«On the record, Charley. There's no one in the Corps who could have done what you've done with that collection of misfits and ne'er-do-wells.»


«And

off

the record?» Galloway asked, trying to make a joke of the compliment.


»

Off

the record, Charley,» Dawkins said seriously, «there's no one in the Corps who could have done what you've done with that collection of misfits and ne'er-do-wells.»


Galloway was now visibly embarrassed. He tried to change the subject: «Can I tell him I asked and you're thinking about it?»


«You can tell him to come see me,» Dawkins said, then plunged on. «I got a back channel from Mclnerney, on that special communications system that Dillon has somehow managed to latch onto. There have been damned few volunteers. General Mac is down to volunteering people. He said he wants Marines to fly the Cats. By using the term loosely, your pal Stevenson can be considered to be a Marine.»


«I wouldn't volunteer for something like this, myself,» Galloway said. «I'm not surprised.»


«We do have one volunteer,» Dawkins said. «He came in right after lunch. I sent him over to Muku-Muku.»


«Oh, yeah?»


«Another pretty good fighter pilot who couldn't behave and was offered the choice between a court-martial and volunteering to become a legendary Marine hero, flying a Cat in harm's way.»


«I'm surprised they didn't send him to me,» Galloway said. «How did he fuck up?»


«The usual things young fighter pilots do. Drunk driving. Speeding. Out of uniform. And he was sleeping with a lady who is joined in holy matrimony to somebody else, and the somebody else happens to be acquainted with the flag officer commanding Naval Air Station, Memphis.»


«Hell, that's called upholding the reputation of Marine Aviators.» Galloway said.


«This guy was setting a lousy example for the young Marine Aviators he was supposed to be training,» Dawkins said flatly.


«Yeah, I suppose,» Galloway said, and then thought he was changing the subject again. «Young Pickering is at NAS Memphis. He's Billy Dunn's executive officer.»


«Young Pickering is by now at Muku-Muku,» Dawkins said. «Under a direct order not to tell you how come he's no longer in Memphis.»


Galloway looked at Dawkins as if surprised that he would make such a lousy joke. Dawkins nodded, and Galloway realized he wasn't kidding at all. «Give him to me, Skipper,» Galloway said after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. «I can straighten him out.»


«Sorry, Charley, forget it. I don't have the authority to do that, and I don't think I would if I did.»


«Skipper, he doesn't have much time in a Catalina—if any, come to think of it.»


«He's qualified as pilot-in-command,» Dawkins said. «That's all it takes.»


«I was feeling pretty good when I came in here,» Galloway said.


«I was feeling pretty good when I saw Pick get out of the station wagon,» Dawkins said. «Would another drink make you feel any better?»


«No, sir,» Galloway replied. «Thank you just the same.»


«In that case, good afternoon, Captain Galloway.»


«Thank you for seeing me, sir.»


Captain Charles M. Galloway came to attention, executed an about-face maneuver, and marched out of Dawkins's office.



note 84


Headquarters, Marine Air Group 21



Ewa Marine Air Station


Oahu, Territory of Hawaii



1915 13 April 1943




The charge of quarters knocked at Dawkins's office door and opened it wide enough to put his head in the crack. «Colonel, there's a Major Williamson out here, says if you're not tied up he'd like to make his manners.»


Dawkins had not finished going through the directives he'd started on after lunch and thrown into the wastebasket. His sergeant major had gone through the wastebasket, salvaged the directives that needed Colonel Dawkins's attention, and put them back in his In basket.


«Aviator type?»


«Yes, sir. Captain Weston is with him.»


«A Captain Weston, Andy, or

our

Captain Weston?»


«Ours, sir.»


Like most everybody else in MAG-21, Sergeant Ward had been impressed with the Marine Aviator who had spent a year as a guerrilla in the Philippines.


«Well, damn, Andy, send them in.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


Major Avery R. Williamson and Captain James B. Weston came through Dawkins's door a moment later.


«What brings you two to this tropical paradise?» Dawkins greeted them, as he came from behind his desk with his hand extended.


«Apparently,» Williamson replied, «there's nobody over here who knows how to drive a Cat. We have leapt to fill the breach.»


Dawkins's smile faded. «Weston, tell Sergeant Ward to get you a cup of coffee,» he said.


«Aye, aye, sir,» Weston said, left the room, and, sensing that he was being dismissed, closed the door behind him.


«What the hell's going on, Dick?» Dawkins demanded.


«General Mac came to see me at Pensacola,» Williamson said. «He told me that not enough people had volunteered for this Catalina mission of his; that he considered it a damned important operation; and stood there with the Marine Corps flag in one hand and the colors in the other and waved them at me until I finally— a long couple of minutes later—saw it as my duty to sign on the dotted line.»


«Jesus Christ!» Dawkins said. «Do you know what it is?»


Williamson shook his head, «no.»


«It has been decided that we can't win this war without a weather station in the middle of the Gobi Desert. And apparently the only way we can get one in there is to fly it in—a one-way flight, by the way—on a couple of Catalinas which will be refueled by a submarine a hundred miles off the China Coast in the Yellow Sea.»


«Jesus!»


«We have modified two Catalinas—and two others are in the process of being modified—by fairing over the turrets and the bubbles and installing auxiliary fuel tanks. Somebody apparently thinks that refueling a Cat from a sub on the high seas in the Yellow Sea this time of year may not work so well, and spares may be required.»


«Jesus!» Williamson repeated.


«If I was running this operation, I would go over to VMF-229 and select the worst four of Charley Galloway's ne'er-do-wells and send them,» Dawkins said.


«There are better things for you to do, Dick. And Weston, too.» He paused, then went on. «General Mclnerney actually waved the flag at Weston, too? I would have thought he would be entitled to a pass on something like this.»


«That's a fine young man, Dawk,» Williamson said. «A damned good Marine.»


«If not too bright,» Dawkins said, «to volunteer for something like this.»


«He's a Catalina IP. I rechecked him out myself. He can drive one better than I can. And like I said, he's a damned good Marine. He had everything going for him. But he saw this as his duty, when I told him I had been volunteered.»


«He's out of his mind,» Dawkins said. «No one can accuse that kid of being a shirker.»


«You know Admiral Sayre?» Williamson asked. «His daughter?»


«The one who married Culhane? Who we lost at Wake?»


«Uh-huh.»


«Until Weston—he was the best man at their wedding—showed up at P'Cola, they called Martha Culhane 'the Ice Princess.' One look at Weston and she melted. And the Admiral thinks Jim is the answer to his prayers for the Ice Princess, too.»


«Really?»


«He told me to give him a Cat check-ride, and since I was already going to do that, why didn't I do it by flying up to the Greenbrier—You know about the Greenbrier?»


Dawkins nodded.


»—and give him the check-ride while flying back and forth to P'Cola?»


«Then he really is a goddamn fool!» Dawkins said angrily.


«No, Dawk,» Williamson said. «What he is is a damned good Marine. Duty first.»


Dawkins looked at Williamson for a long moment. «Just because you're right, Dick,» he said, «doesn't mean I have to like it.»


«No, but you have to admire him,» Williamson insisted.


«I admired him already,» Dawkins said sadly, and then raised his voice: «Captain Weston!»


Weston came back into the office.


«Yes, sir?»


«Captain Weston,» Dawkins said, «on behalf of the Commander in Chief, Pacific, permit me to thank you for volunteering for this mission. Your selfless dedication to duty is in keeping with the highest traditions of the officer corps of the Marine Corps. That's official. Off the record, Jim, I think you're a goddamned fool, and if you give me the word, I'll do my damndest to get you out of this.»


«With respect, sir, I'd like to fly the operation.»


«You don't even know what it is, for Christ's sake!»


«Sir, I know the operation needs experienced Catalina pilots. I have a good deal of experience in the Cat.»


«So Major Williamson informs me,» Dawkins said. «Okay, Jim. Your decision.»


«Thank you, sir.»


«I'm going to send you two over to Muku-Muku…«


«I think you'll like Muku-Muku, Major,» Weston said, smiling.


»… where you will find another heroic Marine who volunteered to fly this operation, immediately after he was offered his choice of doing so or being court-martialed.»


«Really?» Williamson asked, amused. «For what?»


«It's not funny. I know this officer. Seven kills, DFC, flying Wildcats for Charley Galloway on Guadalcanal. Fine pilot. Lousy officer. Did you ever meet General Pickering's son, Jim?»


«No, sir. But I heard about him,» Weston said. «That's who you're talking about?»


Dawkins nodded.


«How did he fuck up, sir?»


«As far as I'm concerned, by failing to do his duty. He was at Memphis, where he was supposed to be training Corsair pilots. The best way to train is by example. The example this Marine ace with the DFC set for the people he was supposed to be training was that it's all right to be grossly irresponsible. But the straw that broke the back, that almost got him court-martialed, was his personal life, his love life.»


«What did he do?»


«He was having an affair with the wrong female. For all I know, more than one. But I do know about one. A prima facie case of Conduct Unbecoming An Officer And A Gentleman.» Dawkins let that sink in a minute. «I believe in a clean sheet,» Dawkins went on. «This is not known to anyone involved with this operation, and I don't want you to let him know I told you about it.»


«I understand, sir,» Weston said.


«Okay,» Major Williamson said.


«The only reason I'm telling you this is because he doesn't have much time in a Catalina—I think thirty hours, something like that. The admiral commanding Memphis got him a quick qualification course just before throwing him off the base. So he's going to need some more Catalina time, as much as we can get him, and you two are the obvious people to give it to him.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«And there may be one more student for you,» Dawkins went on. «One of Charley Galloway's fuckups, according to Charley, has decided to salvage his fucked-up career by volunteering for this idiotic operation. That's not for sure; I'll make up my mind in the morning, after he comes to see me. But you might as well plan on it.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Williamson and Weston said almost in unison.


«This 'gentleman's' name is Stevenson. First Lieutenant. I had a look at his record again this afternoon. Another sex maniac, apparently, who regards screwing any female —without regard to the consequences— as a sport. This sonofabitch, believe it or not, was screwing two women at the same time, both of whom he promised to marry.»


«Well, there are some guys like that,» Major Williamson said. «They just don't know when to keep their trousers buttoned. And we joke about it, but it's not funny.»


«No, it isn't,» Colonel Dawkins said.


Captain Weston did not comment.


Chapter Twenty-Two


note 85


Headquarters, 32nd Military District


Yümen, China


1730 13 April 1943



The aircraft provided by the United States 14th Air Force to transport Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon, Nationalist Army, and their entourages from Chungking to Yümen was a well-worn Douglas C-47. That morning it had been equipped with four airline-type seats, to accommodate the general officers, Colonel Banning, and Major Kee. They were mounted behind the bulkhead that separated the cockpit from the rest of the cabin. The entourages, General Sun's two orderlies, Second Lieutenant George F. Hart, USMCR, and Captain Jerry Sampson, USA, were obviously expected to make themselves as comfortable as they could on aluminum pipe and canvas seats that folded down from the bare walls of the fuselage.


Captain Sampson had been a last-minute and not entirely welcome addition to the party. When General Pickering had told Lieutenant Colonel Platt that he was headed for Yümen to see if he could assist McCoy, Platt took Pickering by surprise and immediately offered to send Sampson with them. «He might prove helpful.»


Pickering was unable to immediately think of a good reason Sampson shouldn't go—he'd already told Platt that Stillwell had arranged for the airplane to take him to Yümen and back—so he smiled and said, «Thank you.» Pickering had no doubt that Sampson might indeed «prove helpful,» but he was equally certain that the primary reason Platt had so generously offered the Captain's services was to make sure he learned what Pickering was up to in Yümen.


Pickering was not exactly eager at the moment to make that information available. Because McCoy and Zimmerman were running around Yümen in Chinese uniforms, Pickering was very much afraid that the whole mission was likely to go down the toilet.


General Sun, Major Kee, their two orderlies, and a dozen pieces of luggage were waiting for them at the Chungking airfield when they arrived—Pickering, Banning, and Hart had one piece each. Sun greeted Pickering courteously but did not mention the McCoy problem, and Pickering decided this was not the time to bring it up.


It turned out to be a long flight.


Before they took off, the pilot explained to Pickering that while Yümen was within the C-47's range, flying directly there was unwise. If the field was socked in—very possible this time of year—there was no alternative airfield they could reach with the remaining fuel aboard.


So they flew to Lanchou, a six-hundred-mile leg that took them almost four hours, refueled there, and then taken off for Yümen, which was a slightly shorter leg.


Twenty minutes out of Lanchou, General Sun turned to Pickering and offered him a cigarette from a gold case.


«No, thank you,» Pickering said. «I'm a cigar smoker.»


«I have been giving some thought to our problem with your Captain McCoy,» Sun said, tapping a Chesterfield on the case.


Pickering nodded and waited for him to go on.


«The most difficult situation will be if he has been discovered,» Sun said. «That's also the most likely. I don't really think he can successfully masquerade as a White Russian officer. And, because of its location, the counterintelligence services in the Thirty-second Military District are very thorough.»


«If they have been discovered, what will that mean?»


«That there is no chance they will be allowed to accompany a supply convoy into the desert. Or, in the remote chance that they were, someone would be sent along to report on their activities, and I doubt very much if they would be permitted to leave the convoy.»


«Yeah,» Pickering agreed.


«I could have arranged all this, had I known about it in time,» Sun said. «What we are doing now is reacting, not taking action, and we don't know to what we are reacting.»


«I understand,» Pickering said.


«It is entirely possible that they will have been subjected to a rather intensive interrogation,» Sun said.


I

don't even want to think what's behind that euphemism

.


«In that case, it seems to me inevitable that they would disclose their purpose.


That would make it even more difficult for them to go into the desert—even after their story is verified by me.» He caught Pickering's eye. «Still, I don't think the commanding general would conduct an

authorized

execution without making his superiors aware of the situation. He would want them to know his counterintelligence was working. We'll have to wait until we arrive to see what the situation is.»


«Yeah,» Pickering grunted. «Would they tell you of an incident like this?»


«I think so. They would regard it as a worthy accomplishment,» Sun said. «But let's look at the other side. Defying the odds, your men have somehow managed to reach Yümen and have

not

been arrested. I suggest in that case that I immediately inform General Chow that they are in his area, dressed in the uniform of Chinese officers—«


«We have another expression,» Pickering interrupted. «Never look a gift horse in the mouth.»


«I know that one,» General Sun. «But how does it apply here? I'm the gift horse? And you disagree with me?»


«If you tell General—Chow, you said?»


«Major General Chow Song-chek,» Sun furnished.


«If you tell General Chow, he will very likely be annoyed that he wasn't previously advised that a pair of American agents are working in his area of responsibility. And even if he's sympathetic, I think we would lose any chance of keeping this operation quiet.»


«And if we don't tell General Chow, and fifteen minutes after we arrive he learns that two spurious White Russians have been arrested in the uniforms of Chinese officers?»


«Then you tell him you didn't know. I didn't tell you.»


Sun thought that over for a long moment. «On the odd chance that your men are in Yümen, and have managed to avoid General Chow's counterintelligence, have you given any thought about how you are going to find them?»


«A good deal of thought, and come up with no better answer than I'll just have to look for them.»


«There is one possibility,» Sun said. «And that is this. I will tell General Chow that you have been sent by General Stillwell to have a look at his operation. He will brief you. It's too late to do that today. He would schedule a briefing for tomorrow morning. If we can find your men between the time we land and the time of the briefing—which seems a very long shot indeed…«


«If we can't find them when we see General Chow in the morning, you can tell him I just told you about my men.»


«He will consider that he has been deceived by you. There would be repercussions.»


«I think it's worth the chance,» Pickering said.


General Sun thought that over a moment. «Are you familiar, General Pickering, with the phrase 'no good deed goes unpunished'?»


«Yes, I am.»


«If we can't find your men by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, I will tell General Chow that I sent your men, in Chinese Army uniform, into his area of responsibility.»


«That's putting your neck on the chopping block.»


«It isn't exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to use my good offices with General Chow, but I think it is what's called for.»


Because of head winds, the flight from Lanchou to Yümen took them just over another four hours. When they landed at sunset, a light snow was just beginning to fall. The commanding General of the 32nd Military District, a tall, stern-looking man in his fifties, was there to meet them. He had with him several senior officers and four vehicles—an ancient Packard touring car, a 1941 Packard Clipper, a 1941 Ford, and a Dodge weapons carrier for the luggage.


As General Sun's orderlies loaded the luggage into the weapons carrier, Sun introduced Pickering as an officer on Stillwell's staff whom Stillwell wanted familiar with the operation of the 32nd Military District.


«If we had only known you were coming, General Pickering,» General Chow said in excellent English, «we would have been honored to prepare a more detailed briefing than I can offer you on such short notice.»


«I didn't want you to go to any special effort, General,» Pickering said. «General Sun has been telling me what a busy man you are.»


«I will arrange with my staff to have a briefing prepared for you in the morning. Would ten o'clock be convenient for you?»


«It has been a long flight, General,» Pickering said. «But whatever is convenient for you.»


«I understand completely,» General Chow said. «Perhaps you will take lunch with me tomorrow, with the briefing to follow?»


«That would be splendid,» Pickering said. «Thank you very much.»


«And now we will take you to your quarters,» General Chow said. «Where we will have a drink and then dinner.»


«You are very kind, sir.»


General Chow gestured toward the ancient Packard touring car. Its canvas roof was already covered with snow, and there were no side curtains. But General Chow obviously regarded it as the most prestigious of his vehicles, and was honoring Pickering and Sun by inviting them to ride in it.


Pickering looked at his watch. It was five minutes to six. Presuming everybody was wrong—including Generals Stillwell and Sun—and McCoy had somehow managed to make it here, that gave him eighteen hours to find him. That seemed like a very long shot, indeed.


Ten minutes after leaving the airport, they drove past a building with an adjacent parking lot. It was full of military vehicles. One of them was a Dodge ambulance with the normal red crosses not entirely painted over, and another was a Dodge three-quarter-ton weapons carrier. Both had five-hundred-gallon water trailers attached to them. Three Chinese soldiers armed with rifles were guarding them— and keeping themselves warm by standing beside a fire blazing in a cutoff fifty-five-gallon drum.


Pickering nudged General Sun with his elbow, but by the time Sun looked at him curiously, they had passed the opening to the parking area.


And Sun wouldn't know what I was showing him anyway.


And there are probably fifty weapons carriers towing water trailers in Yümen.


«Excuse me,» Pickering said.


«Certainly,» General Sun said.


Their quarters turned out to be a large and comfortable house. Inside General Chow led them into a room off the foyer that had been turned into a bar. There he began to offer a series of champagne toasts to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, President Roosevelt, General Stillwell, and—Pickering thought with growing impatience—every general officer, Chinese and American, in China.


Though he was fully aware that the ambulance and weapons carrier he had seen en route to the house were almost certainly not the ones McCoy and Zimmerman had driven to Yümen, in the absence of any other alternative, he was perfectly willing to grasp at a straw. The moment General Chow and his officers left the house—or sooner, if he could get General Sun alone for a moment—he was going to tell him he may have seen McCoy's trucks, and wanted to go looking for him.


General Chow failed to leave General Sun's side, and showed no interest in dinner. He did show every sign of too much drink, which meant the cocktail hour could go on forever, with dinner to follow.


«Sir, may I speak to you a moment?» a voice said in Pickering's ear.


«What's on your mind, Sampson?» Pickering asked, not entirely cordially.


«Not in here, sir.»


What the hell does he want?


Sampson gestured toward the door to the foyer of the house. Pickering marched out of the room into the foyer.


«Sir, I was hoping that General Chow would leave—«


«What is it, Sampson?»


«Sir, on the way here from the airport, I believe I saw Captain McCoy's vehicles.»


