W E B Griffin - Honor 1 - Honor Bound
Page 68
FROM THOMAS TO PETER
REF OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE FROM THOMAS TO CNO
0320 GREENWICH 1JAN43.
1. ESTIMATE COMPLETION REFUELING 0930 GREEN-WICH 1JAN43.
2. ESTIMATE ARRIVAL DEVILFISH POINT M REPEAT POINT M 2300 GREENWICH 1JAN43.
3. ESTIMATE DEPARTURE DEVILFISH POINT M RE-PEAT POINT M 0200 GREENWICH 2JAN43. SHE WILL ATTEMPT ADVISE ACTUAL DEPARTURE TIME PRIOR DEPARTURE.
4. ESTIMATE ARRIVAL DEVILFISH POINT 0 REPEAT POINT 0 0400 GREENWICH 2JAN43. SHE WILL REPORT ACTUAL ARRIVAL TIME.
5. GODSPEED AND GOOD LUCK.
JERNIGAN, LTCOM USN COMMANDING
"Chief," Clete said, "since you're dealing with a bunch of amateur sailors, maybe you'd better translate all that for us."
"You mean that, Mr. Frade?" Chief Schultz asked.
"Each tiny little detail, each tiny little step," Clete said.
"OK," Schultz said. "OK. For openers, all these times are Greenwich times, which is a place in England. There's four hours' difference. When it's noon here, it's four in the afternoon there. Got it?" He looked at his wristwatch. "It's quarter after eight. That's 1215 Greenwich. Got it?"
Clete nodded.
Tony said, "Got it, Chief."
"So, let's talk about our time," Chief Schultz went on: "The tanker, the Biloxi, and the Devil Fish rendezvoused-up with the Thomas off Punta del Este about eleven-ten last night. What I'm guessing is that Captain Jernigan decided there wasn't much point in starting the refueling in the dark. If things fucked up-laying alongside another ship on the high seas isn't easy in the first place, and at night it's a bitch-forget the whole operation. So he waited until it was light to start the refueling.
"Only ten minutes later, he sent that Operation Immediate to the Chief of Naval Operations. That seems pretty dumb, but maybe when you're operating DP you have to do it."
" 'DP,' Oscar?" Ettinger asked.
They must have a mutual admiration society, Clete thought. It would never have entered my mind to call Chief Schultz by his first name.
"It means 'Direction of the President,' Dave," Schultz ex-plained patiently. "Really big-time stuff. There's probably six admirals sitting on their ass in the Navy Department, waiting to hear that you guys carried this off. Praying they don't have to go to the CNO hisself and tell him he has to go to the President and tell him this got fucked up somehow."
"Interesting," Ettinger said.
"Anyway, to go through this, when Captain Jernigan sent that Operational Immediate at 2320 our time, it was not light.
"As soon as she's fueled, which would be right about now, in another fifteen or twenty minutes, the Devil Fish will take off for Point J-which is probably just outside the twelve-mile line, just outside Argentine waters, off the Bay of Samboromb¢n. She'll try to contact us just before she leaves. We've been talking to the Biloxi and the Thomas, not the Devil Fish. They want to know if we can communicate with her. We'll probably hear from her in the next couple of minutes."
He turned around in his chair, picked up the headset, and put it on so that one speaker was on his left ear and the other was resting against his forehead.
"The Devil Fish'll probably run on the surface for a while, but then she'll run submerged, which is slower, to make sure nobody sees her. Then, when she's at Point M, which she estimates at 1900 our time, she'll surface, just far enough out of the water to get air to run her diesels and recharge her batteries, and then lay on the bottom until maybe 2300, when she will stick her antenna out of the water long enough to contact us and tell us she's leav-ing."
He turned suddenly in his chair, put both cans over his ears, and after tapping his key briefly, began to type on the typewriter. Finally he turned again.
"I'll have to decode this to be sure, but I'll bet-it's short and right on time-that it's the Devil Fish telling us she's leaving for Rio de la Plata. You want me to go on, or decode it?"
"Decode it, please, Chief," Clete ordered.
It was in fact a message from the Devil Fish, reporting that she was departing Point J for Point M.
"Which proves our radio works," Chief Schultz said. "Even with the shitty antennas on a submarine. Where was I?"
"The Devil Fish contacts us when she's leaving for Point O," Clete furnished.
"Not exactly," Chief Schultz said. "She contacts us to find out where the Reine de la Mer is# so from the charts Captain Jernigan gave her, she can pick the best spot for her to lay on the bottom of Samborombon Bay."
"I stand corrected," Clete said.
"Then the Devil Fish goes submerged to Point O, sticks her antenna out of the water, and tells us where she is. Then Mr. Frade here tells her where the Reine de la Mer is, and asks when he should drop the flares."
