W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound

by Honor Bound(Lit)

  Delgano and the other pilots lived on the estancia in what amounted to a small village not far from the ranch house. The village housed the estancia's professional staff: the estancia man-ager; a doctor; a veterinarian; the schoolmaster; a resident engi-neer, and so on.

  "They are my people; they can be trusted to do what they are told without asking questions," Clete's father told him when that question came up during a meeting with Graham.

  Apparently operating on the theory that if orders came via Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez they came from el Coronel, the estancia manager and the resident engineer provided anything asked of them without argument or question. Delgano was not so agreea-ble. Probably because he regarded the Beechcraft as his personal property before the arrival of el Coronel's son from the Estados Unidos, he was visibly petulant when Clete politely told him he would not need his services to fly the Beech.

  But when the petulance was replaced by a suspicious anxiety to be as helpful as possible, Clete and Graham decided that whether Delgano could be completely trusted or not, a little de-ception seemed called for when it came time to make the in-flight tests of Tony's and Chief Daniels's flares.

  The tests were conducted in two phases: First they used inert charges (the magnesium of the flares replaced with sand)-to test the opening of the parachute and the timing of Tony's homemade detonating devices. And finally they tried fully functioning flares.

  Dropping them required removing the door of the Beechcraft. Unfortunately, this could not be done in flight. And it couldn't be done at the estancia's airstrip, either: Clete and Graham knew that Delgano's curiosity-as would their own, in similar circum-stances-would shift into high gear if he saw them taking the door off, loading mysterious packages into the plane, and then taking off.

  The solution they came up with was to use a landing strip-a straight stretch of dirt road with a wind sock-in a remote corner of Se¤ora Carzino-Cormano's Estancia Santa Catharina. They sent Tony there in the Buick with the flares. Then they flew the Beech there with Chief Daniels as a passenger. They took off the door, loaded the flares, went up and dropped them, landed on the dirt strip to drop Tony off and put the door back on, and then flew back to the field at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

  When they were in the air over Estancia Santa Catharina, Capitan Delgano twice "happened" to be making a routine flight in one of the estancia's Piper Cubs. But the Beechcraft was so much faster than a Cub, losing him was no problem.

  Neither Graham nor Clete was happy with el Coronel's confi-dence in el Capitan Delgano, but there was nothing they could do about it.

  "And if you forgot dinner with the Mallins," el Coronel said, sounding annoyed, "it would follow that you forgot to ask Se¤or Graham for the pleasure of his company. I think that good man-ners requires that you-we-do so."

  Why is it important to my father that Graham come to dinner? Because he wants a report of our activities out here, and he wants to be able to look at Graham's face when he delivers the report.

  "Se¤or Graham is here with me. We're having lunch. Hold on a minute and I'll ask him if he is free to accept your kind invi-tation."

  "Tell him that I would consider it a great favor."

  Clete put his hand over the telephone receiver, then changed his mind.

  "It is my father, mi Coronel," he said in Spanish, loudly enough for his father to hear. "My father asks me to tell you that he would consider it a great favor if you would take dinner with us tonight in Buenos Aires."

  Also in Spanish, Graham replied, loud enough to be heard over the telephone: "Please tell your father that I would be delighted to accept his kind invitation."

  "Papa," Clete said, "Se¤or Graham says he would be honored to accept your kind invitation."

  "I heard, and I don't think you are amusing," el Coronel Frade said. Then he added, "Early. Nine-thirty," and hung up.

  "Mi Coronel," Clete said. "Mi Papa, el Coronel..."

  "I heard, and I don't think you're amusing either. What's this dinner all about?"

  "He's having the Mallins to dinner, to thank them for putting me up when I first got here."

  "Mallin, as in Sociedad Mercantil de Importation de Productos Petroliferos?"

  Clete nodded.

  "I should have gone to see Mallin, and I didn't," Graham said. "There might be questions about that. Do you think your father thought of that?"

  "I think Papa wants to know what's been going on out here."

  "That, too, certainly. Well, I suggest we finish our lunch, then go see Chief Schultz, tell him we're going into town, and then go."

  "Dinner isn't until nine-thirty."

  "I will pay a call on Se¤or Mallin before I meet him socially tonight," Graham said.

  "Schultz is at the transmitter site. We'll have to drive a Model T out there-the Buick would get stuck-and then come back here for the Buick."

  "OK" Graham said. "I just want to make sure that Schultz is on schedule."

  Chief Radioman Oscar J. Schultz walked up to the Model T sedan at the transmitter site. He was wearing the familiar strained smile of a Chief who knows what he's doing when he sees the brass, who cannot find their asses with both hands, coming to inspect his work.