«Is that so?»


«Yes, sir. I'm sure it was the ambulance he drove to the OSS house in Chungking. The paint didn't quite obliterate the white of the red cross markings—«


«There's probably fifty ambulances with bad paint jobs in Yümen,» Pickering said.


«The door of the ambulance Captain McCoy drove to the OSS house had a longitudinal scar on it, sir. So did the ambulance I saw before. And both vehicles here were towing five-hundred-gallon water trailers. Sir, with respect, I think having a look makes sense.»


«So do I,» Pickering said. «Go back in there and as discreetly as possible have Colonel Banning come out here.»


Banning came into the foyer a moment later, and on his heels was Major Kee Lew See, with a curious, concerned look on his face.


«You wanted to see me, sir?» Banning said.


«Sampson and I both think we know where McCoy is. Or at least was,» Pickering said.


«Where?»


«We saw the ambulance and the weapons carrier in the parking lot of a building—«


«How do you know it was McCoy's ambulance and weapons carrier?» Banning interrupted dubiously.


«I don't, obviously,» Pickering said sharply. «But in the absence of a better idea where McCoy might be, I think I want to have a look.»


Major Kee politely but insistently asked a question.


«Major Kee,» Sampson translated, «would like to know if there is any kind of problem, and if so, how he might be able to resolve it.»


«Tell him we need a vehicle for about thirty minutes,» Pickering ordered.


Sampson translated, and then translated Kee's reply: «Major Kee says that he hopes you will not give General Chow any reason to believe that you are not pleased with the festivities.»


«Tell him that I am delighted with the festivities.»


Sampson translated again and a moment later, translated Kee's reply: «Major Kee believes that General Chow will misunderstand if the General does not immediately return to the festivities.»


«Banning, you and Major Kee go back in there and tell General Sun that I will return in about an hour, and look forward to resuming my role in the festivities.»


This time Major Kee did not wait to hear Sampson's translations. He uttered a string of rapid-fire Chinese.


Sampson smiled. «How much English do you speak, sir?» he asked.


«I understand a good bit,» Kee said in heavily accented but perfectly understandable English. «Be so good, Captain, as to translate my comment to General.»


«Yes, sir,» Sampson said. «General, Major Kee said—«


«That it would be better,» Banning interrupted him, «if I went back in there and made your apologies. He feels he would be more use going with you when you look for Captain McCoy.»


«Thank you, Major Kee,» Pickering said. «Can you get us a car?»


«We will take the Packard Clipper. General,» Major Kee said. «That has been set aside for General Sun's use.»


«Make my apologies, please, Colonel,» Pickering ordered.


«Aye, aye, sir.»



note 86


The Inn of the Fattened Goose

Yümen, China

2005 13 April 1943


Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, and Gunnery Sergeant Ernest W. Zimmerman—both of them out of uniform in a manner not even dreamed of by the United States Marine Corps—sat at a small table near the center of the dark and smoke-filled room. More than a dozen «other» Chinese officers were in the room, and as many well-dressed civilians, but McCoy and Zimmerman were the only Caucasians.

On McCoy's table were plates; bowls of cooked and raw onions and sweet peppers; glasses; and two liter bottles of beer. A roaring fire, built on bricks, was set in the center of the floor. It was both a source of heat and a stove. Cantilevered from a pole rising from the floor to the ceiling was a fire-blackened cast-iron dome that could be swung over the fire. A very large Chinese woman in a black gown sliced a thin piece of beef six inches by four from a quarter carcass of beef, hung from the same pole, threw a glance at McCoy's table, held up the beef, and asked if that would be enough.

«Two, no, three slices like that for me,» McCoy called to her in Cantonese. «And for my fat friend, five.»

The large Chinese woman smiled and pushed the fire-blackened dome over the fire. Then she picked up her knife and sliced more thin oblongs of beef from the carcass.

«That thing is like an upside-down wok,» McCoy said.


«It's made out of cast iron,» Zimmerman protested. «They hammer woks out of sheet steel.»


«Well, pardon my ignorance,» McCoy said.


«That's the way the Mongolians do their beef,» Ernie said. «It ain't Chinese.»


«She's going to melt the wok if she leaves it in that fire much longer,» McCoy said.


«I told you, it ain't a wok,» Zimmerman said.


«Drink your beer, Ernie,» McCoy said.


«Shit, I don't like that,» Zimmerman said softly.


McCoy followed Zimmerman's eyes.


A very large Chinese officer was standing just inside the door. His hand rested on the molded leather holster hanging from his Sam Browne belt.


«He looks like he was looking for something interesting, and just found us,» Zimmerman said.


«I don't like the way he's dressed,» McCoy said softly. «Too well.»


«Are we going to get fucked up this late?» Zimmerman said.


«Just play it nice and easy, Ernie,» McCoy said, and directed his attention to the large Chinese woman.


She swung the inverted cast-iron dome off the fire. Then, moving quickly, she dipped four of the thin slices of beef into a bowl and laid them on the dome. There was a sizzle, a delicious smell, and a cloud of smoke. Using a fork, she turned the slices over, let them cook momentarily, and then placed them on two plates. She handed the plates to a boy who started toward McCoy's table, and then she pushed the cast-iron dome back over the fire.


«It's us he's after. Here he comes,» Zimmerman said very softly.


«Easy does it, Ernie,» McCoy said softly.


«Sir, you are American?» Major Kee Lew See asked in English.


«What did you say?» McCoy replied nastily in Cantonese. «What do you want?»


«I asked if you are American,» Major Kee asked in Cantonese.


«And who are you to ask me what I am?» McCoy said.


«I am Major Kee Lew See, aide-de-camp to General Sun. Your papers, please, Major.»


The Chinese boy reached the table and laid the plates of beef on it.


«You don't mind if I have my supper first, do you, Major?» McCoy said, and shifted in his seat.


«Your papers, please, Major,» Kee repeated.


McCoy, with a look of patient resignation on his face, took out his fraudulent identification and handed it over.


As Major Kee very carefully examined it, McCoy, hoping he couldn't be observed, opened the top of his holster and put his hand on the butt of the 9mm Luger Parabellum automatic pistol it held.


«This is a very good forgery,» Major Kee said, handing the identification document back to McCoy. «Very few people would question it.»


«What are you talking about?» McCoy said, easing the Luger from the holster and putting his finger on the trigger.


The only thing I can do is stick the barrel in this guy's belly, march him out of here, put him in the back of the ambulance, get the hell away from here, and worry about what to do with him later.


«Killer,» Zimmerman said softly, and nodded toward the door.


Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMC, trailed by Captain Jerome Sampson, USA, was making his way across the crowded room to them.


McCoy let the Luger drop back into the molded holster.


«Who the hell are you, Major?» he asked in English.


«I told you, Captain McCoy. I am Major Kee Lew See, aide-de-camp to General Sun.»



Major General Chow Song-chek was feeling absolutely no pain when he started to climb up into the rear seat of his ancient Packard touring car. Then some thought stopped him, and he stepped off the running board.


God, now what

? Pickering thought.


General Chow's departure from the front door of the VIP villa had taken him almost as long as his departure from the dinner table.


«General Pickering, my friend, may I say something to you man-to-man?»


«Of course, General.»


«You tend to underestimate Chinese hospitality,» General Chow announced.


«General, I am overwhelmed by your hospitality,» Pickering said. «I have difficulty finding the words to express my gratitude.»


«Nevertheless, my friend, you did not fully understand that all you had to do was give me a small hint that all that you wished was not being furnished.»


What the hell is he talking about?


«That's probably true, sir, but there is, I assure you, nothing that I wish to have that has not already been so graciously provided.»


«Not now, of course, at this hour. We are all tired. It was otherwise, may I dare to say, a satisfactory welcome to Yümen and the Thirty-second Military District?»


«It exceeded anything I would have dared to hope for,» Pickering said.


«I am pleased that you are satisfied with our poor attempt to welcome such a distinguished visitor as yourself,» General Chow said. «And I assure you, my dear General, that tonight there will be nothing…« He winked at Pickering and struck his right shoulder in a gesture of masculine friendship. «… nothing at all, missing to entertain you.»


Pickering saw that Lieutenant Colonel Banning was having a very hard time keeping a straight face.


«That's very kind of you, General,» Pickering said.


General Chow—for the fifth time—shook Pickering's hand, came to attention and saluted, and finally climbed again into the backseat of the ancient Packard.


It drove away from the house in a cloud of blue exhaust smoke.


«What was that all about?»


«When he missed you before dinner, General,» Banning said, «General Sun told him that you had gone off to seek female companionship.»


«Good God!»


«And when you came back,» Banning went on, «General Chow asked Kee if you had found what you wanted and were satisfied with it. Kee assured him you had.»


«General Chow was a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought of female companionship for you himself,» General Sun said, smiling. «He apparently intends to make up for his oversight tonight.»


«Jesus Christ!»


«With all respect, sir,» Lieutenant Hart said. «I hope the General realizes that the reputation of the Marine Corps rests on the General's performance tonight.»


«Oh, for God's sake, George,» Pickering said, hoping he sounded properly indignant. He looked around the yard, spotted McCoy's ambulance—which did indeed have a «longitudinal scar» on the driver's door—and made a «come here» wave toward it.


McCoy and Zimmerman got out and walked to the door of the house. They saluted.


«General Sun, may I present Majors MeeKoy and Zimmerman of the 2035th Liaison Group?» Pickering said.


General Sun shook their hands and spoke to both of them in Chinese, asking each a question that required more than a monosyllabic reply.


He's checking their Chinese

, Pickering quickly decided. I

would

.


«Please come in the house, gentlemen,» General Sun said, switching to English. «We'll get something to drink—not that I need anything more—and then I hope you will tell me how I can be of assistance.»


McCoy was prepared for this. There hadn't been much time to talk in the Inn of the Fattened Goose. Pickering had understood the necessity of getting back to General Chow's party as quickly as possible. But there had been time to explain why he and General Sun were in Yümen, and to tell McCoy that he was going to have to brief Sun about how his Gobi Desert plans were going, as well as solicit his advice and help with the other Chinese.


It took McCoy about ten minutes to explain what he planned to do. He went on to report that there was «gossip» about a caravan of «foreigners» making their way across the Gobi, and produced a map from the billows pocket of his Chinese Army tunic to show General Sun where the «gossip» indicated the «foreigners» were.


«I figure it will take, sir,» McCoy said, «about five days for the supply convoy to reach this point»—he punched at the map with a pencil—«where they have scheduled a rendezvous with a camel patrol currently operating in the Gobi. To be on the safe side, I'm planning on seven. And from that point to here»—he indicated again with the pencil—«another five or six days. There's some variables we won't know about until we get out there.»


«What kind of variables?» Banning asked.


«I don't know how fast we can move, or how much time we're going to lose getting around arroyos and other obstacles. We're counting on ten hours of light a day. There may be more or less. It may snow. It probably will. There probably will be ice. All of that will slow us down. I don't want to use headlights, so I don't think we'll be able to move much at night, unless we have moonlight. There will be some moonlight, but we don't know how much cloud cover there will be, which means there might not be enough moonlight to drive.»


«So what you're saying, Major,» General Sun said, «is that it will take you something like two weeks from the time you leave here to reach the point where the Americans

may

be?»


«Yes, sir. That could vary. Downward say two days if we have a smooth desert, no ice or snow, and maybe a little moonlight. And upward for only God knows how long. We're going to go as far as we can on our fuel, and then get on the radio.»


«And how soon do you plan to leave?» General Sun asked.


«At 0600, sir.»


«Excuse me?»


«Six in the morning, sir.»


«Tomorrow morning? More accurately,

this

morning?» General Sun asked incredulously.


«Yes, sir. We're going to rendezvous with the supply convoy about twenty miles out of town.»


«I didn't know you were going so soon,» Pickering said.


«You were told not to go into the desert without letting anyone know,» Banning said.


«It was either go now, Colonel, or wait for ten days or two weeks. I decided to go-«


Banning looked at Pickering to get his reaction to that. Seeing none, he correctly concluded that Pickering agreed with McCoy's decision. «What about communication?» Banning said.


«I'll get on the radio to Pearl Harbor when we find the Americans or run out of gas. whichever comes first,» McCoy said. «Is that what you're asking, sir?»


«No, it wasn't,» Banning said. «What if we have to communicate with you?»


«About what, sir?»


«Maybe we'll hear from the Americans, for one example.»


«I don't think that's likely, sir,» McCoy said. «We haven't heard from them for some time. Their radio is probably shot.»


Or, they have been discovered by the Japanese, or murdered by bandits, or just starved to death out there

, Pickering thought.


«We should have some way to communicate with you when you're out there, Ken,» he said.


«Sir, neither Zimmerman nor I are very good with radios. Neither one of us takes code very fast, and we can't send any faster than we receive. And I'd really rather not run the risk of taking a radio from its case, setting it up, and then taking it apart again until we really need them to call Pearl Harbor.»


«What kind of radios are they?» Captain Sampson asked.


«Special,» McCoy said, looking at him as if on the verge of telling him to mind his own business.»


«How special?» Sampson pursued.


«We got them from the Collins Radio Company. That's about all I know about them.»


«I know about radios,» Sampson said. «As a matter of fact, I know a lot about the shortwave radios Collins makes. So far as I'm concerned, they make the best shortwave equipment.»


McCoy looked disgusted. «Who cares what you think?» was written all over his face.


«General,» Sampson said, «I'd like to go with Captain McCoy, if he'll have me.»


«To do what?» McCoy asked.


«Before my commission came through, I was a high-speed radio operator, a corporal, in the Signal Corps,» Sampson said. «Before that, before the war, I was a Ham.» He looked at McCoy. «I can send Morse at thirty words a minute, and take it that fast.»


«You know how they work? Can you fix them if they break?» McCoy asked.


«I made a lot of my own equipment,» Sampson said.


«General?» McCoy asked.


I'll be damned

, Pickering realized,

McCoy is asking me if he can have Sampson

.


«It's up to you, Ken,» Pickering said.


«The Chinese may not like it,» Zimmerman said.


«I don't want to find myself in the middle of the goddamned Gobi Desert trying to call in the Catalinas with a radio that's not working,» McCoy said.


Zimmerman shrugged. «Okay by me,» he said.


«Okay by me, too, Sampson,» Pickering said. «Thank you.» He looked at his watch. It was quarter to two in the morning. «McCoy, if you're leaving in four hours, you'd better get some sleep,» he said. «There's beds here.»


«We've got to go back to the Fattened Goose and finish loading, sir,» McCoy said. «We'll be able to sleep on the road.»


«In that case, gentlemen,» General Sun said, «let me wish you Godspeed and good luck.»


«Thank you, sir,» McCoy said.


Sun offered his hand to Zimmerman, who looked a little embarrassed.


«If you are really going with us, Sampson,» McCoy said when General Sun reached him, «and it's not too late to change your mind, go get your gear.»


The departure was completely without ceremony. General Pickering, Colonel Banning, and Major Kee, in the Packard Clipper, followed McCoy, Zimmerman, and Sampson in the ambulance back to the Inn of the Fattened Goose.


They stood in the snow while the Chinese «soldiers» McCoy had hired lashed, under Zimmerman's direction, an astonishing amount of supplies—including ten five-gallon jerry cans, two fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline, and an assortment of burlap sacks—wherever space could be found on the bumpers, fenders, and running boards of the weapons carrier and ambulance, and onto the roof of the ambulance.


Finally, Zimmerman walked up to the other Americans. «Anytime you say, Killer,» he said.


Banning gave his hand to McCoy, and then to Zimmerman.


«You guys be careful,» he said.


«We'll try,» McCoy said.


«Consider that an order,» Pickering said, touching McCoy's shoulder.


«Aye, aye, sir,» McCoy said. He and Pickering looked at each other a moment, and then McCoy saluted. «By your leave, sir?»


Pickering nodded, and he, Banning, and Kee returned McCoy's salute, but no one said anything.


McCoy turned and gave an order in Chinese.


«Freely translated, sir,» Banning said, «that was, «Okay, let's get this circus on the road.' «


Major Kee chuckled.


The Chinese «soldiers» squeezed themselves into the back of the ambulance and the weapons carrier. McCoy pointed to Sampson, indicating that he was to ride with Zimmerman in the weapons carrier, and then climbed behind the wheel of the ambulance beside one of the Chinese. He slammed the door, started the engine, and drove off, with the weapons carrier following him.


As he turned into the street, McCoy tapped the horn in the rhythm of «Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.»


And then they were gone.


Though Pickering expected Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon to be in bed soundly asleep, the General was instead wide awake and waiting for him when Pickering, Banning, and Kee returned to the VIP Quarters. When they made their appearance Sun was wearing an ankle-length silk dressing gown and holding a brandy snifter. «Did they get off all right?» he asked.


«You wouldn't believe all the stuff they had lashed to their vehicles,» Pickering replied. «To the bumpers, the fenders, on the roof…«


«Captain McCoy—or should I say Major MeeKoy?—obviously knows if you need something in the desert, you'd better take it with you,» Sun said.


«He's a very clever fellow,» Pickering said.


«His Chinese—Mandarin, Wu,

and

Cantonese—is impeccable,» Sun said, his voice showing mingled surprise and admiration. «You don't often encounter Americans with that ability.»


«You don't often encounter people like Captain McCoy,» Pickering said.


«I have received an encoded message from USMMICHI,» General Sun said. «I thought I would discuss it with you before we went to bed.»


«What did it say?» Pickering asked.


«Actually, it's gibberish,» Sun said. «It will say what I tell General Chow it says.»


«I don't quite follow you,» Pickering said.


«Whenever I make a trip like this, I arrange to receive one message a day,» Sun said. «While I don't suggest that General Chow's cryptographic people would even think of attempting to decode a message addressed to me personally, if they did, they would fail. Not because the code is so good, but because the message is a random series of characters, having no meaning whatever.»


«General, you're a devious fellow,» Pickering said.


«You're surprised? I thought it was a rule of faith among westerners that all Orientals are devious.»


«Aren't you?» Pickering asked innocentlyi


Pickering was surprised when Major Kee touched his arm and handed him a brandy snifter.


«Thank you,» Pickering said.


Kee handed Banning a snifter.


«To the success of Captain McCoy's mission,» General Sun said.


«Hear, hear,» Banning said.


They raised their glasses.


«I suggest that my message will say, General,» Sun said, «that you and I are directed to report to General Stillwell immediately for consultation, even though this will require you to cut short your visit here.»


«But the girls are coming tomorrow night,» Banning said.


«And I was further going to suggest to General Pickering,» Sun went on, «that he leave you here in his stead, so that at least you will be able to receive the briefing General Chow has scheduled.»


«Please extend my regrets to the ladies, Colonel,» Pickering said.


«If you stay for several days, Colonel, that will alleviate any suspicions General Chow might have about the real purpose of our trip here.»


«I understand, sir,» Banning said.


«Thank you very much, General,» Pickering said.


«I think the time has come, don't you, after all we've been through together, that we can use our personal names?»


«Thank you very much,

Sunny

,» Pickering said.


«You're entirely welcome, Fleming.»



note 87


Headquarters



U.S. Military Mission to China


Chungking, China



1615 14 April 1943




As the C-47 taxied up to the area before base operations, the eyes of Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, fell on Second Lieutenant Robert F. Easterbrook, USMCR, leaning on the fender of a Studebaker President staff car, cradling a 12-gauge trench gun in his arms. The sight brought a smile to his lips.

So the Easterbunny has seen Rutterman with one of the «people killers

,» he thought,

and is

the most sincere form of flattery

imitating him

.


What was incongruous, so far as Pickering knew, was that Master Gunner Rutterman, who looked as if he had been sent over from Central Casting in response to a request for an actor who looked like a seasoned, veteran Marine, had yet to hear a shot fired in anger in this war, and nineteen-year-old Lieutenant Easterbrook had two Purple Hearts and the Silver Star.


