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Victory and Honor hb-6

Page 21

by W. E. B Griffin


  How the hell could he know that?

  “I have to tell you, sir,” Frade said, “that I have about half of them confined.”

  “I rather thought you might consider that necessary,” Gehlen said. “But you are forgiven, providing, of course, that you’ve brought the money.”

  He’s making some kind of joke.

  Mattingly’s face shows he understands the joke.

  But what the hell is he talking about?

  “Excuse me, General?” Frade asked.

  “The money, Clete,” Mattingly said. “Graham’s half a million dollars. Please don’t tell me you don’t have it.”

  Oh, shit!

  “I wasn’t told to bring any money,” Frade said. “And that half a million I signed for—I thought those were funds for other OSS business. My wife’s got it put away in the safe in our house in Buenos Aires.”

  “The best-laid plans of mice and men,” General Gehlen said.

  “Clete, how soon can you get it here?” Mattingly asked.

  “I was about to say on the next SAA flight to Lisbon. But that won’t work. The only SAA pilots I’d trust with it on are this rescue-the-diplomats mission.”

  “Well, then you’ll just have to go get it,” Mattingly said. “That’s what, ten, twelve days at the most? I can have some money flown from London. Not that much. But enough to get started. You do have the money, right? You can get it here?”

  Clete nodded, then said, “What’s it for?”

  “That’s something else we’ll get into after we have a drink and our supper.”

  VIII

  [ONE]

  The Private Dining Room The Garden Lounge Schlosshotel Kronberg Kronberg im Taunus, Hesse, Germany 1930 19 May 1945

  “You’re not drinking, Clete?” Mattingly asked as he looked around the huge circular table.

  Even with “everybody”—General Gehlen, Frade, Stein, Boltitz, von Wachtstein, Rodríguez, Delgano, Peralta, Vega, Dooley, and Mattingly—sitting around the table, there were enough empty chairs for twice that many people.

  Clete had the irreverent thought that it looked like only half of the Knights of the Round Table had shown up for King Arthur’s nightly briefing.

  “When are we flying to Berlin?” Frade responded, and when Mattingly’s face showed the answer confused him, he smiled benignly at Dooley and went on: “You’ll learn, Dooley, if they ever let you fly big airplanes, like Hansel and me, that it’s best to do so clear-eyed and not hungover.”

  Mattingly frowned at Frade.

  “In the morning,” Mattingly said, “you’re all going to Berlin—or that’s the plan.”

  “Pour your beer back in the bottle, like a good boy, Dooley,” Frade said.

  “Kiss my ass,” Dooley said.

  “I’m going to ask you, Colonel Frade, and you, Colonel Dooley, to try to control your somewhat less than scintillating wit,” Mattingly said. “If you can’t, I’ll stand both of you at attention.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frade said. “Sorry.”

  “Turning to what happens now,” Mattingly said. “The problem of the Russians being difficult in Berlin was already being discussed at SHAEF, and a possible solution thereof had been reached when South American Airlines—more accurately, the Republic of Argentina—was added to the problem.

  “The Argentine ambassador in Washington approached the State Department and asked them about flight clearances for their mercy mission. Not being aware of the Russians’ mischief, the State Department in effect said, ‘Not a problem. We will go to General Marshall and have him tell Eisenhower to take care of it.’

  “Marshall’s message arrived during a staff conference, at which David Bruce was present and the subject of the Russians was under discussion.

  “Eisenhower’s first reaction was to quickly decide that the Argentines would just have to wait until the problem was solved. Beetle Smith—you know who he is? Ike’s chief of staff—had another view.

  “General Smith didn’t think the Russians should be allowed to ban Argentine—or any civilian—aircraft from flying from the American zone of occupation over the Russian zone into the American zone of Berlin any more than they should be allowed to question our right to fly military aircraft in and out.

  “David Bruce agreed with General Smith—they usually do agree on just about everything—and then threw something else into the equation, something previously not known to SHAEF.

