‘‘Asunción, Paraguay,’’ Delgano interrupted. ‘‘It’s thirteen hundred kilometers. Would you like to see the flight plan I laid out?’’
‘‘If Capitán Lauffer thinks I can be trusted with it,’’ Clete said. ‘‘I would like very much to see it.’’
‘‘It’s inside,’’ Delgano said, gesturing in the direction of the hangar.
When they started to walk toward the hangar door, Clete saw the infantry officers watching carefully.
Fifteen minutes later, after checking Delgano’s flight plan and walking him through another preflight check, they came out of the hangar. When they did, there was visible relief on the faces of the infantry officers.
But Lauffer was not through.
‘‘You do not wish to test the aircraft’s engines? Could that be done inside the hangar?’’
‘‘Not without opening the doors,’’ Clete said. ‘‘The prop blast would very likely knock the doors off their tracks and then you’d never get it out of the hangar.’’
‘‘I’ll go to General Rawson and tell him that it was my decision not to roll the aircraft from the hangar,’’ Delgano said. ‘‘If that’s what you’d like.’’
Lauffer considered that a moment.
‘‘I think it would be best if Señor Frade did that,’’ he said. ‘‘I suggest that you stay here and hold yourself in readiness.’’
‘‘Whatever you say, Capitán,’’ Delgano said, his tone suggesting that he was at least as disappointed with Lauffer as Clete was. Lauffer seemed more interested in making sure no one could criticize his actions tonight than anything else.
[TWO] Officers’ Casino Campo de Mayo Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 0225 19 April 1943
The muzzles of what looked like .30-caliber air-cooled Browning machine guns poked from upstairs windows in the Officers’ Casino (which was what the Argentine Army called their Officers’ Club). There were two sandbagged machine-gun positions on the lawn of the club, and there were a number of soldiers—mostly noncoms—guarding the door who looked as if they knew what they were supposed to do with their rifles and submachine guns.
The capitán in charge of the building’s guard detail would not pass Lauffer, Clete, and Enrico into the lobby of the building until one of his lieutenants had gone inside the building to ‘‘check with el Coronel Perón.’’
They got inside as far as the door of what looked like the Main Dining Room, converted now to the command post where Ramírez and Rawson were directing the coup d’état, before they were stopped again to wait further clearance.
Clete looked inside, and decided that while this place looked like a command post—there were maps on the wall; batteries of telephones; messengers coming and going and the like—there was something about it that reminded him of the command post training exercises he’d gone through during his officer’s training. Then the aviation cadets had played at being squadron and air group commanders and staff officers, and solemnly pretended they knew what they were doing. There was somehow the same flavor here. Everybody seemed to be playing a role, and only a few people seemed to act as if they really knew what they were doing.
El Coronel Juan Domingo Perón himself, in an immaculate, splendidly tailored uniform, finally approached the door and waved them inside.
‘‘There is a problem with the aircraft?’’ he asked.
‘‘It will be available on five minutes’ notice,’’ Clete answered.
Perón looked at Clete and then at Lauffer, his attitude making it clear that he wasn’t interested in what Clete had to say.
‘‘Is the aircraft available?’’ Perón asked.
Screw you, Coronel!
‘‘Señor Frade thought it best not to take the aircraft from the hangar,’’ Lauffer said.
‘‘What?’’ Perón asked indignantly.
‘‘I thought it better to leave it in the hangar . . . ,’’ Clete began, and stopped when he saw General Rawson walking toward them.
‘‘Is there a problem?’’ Rawson asked.
‘‘No problem,’’ Clete said. ‘‘The aircraft is available on five minutes’ notice. It will take me that long to get it out of the hangar and warm the engines.’’
Rawson looked at Clete with his eyebrows raised questioningly.
‘‘My thought, General,’’ Clete said, ‘‘was that—’’
‘‘Lauffer, why did you bring Señor Frade here?’’ Perón interrupted.
‘‘Excuse me, Coronel,’’ Clete said, ‘‘I was speaking to the General.’’
Perón glared at him. Rawson made a face and then gestured for Clete to continue.