It occurred to Pickering that Master Gunner Rutterman never referred to Easterbrook as «The Easterbunny» either. That privilege seemed to be reserved for those who had been with him on Guadalcanal.


After the airplane was parked, Easterbrook waited for Pickering to say goodbye to Brigadier General Sun Chi Lon and Major Kee, and then for their mountain of luggage to be loaded by their orderlies into the two cars sent to meet them, before coming over to Pickering and Hart. He saluted, then started to help Hart carry their suitcases to the car.


«You know how to use that shotgun, Bob?» General Pickering said, beating him to his own suitcase and picking it up.


«Yes, sir, I do,» Easterbrook replied. «Did you know, General, that every one of those itty-bitty little balls it shoots—there's a dozen of them in every shell— is like a .32 pistol bullet? Just as powerful?»


«I think I remember hearing that somewhere,» Pickering said.


«I have a hell of a time with the Thompson,» Easterbrook went on. «I can't keep the muzzle from climbing. But I can handle a trench gun.»


So much for my theory that the Easterbunny is aping Rutterman.


«Colonel Banning and that OSS captain still on the plane, sir?»


«Colonel Banning is at the moment learning more about the Thirty-second Military District than he really wants to know,» Pickering said. «He won't be back for a couple of days.»


«By now, the Colonel is probably working very hard to preserve the reputation of the Marine Corps,» Hart said.


«That is quite enough on that subject, Lieutenant,» Pickering said.


«Yes, sir,» Hart said, unabashed.


«And McCoy took Sampson with him into the Gobi,» Pickering said. «To work the radios.»


«I'll be damned,» Easterbrook said. «Did he want to go or did the Killer volunteer him?»


«He wanted to go,» Hart said. «And Captain McCoy—who isn't happy when somebody calls him 'the Killer' —said he could go.»


«I'm not too happy when people call me 'Easterbunny' either,» Easterbrook said. «When the Killer stops calling me the Easterbunny, I'll stop calling him the Killer.»


«The difference,

Lieutenant Easterbrook,'»

Hart said, smiling broadly as he slammed the trunk closed on their luggage, «is that you're a second lieutenant and he's a captain.»


«McCoy wouldn't pull rank about something like that,» Easterbrook said with absolute confidence.


Well, he's got McCoy figured correctly

, Pickering thought.

There really is more to the Easterbunny than at first meets the eve

.


«There have been no messages for me, Bob?» Pickering asked.


«There's one, sir. I thought I'd wait until we got in the car, out of the wind. Will you drive, George?»


«Sure,» Hart said.


That was an order

, Pickering thought.

It was phrased as a question, but it wasn't even a request, it was an order

.


«I don't think you're going to like it very much, sir,» Easterbrook added.


When they were in the backseat of the Studebaker together, and Pickering had read the two Special Channel messages, Pickering realized that Easterbrook was right. He didn't like what the Special Channel message said.


T O P S E C R E T


FROM ACTING STACHIEF OSS HAWAII


1115 GREENWICH 13 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.3


1. RECEIPT OF YOUR MESSAGE SUBJECT: IMPORTANCE OF LIAISON DATED 11 APRIL 1943 RELUCTANTLY ACKNOWLEDGED.


2. SUNFISH WITH METEOROLOGISTS, EQUIPMENT, PLUS LT CD. LEWIS AND CHIEF MCGUIRE ABOARD DEPARTED PEARL HARBOR 0600 LOCAL TIME 11 APR 43. ETA RENDEZVOUS POINT NOT SOONER THAN 28 APRIL. YOU WILL BE ADVISED DAILY AS ETA IS REVISED BASED ON POSITION REPORTS FROM SUNFISH AND OTHER FACTORS.


3. FOLLOWING VOLUNTEER USMC AVIATORS HAVE REPORTED ON TEMPORARY DUTY TO MAG-21:


WILLIAMSON, MAJ AVERY R. USMC (PENSACOLA NAS)



WESTON, CAPT JAMES B USMC (PENSACOLA NAS)



PICKERING, 1/LIEUT MALCOLM S USMCR (MEMPHIS NAS)


4. ADDITIONALLY, STEVENSON, 1/LEEUT THEODORE J. USMC CVMF-229, EWA MCAS) HAS VOLUNTEERED AND REPORTED ON TDY.


5. LT COL DAWKIN8 REPORTS THAT ALTHOUGH WILLIAMSON, WESTON AND STEVENSON HAVE EXTENSIVE CATALINA EXPERIENCE, THEIR TRAINING AT EWA WILL CONTINUE ON A DAILY BASIS UNTIL EXECUTION OP MISSION IS ORDERED. THE 6 (SIX) US NAVY AVIATORS WHO PARTICIPATED IN ONE OR BOTH RENDEZVOUS/REFUELING DRY RUNS REMAIN ON TDY TO MAG-21, AND ANY OP THEM WOULD BE AVAILABLE AS A REPLACEMENT SHOULD ANY OF THE MARINE AVIATORS REQUIRE REPLACEMENT.


RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED


HOMER C. DILLON


MAJOR USMCR


T O P S E C R E T


I

have not yet recovered from my emotional reaction to watching Ken McCoy and Zimmerman

and Sampson

driving off into the Gobi

with that cheerful

«Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits»

tooting of the horn

and now this

.


What motivates these young men? Don't they want to live?


«Bad news, sir?» Hart asked from the front seat.


«I'm trying to make up my mind,» Pickering said. «Dillon sent us the names of the pilots who will fly the Catalinas.»


«Something wrong with them?»


Good question. Yeah, there's something wrong with them. They're all crazy, the regulars, the Old Breed, McCoy, Zimmerman, and Weston, and probably this Major Williamson, and the amateurs, my son and his Harvard classmate, Sampson. They are perfectly willing, perhaps because they are Marines, and Marines are supposed to do heroic things, or perhaps because they consider that voluntarily taking enormous chances with their lives

this would apply to Pick and Sampson

is what is expected of them as members of the social elite. Or maybe just to prove to themselves that they are not only men but a special kind of men

.


«There's a Major Williamson, from Pensacola, I don't know who he is…«


«General, I don't know how I know this,» Hart said. «But I think he's a pal of Captain Galloway,» Hart offered. «He's probably all right.»


That figures, both that he's a pal of Charley Galloway and «all right.»


«And a fellow named Stevenson, who's in Galloway's squadron,» Pickering went on.


Which means by definition

… «One of Galloway's misfits?» Hart asked, surprised.


one of Galloway's misfits

.


«I don't think Galloway would volunteer this fellow for this to get rid of him,» Pickering thought aloud. «Or that Colonel Dawkins, for that matter, would permit him to do that. So he's probably all right.»


«Yes, sir,» Hart agreed. «They both know how important this is.»


«The other two officers, George, are Captain James B. Weston—«


«Our Captain Weston?» Hart asked incredulously.


«Our Captain Weston,» Pickering confirmed. «And the fourth one is Pick.»


«My God!» Hart said. «He didn't say anything to me when we were in Memphis.»


«Or to me,» Pickering said.


«You didn't say anything about Operation Gobi to him in Memphis, did you, George?»


«No, sir.»


«Then I guess he just saw General Mclnerney's request for volunteers,» Hart said. «And volunteered.»


«What I can't understand is why they took him,» Pickering thought aloud again. «I don't think he knows how to fly a Catalina.»


He doesn't. That explains that business in Jake Dillon's Special Channel

… Pickering picked up the Special Channel and read the last paragraph again.


They know Pick does not have the «extensive experience» flying the Catalina that the other three have. What Jake is doing is telling me that Dawkins is doing all he can to give Pick the training he needs

.


«They know what a hell of a pilot he is, General,» Hart said. «That's why they took him. It won't take him long to learn how to fly a Catalina.»


«And the same is presumably true of Jim Weston,» Pickering said. «He was selected because he was the best man available for the job.»


«Yes, sir.»


And the selector was Mac Mclnerney. Who would base his decision on that alone. With no consideration of fairness, of sending someone who hadn't spent a year as a guerrilla in the Philippines instead of someone who did. Or sending someone who has never been in combat at all

or hasn't already flown an incredibly hazardous mission like Pick did with Galloway to Buka

in place of someone who has

.


A general officer cannot permit himself to let his personal feelings interfere with his decisions, even when his decisions may send men to their deaths. Mac really likes Western, and he showed at Memphis—again—how much he likes Pick. But he's a Marine General, and he can

't

let anything get in the way of his responsibilities

.


So what does that make me?


The Easterbunny is getting next to me in the backseat of this staff car because I arranged it so that he wouldn't get himself killed storming some beach in the Solomons.


It makes me—because I would trade my life for a senior officer somewhere who would make the emotion-based decision to send someone else in place of Pick and Weston

a lousy general officer

.


«Pick will be all right, General,» Hart said, reading Pickering's mind. «And so will Weston. They walk between raindrops.»


«Well, we'll soon find out, won't we, George?» Pickering said.



note 88


The White House

Washington, D.C.

2315 16 April 1943


The President was sitting in his wheelchair in his dressing gown, lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of another, when Admiral William D. Leahy, General George C. Marshall, and Colonel William J. Donovan were shown in.

He looks tired

, Donovan thought.


«Good evening, Mr. President,» Admiral Leahy said.


«What do we have here?» Roosevelt said, as he stuffed his fresh cigarette into an ivory holder and flashed his famous smile. «The Army, the Navy, and he who hears all evil, sees all evil, and speaks all evil?»


«Is that how you think of me, Mr. President?» Donovan asked.


«A poor attempt at humor, Bill,» the President said. «I tend to tell terrible jokes when I am forced to make decisions I would rather not make.»


There was no reply.


«Would anyone like coffee?» he asked. «Or something stronger?»


There was a chorus of «No, thank you, Mr. President.»


«Let me see it, please,» the President said.


Donovan reached into his interior pocket and handed the President a white blank, unsealed, letter-size envelope.


Roosevelt took two sheets of typewriter paper from it. He glanced quickly at both of them. «Oh, we've heard from Halsey, too?» he asked.


«I thought we should wait for Admiral Halsey's recommendation before coming to see you, sir,» Admiral Leahy said.


Roosevelt carefully read the messages.


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C


OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE


1005 GREENWICH 16 APRIL 1943


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


FROM SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS BRISBANE


TO CHIEF OF STAFF US ARMY


WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY GENERAL GEORGE C. MARSHALL


INFO COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF PACIFIC


PEARL HARBOR


EYES ONLY ADMIRAL CHESTER W. NIMITZ


SUBJECT: OPERATION FLYSWATTER, REQUEST FOR PERMISSION TO EXECUTE


1. SUPREME HEADQUARTERS SWAPO HAS INTERCEPTED AND DECRYPTED THREE (3) MESSAGES FROM JAPANESE IMPERIAL GENERAL STAFF DEALING WITH VISIT TO BOUGAINVILLE BY ADMIRAL ISOROKU YAMAMOTO COMMANDER OF JAPANESE COMBINED FLEET BY AIR ON 18 APRIL 1943, INCLUDING DESCRIPTION OF HIS ROUTE, AIRCRAFT TYPE AND ESCORT.


2. SUBJECT MESSAGES WERE CLASSIFIED IN HIGHEST SECURITY CATEGORY. ANALYSTS ATTACHED TO THIS HEADQUARTERS BELIEVE THEM TO BE GENUINE, BUT SUGGEST THE POSSIBILITY THAT THIS MAY BE A RUSE ON THE PART OF THE JAPANESE WITH THE PURPOSE OF DETERMINING WHETHER THE CODE USED HAS BEEN COMPROMISED BY US. IF IT IS A RUSE, ANY ACTION OF MINE TO INTERCEPT ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO WOULD CONFIRM THAT WE HAVE BROKEN THEIR CODE.


3. IT IS EMPHASIZED THAT MY ANALYSTS DO NOT REPEAT DO NOT BELIEVE IT IS


PROBABLE THAT THE MESSAGES ARE A RUSE, SOLELY THAT THIS IS A POSSIBILITY REPEAT POSSIBILITY WHICH SHOULD BE CONSIDERED.


4. AT MY DIRECTION, A MISSION CODENAME FLYSWATTER INVOLVING FOUR (4) ARMY AIR CORPS LOCKHEED P-38 AIRCRAFT BASED IN THE SOLOMON ISLANDS HAS BEEN PLACED IN READINESS TO INTERCEPT AND DESTROY THE YAMAMOTO AIRCRAFT OVER BOUGAINVILLE. I HAVE BEEN ASSURED THE MISSION WOULD HAVE A SEVENTY-FIVE (75) PERCENT CHANCE OF SUCCESS.


5. IN VIEW OF THE RECENT POTENTIAL BREACH OF MAGIC SECURITY AT US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA, IT IS SUGGESTED THAT THERE MAY BE A TENDENCY TO ERR ON THE SIDE OF CAUTION IN THIS CASE, BY DENYING ME PERMISSION TO EXECUTE OPERATION FLYSWATTER IN THE BELIEF THAT SO DOING WOULD PROTECT MAGIC.


6. BRIG GEN PICKERING'S REPRESENTATIVE WHO WAS IN CHUNGKING WITH GENERAL PICKERING HAS INFORMED ME THAT BOTH HE AND GENERAL PICKERING BELIEVE MAGIC WAS NOT REPEAT NOT COMPROMISED BY THE RECENT EVENTS AT US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA. I HAVE COMPLETE CONFIDENCE IN GENERAL PICKERING'8 JUDGMENT IN MATTERS OF THIS NATURE.


7. NEVER BEFORE IN THE HISTORY OF NAVAL WARFARE HAS THERE BEEN AN OPPORTUNITY TO REMOVE A BRILLIANT AND FORMIDABLE ADVERSARY SUCH AS ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO FROM THE SCENE OF BATTLE, AND WE SHOULD NOT FAIL TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE OPPORTUNITY TO DO SO BY TAKING COUNSEL OF OUR FEARS.


8. PERMISSION TO EXECUTE OPERATION FLYSWATTBR IS REQUESTED IN THE STRONGEST POSSIBLE TERMS.


DOUGLAS MACARTHUR


GENERAL, US ARMY


SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C


«Douglas does have a way with words, doesn't he?» the President said, and turned to the second message, which was considerably shorter than MacArthur's.


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C


OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE


1635 GREENWICH 16 APRIL 1943


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


FROM COMMANDER IN CHIEF PACIFIC


PEARL HARBOR



TO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS


WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY ADMIRAL WILLIAM D. LEAHY


INFO SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS


BRISBANE


EYES ONLY GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR


1. REFERENCE IS MADE TO TOP SECRET-MAGIC MESSAGE FROM SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS TO EYES ONLY CHIEF OF STAFF US ARMY SUBJECT OPERATION FLYSWATTER, REQUEST FOR PERMISSION TO EXECUTE DATED 16 APRIL 1943.


2. THE REFERENCED MESSAGES CONCERNING ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO WERE INDEPENDENTLY INTERCEPTED, DECRYPTED AND ANALYZED HERE. ANALYSTS HERE CONCUR THAT MESSAGES ARE GENUINE, AND SHARE CONCERN THAT THEY MAY BE A RUSE.


3. THE UNDERSIGNED SHARES GENERAL MACARTHURS CONFIDENCE IN BRIG GENERAL PICKERING'S DAMAGE ASSESSMENT REGARDING POTENTIAL BREECH OF MAGIC AT USMMCHI.


4. THE REMOVAL OF ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO FROM COMMAND OF THE JAPANESE COMBINED FLEET WOULD BE CATASTROPHIC TO JAPANESE MILITARY AND NAVAL OPERATIONS, AND HIS LOSS PER SE TO UNITED STATES ACTION WOULD SERIOUSLY DAMAGE JAPANESE NAVAL PRESTIGE AMONG THE JAPANESE PEOPLE.


5. THE UNDERSIGNED STRONGLY URGES THAT THE CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS RECOMMEND TO THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF THAT GENERAL MACARTHUR BE GIVEN AUTHORITY TO EXECUTE OPERATION FLYSWATTER.


CHESTER W. NIMITZ


ADMIRAL, US NAVY


COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, PACIFIC


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C


«Halsey thinks MacArthur is right,» the President said. «Is that a unanimous feeling here, too?»


He looked at Donovan, who was the junior man present, for an answer.


«Mr. President, I don't think I should second-guess either Douglas MacArthur or Admiral Nimitz,» Donovan said.


«Go ahead, Bill, second-guess them.»


«It boils down to a choice between a chance to eliminate Admiral Yamamoto or possibly, I emphasize possibly, compromise magic.»


«No, it doesn't,» the President said. «The choice is between sharing Fleming Pickering's belief that magic has not been compromised by those people in Chungking, or not believing him. I don't think we're in a position to cavalierly dismiss the possibility that the Japanese at least suspect we're reading their mail. A deception like this would be entirely appropriate if they did.»


«We have no reason to believe we have given them any reason to be suspicious, except for the Chungking business,» Donovan said.


«Do you think Pickering's right, or don't you?» Roosevelt asked, a tone of impatience in his voice.


«I'll go with Pickering's judgment, Mr. President,» Donovan said after a perceptible pause.


Roosevelt nodded and looked at General Marshall.


«If we didn't take advantage of the opportunity, Mr. President—« General Marshall began.


«Even at the risk of confirming to the Japanese that we've broken their codes?» Roosevelt interrupted.


«Yes, Mr. President,» General Marshall said.


«Admiral?» Roosevelt asked, turning to Leahy.


«This seems to be one of those very rare instances, Mr. President, where Admiral Nimitz and General MacArthur seem to be in complete agreement. I don't want to challenge their judgment.»


«But, truth to tell, out of school, everybody's more than a little nervous with this, right?» Roosevelt said.


There were nods, and Donovan said, «Yes, sir, I am.»


«And so am I,» Roosevelt said. His cigarette had burned down close to his ivory holder. He snatched it out, dropped it into an ashtray, and stuffed a fresh cigarette into the holder.


«Okay,» he said, as Donovan walked up to him with a cigarette lighter. «We'll do it. Admiral Leahy, send Douglas MacArthur the following: Direction of the President. Execute Operation Flyswatter.»


«Aye, aye, sir.» Admiral Leahy said.


«If that offer of a drink is still open, Mr. President?» Donovan said.


«Of course it is, Bill,» the President said. «Now that we each can tell ourselves that when we made this decision we were stone sober.»


Chapter Twenty-Three


note 89


Somewhere in the Gobi Desert


Mongolia


1115 20 April 1943



The 32nd Military District supply column, sent to supply the patrols it was operating in the Gobi Desert, consisted of two jeeps (one at the head of the line of vehicles, the other bringing up the rear); two GMC six-by-six two-and-a-half-ton trucks, both towing five-hundred-gallon trailers; three Studebaker open-bodied trucks carrying, four to a truck, a dozen Mongolian ponies; and two Dodge three-quarter-ton weapons carriers.


All of the vehicles were grossly overloaded, and there had been frequent breakdowns during the six-day trip from Yümen, almost all of them due to blown tires. The repair technique was simple. The wheel with the blown tire was removed and replaced with a spare wheel from the half-dozen or so spares lashed to each vehicle. The wheel with the blown tire was then moved to one of the weapons carriers, now converted to a mobile tire-repair station. And the march was resumed. The blown tire was repaired, if possible, while on the march. But tires beyond repair were not without value in wartime China, and bad tires were lashed wherever space could be found.


The convoy stopped at nightfall. The Mongolian ponies were then encouraged—by the point of a bayonet—to jump from the Studebakers, and Chinese soldiers mounted four of them bareback and began a roving perimeter patrol. Other soldiers lit fires, and still others rigged pieces of canvas tarpaulin wherever they could, to provide shelter from the icy winds.