"And if the Reine de la Mer moves after Lieutenant Frade gives her position to the Devil Fish?" Ettinger asked.
"Then we start all over again, finding the sonofabitch, and then waiting for the Devil Fish to get close enough to her to get a shot at her."
"Is there enough moonlight for you to find her, Lieutenant?" Ettinger pursued.
"It depends on the cloud cover, and how much light I have. But I'll find her. I'm going to keep tabs on her all day, starting now. You want to come with me, Tony?"
"Yeah, sure."
[SEVEN]
Samboromb¢n Bay
0940 1 January 1943
Clete tapped Tony's shoulder and gestured toward the water 10,000 feet below them.
"You're sure that's her?" Tony asked.
"Yeah, that's her."
He consulted his Hamilton chronograph and the compass, made some quick computations, and then marked the position of the Reine de la Mer, sixteen miles off the coast, on the chart he had in his lap.
"Now we're going back?" Tony asked.
"Now we're going to go back and figure out some way to rig the chute so that I can operate it from up here," Clete said.
"It can't be done," Tony said. "I thought about it."
"Think some more."
"Hey, I'm going. First: There's no way you can drop the flares by yourself. And second: I'm going. And anyway, even if you could drop the first dozen by yourself, you'd have no way to reload the chute for a second run."
"I'll be very surprised if there will be a second run," Clete said. "They expect us down there."
He looked at Tony, who obviously believed him. There was fear in his eyes.
"They even know about the flares," Clete added. "They think we're going to try to set the sonofabitch on fire."
"How do you know that?"
"I have a reliable source of information. He also tells me there are two Bofors dual forty-millimeter cannon on board."
"I say again, repeat, first: There's no way you can drop the flares from up here," Tony said. "And second: I'm going."
"I say again, repeat, that when we get back we're going to see if there is a way I can do this myself."
"If they have Bofors forty-millimeters down there shooting at us, you won't have time to even think about dropping the flares yourself. Don't try to be a fucking hero."
Clete looked at Tony for a moment, then said, "Put the wire out the tail, and we'll see if the walkie-talkies work."
"Flyey-talkies?" Tony responded. "About the only thing left of the walkie-talkies after Ettinger and the Chief finished fucking with them is the nameplate."
"Let the wire out, Lieutenant Pelosi," Clete said.
"Yes, Sir, Mr. Frade, Lieutenant, Sir," Tony said.
Tony went into the now-stripped cabin of the Beechcraft and dropped to his knees near the open doorway. He put on a pair of heavy leather work gloves, then picked up a tiny parachute-a drogue chute-and carefully held the tiny chute out into the slip-stream.
It was immediately snatched from his hand; and the wire it was attached to moved so quickly over the gloves that they smoked. When all the wire, which had been carefully coiled in a wooden box, was deployed outside the Beech, he carefully looked out of the door. He could see the wire, but not the dro
gue chute.
He smiled with satisfaction. This idea of his had worked too. When the wire was fully extended, the force exerted by moving through the air at 120 miles per hour was enough to tear off the drogue chute. Otherwise, what Chief Schultz referred to as "the straight-wire antenna" would have gyrated wildly, and would not have been a "straight wire."
He had also solved the problem of dealing with the wire before landing, during which it would have posed problems. After Chief Schultz and the Argentine ex-Sergeant Major spent hours trying to come up with a crank to pull it back inside, he suggested they "just cut the sonofabitch; we have plenty of wire."
The suggestion earned him the highest possible praise from Chief Schultz: "Coming from a second lieutenant, that ain't too dumb an idea, Mr. Pelosi."
Tony went back through the cabin to the cockpit. "You couldn't put the straight wire out by yourself, either, Clete," he said.
"Where there's a will, there's a way, Lieutenant Pelosi," Clete replied, and picked up a microphone.
"Peter, this is Paul. How do you read? Over."
"'Paul, Peter," Chief Schultz's voice came back immediately. "Five-by-five."
"Peter, Paul, out," Clete said, set the microphone down, and turned to Tony.
"Be so good, Lieutenant Pelosi, as to cut the wire. Then we'll go home."
"Yes, Sir," Tony said.
[EIGHT]
Samboromb¢n Bay
0325 2 January 1943
"Put the wire out, Tony," Clete ordered. "There's just enough light for us to find the sonofabitch."
"Ain't we lucky?" Tony said, and got up from the co-pilot's seat and went into the cabin.
Two minutes later he was back. He nodded at Clete, who picked up the microphone.
"Peter, Paul. How do you read?"
"Paul, Peter, five-by-five."
"Peter clear."
"Paul standing by."
"That was Ettinger," Tony observed. "I wonder where the Chief is."
"I know where he is, he went for a cerveza."
Tony laughed out loud, and Clete joined him. The laughter was contagious and hysterical.
A manifestation, Clete thought, of extreme stress.
