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 moving 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 Australia. 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 someone 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 souvenir?”
“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?”
“year.”
“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 making 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 sonofabitch 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 awakened, 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 battered 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 his 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.
The boy took some time to consider the question. It seemed to confuse him for a moment.
“From Australia, Sir. General Pickering sent us.”
Thank God!
“And who is General Pickering?”
That question also seemed to momentarily confuse him
.
“He’s a Marine general, Sir. We work for him.”
“You landed by submarine?” Fertig asked as he pushed his legs into his still-soggy trousers.
“Yes, Sir. We came off the Sunfish.”
“And how many of you are there?”
“Three of us, Sir. Plus an officer from the OSS.”
What the hell is the OSS?
‘And the name of your commanding officer?”
“McCoy, Sir. Lieutenant McCoy.”
They sent a lieutenant? Well, that certainly establishes our position, doesn’t it?
“And where is Lieutenant McCoy?”
“I left him on the beach with the supplies, Sir. Lieutenant Everly rode me on his motorcycle to where we met Captain Hedges. Captain Hedges sent this guy”—he pointed to a Filipino standing to one side—“to bring me on the motorcycle to you, and then he took the patrol back to the beach.”
“What sort of supplies, Sergeant?”
“Some weapons, Sir, some medicine, other stuff. And the gold, too, of course.”
“Gold?” Fertig asked as he pulled on his boots.
“Yes, Sir,” Koffler said, and pulled his dyed-black khaki shirt out of his trousers.
Around his waist were two dully gleaming black belts. One formed a tube about two inches wide. The second was narrower, with a package, about five inches square, in the center. Koffler untied the cords that closed the tubular belt and handed it to Fertig. It was a good deal heavier than it looked.
God, is therc really gold in here?
Fertig felt what could be coins under the strange, smooth, slippery material. He tried to find an opening.
“If you want to open that, Sir,” Koffler said helpfully, “you’re going to have to cut it. That plastic can’t be torn.”
Fertig looked at him.
Koffler ducked out of the cord around his neck and handed Fertig the sword.
“What is ‘plastic,’ Sergeant?” he asked, taking the sword and testing the blade with his thumb. It was as sharp as a razor.
“I don’t really know what it is, Sir,” Koffler said. “The Army started packing their radios in it, and we used it to pack the stuff we brought you.”
Fertig slit the plastic. A gleaming United States twenty-dollar gold piece fell out.
“We’re each wearing a money belt, General,” Koffler said. “And there are a couple of bundles back on the beach. There’s two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in all.”
If they’re sending me that kind of money, somebody is taking us seriously.
“And you were sent here to deliver the gold?”
“No, Sir. I was sent here to find you, and when I did, to call Australia.”
“We have a radio, but at the moment it’s not working. We’re on the move, as you can see.”
“I’ve got a radio, General,” Koffler said. “I’ve got two hours’ worth of batteries, so if you’ve got a generator, that would be helpful. But all I really need is some help to string my antenna. I can be on the air in a couple of minutes.”
“You’re a radio operator, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir. That’s why General Pickering sent me.”
Fertig looked at the Filipino.
“Ask Lieutenant Ball and Sergeant LaMadrid to report to me, would you, please?” he said. He turned back to Koffler. “Lieutenant Ball is my signal officer,” he said. “They’ll string your antenna for you.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
“This is interesting,” Fertig said, fingering the sword. “What is it?”
“Lieutenant McCoy told me that when the war just started, some Army asshole—”
He stopped, horrified at what he had just said.
“It’s all right, Sergeant. I am perfectly willing to agree that there are a number of assholes in the United States Army.”
“Some Army guy sent twenty thousand of them to Australia. They’re Cavalry sabers. An Ordnance officer—an Army Ordnance officer—cut them down and sharpened them. They make pretty good machetes. Good steel in them.”
“I see. And that weapon of yours?”
Koffler handed it to him.
“It’s what they call a carbine, General. Sort of halfway between a pistol and a rifle. Fifteen shots. They’re good out to about a hundred yards. We brought you a hundred of them. If they got them all off the submarine. They were going to try to unload some more stuff, maybe all we brought, if the Japs didn’t show up.”
“Interesting weapon,” Fertig said, turning it over in his hands.
“Colonel Stecker and McCoy decided it would be smarter to bring carbines than rifles. They’re smaller, the ammo doesn’t weigh as much, and the Colonel thought that your Filipinos could probably handle them better than rifles.”
“Colonel Stecker? Who is he, Sergeant?”
“Marine Colonel, Sir. He won the Medal of Honor in the First World War. He was supposed to come in with us, but they’re going to make him a general and send him to Washington, so he couldn’t.”
So at least two people more senior than a lieutenant are involved in this. Thank God!
And then another question occurred to him.