Breakfast in the morning was the same as dinner, rice with sweet peppers andonions and chunks of lamb and pork. after breakfast, bayonet jabs at their ribs— in the case of reluctant animals, at their genitals—encouraged the ponies to climb back on the Studebakers, and the march resumed.


The first day they met a Yumen-bound camel caravan. But after that, the convoy encountered no other travelers. After the second day, McCoy and the others in his party began to notice evidence of what they could expect to find farther into the Gobi. The desert all around them was windswept flat rock, huge sheets of it, with no landmarks at all. In some places large rocks were strewn about. But in most places the flat, indifferent landscape was broken by nothing at all but patches of snow where the wind had blown it.


There was, however—good news—very little ice. Probably, McCoy decided, because the snow would have to melt during the day and then freeze at night. But it was too cold during the day—and the wind was blowing so hard, keeping the snow moving—that the sun could not melt it.


The bad news was that the snow often covered the path they were following— it could not be called a road—making it frequently necessary for the convoy commander, a taciturn captain, riding in the lead jeep, to halt the convoy because he couldn't see the «road.» When that happened, the trailing jeep scouted ahead of the convoy, making wider and wider sweeps through the shallow snow, until he found the faint signs marking the «road.» Then the march resumed.


As they moved deeper into the desert—and this was also good news—McCoy and Zimmerman had both reached the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing suspicious about their ambulance and weapons carrier, which McCoy had put in the line of vehicles immediately behind the GMC trucks. They looked as if they were a perfectly ordinary part of the convoy.


When the convoy came to a halt on the morning of 20 April, McCoy expected that somebody had once again blown a tire or else that the «road» was again obscured by blown snow. But then Chinese soldiers started jumping down from the six-by-sixes and moving off to the side. When McCoy looked closer, he saw that they had stopped by fire-blackened rocks and were about to light fires.


That meant they had reached the point where they would rendezvous with the patrols out in the Gobi.


He got out from behind the wheel of the weapons carrier and went back to the ambulance. «I think we're here,» he said to Zimmerman. «You go see Captain Whatsisname, and remind him that our deal was full tanks of gas and good tires all around. I'll go see that sergeant who seems to know where we're going and take another look at the so-called map.»


«We're moving on now?» Captain Sampson asked.


«We can make five, six hours before dark,» McCoy said.


«I can have the radio on the air in forty-five minutes, if I can get help to string the antenna,» Sampson said.


«We're not going to do that,» McCoy said simply.



«But they'll be expecting to hear from us,» Sampson protested.



«Tonight, when we stop, you can set up the receiver,» McCoy said. «I gave you the SOI. You can listen when they're scheduled to contact us and see if they have anything for us.»


«They'll expect us to respond,» Sampson said.


«We don't have anything to say,» McCoy said reasonably. «And if we don't go on the air, nobody can hear us and wonder what's going on.»


«But you were ordered to maintain communication,» Sampson persisted.



«Easy, Killer,» Zimmerman said, recognizing the look in McCoy's eyes.



«What you're going to do, Captain,» McCoy said, «is wake up two Chinese. Station one in the back of the ambulance and one in the back of the weapons carrier. Tell them if they fall asleep while on duty, you will shoot them. Any questions?»


Sampson looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. «Yes, sir,» he said.



«Then help Zimmerman make sure both gas tanks, and all the jerry cans, are full.»


«Yes, sir,» Sampson said. «Sir, may I ask a question?»


«Shoot.»


«Why does Sergeant Zimmerman call you 'Killer'?»


«Because he kills people who give him trouble,» Zimmerman replied, very seriously.


«Fuck you, Ernie!» McCoy flared.


Zimmerman growled in his chest. When he saw him smiling broadly, Sampson realized that this was a laugh. And then McCoy laughed.


«It's a long story, Sampson,» McCoy said. «Maybe I'll tell you sometime.» McCoy set off in search of the sergeant who was in effect the convoy's navigator.


Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance and the weapons carrier pulled out of the line of vehicles in the convoy and drove alongside it. McCoy stopped to exchange a handshake and a salute with the convoy commander, then got back in the weapons carrier, tapped «Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits» on the horn, and drove farther into the Gobi Desert.



note 90


The Oval Office



The White House


Washington, D.C.



1645 24 April 1943




When Colonel William J. Donovan was shown in, the President was sitting in his wheelchair looking out the window into the garden. «Good afternoon, Mr. President,» Donovan said.


Roosevelt spun the wheelchair around. «You don't look as if you've just learned the world is about to come to an end,» he said. «So what's so important that you asked to see me right away?»


Donovan set his briefcase on a coffee table, unlocked it, took from it an unsealed white business-size envelope, and handed it to him. «Neither Admiral Leahy nor General Marshall was available to bring these to you, Mr. President, and I thought you would like to see them right away.»


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C


OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE


1005 GREENWICH 23 APRIL 1943


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


FROM COMMANDER IN CHIEF PACIFIC


PEARL HARBOR



TO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS


WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY ADMIRAL WILLIAM D. LEjAilY


INFO SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS BRISBANE


1. DURING THE PAST FIVE (5) DAYS, A TOTAL OF THIRTY-ONE (31) MESSAGES, SEVENTEEN (17) FROM THE JAPANESE HEADQUARTERS AT BOUGAINVILLE TO THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL GENERAL STAFF IN TOKYO, AND FOURTEEN (14) FROM JIGS TO BOUGAINVILLE USING THREE DIFFERENT HIGH LEVEL CODES, HAVE BEEN INTERCEPTED AND DECRYPTED, AND ANALYZED. ALL MESSAGES MADE REFERENCE TO THE SHOOTING DOWN OF ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO AS HIS TRANSPORT AIRCRAFT APPROACHED BOUGAINVILLE, AND TO THE RECOVERY OF HIS REMAINS AND PLANS TO HAVE THE REMAINS SENT TO JAPAN.


2. IN THE OPINION OF THE ANALYSTS, THE MESSAGES REFLECT BOTH THE CHAOS WHICH WOULD BE EXPECTED TO RESULT IF ADMIRAL YAMAMOTO HAD INDEED BEEN KILLED, AND ALSO POSSESS A CERTAIN TONE OF RESPECT FOR THE DECEASED ENTIRELY CONSISTENT WITH WHAT THE ANALYSTS WOULD EXPECT TO FIND IN SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES. THE ANALYSTS DO NOT REPEAT DO NOT BELIEVE THE MESSAGES ARE CONSISTENT WITH AN ATTEMPT TO DISSEMINATE FALSE INFORMATION.


3. FURTHERMORE, THE JAPANESE CONTINUE TO USE THE CODES THEY HAVE BEEN USING, AND HAVE NOT INTRODUCED ANY NEW CODES AS THEY WOULD HAVE HAD THE YAMAMOTO FLIGHT BEEN A RUSE. THIS LEADS THE UNDERSIGNED TO BELIEVE THAT THE MAGIC CAPABILITY IS NOT AT THIS TIME IMPAIRED IN ANY WAY.


CHESTER W. NTMTTZ


ADMIRAL, US NAVY


COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, PACIFIC


T O P S E C R E T – M A G I C




T O P S E C R E T



OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


1005 GREENWICH 23 APRIL 1943


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


FROM SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS BRISBANE


TO CHIEF OF STAFF US ARMY


WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY GENERAL GEORGE C. MARSHALL


FOLLOWING PERSONAL FROM SUPREME COMMANDER SWPOA TO CHIEF OF STAFF US ARMY


MY DEAR GEORGE:


I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE INTERESTED TO KNOW THAT I JUST DECORATED A FINE YOUNG ARMY ATRCORPS OFFICER NAMED LANDER FROM MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA, WITH THE DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS. WHILE LEADING A ROUTINE PATROL OF FOUR OF MY P-38 AIRCRAFT NEAR BOUGAINVILLE HE SHOT DOWN A JAPANESE TRANSPORT OF THE TYPE NORMALLY RESERVED FOR THE USE OF SENIOR JAPANESE OFFICERS. HIS FELLOW PILOTS SHOT DOWN THREE OF THE TRANSPORT'S ESCORTS AS WELL.


THE TRANSPORT AIRCRAFT CRASHED IN FLAMES INTO THE JUNGLE, AND IN THE OPINION OF THE PILOT WHO SHOT IT DOWN, THERE IS NO CHANCE OF ANY SURVIVORS. ALL FOUR AIRCRAFT RETURNED SAFELY TO THEIR AIRFIELD IN THE SOLOMON ISLANDS.


I VERY MUCH APPRECIATE THE PRESIDENT'S AND YOUR CONFIDENCE IN ME,


WTTH BEST REGARDS,


DOUGLAS


END PERSONAL TO CHIEF OF STAFF, US ARMY FROM SUPREME COMMANDER SOUTH' WEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREAS


T O P S E C R E T


«Well, that is good news,» Roosevelt said, «if it can ever be called good news to learn that my orders to have someone assassinated have been carried out successfully.»


«You probably saved thousands of American lives, tens of thousands of American lives, more than that, by ordering the elimination of Admiral Yamamoto, Mr. President,» Donovan said.


«It's a bit different, isn't it, Bill, when you know the name of the man you're having 'eliminated»? When you know what he looks like? That 'kill or be killed' seems a little remote from this office, doesn't it?»


«You saved lives, Mr. President,» Donovan repeated.


«Do you think Fleming Pickering knows about this?»


«I don't think so,» Donovan said. «I don't think either Admiral Leahy or General Marshall saw any need to bring Stillwell in on any of the Yamamoto business.»


«You don't think Stillwell is going to be told?»


«I think that he'll be informed by a hand-delivered message, sir.»


«Pickering's with Stillwell, right?»


«Yes, sir.»


«How's his weather station operation coming?»


«It could be going a little better, Mr. President,» Donovan said.


«In other words, something went wrong,» Roosevelt said. «What went wrong, Bill?»


«I don't mean to suggest, sir, that the mission will fail,» Donovan said. «But, unfortunately, it's looking more and more like something happened to the two men Pickering sent into the Gobi from Chungking.»


«Explain that, please?»


«Captain McCoy and Sergeant Zimmerman left a town called Yümen with a Nationalist Army supply truck convoy headed into the desert to rendezvous with a patrol—a camel patrol—the Chinese operate in the desert.»


«A

camel

patrol? Sounds like Lawrence of Arabia,» Roosevelt said.


«Yes, sir. Pickering's idea was for McCoy and the other to travel with the supply convoy as far as it was going, then head out by themselves, looking for the Americans Pickering apparently believes are out there somewhere, until, in Pickering's words, they either found them or ran out of gas, whichever comes first. At that point they would attempt to establish contact with Pearl Harbor. Once contact was established, the seaplanes would attempt a rendezvous with a submarine at sea, where they would take on fuel, as well as the meteorologists and their equipment, and then fly into the Gobi. They would then try to put themselves within a hundred miles or so of McCoy and the other Americans, and from there they hoped to find them by homing in on a radio signal.»


«Did you disapprove of this plan before Pickering put it into execution, or is this from the position of hindsight?» Roosevelt asked, not very pleasantly.


He knows and likes McCoy

, Donovan thought.

McCoy and Jimmy Roosevelt are pals. They made the Makin Island raid together. I can't forget that

.


«I thought, sir, that the plan prepared by the OSS station chief in Chungking had a greater chance of success,» Donovan said. «Unfortunately, it looks as if I was right.»


«What did Pickering find wrong with the other plan?»


«He thought it would call too much attention to the weather station, sir.»


«And what makes you think Pickering's plan has failed?»


«McCoy had orders to maintain communications with Pearl Harbor—his messages to be forwarded Special Channel to Pickering in Chungking—and he has failed to do so.»


«He hasn't been heard from at all?»


«No, Mr. President.»


«And what happens now? Plan Two is put into execution?»


«Yes, sir. Before Pickering's men started out, another two sets of meteorological equipment and the personnel to operate it were procured. The people and the equipment are at the moment en route to Chungking—they're due there April thirtieth. When they arrive, we'll put the OSS plan into execution.»


«The OSS plan versus the Pickering plan?» the President said. «Odd, Bill, I was under the impression that I had named Fleming Pickering Deputy Director of the OSS for Pacific Operations. Wouldn't that make his plan an OSS plan, too?»


«That was an unfortunate choice of words, Mr. President,» Donovan said.


«Yes, it was,» Roosevelt agreed. «And I was also under the impression that you and Pickering had put your differences aside for the duration.»


«We have, sir. I take no pleasure in the failure of his plan.»


«What exactly do you think has happened to young McCoy?»


«I have no idea, sir. There are bandits operating all over that area. That's one possibility. Another is that they had the bad luck to run into a Japanese patrol.»


«You have no idea?» Roosevelt said sarcastically. «But, Bill, I count on you to know what I want to know. You're the director of the OSS.»


«I'm sure that as soon as General Pickering hears anything, he will advise me.»


«What about the supply convoy McCoy was with? Have they been heard from? Do they know anything?»


«The convoy will return to Yümen about the thirtieth, sir.»


«Do you think that Fleming Pickering will have someone there to meet them, to see what they might know?»


«I'm sure he will, sir.»


«How can you be sure?» Roosevelt asked. «You don't seem to have much faith in his ability to run an operation like this.»


«I will recommend to General Pickering, sir, that he have someone on hand.»


«Do that,» Roosevelt said. «But don't make it a recommendation. He has a tendency, apparently, to ignore your recommendations. Tell him I said to do it.»


«Yes, Mr. President.»


«Thank you for coming in, Colonel,» the President said, and turned his wheel chair back to the window overlooking the garden.



note 91


OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE



ALL RECEIVING USNAVAL COMMUNICATIONS FACILITIES RELAY TO CINCPAC


ATTENTION RADM WAGAM



GASSTATI0N ON STATION AS OF 0230 GREENWICH 35 APRIL 1943



PROCEEDING ACCORDING TO ORDERS



HOUSER, LTCMDR, USN COMMANDING



note 92


Kiangpeh, Chungking, China



1325 26 April 1943




Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, was playing chess with Second Lieutenant George F. Hart—not with any interest, but rather because he could think of absolutely nothing else to do—when Lieutenant Colonel Edward Banning, USMCR, knocked at his open door.


«Ed, I hope you're going to tell me you've heard from McCoy,» Pickering said.


«No, sir. Not a peep. But this just came in, and I thought you'd better see it right away.


T O P S E C R E T


OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR


THE OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES


WASHINGTON


0324 GREENWICH 26 APRIL 1943


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA


EYES ONLY BRIG GEN FLEMING PICKERING, U8MCR


FOLLOWING PERSONAL PROM DIRECTOR OSS TO BRIG GEN PICKERING



BEGIN MESSAGE



DEAR FLEMING:


THE PRESIDENT IS NEARLY AS HEARTSICK AS I AM ABOUT THE BAD LUCK CAPTAIN MCCOY APPARENTLY HAS HAD, AND VERY ANXIOUS FOR INFORMATION OF ANY KIND REGARDING WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO HIM.


BY DIRECTION OF THE PRESIDENT, IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY MADE ARRANGEMENTS TO HAVE SOMEONE WITH THE PROPER QUALIFICATIONS MEET THE NATIONALIST ARMY SUPPLY CONVOY ON ITS RETURN TO YUMEN, WITH THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF LEARNING WHAT IF ANYTHING THEY KNOW ABOUT CAPTAIN MCCOY'S FATE, YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY DO SO.


YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY ACKNOWLEDGE BY SPECIAL CHANNEL RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE YOU WILL FURNISH BY SPECIAL CHANNEL THE DETAILS OF YOUR COMPLIANCE WITH THE PRESIDENT'S DIRECTIVE. ALL REPEAT ALL INFORMATION OBTAINED IN YUMEN WILL SIMILARLY BE DISPATCHED BY THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS.


SIMILARLY, YOU WELL ADVISE ARRIVAL IN CHUNGKING OF WEATHER PERSONNEL AND EQUIPMENT, AND PROGRESS IN EXECUTING BACK UP OPPLAN.


BEST REGARDS,


BILL


END MESSAGE


T O P S E C R E T


Pickering looked up at Banning as he handed the Special Channel to Hart. «I sent the 'we got it', sir,» Banning said.


«I'd like to go up there myself,» Pickering said. «God knows, I feel as useless as teats on a boar hog around here.»


«You can't do that, sir,» Hart said.



«I could send Colonel Platt,» Pickering said.



«I wouldn't give the sonofabitch the satisfaction, sir,» Banning said.


» 'Son of a bitch'?» Pickering quoted.


«You know the expression 'crocodile tears'?» Banning asked. «He calls twice a day to ask if we have any word from McCoy. He is always so very sorry to hear we haven't.»


«Sampson is with McCoy,» Pickering said.


«Sampson is the price he's perfectly willing to pay for having everybody know he was right in the first place.»


«I hope you have been able to keep your distaste for Colonel Platt to yourself, Colonel,» Pickering said.


«With great effort, sir.»


After a moment, Pickering went on: «Easterbrook doesn't speak Chinese, and neither does George. Moore does, but Stillwell likes to bounce ideas about the Japanese mind off him. Rutterman doesn't speak Chinese. And I don't want to send any of Platt's people up there, unsure as I am about where their loyalties lie. That leaves you, Ed.»


«Aye, aye, sir. What about getting there?»


«Send a Special Channel to Donovan over my signature. Tell him that I'm sending you. Take this Special Channel, and the one to Donovan, and show them to General Stillwell. He'll either get you on a plane, or get you your own plane. The Commander in Chief has spoken.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Banning said. Something in his tone caught Pickering's attention.


«Say it, Ed,» Pickering said.


«You don't want to go see General Stillwell yourself, sir?»


«I don't have the balls,» Pickering confessed. «I just about promised him he wouldn't have to come up with two companies of Chinese infantry he can't spare, and now it looks like I'm going to have to ask him to do just that.»



note 93


T O P S E C R E T


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


1605 LOCAL TIME 30 APRIL 1943


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


FROM OSS DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


TO DIRECTOR OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES


WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY WILLIAM R DONOVAN


1. METEOROLOGICAL PERSONNEL AND THEIR EQUIPMENT ARRIVED SAFELY BUT IN NEED OF REST 1400 LOCAL TIME THIS DATE.


2. IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO MOVE THE PERSONNEL AND THEIR EQUIPMENT TO YUMEN BY AIR. GENERAL STILLWELL HAS ARRANGED FOR A 14TH US AIR FORCE C-47 TO MAKE THE TRIP DEPARTING CHUNGKING MORNING OF 1 MAY WITH ETA YUMEN LATE SAME AFTERNOON, PRESUMING GOOD WEATHER.


3. LTCOL BANNING, PRESENTLY IN YUMEN, ESTIMATES STAGING OF DEPARTURE FROM YUMEN WELL TAKE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER ARRIVAL OF NATIONALIST CHINESE INFANTRY ESCORT. GENERAL STILLWELL ADVISES TROOPS CANNOT BE MADE AVAILABLE BEFORE 0600 4 MAY 1943.


4. LTCOL BANNING FURTHER ADVISES THAT ORIGINAL ETA OF SUPPLY CONVOY RETURNING TO YUMEN HAS BEEN INDEFINITELY EXTENDED DUE TO WEATHER CONDITIONS AND OTHER FACTORS, AND FURTHER THAT DESPITE INTENSIVE EFFORT HE HAS BEEN UNABLE TO DEVELOP ANY INTELLIGENCE REGARDING LOCATION OF MCCOY.


