THE NEPTUNE STRATEGY: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 4)

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  “Okay,” she paused. “I love you Jerry. Call when you land?”

  “Sure will.”

  “How soon?”

  “Four, maybe five hours.”

  “Hurry.”

  “I love you, too.” He hung up, feeling as if a thousand demons were crawling through his veins. What the hell do I do?

  The conference room was across the hall from Toliver’s office. Finished in wood paneling, it had wall-to wall carpeting with photographs of President Roosevelt and Admirals King and Nimitz hanging on the wall behind the table’s head. Paintings of eighteenth and nineteenth century naval battles adorned the other walls. Incongruously, a wet bar surrounded by mirrors was situated at the opposite end where Toliver fiddled with glassware.

  With thick, chin stubble, Landa sat near the head of the table, his blouse open, tie undone, and hat pitched to the back of his head. A cigar-chomping Army major stood before them at a chart board. The major jabbed a wooden pointer at an easel bearing a map of Northern France, a TOP SECRET legend posted in the upper left and lower right-hand corners. The major was a thin man, weighing no more than 140 pounds, a long jagged scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his ear. His bakelite name tag read CURTIS and his “Eisenhower” style short-cut blouse bore parachute wings and three rows of ribbons with battle stars. This man, figured Landa, had seen a lot of war before moving into the intelligence business.

  Curtis slapped his pointer to the a map and said, “So it looks like the Normandy breakout has been successful. Thus far, Montgomery has consolidated his position in the east as far as Lion Sur Mer. In the west, Major General Lawton Collins is driving up the Cherbourg peninsula with his VII Corps.”

  Toliver asked, “So OPERATION NEPTUNE is basically complete?”

  Curtis’ eyebrows went up. “Yes, that and OVERLORD.”

  Landa waved a hand. “What’s this NEPTUNE and OVERLORD stuff?”

  Curtis replied, "NEPTUNE is the plan for the Allied invasion of Northern Europe, France, if you will. OVERLORD is the amphibious phase of it.”

  “I see.” Landa scooted forward. “I had no idea we were moving so quickly. Any idea when Collins will take Cherbourg?”

  Curtis shrugged. “July 15th is our best estimate, Captain. But anything can happen. We do know the Krauts will defend strongly. They already have a solid ring around it.”

  Ice clinked into high-ball glasses as Toliver poured Coke. “And then?”

  Curtis smiled, making his scar turn dark red, “After we consolidate Cherbourg, we drive south for the U-boat pens on the Atlantic Coast, here, here, here and here.” Like an M-1 Garand, the pointer cracked each time Curtis slapped the map at Brest, Lorient, St. Nazaire and La Rochelle.

  “How long to take them?” asked Landa.

  Curtis waved off a Coke offered by Toliver and said, “Two, three months.”

  “Why so damn long?” demanded Landa.

  The major began stuffing papers in a briefcase. “Heavily defended, Captain. Intelligence tells us that the U-boat pens are the last things the Krauts will surrender. For obvious reasons.”

  “Any word on what’s happening out there?” Landa pitched his head toward the Pacific.

  With a look at Toliver, Curtis said, “That’s your bailiwick, Commander.”

  Toliver offered, “Nothing yet, Captain. So far, Mitscher and Spruance are maintaining radio silence.”

  Landa turned back to Curtis. “What do you think will happen when the I-57--”

  “--I think that’s all, Major,” interrupted Toliver. “Thank you very much.” He cast a glance which Landa quickly interpreted, as Curtis was not cleared for that part of the meeting. He was there simply to brief them on the Allied forces advances in Northern Europe.

  With a nod, Curtis grabbed his easel and briefcase and said, “Glad to be of service.” He walked out.

  When the door clicked shut, Landa said, “Does that mean the Jap sub might not get into Lorient?”

  “My guess is that he will. The Germans have a solid barrier around their U-boat pens and they’ll fight ferociously. It could take months. So the I-57 will be able to discharge her cargo, whatever that is, and head back.”

  “That leaves Todd in a very unstable situation.”

  “Very. But we can’t do anything about that. What we can do is assure the I-57 is not attacked enroute to Lorient.”

