Yellow Sea, there had been no sight of them, except possibly for four aircraft—flying, McCoy had guessed, at about 10,000 feet, too high to identify their types—none of which seemed to have noticed the Wind of Good Fortune.
During the day, Taylor had wakened every hour to take a quick look around. Once satisfied with what he had seen, he’d gone back to sleep. McCoy had been so intrigued with Taylor’s ability to so easily and regularly stir himself that he asked him how he did it. Taylor had somewhat smugly held up his wristwatch and said, “Ding-a-ling.” His wristwatch was also a miniature alarm clock.
Using food from the cases of 10-in-1 rations Sergeant Jennings had stolen from the Army warehouses on the pier in Pusan, and chickens, fish, eggs, pork loins, and vegetables Major Kim’s national policemen had bought in Tongnae, two of the Marines and two national policemen had prepared a surprisingly tasty lunch, an even better dinner, and an evening snack on the charcoal-fired brick stove in the forecastle. It had to be eaten from mess kits, of course, and after Zimmerman reminded the Marines how the vegetables had been fertilized, they lost their appeal, but aside from that, there was nothing whatsoever to complain about.
Jeanette had spent most of her time with the Marines, shooting several rolls of film in the process. The Marines thought she was a willing passenger, along to chronicle their mission for her newspaper, and they were flattered by the attention of the press.
Once darkness had fallen, there hadn’t been much to do except post lookouts fore and aft and sleep, and by 1900 there were sleeping Marines and national policemen stretched out wherever they could find room on the deck.
Taylor took over the helm at nightfall, and shortly after 2000, McCoy had gone below to sleep.
When McCoy woke, his watch told him it was 0600 and the rolling of the Wind of Good Fortune told him they were still at sea. He went on deck, expecting to find they were approaching whatever kind of a port Tokchok-kundo had to offer.
He found instead that the South Korean landmass was now to port, and that the Wind of Good Fortune’s sails had been raised.
“I thought Tokchok-kundo was that way?” McCoy said, pointing over the Wind of Good Fortune’s stern.
“It is,” Taylor replied. “What I’m doing now is trying to figure out the tides. They’re not doing what the book says they should be doing. And running aground on the mudflats would be awkward.”
“By when do you think you’ll be able to have the tides figured out?”
“Never,” Taylor had said seriously. “But today, with the relatively shallow draft of this vessel, I think I can try to get into port about eleven.”
“If we can see the lighthouse, they can see us,” McCoy said.
“Another astute observation,” Taylor said, still playing Charles Laughton. “I am amazed at your perspicacity, Mr. McCoy.”
McCoy was forced to smile.
“You don’t think the lighthouse keeper might report that a strange junk loaded with more people than usual, some of whom don’t look very Oriental, just sailed past?”
“That would be a real possibility if (a) there was a lighthouse keeper at the lighthouse, and (b) he had a generator to power a radio to communicate with somebody,” Taylor said. “But you may relax, Mr. McCoy. I have it from a reliable source that there is neither.”
“What reliable source?”
“Our own esteemed Major Kim,” Taylor said, pointing to Kim, who was leaning against the stern railing.
Kim was wearing a baggy black cotton shirt and trousers. The last time McCoy had seen him, he had been in neatly pressed American khakis.
“When I was last on Tokchok-kundo,” Major Kim said, “the lighthouse keeper was hiding out there,” Major Kim said. “He told me that he had removed the important parts of the generator and the radio and took off when he saw the North Koreans were in Inchon.”
“You don’t think the North Koreans would try to get it up and running? What are they doing without a lighthouse? Taking their chances?”
“The enemy isn’t running any deep-draft vessels into Inchon, Captain McCoy,” Kim said. “They are using their own ports, which are protected by antiaircraft weapons. They’ll wait until they have taken the Pusan perimeter to clean up this area. They have more important things to do than fix a lighthouse that right now would do nothing more than help guide South Korean fishermen home.”
“But won’t our invasion fleet need it?” McCoy asked.