his feet, say the right thing, was what had made him “Salesman of the Month” at Mike O’Brien’s DeSoto-Plymouth Agency in East Orange, New Jersey, month after month.
Major Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, climbed down somewhat awkwardly from the right side of the Beaver and surveyed his staff—Captain Dunwood and Master Gunner Zimmerman—who were on hand to greet him.
“You’re back?” Zimmerman asked. “What’s with the leg?”
“I’m all right,” McCoy said. “We brought two pigs and three crates of chickens, which have made a real mess of the airplane. Get it cleaned up before that—‘shit’ is the word—has a chance to dry.”
“Okay,” Zimmerman said.
“Use Koreans; I need to talk to the Marines. Your Marines, Dunwood.”
“Yes, sir,” Dunwood said. “Sir, may I have a minute or two?”
“Just as soon as I finish talking to your Marines,” McCoy said. “Get them under the camouflage.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Dunwood said. “I just need a couple of minutes, sir.”
“When I’m finished talking to your Marines,” McCoy said, not very pleasantly.
“Yes, sir.”
Jesus Christ, is he going to tell us, “Thank you. And give my regards to the 5th Marines when you get back there”?
“Can everybody hear me?” Major McCoy asked five minutes later, as he stood on the landing-gear strut of one of the H-19s under the camouflage netting.
There were murmurs that he could be heard.
“I don’t really know where to begin,” McCoy said. “Okay. Say what’s on my mind. One of the first things I learned when I came in the Corps was never to volunteer for anything. So what I’m looking for here is volunteers.”
There was laughter.
“Major, we heard you was shot?” a voice called.
“I took a piece of shrapnel,” McCoy said. “I was almost a soprano, but aside from that, I’m okay.”
He looked around the Marines gathered in a half-circle around him.
“From here on, what I say is Top Secret,” he said. “If the wrong people hear what I’m about to say, people will die. I want that clearly understood.”
There had been murmurs and whispered conversation. Now there was silence.
"X Corps has landed farther north,” McCoy began. “Their orders are to strike northward, past the Chosin Reservoir, to the Manchurian border. There is a very good chance the Chinese are going to come into the war just as soon as we get close to the border.
“I think there are several hundred thousand of them. I don’t think many people agree with me. I know they don’t. But that’s what I believe. So what I need to do is put people out ahead of our forces—both 1st MarDiv and the Army’s 7th Infantry Division—to find out where the Chinese are, so that our people at least have some warning.
“The way to do that, I think, is to insert people, listening posts, in enemy territory. That’s what you’ve been practicing to do. There are lots of problems with this, starting with the fact that if the Chinese detect you there, that’ll be it. We can’t risk losing one or both of the Big Black Birds trying to rescue people. The two we have is all there is.
“And I can’t send you on missions like these as Marines, even as volunteers. Marines don’t abandon people to the enemy. We’re going to have to do just that. And since this whole thing is secret, we can’t afford to have some well-meaning Marine wanting to live up to ‘we’re Marines, we don’t leave people, dead or alive, behind,’ and asking questions we can’t answer.”
“So what are you asking, Major?” a voice called.
“The rules don’t apply to Marines serving in the CIA,” McCoy said. “So I need people to volunteer for the CIA.”
Now there were murmurs.
Captain Dunwood, who had been standing to one side of the half-circle, walked toward the center.
“Sir?”
McCoy silenced him with a hand raised, palm outward.
“There will be no pressure on anybody to volunteer. I’m not sure I would. But now that the cat’s out of the bag—and this isn’t a threat—what happens now is that we’re all in the bag. Mail will come in, but none goes out, except for a final letter saying you’ll be out of touch for a while. And when this is over, those who don’t think going into the CIA makes sense will be sent to the States. If there’s a leak, Naval Intelligence will find out, and there’ll be court-martials. But if you keep your mouth shut, no one will even know you were asked to volunteer.”
“Sir?” Dunwood said again.
McCoy glared at him.
“You have something to say, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. Sir, the