  “Can’t we do something after he lands? I’d hate to see him shot up by a bunch of Army Air Corps throttle jockeys.”

  Toliver, holding Cokes in both hands, limped over to Landa, handed one over and sat. “Maybe.”

  Landa accepted the Coke, held the glass to his cheek and said, “You don’t have a beer in there, do you?”

  Toliver spread his hands. “Why, Captain, this is a United States Naval Station.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Landa took a long sip and then smacked his lips. “Ahhh. Not bad. It’s been months.” A cloud ran over his face. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘maybe.’”

  Toliver drummed his fingers for a moment, then said, “There are things I can tell you and things I can’t. So please don’t press me on certain issues because we don’t want …”

  “…then knock off the bullshit and tell me what we’re going to do about Todd.”

  “...to compromise MAGIC.” Toliver sat back and steepled his fingers. “For example, that major wasn’t cleared for MAGIC. That’s why I had to excuse him.”

  “That was obvious.”

  “We’re on a need-to-know basis, so there are things I can’t explain. You have to know that up front, so that when I say ‘no,’ you’ll realize that’s as far as I can go. Please remember Captain Burke gave you only a limited clearance, giving me discretion in these matters. And it gives me great pleasure to tell you in here, Captain, that rank doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  Landa’s nostrils flared. “Damnit, Mister, I don’t have time to...” he paused and drummed his fingers, “Okay. I’m sorry. Guess I’m tired. And my ass still aches. What kind of clearance do I have?”

  “Didn’t Captain Burke give you anything?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  A corner of Toliver’s mouth rose. “Good. That means there’s no paper trail.”

  “No paperwork? Jesus. What’s this Navy coming to?”

  Toliver leaned forward, his voice dropping a notch. “So now we come to the I-57.”

  “Please.”

  Toliver nodded toward the door where Curtis had just exited. “We’re borrowing a term from Eisenhower and codenaming this OPERATION NEPTUNE.”

  Landa pursed his lips and said, “Ike’s okay in my book. So what’s the Neptune Strategy?”

  “We’ve been copying the I-57's radio traffic. She’s regular. Noon reports. Fuel status. Ship sightings. The works. On June 8, we intercepted a report that she’d picked up an American Navy commander by the name of Todd Ingram. They even tossed in his serial number. And their position report matches the area where he was lost.”

  “So, it’s for sure.” In spite of his exhaustion, Landa’s heart beat faster. “Any mention about how he is?”

  “None beyond the original report.”

  “What does Jap headquarters say to do with him?”

  “We’re not decrypting headquarters traffic. Too much of it. What we did discover from a different source is that the I-57 was originally headed for Lorient, France on an exchange mission with the Krauts. But now, it looks as if she’s TAD to act as a picket line against Task Force 58.”

  Landa’s eyebrows went up.

  “After that, we believe she re-fuels in Penang and then heads for France.”

  “What if they leave Todd in Penang?”

  “Don’t think so. They have clearance to take him all the way.”

  “Wow.”

  “So, now we come to a hunter-killer group that is situated across her path in the South Atlantic. And I can tell you with pretty good certainty that they would intercept her and put her down, if left to our cu
rrent operating procedure.”

  “Which is what?”

  Toliver sat back, smiled, and spread his hands.

  Landa said, “Excuse me, Sir. I’m just a lowly captain. I forgot there are things I’m not supposed to ask.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “What can you tell me about the HUK group?” HUK stood for Hunter-Killer.

  “The USS Bogue is a jeep carrier. There are five cans escorting her, DEs, actually.”

  “Specifically, I am to do what?”

  “This is where we’re counting on your ASW-screen-commanding experience. You are to act as liaison between Op-20-G and the Bogue HUK group, transmitting orders and giving them updates relative to the I-57's itinerary. It’s your job to make sure the I-57 passes through safely.”

  “Is that it?”

  “More or less. Except to try and sink the milchcow -- after she re-fuels the I-57 .”

  “And you’ll be giving me updates on the I-57?”

  “As best as I can. We’ll need you up here when she nears the Bogue HUK group, to make sure it’s all coordinated properly.”

