“What’s this ‘Fertig Operation’?”
“Sorry, that’s classified.”
“What do you expect me to do with this?”
“Transfer Gunny Zimmerman.”
“For one thing, Fritz, that sort of thing is in Charley Stevens’s basket of eggs. I handle officers. For another, even if Zimmerman was an officer, I couldn’t just order his transfer on the basis of this. Who is this General Pickering, anyway? What makes him think he can just wave his hand and have people transferred?”
“Because what he’s doing has a high priority.”
“From whom? What kind of a priority?”
“To stop the flow of bureaucratic bullshit, you’re telling me you won’t have the gunny transferred?”
Wilson’s temper flared.
“What I’m telling you, Colonel,” he said coldly, “is that I can’t, because I don’t have the authority to summarily order the transfer of enlisted men.” As quickly as his temper had boiled over, it subsided. “Charley will be back the day after tomorrow. You’re going to have to wait until Charley can act on your request. I’m sure his major will decide, correctly, he can’t do it on his own authority.”
“Thank you for finding time for me in your busy schedule, Colonel,” Rickabee said, and marched out of Colonel Wilson’s office.
[THREE]
Office of the Secretary of the Navy
Washington, D.C.
1015 Hours 17 November 1942
“Well, look who’s here!” the Secretary of the Navy said, pleasantly, when Colonel Rickabee walked into his outer office, trailed by Captain David Haughton. “Good morning, Colonel. We don’t often see you here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Secretary. I came to see Captain Haughton.”
“Morning, Fritz,” Haughton said.
“Anything I can do?” Secretary Knox asked.
“A request from General Pickering that I need some help with, Sir,” Rickabee said.
Knox’s eyebrows rose in question.
Rickabee handed him General Pickering’s special channel radio message.
Knox glanced at it and handed it back.
“I saw this at breakfast,” he said. “Is there a problem?”
“I had a little trouble with G-1 at Eighth and Eye, Sir. The officer who handles this sort of thing is at Parris Island.”
“Take care of it, David,” Secretary Knox said.
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY WASHINGTON, D.C.
16 November 1942
Lieut. General Thomas Holcomb
Commandant, United States Marine Corps
Washington
By Hand
Dear General Holcomb:
The Secretary of the Navy desires the immediate transfer of Gunnery Sergeant Ernest Zimmerman, USMC, presently assigned VMF—229, to the USMC Office of Management Analysis, with duty station USMC Special Detachment 16, Brisbane, Australia, and further desires that travel be accomplished by the most expeditious means available.
Respectfully,
David W. Haughton
Captain, USN
Administrative Assistant to the Secretary of the Navy
[FOUR]
The White House
Washington, D.C.
1910 Hours 17 November 1942
Admiral William D. Leahy rose quickly to his feet when Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox came into his office.
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary, for making time in your schedule for me,” he said.
“My time, Admiral, like yours, is the Master’s time,” Knox said, gesturing toward the closed door to the President’s Oval Office.
“Well said, Mr. Secretary,” Colonel William J. Donovan said, chuckling. Donovan, a stocky, silver-haired man in civilian clothing, rose from his red-leather upholstered chair and offered Knox his hand.
“How are you, Bill?” Knox asked.
“Very well, thank you,” Donovan replied, and added, “As a matter of fact, I’m at the moment feeling rather chipper. I think I see a problem on the way to its solution.”
“Is that so?” Knox said. “And what problem is that?”
“The intractable Douglas MacArthur,” Donovan said.
“The Director, Mr. Secretary, has come up with a suggestion the President feels has considerable merit.”
He called Donovan “the Director,” Knox thought. Not “Colonel.” Is that because Donovan wants it that way, because “the Director” reminds people that he is not just one more recalled World War I colonel but the Director of the Office of Strategic Services—on the level of J. Edgar Hoover of the FBI, who also likes to be called “the Director”?
Or is it because he wants to remind me that Donovan ranks higher in the hierarchy than a lowly colonel? On the other hand, Secretary of War Stimson, who also served in France as a Colonel, likes to be called “Colonel.”
The rank structure here is confused, almost certainly because Franklin Roosevelt wants it to be. Admiral Leahy is a serving officer of the Navy. I am Secretary of the Navy. Therefore he is legally subordinate to me. But he is also Chief of Staff to the President. If he were de facto subordinate to me, instead of de jure, this meeting would be held in my office. After he had called Haughton and asked for an appointment.
I am here. Ergo, he speaks with the authority of the President.
“May we speak frankly?” Donovan asked. “Among the three of us.”
“Of course,” Knox said.
“I am advised by my Brisbane station chief that General MacArthur has not, as of yesterday morning, found time in his schedule to receive him—despite, I am sure, the best efforts of Fleming Pickering.”
“You suggested we speak frankly,” Knox replied. “I am advised by General Pickering, Bill, that General MacArthur does not want—how did he put it?—‘the nose of your camel under his tent.’ ”
“The President does,” Donovan said abruptly.
