As they started to ride away from the Lockheed, Lieutenant Sawyer told Clete that he had ‘‘played a little polo at Ramapo Valley’’ while at Yale, and asked if there would possibly be a chance that he could play while he was in Argentina.
‘‘We’ll see, Lieutenant,’’ Clete said.
He looked over his shoulder.
Four troopers of the Second Cavalry, short-barreled Mauser carbines hanging muzzle downward from their shoulders, had set up a moving perimeter guard around the tied-down Lockheed.
To one side, maybe a dozen others were squatting around a bonfire under a quickly erected tent fly. A dozen horses stood stoically in the rain, their reins tied to a rope suspended between two tree limbs jammed into the ground.
If it wasn’t for the Lockheed, Clete thought, this could be the plains of West Texas in 1890.
[THREE] USS Alfred Thomas DD-107 26° 35‘ South Latitude 42° 45‘ West Longitude 0615 17 April 1943
Lieutenant Commander Paul Jernigan, a neat, thin Annapolis graduate who was six months shy of being twenty-nine years old, pushed himself out of his pedestal-mounted, leather-upholstered bridge chair—the captain’s chair—and walked to the navigation room.
His ruddy-faced, Irish, twenty-three-year-old navigator, Lieutenant (j.g.) Thomas Clancy, USN, and Ensign Richard C. Lacey, USNR, a short, somewhat pudgy twenty-two-year -old, who was the communications officer of the Thomas, were bent over the chart.
‘‘She appears to be picking up speed, Skipper,’’ Clancy said. ‘‘Lacey estimates she’s now making twenty-two knots.’’
‘‘She’’ was a vessel they hoped was a Spanish-registered merchantman called the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico. They had been looking for her for almost four days. There had been an OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE, the highest-priority communication, from the Navy Department.
TOP SECRET
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE
FROM CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASH DC
0440 GREENWICH 13 APR 43
TO USS ALFRED THOMAS DD1071. REFERENCE MSG 43-100-656 DATED 1 APR 43 SUBJECT LOCATION AND IDENTIFICATION OF CERTAIN VESSELS BELIEVED TO BE OPERATING IN SOUTH ATLANTIC OCEAN.
2. PRIORITY OF SEARCH SHOULD BE DIRECTED TO LOCATION AND POSITIVE REPREAT POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION OF SPANISH REGISTERED COMERCIANTE DEL OCEANO PACIFICO. SUBJECT VESSEL DESCRIBED IN DETAIL IN REFERENCE ABOVE AND IS LISTED WITH PHOTOGRAPH ON PAGE 123 IN 1938 JANES MERCHANT SHIPS OF THE WORLD.
3. SUBJECT VESSEL BELIEVED BOUND FOR RIVER PLATE ESTUARY AND WAS LAST REPORTED 1300 GREENWICH 8 APR 43 AT 8 DEGREES 33 MINUTES NORTH LATITUDE 26 DEGREES 55 MINUTES WEST LONGITUDE.
4. ON DETERMINING LOCATION CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WILL BE ADVISED PRIORITY OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE TOGETHER WITH YOUR ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL MOUTH OF RIVER PLATE.
5. ALFRED THOMAS WILL NOT REPEAT NOT BOARD SUBJECT VESSEL OR CONDUCT ANY ACTIVITY IN HER REGARD WHICH MIGHT POSSIBLY BE CONSTRUED AS VIOLATION OF RULES OF SEA WARFARE IN RE PASSAGE OF NON-COMBATANT VESSELS BETWEEN NEUTRAL PORTS.
6. ON LOCATION OF SUBJECT VESSEL, ALFRED THOMAS WILL MAINTAIN CONTACT WITH SUBJECT VESSEL UNTIL FURTHER ORDERS AND WILL FURNISH POSITION EVERY FOUR (4) HOURS UNLESS THERE IS A CHANGE OF HER COURSE SUGGESTING A CHANGE OF DESTINATION.
BY DIRECTION OF THE CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS NAVAL OPERATIONS QUIMMER VICE ADMIRAL
The chart over which Clancy and Lacey were bent traced the course of seven merchantmen they—and probably every other U.S. Navy vessel operating in the South Atlantic —had been directed to ‘‘monitor.’’
Skippers of other U.S. Navy men-of-war were almost certainly wondering what the hell was going on, and one did not radio the Chief of Naval Operations to ask for the reason behind an order.
