She had neither bridge nor wheelhouse. She was controlled internally by her coxswain—or more likely by some sheltered water seaman who proudly called himself ‘‘Capit án’’—from inside her superstructure.
She took water over her bow as she turned to draw alongside —not enough to be dangerous, he judged. And when the light was right, he could see into the interior of her single cabin.
A young blond-haired man was at her wheel. Beside him, hanging on for dear life, was a man very likely wearing the uniform of the SS.
‘‘Capitán, our accommodation ladder is half-raised,’’ his Second Officer informed him.
‘‘Have it lowered. Have someone on the platform throw her a line. Have an officer arm himself and be prepared on my orders to deny the use of the ladder to anyone.’’
"Aye, aye, Sir."
It took five minutes for the accommodation ladder to be lowered to the surface of the water, then for an officer— de Banderano was surprised to see it was the Second Engineer —to find a submachine gun and come to the rail, and finally for two seaman to find a coil of line and descend to the ladder’s platform with it.
During this period, the Coronel Gasparo circled, dipping her bow in the swells and leaning almost alarmingly as she waited for the completion of the preparations to receive her.
The first time she approached the ladder, only a last-second desperate maneuver kept her from colliding with the Océano Pacífico. This, of course, forced her to make yet another dipping and swaying turn.
Two of her crew—a middle-aged man and a younger one, who looked like his son—were now outside the cabin. The middle-aged man aft caught the second tossed line, tied it to a stanchion that was not very substantial-looking, and the two sailors on the ladder physically dragged the Coronel Gasparo back to the ladder.
The SS officer appeared on the aft deck. De Banderano could now see him clearly. He was not only an SS officer, but a Standartenführer. De Banderano had been told he would be contacted by a senior German official, but had expected this would be someone from the German embassy, a diplomat, not a Standartenführer.
Very carefully, the Standartenführer jumped from the Coronel Gasparo onto the ladder and started up it.
When he reached the deck, he looked around until he saw Captain de Banderano.
His arm shot out in the Nazi salute.
‘‘Heil Hitler!’’ he barked in German. ‘‘You are Captain de Banderano?’’
De Banderano nodded. His German was adequate but not fluent; he used it only when he had to.
‘‘Standartenführer Goltz,’’ Goltz announced. ‘‘I am the officer you were told to expect.’’
‘‘What can I do for you, Standartenführer?’’ de Banderano asked in his halting German.
‘‘This is my authority,’’ Goltz said, and handed him the letter on the stationery of the Nazi party and signed by all the senior members of the German government except Adolf Hitler himself.
Capitán de Banderano had just finished reading it—and being suitably impressed by it—when Peter stepped off the ladder onto the deck.
‘‘Buenos días, Capitán,’’ Peter said, and rendered a military salute.
‘‘Major Freiherr von Wachtstein, Captain,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘My assistant in this undertaking.’’
There was something about the young major that de Banderano liked.
‘‘You apparently have had a rather rough voyage,’’ de Banderano said in Spanish. ‘‘Could I offer coffee? Perhaps with a little something to sweeten it?’’
‘‘The Capitán’s understatement is exceeded only by his generosity,’’ Peter said. ‘‘I accept with the most profound thanks.’’
Goltz looked at Peter for a translation.
‘‘The Capitán has just offered us coffee,’’ Peter said.
‘‘I think that would be a splendid idea,’’ Goltz said.
‘‘If you’ll come this way, gentlemen?’’ de Banderano said, and then added: ‘‘You speak Spanish very well, Mayor.’’
‘‘Thank you. I spent some time in Spain,’’ Peter said.
‘‘During the war?’’
‘‘With the Condor Legion,’’ Peter said.
Goltz picked up on the Condor Legion and guessed what they were talking about.
‘‘Major von Wachtstein received the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross from the hands of the Führer himself,’’ he offered.
‘‘For service in Spain?’’ de Banderano asked.
‘‘For service in the East,’’ Peter said.
De Banderano now had the satisfaction of confirming his snap judgment of the young officer. He was a fellow warrior in the war against the Antichrist Communists.