  As they bounced over the pampas in the Model T, it was dif-ficult to pick him out from among the twenty-odd gauchos work-ing in the area. He was dressed as they were, in a flowing shirt, billowing black trousers drawn together at the tops of his boots, a wide leather belt around his waist (complete to a menacing-looking knife with a foot-long blade), and a large, floppy beret on his head.

  "You really ought to learn how to ride, Chief," Graham said.

  "You're already in uniform."

  "The Colonel, Sir, is dressed as if he and Mr. Frade are going somewhere," Schultz replied, not amused.

  He and Chief Daniels had arrived at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo in their dress-white uniforms. The gauchos' clothing was the only solution to the clothing problem. Chief Schultz didn't mind much-Clete observed him examining himself in a mirror with approval. But Chief Daniels was uncomfortable in the gaucho costume; he was in fact heard mentioning to Chief Schultz that they both looked like Mexican pimps.

  On the other hand, while there were only a few actions that Chief Radioman Oscar J. Schultz, USN, was unwilling to under-take in the service of his country, high on that short list was approaching closer to large animals-such as horses or cattle- than was absolutely necessary. That he might actually climb on a horse and use it as a means of transportation was absolutely out of the question.

  Enrico solved that problem by obtaining for him the keys to one of the estancia's dozen or so ancient, but perfectly maintained Model T pickups from the estancia manager. They were nearly as good off-the-road, or through-the-mud, as a jeep.

  "We're going into Buenos Aires for dinner, Chief," Graham said to Schultz. "We'll be back in the morning. You have things under control here? You need anything from the city?"

  "I'm going to hang the antennae in the morning," Schultz answered. "We've got everything we need. Maybe, with a little luck, we can get on the air tomorrow afternoon. What's going on in Buenos Aires?"

  "I think Mr. Frade's father wants to know what we're doing out here," Graham said.

  "With you two gone, that'll mean only Ettinger and me are left who speak Spanish," Chief Schultz said.

  "That'll pose a problem?"

  "It will if Enrico goes with you."

  "He and Mr. Frade are like Siamese twins, but if you think it's important, Chief..."

  "He's the only guy around here who knows how to make these people jump, Colonel."

  Ten minutes later, a visibly reluctant Suboficial Mayor Rodri-guez-having been convinced that he could contribute to killing Germans by remaining at the estancia to help Chiefs Daniels and Schultz and Staff Sergeant Ettinger-handed his Remington Model 11 to Colonel A. F. Graham.

  "With respect, mi Coronel, be very alert."

  "You have my word of honor, Suboficial Mayor," Graham repl
ied solemnly.

  "I will pray for God to protect you."

  When they returned to the ranch house to pick up the Buick, el Capital Delgano, attired in a natty suit, was waiting for them on the verandah with a suitcase. So was Second Lieutenant An-thony J. Pelosi, wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His seersucker jacket was lying on the verandah rail.

  Delgano walked off the verandah and was approaching the Buick when Clete got there.

  "Se¤or Cletus," he said. "I overheard the housekeeper say you and Se¤or Graham are going to Buenos Aires. I wondered if I could join you."

  "It would be my pleasure, mi Capitan," Clete said.

  Delgano turned and started quickly toward the verandah to re-trieve his bag. Tony picked up his coat and walked to the car.

  "I wonder," Graham said softly, "what el Capitan's plans are in Buenos Aires."

  "I couldn't tell him no, could I?"

  Graham shook his head.

  "Lieutenant," Tony said. "I checked with Daniels. He'll have twenty-four flares and a couple of spares in an hour or so. Is there any reason I couldn't go into Buenos Aires with you?"

  "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Pelosi," Graham said.

  "The condemned man wants a last meal-a last Italian meal? Peppers and sausage, maybe?" Clete replied.

  "I was thinking of maybe some veal parmigiana," Tony said, smiling shyly.

  After a long moment, Graham shrugged.

  "I left that damned shotgun in the Model T," he remembered. "What do I do with it?"

  "I think you better bring it with you, mi Coronel," Clete said. "I wouldn't want to be you if Enrico came here and found it."

  Delgano came up with his suitcase.

  "Put it in the trunk, mi Capitan," Clete said. "Get in, Tony."

  [FOUR]

  Ristorante Napoli La Boca.

  Buenos Aires

  1815 29 December 1942

  "They serve pretty good food in there, Tony?" First Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR, asked of Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi as Tony crawled out of the backseat of the Buick.

  "As a matter of fact, it's pretty good," Tony replied.

  "Well, eat a lot. And don't complain about the prices. I want them to be successful. They owe me money."

  "They don't owe you the money, I owe you the money," Tony said, and then changed the subject. "How are we going to get together?"

  "If you think you'll be through dinner by then, I'll pick you up at your apartment at eight in the morning."

  "Very funny," Tony said, nodded at Graham, and walked into the restaurant.

  "What's that all about?" Graham asked as Clete pulled away from the curb.