But Captain Jernigan was sure he knew exactly what was going on—although he had not been officially told. He thought the Alfred Thomas had been selected from among the other ships on station, not so much because of its location, but rather because the Chief of Naval Operations knew that he would correctly guess what was going on.
The Alfred Thomas had been involved in the sinking of the Reine de la Mer in Samborombón Bay. A torpedo from the U.S. submarine Devilfish had actually sunk the ship, but Devilfish could not have gotten into position to fire her torpedo without the assistance of the Alfred Thomas.
When they received the first message to ‘‘monitor’’ the seven merchantmen, Jernigan immediately decided that Naval Intelligence—or maybe the OSS—had determined that the Germans were sending a replacement, which they could be expected to do, but were unable to determine which of the seven it was.
And obviously, at least to Captain Jernigan of the Alfred Thomas, ONI and/or the OSS now thought the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico was probably the ship they were looking for. Probably was the operative word. If they were more certain, they would have ordered the Alfred Thomas to board the Océano Pacífico or, possibly, even to sink her.
When the second message came, Clancy, at Jernigan’s orders, set up a sweeping course that would possibly allow them to intercept her—presuming the Océano Pacífico maintained her last known course.
Lookouts were ordered aloft around the clock, and of course there was the radar, which was supposed to have a range of fifty miles, and which Captain Jernigan trusted as profoundly as he trusted gentlemen in two-tone shoes and gold bracelets who operated businesses called ‘‘Honest Albert ’s Hardly Used Automobiles.’’
After days of fruitless search, Jernigan had just about decided that the search course Clancy set was the wrong one—his fault, not Clancy’s; he gave the order to follow it—when, to his genuine surprise, two hours after nightfall the day before, the radar operator reported a ‘‘target’’ thirty miles away, on a heading that would ultimately lead to the River Plate estuary.
Jernigan ordered Clancy to set up an interception course that would place them eight miles off the unknown vessel, on a parallel course.
That was just close enough for the lookout to report bright lights on the horizon. Bright lights suggested a neutral vessel—they sailed with floodlights lighting huge national flags painted on their hulls—but there was no way to further identify her without moving closer, and Jernigan was unwilling to do that at night. The Alfred Thomas took up a parallel course ten miles to starboard.
Jernigan then went to bed, in the belief that he should be well-rested when it came time to make decisions in the morning. After at least thirty minutes in his bunk, he realized that falling asleep in these circumstances fell in the category of wishful thinking. He showered and returned to the bridge.
It was now daylight. The vessel, whoever it was, was not visible to the lookouts, but still presented a good target to the radar.
Jernigan realized that it was of course likely that if it was the Océano Pacífico, she would also be equipped with radio direction and ranging apparatus, and know that there was a ship just a few miles away.
It was also likely that if it was the Océano Pacífico, she was armed. Putting a submarine-replenishment vessel into position in Samborombón Bay was of critical importance to German submarine operations in the South Atlantic.
With the naval cannon that could be placed aboard a merchantman, the Alfred Thomas of course would have the advantage. Unless, of course, the captain of the other vessel decided to take a long shot and opened up without warning with everything he had.
Jernigan glanced at his watch.
The crew had been fed.
‘‘Set a course which will bring us within visual range, Mr. Clancy,’’ he ordered. ‘‘How long would you estimate that would take?’’
‘‘Presuming they can’t run any faster than the twenty-two knots she’s now making, Sir, I would estimate fifteen minutes.’’
‘‘In ten minutes, order Battle Stations,’’ Captain Jernigan ordered. ‘‘I’m going to go have my breakfast.’’
‘‘Aye, aye, Sir.’’
He did not, in fact, have any breakfast. He instead moved his bowels, and returned to the bridg
e.
Exactly ten minutes had elapsed. As he stepped onto the bridge, and Mr. Lacey bellowed ‘‘Captain is on the bridge’’ much more loudly than was necessary, Mr. Clancy pressed the microphone switch and bellowed, ‘‘Battle Stations, Battle Stations, this is no drill.’’
Three minutes later, the lookout aloft reported a vessel dead ahead on the horizon. Thirty seconds after that, Jernigan saw the stack of a merchantman.
‘‘All ahead full,’’ he ordered softly. ‘‘Make turns for flank speed.’’
‘‘All ahead full, make turns for flank speed, aye,’’ the talker repeated.
‘‘Charge all weapons,’’ Jernigan ordered.
‘‘Charge all weapons, aye.’’
‘‘Mr. Clancy, we will pass to starboard.’’
