plane with a weapon.”
“Jesus!” Zimmerman said, disgustedly.
With our orders, McCoy thought, I could load a 105-mm howitzer on the plane. But that would mean using the CIA orders, and I don’t really want to do that.
“What do you suggest, Sergeant?” McCoy asked.
“Well, if you’re coming back, sir, I could keep them for you.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“You might not come back . . .” Keller said.
“In which case, you end up owning a first-rate Thompson and a National Match M-1?”5
“Yes, sir. It looks to me like your choice is maybe getting your weapons back from me, or for sure losing them to the Air Force,” Keller said.
“Ernie, we’re going to leave the Thompson and the Garand with this doggie,” McCoy said. There was a tone of approval in McCoy’s voice. “How come a smart guy like you didn’t join the Marines?” he asked.
“I couldn’t, sir. I didn’t qualify. My parents were married, sir,” Keller said.
McCoy’s eyebrows went up. Zimmerman guffawed, then laughed out loud.
“You’re okay, Keller,” Zimmerman said. “For a goddamn doggie.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” Keller said, straightfaced.
This time McCoy laughed.
“Keep your pistol, Ernie,” McCoy ordered.
The pistols Master Gunner Zimmerman had drawn for them from a fellow master gunner at Camp Pendleton were also National Match, far more accurate and reliable than a standard-issue Pistol, 1911A1, Caliber .45 ACP. They were worth trying to sneak past the Air Force.
As they approached the base operations building at K-1, there was a new sign, neatly painted on a four-by-eight sheet of plywood.
UNITED STATES AIR FORCE MILITARY AIR TRANSPORT SERVICE U.S. AIR FORCE STATION K-1 PUSAN, KOREA
There was an Air Force C-54, a four-engine Douglas transport, sitting in front of the building, with a ladder leading up into it.
“Looks like you got here just in time,” Keller said.
“When we come back, Keller,” Zimmerman said, “and there’s rust on my Thompson, I will turn you into a soprano. ”
They shrugged out of their field gear and put their National Match .45’s in the small of their backs, under their utilities jackets, which they wore outside their trousers.
“In case you do wind up owning that Garand, Keller,” McCoy said. “Take care of it. And thank you for everything. ”
“Forget it, Captain.”
“Forget what? The thanks or the M-1?”
“Maybe both, sir,” Keller said. “I’ll wait until you’re airborne, then call General Pickering and tell him you’re on the way.”
“Thank you, Number Two,” McCoy said.
Keller saluted. McCoy and Zimmerman returned it, and went into the terminal building, where there was an Air Force staff sergeant behind a counter.
“Can I help you, Captain?”
“If that C-54’s headed for Tokyo, we need to be on it.”
“Not a chance, sir. It’s full. There may be another flight late this afternoon, but I think you’d better find a bed in the BOQ. I know I can get you on the flight first thing tomorrow. ”
“We need to be on that one,” McCoy said, and took the Dai-Ichi orders from his pocket and handed them to the sergeant.
“Sorry, Captain,” the sergeant said. “Just about everybody on that airplane has SCAP orders, and a priority, like yours. And the junior one is a major—”
“How about these orders?” McCoy said, and handed him the CIA orders.
The sergeant’s eyes went up.
“I’ll have to show these to the duty officer,” he said, and turned from the counter.
“I don’t let those orders out of my sight, Sergeant. Why don’t you go fetch the duty officer?”
The sergeant shrugged, handed McCoy the CIA orders, and went to an office at the end of the room. An Air Force major came out and went to the counter.
“Sir, we need to be on that airplane,” McCoy said. “Here’s the authority.”
The major read the orders. His eyebrows went up. “You have the manifest, Sergeant?” he asked.
The sergeant handed him a clipboard, on which had been typed the names of the passengers.
He went down the list with a finger.
“There’s a bird colonel on here with a Triple A,” he said, “Minor, George P. And the junior officer with a Quadruple A is apparently Major Finney, Howard T. Go out there,
Sergeant, and tell them they’ve been bumped. They are not going to like it.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said.
“As soon as they get off,” the major went on, “you two get on. While they’re in here, raising hell with me, I’ll have the pilot close the door and taxi away from here until he gets his takeoff clearance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I never saw orders like that before,” the major said.
Three minutes later, Colonel Minor and Major Finney,