“The President sent General Pickering over there with express orders to convince General MacArthur that the Office of Strategic Services has a contribution to make to SWPOA.”
“He has apparently been unable to do so,” Donovan said.
“The word you used to describe General MacArthur a moment ago was ‘intractable,’ ” Knox said. “I have every confidence that General Pickering has done his best to comply with the President’s instructions.”
“I like Fleming Pickering,” Donovan said.
That’s not the way I heard it.
“I offered him a job in my shop, you know,” Donovan went on. “He declined it.”
You offered him a job at the second or third level, which was either stupidity on your part, or vindictiveness. He didn’t like the size of the bill you sent him in a maritime case, and told you so in blunt and unmistakable terms. You are not used to being talked to like that; you didn’t like it; and when he volunteered for the OSS, you put him in his place.
Which, in the final analysis, was stupidity. He told me the first time I met him that I should have resigned after the debacle of Pearl Harbor. I was smart enough to realize that a man who not only owns, but runs, the second- or third-largest shipping fleet in the world is both accustomed to saying exactly what’s on his mind and is wholly unimpressed with political titles.
I put him to work, and his performance exceeded even my high expectations.
“Did you really think, Bill, that Fleming Pickering would be willing to work two or three levels down your chain of command?” Knox asked.
“The President is determined,” Admiral Leahy said, trying to change the subject, hoping to avoid a confrontation between the two powerful men, “that General MacArthur will accept the services of the OSS, for the good of the war effort.”
“I wonder why the President doesn’t simply send him a radio message to that effect?” Knox asked.
“Because he knows, as you know, and I know, that MacArthur would at best pay only lip service to such an order,” Donovan replied. “And, at worst
, with his judgment questioned, he’d threaten to resign. He did that twice when he was Chief of Staff, you know. And when it became apparent that he was about to lose the Philippines, he announced that he was going to resign his commission and go to Bataan to fight as a private soldier. Our Douglas has a flair for the dramatic.”
“The President, Mr. Secretary,” Admiral Leahy said, “is reluctant to issue General MacArthur an order that might—from his point of view—question his authority or his judgment to the point where he might . . . respond inappropriately.”
Politics again. The carefully nurtured image of the President as Commander-in-Chief would be badly tarnished if any one of his senior generals or admirals resigned in protest. When that senior general was General Douglas MacArthur, the heroic defender of the Philippines, whom Roosevelt had praised so often and effusively, and had awarded the Medal of Honor, the damage would be enormous.
Particularly if MacArthur—still furious that the Philippines had not received supplies, and that General George Marshall had effectively taken command of the Philippines away from him the moment he got on the PT boat to go to Australia—came back and started giving speeches about Roosevelt’s military ineptitude.
And MacArthur was fully aware he did not have to obey any orders, from anyone, that he didn’t like.
“You said, Bill, you thought you have a solution to the problem?” Knox said.
“I have one that will accomplish what everybody wants,” Donovan said.
“One that the President finds very interesting,” Admiral Leahy said.
I’m fully aware that you speak with the authority of the President, Admiral, thank you very much. But if this brilliant idea has Presidendal approval set in concrete, I would be told about it, not asked.
“Tell me, Bill, what is it you think I want?”
“What the President wants, what Admirals Leahy and Nimitz want, what General Pickering wants.”
“Which is?”
“To assist this chap Fertig in the Philippines,” Donovan said. “I also suspect that in his heart of hearts, Douglas MacArthur would like to help him, too. But Douglas is worried about two things: He has stated publicly that guerrilla operations in the Philippines are impossible at this time; and he doesn’t want to be proved wrong. Even worse than that, from his perspective, he would hate to admit that he was wrong, that this chap Fertig does indeed exist, and then have it proved that Fertig is a lunatic—that business of his promoting himself to general is more than a little strange—and that guerrilla operations are indeed not possible. That would make him wrong twice. Douglas MacArthur doesn’t like to be wrong at all.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Knox said.
“The first thing I thought, frankly, was to have General Pickering assigned to the OSS. That would solve a good many problems.”
“It would also cause some,” Knox said. “Speaking frankly, as you suggested we should, not only would General Pickering rather violently object to that, but so would I.”
“I made that point to the President, Mr. Secretary,” Admiral Leahy said. “It is his feeling that General Pickering should be transferred to the OSS only as a last resort.”
“And what are the intermediate steps? The first resort?”
Watch it! You’re being sarcastic! The fact that I don’t like Donovan does not make him a fool. Antagonizing him would accomplish nothing whatever.
“Best case, a team of experts is sent into the Philippines, finds that Fertig is what he says he is, that, with support, he can deliver what he promises to, and once that is accomplished, MacArthur makes the announcement, gets the credit.”
“OK. What’s the worst case?”
“Fertig turns out to be a disaster, a lunatic, and the team comes out and so reports. That would make MacArthur’s statement that guerrilla operations in the Philippines are impossible at this time perfectly accurate.”
“Bill, you’re not suggesting, I hope, that the OSS take over this operation?”
“Would you have problems with that, Mr. Secretary?” Donovan asked.