‘‘Pass to starboard, aye, aye, Sir.’’
‘‘I want to read her stern board,’’ Jernigan said. ‘‘Run right up her ass until I can see it.’’
‘‘Right up her ass, aye, aye, Sir.’’
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE
FROM ALFRED THOMAS DD107
0150 GREENWICH 17 APR 43
TO CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASHDC
ALL RECEIVING USN VESSELS AND SHORE STATIONS TO RELAY1. MOTOR VESSEL COMERCIANTE DEL OCEANO PACIFICO LOCATED AND POSITIVELY REPEAT POSITIVELY IDENTIFIED AT 0145 GREENWICH 17 APR 43 POSITION 27 DEGREES 25 MINUTES SOUTH LATITUDE 43 DEGREES 05 MINUTES WEST LONGITUDE.
2. SUBJECT VESSEL MAKING 22 REPEAT 22 KNOTS ON COURSE 195 REPEAT 195 TRUE. BASED ON FOREGOING, ESTIMATED ARRIVAL MOUTH RIVER PLATE 2150 19 APR 43 .
3. ON APPROACH OF THIS VESSEL SUBJECT VESSEL UNCOVERED FOUR NAVAL CANNON BELIEVED TO BE 5-INCH OR EQUIVALENT, FOUR MULTIPLE BARREL AUTOMATIC CANNON BELIEVED TO BE 20 OR 30 MM BOFORS, PLUS SIX MACHINE GUNS OF UNDETERMINED CALIBER.
4. NO REPEAT NO FIRE OF ANY KIND WAS EXCHANGED AND NO REPEAT NO CONTACT OF ANY KIND WAS ATTEMPTED OR MADE BY EITHER VESSEL.
5. USS ALFRED THOMAS PROCEEDING IN COMPLIANCE WITH ORDERS.
JERNIGAN, LTCOM USN, COMMANDING.
[FOUR] Second Cavalry Regiment Reservation Santo Tomé Corrientes Province, Argentina 0700 17 April 1943
The rain had continued through the night. It was still raining when Capitán Delgano came into the transient officers’ quarters to take everybody to breakfast.
Delgano tugged at Clete’s sleeve as they walked down a gravel path to the officers’ mess. Clete slowed and let the others get ahead of them.
‘‘There’s a small problem,’’ Delgano announced. ‘‘The truck with the fuel got stuck on the way to the airstrip. They’re transferring the fuel barrels to a wagon.’’
The first thing Clete thought was that if the ground was so rain-soaked that the truck had gotten stuck, the airstrip itself would also be too soft for takeoff.
But then some Guadalcanal-learned expertise popped into his mind. That wasn’t necessarily so. You got mud where there was nothing but dirt, and where the dirt had been chewed up by tires. Before they got all the pierced-steel planking laid at Fighter One on Guadalcanal, he had often taken off from the dirt runway, after heavy rains that had made the roads to Fighter One just about impassable.
Where there was grass, often there was not mud. The airstrip here had not been used, except to graze cattle. The strip itself might be all right.
One criterion to judge by would be how far the Lockheed ’s wheels had sunk into the ground overnight. It was to be expected that they would sink in some—there was 18,000 pounds resting on maybe two square feet of tire surface—but sometimes that didn’t prohibit taxiing and takeoff.
A Wildcat could often be rocked out of tire ruts using the engine alone, or helped by people pushing. But you could feel a Wildcat and operate the throttle accordingly. The Lockheed was too heavy to feel, and probably would be difficult to push.
He had a quick mental image of a team of horses pulling the Lockheed out of tire ruts with a rope tied to the gear.
And then he had another thought. The Lockheed no longer weighed 18,000 pounds. It weighed 18,000 pounds less the weight of the fuel consumed between Pôrto Alegre and Santo Tomé, and while he hadn’t done what a good pilot should have done—checked to see how much fuel remained—he figured he had burned at least a thousand pounds of AvGas, and possibly more. Maybe even two thousand pounds.
If they topped off the tanks here, that would mean adding that weight back, which very well might spell the difference between sinking into the ground and being able to taxi and take off.
He could also considerably lighten the aircraft by off-loading the ton of radar equipment and not taking anyone with them. That would get the aircraft into the air and to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, where it was needed, at the price of worrying how to get Ashton, his team, and the radar to the shore of Samborombón Bay.
‘‘Don’t start fueling it until I have a look at it,’’ Clete said.
‘‘We are pressed for time,’’ Delgano said.