  “South American Airways, David told Ike and Beetle—words to this effect—was an OSS asset, or close to one. Not only that, but the pilot of the Constellation at that moment over the South Atlantic en route to Lisbon was actually the OSS man in charge of the asset, a Marine lieutenant colonel who was held in very high regard by Allen Dulles.

  “And there was one more fact bearing on the problem, David Bruce said. The advance element of OSS Europe was already outside of Frankfurt. General Smith asked who was running it, and David Bruce told him, whereupon the Supreme Commander said words to this effect: ‘Mattingly used to work for General White, right? He’s the officer who flew over Berlin when the Russians were still taking it in one of White’s L-4s? The right man, for once, in the right place. Let him deal with this.

  “‘He might even be able to keep White and Patton from starting World War Three. Tell the Argentine OSS man to report to Mattingly, and tell the Eighth Air Force to give Mattingly whatever he thinks he needs. Keep me advised. Next problem?’

  “Shortly thereafter, David Bruce dumped the problem in my lap.

  “Now, there are several reasons that it is important that I deal with this to General Eisenhower’s complete satisfaction. Not least among them is that he, so far, has not joined the chorus singing, ‘Shut down the OSS now; it’s not needed’ into President Truman’s ear.

  “If I—forgive the egotism—if we can handle the problem of the Russians trying to keep us out of Berlin, Allen Dulles and/or David Bruce can go to Ike and ask his assistance to keep us alive. He may not give it. Ike unfortunately thinks General Marshall walks on water, but we have to try.”

  “Sir,” Frade said, “how do you plan to deal with it?”

  Mattingly’s face showed that he appreciated both being called “Sir” and Frade’s tone of voice.

  “At this moment, Colonel Frade, a small convoy of Air Force vehicles, under the command of a captain, is attempting to drive to Berlin. The convoy consists of two trucks and a jeep. One of the trucks is a mobile aircraft control tower. The other contains supplies.

  “There is an autobahn—a superhighway patterned after the New Jersey Turnpike—running between Hanover, which is in the British zone, and Berlin. More specifically, more importantly, to the American zone of Berlin.

  “The Soviets have blocked the autobahn at Helmstedt—at the border between East and West Germany. It’s just over one hundred miles—one hundred seventy kilometers—from Helmstedt to the American zone of Berlin. If the Air Force people can get past the Helmstedt roadblock, they can be at Tempelhof in under three hours. Once there, they will immediately put the control tower into operation.”

  “Sir, what air traffic are they going to control?” Frade asked.

  “At first light, Piper Cubs—L-4s—flying between General White’s Division Rear, on the Elbe, and Berlin. At about oh-nine-hundred hours, an Air Forces C-54, having flown out of Frankfurt, will contact Tempelhof Air Forces Field and ask for approach and landing instructions. After it discharges its cargo, it will again contact the tower, to file a flight plan back to Rhein-Main. And once it crosses the East/ West Border, a South American Airways Constellation will be cleared by Rhein-Main to proceed to the U.S. air base at Tempelhof.

  “The idea is that not only do we have a right to fly into Berlin, but we are in fact doing it.”

  “Sir, with respect,” Frade said, “it seems that scenario depends almost entirely on this Air Forces captain being able to talk his way past the Russians blocking the highway.”

  “In other words, ‘Is there a Plan B
?’ Yes, there is. In the event the Mobile Control Tower can’t get past the Russians at Helmstedt—it may, as the Air Forces captain is actually one of us, a bright chap, and actually a lieutenant colonel, and we may be lucky—but if we’re not, an Air Forces C-54 will take off at oh-eight-hundred from Rhein-Main and head for Tempelhof. It will have aboard air traffic controllers and their equipment. And me. Once that’s up and running, we shift to clearing the SAA Constellation for flight to Tempelhof.”

  “And what if the Russians shoot down the C-54?” Frade asked.

  “We anticipate that—probability eighty percent—they will attempt to turn the C-54 with threatening aerial moves by their fighters. We anticipate that these fighters will be YAK-3s.”

  Peter von Wachtstein offered: “If you get in a fight with one or more of them, Dooley, get him to chase you in a steep climb, and then, in a steep dive, turn inside him. Try to get his engine from the side; it’s well armored on the bottom.”

