and fired it up and flew back to the Badoeng Strait.
[FIVE]
K-1 USAF AIR FIELD PUSAN, KOREA 0905 9 AUGUST 1950
“Good morning, keep your seat,” Major William Dunston, TC, USA, said to Captain James Overton, USMC, as he walked into Overton’s tiny office. “Word is you’ve been looking for me?”
“Yes, sir. I have been. I called every place in Pusan I could think of.”
Dunston made a joking gesture with his hands, signifying, Here I am.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Sir, do you know how I can get in touch with Captain McCoy?”
Dunston shook his head, “no.”
“Do you know where he is, sir?”
Dunston shook his head again.
“What’s your interest in Captain McCoy?”
“Colonel Dunn . . .” Overton paused until Dunston nodded, signifying he knew who he meant. “. . . was in here yesterday, sir, from the Badoeng Strait. He said it’s really important that he talk to Captain McCoy, and told me to find you, and ask you to tell him.”
“Are you going to be in touch with Colonel Dunn?”
“I can get a message to him, sir. The Badoeng Strait’s COD will be here in a couple of hours. I don’t know if the colonel will be flying it again today—”
“Dunn was flying the Avenger?” Dunston asked, surprised.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he must be as anxious for a word with McCoy as I am,” Dunston said. “Got a piece of paper and an envelope? ”
“Yes, sir,” Overton said, handed it over, and then motioned for Dunston to take his seat so he would have a place to write.
Dunston wrote a short message on a sheet of lined paper, put it in an eight-by-ten-inch envelope—all Overton could offer—wrote Dunn’s name on it, and then handed it to Overton.
“If Colonel Dunn is flying, tell him I don’t know where McCoy is. I would tell him if I knew. And I would really be grateful if he finds McCoy before I do, if he would tell him to get in touch with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Oh, you salty Marines,” Dunston said. “That’s what the note says. If Dunn comes here, burn the note. Otherwise, give it to the pilot of the COD and tell him to personally put it in Dunn’s hand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you see McCoy . . .”
“Have him get in touch with you. Yes, sir.”
“I sort of like that ‘aye, aye’ business,” Dunston said. “And I just remembered what it means: ‘Order understood and will be carried out.’ Right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ ‘Yes, sir,’ on the other hand means, ‘I heard what you said, and I will consider doing it.’ ”
Overton laughed.
“How about an ‘aye, aye, sir’?” Dunston asked. “This is really important, Overton.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
[SIX]
COMMUNICATIONS CENTER EIGHTH UNITED STATES ARMY (REAR) PUSAN, KOREA 0120 10 AUGUST 1950
Captain R. C. “Pete” Peters, Signal Corps, USA, was taking a nap, lying on the counter of the outer room, when Captain Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, and Technical Sergeant J. M. Jennings, USMC, entered. It was the first sleep he’d had in twenty-four hours, but he woke immediately nevertheless when he heard the squeak of the door. And was momentarily startled, even a little frightened, when he saw the two Marines.
They were wearing black cotton shirts and trousers. The shirts were too small for them, and therefore unbuttoned, leaving their chests exposed. McCoy had a Garand hanging from his shoulder and Jennings was armed with a carbine. There were two eight-round clips on the strap of McCoy’s rifle, and Jennings’s carbine had two fifteen-round magazines in the action, taped together, upside down, so that when one was emptied, the other could quickly be inserted.
“Jesus Christ, McCoy! What are you dressed up for?”
“Don’t you ever go to spy movies? All we secret agents go around in disguise.”
“Do you know that everybody and his brother is looking for you?” Peters asked, as he got off the counter.
“Does everybody and his brother have names?”
“Starting with your general,” Peters said. “He calls—or his aide does—every four hours or so to remind me that I am to tell you, the minute I lay eyes on you, to call him.”
“Anybody else?”
“Major Dunston of the Transportation Corps,” Peters said, his tone of voice putting that name and identification in quotes. “And Captain Overton, of the Marines.”
“Who’s he?”
“The liaison officer at K-1,” Peters said.
“Oh, yeah,” McCoy said, remembering. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“You’re supposed to get in touch with a Colonel Dunn at your earliest convenience.”
“Okay, I’m going out there from here,” McCoy said.
“What happened to your uniform? Am I allowed to ask?”