of it, baby,” McCoy said. “Huff couldn’t make up his mind whether he was unhappy at being denied the chance to be on the first plane to land in Japan, or happy. There was a lot of talk that the Japs were out of control, and the first Americans to land might get their heads chopped off. In that case, Huff figured better that the Boss’s head roll . . .”
Sweetheart? Darling? Baby? These two aren’t fighting, at least with each other. What the hell is going on?
“I will give Colonel Huff the benefit of the doubt that he was disappointed at being denied the chance to be on that C-46,” Pickering said.
“I don’t remember the date, exactly, but it was after we dropped the second atomic bomb, and the Emperor decided to surrender, August fifteenth, ’forty-five, I think.”
“15 August 1945,” McCoy confirmed.
“My husband remembers every date he’s ever heard, except two,” Ernie said, smiling at McCoy. “Our anniversary and my birthday.”
Whatever he did, he’s apparently forgiven.
“So on the twenty-sixth, I remember that date, it had been decided to send in one airplane, to Atsugi, on the twenty-eighth, to get the lay of the land,” Pickering went on. “I thought about going, but decided against it. There were better-qualified people than me who should have gone.”
“ ‘General, it is the Supreme Commander’s desire that you proceed to Tokyo with the initial party . . .’” McCoy parroted again.
“So I went,” Pickering said. “We left Okinawa at oh dark hundred . . .”
“Oh four hundred,” McCoy corrected.
“And flew into Atsugui, where the Japs met us with bowed heads.”
“I would have guessed there was a fifty-fifty chance that something would happen,” McCoy said.
“Proving, of course, that K. McCoy, the perfect intelligence officer, has in fact made a bad guess at least once,” Pickering said, chuckling. “Absolutely nothing happened. I got in a car—an old English limousine, not a Rolls, something else—and a Jap drove me to the Imperial Hotel, where I reserved a wing for Major McCoy and other deserving OSS types, soon to arrive from Okinawa. . . .”
McCoy and his wife exchanged glances.
What the hell did I say to cause that?
What the hell is going on?
To hell with it. All they can do is tell me to butt out!
“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on here? What’s wrong?”
“Sir?” McCoy asked.
Too innocently.
Pickering looked at Ernie. She looked close to tears.
“What’s up, honey?” Pickering asked, gently.
She looked between Pickering and her husband for a moment.
“They’re throwing us out of the goddamned Corps, Uncle Flem,” she said. “That’s what’s up.”
I can’t have heard that right.
“I didn’t get that, honey,” he said.
“They’re throwing us out of the goddamned Marine Corps,” Ernie said, clearly. “We’re being shipped home. They’re taking Ken’s commission.”
“What the hell happened?” Pickering asked.
“He wrote a report that nobody liked,” she said. “And refused to change it.”
“A report on what?”
“He won’t tell me,” she said. “But I know it’s about Korea. ”
Pickering looked at McCoy.
“They’re throwing you out of the Marine Corps? You’re not talking about a court-martial?”
“I’m talking about a TWX from Eighth and Eye,” Ernie said.
A TWX was a teletype message. Eighth & Eye meant Headquarters, United States Marine Corps, which is at Eighth and I Streets in Washington, D.C.
“A TWX saying what?” Pickering asked.
“ ‘You are relieved of your present duties and reassigned to Camp Pendleton, California, effective immediately. You are being involuntarily released from active duty as captain, USMCR, effective 1 July 1950, and are advised that an evaluation of your records is under way to determine in which enlisted grade you may elect to enlist, if that is your desire, following your separation. I have the goddamned thing committed to memory.”
“This is hard to believe,” Pickering said.
“Isn’t it?” she said, bitterly.
“I shouldn’t have to say this,” Pickering said, “but whatever I can do to help, I’ll do.”
He said it first to Ernie, then looked at McCoy. McCoy looked at him, but it was impossible to read what the look meant.
Then McCoy got out of his chair and walked out of the room.
“He doesn’t like it that I told you,” Ernie said.
“Hey! I’m glad you did. You’re family, Ernie. You and Ken.”
She smiled wanly at him.
McCoy returned a moment later, carrying a leather briefcase. A handcuff on a steel cable hung down from it.
I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.
What the hell is the matter with the goddamned Marine Corps? Ken McCoy is the best