W E B Griffin - Honor 2 - Blood and Honor

by Blood

  The letter he had just taken from the pilot was a real letter. Its contents would probably get both of them shot, or more likely garroted, if it wound up in the hands of the SD or Gestapo.

  "Thank you," he said.

  The pilot nodded.

  "Watch what you say around Nabler, Peter," the pilot said. "He still thinks Adolf pisses lemonade."

  Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein nodded, then turned and left the cockpit.

  [TWO]

  Dr. Cosme Argerich Military Hospital

  Calle Luis Maria Campos

  Buenos Aires

  1B55 9 April 1943

  As the convoy of staff cars rolled through the gates of the hospital, Clete had several thoughts, some of them irreverent and on the edge of unkind.

  There was absolutely no reason for all these brass hats to be following them. But they had apparently been told to accompany Ramirez to the Panagra terminal to meet him, and nobody had the balls to leave without further orders. And the term "brass hat" was really more appropriate here, where the headgear of the senior brass was both enormous and heavily encrusted with gilt decora-tion, than it was in the States, where most general officers he had seen had worn soft fore-and-aft caps.

  I'll bet those hats weigh more than a steel helmet. These guys probably go home at night with one hell of a headache, groan loudly as they take off their caps, and then have their wives massage their necks.

  The guards at the gates, wearing German-style steel helmets, wide-eyed at the parade of brass hats in their cars, snapped to the Argentine equivalent of Present Arms-holding their Mauser rifles vertically, at arm's length, in front of them, where Marines held their rifles so close to their chests that they nearly touched their noses.

  I was no better. The first time I saw a general up close I was a little sur-prised he didn't have a halo.

  This place is bigger than I remember. What the hell, it's the Argentine equivalent of Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington, so why not? The dif-ference, of course, is that probably the only wounded soldier in the whole place is Enrico. Unless some Argentine boot shot himself in the foot on the Known Distance Range.

  "Mi General," Clete said, turning to Ramirez. "I know that you and your of-ficers are busy men. I can manage by myself from here."

  "Se¤or Frade, with your kind permission, my officers and I would be hon-ored to accompany you to where your father lies in honor in the Edificio Libertador."

  "Your kindness, mi General, honors both me and my father."

  Ramirez nodded and then raised his left hand in a gesture Clete had learned was common in Argentina and signified, "it's nothing," or "don't be silly."

  The Mercedes pulled up before the main entrance of the white masonry nine-story building. Two helmeted guards brought their Mauser bolt-action ri-fles to Present Arms. Ramirez's aide-de-camp jumped out of the front seat and opened the rear door for Clete. Meanwhile, a gray-haired man in uniform trousers and a white medical jacket he was still in the process of buttoning came through the ten-foot-high bronze and glass doorway.

  He saluted Ramirez.

  "A sus ¢rdenes, mi General," he said. "I had no word-"

  "Se¤or Frade," Ramirez interrupted him, "may I present el Coronel-Medico Orrico, who commands Dr. Cosme Argerich Military Hospital? Coronel, this is Se¤or Frade."

  Orrico offered his hand.

  "I'm sorry we have to meet under such a tragic circumstance, Mr. Frade," he said in perfect, British English. "I was privileged to call your father my friend. Please accept my sincere condolences."

  "Thank you very much, Doctor," Clete said.

  "Mr. Frade wishes to see Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez," Ramirez an-nounced.

  "Of course," Orrico said, and motioned for them to enter the building.

  "How is he?" Clete asked.

  "Very fortunate." Orrico replied. "It could have been, should have been, a good deal worse."

  "Speak Spanish, please," Ramirez ordered curtly, then looked at Clete and smiled. "My English, you will forgive me, is quite bad."

  "Not at all," Clete replied in Spanish.

  They boarded an elevator and rode to the sixth floor. When the door opened, a man in civilian clothing was sitting in a very uncomfortable-looking upright chair. Hanging from the back of the chair was a.45 automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. He stood up and came to attention.

  A cop, Clete decided. One of el Teniente Coronel Martin's men ? Or Polic¡a Federal?

  Orrico led them down a wide corridor to a room, outside of which sat an-other guard, this one with his.45 barely concealed in a holster on his belt. And he, too, came to an Attention-like position as Orrico pushed open the door.

  A hospital bed, cranked up so that its occupant could sit up, held a heavy-set, closely shaven and shorn man in his forties. He was bare-chested, and there were bandages, some of them showing blood, on his chest and arms. His head was heavily bandaged, including one covering his left eye. He was Enrico Ro-driguez, late Suboficial Mayor of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n cavalry regiment of the Argentine Army.

  When he saw Clete, he dropped the newspaper he was reading and tried to get out of bed.

  "Stay where you are, Enrico," Clete ordered, walking quickly to him.

  "Mi Teniente," Rodriguez said, his voice breaking, "I have failed el Coro-nel. I have failed you!"