‘‘If we rolled the airplane out of the hangar and started the engines, it might give people the idea we were about to use it,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Which seemed to me to be both unnecessary and unwise.’’
Rawson considered that a moment, then said, ‘‘You’re right. I should have thought of that.’’
Perón’s face tightened, but he didn’t offer a comment.
‘‘Capitán Delgano is with the airplane?’’ Rawson asked.
"Sí, mi General,’’ Lauffer said.
‘‘Coronel Perón and I are about to have a final word with Coronel Tarramanno of the First Cavalry,’’ Rawson said. ‘‘OUTLINE BLUE calls for them to begin their march at two-thirty. I suggest that you stay here with Capitán Lauffer, Señor Frade, in case we need you.’’
‘‘Yes, Sir.’’
‘‘With a little luck, we won’t, but I’d like to have you available,’’ Rawson said. ‘‘Take a look at the situation map. And if you have any other thoughts, please give them to me.’’
‘‘Yes, Sir.’’
Perón’s face was now as stiff as a board.
‘‘Your car is outside, Roberto?’’ Rawson asked.
"Sí, mi General.’’
‘‘Then we’ll use it,’’ Rawson said. ‘‘Let’s go, Coronel.’’
The Situation Map was actually a collection of maps, all taped to a sectional sliding wall normally used to break the large dining room into smaller rooms. In the center were large maps of Argentina, one showing the upper half of the country, and the other the lower.
On the maps flag pins located both provincial capitals and military bases. The pins were either black or red, and Clete wondered about the significance of the colors until he spotted a blue-and-white pin on the map of the upper half of Argentina, looked closer, and saw that it marked Campo de Mayo.
The blue-and-white flag pin obviously identified locations under control of the revolutionaries.
So far, there’s only one blue-and-white flag.
Confirmation of the meaning of the flag pins came almost immediately, when a lieutenant stepped to the map and replaced the black pins that marked Santo Tomé and the Second Cavalry post outside Santo Tomé with blue-and-white pins.
Obviously, word had just come in that the Second Cavalry had not only joined the revolution, but had taken over the city of Santo Tomé.
Clete moved to the right of the central maps to one of Buenos Aires and Entre Ríos Provinces. Here more than a dozen blue-and-white pins marked the location of military bases and cities. But there were far more black—‘‘undecided, ’’ Clete judged—pins than blue-and-white, and there were two dozen red pins, which probably marked units and locations that were opposed to the ouster of President Castillo ’s government.
On these maps, too, were grease pencil marks outlining the routes of march the military units controlled by G.O.U. would take from Campo de Mayo and other military bases to the Casa Rosada.
A major politely moved him away from the map and inserted two different pins, one blue and one yellow, both numbered ‘‘1’’ at the gate to Campo de Mayo. These obviously represented the First Cavalry and First Infantry Regiments, which were at this moment preparing to begin their march.
Two minutes later, the major replaced the black pins marking the location of the barracks of the Second Infantry, the Buenos Aires garrison troo
ps, and the cantonment of the Navy’s School of Engineering. Clete knew where both military bases were. The Second Infantry’s barracks were near the Army’s polo fields across from the racetrack (and near Uncle Willy’s house) and the Navy School was on Avenida del Libertador several miles closer to Campo de Mayo.
The new flag pin on the Second Infantry was blue-and-white, and the new flag pin on the Navy Engineering School was red. The Navy was apparently staying with Castillo.
What does that mean? Will they fight the First Infantry when they see them coming down Avenida del Libertador? With what? The Navy usually doesn’t have many small arms, just enough rifles and pistols to arm Navy guards.
In the next few minutes, with decreasing courtesy, he was moved out of the way to allow a procession of officers and noncoms to replace pins all over the map.
Finally realizing with more than a little chagrin that he was really bothering people, he turned from the wall of maps and got out of the way.
At one side of the room he saw a table tended by white-jacketed waiters, and walked to it. Coffee and pastry was being served. That, like the swords dangling from every officer’s Sam Browne belt, seemed grossly incongruous to him, but apparently to no one else.
