A passenger in the first rubber boat was returning to the Sunfish from the beach-a passenger wearing an old-fashioned, broad-brimmed campaign hat, what looked like dirty white pajamas, and a full, blond beard.
"McCoy said he would try to send a senior officer out," Commander Houser said. "That must be him."
Lieutenant Youngman turned to the Chief of the Boat, who was scanning the horizon through binoculars.
"Chief, make sure we bring that man safely aboard," he ordered.
"Aye, aye, Sir," Chief Buchanan said.
Chief Bosun's Mate Buchanan turned, trained his binoculars toward shore, looked a moment, and then handed the binoculars to a sailor standing in the center of the people crowding the bridge.
Then, moving with surprising agility for someone of his bulk, he disap-peared down the hatch in the deck of the conning tower, and a moment later emerged on the deck of the submarine.
By the time the rubber boat reached the Sunfish, Chief Buchanan had tied a half-inch line securely around his waist and placed the end into the hands of three sailors on the deck. He had also made a loop in a second length of half-inch line, handed the end to the sailors, and was swinging the looped end in his hand, not unlike a cowboy about to lasso a calf for branding.
"Put the line around that gentleman," he bellowed as he made his way down the slippery, curved hull of the Sunfish.
He tossed the line to the two sailors in the rubber boat. Their attempt to grab it failed, and Chief Buchanan, using language not customarily heard in Sunday schools, offered an unkind opinion vis-a-vis the legitimacy of their births.
He retrieved the line and tossed it again. This time the sailor in the aft of the rubber boat managed to snag it.
"Just put that over your head, Sir," he called encouragingly. "And under your arms, and we'll have you aboard in no time."
Captain James B. Weston did as ordered, then lifted himself very un-steadily to his feet and jumped onto the curved hull. He lost his footing, fell flat on his face, and started to slide down the hull into the water.
"Haul away!" Chief Buchanan bellowed.
Captain Weston's descent became an ascent; he was dragged up the hull to the deck, where Chief Buchanan and one of the sailors jerked him to his feet.
"Right this way, Sir, if you please," Chief Buchanan said.
From some long-dormant corner of Weston's memory, Naval protocol suddenly came to life and could not be denied. He shrugged free of Chief Bu-chanan's arm, faced aft, and saluted.
"Permission to come aboard, Sir?"
Chief Buchanan tried to place his hand on Weston's arm to guide him to the port in the conning tower. Weston, his right hand and arm still raised in salute, pushed him away with his left.
"Permission granted!" a voice called.
Weston followed the sound of the voice and saw a Naval officer's face high on the conning tower. His salute was returned. Weston lowered his arm.
"Escort the gentleman to the wardroom," Commander Houser ordered.
"Aye, aye, Sir."
Weston allowed himself to be led down the deck, and then through a hatch in the conning tower. He found himself in a hot, crowded world of dials and pipes, smelling of oil and sweat, with sailors in work clothing and officers in khaki staring at him with undisguised curiosity.
He was led aft, and then Chief Buchanan pushed aside a green curtain and motioned him inside.
"Someone will be with you shortly, Sir," Chief Buchanan said. "You'll have to excuse me. I've got to get back topside."
"Thank you," Weston said politely.
He walked into the small compartment and turned around. The curtain was back in place, and the Chief gone.
Weston sat down at the small table. On the chair beside him was a copy of The Saturday Evening Post. He picked it up.
The curtain parted, and a sailor stepped inside.
"Fresh coffee, Sir," he said. "If there's anything else, just push the but-ton."
He set a tray before Weston. It held a cup and saucer, a silver coffeepot, a pitcher of something like cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes. A small plate held a half-dozen chocolate-chip cookies.
Weston pushed at the cookies with his index finger, then picked one up and took a small bite.
"Are you hungry, Sir?" the sailor asked. "Can I fix you something?"
Weston looked at him without replying.
"Anything from an egg sandwich to steak and eggs, Sir," the sailor said.
"Yes, please," Weston said.
"Which, Sir? The sandwich or the steak and eggs."
"Could I have both?"
"Absolutely," the sailor said, and left.
Weston took another bite of the chocolate-chip cookie, and then thrust the whole thing in his mouth and chewed it very slowly.
He poured coffee into the cup, then sniffed it, then took a sip. It was so hot, it burned his lips. He added cream and a lump of sugar and stirred, then took another sip.
He put another chocolate-chip cookie in his mouth all at once, and then dipped a third into the coffee with cream and sugar.
The curtain opened again as Weston mopped up the juice from the steak with a piece of toast.
It was the officer who had given him permission to come aboard. Weston now saw the golden oak leaves of a lieutenant commander on his collar points and started to rise, as officers of the Naval Service do in the presence of a superior officer.