He waved them to seats around the wardroom table and ordered the steward to bring coffee, sweets, and brandy.
‘‘Curiosity overwhelms me,’’ he said. ‘‘What are you doing in that river craft out here?’’
‘‘What did he ask?’’ Goltz asked.
‘‘It was all we could find on short notice,’’ Peter said, and then translated for Goltz both de Banderano’s question and his reply.
‘‘We are pressed for time,’’ Goltz said to de Banderano.
‘‘How may I be of service?’’ de Banderano asked.
‘‘Shortly before you sailed from Sweden, Captain, several crates were loaded aboard your vessel by Obersturmbannf ührer Hasselmann. . . .’’
Goltz paused until this was acknowledged—de Banderano nodded his head—and then continued.
‘‘I tell you now, in confidence, Captain, that they contain certain matériel which will be used to repatriate the officers of the Graf Spee now interned in Argentina. These officers will be brought—probably in groups of twenty or so—from their place of internment to your ship, and then transferred to submarines.’’
De Banderano had been very curious about the crates brought aboard the Océano Pacífico under heavy guard at the last moment before he sailed. And once they were under way he went so far as to enter the hold to look at them. He actually considered opening them for a look. But they had been sealed with lead-and-wire seals that could not be broken without detection.
‘‘Major,’’ he said in German, ‘‘my German is not that good. This is obviously of great importance. Would you please translate what the Herr Standartenführer just said?’’
Peter did so.
‘‘The Comerciante del Océano Pacífico is at your disposal, Herr Standartenführer,’’ he said when Peter finished. ‘‘And may I say, as a former Naval officer, that I am delighted to make a contribution to such an undertaking?’’
‘‘This project, of course,’’ Goltz said, ‘‘has the personal support of Admiral Canaris, who was himself interned in Argentina—and escaped—during the First World War. And I have reason to believe that the Führer himself has a personal interest.’’
‘‘What would you like me to do?’’ de Banderano asked.
Goltz took a map from his pocket and laid it on the table.
The steward arrived with the coffee, pastry, a bottle of Spanish brandy, and three gold-rimmed crystal glasses. He filled the glasses.
‘‘Have we time for a toast?’’ de Banderano asked, picking up his glass.
‘‘Of course,’’ Goltz said.
‘‘To Adolf Hitler, our leader in the war against godless communism,’’ de Banderano offered.
They sipped their cognac.
‘‘To El Caudillo, Der Führer’s ally in that noble enterprise, ’’ Goltz said.
They sipped again.
‘‘To my comrades in the war against the Communists in Spain,’’ Peter said.
De Banderano was touched by the young major’s toast.
Goltz pointed to the map.
‘‘I have arranged for a truck to be at this point, Captain,’’ he said, and interrupted himself. ‘‘Hans, you better have a look at this. It’s time for you to see where we’re going.’’
‘‘Jawohl, Herr Sta
ndartenführer,’’ Peter said, and looked at the map.
‘‘By now, Captain,’’ Goltz said, ‘‘Oberst Grüner and the others are already in position. All that remains is for us to bring those special matériel crates ashore and into their hands.’’
In that absurd little river craft? It wouldn’t be exactly landing through the surf—this is, after all, a bay—but that boat probably draws a meter or a meter and a half, and they’re very likely to run aground fifty meters offshore. If they can make it in without capsizing.
‘‘I have aboard a boat, Herr Standartenführer, which is probably more suitable to land on a beach than your vessel. ’’
‘‘Splendid!’’ Goltz said. ‘‘Now let me ask you this: Can you take our boat aboard your vessel?’’
‘‘I don’t know. I’d have to look at it,’’ de Banderano said. ‘‘Why would you want me to do that, if I may ask?’’
‘‘I thought it would be useful when we bring the Graf Spee officers from shore,’’ Goltz said.
‘‘With respect, Herr Standartenführer, the Océano Pac ífico’s boat could do that more efficiently,’’ de Banderano said. ‘‘All I would have to know is where and when you wanted our boat available.’’
