Retreat, Hell! Part 26

Pickering scrawled his signature on the form and handed it and the pen back to the customs officer.

"What about our luggage?" Pickering asked, looking at Banning.

"It'll be off-loaded first, sir. While you're still on the tarmac."

"Well, at least that will limit the number of people who'll get a look at this," Pickering said, gesturing with both hands toward the mess on his tunic. "Let's go, George."

"Had a little accident, did you, sir?" the INS officer asked sympathetically.

" 'Little' isn't the word," Pickering said sharply, and then added: "But it certainly wasn't your fault. I didn't mean to snap at you."

The INS officer raised both hands, palms outward, indicating the apology wasn't necessary, then stepped out of the way so Hart and Pickering could precede him off the airplane.

Fred Delmore, a tall, gray-haired black man who had been Senator Fowler's chauffeur for twenty years, had the rear door of the limousine open before Pickering reached it. Pickering motioned for Banning to get in first, then followed him. Hart ran around and got in the front pa.s.senger seat.

Senator Richardson K. Fowler, a tall, silver-haired, regal-looking sixty-seven-year-old, was sitting on the right side. He and Pickering looked at each other but didn't speak for a moment.

"I was just wondering, Flem," the senator said finally, "if you'd had your breakfast. I suppose I have the answer before me."

"f.u.c.k you, d.i.c.k," General Pickering said.

"My, we are back in the Marines, aren't we?" Fowler said. "Such language!"

"f.u.c.k you twice, d.i.c.k," Pickering said.

"Is he always this way, George?" Fowler asked innocently. "Or has he been at the booze?"

"Not yet," Pickering replied. "To what do I owe this dubious honor, d.i.c.k?"

Fowler shook his head in resignation and smiled.

"As a courtesy, one of Truman's people called to tell me you were on your way, and when, but that they doubted there would be time to meet, as you were to be immediately transferred to Travis Air Force Base for your trip to Was.h.i.+ngton. An Air Force plane-"

"Not that again," Pickering interrupted.

"Not what again?"

"The last time he sent for me, I flew across the country in the backseat of an Air Force jet."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Today, I understand, we will travel in a backup airplane-one of the big Douglases-to the Independence. Independence."

"We will travel?" will travel?"

"We. I invited myself to go with you. I thought you might need some moral support. As I was saying, your aircraft awaits at Travis." I invited myself to go with you. I thought you might need some moral support. As I was saying, your aircraft awaits at Travis."

"Sir," Colonel Banning said, "if I may interrupt, I think you'd better take a look at this."

He handed Pickering a sealed, business-size envelope.

Pickering opened the envelope, read the message it contained, and then handed it to Hart.

"That's already in Was.h.i.+ngton, sir," Banning said.

Hart put the message back in the envelope and handed it back to Banning, who put it carefully into his hip pocket.

"I suppose what that is is none of my business," Senator Fowler said.

"d.i.c.k, you're putting me on a spot," Pickering said.

"And what the h.e.l.l, I'm only a United States Senator, right?"

"Let him see it, Ed," Pickering ordered.

Banning handed Fowler the envelope.

"That's from General Howe to Truman," Pickering said. "MacArthur plans to reembark X Corps and reland it far up the east coast."

"I know you won't believe this, Fleming, but I do know how to read," Fowler said as he took the message from the envelope.

He read it, put in back in the envelope, and handed it to Banning.

"Thank you, Colonel," Fowler said, then turned to Pickering. "What's the significance of that?"

"I think Howe wants the President to know MacArthur may take his time 'advising' the Joint Chiefs of his intentions," Pickering said. "They have a tendency to want to take time to consider things carefully, and MacArthur (a) likes to strike when the iron is hot and (b) does not like the idea of having to ask permission to do something in 'his' war."

"And whose side are you on?"

"The Joint Chiefs were the opposite of enthusiastic about the landing at Inchon. MacArthur is difficult, but he's one h.e.l.l of a general."

There was the sound of the trunk slamming.

"That's the luggage, sir," Hart said.

"Okay, Fred," Senator Fowler said. "Travis Air Force Base."

"No, Fred," Pickering said. "Take us to the San Franciscan. "

He turned to Fowler. "That'll just have to wait. I need a bath, George needs a bath, and, as you were so kind to point out, I need a clean uniform."

"You don't think it behooves you to instantly comply with an order from your Commander-in-Chief?"

"f.u.c.k you yet again, d.i.c.k," Pickering said. "A whole cup of coffee went down my front. . . ."

"And some tomato juice," Hart offered helpfully from the front seat.

Pickering pointed a threatening finger at Hart.

"The San Franciscan, please, Fred," Pickering ordered.

Fowler nodded. The limousine started to move.

"What's the President want from me, anyway, d.i.c.k?" Pickering asked. "What's this all about?"