FLEMING PICKERING, BRIG GEN USMCR


T O P S E C R E T



note 94


Somewhere in the Gobi Desert

Mongolia

0900 1 May 1943


Nothing but snow could be seen in any direction. Three days before, the skies had cleared following two days of intermittent blowing small-flake snow. When the sun came out, it came out brightly, reflecting off the snow. It didn't quite blind them, but it effectively limited their vision to about one thousand yards, less sometimes when the wind blew the snow especially hard.

McCoy's decision was to keep moving day and night, despite the snowfall.


It was very cold. The ambulance—designed to provide as much comfort as possible for the wounded—had a heater mounted on the firewall. The weapons carrier had an open cab and no heater. But those crowded onto the seat—McCoy, Sampson, and two of the Chinese—found a certain amount of warmth from the engine and transmission by draping a blanket over their laps.


They moved on what McCoy hoped was a dead easterly course, determined by a U.S. Army-issue compass. McCoy had no idea how much the metal mass of the weapons carrier was affecting the compass, but at least they were moving in a straight line. They used a kind of stop-and-go technique. That is to say, the ambulance would be stopped and used as a reference point while McCoy drove the weapons carrier ahead, making every effort to keep the tracks through the snow perfectly straight, moving as slowly as he could in third gear to conserve fuel.


In order to keep further control of all this, he also stationed one of the Chinese on top of the mountain of supplies and jerry cans in the back of the truck, with orders to instantly report if the tracks didn't make a straight line, or if he lost sight of the ambulance.


At night, they drove without headlights. Doing that proved to be not so difficult as he feared, after Zimmerman removed the lenses of a «blackout light» mounted on the front of the weapons carrier, from one at the rear, and from the one mounted on the front of the ambulance. The bare bulb on the front of the weapons carrier and the ambulance provided enough light for steering, and the bare bulb on the rear of the weapons carrier was bright enough to guide the driver of the ambulance—even at a thousand yards.


Anytime he had difficulty seeing the ambulance during the day—or its bare bulb at night—McCoy stopped and shut down the engine. The ambulance then caught up with him.


Because Zimmerman maintained—with the certainty of an article of religious faith—that after sixty seconds, more fuel was conserved by shutting an engine down and then starting it again, than by letting it idle, McCoy decreed to do that… but only so long as the batteries held up. And under no circumstances would both batteries be shut down at once. That way they could attempt to start a vehicle whose battery was exhausted by pushing it with the other vehicle.


In third gear each truck would go about fifteen miles per hour. That meant it took not quite three minutes for McCoy to drive the weapons carrier as far as he could without losing sight of the ambulance, and then it took the ambulance about that long to catch up. Thus the engines of each vehicle could be shut down for nearly three minutes during each stop-and-go cycle.


So far, the batteries of both vehicles seemed to be holding up, and McCoy was beginning to hope that the fuel-saving technique would work indefinitely. If a battery did become exhausted, he decided, he would get the vehicle started by pushing it. And then he'd try shutting the engines down every other time, or every third time. That way they'd have a running time of six or nine minutes to keep the batteries charged.


The move-stop-wait, move-stop-wait routine quickly became automatic and boring.


McCoy was startled when the Chinese lookout came crawling down from his perch.


He braked to a stop as the lookout began to climb over the passengers and windshield onto the hood, in the process striking with his boot the head of the Chinese soldier sitting next to Sampson. «Your mother is a whore who fucks dogs,» the one kicked muttered in Cantonese.


After a glance at the rearview mirror, which proved he could see the ambulance clearly, McCoy turned his full attention to the lookout, who had by now made it onto the hood of the weapons carrier. He was pointing into the distance. McCoy stared hard but could see nothing.


Sampson stood up, awkwardly hanging on to the windshield frame. «There's a guy on a horse out there,» he said, and corrected himself: «On a pony.»


McCoy finally saw the same thing, as the man and the pony suddenly came to life and trotted off into the distance. They were lost to sight within seconds because of the glare.


«What the hell was that?» Sampson said.


«He was probably as surprised to see us as we were to see him,» McCoy said. «What was he, an outrider?»


«If he was, he saw us, that's for sure.»


McCoy put the weapons carrier in gear again and resumed moving. As he stopped to let the ambulance catch up, the pony and its rider came into sight again. Not moving, just watching.


The ambulance began to move.


«What do we do now?» Sampson asked.


«Wait,» McCoy said.


The ambulance caught up with them two minutes or so later.


The rider on the pony moved toward them.


«He's not afraid of us, obviously,» Sampson said. «Is that good or bad?»


«He's got a rifle slung over his shoulder,» McCoy said.


He suddenly pushed himself out of the seat and started to climb over the windshield.


«Let them see that we have soldiers with rifles,» he ordered. «But for God's sake, don't point a rifle at him. If he unslings his rifle, be prepared to kill him.»


McCoy climbed onto the hood, then slid forward and climbed down to the ground over the jerry cans and burlap sacks tied to the bumper.


He held his hands away from his body to show that he wasn't holding a weapon, and walked toward the man on the pony.


The man on the pony started to unsling his rifle, then changed his mind. He waited for McCoy to approach.


The man on the pony had a full beard, and in the moment it occurred to McCoy that few Chinese had luxuriant beards, it occurred to the man on the pony that the Chinese officer approaching him with the flaps of his cap tied under his chin had a white man's skin.


«Major,» the man on the pony said in Cantonese, «do you speak English?»


«Who are you?» McCoy replied in Cantonese.


The man didn't reply.


«Do you speak English?» McCoy asked in English.


«Yes.»


«Are you American?» McCoy asked.


«Yes. Are those American Army vehicles?»


«Actually, they're Marine Corps vehicles,» McCoy said. «Does the name Sweatley mean anything to you?»


«Sergeant Sweatley?»


«Sergeant James R. Sweatley,» McCoy amplified.


«He's the tactical officer,» the man on the pony said.


«What does that mean?» McCoy asked, and then, without giving the man on the pony a chance to reply, «Where is Sweatley?»


The man on the pony gestured over his shoulder. «We're not moving,» he said. «Waiting for the snow to blow away.»


«Let's go to see Sergeant Sweatley,» McCoy said. «How many of there are you?»


«You

are

an American, right?» the man on the pony asked.


«I'm an American,» McCoy said. «Get going.»


He waved at the weapons carrier to come after him.


The man on the pony turned the animal and started moving off. The weapons carrier and the ambulance followed him.


Twenty minutes later, they came to a circle of wagons covered with snow. Smoke and steam rose from inside some of the wagons.


If we had passed this five hundred yards to either side, we never would have seen it.


The man on the pony kicked it in the ribs, and it moved a little more quickly toward the circle of wagons.


«Americans!» the man shouted. «Americans!»


Then he rode the pony inside the circled wagons. Several people appeared, some peering out of the tarpaulins covering the wagons, some brave enough to come out of the circled wagons to stare as the two vehicles drove up. Some of these had weapons, but no one brandished them threateningly.


McCoy dropped off the weapons carrier and walked up to them.


«I'm looking for Sergeant James R. Sweatley, formerly of the Marine detachment in Peking,» McCoy said to an older man who looked as if he might be in charge.


«Go get Sweatley,» the man ordered. «I'm Chief Frederick Brewer. I transferred to the Fleet Reserve off the

Panay

. Who are you?»


«My name is McCoy,» McCoy said, and was interrupted by a tall, dark-haired woman.


«Oh, my God!» she said.


McCoy knew who she was.


«Corporal McCoy,» she said. «Do you remember me? I was Mrs. Edward J. Banning. My husband was a captain in the Fourth Marines. You once came to our apartment.»


«It's Lieutenant Colonel Banning now, Milla,» McCoy said. «You're still Mrs. Banning. It's good to see you, Milla.»


«Oh, my God! Ed is alive?»


«Yes, ma'am. He's alive. Is Zimmerman's wife here? Their kids?»


Milla nodded, unable to find her voice.


«Ernie,» McCoy called, raising his voice. «Mae Su and the kids are here!»


Zimmerman came out of the ambulance and ran toward the circle of wagons.


«I'll be a sonofabitch,» Sergeant James R. Sweatley, USMC, said, walking up as he shrugged into an ankle-length sheepskin coat.


«Hello, Sweatley,» McCoy said, offering his hand. «Good to see you.»


«Killer fucking McCoy in the fucking flesh!» Sweatley said. «What the

fuck

are you doing here, Killer?»


McCoy pulled his hand back. «It's Captain McCoy to you, Sergeant,» he said icily. «And my first order to you is to watch your mouth in the presence of a lady. And don't you ever call me Killer again.» He stared Sweatley down and turned to Chief Brewer. «Are you in charge here, Chief?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Let's go find someplace to talk out of the cold,» McCoy said. «We've got a lot to do.» He turned to Sergeant Sweatley. «There's an Army officer getting a radio out of the back of the ambulance,» he said. «Make yourself useful to him.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»



note 95


Naval Communications Facility



U.S. Naval Base, Pearl Harbor


Oahu, Territory of Hawaii



0530 Local Time 1 May 1943




«Flag officer on the deck!» the radioman first class called, as he rose to his feet from behind his desk in the foyer of the building.


«As you were,» Rear Admiral Daniel J. Wagam, USN, said quickly, and then asked, «Commander Toner?»


«Right here, Admiral,» Commander Lewis B. Toner, USN, said. «Good morning, sir.»


Admiral Wagam needed a shave, and when he removed his gold-heavy uniform cap, his short hair was uncombed. Commander Toner also suspected that Admiral Wagam's white uniform was the one he had worn the day before.


«Good morning,» Wagam said. «What have you got?»


«Contact, sir. Not much more than that. If you'll come with me, sir?»


He pointed to a steel door that had a large authorized personnel only beyond this point sign on it.


Wagam looked at the radioman first class. «A Major Dillon of the Marines is on his way here. See that he gets to wherever I'm going.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


He followed Commander Toner through the steel door and down a corridor. They came to a Marine PFC armed with a Thompson guarding a second door.


«Open it,» Commander Toner ordered.


The Marine pushed the lever of an intercom. «Passing the duty officer and an admiral,» he announced.


Bolts were slid open, and then the door was pushed inward. Toner waved Admiral Wagam into a large room. There was the peculiar odor of high voltage. A dozen sailors sat before communications radios, some working telegraph keys, others pounding typewriters. Two radio Teletype machines clattered against the wall.


Toner led Wagam to a glass-walled office with a sign reading «Duty Officer.» Inside was a desk, two chairs, a chief petty officer, and a seaman first class who looked about seventeen years old and very nervous.


The chief put a china mug quickly on the desk.


«Good morning, Chief,» Wagam said. «I'd kill for a cup of coffee.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» the chief said, stepped to the door, and ordered, «Coffee, now!»


«Good morning, son,» Wagam said to the young sailor.


«Epstein, sir,» the kid said. «Lester J. Seaman, First Class.»


«What have you got for me, Epstein?» Admiral Wagam asked.


Seaman Epstein thrust at Admiral Wagam a sixteen-inch-long sheet of yellow paper, obviously torn from the roll of paper that had been fed into his typewriter.


0426


20 METER MONITOR


KCG TO KNX


KCG TO KNX


ga go ahead



KCG TO KNX VERIFIER GYPSY ACK



stand by



ack verifier ga



KCG TO KNX


FIVE THREE FIVE THREE reading me 5x3


ONE ONE ONE ONE soi 21



ACK


reading you 5x5 ack using sig op one


KCG TO KNX


ZERO ONE ZERO ONE


all well in contact with gypsies


ZERO EIGHT FIVE SEVEN ZERO EIGHT FIVE SEVEN


all well with gypsies strength 51


ONE ABLE TWO FOUR ONE ABLE TWO FOUR


men 24



ONE BAKER THREE THREE ONE BAKER THREE THREE



women and children 33



TWO ABLE 1456 X 3401 TWO ABLE 1456 X 3401 NOT RELIABLE


map coordinates 1456x3401 not reliable


TWO DOG SEVEN TWO DOG SEVEN


will return to net in six hours


ACK



all above acknowledged



KCG OFF


The chief handed Admiral Wagam a cup of coffee. «We didn't have much time, sir, to clean that up for you, sir,» he said. «Can you read his handwriting? The material he took from the Signal Operating Instruction? What he sent to them?»


«I can read it just fine, Chief,» Admiral Wagam said. He smiled at Seaman Epstein. «Well done, son.»


Seaman Epstein flushed. «Can I ask a question, Admiral?» he asked, which earned him a withering glare from the chief.


«Sure,» Admiral Wagam said.


«Who are these gypsies?»


«Mostly, son, they're a group of old sailors and soldiers and Marines who didn't like the idea of surrendering to the Japanese. And until they talked to you, I suspect many of them were beginning to wonder if the Navy had forgotten about them.»


Which raises an entirely new question

, Admiral Wagam thought.

How the hell are we going to get thirty-three women and children

not to mention the men

out of the Gobi Desert

?


«May I have this?» Admiral Wagam asked, holding up the sheet of yellow paper.


Commander Toner looked uncomfortable.


«I'll get it back to you,» Admiral Wagam said. «I think Admiral Nimitz will want to have a look at it.»


«Of course, sir.»


«When Major Dillon shows up, send him over to my office.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Commander Toner said.


«Keep up the good work, son,» Admiral Wagam said to Seaman Epstein. «Thank you for the coffee, Chief.»


Jake Dillon drove up in a civilian Ford station wagon as Admiral Wagam was about to get into a staff car.


He looks, damn him, despite the hour

, Admiral Wagam thought,

as if he's about to go on parade

.


«Follow me to my quarters, Dillon, and you can read what we have. Admiral Nimitz said to let him know immediately of developments, whatever the hour; but he's going to have to wait until I have a shave and get into a decent uniform.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Dillon said. «Good news or bad, Admiral?»


«I suppose that would depend, Major, on whether or not you are a pilot who's about to be ordered to find a submarine in the Yellow Sea and then somebody in the Gobi Desert.»


The Commander in Chief, Pacific, in a crisp white uniform, was having a cup of coffee when Admiral Wagam and Major Dillon were shown into his office.


«This is the original, sir, I hope you'll be able to understand the jargon.»


«It may come as a shock to you, Dan, but before I got this job, I was actually a seagoing sailor. Let me see what you have.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«Help yourself to some coffee, Dillon,» Admiral Nimitz said. «The steward doesn't come on duty until 0630.»


«Thank you, sir.»


Nimitz read the long sheet of yellow paper. «I don't like that 'unreliable' position report,» he said.


«They're going to be in contact again in five hours, sir,» Wagam said. «Perhaps they'll be able to give us a better one then.»


«But this means, as I read it, that neither Pickering's people, nor the people they found, seem to know exactly where they are.»


«Yes, sir, it would seem so.»


«Is this position, the unreliable one, within range of the Catalinas?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Then I suppose you'd better alert Colonel Dawkins, and start this thing rolling.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«As I recall the Opplan, the aircraft will depart at midnight to give them daylight both at the rendezvous site and in the desert?»


«Yes, sir,» Wagam said. «The exact time is 2330, sir.»


«Then we still have time to get them off today,» Nimitz said. «But I'd like an on-site weather report from the

Sunfish

before we send them.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«Tell Colonel Dawkins to prepare for a 2330 departure,» Nimitz ordered. «Subject to change. And get off a Special Channel personal to General Pickering. We were expecting contact before this, and he's probably concerned.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Admiral Wagam said.


Chapter Twenty-Four


note 96


Kiangpeh, Chungking, China


1115 2 May 1943



«Good morning, General,» Lieutenant Colonel Richard C. Platt said, saluting as he came through the door of McCoy's house.


«Thank you for coming so quickly,» Pickering said. «To get right to the point, get word to Yümen immediately that the expedition is not to move into the desert until further orders.»


«Is that wise, sir?» Platt said.


«The proper reply in the Marine Corps to an order is 'Aye, aye, sir,' which means the order is understood and will be obeyed. What do they say in the Army, Colonel?»


«Sir, no disrespect was intended. But under the circumstances, sir, I felt obliged—«


«The circumstances? Meaning that Captain McCoy has not been heard from, and that we must reluctantly conclude that he has been lost in a futile hunt for Americans who we must also reluctantly conclude are lost?»


«Yes, sir.»


«In the Marine Corps, Colonel, if we feel an explanation of an order is necessary, we say, 'Aye, aye, sir. May I ask to be told the reason?' If you had done that, Colonel, I would have shown you this.» He handed Colonel Platt the most recent message to have come over the Special Channel.


T O P S E C R E T



CINCPAC HAWAII


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN


0700 LOCAL TIME 1 MAY 1943



US MILITARY MISSION TO CHINA


EYES ONLY BRIQGEN FLEMING PICKERING, USMC


BEGIN PERSONAL FROM RADM WAGAM TO BRIG GEN PICKERING



DEAR FLEMING:


AT 0430 THIS MORNING CINCPAC WAS CONTACTED BY MCCOY. HE IS IN GOOD SHAPE AND WITH THE GYPSIES, WHO NUMBER FIFTY-SEVEN (57) INCLUDING THIRTY-THREE (33) WOMEN AND CHILDREN WHO ARE ALSO IN GOOD SHAPE.


REFERENCE OPPLAN GOBI DESERT MAP OVERLAY NUMBER THREE, HE GIVES HIS COORDINATES AS 1456 X 3401 REPEAT 1456 X 3401 BUT STATES THEY ARE UNRELIABLE. HOWEVER EVEN ALLOWING FOR A TWO HUNDRED (200) MILE ERROR THIS POSITION IS WITHIN CATALTNA RANGE.


ANOTHER CONTACT IS SCHEDULED IN SEVERAL HOURS, AND PERHAPS HE WILL BE ABLE TO FURNISH A MORE PRECISE LOCATION AT THAT TIME.


ADMIRAL NTMTTZ HAS ORDERED THE CATALINAS TO BE PREPARED TO DEPART AT 2330 1 MAY BY WHICH TIME WE SHOULD HAVE AN ON SITE WEATHER REPORT FROM

SUNFISH

, WHICH WILL ALSO BE ADVISED OF CATALINA ETA ON SITE.


I WILL OF COURSE KEEP YOU ADVISED OF ALL DEVELOPMENTS.


BEST PERSONAL REGARDS,


DAN


END PERSONAL FROM RADM WAGAM TO BRIGGEN PICKERING


T O P S E C R E T


«This is very good news, General,» Colonel Platt said.


'Yes, I thought so. That will be all, Colonel, you are dismissed.»



note 97


United States Submarine Sunfish



121° 03» East Longitude 39° 58» North Latitude


Yellow Sea



1025 2 May 1943




Since he'd come aboard the

Sunfish

, Chief Carpenter's Mate Peter T. McGuire, USNR, had to some extent increased his knowledge of the customs of the Naval Service. Thus as he stuck his head through the port leading to the conning tower, he politely inquired, «Permission to come up, sir?»


Lieutenant Commander Warren T. Houser, USN, and Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, looked down at him. Except for his face, Chief McGuire was bundled in cold-weather gear, including a parka with a wolf fur-trimmed hood. All of those on the conning tower were wearing cold-weather gear. «Permission granted,» Captain Houser said.


The third man on the conning tower, the chief of the boat, chief bo'sun's mate Patrick J. Buchanan, did not look at Chief McGuire. Chief Buchanan had come to loathe and detest Chief McGuire—who had the bunk immediately above his— virtually from McGuire's first moment aboard. He did not wish to look at him. If he never saw him again in his life, it would be too soon.


These feelings were perhaps not very charitable, and he knew it. He was well aware that some lesser human beings were simply not equipped by their Maker to sail aboard submersible vessels. In fact, he was usually quite sympathetic to their plight. But Buchanan's patience and understanding had been pushed beyond his limits.


Early on, Captain Houser explained to him that Chief McGuire suffered from claustrophobia, a malady that was unsuspected until the first time the

Sunfish

slipped beneath the surface. There was simply nothing to be done about it, Houser elaborated. They were just going to have to deal with it for the duration of the patrol.


