Under Fire - By W.E.B. Griffin Page 0,181

coffee before I start making decisions,” McCoy said, and went back to the Thermos chest. Then he went and stood by Taylor.

“I meant it, you know, when I said you were the captain, ” McCoy said.

Taylor didn’t reply directly.

“It’s getting light,” he said. “I don’t know if we’re going to meet anybody out here—and there would be less chance we would if we went another couple of miles offshore— but if we did meet somebody, using the diesel, questions would be asked. Our speed will be cut in half if we raise the sails. Decision time.”

“We have to get to Tokchok-kundo as soon as we can,” McCoy thought aloud. “Operative words: ‘have to get to’ and ‘as soon as we can.’ The options conflict.”

“Your decision, McCoy.”

“I think ‘as soon as we can’ justifies a certain risk.”

“In other words, keep the diesel running?”

“If we run into a navy vessel, ours, British, or South Korean, ” McCoy said, “they’d probably fire a shot across our bow and stop us. We could talk our way out of that.”

“All these waters are closed to all but local fishermen,” Taylor said. “If we get spotted by a reconnaissance airplane, all they’re going to see is a junk under power. Local fishermen don’t have powered junks. If I were a pilot, I’d think North Koreans.”

“Why?”

“Because I would have been told if a friendly vessel was going to be in the area.”

“Well, let’s hope if we get spotted by one of our guys, he’ll make a low and slow pass before blowing us out of the water. I don’t see how we can justify moving at six knots when we can make twelve.”

“What about her?” Taylor asked.

“She’s a war correspondent, right? They get in the line of fire.”

“I like her,” Taylor said. “As a person, I mean.”

“Yeah, me too,” McCoy said, without thinking.

I’ll be damned. I mean that.

McCoy saw that Taylor, with an effort, was making a major course change with the tiller, heading away from the coastline.

Ten minutes later, the Wind of Good Fortune made another course correction, and McCoy saw they were now headed north. He looked at the landmass.

“Mr. McCoy!” Taylor called, trying to sound like Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty.

McCoy turned and then walked to him.

“You called, Captain?”

“You have the conn, sir,” Taylor said.

“You better tell me what to do with it, Captain.”

“Steer the course we’re on,” Taylor said, pointing to the compass.

“Aye, aye, sir,” McCoy replied, and put his hand on the smooth wood of the tiller.

Taylor went below and immediately returned with an air mattress and two sleeping bags, with which he quickly made himself a bed on the deck and lay down on it.

And then he went to sleep, without even waiting for their egg-sandwich breakfast.

When, a few minutes later, breakfast arrived, Jeanette took an egg sandwich from another Army Thermos chest and handed it to McCoy.

“Thank you.”

“When are we going to get wherever we’re going?” she asked.

He did the arithmetic in his head—so many miles to go at so many knots—and concluded that the voyage would take just about twenty-four hours.

“We’re going—I thought I told you—to an island called Tokchok-kundo, and the way I figure it, we should get there between four and five tomorrow morning.”

She nodded.

McCoy had another thought, and repeated it aloud.

“It’ll still be dark at 0400, and I don’t think Taylor will want to dock this thing in the dark, so it will probably be later, maybe a couple of hours later.”

“And when we get off the Queen Mary, then what?”

“The first thing we do is get the SCR-300 up and running, ” McCoy said. “Kim says there is a diesel generator on the island, but probably little—or no—fuel. We brought fuel, and also a small, gas-powered generator that’ll work—if we’re lucky—for a couple of hours, if we have to use it.”

“What does SCR stand for?”

“Signal Corps Radio,” McCoy said.

Jeanette took a notebook from her pocket and wrote that down.

“And once it’s up and running, then what?”

“We radio Tokyo and let them know we’re here, and see if they have anything for us.”

“Like maybe word about Pick?” she asked.

“If there’s word about Pick, General Pickering will pass it on,” McCoy said.

“And then?”

“We’re going to unload the stuff we brought with us, take an inventory of what’s on Tokchok-kundo that we can use, and start planning to take Taemuui-do and Yonghung-do. ”

“Those are the islands in the Flying Fish Channel,” Jeanette asked.

McCoy nodded.

“You know how to spell them?” she asked, taking out her notebook again.

“The

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