"I think he's going to offer you the CIA," Fowler said. "Actually, I'm pretty positive he will."

"Well, we can handle that with a telephone call," Pickering said. "I don't want the CIA."

"I don't think 'No, thank you' is one of your options," Fowler said. "What I can probably help you to do is get some concessions vis-a-vis what you'll do with it, what your authority will be, when you get it."

Pickering looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "That's another reason I'm not going to jump on another airplane right now. We're going to have to talk about this, d.i.c.k."

Fowler nodded.

"Thank you," Pickering said.

Fowler nodded again.

[TWO].

THE PENTHOUSE THE FOSTER SAN FRANCISCAN HOTEL n.o.b HILL, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 1250 3 OCTOBER 1950.

The husband of the chairwoman of the board of the Foster Hotel Corporation entered the Foster San Franciscan Hotel through the rear bas.e.m.e.nt door normally used to remove garbage from the kitchen, and rode to what for tax purposes was known as "The Foster Hotel Corporation Executive Conference Center" in the service elevator.

There was a large conference room in what everyone called "The Penthouse," and two or three times a year it was actually used for that purpose. With that exception, however, The Penthouse was de facto de facto the Pickering's San Francisco apartment. the Pickering's San Francisco apartment.

Pickering started to get out of his soiled uniform the moment he stepped off the service elevator into the kitchen. He was trailed by Hart-carrying their two Valv-Paks-and Fowler and Banning.

Pickering laid his tunic on the kitchen table and started to untie his necktie.

"George," he said, turning to Hart, "in this order. Get on the horn and call Travis Air Force Base and tell them we'll be delayed, probably overnight."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Then get on the house phone and tell the manager we have urgent need of the valet, coffee, and some lunch. . . ."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And then get on the horn to P&FE, ask for Mr. Kensington-he handles transportation-and tell him I said to get you on the next plane to Saint Louis. Call me at the Lafayette in Was.h.i.+ngton tomorrow night, and I'll let you know how long you can stay."

"No, sir," Hart said. "Thank you, sir, but no thank you."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want to go home, sir. I can't."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"I wouldn't be able to look any of the families of my Marines in the face," Hart said.

"What the h.e.l.l is he talking about, Ed?" Pickering demanded of Colonel Banning.

"I think I know, sir. This has to do with disestablishment of your company, right, George?"

"Yes, sir," Hart said.

"What the h.e.l.l are you you talking about?" Pickering demanded. "What company?" talking about?" Pickering demanded. "What company?"

"George had a company, an infantry company, in the Marine Corps reserve," Banning explained. "It was activated, and ordered to Camp Pendleton. As soon as they got there, it was disestablished-broken up-and the men sent as fillers to the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade."

"I trained those Marines, General," Hart said. "And I told their families I'd take care of them."

"Why did they do that?" Pickering asked. "Break up his company?"

"I have no G.o.dd.a.m.n idea," Hart said bitterly. "They just did it. The f.u.c.king Marine Corps!"

"Hey!" Banning said warningly, holding up his hand.

Captain Hart was silent, but he did not seem repentant.

"It was a cold-blooded, necessary decision," Banning explained. "The priority was finding bodies to fill up the Provisional Brigade, find them anywhere, and George showed up with two hundred bodies. It was as simple as that."

"I should have been with them in the Pusan Perimeter, and I should have been with them at Inchon," Hart said. "They were my Marines!"

"George," Senator Fowler said, "in the big picture, you're making a greater contribution, meeting a greater responsibility, in taking care of General Pickering than you would have been able to do-"

"Sir," Banning turned on him. "With respect-"

"d.i.c.k," Pickering interrupted, "you don't understand. George is a Marine officer. There is no greater responsibility, no greater privilege, than leading Marines in combat. I know exactly how George feels."

Fowler shrugged as if to say, I was only trying to help. I was only trying to help.

Pickering turned to Hart.

"You didn't mention any of this to me, George."

"You said it, General, I'm a Marine officer. Marine officers go where they're sent and do what they're told to do. But I am not going to go home to Saint Louis so long as my Marines are in Korea."

Pickering looked at him for a long moment.

"Okay, Captain," he said finally, "change of orders. After you call Travis and tell them we'll be delayed-"

"I'll take care of that, Fleming," Senator Fowler interrupted.

"Okay. Then-and this is an order, Captain-you will get on the horn and tell your wife to pack her bags because in the next hour or two a man named Kensington is going to call her and tell her on which flight she and your kids are booked for Was.h.i.+ngton."

"General-" Hart said, almost visibly trying to frame his objections.

"Captain Hart," Pickering interrupted him, "the proper response from a Marine officer who has been given an order is 'Aye, aye, sir,' which translates to mean 'I understand the order and will comply.' "