In Danger's Path (79 page)

Albright grunted.

“I'm just not sure whether that is a judgment based on the facts, or because I don't like him—and whether I don't like him because Banning and McCoy don't.”

Albright cocked his head to one side and nodded, but didn't speak.

“This is the third operation like this I've run,” Pickering said. “The first time, I sent McCoy onto Buka Island, to make sure a Coastwatcher station stayed on the air, and to take a couple of Marines who were there—in very bad shape—out. The second time, I sent McCoy into the Philippines to establish contact with our guerrillas there.”

“And you pulled those operations off, as I recall,” Albright said.

“In neither case was there someone around who knew more than I did about how to do what had to be done. Or to tell me I was wrong. In this case, I know very little about China, and Platt knows a hell of a lot.”

“When do you have to make up your mind?”

“Soon. McCoy and Zimmerman went to Yümen to try to arrange to travel with one of the convoys the Chinese send out with supplies for their patrols in the desert. When they come back—”

“If you go along with Platt, what are you going to do about the meteorologists and their equipment?”

“The equipment, other equipment, could be sent from the States,” Pickering said. “And I suppose we could also recruit some more meteorologists.” He paused thoughtfully. “And I wonder if my ego isn't somehow involved. Bill Donovan would love to be able to report to the President that when I saw the situation here, I came to the conclusion that his people were better able to do this than I was.”

“I have one comment to make,” Albright said, “and pay attention, because it's the only comment I am going to make.”

“Okay,” Pickering said.

“Whatever you decide, you'll decide as a soldier—excuse me, a Marine—because you think it's the right thing to do, not because of your ego, or because you don't like Platt, or some other personal reason.”

“You don't think—”

“You weren't paying attention, General. I said one comment, and you have had it.”

“Okay, Hugh,” Pickering said. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Albright said, and turned back to the wall.

A moment later, he reached for one of the EE-8 field telephones and cranked the folding handle of the small generator on its side. “Unless someone has already stolen my brand-new wire, this should work,” he said. And then, his voice changing, “Ring niner zero one, please.”

“It works?” Pickering asked.

“So far,” Albright said, and then spoke into the telephone: “General Albright, Lieutenant,” he said. “Checking your boss's new telephone. How do we sound to you?” He paused, listening for a moment. “In that case, you better have somebody bring it over. He's here with me.”

He cranked the generator again, said, “Break it down, please,” and then turned to Pickering. “You have mail,” he said. “You may be sorry you spent so much effort to get the Special Channel up and running.”

Second Lieutenant George F. Hart announced the arrival of Master Gunner Harry Rutterman twenty minutes later, five minutes after General Albright had left. Rutterman had a World War I-vintage Winchester pump-action Model 97 12-gauge trench gun cradled in his arm like a bird hunter.

“Where'd you get the trench gun, Harry?” Pickering asked.

“Captain McCoy got it for me, sir,” Rutterman said, as he took a sealed envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to Pickering.

Probably from the same Chinese who sold him the ambulance and the truck, Pickering thought
.

“Stick around a minute, Harry, 'til I see what this says.”

“Aye, aye, sir. There's two of them, sir,” Rutterman said.

“Goddamn him!” Brigadier General Pickering said.

“Sir?” Rutterman asked.

“Send Major Dillon a Special Channel, Rutterman,” Pickering said. “Quote. Not only no, but hell no.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Rutterman smiled. “I saw the Major wants in on this. I was thinking I'd sort of like to go myself.”

“Then you're as crazy as Dillon,” Pickering said. “Belay the ‘hell no,' Harry. Send him…” He paused to frame his thoughts. “…send him: ‘In absence of Lieutenant Lewis, your liaison function between—'”

“I think I'd better write that down, General,” Rutterman interrupted him. He took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket. “Go ahead, sir.”

“In the absence of Lieutenant Lewis, your liaison function between CINCPAC and the widely scattered elements of this mission is critical to success of mission, and cannot be performed by someone else,” Pickering dictated. “And therefore your request, while deeply appreciated, to accompany the flight element is denied.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And add, Harry, ‘in other words, Jake, not only no, but hell no.'”

Rutterman chuckled. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Pickering turned to the second Special Channel message.

“In a pig's ass,” Brigadier General Fleming Pickering said furiously.

“Sir?” Rutterman asked.

“You decrypt this, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you read what Donovan said about ‘having no intention whatever of second-guessing' me?”

“If I may speak freely, General, in a pig's ass he doesn't,” Rutterman said.

“I'll tell you what he did do,” Pickering said. “He made up my mind for me.”

“Sir?”

“George, pick up the field phone—the one with number one painted on it. It's connected to the USMMCHI switchboard. Present my compliments to General Stillwell and ask him when he can find time to see me.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hart said and went to the telephones—which were still sitting on the floor—and cranked the one marked “#1.”

“General Stillwell's office, please,” he said when the operator answered, and then a moment later surprise—maybe shock—became visible on his face. He went on: “General, I'm Lieutenant Hart, aide-de-camp to General Pickering. Sir, the General presents his compliments…” He stopped, said, “One moment, sir,” and extended the telephone to Pickering.

“General Stillwell, sir,” Hart said.

Pickering went quickly to the telephone.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I don't know about your aide, Pickering, but mine has more important things to do than make manners on the telephone.”

“So does George, sir,” Pickering blurted. “I was trying to play the game by the rules, General.”

Stillwell snorted.

“Every time you play the game by the rules, somebody changes the rules,” Stillwell said. “I'm surprised you haven't learned that. What's on your mind, Pickering?”

“Sir, could you spare me a few minutes? It's important.”

“As a matter of fact, I was about to try to find you. I just got a personal about you I don't like much. You want to come right now?”

“Yes, sir. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

The line went dead in Pickering's ear.

He realized that, having had nothing else to say, General Stillwell had hung up.

[THREE]
Office of the Commanding General
U.S. Military Mission to China
1010 11 April 1943

General Pickering was inside Stillwell's office door just long enough to notice Colonel Easterbrook's presence when Stillwell began the conversation by saying, “Pickering, I feel compelled to tell you I am not, at the moment, in a very good mood.”

“Good morning, General,” Pickering said, shifted his eyes to Easterbrook and added, “Colonel,” and then met Stillwell's eyes again. “I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”

“Yesterday afternoon, Ernie and I drove Colonel Dempsey and Lieutenant Colonel Newley—now reduced to their permanent grades—to the airfield, where, in compliance with orders from the JCS, they will proceed by air to Calcutta and from Calcutta by sea to the United States for further assignment.”

Pickering said what came to his mind: “That was very gracious of you, sir.”

Stillwell gave him a strange look. “They are both fine officers, Pickering,” he said finally. “Who will now contribute to this war by commanding a WAC basic training battalion, or perhaps serving in public relations.”

This is not the time to tell him I think their relief came just in time to keep them from doing real damage
.

“I think I understand how you feel, sir,” Pickering said.

This earned him another cold glance.

“And then, just before we spoke, your Lieutenant Moore delivered a Special Channel Personal to me from General Marshall.” This was delivered as a challenge. “May I infer from the look on your face, General, that you know of General Marshall's ‘request'?”

“I learned about it thirty seconds before I called you, General. I got a Special Channel Personal from Colonel Donovan which told me such a message would be sent. I knew nothing about it before then.”