“Did you meet Captain Weston?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Presumably, he is with your lieutenant—McCoy, I believe you said?—on the beach?”
“Yes, Sir. Lieutenant McCoy. No, Sir. Mr. McCoy sent him to Australia on the submarine.”
“He did what?” Fertig asked, at first greatly surprised, and then suddenly annoyed. “On whose authority?” he wondered angrily, aloud.
“Mr. McCoy sent him to Australia, Sir,” Koffler said. “I guess he figured he had the authority to do that, otherwise he wouldn’t have done it.”
“I can’t wait to meet Lieutenant McCoy,” Fertig said.
Lieutenant Robert Ball appeared, sleepy-eyed. He looked at Koffler with undisguised curiosity.
“You sent for me, General?”
“This is Staff Sergeant Koffler of the United States Marines,” Fertig said. “He needs some assistance to erect an antenna. He intends to communicate with Australia with it. Would you and Sergeant LaMadrid assist him, please?”
“Yes, Sir,” Ball said. He offered his hand to Koffler. “I hope you’ve got some wire?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ve cut a straight wire for the twenty-meter band, insulators and everything. It’s in one of the parcels.”
“And you have a radio?”
“A radio, a key, and enough batteries for two hours. Have you got a generator?”
“It’ll take an hour to get it running; it’s in pieces.”
“Then I guess we better go with the batteries for now,” Koffler said. “It won’t take long. But I am going to need a generator pretty soon.”
With Lieutenant Ball and Sergeant LaMadrid—and halfway through the process, General Fertig—as a fascinated audience, Sergeant Koffler carefully removed the plastic coating from several packages. There were four identical packages, each containing a battery. Others held a neatly coiled roll of copper wire to which were attached ceramic insulators; a receiver; a transmitter; a high-speed telegraphic key; and a small set of headphones.
The receiving and transmitting antennae were quickly erected. Koffler pulled his shirt from his trousers again and untied the second plastic belt.
With all the care of a surgeon, he used his machete to slit open the square package.
“Gotta be careful as hell with this,” he explained. “Not only is it printed on what looks like toilet paper, but it’s soaked in some chemical that makes it practically explode if you get a match near it.”
Inside the package was an oilskin envelope. Koffler opened it, removed a pad of paper, tore the first sheet from it, and carefully tucked it in his pocket. Then he put the pad of paper back in the oilskin envelope, carefully closed it, and looked at Lieutenant Ball.
“This is your new SOI,” he said. “You got someplace to keep it where it won’t get fucked up, or would you rather
I keep it?”
“I’ll keep it safe,” Ball said, and Koffler handed it to him.
“Lieutenant McCoy’s got another copy,” he said. “But if we lose both, we’re all back up shit’s creek.”
He took the flimsy sheet of paper from his pocket and read it carefully. Taking note of the interest of his audience, he then handed it to General Fertig.
“I thought it was ‘K’ and ‘P,’ but it always pays to check,” Koffler said.
MESSAGE 001
PART A - TO BE TRANSMITTED IN THE CLEAR, REPEATED TWICE
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE FROM MXX FOR IMMEDIATE PERSONAL ATTENTION CINCPAC ALL STATIONS COPY FOR RELAY TO KFS PART B - ONE OR MORE OF THE FOLLOWING AS APPROPRIATE TO BE TRANSMITTED IN THE CLEAR REPEATED FOUR (4) TIMES
AAA—LANDING PARTY ABORTING MISSION ATTEMPTING RETURN SUNFISH
BBB—LANDING PARTY ASHORE LOST CONTACT WITH SUNFISH
CCC—SUNFISH DETECTED BY ENEMY ASHORE
DDD—SUNFISH DETECTED BY ENEMY SURFACE CRAFT
EEE—SUNFISH DETECTED BY ENEMY AIRCRAFT
FFF—SUNFISH UNDER ATTACK BY ENEMY ARTILLERY
GGG—SUNFISH UNDER ATTACK BY ENEMY SURFACE CRAFT
HHH—SUNFISH UNDER ATTACK BY ENEMY AIRCRAFT
III—SUNFISH RELIEVED DAMAGED
JJJ—SUNFISH BELIEVED SUNK BY ENEMY ACTION
KKK—SUNFISH SAFELY DEPARTED UNDAMAGED
LLL—LANDING PARTY ASHORE SUSPECT DETECTION MOVING INLAND
MMM—LANDING PARTY DETECTED SITUATION IN DOUBT
NNN—LANDING PARTY SAFELY ASHORE NO CONTACT WITH FRIENDLIES
OOO—LANDING PARTY SAFELY ASHORE IN CONTACT WITH FRIENDLIES
PPP—LANDING PARTY SAFELY ASHORE IN CONTACT WITH FERTIG
Behind the Lines Page 47