‘‘Getting that airplane, fully loaded, off of here may be difficult. Hold off on topping off the tanks,’’ Clete ordered firmly, as another problem entered his mind.
Delgano nodded, agreeing with the takeoff problem.
‘‘And we’re probably going to need more runway than I thought we’d need for the C-45," Clete went on. ‘‘Which means we have to walk some more to make sure there’s nothing out there we’ll run into.’’
‘‘We have to get that airplane to Buenos Aires Province as soon as possible,’’ Delgano said.
‘‘If I can’t get it off the ground here, it’ll never get to Buenos Aires Province,’’ Clete said. ‘‘The lighter it is, the better a chance I have.’’
Delgano nodded again.
They were now at the door to the officers’ mess.
‘‘I’ll be in in a minute,’’ Clete called to Ashton, then turned to Delgano: ‘‘I’d try to get it off with the fuel aboard, but I know I don’t have enough to make Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. What I’m thinking is going from here to a regular airfield, and taking on fuel there.’’
‘‘That would call attention to us,’’ Delgano argued.
‘‘The safest thing to do would be to unload my cargo here, leave my passengers here, and you and I take off alone, with the fuel now on board, and refuel somewhere between here and Buenos Aires.’’
Delgano nodded. ‘‘What’s your cargo?’’
‘‘I don’t think you want to know,’’ Clete said.
‘‘Explosives?’’
‘‘I don’t think you want to know,’’ Clete repeated.
‘‘I think I should know,’’ Delgano said.
‘‘Are you familiar with radar?’’ Clete asked.
‘‘I know what it is, of course. A radar? What are you going to do with a radar?’’
‘‘Guess,’’ Clete said.
‘‘My best information—el Coronel Martín’s best information —’’ Delgano said without missing a beat, ‘‘is that there is no German replenishment vessel in Samborombón Bay.’’
‘‘That was yesterday,’’ Clete said. ‘‘If I left my cargo and my passengers here, could you arrange transportation for them and guarantee their safe arrival at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo?’’
‘‘No,’’ Delgano said after some thought. ‘‘I could get a truck, but there would be at least a dozen checkpoints on the highway between here and there. Authorization from Colonel Porterman—a shipping manifest—might get them past the Army checkpoints, but not those of either the Polic ía Federal or the Provincial Police. They would want to check the cargo against the manifest. The only way I could ensure getting through them would be to be there and I have to be with the airplane.’’
Clete grunted thoughtfully.
‘‘They could stay here until after . . .’’ Delgano suggested.
‘‘And if the coup d’état fails, then what happens to them?’’ Clete didn’t wait for a reply. ‘‘I’m not going to leave them here. That brings us back to two choices: taking off
with them aboard, which I’m not at all sure I can do, or leaving them here, to make it by road to some airfield near here where I can get 110-130-octane aviation gasoline. ’’
‘‘Posadas,’’ Delgano said immediately. ‘‘It’s 130 kilometers from here; two hours, maybe a little less, by truck.’’
‘‘Long-enough runways? Capable of handling the Lockheed? ’’
Delgano nodded.
‘‘OK. Posadas it is. Let’s get some breakfast.’’
If the fuel gauges were to be trusted—and Clete had learned from painful experience that this was something wise birdmen did not do—there was just barely enough fuel remaining aboard to get them to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.
That was not good news; he would have been happier if the tanks had contained just enough AvGas to get them to Posadas. The Lockheed would have been that much lighter.
He briefly considered pumping gas out of the tanks. That was obviously not practical. It would have been time-consuming in itself. And, since there were no empty barrels at the landing field to pump it into, they would have had to wait until empty barrels could be brought from the barracks out to the strip.
A second truck sent from the barracks to take aboard the radar had made it out to the Lockheed without trouble. By driving across the grass of the pampas, Clete noted somewhat smugly, and staying off the muddy road.
He was almost through giving Capitán Delgano enough of a cockpit checkout to enable him to work the landing gear and flaps controls on orders, and to operate the radio direction finding system, when Captain Maxwell Ashton III came up to the cockpit.
‘‘The radar’s on the truck,’’ he announced. ‘‘But just between you and me, mi Mayor, I’m more than a little nervous to see my radar going off by itself.’’
‘‘There will be no awkward questions asked at checkpoints of five happy Brazilian civilians in a civilian car,’’ Clete said. ‘‘There would be if you guys were on an Army truck.’’
‘‘OK,’’ Ashton said. ‘‘Good luck!’’
Blood and Honor Page 58
