-five percent of them useless, in his judgment. A fleet of such vehicles was assigned to CINCPAC, allowing Navy chair-warmers in the grade of lieutenant commander and above to move about the island, spreading Naval bureaucratic nonsense in their wake.


Christ, that's the last thing I need!


But it was not a Navy officer but a Marine officer whom Dawkins knew personally, who stepped out of the passenger seat, walked to the rear of the station wagon, and withdrew two canvas suitcases. He started up the walk to the building.


The last time I saw him was on the 'Canal, when I pinned the DFC onto his sweat-soaked khaki shirt.


The officer was now wearing a splendidly tailored Marine Green uniform. His gold Naval Aviator's wings sat atop three lines of ribbons.


He's got his weight back. He looks good.


Dawkins looked at the document in his lap. It directed him (and every other commanding officer of Navy and Marine units on Oahu) to personally encourage his officers and men to participate in religious-worship services of their choice on a weekly basis. He tossed the document into his wastebasket, rose from behind his desk, and walked out of his office.


The officer whom he had last seen on Guadalcanal was standing before the desk of Dawkins's sergeant major, who was reading the officer's orders.


«Well, I'll be damned,» Colonel Dawkins said. «Look what came in with the tide. How are you, Pickering? What brings you here?»


«Good afternoon, sir,» Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, said.


Dawkins went to his sergeant major and took the orders from his hand. «A word of warning, Sergeant Major,» Dawkins said. «Don't play poker with this officer.»


«Yes, sir,» the sergeant major said, smiling. He'd liked the looks of this Marine officer from the moment he walked in the door. Not only did he look like a Marine officer was supposed to look, but he had the DFC and the Purple Heart to prove he wasn't a candy-ass. The way he was greeted by Colonel Dawkins confirmed that judgment.


As Dawkins read Lieutenant Pickering's orders, he shook his head in what could have been either disbelief or disgust.


S E C R E T


UNITED STATES NAVAL AIR STATION


MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE


30 MARCH 1943



SUBJECT: LETTER ORDERS


TO: 1ST LIEUTENANT MALCOLM S. PICKERING, USMCR


VMF-262


US NAVAL AIR STATION


MEMPHIS, TENN.


1. REFERENCE IS MADE TO TWX (SECRET) HQ, USMC, DATED 9 MAR 1943, SUBJECT: «SOLICITATION OF VOLUNTEERS FOR HAZARDOUS DUTY.»


2. HAVING VOLUNTEERED FOR SUCH ASSIGNMENT, YOU ARE THIS DATE DETACHED FROM VMF-262, THIS STATION, AND ATTACHED TO CINCPAC ON TEMPORARY DUTY FOR AN INDEFINITE PERIOD. ON COMPLETION OF THIS TEMPORARY DUTY, YOU WILL BE PERMANENTLY ASSIGNED BY CINCPAC WITHIN THE PACIFIC THEATER OF OPERATIONS.


3. YOU WILL PROCEED NO LATER THAN 5 APRIL 1943 TO US NAVAL BASE, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA, FOR FURTHER SHIPMENT TO CINCPAC. A FOUR (4) DAY DELAY EN ROUTE LEAVE TO YOUR HOME OF RECORD (C/0 PACIFIC & FAR EAST SHIPPING CORPORATION, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.) IS AUTHORIZED.


4. TRAVEL BY US GOVERNMENT AND/OR CIVILIAN RAIL AND AIR TRANSPORTATION IS AUTHORIZED BETWEEN USNAS MEMPHIS AND USNB SAN DIEGO, AND US GOVERNMENT AND/OR CIVILIAN AIR TRANSPORTATION PRIORITY AAAAA IS DIRECTED BETWEEN SAN DIEGO AND OAHU, T.H.


BY DIRECTION: JESSE R. BALL, REAR ADMIRAL, USN OFFICIAL:



Roger H. Walters


CAPTAIN, USN


S E C R E T



When he finished reading the orders, he exhaled audibly before handing them back to his sergeant major. He looked at Lieutenant Pickering and shook his head.


«When I got to Pearl Harbor, Colonel,» Pick said. «They sent me here to report to you.»