‘‘In that case, Hans,’’ Goltz said. ‘‘We would not need your boat. You could return it to El Tigre. If we weren’t using it, obviously, it would not arouse suspicion.’’
‘‘You’re absolutely right, Herr Standartenführer.’’
‘‘Let me propose this course of action, Hans, and you tell me what you think is wrong with it. We will use the Océano Pacífico’s boat—’’ He interrupted himself. ‘‘I presume your offer, Captain, includes a crew for your boat?’’
‘‘Of course. I will send my First Officer . . . No, I will take you ashore myself.’’
‘‘That’s very gallant of you, Captain.’’
‘‘It is the very least I can do.’’
‘‘Let me continue,’’ Goltz said thoughtfully. ‘‘We will land the matériel in Captain de Banderano’s boat. I will stay ashore. You will then return to the Océano Pacífico, pick up your boat, and return it to El Tigre. I will have a word with Herr Loche and see if we can’t sell the boat back. Or perhaps it might be a good idea to hold it in reserve. That can be decided later.’’
‘‘I hesitate to . . . ,’’ de Banderano said.
‘‘If you have something to say, Captain, by all means do so.’’
‘‘There is no reason for Major von Wachtstein to go with us. What I meant to suggest is that if anyone sees your river craft tied alongside, it might seem odd. There was an airplane flying over earlier. . . .’’
‘‘What kind of an airplane?’’ Goltz asked quickly.
‘‘Oh, I am sure this airplane is no cause for alarm,’’ de Banderano said. ‘‘It was an airliner, painted bright red, and it passed at least a mile away, probably at five thousand feet or more. But it made me think that the Argentines probably have patrol aircraft.’’
‘‘I understand your concern,’’ Goltz said after a minute. ‘‘That sort of problem was the reason why I asked if our boat could be taken aboard.’’ He hesitated again. ‘‘But I still would like Major von Wachtstein to go with us.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ de Banderano said.
‘‘But as soon as you return here, Hans,’’ Goltz ordered. ‘‘You start for El Tigre.’’
‘‘Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer.’’
‘‘How long will it take, Captain, for you to prepare your boat? And to load the crates aboard it?’’
Capitán de Banderano smiled.
‘‘In my professional judgment,’’ he said. ‘‘It will take almost exactly as long as it will take for you to have a nice breakfast.’’
[THREE] Samborombón Bay River Plate Estuary, Argentina 0940 19 April 1943
Although he had been standing on the roof of the truck looking out into Samborombón Bay through very good 7 x 57-mm Ernst Leitz-Wetzlar binoculars for fifteen minutes, Oberst Karl-Heinz Grüner did not see the power launch of the Comerciante del Océano Pacífico until after it was seen—and photographed—by First Lieutenant Madison R. Sawyer III, USAR.
This was primarily because Sawyer, Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodríguez, Argentine Army, Retired, and Sarjento Rudolpho Gomez, Argentine Army, had stationed themselves just behind the military crest30of a rise in the land that placed them sixty feet above the beach.
They were thus able to see farther out into the bay. And they, too, were equipped with very fine optical viewing devices. Enrico was looking out into the bay with an 8 x 75 binocular el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade had personallypurchased at the Leitz plant in Wetzlar while he was in Germany attending the Kriegsschule. Enrico spotted the power launch first.
Lieutenant Sawyer was equipped with Bausch & Lomb 8 x 57-mm binoculars Enrico had found in Señor Clete’s luggage when he returned from the United States. Señor Clete told him that this instrument had been stolen from the U.S. Navy and that he had bought it in New Orleans.
After finding the boat with the stolen U.S. Navy binoculars, Lieutenant Sawyer then found the boat in the view- finder of his telescopic lens-equipped, tripod-mounted, Leica Model I-C camera, also a product of the Leitzwerk.
When the boat came closer to the beach, Suboficial Mayor Rodríguez changed his means of surveillance to the adjustable 2-10-power Zeiss telescopic sight mounted on the Lowe-Berlin Model 95 7-mm sporting rifle, which was also a souvenir of el Coronel Frade’s time in Germany.
