passes. That means you can go, in uniform, on little tours of the local area we organize. Free bus service, of course. And, sometimes, when accompanied by a responsible family member or friend—have you got a girlfriend?”
“Not anymore.”
“Pity. What happened?”
“None of your goddamn business, Doctor.”
“Well, in Category Three, if you had—or get—a girlfriend, and we thought she was responsible, you could get a six-hour, sometimes an all-day, pass with her.”
“No girlfriend.”
“As I said, a pity.”
“Is there a Category Four?”
“No. If we don’t think you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, there’s no sense in keeping you here.”
“Why don’t we just start with that? I’m not going to hurt myself or anyone else. I’m probably at least as sane as you are. So why do we have to play this game?”
“It’s policy.”
“Fuck your policy.”
“You’re fond of that phrase, aren’t you? That’s what you told the doctor on the med-evacuation flight.”
“It’s a useful phrase.”
“Any questions, Major?”
“How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?”
McGrory laughed.
“By working your way up through Category Three. That means we’re going to have to talk.”
“About . . . what was it you said, my ‘ordeal’?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Doctor.”
“I hadn’t intended to,” McGrory said. “Well, that’s it. You can go back to your room and fill out your Ship’s Store list. And call your mother. If she wants to come see you, that can be arranged. The nurse’ll explain the rules, visiting hours, et cetera. I’ll see you later.”
“I don’t have any choice there, do I?”
“No. Afraid not. For what it’s worth, Major: You can make this as easy or hard as you want. Your choice.”
Pick stood up, looked at Dr. McGrory for a moment, and then started out of the office.
His right foot came out of the slipper. He looked down, then kicked off the left slipper and walked down the corridor barefoot.
[FOUR]
THE RACE TRACK SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA 1230 28 OCTOBER 1950
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, jumped nimbly to the ground from the rear door of the Beaver, exchanged salutes with Lieutenant Colonel D. J. Vandenburg, USA, and then looked back at the airplane. Major Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, was climbing down from the copilot’s seat.
McCoy could not conceal that stretching his leg to get his foot onto the step mounted on the landing gear strut was painful, or that it hurt like hell when he jumped the rest of the way to the ground.
Pickering glanced at Vandenburg and saw on his face that he had seen the same thing he had.
McCoy saluted Vandenburg crisply and smiled.
“I see the colonel has appropriated my vehicle,” he said, gesturing toward the Russian jeep.
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Vandenburg said.
“He says he’s fine,” Pickering said. “I have very serious doubts about that.”
“I’m all right, sir,” McCoy said.
“In a pig’s ass, you are,” Vandenburg said.
Major Alex Donald, who had flown to Pusan to pick up Pickering and McCoy, finished shutting down the airplane and climbed down from the cockpit.
He saluted Vandenburg and said, “Every time I come in here in the Beaver, I devoutly hope there is truth in that crack that the best place to hide something is in plain sight.”
“I’m told General Walker remains convinced his missing airplane is somewhere in Korea,” Vandenburg said. “The last I heard, he was looking around Pusan.” He paused and then looked at Pickering. “We’re going to have to talk about that, sir. The Beaver is assigned to the Presidential Mission, and General Howe—”
“Let’s talk about it at lunch,” Pickering said. “Is there going to be any trouble about the airplane while it’s here?”
Vandenburg pointed toward the base operations shack. Coming toward them from it were Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, and two other Marines, all armed with Thompson submachine guns.
“I thought a perimeter guard might be in order,” Vandenburg said matter-of-factly.
Jennings saluted.
“You all right, Major?” he asked. “We heard you got—”
“I’m fine, Jennings, thank you,” McCoy said.
“You may have to carry him to the Russian jeep, Sergeant,” Pickering said. “But aside from that—”
McCoy trotted to the Russian jeep, jumped nimbly into the backseat, and called, “Anytime the general is ready, sir!”
Pickering turned his back to him and said to Vandenburg and Jennings, “That obviously hurt him. Let’s act as if we don’t think so. But one of the things I intended to tell you, Colonel, is that under no circumstances is he to go forward of our lines.”
“I understand, sir.”
“And if you or any of your men hear that he’s planning to do something like