  "True love. Tony met a girl. An Italian girl. Her father owns that restaurant."

  "And the crack about the money?"

  "That's personal."

  "It would have been better if you weren't so considerate of his love life," Graham said. "I don't think Internal Security is going to pick you up-or me-and take us someplace to work us over with a rubber hose, but I'm not so sure about Pelosi."

  Clete looked at him but didn't reply.

  "At least we got rid of el Capitan Delgano before we dropped him off. Unless, of course, they already know about his girl-friend."

  "They meaning Internal Security?"

  "He's either headed right for Internal Security or to someone else who'll be grateful for a report on the interesting things we've been doing on your father's estancia. I thought about blowing the sonofabitch away on the drive here. Now I'm sorry I didn't."

  "It would have gotten blood all over my nice leather seats," Clete said, not willing to accept that Graham was serious.

  "Disposing of the body would have been the problem, and I didn't know how you two would react."

  My God, he's serious.

  "My father doesn't seem worried about Delgano."

  "I am," Graham said simply.

  "Well, what the hell, Colonel. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow... or a day or two later... we probably die."

  "Good God!" Graham said, his voice falling into a groan.

  "Do you want me to take you to your hotel? Or the Edificio Kavanagh?"

  "What's that? Oh, Mallin's office?"

  Clete nodded.

  "I better go there," Graham said.

  There was a large, sharp-pointed grain of truth in Clete's flippant remark.

  Based on his professional experience as a Naval Aviator while operating from Henderson Field on Guadalcanal, First Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR, was possessed of knowledge that he did not elect to share with anyone but Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi, CE, AUS.

  While he was confident that their system to illuminate the Reine de la Mer by means of parachute flares would probably illuminate the Reine de la Mer enough to permit whoever was firing the torpedoes from the submarine to see the sonofabitch well enough to aim accurately, the chances of the aircraft coming out of the encounter intact were practically nonexistent.

  The odds of the crew of the aircraft surviving the encounter intact were somewhat less. For a number of reasons: The crew would not have parachutes, for instance. Nor would they have life belts that Clete had any confidence in. After an extensive search, he found the ones they were using in a warehouse at the estancia. They looked as if they had floated off the Lusitania when she sank and were dry-rotting away ever since.

  While there was an element of risk in actually dropping the flares, that operation was simplicity itself. A chute had been con-structed of wood. This fit in the door of the aircraft, and was long enough to hold six flare assemblies in a row. There was room for two rows, for a total of a dozen flares.

  On the command "Get Ready," the flare dropper-Pelosi- would elevate the interior end of the chute by propping it up with legs mounted to its sides. He would then remove a board at the exterior end of the chute, which held the rows of flares in place.

  On the command "Go," the flare dropper would simultaneously activate two detonators, each with a five-second delay, and immediately shove all twelve flares off the chute using a built-in pusher.

  Five seconds later, approximately two to three seconds after leaving the aircraft, the detonators would function, in turn igniting a length of primercord (which bound the six-flare bundles to-gether) and the detonators which would ignite the magnesium. Once freed of bundling, the flare assemblies would separate, and their parachutes would deploy, a second or two before the mag-nesium in each reached full burn.

  It sounded like a Mickey Mouse rig, especially to Chief Dan-iels, but to Clete and Graham as well (especially since the pri-mercord was locally manufactured by Lieutenant Pelosi). But it worked from the first test, and they tested it twice.

  According to the plan, the flare dropper would then reload the chute with a second dozen flare assemblies and stand by for the "Get Ready" and "Go" orders in case a second run over the Reine de la Mer proved necessary.

  The odds that a second run over the Reine de la Mer would not be necessary were, in Lieutenant Frade's judgment, approxi-mately one hundred to one.

  His reasoning was that even with the Reine de la Mer in plain sight, permitting a perfect overtarget run, he would have abso-lutely no idea, when they began their descent, how the slipstream and other factors like winds aloft would affect the flares' position in relation to the Reine de la Mer, and thus how they were illuminating it.

  The illumination pattern could of course be perfect for the tor-pedo aimer in the submarine. This was highly unlikely, but pos-sible.

  At this point, there entered another messy question: Would the submarine be in position to fire its torpedoes once the target was bathed in the light of the magnesium flares?

  Submarines firing torpedoes are not like warships firing their cannon, or hunters shooting ducks. Cannons can be traversed, moved from side to side, just as a hunter can turn to move his shotgun. But torpedoes fire in a straight line in the direction the submarine is pointed. While it is possible to adjust th
e course of a torpedo-turning it left or right off a dead-ahead course-that can only be adjusted so much.

  Presuming the submarine got a good look at the Reine de la Mer in the light of the first flare run, it was very probable that it would be necessary to move the direction of her bow ten, twenty, maybe thirty degrees to the right or left.