Helen said. “Tell Ollie his little boy is doing just fine. He has beautiful grey-blue eyes, just like...just like...” Her voice broke.
“It’s okay, hon,” said Landa.
“...Oh. Oh. The nurse just walked in with a bunch of forms. I better go. I’ll call Laura and let you know.”
“Thanks...” The telephone company did the job for them and broke the connection. “Bastards.” Landa looked at the phone, cradled it, and looked up to Toliver. “Thanks for putting me through. It would have been an all-day wait on a regular line.”
“She okay?” asked Toliver.
“Going home tomorrow. Kid weighs eight pounds, can you believe that?”
“That’s great.” Toliver straightened up a bit. “Captain, it’s ten past eight. Those people in there are wondering what the hell is going on.”
Landa shot to his feet, straightened his tie, and donned his blouse. “Well, Commander, let’s not keep them waiting.”
“One thing, Jerry.” Toliver waved across the hall. “There’s a guy in there from OP-20-G.”
Landa’s eyebrows went up. “All the way from Washington D.C.?”
“You bet. “ Navy captain named Bunker. He’s a hired gun, so keep your...” Landa’s face flushed a bit and Toliver dropped what he was going to say,>...so keep your cool.’
“Hired gun for what?”
“Not what. Who. He works for the Redman brothers. They’re on another witch hunt.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Toliver checked his watch. “No time now. Just follow my lead, Captain. “All you have to do is tell>em about the I-57. Did you read this morning’s intercept?”
Landa pointed to a red-banded folder marked TOP SECRET. “Got it right here.”
>What do you make about the fuel oil and position discrepancies?”
“It’s a surprise to me. But the D/F had them at the Madagascar area. So I don’t know what they’re trying to pull.” Landa rubbed his chin. “That and the new>fist’ aspect. “All I can say is that we should watch her progress closely. So let’s see what they say in tomorrow’s posit report. But since this is all new, I plan to leave it out of the presentation until we see what gives.”
“Makes sense to me. You about ready?”
“Up and at>em.”
“Your tie is loose.”
“What would I do without you, Triplesticks?” Landa adjusted his tie.
Toliver waved a hand at the door. “After you, sir.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
1 July, 1944
12th Naval District Headquarters
San Francisco, California
They walked across the cement hall. Limping ahead, Toliver opened the door and allowed Landa to lead the way into the conference room.
The last time Landa had been here, the room seemed cold and distant, the photographs of FDR, King, and Nimitz, austere and detached. Now, the room was warm and steamy, the radiator heaters clanking and rattling merrily. Landa blinked, wondering if his vision was failing him, or if the hangover was that intense. It seemed as if he couldn’t see across the room, the photographs a blur. But his next breath told him why; the room was thick with cigar smoke. He recognized Henry Wellman, Toliver’s hotshot chief warrant officer, sitting at the table’s far end, puffing an enormous black stogie. In the middle stood a large carafe of coffee and a pile of doughnuts on a silver tray. His stomach growled again.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Captain, Landa,” announced Toliver.
There were five naval officers gathered around the table, all resplendent in dress khakis. At the head was a silver-haired Vice Admiral who looked as if he’d stepped from central casting. Landa recognized Jonathan Sorrell, a three star flag officer bedecked with medals, whose career had gone sideways after the Pearl Harbor attack. A star of the 1920s and 1930s, Sorrell had been a staunch member of the ‘battleship club’ whose supporters were thinned drastically after December 7, 1941. But he still retained enough credibility to be tombstoned into his current billet.
Sorrell rose and grabbed Landa’s hand, pumping it furiously, “Well, if it isn’t Jerry ‘Boom, Boom’ Landa, Commodore of DESDIVELEVEN. Welcome, Jerry.”
“Nice to be here, Admiral. Thanks.”
Sorrell asked, “And how’s the destroyer business?”
“The destroyer business is fine, sir.”
“Can we do anything for you?”
“Just keep sending Japs, sir. We’ll take care of the rest.” Landa flashed his signature Pepsodent smile.
While the others chuckled, Sorrell began introductions. On his right, he nodded to a tall Navy captain wearing impossibly thick glasses. “Meet Dick McCann, my district intelligence Chief.” They shook, with Sorrell next waving at a thin Army Major at the end of the table wearing a dark brown ‘Eisenhower jacket’ and parachute wings. “I believe you know Howard Curtis?”
Recognizing the jagged facial scar and unlit cigar, Landa reached across and shook. “Good to see you again, Major.”
At the end of the table was Wellman, nearly consumed by a black cloud. Sorrell said, “Henry, damnit, can you cut that out long enough for us to see what you look like?”
