“Sure, locomotives, trains, are legitimate targets. We regularly schedule three-plane flights to see what’s on the railway. When three planes attack a train, their antiaircraft fire, ergo sum, is divided between the three airplanes. A single plane gets all the antiaircraft, which multiplies the chances of getting hit by three. Pick knew all this, and . . .” He stopped. “I (a) ordered him not to go locomotive hunting; (b) if he happened on a train, he was not to attack it without permission, and not try himself. The train’s not going to go anywhere in the time it would take to have a couple of Corsairs join up. . . .”
“I get the picture,” McCoy said. “It sounds like Pick.”
“My God, Ken, he’s not twenty-one years old anymore, fresh from Pensacola, thinking he can win the war all by himself. He was a goddamn major, a squadron commander, supposed to set an example for the kids. He set an example, all right. When he didn’t come back, the pilots in his squadron were ready to take off right then and shoot up every locomotive between Pusan and Seoul. Remember that football movie? Ronald Reagan? ‘Get one for the Gipper! ’ Now they want to ‘Bust one for the skipper’!”
Dunn exhaled audibly.
“I don’t know how the hell I’m going to stop that,” he went on. “What we are supposed to do here is provide close air support, on demand, for the brigade. Not indulge some childish whim to see a locomotive explode, as if Korea is a shooting gallery set up for our personal pleasure.”
“You said ‘was,’ Billy,” McCoy said. “You think he’s dead?”
Dunn shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “As he himself frequently announced, ‘God takes care of fools and drunks, and I qualify on both counts.’ ” He paused again. “I think he probably survived the crash. When I thought about it, that was the seventh Corsair he’s dumped. What happened afterward, I don’t know. The North Koreans obviously went looking for him. If they found him . . .”
“If he survived, and was captured alive, they might want to see what they can find out about Marine aviation from a Marine major,” McCoy said. “What worries me is that they might make the connection between Major Pickering and Brigadier General Pickering . . .”
“I didn’t think about that,” Dunn said.
“. . . who is the Assistant Director of the CIA for Asia,” McCoy went on. “I don’t think there are many North Korean agents reading The Washington Post for their order of battle, but the Russians certainly do. That information was in Moscow within twenty-four hours of the time that story was printed. Did the Russians already pass it on to the North Koreans? I don’t know.”
“Is there some way you can find out? If he’s a prisoner, I mean. An extra effort?”
“When I get back to Pusan, and when I get to Tokchok-kundo, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Two questions,” Dunn said. “If you can’t answer them, fine. You’re going to . . . What was it you said?”
“The Tokchok-kundo islands,” McCoy furnished. “Yeah, but keep that to yourself.”
“How can you find out?”
“I have some sources, maybe,” McCoy said. “Money— gold—talks, and I have some gold. All I can do is play it by ear.”
“How’s the general taking this?”
“Like a Marine,” McCoy said.
“What does that mean? This Marine wept like a baby when Hotshot Charlie went down.”
“He got the message, and stuck it in his pocket, and we finished the business at hand—setting up this operation— and then he took me into his bedroom and showed me the message.”
“Tell him I’m sorry, Ken. Really sorry. It’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t, Billy. It’s nobody’s fault except maybe Pick’s. And if he got the train, then maybe there was ammo on it that won’t be shot at the brigade.”
Dunn met his eyes, but didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“What happens now? You, I mean?”
“I don’t suppose there’s some other way except that Avenger to get back to Pusan?”
“You didn’t find that fun?”
“It scared hell out of me,” McCoy said.
Dunn picked up the telephone on his desk and dialed a one-digit number.
“Colonel Dunn for the captain, please,” he said to whoever answered, then: “Captain, Dunn. I’d like permission to take Captain McCoy back to Pusan to set up the photo delivery procedure.” He paused. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said, and broke the connection with his finger.
“That was quick,” he said. “What the captain said was ‘Get that sonofabitch