  “What makes you think Dooley might get in a fight with them?” Mattingly asked.

  “You’ve fought YAKs?” Dooley asked.

  “I was shot down twice by YAK-3s,” von Wachtstein said, “before I learned how to fight them. Put your stream of fire into his side.”

  “I hadn’t planned to get into the rules of engagement yet, but since the subject has come up,” Mattingly said, “Colonel Dooley, you will select four of your best—and by best, I mean most experienced, levelheaded—pilots and by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow brief them on what is expected of them.

  “You will escort the C-54 from the border across East Germany to Berlin. I’ve got an information packet for you with more details, but briefly here, on takeoff from Rhein-Main, the C-54 will circle the field until attaining an altitude of ten thousand feet and a cruising speed of two hundred twenty-five miles per hour—as fast as a C-54 can fly. General Halebury told me that inasmuch as fuel consumption is not a factor—it’s right at two hundred seventy miles from Rhein-Main to Tempelhof—that extra speed would be justified both by reducing flight time and making it easier for the faster P-38s to stay with it.

  “The C-54 will then fly northeast on a straight line to Berlin. The compass heading will be forty-eight-point-four degrees.

  “This is your call, Dooley, but General Halebury suggested that you place your aircraft two thousand feet above and that far behind the C-54. This will, the general suggests, place you in the best position to interdict any Russian aircraft intending to divert the C-54 from its course or altitude.”

  “Sir, with respect, General Halebury is not a fighter pilot,” Dooley said. “I’d like to go a little higher.”

  “Well, then fuck him,” Frade offered. “What does Halebury know? Do it your way, Dooley.”

  Mattingly’s head snapped angrily to Frade. But when he saw the smile on everyone’s face, including that of General Gehlen, he didn’t say what he had originally intended to say.

  Instead, he said, “I suppose I should have known it was too much to hope that you could contain your wit.”

  “Did this general have any sage advice as to how Dooley and his guys are supposed to interdict the YAKs?” Frade asked. “You’re talking about bluffing them, right?”

  “I think I’d rephrase that,” Mattingly said. “What Dooley and his aircraft are going to have to do, presuming the YAKs appear, is make them think it would be ill-advised for them to threaten the C-54 by flying dangerously close to it.”

  “And the way I’m supposed to do that is fly dangerously close to the YAKs?” Dooley asked.

  “I don’t see any other way to make them behave, do you?” Frade asked seriously.

  “The Russians will be under specific orders,” von Wachtstein said. “If those orders are to shoot down the C-54, they’ll do just that. Without warning. If their orders are to harass the C-54 with the thought that might make the C-54 pilot turn around, that’s all they’ll do. Unless, of course, there’s someone very senior in one of the YAKs, in which case they would follow his lead.”

  General Gehlen suddenly spoke up: “I agree with Graf von Wachtstein’s assessment of the Russian military mind. And I would suggest further that when they are faced with a force that is capable of causing great damage, they will back down.”

  “Unless, of course, General,” Mattingly said, “they come out to meet the C-54 with the intention of shooting it down to show us how unwelcome we are in Berlin.”

  “That is true,” Gehlen admitted.

  “Under what circumstances can I fire at the YAKs?” Dooley asked.

  “If they fire at you,” Mattingly said. “Or the C-54.”

  “Or if they even look like they’re going to fire at the Connie,” Frade said. “Which brings us to that: I might have missed it, but I didn’t hear you ask, Colonel Mattingly, if SAA is willing to go along with your plan to give the Russians the finger.”

  “Are you?” Mattingly asked simply.

  “Not my call, Colonel.”

  “Then whose?”

  “Delgano’s, both as SAA chief pilot and also—more importantly—as the senior Argentine officer here. Probably the senior Argentine officer in Europe. What about it, mi coronel?”

  “Oddly enough,” Delgano said, getting to his feet, “just before we left Buenos Aires, my general . . .” He paused, looked at General Gehlen, and then went on: “General de Brigada Alejandro Martín, chief of the Ethical Standards Office of the Argentine Ministry of Defense, which is the official euphemism for the Argentine intelligence and counterintelligence service, took me aside and made that point to me.