Chief McGuire's symptoms went far beyond a feeling of unease at being contained, at feeling that the walls, so to speak, were closing in on him. There were psychosomatic manifestations. He had severe headaches, for one thing.



For another, he suffered psychosomatic gastric problems, including nausea, flatulence, and diarrhea. In Chief Buchanan's many years at sea, during manypatrols on submarines, he had never before encountered smells as foul as those he encountered when visiting a head vacated as long as a half hour before by Chief McGuire.


For another, Chief McGuire's sleep was disturbed. He tossed and turned as long as he was in the sack, and he frequently whimpered in his sleep, like a small child having a bad dream. It is not pleasant under any circumstances to take one's rest in a small, confined area with one's nose separated from the man above by not more than twenty inches. When the man above is whimpering or breaking wind, or worse, regurgitating without warning and with astonishing force ninety percent of what he ate at the last meal, it is even less pleasant.


Chief Buchanan often thought that in the old Navy—and maybe even today, on say a destroyer, or other smaller man-of-war—the problem would have solved itself. The chief would have fallen overboard. The skipper would have penned a letter of condolence to his next of kin, authorized the auctioning off of the contents of the chief's sea chest, conducted a brief memorial service, and that would have been the end of the sonofabitch.


«How are you feeling, Chief?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


Lewis actually showed sympathy to the bastard, as did Captain Houser. And Lewis was even genuinely worried about the state of Chief McGuire's health generally and his mental health specifically. McGuire had lost perhaps twenty-five pounds, and there were deep black rings under his eyes. No one on a submarine has an enviable tan, but McGuire's skin was an unhealthy white.


«I'm all right,» McGuire said, not very convincingly. «It's only when I'm downstairs and they close the hole in the roof that I start getting sick.»


«Well, if everything goes all right in the next hour or so, Chief,» Captain Houser said, «we'll be on our way home.»


«I hope,» Chief McGuire said, and then broke wind. The sound immediately penetrated his cold-weather gear. By the time the odor inevitably followed, the skipper of the

Sunfish

, her chief of the boat, and Mr. Lewis, her supercargo, all had independently decided to look in the direction of the prevailing wind to see what might be out there.


«Bridge, Radio,» the squawk box went off.


To provide Chief McGuire with a space on the bridge, Captain Houser had decided to dispense with the services of the talker who normally would have relayed commands from the bridge.


Captain Houser bent over the squawk box, pressed the switch, and said, «Radio, go.»


«Captain, I have a faint signal on the aviation frequency, transmitting G.S.»


«Radio, send five G.S. signals at thirty-second intervals,» Captain Houser asked.


«Aye, aye, sir,» the radio operator replied.


«You don't suppose they've actually found us, and on schedule?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


«You don't believe in miracles, Mr. Lewis? Shame on you,» Captain Houser said.


«Captain, I've been thinking,» Chief McGuire said.


«Not now, Chief, please,» Captain Houser said.


«That maybe I could go with the airplanes,» McGuire plunged ahead.


«I thought you got sick on airplanes, Chief,» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


«Not as sick as I am on here,» McGuire replied. «And anyway, Flo gave me some inner-ear airsickness pills.»


Captain Houser held up his finger before Chief McGuire's pale face and said, «Sssssssh!»


«I believe, Captain,» Lieutenant Lewis said, «that Chief McGuire is referring to Commander Florence Kocharski, of the Navy Nurse Corps.»


Commander Kocharski had confided in Lieutenant Lewis that the inner-ear seasickness pills she had given Chief McGuire were placebos, usually prescribed for women in the early stages of pregnancy. Sometimes, Flo said, they stopped morning sickness and sometimes they didn't. But they wouldn't do Chief McGuire any harm.


«Thank you, Mr. Lewis, I never would have guessed.»


«Bridge, Radio.»


«Go.»


«Aircraft sent Verifier Sea Gypsy. It checks.»


«Continue sending G.S. at thirty-second intervals.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«I hope he's not far away,» Houser said, almost to himself. «I don't like sitting out here like this.»


«There's supposed to be

two

of them,» Chief McGuire said. 'Two Catalinas.»


«What do I have to do to make you shut up, McGuire?» Captain Houser flared, and was immediately sorry. McGuire's face was that of a kicked child. A

sick

kicked child.


«Sorry, sir.»


Chief Buchanan suddenly stopped in his binocular sweep of the skies, moved to the port bulkhead, and rested his elbows on it.


«Got anything, Chief?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


«I have two objects at estimated two miles.»


Captain Houser pressed the lever on the squawk box. «Suit up the deck crew. Notify when ready.» This command was necessary because it was too warm in the interior of the

Sunfish

for the deck crew to put on their cold-weather gear until they were needed.


«Two Catalinas at two miles,» Chief Buchanan said.


Captain Houser reached inside his hood and came out with a cord for his earphones. He plugged it in, then picked up a microphone. «Sea Gypsy One, this is Gas Station.»


«We have you in sight, Gas Station. What are the seas?»


«The seas are three-to-four-foot swells. The wind is from the north at estimated twenty miles,» Houser replied.


«We'll turn into the wind and have a shot at it,» the pilot replied.


Captain Houser pressed the squawk box switch. «Pass the word, aircraft in sight,» he said. Then he looked at Lieutenant Lewis. «Would there be space? Weight-wise?»


«I'd say the chief weighs about thirty-five gallons of avgas,» Lewis said, and then added: «He's really sick, I think.»


«Yeah,» Captain Houser said thoughtfully. «McGuire, make up your mind. Do you really want to go on one of the airplanes? You know where they're going.»


«Yes, sir,» Chief McGuire said. «I think I could probably make myself useful, sir. Maybe help the weather people. Keep their generator working. I can fix practically anything—«


Houser held up his finger again. «Ssssssh!»


«Do you think they could make do with one less meteorologist?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.


«I don't think we could go that far,» Houser said. «But that would be your decision, wouldn't it, Mr. Lewis?»


He bent to the squawk box. «As soon as the deck crew goes on deck, suit up the supercargo,» he ordered.


«The first one's down, Skipper,» Chief Buchanan reported.


Captain Houser looked. The first Catalina had not only landed but had slowed enough for her pilot to start turning toward the

Sunfish

. As Houser watched, the second touched down.


He bent over the squawk box. «Deck crew on deck, break out and prepare to launch rubber boats. Suit up the supercargo. Prepare to pass cargo onto the deck.»


He picked up the microphone. «Sea Gypsy One, what would an additional two hundred and fifty pounds do to you?»


«That would depend. Any change in our coordinates?»


«No.»


«We can handle another two hundred and fifty pounds.»


«Thank you,» Houser said. «McGuire, your decision. You want to go?»


«Yes, sir.»


«Then go below, and have someone show you how to go on deck.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Chief McGuire said. «Thank you, Captain.» He saluted, which Captain Houser returned. Then he saluted Lieutenant Lewis, which Lewis returned. «I'm sorry to have been such a mess, Buchanan.»


Chief Buchanan turned and looked at him, then put out his hand. «Take care of yourself, Chief,» Buchanan said. «Don't take any wooden nickels or anything.»



note 98


OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE



ALL RECEIVING USNAVAL COMMUNICATIONS FACILITIES RELAY TO CINCPAC


ATTENTION RADM WAGAM



RENDEZVOUS SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED IN ALL ASPECTS. SEA GYPSIES DEPARTED 1105 LOCAL TIME.


WILL CONDUCT ROUTINE PATROL ACTIVITIES EN ROUTE TO PEARL HARBOR. HOUSER, LTCMDR, USN COMMANDING



note 99


Somewhere in the Gobi Desert

Mongolia

1500 2 May 1943


For the past several hours, people had been removing all the supplies stored inside the ambulance—and lashed all over its outside—and then distributing them among the wagons and carts of the caravans. Doing all that had converted the ambulance into the radio room of what, if everything went well, would be known as Station Nowhere. The single radio in the rear of the ambulance at the moment was one of the two small portable radios designed and built by Collins Radio to be transported on camelback. It was connected by a cable to a stationary bicycle-driven generator set up just outside the rear doors of the ambulance.

A long wire antenna came out of the passenger window, the other end fastened to the three-quarter-ton weapons carrier. It was a jury rig, but it worked. Proper, collapsible antenna masts and more powerful radios were aboard the Catalinas. According to their last contact with Pearl Harbor, these had left Pearl Harbor just before midnight the day before.

It was now time to find out if they had found the

Sunfish

a hundred miles offthe coast of china in the yellow Sea, had landed, and more important, had taken off again, and when.


So far as McCoy was concerned, there were entirely too many people crowded into the ambulance. He had considered ordering everybody but Jerry Sampson out, but decided against it, partly because he understood their interest and partly because he was aware that most of the Gypsies had already decided he was a prick. While he really didn't care what they thought of him, that might get to be a problem.


McCoy was sitting in the driver's seat. Chief Motor Machinist's Mate Frederick C. Brewer, Fleet Reserve, USN, sat in the passenger's seat. As McCoy saw it, the chief had a right to be in the ambulance. He was the ranking man, and the gypsies were accustomed to doing what he told them to do. Captain Jerome Sampson sat on the floor of the rear of the ambulance. He was the radio operator, and obviously had to be there.


The man sitting beside Sampson didn't need to be there. He was the gypsies' radioman, a radioman first who had transferred off the gunboat

Panay

into the Fleet Reserve when McCoy was in the fifth grade. The radio he had somehow managed to cobble together from parts «borrowed» from another Yangtze River patrol gunboat had allowed him to transmit the few messages announcing the very existence of the gypsies. His delight at seeing the Collins radio, and his awe at the tiny little radio's capability to so easily communicate with Pearl Harbor, had been almost pathetic. McCoy didn't have the heart to tell him to get out of the trailer.


Technical Sergeant Moses Abraham, USMC, who had retired from the 4th Marines; and Staff Sergeant Willis T. Cawber, Jr., who had retired from the US Army's 15th Infantry; and Sergeant James R. Sweatley, USMC, were also in the back of the trailer and had no business there, except for the positions of authority they had given themselves.


McCoy had immediately disliked Cawber; and Technical Sergeant Abraham had immediately made it apparent he didn't like taking orders from a youngster who was a corporal in the machine gun section of Baker Company of the Fourth two years before and now thought he was really a captain of Marines. Though McCoy was sure he had put Sweatley in his place, he had no doubt that Sweatley considered it a great injustice to a longtime Marine such as himself to take orders from Zimmerman, who was a corporal when he knew him before, and was now a gunnery sergeant.


The truth was that this was one of those situations where people had to do what they were told, when they were told, and not ask questions. McCoy knew there was going to be a confrontation sooner or later, but decided that provoking one now by ordering Cawber, Abraham, and Sweatley out of the trailer didn't make any sense.


«Okay, McCoy?» Sampson asked.


«Go ahead,» McCoy said.


Sampson raised his voice, and one of the Chinese «soldiers» they had brought with them started to pump the generator. Sampson put earphones on and, when the needles on the dials came to life, started to tap his radiotelegrapher's key. «Got 'em,» he announced thirty seconds later. And a moment after that, he began to recite numbers, which McCoy wrote on a small pad. There were not many numbers. «That's it. They want an acknowledgment,» Sampson said.


McCoy translated the numbers from Signal Operating Instruction Number Three.


Four Able meant that the Catalinas had successfully completed their rendezvous with the

Sunfish

and taken off again with the meteorologists and their equipment aboard. Two Fox gave the time of their departure. Two X-Ray gave the estimated time—six hours and thirty minutes—it would take them to reach the gypsies.


«Acknowledge, Jerry,» McCoy ordered. «Tell them to monitor continuously, and sign off.»


«Gotcha,» Sampson said, and began to tap on his key.


«What do they say, McCoy?» Technical Sergeant Abraham demanded.


I

can either tell him to call me Captain, or I can ignore the old sonofabitch

.


«Captain Sampson, starting in thirty minutes, send SN for ten seconds once a minute.»


McCoy hoped that Sampson would reply, if not «Aye, aye, sir,» then «Yes, sir.»


«Gotcha,» Sampson said.


«Captain,» the old radioman first said. «I could do that.»


«Have you got a watch?» McCoy asked.


«No, sir.»


McCoy unstrapped his. «I'll want this back,» he said, and handed it to him.


«Yes, sir.»


«Captain Sampson, why don't we go check on the fires?» McCoy said.


Sampson finally caught on. «Yes, sir,» he said.


«And you, too, Chief,» McCoy said to Chief Brewer.


«Aye, aye, sir,» Brewer said.


McCoy looked at Technical Sergeant Abraham. «The aircraft are due in here from forty-five minutes to an hour. You are in charge of keeping everybody away from them when they land. I don't care how you do it. I don't want anybody chopped up by a propeller, or the aircraft damaged by excited people.»


«What difference does it make if you're going to destroy them anyway?» Abraham replied.


«What did you say?» McCoy said.


«I think you heard me,» Abraham said.


«Let me tell you something, Sergeant,» McCoy said. «The moment I got here, you were recalled to active duty for the duration of the war plus six months. That means you're back in the Corps. And that means when you get an order, all you say is 'Aye, aye, sir.' You don't question the order. Do you read me, Sergeant?»


After a moment, Sergeant Abraham said, «Aye, aye, sir.»


McCoy opened his door and stepped out of the ambulance. Chief Brewer got out on the other side, and a moment later Sampson came out the back door.


Earlier, McCoy and Zimmerman had driven over an area of the desert long enough to serve as a runway. Once they'd determined a suitable place for it, they'd walked all over it, carefully searching for holes or rocks that would damage the Catalina's landing gear. When the «'runway» had been marked off, he ordered the building of two fires, to be ignited on order, marking the ends of the runway. When—if—the Catalinas appeared, they would be lit and made as smoky as possible. This would indicate to the Catalina pilots not only the position of the runway but the direction of the wind, which would tell them the direction to land.


Because material for building fires was scarce, there was a good deal of resentment when the gypsies were ordered to part with material to build them.


Furthermore, McCoy suspected (a suspicion Milla confirmed) that he was going to be looking at more resentment as soon as most of the women—and even some of the men—realized that their long ordeal was far from over the minute he showed up.


McCoy had some new ideas about how to get the women, the children, and even some of the men out of the desert, but that wasn't going to happen now. What was going to happen now was that once the Catalinas had off-loaded their cargo and anything on them that might be useful, thermite grenades would be set off on the wing, over the fuel tanks, and the aircraft destroyed.


Then they'd leave the burned aircraft where they were, and take the wagons, the carts, and the two vehicles as far away as they could get as quickly as they could go. The hope was that if reports of two aircraft flying into the desert triggered aerial reconnaissance of the area, the reconnaissance pilots would think both had crashed and burned. If people were then sent in to check on the «crashed and burned» aircraft and no bodies were found, it was hoped that it would be deduced that the aircrews had bailed out. Thus any subsequent search would look for airmen, not a caravan of pony– and camel-drawn wagons.


There was going to be disappointment and resentment when the aircraft were destroyed. According to Milla, as soon as the women were informed that aircraft were coming, some of them immediately decided they'd be able to fly out on them. That wasn't going to happen.



note 100


Aboard Sea Gypsy Two



Somewhere Above the Gobi Desert


Mongolia



1525 2 May 1943




Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, climbed into the cockpit of the Catalina with the call sign «Sea Gypsy Two,» slipped into the copilot's seat, and strapped himself in. Moments before, he had been sleeping in the fuselage. Lieutenant Pickering and the pilot-in-command, Captain James B. Weston, USMC, had alternated flying the aircraft and sleeping during the long haul from Pearl Harbor. They didn't actually follow a schedule. Instead, one or the other kipped out when he felt the need to take a nap.


«Anytime, Jim,» Pick said.


Weston took his hands off the control wheel in an exaggerated gesture. «You've got it,» he said, as Pick put his hand on the wheel. For some time they'd been flying the airplane without the assistance of its autopilot. Though it had worked well on the eleven-hour leg from Pearl Harbor to the rendezvous with the

Sunfish

, it had gone out either during landing at the rendezvous, or while taking off. At near takeoff velocity, they had run into a large swell that had really shaken the bird.


«Where are we?» Pickering asked.


«I would estimate that we are perhaps two hundred feet above and three hundred feet behind that airplane out there,» Weston said, indicating the Catalina with «Sea Gypsy One» as its call sign.


«In other words, you have no idea?»


«I just told you where we are,» Weston said.


«There's not much down there, is there?»


«If there was something down there, there would probably be fighter strips to protect it,» Captain James B. Weston, USMC, replied. «You have to learn to look on the brighter side of things.»


«Do you have any idea where we are in relation to where we are supposed to be?»


«We should be where we're going in about an hour, God willing, and if the creek don't rise. I have faith in Major Williamson.»


«And if the sainted Major Williamson has fucked up somehow?»


«He's not the sort to fuck up, Pickering,» Weston said loyally.


«Excuse me,» Pick said sarcastically.


«On the other hand,» Weston said, a smile at the edge of his mouth. «You are a bona fide—capital

F

—fuckup, having been caught in carnal dalliance.»


«Fuck you, Captain, sir.»


«You know where that word comes from, don't you, Mr. Pickering?»


«I have no fucking idea.»


«England. When the cops locked up some guy for what you were doing, they wrote 'F.U.C.K.' in the blotter, standing for: For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.»


«My education is now complete,» Pick said. «Thank you so much!»


«Was she worth it, Mr. Pickering?»


«I am under orders, sir,» Pick said sarcastically, «as you well know, not to discuss the reasons I 'volunteered' for this.»


«We're no longer at Ewa,» Weston said. «And we're friends, right?»


Pick didn't reply.


«I'm curious, that's all,» Weston said. «If you're uncomfortable talking about the lady who got you in so much trouble, don't. Your silence will, of course, confirm my worst suspicions.»


Pick looked at him. It had been decided from the first day that Major Williamson would train Lieutenant Stevenson as his copilot, and Weston would train Pickering as his. They had spent a lot of time together, both in the cockpit of the Catalina and at Muku-Muku.


During that time, Weston did not join Major Williamson and Lieutenant Stevenson on their frequent tours of the various officers' clubs on Oahu. Soon Pick had come to the conclusion that Weston was depriving himself of that pleasure because he was aware that they were off-limits to him, and didn't want to leave him alone. Even though being left alone at Muku-Muku was not the same thing as being locked in a basement with nothing to eat and drink but bread and water.


Pick had long before decided that Jim Weston was a really nice guy, even if he, like Williamson, was obviously out of his mind for volunteering for an idiot mission like this one.


I

don't want this guy to think I did something really immoral, like getting caught with some sixteen-year-old girl

.


«I loved, Captain sir, not too badly, but rather unwisely,» Pick said.


«What does that mean?»


«In hindsight, she wasn't worth getting myself all fucked up like this, but at the time I was thinking with my talleywacker, not my head,» Pick said. «And she did have magnificent teats.»


«What was wrong with her? You said you weren't serious about her?»


«I was solely interested in carnal pleasure, the sinful lusts of the flesh, as they are known,» Pick said. «The beloved of my life having recently told me that she had no interest at all, thank you, in becoming my blushing bride.»


«You got a Dear John?»


«Delivered in person. She went with me to a hotel—you know the San Carlos, in P'Cola?»


«Yeah, sure.»


«And no sooner had I closed the door and started to open the champagne thanshe delivered the dear john in person. And then walked out the door, leaving me with chilled champagne, an untouched bed, and a badly broken heart.»


«You know the other guy?»


«I don't think there was another guy,» Pick said. «That's why it hurt. I think she just didn't like me, period.»


«So you were on the rebound when you met this other woman?»