He took a cup of coffee and a roll and found an armchair, sat down, and stretched out his legs. The coffee was very hot, and he set the cup down on the wide arm of the chair to let it cool.
He was a well-nourished young man in excellent physical condition, and quite naturally excited to be taken out of bed in the middle of the night to witness a coup d’état.
But on the other hand, during the last seventy-seven hours he had traveled from Buenos Aires to Santo Tomé by train; crossed into Brazil by ferry, and then been driven across Brazil by a driver who apparently believed the two speeds of a car were On and Off; received four hours’ intense, if rudimentary, instruction in the operation of a Lockheed C-56 LODESTAR aircraft; flown that two-pilot aircraft without assistance, using dead-reckoning navigation, illegally across the Brazilian-Argentine border; landed it at night in a heavy rainstorm on a too-short, unpaved landing strip illuminated by gasoline burning in clay pots; flown the aircraft the next morning from Santo Tomé onto another dirt strip at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo and then from the estancia to Campo de Mayo.
The next thing Clete knew, Enrico was gently shaking him.
‘‘Señor Cletus,’’ the old soldier said, gently reproving him. ‘‘You are snoring.’’
Clete looked at his Hamilton. It was quarter past five.
Jesus Christ!
What did you do in the revolution, Daddy?
Why, son, I slept through it.
He rose quickly out of the chair and walked back to the wall of maps.
General Rawson was there, with Lauffer standing beside him.
Looking over Rawson’s shoulder, he could see that almost all of the flag pins on the map of Buenos Aires were now blue-and-white.
Almost all. Not all.
There were more than a dozen red flag pins, mostly congregated around the Casa Rosada, but also on the Edificio Libertador, and, surprising Clete, on the Naval School of Engineering. Near that red flag pin was the blue flag pin with the numeral 1, identifying the First Infantry Regiment.
He looked for and found the yellow flag of the First Cavalry. It was on the intersection of Avenida Córdoba and Avenida Pueyrredón, less than a mile from the Casa Rosada. Beside it was the blue flag pin of the Second Infantry.
General Rawson sensed somebody behind him and looked over his shoulder.
‘‘You must have a clear conscience, Señor Frade,’’ Rawson said, letting him know that he had seen him sleeping— or possibly heard him snoring. ‘‘Either that, or you have a commendable faith in OUTLINE BLUE.’’
He’s in a good mood. The revolution must be on track.
‘‘The latter, mi General,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Judging from the map, it looks like it’s going well.’’
‘‘Not here,’’ Rawson said, pointing at the School of Naval Warfare. ‘‘There is resistance here. Machine guns. There have been some casualties. The First Infantry is stalled.’’
Clete blurted, ‘‘Can’t they bypass it? Come back later and clean it out?’’
‘‘They could, they should, and I have ordered them to do precisely that,’’ Rawson said. ‘‘I had to order the First Cavalry and the Second Infantry to stop their advance.’’
He pointed to those flags.
‘‘I don’t understand.’’
‘‘I am not in communication with the commanding of ficer of the First Infantry,’’ Rawson explained. ‘‘They had a radio truck with them, but it has stopped functioning, and the telephone lines all along Libertador are not working. They were probably disconnected by the Navy; there is a switching station inside the compound.’’
What about sending a messenger?
Rawson read his mind.
‘‘I’ve sent three messengers, and they have either been unable to get through, or the legitimacy of the order is being questioned.’’
‘‘What about dropping them a message?’’ Clete thought out loud.
‘‘Excuse me?’’
‘‘You have three Piper Cubs on the airfield. One of them could be there in ten minutes. Just drop your orders to the commanding officer.’’
‘‘Drop?’’ Rawson asked, confused.
‘‘You put the message in a pouch, with something heavy, like a wrench or a brick. You tie a long piece of cloth to the pouch, so that they can see it coming down, and throw it out the window.’’
‘‘Is that possible?’’
‘‘It’s routine in the Marine Corps,’’ Clete said.
"How do you keep the message from falling into the . . . wrong hands?"
He almost said ‘‘hands of the enemy.’’ But these sailors aren’t enemies, they’re people who just haven’t gotten the word. Which probably explains why the infantry commander hasn’t blown them away. They’re trying to spill as little blood as possible.