"Keep your seat," the lieutenant commander said. "Cookie take care of you all right? Is there anything else we can get you?"
Weston shook his head, no, and then said, "Thank you."
"I'm Warren Houser. I'm the skipper."
"Captain Weston, Sir," Weston said. "No-Lieutenant Weston, Sir."
"Which is it, Mr. Weston?" Houser said gently, smiling, offering his hand.
"Captain, U.S. Forces in the Philippines, Sir. First Lieutenant, USMC."
"Welcome aboard the Sunfish, Captain."
"Thank you, Sir. What's happening now, Sir?"
"We're discharging cargo."
"Captain, if the Japs don't know you're here, they will shortly. A Jap patrol was on the beach just before the first rubber boat landed. I killed them, but someone's going to wonder where they are, and probably right about now."
"Well, we've come a long way with this stuff, and we'd like to discharge it. I understand you've had a supply problem."
"We haven't had any supplies at all," Weston said simply.
"So we heard," Captain Houser said, and then changed the subject. "As soon as we're finished here, we're going to Espiritu Santo."
"Where, Sir?"
"It's an island. Sort of a forward base. From there, I expect you'll be flown to Australia."
"Yes, Sir."
"If you don't want anything else to eat, may I suggest a shower and a shave? And we'll find some khakis for you. I want to get back to the bridge, so if you'll excuse me, we'll continue our conversation once we're under way. My officers are pretty damned curious."
"I think I'll keep the beard," Weston said. "Lieutenant McCoy said I wasn't to shave it off until General Pickering saw it."
"From what I've seen of him, it would behoove you to do what Lieutenant McCoy told you."
"May I have another cup of coffee? I seem to have drunk all..."
"You can have anything on the Sunfish, Captain Weston," Lieutenant Commander Houser said, and rang for the messman.
[FIVE]
Approximately 30 miles south of Boston
Davao Oriental Province
Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines
0745 Hours 24 December 1942
Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, USN, and First Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, were standing just inside the vegetation on the shore. McCoy was holding a carbine, the butt resting on his hip. Lewis had a carbine slung from his shoulder.
The Sunfish lay about two hundred yards offshore, her 4.2 cannon and an-tiaircraft machine guns manned, her colors now hanging limply from the conning-tower mast. S
he had surfaced just over two hours before.
After McCoy made the decision-feeling the weight of it lying heavily on his shoulders-to take the chance that Everly and Zimmerman could find the Japanese truck-if in fact there was a truck-and get rid of it, there was hectic activity.
Four additional rubber boats were inflated and launched, and manned by sailors-there was no shortage of volunteers from among the Sunfish's crew. They began to ferry plastic-wrapped parcels ashore.
After the first two boats were manhandled back into the water-the surf had diminished since daybreak-they were paddled back to the submarine. The next four boats from the Sunfish didn't reach the beach. Their plastic-wrapped parcels were put over the side, and one of the two paddlers went into the water with them. The remaining paddlers paddled the now empty boats back to the Sunfish.
That process was repeated four times, so that eventually ten sailors were on the beach or else standing in waist-high water unloading the boats and mov-ing the cargo inland.
It was a far more efficient means to off-load the cargo than they'd been using, but it had not occurred to anyone during the practice sessions in Aus-tralia. The idea was Lieutenant Lewis's. After he proposed it, McCoy went along with it, somewhat cold-bloodedly deciding that if the Japanese came submarine hunting with a destroyer, it really wouldn't make a difference whether the Sunfish sailors died aboard the submarine or ferrying cargo ashore. He had not really expected they would off-load all the supplies they had brought with them, and now that there was a chance to do that, risking the sailors' lives seemed justifiable.
After they started unloading, one of the sailors, a chubby cook, politely suggested to McCoy that he just let the Navy unload the boats and save his strength. McCoy accepted the offer, wondering whether he agreed to do that because it was the militarily wise thing, or because he would rather have some-one else work up a major sweat in the heat and humidity.
He also ordered Koffler to get into the shade and save his strength. As soon as Everly returned-if Everly returned-Koffler was going to have to look for Everly's motorcycle, and then start out to find Fertig. He would need all his strength for that.
How to get everything to Fertig-wherever Fertig was-was going to be a problem, but that could be worried about later. The important thing now was to move the supplies off the beach and into the jungle where the Japanese would be unlikely to find them.
Forty minutes later, Everly came out of the jungle, hopping with surprising speed with the aid of a tree branch used as a crutch. He had both the carbine and an Arisaka rifle slung over his shoulder.
"Found it," he said. "We lucked out. All there was was a sergeant and the driver. Zimmerman cut their throats."
"Where is he?"
"He took the truck south."
"How's he going to get back here?"
"He's only going to take it two miles," he said. "He said that's far enough. Then he's coming back here."