«I was, in the best traditions of a Marine officer, looking out for the welfare of my men. She was one of the chaperones at a service club dance for the enlisted men, and I went there to thank her for saving my innocent men from the wild women and other sinful pleasures of Memphis.»


Jim Weston chuckled. «And?»


«Out of a sense of duty, I danced with the lady. Whereupon she told me—while rubbing her belly against mine—that, one, her husband was out of town a lot, two, that he was considerably older than she was and, three, that she was lonely. One thing, as they say, led to another.»


«So what happened?»


«She was well known in Memphis. There was talk. The admiral commanding Memphis NAS placed me under arrest, had me hauled before him, and offered me my choice of volunteering for this, or a court-martial.»


«That's hard to believe,» Weston said.


«Write this down. It is a court-martial offense to have carnal knowledge of any female to whom you are not joined in holy matrimony.»


«If they enforced that, three quarters of the pilots I know would be in the Portsmouth Naval Prison.»


«Not including you, sir! Please don't tell me that, and shatter my impression of you as the perfect Marine officer.»


«That's all you did, diddle this one lady?»


«I diddled her more than once, of course,» Pick said. «But, baring my breast, there were a few other little things, like being out of uniform, et cetera, et cetera, but nothing serious. And you miss the point. I embarrassed the Admiral.»


«Did the Admiral know your father is a general?»


«He said that was the only reason he was giving me a chance to volunteer.»


«Does your father know?»


«By now, I'm sure he does. But he probably thinks I'm doing the noble thing. I'm not sure if I like that or not.»


Turnabout is only fair play

, Jim Weston decided at that moment.

And I'm more than a little sick of people thinking I'm here because I'm being noble. And I think Pickering is entitled to know the real reason why I'm here

.


«Can I tell you something in confidence?»


«That you have had carnal knowledge of a female to whom you are not joined in holy wedlock? I'm shocked to the core!»


«I'm serious, Pick. I wouldn't want this to go any further.»


«Sure. My lips are sealed. Boy Scout's Honor.»


«I didn't volunteer to fly this bus to be noble, either,» Weston said. «But pretending to be noble was the only way I could get Williamson—who really is noble—to take me along.»


«I don't follow that at all, sorry,» Pick said. «You didn't want to volunteer, but you did anyway? What are you talking about?»


«I needed to leave where I was,» Weston said, «and the only way I could get Major Williamson to take me along—he thought I had paid my dues to the Corps with that year in the Philippines; and between you and me, so do I—was to convince him that I was just as noble a Marine officer as he was, eager to sacrifice all for the glory of the Corps. That was pure bullshit, but he swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker.»


«You were at P'Cola, right? They were going to teach you how to fly all over again, was the story I got from Charley Galloway. You didn't want to do that?»


«There was a girl,» Weston said. «Actually two girls.»


«Really? Two at once?» Pick said. There was a tone of admiration in his voice.


«Two. One in Philadelphia, a Navy nurse. I think I'm in love with her.»


«And the other?»


«She was already at Pensacola. And I think I'm in love with her, too.»


«Well, then, you do have a problem,» Pick said. «You were actually dumb enough to propose to both of them at the same time?»


«Actually, they sort of proposed to me,» Weston said. «You know.»


«You mean, you diddled them, and in the morning they smiled sweetly at you and said, 'When do you think we should be married?' «


«Not exactly like that,» Weston said.


«I've been down that road several times. There is a very simple solution. You let them know that you're diddling someone else. Or two or more someone elses. You get a lot of tears, and on occasion, a slapped and/or scratched face; and they invariably take ten minutes to tell you what an unmitigated sonofabitch you are, but you're off the hook.»


«I'm not so sure I want off the hook,» Weston said. «My problem is that I would like to marry both of them.»


«They have laws against marrying more than one at a time,» Pick said.


«Yeah, I know,» Weston said. «The girl in Philadelphia, the one who got herself transferred to Pensacola to be near me, is really sweet. I'd hate to hurt her feelings.»


«But the one in P'Cola is a great piece of ass, right?»


«The best I've ever had,» Weston confessed.


«Then dump the nurse and marry the good piece of ass,» Pick said. «Sex is what makes the world go around.»


«I don't mean to give the impression that the girl in Pensacola is a tramp or anything like that.»


«Of course not,» Pick said. «But fucking is like golf. The more you do it, the better you get at it.»


«The one in Pensacola was married,» Jim Weston said. «Maybe that has something to do with that. She really likes to do it. I mean, if you're married, you get to like it, and then if you don't get it anymore you really miss it, right? Once we… started—«


«You mean began to screw?»


«Yeah. Once we began to screw, she couldn't seem to get enough. Once we did it in her father's quarters with her parents not fifteen feet away.»


«They call that condition 'hot pants.' In my experience it is a condition to be carefully nurtured. You said she was married?»


«Was,» Weston said.


«You ever happen to ask her what happened to her husband? What did she do, fuck him to death? That's not a bad way to go—better than getting shot down, for example—but it is something you should think about.»


«That's what happened to her husband. He got shot down at Wake Island. He was my best friend. Greg Culhane. I was his best man at their wedding.»


Weston looked over at Pickering. There was something very odd in Pick's expression.


«I told you, Pick, she's a nice girl…«


«When we get on the ground, I'm going to kill you!» Pick said.


«Excuse me?»


«When I get you on the ground, you miserable sonofabitch, you're going to wish the Japs had caught you on Mindanao!»


«What the hell's the matter with you?»


«Get out of here, or I'll kill you right now!»


Captain Weston considered his options and finally decided that the best thing to do under the circumstances was leave Pickering alone until he calmed down. «I'm going to take a leak,» he said. «If you need me up here, wiggle the wings.» He unstrapped himself and went back into the cabin.



note 101


Aboard Sea Gypsy One



Somewhere Above the Gobi Desert


Mongolia



1635 2 May 1943




During preparations for the flight back in Hawaii, it was decided that one of the meteorologists who had some knowledge of radio and navigation would ride with Major Avery Williamson on Sea Gypsy One. While at Ewa, Lieutenant Stevenson had trained him in the use of the radio direction finder, even though he suspected that the instrument wasn't going to work very well when they reached the Gobi.


The radio direction finder, a loop antenna that could be rotated through a 360-degree arc, was mounted on top of the fuselage toward the rear of the aircraft. When a radio signal was detected, the direction of the transmitting station could be determined by a signal-strength meter. When the meter indicated the strongest signal, the position of the antenna showed the direction of the transmitter.


Lieutenant Stevenson's expectation that there'd be problems proved to be correct: First, Station Nowhere was transmitting a signal for only ten seconds in each minute. And second, the signal was so weak that the needle on the signal-strength gauge hardly flickered.


The meteorologist aligned the antenna as best he could during the ten seconds Station Nowhere transmitted «SN SN SN» over and over again, then made his way forward to the cockpit to give Major Williamson the course toward it.


Williamson nodded his acceptance of the information, saw there was no reason to alter the course he was flying, and said, «Thank you.»


A voice came over his earphones: «Column of smoke on the horizon.»


There was no need for the person calling to identify himself. There was no other aircraft within hundreds of miles with an English-speaking pilot.


Williamson looked at the horizon. After a moment he was also able to make out what Pickering was seeing from Sea Gypsy Two, two hundred feet above him. It was dead ahead, no more than two degrees off the course they were flying.


Williamson dipped the wings of the Catalina to show Sea Gypsy Two that he had received the message, and decided that Pickering would know he, too, had seen the smoke when he changed course just slightly, but perceptibly, then lowered the nose just a tad and headed toward it.


Three minutes later, he saw two fires sending smoke into the air. A moment after that, he could see that the smoke was blowing directly toward him. He lowered the nose a tad more, retarded the throttles, and a moment later, ordered, «Gear down.»


Lieutenant Stevenson put the gear down.


«This will be a very low-and-slow approach,» Williamson announced.


«I can't see anything down there but snow,» Stevenson said. «Where's the people?»


«I don't know, but there's the wind sock, sort of, I was hoping to find,» Williamson said. «The trouble with this kind of snowy area is you can't tell how high off the ground you are.»


«Yeah,» Stevenson agreed.


Ninety seconds later, Stevenson said, «I can see what looks like snow-covered buildings down there. And there's some horses, and people. Off to the left.»


«If we run into a rock, remind me to cut switches,» Williamson said.


«Aye, aye, sir,» Stevenson said.


Twenty seconds later, the Catalina flew ten feet over the nearest fire. Three seconds after that, Williamson flared it out, and the wheels touched down.


«That was a greaser,» Lieutenant Stevenson said.


«It will have been a greaser if I can stop this thing before I run over the other fire,» Major Williamson said.


Lieutenant Stevenson was not at all surprised that the Catalina stopped smoothly and in a straight line well short of the second smoky fire.


Williamson turned the aircraft and very carefully taxied off the runway. When he was at right angles to it, he saw Sea Gypsy Two making its approach.


«Jesus, look at that,» Stevenson said. «Here comes a Chinese officer on a horse that's not much bigger than he is.»


Two minutes later, when he had shut the engines down, Williamson walked through the fuselage and pushed open the fairing that had replaced the Catalina's right bubble.


The Chinese officer on the horse saluted.


It looks like a very large, shaggy dog

, Williamson thought.


«Captain McCoy, sir. Welcome to Station Nowhere.»


So that is the legendary Killer McCoy, is it?


«Good afternoon, Captain,» Williamson said, snappily returning the salute. «It's very nice to be here.»


By then Sea Gypsy Two was on the ground and had taxied next to Sea Gypsy One.


The fairing that had replaced the right bubble of Sea Gypsy Two opened and a huge man wearing cold-weather gear and a chief petty officer's cap jumped out. He dropped to his knees and kissed the snowy ground. «Thank you, God!» he announced dramatically.


McCoy laughed.


«What was that all about?»


«That's Chief McGuire,» Major Williamson said dryly. «He was thrown over the side, so to speak, of the

Sunfish.'»


A second figure came through the opening.


«That's Captain James B. Weston,» Major Williamson said. «One hell of a man, one hell of a Marine. He was a guerrilla in the Philippines.»


«I know,» McCoy said, «What's he doing here?»


«He volunteered. You say you know him?»


«I met him briefly one time,» McCoy said. «In the Philippines.»


McCoy started to walk toward him.


A third figure came through the fairing and jumped to the ground.


In the instant McCoy recognized him, the third figure shouted furiously: «Don't try to get away from me, you sonofabitch!»


Captain Weston stopped and waited for Lieutenant Pickering to catch up with him. «What the hell is the matter with you, Pick?» he asked, confused, just before Lieutenant Pickering punched him in the mouth. Captain Weston fell over backward.


McCoy rushed to Pick and wrapped his arms around him. «What the hell is the matter with you?»


«That sonofabitch has not only been fucking my Martha,» Pick said, «but taking despicable advantage of her!»


«Oh, my God!» Captain Weston said. «You're the one she told me about!»


«Despicable advantage?» McCoy asked incredulously. «What the hell does that mean?»


«He's right,» Captain Weston said. «My behavior has been despicable.»


«I don't believe what I'm seeing,» Major Williamson said. «Pickering, you get your childish temper under control, or, so help me God, I'll have you placed in irons.»


«That might be a little difficult here, Major,» Captain McCoy said. «But I guess we could spread-eagle the crazy bastard on a wagon wheel.»


That was too much for Major Williamson. He could not control his laughter. That triggered the same reaction in Captain McCoy, making it very difficult to hold on to Pick.


«Lieutenant Pickering,» Major Williamson said, as sternly as he could, «you will consider yourself under arrest to quarters. And you, Weston, will stop your despicable behavior, whatever it is!»


These words triggered a further outburst of hysterical laughter from Major Williamson and Captain McCoy, and also served to dampen Lieutenant Pickering's fury.


McCoy, feeling him relax, let him go.


Pickering stood where he was, looking embarrassed.


But not before Chief Motor Machinist's Mate Frederick C. Brewer, USN, and Technical Sergeant Moses Abraham, with very confused looks on their faces, rode up to them on two very small ponies.


Only three people were in the ambulance now—Major Williamson, Chief Brewer, and McCoy—all that McCoy felt were needed to talk about what had to be done. This took no more than five minutes, including an explanation to Chief Brewer of the reasons why they had to immediately destroy the aircraft and move out of the area. Though Brewer seemed to accept all this calmly, McCoy wondered how successful Brewer would be in passing it on to the gypsies.


«The only question, as I see it,» McCoy said, «is whether we torch the airplanes now or in the morning. If we do it tonight, the light could be seen a long distance. In the morning, ditto for the smoke.»


«There is one more option, Captain, that you haven't considered,» Major Williamson said.



«Sir?»


«We had a tailwind coming in here,» Williamson said. «I think there may be enough fuel remaining between the Catalinas to fly one of them out of here.»


«I hadn't even considered that,» McCoy said. «From the beginning, this was supposed to be a one-way mission.»


«I'd like to try it,» Williamson said. «I've got a wife and kids waiting for me in Pensacola.»


«Do you have a map?» McCoy asked. «There's an airfield at Yümen. That's where we came from.»


«That's where I was thinking we might go,» Williamson said. He took a folded map from the side pocket of his leather jacket. «You will notice, Captain, that this is not your standard aeronautical navigation chart,» Williamson added. «So this proposed flight plan will not be up to my usual impeccable standards.» He took a pencil from the same pocket and used it as an improvised compass to compute the distance from where they were to Yümen. Then, on the back of an envelope bearing the return address of the Pensacola Yacht Club, he made some quick—but careful—calculations.


«Yeah,» he said. «I think it can be done. Between the two airplanes, I think we should have enough fuel. Weston is a better Cat driver than I am; he probably has more fuel remaining than I do. And I've got enough for two hundred miles, maybe a little more.»


«How many people could you take with you?» McCoy asked. «The problem there, Captain,» Chief Brewer said, «is who would go? We have two really sick men and one sick woman. But who else?»


«I could probably take a ton,» Williamson said. «That's seven people at a hundred and fifty pounds per. The old rule of the sea is women and children first.»


McCoy did not respond directly. «And torch just the one plane,» he said.


«I have a suggestion there, too,» Williamson said. «Leave enough fuel in the tanks of the other Catalina for ten, fifteen minutes. Take it off. The pilot trims it up in a shallow climb and jumps. That would take it thirty, fifty miles—maybe more—before it ran out of gas and crashed. Empty, a Cat will glide a long way.»


«That way we wouldn't have to move right away,» McCoy said.


«Who would you send out?» Chief Brewer asked. «A lot of people will think they have the right to go.»


«Gunny Zimmerman is going out,» McCoy said, looking at Brewer. «And he's not about to leave his wife and kids again, so they're going.»


«That's liable to cause some resentment,» Chief Brewer said.


«So is Mrs. Banning and her baby,» McCoy said.


«When my people find out that a plane is leaving,» Chief Brewer said, «they'll want to decide who goes on it. Either vote on it or maybe pick names out of a hat.»


«This is not open for discussion, Chief,» McCoy said coldly. «Gunny Zimmerman is going, and so are his wife and kids. And Mrs. Banning and her baby. If there's any more room, then the sick people. And if there's any room after that, you can send whoever you want.»


«You're going?» Brewer asked.


«No, I'm not. Major Williamson will pick his copilot. Everybody else stays.»


Williamson raised one eyebrow but said nothing.


«If we're going to do this,» McCoy said, «we'll have to do it first thing in the morning. So we'd better start getting the fuel transferred.»


«Okay. That shouldn't be much of a problem. Chief McGuire, the guy who kissed the ground, built some special fuel-transfer pumps to get fuel to the main from the auxiliary tanks—which he also built.»


«And there's one thing more,» McCoy said. «Major, I want you to find Lieutenant Colonel Ed Banning—he's probably in Chungking—and personally turn Zimmerman and the women over to him. I'm going to write Banning a letter saying how I think we can get the rest of these people out, and I don't want anybody but Banning to see it.»


«Sure,» Williamson said after a just barely perceptible hesitation.


I'll

be damned. I almost said, «Aye, aye, sir


«McCoy,» Williamson said. «If we can get the Army Air Corps in Yümen to loan us a C-46—or, for that matter, a C-47—we can get these people out of here in a matter of days.»


«No,» McCoy said simply.


«Just like that, 'no'?» Chief Brewer said. «Why not?»


McCoy turned to look at him. «The priority here, Chief, is to keep this weather station going. The only way to do that is not draw the Japs' attention to it. Every time an airplane leaves Yümen, the Japs know about it. And when it lands wherever it's going, they know about that, too. If a C-46 took off from Yümen and didn't land someplace else, the Japs would start wondering why. And start looking for answers.»


«It would only take one flight,» Brewer protested.


«I almost told Major Williamson to torch both planes,» McCoy said, «because when that Catalina lands at Yümen, the Japs will be wondering where it came from. And start looking for answers.»


And

, Williamson thought,

if he had told me to torch both planes, I would have

.


«I decided sending Gunny Zimmerman out,» McCoy went on, «justified the risk—«


«Your sergeant and his wife and kids, and the Colonel's wife and—« Chief Brewer interrupted.


«Get this straight, Chief,» McCoy cut him off, coldly angry. «I don't have to justify a goddamned thing to you.»


«McCoy,» Williamson said, «I can sort of understand the chief's position—«


«Or to you, either, Major,» McCoy snapped, turning to meet Williamson's eyes. «With respect, sir, I'm in command here. My orders regarding you and the other airplane drivers is to get you out of here as soon as I can, without endangering the mission. In other words, you'll go, or not go, when and how I decide.»


«No offense.»


«If you're uncomfortable flying the one plane out here, fine. I'll have Weston fly it out. The only reason I decided to let you fly it is that you're the only pilot who's married.»


«I didn't mean to question your authority, Captain.»


«Thank you, sir,» McCoy said.



note 102


Headquarters, 32nd Military District

Yümen, China

1430 3 May 1943


Major Avery Williamson, USMC, estimated that he had had one-point-two-five hours of fuel remaining when he touched down at Yümen, escorted by two Chinese Curtiss P-40 fighters that had intercepted him a hundred miles away.

He felt bad about that. He could have brought out more people, and it didn't help much to tell himself that he had done what he could to bring out as many people as he could, including flying without a copilot.

As he should have expected, Weston refused to fly as copilot. He could not ingood conscience do so, he said, if that would mean leaving women and children behind. Weston's selflessness had shamed Lieutenants Stevenson and Pickering into making the same statement. In fact, Pickering was so inspired—or maybe shamed—by Weston that he insisted on flying the other Catalina off into the desert and then parachuting from it.


Williamson waited to hear that Pickering had landed safely—a little bruised, but not seriously hurt—before taking off with Gunny Zimmerman and fifteen women and children aboard, plus two seriously ill male gypsies, a Yangtze River sailor, and a 15th Infantry soldier.


The two P-40s stayed on his wingtips until he actually touched down, then they added throttle and went around to land themselves. Until the very last moment, Williamson suspected, they probably feared he was a Japanese aircraft in American markings. They didn't see many Catalinas in inland China, and, with the bubbles removed and faired over, his Cat did not look like any of the Catalinas in the Aircraft Identification Charts.


Williamson was not surprised when he turned off the runway to find two machine-gun-mounted jeeps waiting for him, in addition to a Follow Me jeep. The fighters had obviously radioed ahead that a very strange aircraft, very possibly a Japanese suicide bomber, was on the way. The machine-gun jeeps followed him to the parking area in front of base operations.


A tall Marine officer came out of base operations. His overcoat collar was turned up against the icy wind.


Well, that's luck. A fellow Marine should know how I can find this fellow Banning.


Williamson shut the Cat's engines down. He wondered if the Air Corps had any people here who had ever even seem a Catalina before, and would be qualified to inspect it before he flew on to Chungking. If something needed to be replaced, whatever it was would have to be flown in, and Christ only knew how long that would take. Presuming that the airplane was OK, was he going to be expected to try to get it from here back to Pearl Harbor? Without a copilot?