  “You mean I can stay in Long Beach?”

  “Yes. There’s lots of time. We ran a track. It’s a 16,000 mile voyage, more or less--eighty days.”

  “Sounds simple enough. Save the I-57; put down the milchcow, right?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Okay.” Landa heaved to his feet. “Now I’ve got to figure a way to break this to Helen.” He started walking to the door.

  “Captain?”

  “What?”

  “You can’t tell her, sir.”

  Landa spun. “Whaaat?”

  “This is top secret-MAGIC. I mean, I thought you knew. Didn’t Captain Burke tell you that?”

  “Yeah, but--”

  “--And you signed a non-disclosure agreement, didn’t you?”

  Landa smashed a fist on the table and roared, “I did. But Arleigh didn’t let me read it. Further, he didn’t say I couldn’t tell her. In fact, he was in such a big, damned hurry he didn’t tell me anything.”

  “Jerry...Captain...I’m sorry.”

  Landa bared even white teeth, “Listen, you little bastard; there’s no way in hell I’m not going to tell her.”

  Toliver rose to his feet and yelled back. “You think I’m enjoying this? I was best man at Todd’s wedding. I knew Helen when she was a nurse in the Corregidor tunnels. The three of us escaped from under the Jap’s noses. All that time.” He grabbed the table for support. “All that time,” his voice grew soft. “He’ll get through this. So will she.” He sat.

  “What a damned curve-ball.” Landa rubbed his face and eyes. “How the hell am I going to do this? Hell, she’ll get a telegram. Is that what you want?”

  “Not for a few weeks. In the meantime, just fake it.”

  “How do I explain his absence? He’s supposed to be with me.”

  Toliver shrugged. “TAD of some sort?”

  “Bullshit. She’ll see through that.”

  “Play it by ear. Besides, if everything works out from our end, she may be getting letters from Todd in prison camp before the telegram arrives. Except...” Toliver pressed a fist to his forehead.

  “Except what?”

  “I forgot. She’s Kate Durand’s daughter.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning...I don’t know.” Toliver sighed. “They have an inner resolve in situations like this. It’s uncanny, almost clairvoyant. She may know what’s happening before you show up.”

  “Sonofabitch. This isn’t working. And damnit, she’s pregnant, almost ready to deliver.”

  Toliver spread his hands, “I wish I could say something. You want me to call? I know her better.”

  “That won’t make it any easier. No, damnit. I’ll take care of it.” Looking around the room, Landa said, “Where’s the rain locker?”

  Toliver jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “To your right and down the hall. Full shower and dressing room.”

  “Any chow around here?”

  “How ‘bout an early dinner at Wong Lee’s?” Wong Lee’s was a restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown District.

  Landa headed for the door. “I’d love to. But I’m kind of anxious to see...well...you know, Laura.”

  Toliver pushed himself to his feet. “Okay, when you’re ready, I’ll drive you back to the bug-smasher.”

  Landa headed for the door. “You still dating that girl? Who was it? Wong’s daughter?”

  “Suzy.”

  “Yeah, Suzy. She was going to school. Cal or something.”

  “Stanford. She graduates in June.”

  “You’re too old to be running around with college chicks. Hell, you’re robbing the cradle.”

  “Go take your shower, Captain. Towels are in the cupboard.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  16, June 1944

  San Pedro, California

  It was just after sunset when the twin-engine SNB eased into its downwind approach over Palos Verdes, swung over the Long Beach Pike, and lined up on final for the Terminal Island Naval Air Station. There were no other passengers, and the pilot, a forty-six year old lieutenant commander with service in the First World War, had given Landa the co-pilot’s seat to keep him company. But Landa fell asleep after take-off and woke up only when the wheels bleeped at touch-down.

  “Welcome to TI, Captain,” said the pilot, whose name Landa had forgotten. “Have a good snooze?” He braked to a halt before an operations Quonset, revved the engines, then killed them.

  Landa blinked for a moment. “Ummmm, comfortable seat.” He yawned and stretched. Wow. Happy homecoming.

  “Sir?”

