Almond pulled open a desk drawer and came out with a bottle of Old Forrester bourbon.
“Is this a good idea?” Almond asked. “You look feverish. Do you have a fever?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead came around the desk and put his fingers to McCoy’s forehead.
“You have a fever,” he announced. “Is this whiskey a good idea?”
“I’ll be all right, sir,” McCoy said.
Almond signaled Haig to hand over the glass Haig had in his hand. He poured whiskey into it and McCoy drank it down.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked at Almond. “I had a bad early morning, sir.”
“Did you?”
“We were exfiltrating stay-behinds,” he said. “One of the teams was overrun. We brought the bodies back with us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“They were . . . uh . . . pretty badly mutilated,” McCoy said softly. “And we didn’t think to take ponchos with us. So . . . uh . . . the reason I’m not in my pajamas is . . . uh . . . that they really needed to be washed.”
“How many men?” Almond asked softly.
“Four, sir. It was their first time out—they were some of the Marines that you borrowed to guard the hangar at Kimpo, and who I asked to volunteer for this stay-behind exercise.”
He held his hand to his head for a moment.
“And that sonofabitch says there are no Chinese? Who does he think is running the ridges, looking for my stay-behinds? The North Koreans? They left their dead behind, too, so that there could be no question who did the . . . goddamn fucking butchery.”
“Take it easy, Major,” Almond said.
“Sorry, sir,” McCoy said.
“You want some more of this?” Almond said, touching the bottle of Old Forrester.
McCoy looked at the bottle and then at Almond, and then reached for the bottle.
"I should say, ‘No, thank you, sir,’ ” he said. “But with one more drink in me, maybe I’ll have the courage to offer a really off-the-wall suggestion.”
“What?” Almond asked.
McCoy tossed down another drink and shook his head, as if to clear it.
“If you dismiss this out of hand, sir,” he said, “I’ll understand. ”
“Dismiss what?”
“Why don’t we march some prisoners into the goddamn Dai Ichi Building? Twenty, twenty-five ordinary Chinese Red Army soldiers, right into Willoughby’s office.”
“Christ,” Haig said disparagingly.
“Could you get the Bataan back here?” McCoy pursued.
Almond looked at McCoy for a long moment.
“I suppose I could get an Air Force plane,” McCoy said. “But that would take time, and if this is going to happen, it has to happen now. And if I used the Bataan, it would mean you were involved, and proof that I hadn’t borrowed the Chinese from Chiang Kai-shek.”
Almond didn’t say anything at all.
“Sir, my orders state that I am to get any assistance I need from any military organization,” McCoy said.
"Such as the X United States Corps?” Almond asked.
"Yes, sir. I don’t have the orders with me. But you’ve seen them, sir.”
“What I think you need, McCoy . . .” Haig began, and stopped when Almond raised his hand.
“You do have some imaginative ideas, don’t you, Major McCoy?” Almond asked thoughtfully. “And you try to cover all the possibilities, don’t you? I suppose that’s very useful in your line of work.”
“General, if I hadn’t proposed that, I’d have regretted it, really regretted it, later,” McCoy said. He turned to Haig. “And that wasn’t the booze speaking, Al. I owed it to those Marines I brought back in pieces this morning.”
“I understand,” Haig said. “I wasn’t—”
“Jerry,” General Almond interrupted him. “Get your pad.”
“Yes, sir.”
Master Sergeant Youngman went quickly to his desk and returned with a stenographer’s notebook. “Ready, sir,” he said.
“Classification, Top Secret, Priority, Operational Immediate. To Supreme Headquarters, UNC, Tokyo. Unless the Supreme Commander personally, repeat personally, rescinds this order, the Bataan will be immediately, repeat immediately, dispatched to Hamhung. I will be advised of departure time and ETA. The signature block, Jerry, is Edward M. Almond, Major General, USA, Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters, United Nations Command.”
“Jesus,” Master Sergeant Youngman said softly.
“Take it over to the comm center and get it out right now,” Almond said.
“Yes, sir.”
[FOUR]
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, JAPAN 2130 2 NOVEMBER 1950
Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, wishing he had thought to wear his raincoat, stood in the cold drizzle until he was sure the four-engine airplane landing was indeed the Bataan. Then he got in the front seat of the Buick.
He was not in a very good mood. For one thing, he wasn’t sure that McCoy