There were only a few telescopically equipped rifles in el Coronel Frade’s gun room. Rudolpho was furnished with the next best, a Remington Model 70 caliber .30-06 sporting rifle equipped with a nonadjustable Bausch & Lomb 4-power telescopic sight. It took him a little longer than Enrico to clearly see the power launch approaching the beach.
But shortly after Colonel Grüner spotted the launch in his binoculars, Rudolpho, too, was able to see it. And shortly after that, when Enrico asked him if he could identify the German pilot who came to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo the night before, Rudolpho was able to reply in the affirmative.
The launch moved closer to shore.
Lieutenant Sawyer exhausted the thirty-six-image roll of 35-mm film in the Leica and changed film. For reasons he could not imagine, this caused him a good deal of difficulty finding the launch again in the Leica’s viewfinder. The mystery was explained when he saw that one telescoping leg of his tripod—not properly tightened—had closed on itself while he was changing film cartridges. He tightened the leg firmly and had no further trouble.
He very carefully conserved his film, so that by the time the launch ran aground on the shore he had twenty-eight remaining images to photograph the actual off-loading of the crates from the boat, and the loading of the crates aboard the waiting truck.
He was very pleased with himself. He was going to get everything Colonel Graham had asked him to get. When the film was processed and printed, there would be absolute proof that a boat from the Comerciante del Océano Pací fico—the legend was clearly painted in black on her sides— had landed on the shore of Samborombón Bay, and had there off-loaded what appeared to be six wooden crates. And all of this activity was clearly under the supervision of an officer wearing an SS uniform and another in civilian clothing, but whom Enrico had identified as the German Military Attaché.
Since there was no amplification in the viewfinder of the Leica, Sawyer raised the binoculars to his eyes with his right hand and watched the SS colonel jump out of the boat and wade the last few feet ashore. There he triumphantly gave that absurd Nazi salute before enthusiastically pumping the hand of the German Military Attaché.
The Leica was equipped with an automatic film-advance device that permitted him to make shot after shot simply by pressing a thumb-operated shutter-triggering device.
Sailors from the Océano Pacífico then jumped out of the boat and started to manhandle the first of the crates out of the boat.
There was
a sudden, wholly unexpected, painfully loud explosion in Lieutenant Sawyer’s ears, followed immediately by another.
Sawyer looked at the two Argentinians who had escorted him here. Both were quickly working the actions of their just-fired rifles.
‘‘What in the name of God are you doing?’’ Sawyer asked in both surprise and indignation.
They both took fresh sight pictures.
"Stop that!!" Sawyer ordered as he put the binoculars to his eyes again.
He saw that both the SS officer and the Military Attaché were down on the beach. Both looked as if their heads had exploded.
A blond-headed man jumped out of the launch and ran to one of the downed men. Sawyer decided he was probably an officer from the Océano Pacífico.
There came again the crack of the rifles, and Lieutenant Sawyer saw the body the officer was kneeling over jump as a second high-powered bullet struck it.
‘‘My God, what have you done?’’ Sawyer asked.
Both old soldiers had pulled themselves down from their firing positions at the military crest of the hill.
Sawyer looked at the beach again. But not for long. He was knocked off his feet by the Argentine called Enrico, and dragged off the crest of the hill.
‘‘We go now,’’ Enrico said in heavily accented English.
‘‘My God, man, do you realize what you have done?’’
Enrico did not speak English, but he understood the question nevertheless.
‘‘My Coronel, mi Teniente,’’ he said, ‘‘and my beloved sister may now rest among the saints in peace throughout eternity. Their murders have been avenged.’’
‘‘What? What?’’
‘‘We go now, Teniente,’’ Enrico repeated, and started to walk down the hill to where they had tethered their horses.
[FOUR] The Embassy of the German Reich Avenida Córdoba Buenos Aires, Argentina 1650 19 April 1943
‘‘Captain, we have of course spoken with Major von Wachtstein,’’ Ambassador Manfred Alois Graf von Lutzenberger said, ‘‘but he is—with good reason—upset about the tragic events of this morning, and we thought you might be able to tell us something he didn’t.’’
Blood and Honor Page 73