  “Thanks for a nice ride, Commander.” Landa shook his hand, then made his way aft, picking up his B-4 and exiting the small hatch. It was a warm, balmy Southern California evening, with Landa feeling homecoming pangs for the first time. In retrospect, Alameda and the Twelfth Naval District headquarters were just Navy bases. Here, he was really home, and he felt lightheaded as he made his way into the ops hut, with thoughts of Laura swimming through his head.

  Suddenly it hit him. My God. I’ve forgotten what she looks like. He reached for his wallet to retrieve a photo but then felt foolish, as a young Marine second lieutenant strode past, throwing a crisp salute. As he returned it, Laura’s image sprang to his mind as if someone had pulled his wallet photo and laid it before him. She had sandy hair that was pulled back when in concert; very professional looking, especially when she wore rimless gold glasses. Her wide apart green eyes were accentuated by a small nose and a full mouth that dazzled Landa and her audiences when she smiled. And of course, her show-piece exquisite hands never ceased to fascinate him. With long, slender and powerful fingers, it was as if each were carved from ivory by a master. It was all the more entertaining when she spoke, for she waved them a lot, punctuating her language.

  Laura.

  Inside, a second class aviation boatswain’s mate in undress blues sat behind a desk marked OFFICER OF THE DAY, making notes on a clip board. He looked up. “Help you, Cap’n?”

  Landa dropped his B-4. “Can I use your phone for about seventeen seconds?”

  The petty officer grew wide eyed.

  “Relax, Sailor. I just want to call over to San Pedro.”

  “No, Sir. I mean...are you Captain Landa?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, we got a call from COMTWELVE two hours ago. We have a car waiting outside, sir. And please, use the phone. Here.” The Sailor stood.

  Good on you, Ollie. “Thanks, Sailor. I’ll be out of here chop, chop.” He dialed.

  Laura picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  God, her voice sounds good. “I’m here.”

  “Where?” Her voice was muffled, as if she were holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Terminal Island. Everything okay?” Something started to gnaw at him.

  “I’m fine, honey. I’m glad you’re here. But I got to th
inking on the way down. You said from San Francisco...’I’m here.’ And you just said it again. First person. What about Todd?”

  Oh shit. Bull it through. “That’s right. Todd got delayed.” Come on Jerry, think of something, you dumb sonofabitch.

  The line crackled.

  “Laura?”

  “What do I tell Helen?”

  “Like I said. He got delayed, honey. Sorry. I’ll explain it all when I get there. Okay? You don’t have say a thing.”

  “Can’t wait, hon. Please hurry.” She blew a kiss and hung up.

  Landa hung up slowly. It was then that he made the decision he’d prolonged for so long.

  “You okay, sir?” asked the petty officer.

  I think I need a drink. “Fine, Sailor. Now where’s that car?”

  They rode in a Plymouth sedan painted in Navy gray. A third class signalman drove with Landa, drumming his fingers as they headed to San Pedro. The ferry ride seemed to take forever, and by the time they headed up 17th street past San Pedro High School, it had turned pitch dark.

  “Turn left here, Sailor.”

  “Sir.”

  Landa pointed to a little two bedroom white stucco house on Alma Street. It gave him a warm feeling to see Laura’s light green Cadillac convertible parked out front. “Right there.” The Plymouth drew up and Landa pitched his duffle out the door with, “Thanks, Sailor. I’m done for the evening. So go on back.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The car drove away and when Landa turned, Laura ran up to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He lifted her high, kissing deeply.

  “Uh. You’re really back,” she gasped. “Seems like it’s been years.”

  He kissed her again, then said, “A couple of decades at least.” Her scent was marvelous, like that of fresh soap. “Lilacs.” He buried his nose in the nape of her neck.

  “I think so.” She raised her mouth to him again. “God, Jerry, I missed you so.”

  Again they kissed. Then something rubbed against Landa’s ankle. “Huh?” He looked down to see a gray tabby cat. “Fred.” Landa reached down to pet the cat and was rewarded when Fred purred instantly. “Wow, good to see you.” He looked back to Laura. “Especially you, hon. You look marvelous.”