«Come in here, Pickering,» Dawkins said, pointing to his open office door. He added to his sergeant major, «Unless it's Admiral Nimitz, I'm unavailable at the moment and will get back to them.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«Or Major Dillon. I'll talk to him. As a matter of fact, see if you can find Major Dillon.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Dawkins followed Pickering into his office and closed the door after them. «You want to tell me what this is all about, Pickering?»


«Sir, I was given the opportunity to volunteer for this mission, and did so.»


«Why does your nobility strike me as bullshit, pure and simple? Unless, of course, you've lost your mind,» Dawkins said, not unkindly. And then, before Pickering could even begin to frame an answer, he thought of something else.


«Where did you get qualified in a PBY-5A? The last time I looked at your records, you had maybe twenty-five hours in the right seat of a Gooney Bird, all of it when you went off with Charley Galloway on that lunatic mission to Buka. And you had zero hours in a Catalina. Is my memory failing me, Lieutenant Pickering?»


«Just before I came over here, I got a crash course in the Catalina, sir. Thirty hours in four days.»


Dawkins looked at Pickering for a long moment. «Up to you, Pick,» he said finally. «You can tell me what's going on or not. If you're in some kind of jam, I'll go to bat for you, you know that.»


«The truth is, sir, I got in a little trouble in Memphis. I was offered my choice of volunteering for this, or a court-martial. Preceded by grounding.»


«What kind of trouble?»


«There was a lady involved, sir.»


Dawkins raised his eyebrows.


«And there were some minor things, too, sir, to be truthful. Speeding tickets, out of uniform. Things like that.»


«If Billy Dunn offered you the choice between a court-martial and volunteering for this operation, there's more to it than a couple of speeding tickets. Or were you perhaps drunk when they arrested you for speeding?»


«Just once, sir, and I got that downgraded to reckless driving. And it wasn't Billy who gave me the choice, it was the Admiral.»


«What you're saying, in other words, is that Billy—out of misguided loyalty— covered for you while you were showing your ass, but you were such an all around fuckup that it got to the Admiral? What admiral?»


«The Memphis NAS admiral, sir. Who is friend of a friend of the lady's husband.»


«You were fooling around with a married woman?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Did this admiral know who your father is?»


«Yes, sir. Dad—and General Mclnerney—were at Memphis just before the Admiral… sent for me.»


«You were about to say something other than 'sent for me'?»


«Placed me under arrest, sir.»


«You're a disgrace to your uniform, Pickering. Do you understand that? There's more to being a Marine officer than flying an airplane.»


«Yes, sir. I've had time to consider that.»


«Worse than that, you let Billy Dunn down. He needed you. The kids you were training needed you.»


«Yes, sir. I've had time to consider that, too.»


«Let me tell you the situation here. For administrative convenience, all the volunteers for this mission—the legitimately noble volunteers and you—will be attached to MAG-21 for rations, quarters, and administration. I command MAG-21.»


«Yes, sir. 'Will be', sir?»


«You're the first one to show up. Don't interrupt me again.»


«Yes, sir.»


«The mission is being run by Major Jake Dillon—«


«My father's involved in this?» Pick blurted.


«Goddamn it, I told you not to interrupt me!»


«Sorry, sir.»


«And the volunteers will be housed at Muku-Muku. Both to give the condemned a hearty meal before they fly off on this idiotic mission, and to keep them from running off at the mouth in the O Club bar about what they're doing. I would really like to order you to draw a pup tent and pitch it behind Hangar Two, but that would draw attention to you. You will proceed to Muku-Muku and there await further orders from Major Dillon.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«While you are at Muku-Muku, you will not confide in anyone—Major Dillon, Captain Galloway, Gunner Oblensky, and especially not the bona fide noble volunteers—what has caused you to be in their midst. Is that clear, Mr. Pickering?»


«Yes, sir.»


«You will engage in no activity while you are under my administration that might possibly draw attention to you or the mission. You will not drive a privately owned vehicle. You will not go into Honolulu, and you will not partake of the facilities of any officers' club unless you are accompanied by Major Dillon or Captain Galloway. You get one drink of spirits a day. Do you understand these restrictions, Mr. Pickering?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Good, because if you violate any one of them, I will ground you and I will court-martial you. Your father and Admiral Wagam—and, I am reliably informed, Admiral Nimitz himself—regard this operation as very important. I am not going to run any chance whatever of having it fouled up by a spoiled child wearing a Marine officer's uniform who doesn't have enough sense to know when to put his whisky glass down and his zipper pulled up.»