  "Don't be absurd," Clete said. He turned. "May I have a moment alone with the Suboficial Mayor, please?"

  "Of course," Orrico said.

  Clete had the feeling that Ramirez didn't like the idea, but he left the room with the doctor.

  Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez was now sobbing.

  Clete put his arms around him, felt his throat tighten and his eyes water.

  "What happened, Enrico?"

  "They were waiting for us about two kilometers from the house at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, where the road curves sharply?"

  Clete nodded to show he knew where Rodriguez meant.

  "They put a beef, a carcass, in the road. When I slowed to go around it, they opened fire...."

  "Banditos?"

  Rodriguez snorted contemptuously.

  "Banditos like the 'burglars' on Libertador," he said.

  "They were killed, I'm told, by the Provincial Police."

  "They were killed so they could not be questioned by the clowns," Ro-driguez said. He customarily referred to the agents of the Bureau of Internal Se-curity as "the clowns."

  "Go on."

  "Thompsons, I think," Rodriguez said, professionally. "There was too much fire for pistols. I was hit..."-he pointed to his head and the bandage- "... the bullet must have hit the window post first, or just grazed me."

  "Or hit your head and bounced off. My father always said you were the most hardheaded man he had ever known," Clete joked.

  "The doctor told me the bullet dug a trench as deep as a fingernail. There was a lot of blood. They probably thought I was dead..."

  "You were lucky," Clete said.

  "... and the car ran off the road and hit a tree. And when I came to"-he broke into chest-heaving sobs again-"el Coronel was in heaven with the an-gels, and your blessed mother and my sister."

  Clete was surprised at the emotion that came over him. He hugged the older man tightly and only after a long moment found his voice.

  "Enrico, mi amigo," he heard himself saying, "in the Bible it is written that there is no greater love than he who lays down his life for another. You did that. You failed neither my father nor me."

  I sounded like an Argentine when I said that. I never said anything so corny on Guadalcanal, and Enrico is not the first weeping man I've tried to talk out of feeling responsible for someone else's death. But that came out naturally. What is that, my Argentine genes?

  "And in the Bible it says, 'an eye for an eye,' mi Teniente," Rodriguez said.

  "I wish you'd stop calling me that," Clete said.

  "Whatever you wish, Se¤or Cletus."

  "How about 'Clete'?"

>   "Whatever you wish, Se¤or Clete."

  He simply doesn't understand what I'm asking. That he regard me as a friend, as I regard him. Not as an officer, not, for Christ's sake, as el Patron. To hell with it. That can wait.

  "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?"

  "I wish to pray at the casket of el Coronel," Enrico said. "To beg his for-giveness."

  "He has nothing to forgive you for," Clete said.

  "And to go with him to his grave."

  "I'll arrange for that."

  "They tell me it will not be possible," Enrico said.

  You will pray at his casket, Enrico, and go with my father to his grave if I have to carry you on my back.

  "I'll arrange for it," Clete said firmly.

  "Gracias, Se¤or Clete. Is it fine?"

  "Is what fine?"

  "Where your father lies in honor. Is it fine and dignified?"

  "I don't know. I came here from the plane. That's next."

  "Se¤or Clete, you must go to your father and pray at his casket!"

  "Just as soon as I leave here," Clete said.

  He put out his hand to Enrico, and then, instead, wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

  General Ramirez was waiting, looking a little impatient, outside the room.

  "Mi General," Clete said, "Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez wishes to visit my father where he lies and to accompany the body to the grave. Is there a problem with that?"

  Ramirez hesitated. "There are, of course, problems of security, Se¤or Frade."

  "Whoever killed my father has no reason to cause harm to Suboficial Mayor Rodriguez."

  "Of course," Ramirez said. "I will see to it."

  You know as well as I do, don't you, mi General, that "banditos " didn't kill my father?

  "I am inappropriately dressed to go to the Edificio Libertador, mi General. May I impose further on your time by asking..."

  "By now your luggage will be at the house," Ramirez said. "It will be no imposition at all on our time, Se¤or Frade."

  "Thank you," Clete said. "And with your permission, mi General, I would like a private word with el Coronel-Medico Orrico."

  "Whatever you wish," Ramirez said, his tone making it clear he was dis-pleased.

  Clete took Orrico's arm and led him twenty yards down the corridor.

  "Was my father brought here?" he asked.

  Orrico nodded.

  "Was there an autopsy?"

  Orrico nodded again, looking uncomfortable.

  "I wish to speak to the physician who performed the autopsy."

  "I had that sad duty."

  "What was the cause of death?"

  Orrico hesitated, then met Clete's eyes.

  "Multiple wounds from shotshell pellets to the chest and cranium. We re-moved twenty-five double zero pellets from the body, which-together with what I believe are two entrance wounds-makes me believe he was shot twice with a twelve-bore shotgun. Either wound, in my opinion, would have caused instantaneous death. Your father did not suffer, Mr. Frade, if that is any com-fort."

  "Not very much, mi Coronel," Clete said. "But thank you very much."