"What's this?" McCoy asked, tapping the stock of the Arisaka. "A sou-venir?"
"Until you showed up, McCoy, we got our weapons from the Japs."
"OK. The thing to do now is get Koffler and his radio to Fertig. Can you find your motorcycle?"
"Yeah."
"Koffler!" McCoy called, raising his voice, and Koffler came running up.
The sweat had erased much of the black whatever-it-was that he had had on his face when Everly first saw him. Now he looked even younger.
"Go with Everly, Steve. You know what to do," McCoy said.
"Aye, aye, Sir."
Having completed their final trip to the beach, two of the rubber boats were almost back to the Sunfish, carrying with them members of the shore labor party. Before wading a final time into the surf, each of them had shaken hands with the landing party.
The third boat has halfway between shore and the submarine. The fourth had two sailors in it; a third sailor, in chest-deep water, was holding it for Lewis to wade out to it.
Using leafy branches from the jungle as a broom, Captain Macklin was doing what he could to obliterate the evidence of heavy traffic in the sand.
"You didn't have to come ashore," McCoy said, offering Lewis his hand. "I appreciate it. Take care of yourself, Lewis."
"Let me take him back with me, Ken," Lewis said, nodding at Macklin.
"No," McCoy said firmly.
"He's going to cause trouble," Lewis argued.
"Two things. General Pickering wants him here," McCoy said. "And, I realized, so do I."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"I guess the idea of the sonofabitch standing around some O Club bar mak-ing it big time with some nurse with stories of being in the Philippines with the guerrillas just pisses me off," McCoy said wryly, and then grew serious. "He's a Marine officer. He was sent here, goddamn it, and he should behave like a Marine officer. If he can't hack it, then he shouldn't be a Marine officer."
"If he threatens your mission, would you really kill him?"
"I hope I don't have to," McCoy said. "But I'm not sending the sonofa-bitch back."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Lewis said.
McCoy shrugged.
"If you can figure some way to do it without getting your ass in a crack, get word, through Ed Sessions, to my girl that I'm all right," McCoy said.
"Sorry, I can't do that," Lewis said. He walked out of the vegetation to the edge of the water, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted, "Boats, take that man aboard and get out to the Sunfish. I'm staying ashore."
"Hey, wait a minute!" McCoy called, running out to Lewis.
"You heard me, Boats, shove off!" Lewis shouted.
The two sailors in the rubber boat quickly hauled the one in the water into the boat and startled paddling out to the Sunfish.
"Are you out of your mind?" McCoy asked.
"Probably," Lewis said with a smile. "Two things. I don't want you shooting Macklin, and I really don't want to go back aboard that goddamned submarine."
"If I decide I have to take care of him, you're not going to get in my way," McCoy said.
"Understood," Lewis said.
They moved back into the vegetation and watched as the boat reached the Sunfish, and as it and the crew were quickly hauled aboard.
"You could still get on the radio and tell them to come get you."
"Too late," Lewis said, and pointed.
The colors were suddenly gone from the mast, and her decks were clear. She began to move very slowly, and very slowly to slip beneath the surface.
"I hope you remembered to bring something to eat," Lewis said.
"Just for the record, I think you've lost your mind," McCoy said. "We've got some Army rations. 'C rations' they call them."
[SIX]
Headquarters, U.S. Forces in the Philippines
In the Field
Davao Oriental Province Mindanao,
Commonwealth of the Philippines
0705 Hours 25 December 1942
The Commanding General had left instructions that he was not to be awak-ened, unless of course there was an indication the Japanese were nearby. So the first view Staff Sergeant Stephen Koffler, USMCR, had of Brigadier General Wendell W. Fertig was of a middle-aged man, with a red goatee, rising from his bed. The bed was a piece of canvas laid on the ground beneath an obviously freshly and hastily constructed lean-to.
This apparition was wearing a frayed and mussed khaki shirt, to the collar points of which were pinned silver stars. Matching trousers and a pair of bat-tered boots were hanging from the lean-to roof. The General held a Model 1911.45 ACP pistol, hammer cocked, and looked somewhat startled.
The first view General Fertig had of Staff Sergeant Koffler was of a boy- an American boy, who looked about seventeen-in dyed-black khakis. His arms and the backs of his hands were black, and his white face was framed in more black, under his hairline, and down his neck. In his hand he was carrying a very small rifle, of a type Fertig had never seen before, and something like a cut-off sword was hanging from h
is neck on a cord.
The boy came to attention and saluted.
"Staff Sergeant Koffler, U.S. Marine Corps, reporting, Sir."
General Fertig returned the salute.
"Reporting from where, Sergeant?" Fertig asked as he reached up and took his trousers from the lean-to wall.
W E B Griffin - Corp 07 - Behind the Lines Page 49