«Yes, sir.»


«You are dismissed, Mr. Pickering,» Colonel Dawkins said. «Ask the sergeant major to arrange for a jeep—a jeep, not a staff car—to transport you to Muku-Muku.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Lieutenant Pickering said, did an about-face movement and marched out of Dawkins's office.



note 83


Headquarters, Marine Air Group 21



Ewa Marine Air Station


Oahu, Territory of Hawaii



1530 13 April 1943




Lieutenant Colonel Clyde W. Dawkins's sergeant major put his head into Dawkins's office. «Captain Galloway would like a couple of minutes, sir,» he announced.


«Send him in,» Dawkins ordered.


He's heard Pickering's at Muku-Muku and wants to know what's going on.


Galloway, in an oil-stained flight suit, came through the door. «Good afternoon, sir.»


«Close the door please, Captain,» Dawkins said.


Galloway turned and did so.


Dawkins took a bottle of scotch from his desk drawer. «You flying, Charley, or can you have one of these?»


«I'm through for the day, sir. Thank you.»


Dawkins poured stiff drinks in Kraft cheese glasses and handed one to Galloway.


«To Marine fighter pilots, goddamn them,» Dawkins said, raising his glass. «If we didn't need the bastards. I'd put a bounty on them.»


«I'll drink to that,» Galloway said. «I just came from 'counseling' one of the bastards. And I need this.»


He raised his glass, then drank half of it.


«I see no scrapes, bruises, or contusions,» Dawkins said. «This was one of your smaller hooligans?»


«I haven't actually had to… 'strongly counsel' anybody in some time,» Galloway said. «All I have to do now is show my fangs and growl.»


Dawkins chuckled. «What's on your mind, Charley, or did you just come in to drink my liquor?»


«Lieutenant Stevenson,» Galloway said.


«A problem?»


«Sort of.»


«What happened? Did somebody teach him how to box?»


«Actually, he's pretty well been on the straight and narrow,» Galloway said. «He wants to fly one of Dillon's Cats.»


«Does he, now? And what does he know about Dillon's Catalinas? Are we about to have another problem with somebody's big mouth?»


«He's figured out they're going to make a long, long flight,» Galloway said. «And he came to me and said he'd heard the pilots were all volunteers for whatever it was, and he'd like to volunteer.»


«Just for the record… Belay that:

Off

the record, Charley, are you volunteering this guy?»


«No, I'm not,» Galloway said. «This was his idea.»


«And what do you think prompted this selfless act on the part of Mr. Stevenson? We are talking about the same Stevenson, right, the one you wiped the hangar floor with when Mclnerney was here?»


«What I was doing was offering a little extra instruction in the manly art of self-defense. Yeah, same guy. He wants to redeem himself.»


«And you believe him?»


«Yeah, I do,» Galloway said. He drank the rest of his drink and looked at Dawkins. «I really do. He's come around. He's a regular, you know. I think he wants to see if he can salvage his career by doing something heroic.»


«Who told him the pilots were going to be volunteers?»


«Probably the Navy pilots who volunteered. He drinks with them.»


«Jesus Christ, what do we have to do to get people to keep their mouths shut?»


«Okay, Skipper,» Galloway said, holding up his hand in a mock gesture of self-protection. «I told him I would ask. I asked. I will now leave without even asking for another taste.»



«I would be ever so honored, Captain Galloway, if you would join me in another libation,» Dawkins said.


«I accept your kind offer with great gratitude, sir,» Galloway said, then walked to where the bottle sat and picked it up.


«How much Catalina time does this guy have?» Dawkins asked.


«About six hundred hours pilot-in-command. He flew antisubmarine patrols on the East Coast.»


«Before or after he got in trouble?»


«When they kicked him out of a fighter squadron, they sent him to the Cats. When he got in trouble there, they sent him to VMF-229, the Alcatraz of Marine Aviation,» Galloway said. «So I guess you could say, while he was getting in trouble.»

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