Maybe

, he thought, as he climbed out of the seat, I

could just leave it parked here and see about getting a ride back to the States. God, I know better than that. I'm stuck in this frozen wonderland until I can fly this airplane out of here

.


«Everybody stay put, please, until I sort things out with the authorities here,» he called, and then walked toward the fairing that had replaced the bubble. As he passed Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman, the tough Old Breed Marine was in the process of changing a diaper. As he passed Mrs. Banning, he saw that she was weeping uncontrollably.


Tough lady

, Williamson thought admiringly.

She didn't break down until she knew she and her baby were really out

.


Williamson jumped to the ground. The machine guns in the jeeps swiveled in on him. Only half in jest, he raised both hands above his head.


The Marine lieutenant colonel snapped something furiously in Chinese, waited until the muzzles had been diverted, and then walked toward Williamson.


Williamson saluted. «Major Williamson, sir. Avery R. I've just come, believe it or not—«


«I have a very good idea where you came from,» the Lieutenant Colonel said. «Is Captain McCoy all right? And Zimmerman?»


«Everybody is, sir. Zimmerman is aboard the aircraft.»


«Zimmerman is? What's that all about? Is he injured?»


«He's carrying a message for a Lieutenant Colonel Banning, sir.»


«I'm Banning,» Banning said. «What kind of message?»


Before Williamson could begin to reply, Banning spotted Zimmerman getting out of the airplane. «There he is,» Banning said, and, raising his voice: «Zimmerman, over here! What have you got for me?»


«Colonel, I think the message can wait a couple of minutes,» Williamson said.


Banning turned to him with surprise and disbelief on his face. «I beg your pardon, Major?»


«Mrs. Banning and your baby are on the Cat, sir.»


«Excuse me? What did you say?»


«Sir,» Williamson began, but he didn't have to repeat any more.


Mrs. Edward J. Banning had appeared in the fairing opening and her husband was rushing to her. And the child she held in her arms.



EPILOGUE


The Oval Office



The White House


Washington, D.C.



1430 5 May 1943




The President's Naval aide opened the door and announced, «Congressman Westminister and Colonel Donovan are here, sir.»


«Show them in,» President Roosevelt said.


Donovan entered the office first, followed by Representative Westminister, a tall, portly man with long silver hair, wearing a loose-fitting linen suit.


«Thank you for coming so quickly, Congressman,» the President said.


«Mr. President,» Westminister replied in a thick South Carolina accent.


«You're in distinguished company, Congressman,» the President said. «Now that Colonel Donovan has found time to come over to see me, we have two Medal of Honor winners in the room. Do you happen to know Colonel Stecker?»


«No, sir,» Westminister said. «I am truly honored to make your acquaintance, Colonel.»


Stecker, looking a little uncomfortable, shook the Congressman's hand.


«You know Senator Fowler, of course?» the President said. «And I suppose you met Colonel Donovan coming in?»


«Yes, sir, I did. Always good to see you, Senator,» Westminister said.


«Congressman,» Fowler said.


«And my son Jim,» the President said. «Major Roosevelt, of the Marine Corps, on which I am again smiling with great pride.»


«A great privilege, Major,» Congressman Westminister said.


«Before we go any further, Congressman,» Roosevelt said. «I think you better read this.» He handed him a very long sheet of teletypewriter paper, and then added, «I suspect from the look on his face that Colonel Donovan has already seen this.»


«Mr. President,» Donovan said. «The moment that came across my desk, I called to see when you could find time for me.»


«Then I guess my telling Admiral Leahy that I wanted to see anything dealing with the Gobi Desert operation and/or Captain McCoy the moment it came in was a good idea. My copy came into my hands an hour ago.»


Donovan smiled. It was obviously an effort.


Congressman Westminister read the long Special Channel message.


T O P S E C R E T


VIA SPECIAL CHANNEL


FROM OSS DEPUTY DIRECTOR FOR PACIFIC OPERATIONS


OSS STATION CHUNGKING


1845 LOCAL TIME 4 MAY 1943



TO DIRECTOR OSS WASHINGTON


EYES ONLY WILLIAM R. DONOVAN


1. REFERENCE YOUR PERSONAL TO UNDERSIGNED DATED 26 APRIL 1943 IN RE DIRECTIVE FROM COMMANDER IN CHIEF TO IMMEDIATELY PROVIDE BY MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS POSSIBLE ALL DETAILS REGARDING ACTIVITIES OF CAPT K.R. MCCOY AND OPERATION GOBI.


2. FORWARDED HEREWITH AS ATTACHMENT 1 IS VERBATIM AFTER ACTION REPORT FROM CAPT MCCOY RECEIVED 1640 LOCAL TIME THIS DATE. THE UNDERSIGNED BELIEVES THE COMMANDER IN CHIEF WILL PREFER TO RECEIVE THIS INFORMATION IMMEDIATELY, RATHER THAN HAVE IT DELAYED FOR HOWEVER LONG IT WOULD TAKE TO PREPARE IT IN A MORE FORMAL FORMAT.


3. FOR YOUR INFORMATION, THE UNDERSIGNED HAS DECIDED TO IMPLEMENT ALL REPEAT ALL OF CAPT MCCOYS RECOMMENDATIONS. COLONEL JACK NMI STECKER, SPECIAL ASSISTANT TO THE COMMANDANT USMC, SHOULD BE MADE AWARE IMMEDIATELY OF CAPT MCCOYS REQUIREMENTS VIS-A-VIS THE MARINE CORPS.


4. ALTHOUGH IT WAS NOT MENTIONED IN CAPT MCCOYS AFTER ACTION REPORT, LT COL EDWARD BANNING'S WIFE, LUDMILLA, AND THEIR INFANT SON EDWARD EDWARDOVITCH AND GUNNERY SERGEANT ERNEST ZIMMERMAN'S WTFE, MAE SU, AND THEIR THREE CHILDREN WERE FLOWN OUT OF THE DESERT AND ARE PRESENTLY IN CHUNGKING.


5. AT THE TIME LT COL BANNING WAS FORCED TO LEAVE HIS WIFE IN SHANGHAI, CONGRESSMAN ZACHARY W. WESTMINISTER III (D.THIRD DISTRICT S.C.) HAD INTRODUCED A PRIVATE BILL AUTHORIZING THE ENTRANCE OF MRS. BANNING TO THE UNITED STATES. THE STATUS OF THIS LEGISLATION IS NOT KNOWN. PLEASE INVESTIGATE AND ADVISE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, AS COL BANNING IS UNDERSTANDABLY EXTREMELY ANXIOUS TO SEND HIS FAMILY TO THE UNITED STATES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.


6. PLEASE CONTACT SENATOR FOWLER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND SOLICIT ON MY BEHALF THE INTRODUCTION OF A SIMILAR PRIVATE BILL FOR THE ENTRANCE INTO THE UNITED STATES OF MRS. ZIMMERMAN AND THE CHILDREN.


RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED


FLEMING PICKERING BRIG GEN USMCR


ATTACHMENT 1


STATION NOWHERE


2 MAY 1943



DEAR COL. BANNING:


IF YOU HAVE TO, SHOW THIS TO GENERAL PICKERING, BUT WHAT I'D REALLY LIKE YOU TO DO IS READ IT, PICK OUT THE PARTS YOU THINK MAKE SENSE, AND THEN GO TO THE GENERAL WITH THE GENERAL IDEA. I'M NOT VERY GOOD AT PUTTING THINGS DOWN ON PAPER.


THE THING IS, ZIMMERMAN WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG. THE WAY TO DO THIS WEATHER STATION OPERATION IS BY USING CAMEL CARAVANS. THAT WOULD HAVE WORKED FROM THE BEGINNING IF THE GYPSIES HAD A RADIO THAT WORKED, AND WE COULD HAVE FOUND OUT WHERE THEY WERE.


WELL, WE NOW KNOW WHERE THEY ARE, AND THE WEATHER STATION WILL BE MAKING ITS FIRST REPORT TOMORROW MORNING. THE PROBLEM IS NOW FIRST HOW TO KEEP IT WORKING, WHICH MEANS BOTH RESUPPLIED AND WITHOUT THE JAPS FINDING OUT ABOUT IT, AND SECOND GETTING OUT THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN, FIRST, AND THEN THE REST OF THE GYPSIES.


THAT BRINGS US BACK TO ZIMMERMAN'S CAMEL CARAVANS. I FOUND OUT IN YUMEN AND ON THE WAY HERE THAT THE WAY TO DO THAT IS VERY SIMPLE. GIVEzimmerman what money he needs, and it may take a lot, and let HIM HIRE THE CARAVAN PEOPLE AND PAY OFF THE BANDITS.


THIS IS WHAT I THINK SHOULD BE DONE.


ZIMMERMAN WILL STAY IN YUMEN AND ONCE A WEEK OR TEN DAYS SEND A CARAVAN TO ULAANBAATAR. IT WILL BE A LEGITIMATE CARAVAN, EXCEPT THAT IT WILL ALSO BE CARRYING RATIONS AND SUPPLIES FOR THE WEATHER STATION AND GAS FOR THE TRUCKS. THEY WON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE WE ARE, JUST THAT WE'LL MEET THEM ON THEIR WAY, SO THEY CAN'T SELL US OUT TO THE JAPS.


THE FIRST CARAVANS SHOULD CARRY WITH THEM SIX MARINES AND SOME BETTER WEAPONS THAN WE HAVE HERE. AIRCOOLED .30 BROWNINGS AND BARS AND MAYBE EVEN A MORTAR. WE WILL SEND OUT AS MANY GYPSIES AS YOU SEND IN MARINES. THIRTY WELL ARMED MARINES WILL GIVE US ALL THE PROTECTION WE NEED. AT LEAST TWO OF THEM SHOULD BE HIGH SPEED RADIO OPERATORS.


I KNOW THAT THE MINUTE HE HEARS ABOUT THIS, THAT OSS LIGHT BIRD IN CHUNGKING IS GOING TO COME UP WITH ALL SORTS OF REASONS WHY WE SHOULD HAVE TWO COMPANIES OF CHINESE INFANTRY OUT HERE PROTECTING US, AND BE RESUPPLIED BY AIRPLANE. THAT WOULD BE THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN. THE JAPS WOULD BE ALL OVER US, AND IT WOULD BE OUR FAULT.


DON'T PUT GENERAL PICKERING ON THE SPOT BY TELLING HIM THIS BEFORE HE MAKES UP HIS MIND WHAT TO DO, BUT I'M GOING TO SEND PICK AND LIEUTENANT STEVENSON OUT WITH THE FIRST CARAVAN, IF THERE IS A FIRST CARAVAN, BECAUSE THEY'RE OF NO USE TO ME HERE. WESTON HAS VOLUNTEERED TO STAY, AND ONE PART OF ME WANTS TO LET HIM, BECAUSE HE UNDERSTANDS WORKING BEHIND THE LINES, BUT THE OTHER PART OF ME SAYS THAT YEAR HE SPENT IN THE PHILIPPINES SHOULD GET HIM EXCUSED FROM A SHIT DETAIL LIKE THIS ONE. PARDON THE FRENCH. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH HIM.


SO FAR AS THE OTHERS ARE CONCERNED. ZIMMERMAN IS BRINGING OUT WITH HIM A ROSTER OF THE GYPSIES, PLUS THE NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THEIR NEXT OF KIN. I REALIZE THAT IT'S A DIRTY TRICK TO PLAY ON THEM, BUT I AM GOING TO SEND OUT THE MOST USEFUL PEOPLE LAST, MEANING THE MARINES FROM PEKING WILL BE THE LAST TO COME OUT, AND THE RETIRED PEOPLE FIRST, RIGHT AFTER THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN. DO YOU THINK WE COULD GET THE MARINES PROMOTED? IT WOULD MAKE THEM FEEL BETTER, AND AS YOU KNOW, THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF PEOPLE WE KNOW PROMOTED LATELY WHO PROBABLY SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN.


WHEN WE ARE DOWN TO THIRTY MARINES AND THE WEATHER PEOPLE, I'M GOING TO SEND CAPTAIN SAMPSON OUT. HE'S TURNED OUT TO BE NOT SO MUCH OF A CANDY ASS AS I FIRST THOUGHT, AND I WANT HTM TO TRAIN WHOEVER IS GOING TO COME IN HERE TO COMMAND THE DETAIL. I GUESS WHAT I'M SAYING IS THAT, IF POSSIBLE, I'D RATHER NOT SPEND THE REST OF THE WAR HERE.


FINALLY, I NEED A FAVOR. PLEASE TELL ERNIE BOTH THAT I'M ALL RIGHT AND LOOKING FORWARD TO COMING HOME SOMEDAY, AND ALSO ASK HER TO MAKE SURE, WHEN THIS OPERATION IS RUNNING SMOOTHLY AND ZIMMERMAN AND HIS WIPE CAN LEAVE YUMEN, THAT HE HAS WHATEVER MONEY HE NEEDS TO GET HIS WIFE AND KIDS INTO THE STATES AND SET UP THERE.


BEST REGARDS AND RESPECTFULLY,


KEN


K. R. MCCOY, CAPT, USMCR


END ATTACHMENT


T O P S E C R E T


Congressman Westminister finished reading the Special Channel and looked at President Roosevelt.


«That's a lot to put on your plate at one time, Congressman,» the President said.


«Yes, sir, it is,» Westminister said. «But so far as my private bill is concerned, it is the law of the land. But I'm going to have to think a minute about how that applies to the child.»


«My understanding of the law, Congressman,» Senator Fowler said, «and I just got off the phone with the Attorney General before you came in, is that any child born outside the country to an American officer serving abroad is considered to be a native-born citizen. That clearly applies to Colonel Banning's child, and the Consul General will be directed, today, to issue him a passport.»


«The Attorney General wanted to split a hair,» the President said, «about whether that applied to Sergeant Zimmerman, who is a noncommissioned officer, not a commissioned officer. I told him that so far as I was concerned, an officer was an officer, noncommissioned or not, and that he was to immediately direct our Consul General in Chungking to issue passports to Sergeant Zimmerman's children, and further to issue Mrs. Zimmerman a nonquota immigration visa, to which she is entitled as the next of kin to an American citizen.»


«1 believe that is the law, Mr. President,» Congressman Westminister said.


«The question then was Mrs. Banning's status, whether she could come here as Mrs. Zimmerman will, or whether your private bill had become law,» the President said. «You have answered that question.»


«I'll have a copy of my private bill on the Attorney General's desk within the hour, Mr. President,» Westminister said. «May I inform Colonel Banning's parents, Mr. President? This—this message, whatever it is, is classified Top Secret.»


«I'm glad you mentioned that,» the President said. «I don't think the security of the nation would be seriously imperiled if you informed the Colonel's parents that their daughter-in-law will shortly be at their door. But do not get into the circumstances.»


«And their grandchild,» Congressman Westminister said emotionally. «They don't know about him. Mr. President, Colonel Banning's daddy and I were classmates at The Citadel. I was best man at their wedding. This news will be very welcome in South Carolina.»


«Well, then, Congressman,» the President said, «why don't you get on the telephone and deliver it? Together with an expression of my gratitude for the splendid service their son is rendering to the country?»


«Yes, sir, Mr. President, that's just what I'll do,» Congressman Westminister said. «Thank you, sir.»


He handed the Special Channel message to the President and left the Oval Office.


The President waited until the door had closed after him.


«You know what I've always wanted to do?» he asked. «Put someone with a South Carolina accent like that one together with somebody from say, Ogonquit, Maine, and see if either of them could understand a word of what the other was saying.»


There was dutiful laughter.


The President turned to Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker. «Colonel, it should go without saying, but perhaps it would make things easier if you told the Commandant of my great interest in seeing that Captain McCoy gets whatever he wants from the Marine Corps.»


«Aye, aye, sir,» Colonel Stecker said.


«Sir,» Major Roosevelt asked. «Where are you going to get the Marines to send to the Killer?» He paused. «I was thinking about Raiders.»


«So was I,» Stecker said. «I saw a personnel report a couple of days ago. There's at least that many Raiders in the States, really serious malaria cases sent here torecover. they're all right now, but the medics say it would be best if they weren't sent back to the Tropics. Whatever it is, the Gobi Desert is not the Tropics.»


«Wouldn't they have to be volunteers?» the President asked.


«Dad, they're Raiders,» Major Roosevelt replied, smiling. «They'll volunteer, especially if they hear the Killer's involved.»


«And the promotions Captain McCoy asked for?» the President asked.


«That will be no problem, sir,» Stecker said. «I think a two-stripe promotion for all the Marines would be justified.»


«I'd like to decorate them,» the President said, and then went off at a tangent. «What was behind that crack McCoy made about he and Banning knowing people who shouldn't have been promoted?»


Colonel Stecker looked uncomfortable.


«Let's have it, Colonel,» the President said.


«Sir, Captain McCoy questions whether he has the education and experience to be a captain,» Stecker said.


«He obviously has the intelligence and experience to carry off an operation that a large number of far senior officers thought couldn't be done,» Roosevelt said, looking at Colonel Donovan as he spoke. «So he's wrong. Please tell the Commandant, Colonel, that the Commander in Chief feels that both Captain McCoy and Sergeant Zimmerman are deserving of promotion.»


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«And as far as the Killer's—excuse me,

Captain McCoy's

—lack of education is concerned, is there any reason he could not be sent to the Command and General Staff College when he returns?»


«No, sir,» Colonel Stecker said.


«See that it happens, Colonel,» the President said.


«Aye, aye, sir.»


«Finally, will someone translate…« The President paused and picked up the Special Channel message and found what he was looking for before going on. «Captain McCoy's reference to Captain Weston's having earned an excuse from this—what a lovely, succinct phrase— 'shit detail' because he served a year in the Philippines?»


«Sir,» Colonel Stecker replied, «Captain Weston refused to surrender when the Philippines fell. He was serving as General Fertig's intelligence officer on Mindanao until he was ordered out.»


«And the minute he was back here he volunteered for this 'shit detail'?» the President asked incredulously.


«That's about it, Mr. President,» Colonel Stecker replied. «He's an experienced Catalina pilot, and felt it was his duty to volunteer.»


«Is he married?»


«No, sir.»


«Where was he stationed?»


«Pensacola, sir.»


«Colonel Donovan,» the President said, «immediately Special Channel General Pickering that as soon as a replacement for Captain Weston can be sent in, he is to be brought out of the Gobi Desert and returned to Pensacola.»


«Yes, Mr. President.»


The President put his cigarette holder in his mouth at a rakish angle and smiled mischievously.


«As I recall, the beaches of Pensacola abound with healthy young women clad in bathing costumes Eleanor finds scandalous. Perhaps Captain Weston can, so to speak, cast a line into the water and reel one—or more—of them in.»




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SEVEN

Table of Contents

Prologue

At the start of the war in Europe, the Italians, the Germans, and the Japanese had become allies, called the ‘Axis Powers’ soon afterward, the Italians and Germans left Shanghai; yet even before that, it was clear they were not going to challenge Japanese authority in the city in any way. Meanwhile, following their defeat in Europe, the French had withdrawn their troops from China and had signed a «Treaty of Friendship» with the Japanese that permitted the Japanese to use military air bases and naval facilities in French Indochina. Finally, in August 1940, the British had announced their withdrawal from Shanghai and northern China.

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«Good morning, sir,» he said.

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Chapter Two

Chapter Three

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Chapter Four

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Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

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The Joint Chiefs of Staff

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«You think you're going to be as lucky the next time?» Weston asked.

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Roger H. Walters

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Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

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T O P S E C R E T

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EPILOGUE

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