  “He told me that I would be the senior officer of the Ejército Argentino in Europe, and further that inasmuch as the German Reich no longer exists and that Germany is now governed by SHAEF, with which Argentina has no diplomatic relations, the Argentine diplomats in Berlin and those we would bring here have no status beyond that of people with diplomatic passports.

  “What I am trying to say is that as I outrank the lieutenant colonel we have as liaison officer to SHAEF, I find myself the senior Argentine officer in Europe period.

  “As such, General Martín told me that—no offense intended, Cletus—should Colonel Frade be about to do anything which in my judgment would be detrimental to the interests of my country, I was not only authorized but duty bound to take whatever measures required to keep him from doing it, including placing him under arrest and taking control of the Constellation.”

  Mattingly made eye contact with Delgano, then nodded and said, “So you don’t think you’re going to be able to participate in this. I understand your position, Colonel—”

  “Please let me continue,” Delgano said.

  “Sorry,” Mattingly said.

  “I was having many thoughts as I listened to all this . . .” He paused and smiled, then said: “Including the thought that if I had shot Colonel Frade when I first met him, as I really wanted to, I wouldn’t be in this awkward position tonight.

  “Among other factors bearing on this situation is that I know General Martín shares your opinion, General Gehlen, of the danger the Soviet Union poses to the world, including Argentina. When I told him that Colonel Frade intended to offer your men sanctuary in Argentina, in accordance with the deal struck by you and Mr. Dulles, his response was, ‘Thank God for people like Dulles and Gehlen.’

  “And since your people have been in Argentina, my officers and I have had many conversations with them. Primarily with el Teniente Coronel Niedermeyer, but with many others, including some of the Nazis. These conversations convinced us all that the threat posed by the Communists is far worse than we understood.

  “For these and other reasons, I have concluded that what you propose, vis-à-vis challenging the Bolsheviks, is in no way inimical to the interests of the Argentine Republic. I will be aboard the SAA Constellation when it flies to Berlin.”

  “Thank you,” Mattingly said.

  “However,” Delgano added, “I don’t think I have the right to order my officers to pa
rticipate.”

  Peralta and Vega shot to their feet and stood to attention, obviously waiting for permission to speak.

  “Junior officer first,” Delgano said, pointing to Vega.

  “Mi coronel, where you go, I will go. I am surprised there was a question in your mind.”

  “Thank you,” Delgano said. “Mario?”

  “Mi coronel,” Peralta said, “I will consider it an honor to be aboard Ciudad de Rosario when we fly her to Berlin.”

  “Thank you,” Delgano said. “Frankly, I expected no less of you. Be seated.”

  Mattingly then said, “Everybody is aware, right, that there is a real chance you will be shot down?”

  “Mi coronel,” Delgano said. “If that were to happen, and I shall pray that it does not, it would certainly open the eyes of the Argentine people to the threat the godless Communists pose, wouldn’t it?”

  Frade had a very unkind thought.

  The naïve goddamn fool thinks he’s Sir Galahad bravely facing a hero’s death in the defense of his country.

  And the other two are eager to jump on their horses, unsheath their swords, and ride out with him to die nobly while trying to slay the dragon.

  The problem is that Delgano and Peralta and Vega have no idea what the dragon really looks like. None of them has ever been shot at, or seen an aircraft enveloped in flames—much less been in one that’s on fire—or seen an out-of-control, blazing aircraft turn into a huge ball of flame either before or after it crashed into the ground.

  “There is one other factor bearing on our little problem,” Frade said sarcastically.

  “Which is, Colonel Frade?” Mattingly asked, his tone suggesting he hadn’t heard the sarcastic tone or was ignoring it.

  “What about the Nazis in Berlin whom some people—including me and the Secret Service—think Argentina’s secretary of Labor and Retirement Plans intends to fly out of Berlin to sanctuary in Argentina?”

  “Who’s the secretary of whatever you just said?” Mattingly asked.

 

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