  He touched Orrico's arm, turned, and walked quickly back to General Ramirez.

  [THREE]

  Alvear Palace Hotel

  Avenida Alvear

  Buenos Aires

  1730 9 April 1943

  Oberst Karl-Heinz Gr�ner, the Military Attach‚ of the Embassy of the German Reich to the Republic of Argentina, was a tall, ascetic-looking man who looked older than his forty years.

  He was not surprised when notified that Standartenf�hrer Josef Goltz would be making a "liaison visit in connection with security matters" to Buenos Aires, only that the "liaison visit" was so long in coming. The Reine de la Mer had been blown up on December 31,1942, three and a half months before.

  There was no question whatever in his mind that no matter how long the list of matters about which Goltz wished to liaise, the first item on it would be the destruction of the Reine de la Mer. It would therefore seem to follow that Goltz would have come as soon as possible after that disaster.

  Germany's submarine operations in the South Atlantic were critically im-portant to the war effort. Neutral Argentina was growing rich providing both the Allies and the Axis with beef, leather, wool, and other agricultural products.

  Under international law, a neutral country's merchant ships bound from one neutral country to another could not be torpedoed. Thus, Germany-bound supplies were shipped in Argentine and other neutral bottoms to neutral Portu-gal or Spain, then transshipped by rail through occupied France to Germany.

  England, of course, was also free to use neutral merchantmen as far as Spain or Portugal, and sometimes did so. But there was no way to transship by land cargoes from Spain or Portugal to England, and the moment a merchant-man, neutral or otherwise, left a Spanish or Portuguese port for England, it was fair game for German submarines.

  The Allied solution to this problem was to use their own merchantmen. These sailed up the Atlantic Coast of South America under the protection of Brazilian warships, and then of the U.S. Navy, until the ships could join well-protected England-bound convoys sailing from ports on the Gulf of Mexico and on the Eastern seaboard of the United States.

  Consequently, the best-often the only-place where German submarines could attack England-bound merchant ships was on the high seas between the mouth of the River Plate, when they left protected Argentinian/Uruguayan neu-tral territory and before they came under Brazilian Navy protection.

  It was a very long way-more than 7,000 nautical miles-from the subma-rine pens in Germany and France to the mouth of the river Plate. As a practical matter, submarines on station in the South Atlantic could not return to their home ports for replenishment. Under the best conditions it was a forty-day round trip, and submarines returning to the South Atlantic arrived already out of fresh food and low on fuel.

  Replenishment ships, stocked with everything the submarines needed, were the obvious solution. But either German Navy or civilian cargo vessels ran the great risk of being interdicted and sunk, either en route to the South Atlantic or while on station on the high seas, waiting to replenish submarines. And "neu-tral" merchantmen serving as replenishment vessels weren't the solution either, as any "neutral" vessel suspected of being a replenishment vessel was shad-owed by Allied warships on the high seas and off the Uruguayan and Argentine coasts.

  The solution to the problem was to take advantage of Argentine neutral-ity-with the secret support of some high-ranking Argentine officers.

  A Spanish-registered merchantman was secretly loaded with fuel, torpe-does, and other supplies in Bremen. It returned to Spain, and then sailed from Spain for Buenos Aires, as a neutral vessel bound from one neutral port to an-other, and thus safe from Allied interdiction.

  It anchored "with engine problems" within Argentine waters in the Bay of Samboromb¢n in the river Plate estuary. With the Argentine Navy and Coast Guard looking the other way, submarines were able to take on fuel, weapons, and fresh food and then resume their patrols.

  It didn't take the Americans long to figure that out.

  Reluctant to violate Argentine neutrality by sending warships into Argen-tine waters to take out a "neutral" merchantman, the Americans turned to covert operation. They sent a team of OSS agents to blow the ship up. But when they arrived, Gr�ner's contacts in Argentine intelligence warned him of the presence of the OSS team, and later identified them.

  Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay had a criminal element quite as vicious as any in Berlin or Hamburg. Gr�ner had little trouble contracting with a group of Argentine smugglers to eliminate this OSS team on the river Plate, and then with a group of Paraguayans to eliminate the Argentines when they went to Paraguay "until things cooled down."

  The Americans then sent a second team of OSS agents to Buenos Aires, and again they were identified to Gr�ner by German sympathizers in the Ar-gentine military. Though Gr�n
er attempted to eliminate the team chief, the at-tempt failed. And shortly after the replacement replenishment vessel-the Portuguese-registered Reine de la Mer-arrived in the Bay of Samboromb¢n with a fresh cargo of torpedoes and fuel, she was blown to bits, taking to the bottom with her a submarine that was tied up alongside taking on fuel. There were no survivors.

  Gr�ner didn't know exactly how this was accomplished. But he suspected the infiltration into Argentina of a team of U.S. Navy underwater demolition ex-perts-with the assistance of el Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade. Frade also doubtless helped the team in its exfiltration from that country.