personal possessions from him for storage, and issued him two sets of fatigues, field gear, combat boots, and an M1 Garand, the first one he’d held in his hands since 1943. And then put him on another airplane the same day and flew him to K-1, the airport outside Pusan.
He quickly learned the Eighth Army (Rear) really did have “an urgent need” for crypto people. Things were fucked up beyond description. When he got there, he saw that Operational Immediate messages, which were supposed to get encrypted and transmitted right then, took hours— even days—to get out.
It would take him a couple of days to straighten things out, but he knew he could do it.
It was going to be a lousy assignment, living in a goddamn tent, sleeping on a no-mattress cot, eating off stainless-steel trays, taking a crap in a wooden-holer GI outhouse, but that’s the way it was. It was payback, he decided philosophically, for all the good times.
The first thing he did was get rid of the Garand. Crypto centers needed to be protected, sure, but not by the NCOIC carrying a Garand. There were guards on the door, armed with Thompson submachine guns. Keller got a Thompson for himself, plus a .45 pistol.
The second thing he did to speed things up was to get the signal officer to agree that since Operational Immediates—and for that matter, Urgents—should really get immediate encryption and transmission, the authority to classify messages should be restricted to officers senior enough to know what an Operational Immediate really was. Henceforth, the signal officer agreed, Operational Immediates would require the signature of a full bull colonel, or better, and Urgents, the signature of at least a light colonel.
Within twenty-four hours—once the backlog had been cleared—Operational Immediates and Urgents were going out in minutes. Which meant that before senior officers had started to sign off on them, most of the messages with that priority really shouldn’t have been Operational Immediate and Urgent.
Master Sergeant Keller was surprised when the door opened and two Marines came in. After a moment, he saw that one of them had captain’s bars painted in black on the collar points of his fatigue jacket. He remembered that the Marines called fatigues “utilities.” The other one had metal warrant officer’s bars pinned on his collar points.
Keller knew the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade was coming to Pusan—he had personally decrypted the Top Secret Urgent from the convoy commander, saying when they would arrive, and the reply from the Marine general saying they should be prepared to get off the ships ready to fight—but they’d been scheduled to arrive in thirty minutes.
And these two looked like they’d been in Korea for weeks, and up with the infantry, not as if they’d just gotten off a ship. They were sweat-soaked, looked tired, and the captain had a Garand slung from his shoulder, with two spare clips clipped on the strap. Grenades bulged in the warrant officer’s pockets.
Whenever they’d gotten here, they should not be in here. What the hell’s the matter with the guards?
“Good morning, Sergeant,” the captain said.
“Good morning, sir,” Master Sergeant Keller replied. “Sir, you really shouldn’t be in here. How’d you get in?”
“Through the door,” the captain replied, somewhat sarcastically. “I just want to use the landline.”
There was a secure landline, connected to the Communications Center in the Dai Ichi Building in Tokyo. But it wasn’t really secure, and it was intended primarily to keep the technicians in Pusan in touch with the technicians in Tokyo.
“Sir, there’s no landline available,” Keller said. “And, sir, I’m going to have to insist that you leave. This is a restricted area.”
“Yeah, I know,” the captain said. “Maybe you better call your officer, Sergeant.”
Master Sergeant Keller went into the encryption room itself, and signaled the duty officer, Captain R. C. “Pete” Peters, SigC, USA, that he needed a word with him.
The captain went into the outer room.
“Hey, McCoy,” Captain Peters greeted the two Marines with a smile. “What can we do for the Marines this morning? ”
“You might want to thank God, Pete,” the captain said. “The Marines are about to land.”
“That’s not funny, McCoy,” Captain Peters said. “I hope to Christ they got here in time. What can I do for you?”
“I need to make a quick call on your landline,” Captain Kenneth R. McCoy said.
“Help yourself,” Captain Peters said, and then saw the look on Master Sergeant Keller’s face. “It’s okay, Keller,” he said. “He and Master Gunner Zimmerman are cleared for whatever