Major McCoy and (b) should not leave this cabin.”
“Let’s hear it,” the captain said, “whether or not the major is annoyed.”
“Christ, Billy!” McCoy protested.
“Let’s have it, Colonel,” the captain ordered.
“When Major McCoy was attached to Naval Element, Supreme Headquarters,” Dunn said, “he turned in to Supreme Headquarters an analysis which indicated the North Koreans were planning to invade South Korea in June. His conclusions went against those formed by General Willoughby. Not only was McCoy’s analysis ordered destroyed, but they tried to kick him out of the Marine Corps, and almost succeeded.”
“I find that, too, hard to believe,” the captain said. “Where did you get that?”
Dunn replied, “From General Pickering, sir, the Deputy Director of the CIA for Asia.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” the captain said.
“In what I personally regard an act of courage,” Dunn went on, “McCoy got his draft copy of his analysis to General Pickering, for whom he had worked when they were both in the OSS during World War Two. General Pickering took McCoy’s analysis to Admiral Hillencoetter, the Director of the CIA. The admiral didn’t believe it, either, apparently, until the North Koreans came across the border. But when that happened, the admiral gave McCoy’s analysis to the President, who thereupon called General Pickering to active duty, named him Deputy Director of the CIA for Asia, and ordered the Commandant of the Marine Corps that McCoy not only not be involuntarily separated but that he be assigned to General Pickering.”
“I really don’t know what to say,” the captain said.
“Sir,” McCoy said, “with all possible respect, I ask you to forget this conversation ever took place.”
“Forget this conversation? How could I ever do that? But you have my word that what was said in this cabin will never get out of this cabin. And if I owe you an apology, Major, consider it humbly offered.”
“No apology is necessary, sir. None of this conversation would have happened if I hadn’t run off at the mouth.”
“What I think happened there, Killer,” Dunn said, “is that even you, the legendary Killer McCoy, was understandably emotionally upset with relief when you snatched your best friend literally from death’s door. Under those circumstances, a moment’s indiscretion is understandable.”
“I didn’t do anything, Billy,” McCoy said. “I told you, Pick found a lost Army convoy.”
Thirty minutes later, the black H-19A lifted off the flight deck of the USS Badoeng Strait without incident and headed for the eastern shore of the Korean Peninsula.
[SIX]
USAF AIRFIELD K-1 PUSAN, SOUTH KOREA 1405 14 OCTOBER 1950
After Ernie McCoy dropped her at Haneda Airfield, outside Tokyo, Miss Jeanette Priestly of the Chicago Tribune had been told that there were no direct flights from Japan to the airstrip at Wonsan. Just returned to service, the airstrip would take nothing larger than twin-engined C-47 aircraft. But inasmuch as there were very limited refueling capabilities at Wonsan, and the C-47 could not make it to Wonsan from Tokyo with enough fuel remaining to make it back to K-1 at Pusan, Tokyo-Wonsan service was out of the question.
What she would have to do is fly first to K-1, then see what she could do there about further transportation to Wonsan.
With some difficulty, she managed to get a seat on the next Pusan-bound C-54.
The dispatcher at Pusan base operations was polite but firm.
To board a Wonsan-bound aircraft, it would be necessary for her to have an authorization from the Eighth Army Rear Press Officer. There could be no exceptions. And no, he could not provide her with transportation to the Eighth Army Rear Press Office. Perhaps if she called them, they might be willing to send a jeep for her.
Jeanette went to the highway, took off her cap, unbraided her long blond hair, and let it fall around her shoulders.
The drivers of the first two jeeps to pass her stared openmouthed at the sight of a fatigues-clad lady with long blond hair hitchhiking. The driver of the third jeep slammed on his brakes, backed up, and told her he would carry her anywhere in the Orient she wanted to go.
He dropped her at the Eighth Army Rear Press Office, a collection of Quonset huts near the railroad station in downtown Pusan.
There, first a corporal, then a technical sergeant, then a captain, and finally a major with a very neatly trimmed pencil-line mustache told her essentially the same thing, that there was a lot of demand for air passage to Wonsan— “Every reporter in Korea wants to be able to say they were waiting on the beach