“Bill, they’re just about ready to go.”
“The colonel you were going to send in is no longer available,” Donovan said. “Pickering is planning on entrusting the great responsibility of evaluating this man Fertig to a lieutenant.”
“Frankly, Bill, I’d like to know how you came by that information,” Knox said coldly.
“From Admiral Leahy,” Donovan said. “I don’t see why that should offend you. For God’s sake, we’re both on the same side in this war. I heard of that radio station on Mindanao through OSS channels. When I discussed this with the Admiral, he filled in the details of Pickering’s involvement.”
He’s right, damn him. He is the Director of the OSS; he has every right to access to the details of this operation.
“General Pickering has great confidence in that lieutenant,” Knox said.
The expressions on both Colonel Donovan’s and Admiral Leahy’s face made it plain they had little faith in Pickering’s judgment on this subject.
And they’re right, too. I didn’t say anything to Pickering, but I was surprised when he didn’t ask Colonel Rickabee for a more senior, more experienced, officer than his Lieutenant McCoy. And he knows there is a problem; otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten into the business of arranging for that sergeant to be transferred to go with McCoy. He even referred to Banning, a major, as the man he’d like to send with McCoy.
“All right, Bill, what are you proposing?” Knox asked.
“Among the Marines you have seconded to us are a major and a captain who I want to send in with Pickering’s lieutenant,” Donovan said.
“How do you suggest that this affect Pickering’s role, his authority, and his responsibility in this operation?”
“Not at all. All we’ll be doing is providing some assistance,” Donovan said smoothly. “They will not reveal their OSS association unless and until the OPERATION WINDMILL is successful. The Major is fluent in Spanish. Good family. They have interests in the Banana Republics and Cuba, and he apparently has spent some time down there. He’s a Princeton graduate, a reserve officer...”
There are those, Secretary Knox thought, who believe that OSS stands for Oh, So Social. And it’s a fact that Donovan seems to recruit his people from the Ivy League, people whose “families have interests” in exotic places. But so what? George Patton’s an aristocrat; his aide is Charley Codman of the Boston Codmans. And they’re both splendid soldiers. Franklin Roosevelt’s son made the Makin Island raid, and by every definition I know, he’s an aristocrat. And so, for God’s sake, are Fleming Pickering and his son. Why am I so antagonistic toward Donovan?
“... The Captain’s a regular, an Annapolis graduate. He served in China before the war, speaks a little Japanese, which might prove helpful. He was wounded—serving with the Marine paratroops on Tulagi—during the Guadalcanal invasion. I can’t see how they could be anything but helpful, Frank.”
“Your thinking, obviously, is that if this operation goes well, you’ve got MacArthur on a spot. How can he be against the OSS if your people worked so well?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“What will you do, Bill, if MacArthur says, in effect, I still don’t want your camel’s nose under my tent?”
“Then I’ll think of something else,” Donovan said.
“May I tell the President how you regard Director Donovan’s proposal, Mr. Secretary?” Admiral Leahy asked.
“With these caveats, Admiral, I will go along with Director Donovan: First, that there is no diminution whatever of General Pickering’s authority.”
“Agreed,” Donovan said.
“Which means that General Pickering will have the final say, once he meets these officers, about whether or not they get to go.”
“I’m sure General Pickering will be delighted to get them.”
“I’m not so sure. You agree that he will have the final decision? About them? About ever
ything?”
“Agreed,” Donovan said. “I’m trying to get my nose in Douglas MacArthur’s tent, Mr. Secretary, not yours.”
“You understand my position, Admiral?”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary.”
“Then you may inform the President that I’m willing to sign on,” Knox said. And then he thought of something else. “One more thing: The present schedule will not be delayed in any way by the attachment of your two officers.”
“As soon as I get back to my office, I will telephone the Country Club, where these two are sitting on their packed bags, and order them to report to Colonel Rickabee at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Knox knew what he meant by the Country Club.
“I’ll arrange for their air priorities, Mr. Secretary, if Colonel Rickabee encounters a problem,” Admiral Leahy said. “And I will advise Admiral Nimitz, with a Special Channel Personal, of the President’s interest in this operation. That should ensure a submarine when and where General Pickering needs it.”
Why do I feel I have just been talked into something I shouldn’t be doing?
“Thank you, Admiral,” Knox said.
He got out of his chair and started for the door.
“Here’s their names, Frank,” Donovan said, and handed him a three-by-five-inch card on which two names were typed.
Knox glanced at it.
Brownlee, Major James C. III
Macklin, Captain Robert B.
He recognized neither name.
[FIVE]
Office of the Secretary of the Navy
Washington, D.C.
2105 Hours 17 November 1942
Chief Petty Officer Stanley Hansen, USN, entered without knocking the office of Captain David W. Haughton, USN, Administrative Assistant to the Secretary of the Navy, and laid a single sheet of typewriter paper on his desk.
“The Secretary said I should run that past you, Captain, before I send it,” he said.
Behind the Lines Page 27