‘‘You fly low enough, and slow enough, over the people you want to get the pouch so you can’t miss.’’
‘‘That’s very interesting.’’
Clete warmed to the subject.
‘‘As far as that goes, there’s a couple of soccer fields right next to the Navy School. You could land a Cub there and deliver the message in person.’’
‘‘Is that possible?’’
‘‘Yes, it is.’’
‘‘You would be willing to do that?’’
Oh, shit!
Actually, I was thinking that Capitán Delgano would be just the man for the job. For one thing, he’s got a lot more time in Piper Cubs than I do; and for another, I don’t think I want to explain to some loyalist Argentine sailor what I’m doing flying an Army airplane for the revolutionaries.
‘‘Yes, Sir,’’ he heard himself saying. ‘‘If you’d like me to.’’
‘‘Excuse me for a moment,’’ Rawson said. ‘‘I would like a word with General Ramírez.’’
He was back in two minutes with Ramírez, who obviously thought the idea had great merit.
‘‘What I was thinking, Mayor Frade,’’ he said, ‘‘was that we have two problems which might be solved if you believe you can drop a message to the First Infantry by small aircraft.’’
Are you ever going to learn to keep your mouth shut?
‘‘Yes, Sir?’’
‘‘OUTLINE BLUE called for the two columns to converge simultaneously on the Casa Rosada. The First Infantry would move down Avenida del Libertador, while First Cavalry and the Second Infantry would move down Avenida Córdoba. As I’m sure you’ll understand, that will have a certain psychological effect. As a matter of fact, the simultaneous arrival of the two columns was your father’s idea.’’
‘‘Yes, Sir.’’
‘‘The First Cavalry and the Second Infantry have been halted, as General Rawson told you, at Pueyrredón and Córdoba. Now, if we can send word
to the First Infantry to bypass the resistance at the Naval School, we can start the First Cavalry and the Second Infantry moving again. But since they are so much closer to the Casa Rosada than the First Infantry, we again have the problem of arranging for them to move in concert. At the moment, we have communication with the First Cavalry and the Second Infantry, but we cannot count on the telephones continuing to be operational. You see the problem?’’
‘‘Yes, Sir.’’
‘‘Once we start the First Infantry moving, do you think it would be possible to observe it from the air as it moves down Avenida del Libertador?’’
‘‘Yes, Sir, of course.’’
‘‘And then, when they are the same distance from the Casa Rosada as the First Cavalry and the Second Infantry, to drop a message to them to resume their march?’’
‘‘There is only one problem I see with that, mi General,’’ Clete said. ‘‘Or two. The first is that I’m not qualified to make an assessment like that. I would have no idea when the two columns were, time-wise, an equal distance from the Casa Rosada.’’
‘‘Oh. I didn’t make myself clear. General Rawson would be in the airplane. His presence at the Naval School is essential to the whole idea. So he would be with you; and he would make the decision when to order the First Cavalry and the Second Infantry to resume their march.’’
‘‘The second problem, Sir, is that while I can fly the Lockheed by myself, should that be necessary, Capitán Delgano cannot.’’
‘‘I think by now we can safely say that the success of OUTLINE BLUE is a given,’’ Ramírez said, ‘‘and we will not need your aircraft. What we must do now is finish the operation with as little loss of life as possible. What I’m saying is that the honor of the officers defending the Casa Rosada will be satisfied when clearly irresistible force—the simultaneous appearance of the two converging columns— makes further resistance obviously futile and surrender honorable. Lives will be saved!’’
‘‘Yes, Sir. I take your point.’’
‘‘God go with you!’’ Ramírez said emotionally, and grasped both his shoulders. ‘‘Your father would be proud of you, my boy!’’
Here lies Major Cletus H. Frade, USMCR, who survived Guadalcanal and slept through most of the Argentine Revolution of 1943, but—for reasons that have never been made clear—died while trying to land a Piper Cub on a soccer field. General Arturo Rawson, who had just been appointed President of the Governing Council of the new military government, was also killed in the crash.
Blood and Honor Page 63
