meant that his conversation with Mrs. Pickering was over.
Hart signaled with a wave of his hand for Master Sergeant Paul Keller to follow him into the small room.
Pickering didn’t seem to notice their presence.
“It’s about that time, boss,” Hart said. “We better get out to Haneda. Trans-Global may surprise us all by arriving on time.”
Hart got neither the laugh nor the dirty look he expected from Pickering. Instead, Pickering looked at them thoughtfully.
“Sir?” Hart asked.
“I want a straight answer from you two,” Pickering said. “You listening, Paul?”
“Yes, sir?”
“A lot has gone on in Korea that I don’t—we don’t, and especially Colonel Banning doesn’t—know much about. The helicopters, for one thing, and this Army lieutenant colonel who apparently has not only stolen a Beaver from the Eighth Army commander but seems to have taken over our villa in Seoul,” Pickering said. “Right?”
“That’s right, sir,” Hart said. “Are you worried about Colonel Vandenberg?”
Pickering didn’t respond.
“George,” he went on, “you and I have never been inside the Seoul villa, and all we know about it is what Bill Dunston has told us about it.”
“The Killer seems impressed with this Vandenburg guy,” Hart said.
Again, Pickering didn’t respond.
“Neither have we been to Socho-Ri,” Pickering said.
“No, we haven’t,” Hart agreed.
“And obviously, Banning should meet Dunston and Vandenburg, and have them and McCoy and Zimmerman bring him up to speed on what’s going on. All of these things would seem to indicate that we get Banning and ourselves to Seoul as quickly as possible, even if Ed Banning’s ass is dragging after having flown halfway around the world.”
“Makes sense to me, boss,” Hart said.
“Okay, here’s the question, and kindness should not color your answer: Who made that decision, your steel-backed, cold-blooded commander thinking of nothing but the mission, or a father who desperately wants to see his son?”
There was silence.
“You first, Paul,” Pickering said.
“Jesus, General,” Keller said. “If it was me, and if my son, if I had one, was just coming back from wherever the hell he’s been, I’d be on the next plane to Korea, and I wouldn’t even think of Dunston and Socho-Ri and the rest of it.”
Pickering met his eyes for a moment, then looked around for Hart. Hart was across the room, on the telephone.
“Whoever that it is, George, it’ll have to wait,” Pickering said. “I want an answer.”
Hart covered the telephone microphone with his hand.
“Where are we going? Pusan or Seoul?” he asked.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning if we can get on the 1500 courier plane to Seoul, you’ll have time to meet Colonel Vandenburg this afternoon and tonight, then fly to Socho-Ri in the morning and see the Killer and Zimmerman, and then be in Pusan probably four, five hours before the tin can can get Pick off the carrier and deliver him there. Which means, your choice, you can have Dunston fly to Seoul from Pusan this afternoon—my suggestion—or have him wait for you in Pusan.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” Pickering said.
“Yes it is, boss,” Hart said softly but firmly. “I kept my mouth shut when you and the Killer were going through that ‘we can’t use a helicopter that’s needed to transport the wounded to look for him’ noble Marine Corps bullshit, but enough’s enough. You have valid reasons to go to Korea. Be glad you do. You and Pick are entitled to get together. Now, where are we going, Pusan or Seoul?”
After a long pause, Pickering said, “Seoul.”
Hart nodded and returned to the telephone.
“Brigadier General F. Pickering, USMC, will require three seats on the 1500 courier to Seoul,” he said.
Whoever he was talking to said something.
“Hey, Captain!” Hart barked into the phone, interrupting the person on the other end. “Whoa! Save your breath! I don’t give a good goddamn if you have seats available or not. We have a priority that’ll bump anybody but Douglas MacArthur, and we intend to use it. Am I getting through to you?”
Hart turned to Pickering, intending to smile at him. He saw that Pickering had stood up and was looking out the window. As Hart watched, Pickering blew his nose loudly.
“We’re on the 1500, boss,” Hart said.
General Pickering nodded his understanding, but he didn’t trust his voice to speak.
[TWO]
USS MANSFIELD (DD-728) 37.54 DEGREES NORTH LATITUDE 130.05 DEGREES EAST LONGITUDE THE SEA OF JAPAN 1505 16 OCTOBER 1950
Lieutenant Commander C. Lewis Matthews III, USN, a very large, open-faced thirty-nine-year-old, took a final look out the spray-soaked window of his bridge, then walked to the rear of the bridge and pressed the ANNOUNCE lever