The D Minus 1 assault of the islands was apparently on for first thing in the morning. If it wasn’t on, there would have been word from General Pickering. The USS Mount McKinley had as good a commo center aboard as—probably better than—the one in the Dai Ichi Building. If he had something to say to them, George Hart would have heard it.
In this case, no news was bad news.
There was only one slim chance to avoid the gunfire: When the warships steamed up to the Flying Fish Channel in the early hours of tomorrow morning, the lighthouse had to be showing light.
The lighthouse keeper that Kim had talked about had not been on Tokchok-kundo when McCoy and Taylor arrived, so to get it up and running the way it should be was out of the question, but there was plenty of diesel fuel available, and diesel fuel burns.
Captain McCoy called an Officers’ Call of his staff. It convened in the captain’s cabin of the Wind of Good Fortune. Present were Lieutenant Taylor, Captain Hart, and Master Gunner Zimmerman.
“I have reason to believe the North Koreans may come into port tonight, probably just before dark,” McCoy began.
“Where’d you get that, Killer?” Zimmerman asked, curiously.
My worst-thing-at-the-worst-time theory, Ernie.
“I thought you knew, Mr. Zimmerman,” McCoy said. “God tells me things.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, McCoy!” Taylor said, half in disgust, half laughing.
“And there have been two changes of plan,” McCoy said. “The first is that if they do come in, we’re going to have to kill everybody on board, or sink the launch, preferably both.”
“Not just run them off, to come back and play later?” Taylor asked.
“The minute they come in the harbor, they’re going to see the boat,” McCoy said. “So the first thing we shoot on the boat is wherever the radio is likely to be, and anybody who looks like he has a microphone.”
“Why are they going to see the boat?” Hart asked.
“Because the camouflage will be off it.”
“Oh?”
“Because you and me, Hart, the moment we finish with the NKs, are going to go to the lighthouse. Maybe, just maybe, if that’s lit up in the wee hours of the morning, they won’t lay naval gunfire on the islands.”
“No, you’re not,” Zimmerman said.
“What did you say, Mr. Zimmerman?” McCoy snapped icily.
“Hart and me’ll go to the lighthouse,” Zimmerman said. “We’ll take two of the guys with us.” He paused, then went on: “Who do you want to be here if the general gets on the radio?” Zimmerman said. “You or me?”
“Taylor will be here.”
“He’s right, Ken,” Taylor said. “You can’t leave here. But I don’t think Ernie should, either. Hart and I can handle the lighthouse if you give us two men, and Ernie can work the radio.”
“For what it’s worth, I vote with the Navy,” Hart said. “I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea of Killer steering me around in the boat in the dark.”
“Okay,” Taylor said. “That’s settled. We just had a vote.”
“A vote?” McCoy said. “What does this look like, Congress? ”
“What I’d like to know, Ken,” Taylor said, ignoring him, “is how you can be so sure the NKs are going to suddenly show up.”
“I’ve got a gut feeling,” McCoy admitted. “That’s all.”
“That’s good enough for me, Killer,” Zimmerman said, matter-of-factly. “I will go alert the troops to prepare to repel boarders.”
He got up and walked out of the cabin.
Hart and McCoy looked at each other.
“You stick by the radio, George,” McCoy ordered. “Tell Kim to turn the engine on and leave it running. Maybe, with a little luck, we’ll hear from the general, and none of this John Wayne business will be necessary.”
Hart nodded, and then said,
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The John Wayne business proved to be necessary. Twenty minutes later, as Technical Sergeant Jennings was hauling the camouflage netting off the boat, the lookout posted on the end of the wharf suddenly started to run down the wharf toward the shore.
Jennings waved at him to stay where he was, and after another half-dozen steps, the lookout jumped to one side of the wharf and concealed himself in the rocks.
Jennings dropped the camouflage net and jumped ashore, and, bent double, ran into the alley between the closest two houses. He ran behind the houses until he came to the one where he thought Captain McCoy would be.
He wasn’t.
He ran to the next house.
McCoy was there, taking up the squatting firing position with his Garand as if he were on the range