I don’t think so, Ken,” the pilot, Major Alex Donald, said.
“Hell!”
“Maybe the F-51 can,” Donald said.
“And you can talk to him?” McCoy asked.
“No problem.”
“How are we fixed for fuel?”
“Not well. No matter where we go, we’ll have to refuel first.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Donald started for the helicopter.
McCoy turned to MacNamara. "MacNamara, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Trying to get to Wonsan.”
“You’re not going to get there on this road,” McCoy said. “It ends at a lake—no ferry—about three miles from here. I’ll leave one of my men with you, and he’ll get you onto a road around the lake.”
“Thank you,” MacNamara said. “I appreciate that.”
“I owe you,” McCoy said. He put out his hand and then trotted to the helicopter.
Before he got there, an Air Force F-51 flew over them, very slowly.
When McCoy climbed into the cockpit, the voice of the F-51 pilot was already coming over the headset.
“Road Service, Air Force three oh seven. I have you in sight. How do you read?”
McCoy grabbed the microphone.
“Air Force three oh seven, this is Army four zero zero three.”
“Zero zero three, are you the black helicopter on the ground?”
“Air Force three oh seven, can you contact the aircraft carrier Badoeng Strait? They’re operating in the Sea of Japan.”
“I don’t know. Who is this?”
"Please call the Badoeng Strait. Let me know if you get through.”
“Who is this?”
“A friendly word of advice, Air Force three oh seven— do what I ask, and do it now.”
“Stand by.”
There was a sixty-second wait, and then: “Negative on contact with the Badoeng Strait.”
Major Donald was now sitting beside McCoy. He put his hand out for the microphone, and McCoy gave it up.
“Three oh seven,” Donald ordered, “climb to ten thousand and try it again on the emergency frequency.”
“Stand by.”
This time the delay was on the order of four minutes, which gave Donald time to fire up the H-19A.
“Army four zero zero three, Air Force three oh seven is in contact with the Badoeng Strait.”
Donald handed McCoy the microphone.
“Air Force three oh seven, stand by to relay message to Badoeng Strait. Message follows: ‘For Colonel William Dunn. Bingo. Killer. Heads up. En route.’ Got that?”
“Got it. Stand by.”
This time the wait was less than sixty seconds.
“Army four zero zero three, Badoeng Strait acknowledges. ”
“How are you fixed for fuel?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Could you fly cover for us for a while?”
“Affirmative. I have one hour fuel aboard. Who are you?”
“Thank you, Air Force three oh seven. We’re taking off now.”
McCoy turned to Donald and made a lifting motion— take it up—with his hands.
Then he said, “Oh, shit!”
Donald took his hands off the controls and looked at McCoy.
“I told MacNamara I’d leave him somebody to get him on the right road,” McCoy said.
He leaned between the seats of the cockpit so that he could shout into the passenger compartment.
“The Army’s lost,” he called. “Leave two men and a map behind to get them on the road around the lake.”
Sixty seconds after that, two men in black pajamas got out of the H-19A and ran just far enough away so that Donald could see them. When he did, the H-19A lifted off.
[THREE]
USS BADOENG STRAIT (CVE 116) 37.9 DEGREES NORTH LATITUDE 129.59 DEGREES EAST LONGITUDE THE SEA OF JAPAN 1305 14 OCTOBER 1950
Lieutenant Colonel William Dunn, USMC, still in his flight suit, had been on the bridge ever since the captain had sent for him after getting the cryptic message from Air Force three oh seven on the emergency frequency.
“Bridge, Radar,” the squawk box announced.
“Bridge,” the talker replied.
“We have a slow-moving aircraft at a thousand feet at fifteen miles heading three hundred degrees.”
“Acknowledged,” the captain responded personally. “Keep me advised.”
The captain turned to Colonel Dunn.
“That’s probably your helo,” he said. “Who else would it be?”
“Sir,” Dunn said, “it just occurred to me that an Army pilot probably has never made a carrier landing.”
“Why the hell is he coming here?” the captain asked, and then without waiting for a reply, ordered: “Turn into the wind. Prepare to recover U.S. Army helicopter.” Then he had another thought, and issued other orders. “Engine room, full astern. Flight deck, make all preparations for a crash landing.”
“Turn into the wind, aye, aye, sir,” the talker parroted into his microphone. “Prepare to recover U.S. Army helicopter, aye, aye, sir. Engine room, full astern, aye, aye, sir. Flight deck, make all preparations for a crash landing, aye, aye, sir.”
There was immediately the sound of a Klaxon, and another voice on