He consulted his Hamilton and his chart, and then five minutes later consulted them again.
"That's where the sonofabitch was," Clete said. "Where did you go, you sonofabitch?"
"There it is," Tony said, pointing downward.
Clete looked. He could make out the shape of ship. There were no running lights or other visible activity. But it was the Reine de la Mer.
"I wonder why they didn't move," Clete said, and the answer came, but he kept it to himself.
They didn't move because they're not at all afraid of a single-engine civilian aircraft about to drop incendiaries on them. Or at them.
They're getting ready for a little target practice.
There's probably some sonofabitch down there with binoculars looking for us. Ach du lieber, I hope he hasn't changed his mind and doesn't come. I was so looking forward to a little sport!"
He picked up the microphone.
"Peter, Paul."
"Go," Ettinger's voice came back immediately.
"Position unchanged."
"Hold one."
The holding took three minutes, before Ettinger's voice came over the radio.
"Paul, Peter, they want fifteen minutes."
"Understand fifteen, repeat, fifteen minutes."
"Right."
"Paul clear and standing by."
Clete pushed the button on the Hamilton that started the stop-watch function.
"We have fifteen minutes," he said.
"I heard."
"You know what I was thinking, Clete?"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"I was thinking that maybe this would be a good place-Ar-gentina, I mean-to live."
"Right now, Mr. Pelosi, I am of the belief that practically anywhere would be a good place to live. Considering the alternatives, of course."
"No. I mean it. I was thinking that they probably don't have a good demolitions company down here."
"You want to blow up Buenos Aires, Mr. Pelosi? Is that what you're saying?"
"There's a lot of old buildings here that have to come down. They probably take them down the way they put them up, one brick at a time."
"And you could improve on that system?"
"I'm pretty good at what I do, as a matter of fact," Tony said.
"Yes, Tony, you are."
"What the hell, it don't cost to dream, does it?"
"Not a dime."
"I'm really stuck on Maria-Teresa, Clete. It's not her fault she had to do what she did with that bastard Mallin."
"You are speaking of my future father-in-law, Mr. Pelosi."
"No shit? You're really going to marry that girl?"
"That thought has been running through my mind."
"What the hell, why not? If you love her, that's all that really matters, right?"
"My sentiments exactly, Mr. Pelosi."
"You be my best man, and I'll be yours, deal?" Tony said cheerfully, and put out his hand.
Clete shook it.
"Deal."
After a moment, Tony said, "So we're pissing in the wind. So what?"
They did not exchange another word for another twelve minutes, when Clete said, "I think you better go get set up, Tony."
"Yeah, right."
The first antiaircraft weapon on the Reine de la Mer to come into action was a heavy machine gun mounted above her bridge. It was firing one-in-five tracers. These arched through the sky and then seemed to die a hundred yards or so below the Beechcraft.
After the tracer charge burns out, Clete thought, the projec-tile-plus, of course, the projectiles that don't contain a tracer element, four times as many of those-continue on their trajec-tory.
Clete waited as long as he could after two other machine guns opened fire, and after first one and then the other of the Bofors 40-mm Cannon began to fire, before calling, "GO!"
He held the Beechcraft as steady as he could for fifteen sec-onds, then turned to look over his shoulder at Tony.
Tony was reloading the chute with the second dozen flares.
I can't believe we haven't been hit!
There was a faint but perceptible yellow brightness, reflected off the underside of the upper wing, and then a much brighter glow as the magnesium of the flares ignited.
He dropped his eyes in ritual habit to the control panel. There were red lights all over it, Oil Pressure Failure being the most significant of them.
The engine coughed and died.
The wind whistling through the guy wires of the wings was eerie.
"Tony!" Clete called. "Dump the flares, we have engine fail-ure."
"What?"
"Dump the goddamned flares, and put your goddamned life jacket on!"
He made a shallow turn to the left, away from the Reine de la Mer and its cannon and machine guns.
The engine nacelle suddenly glowed and then there were flames licking out its rear.
Tony came and stood behind him, trying to tie the cords of the ancient, cork-filled life jacket.
"Jesus!"
"I'm going to have to put it in the water," Clete said. "If those flames reach the fuel tanks, we're fucked."
He pushed the nose over and watched the airspeed indicator climb to the red mark and then beyond.
He was hoping that the rush of air would extinguish the blazing engine. It didn't. The fuel lines were apparently ruptured and feeding the fire.
"There was a submarine down there," Tony said.
"There was supposed to be," Clete said.
"I mean one of theirs, alongside that fucker."
"Go back and brace your back against my seat," Clete ordered.
Clete brought the Beechcraft out of its dive. If the wings came off, there would be no chance for them at all. As opposed to one chance in, say, two million.
The flame from t
he engine now licked at the windshield, blackening it, distorting it, finally burning through in front of the co-pilot's seat.