That brought another chuckle from the group, as Sorrell moved to a Lieutenant on Wellman’s right, wearing aviator’s wings on his breast and aiguillette around his left shoulder. “That’s Bill Villafort, my aid, dog robber, and right hand man.”
To Sorrell’s left sat a thin mousey-faced commander with slicked back black hair. Except this man wore his uniform stiffly and his blouse was without ribbons, looking as if he’d just picked it off the rack. “Please say hello to Warner Bunker, Assistant Director of Op-20-G. He’s traveling through all the Naval Districts, looking for ways to increase office production.”
As they shook, Bunker said in a strong baritone, “Pleased to meet you, Captain. Forgive me for asking, what does ‘Boom Boom’ mean?”
Long ago, Landa had learned that when people asked that question, they already knew the answer. “I received several citations for fleet gunnery exercises a while back. Guess the name stuck.”
“Oh.” Bunker’s eyes narrowed just a bit, telling Landa he knew that was not the reason for the nickname.
“Office production: Does that mean efficiency expert?” countered Landa, reaching for a doughnut. He wolfed it in two bites.
“Well, we like to say we just look for ways to streamline operations. Make things work more smoothly.” Bunker flicked at imaginary dust on his sleeve.
“Is that what you did in civilian life? Asked Landa.
“Well, yes. I’m a senior partner with Thorp, Thorp and Collins. Then Admiral King asked me to come in and help straighten things out.”
“When?”
Toliver eased close to Landa and lightly elbowed him.
“Uh...three months ago,” said Bunker.
“I see. And how long--”
“--Let’s take our seats and get started, gentleman.” Sorrell waved Landa to an empty chair between Bunker and Villafort; Toliver sat just across between McCann and Curtis. Clearing his throat, Sorrell remained standing. “Welcome, Gentlemen to this special briefing on the I-57 matter. There’s good news. For once, I can say that we’re all cleared for MAGIC. So we have a level playing field and don’t have to hide behind rocks half the time.” Apparently, Curtis had come up in the world. Last time Landa had seen the paratrooper, he wasn’t cleared for MAGIC.
After clearing his throat again, Sorrell said, “What I’d like to have us do is to hear an update about the European situation. Then there’s been developments in the Pacific you should know about. After that, we’ll hear about Operation NEPTUNE from Captain Landa and look for recommendations we need to act upon. Without any further adieu, Major Curtis.”
Curtis stood, walked to a large easel and flipped off a black cloth, revealing a map of Northern Europe. Northwestern France was obscured with slashing arrows, circles and double rectangles. “Progress is steady,
gentlemen. Cherbourg fell on the 26th, but it’s going to take a while to get ships in there. The Krauts did an ingenious job of wrecking the place. They blew buildings into the harbor, destroyed the cranes, sunk ships in the channels, bridges, everything. They even planted pressure-sensitive mines that count twelve ships before going off. That means our minesweepers have to sweep the same area at least thirteen times. They decorated the Kraut in charge of it all. His name was...” Curtis snapped his fingers.
“--Yes, yes,” said Bunker.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Curtis.
“The German responsible for Cherbourg’s destruction.” Slouching in his chair, Bunker steepled his fingers under his chin and said, “His name is Konteradmiral Walter Hennecke. And even though he was captured by American forces, Hitler still decorated him with the Knight’s Cross.”
Stuffing an unlit cigar in his mouth, Curtis jammed his hands on his hips. “Thanks for refreshing my memory.”
Bunker’s gaze flicked to Landa, their eyes locking for a moment. Landa knew about the Redman brothers and wondered why this little efficiency expert was here. Without any ‘fruit salad’ on his chest, it was obvious the man had received a direct commission. Such people, Landa knew, were highly placed in civilian life and were adept at pulling strings with congressmen, who assured them non-combatant safe billets. But why would OP-20-G want to be involved in a piddly little backwater intelligence operation here, he wondered? He grabbed another doughnut.
“You may continue, Major,” said Sorrell.
Curtis said, “That’s about it for now. Rommel and Runstedt have been counter-attacking our Normandy perimeter with tanks, trying to split our lines and drive to the beach. But we’ve landed enough equipment to hold them off. Having air superiority doesn’t hurt, either. The next big battle will be here,” his pointer slapped the map at St. Lo. “Once that’s captured, our southwestern flank is anchored and then we begin Operation COBRA, our breakout into central France.”
“How about Paris?” asked Villafort.
“That’s a French operation which starts pretty soon. We see Paris back in our hands no later than the end of August.”
“Wow,” said Wellman. “Had a girlfriend there once. Wouldn’t it be nice if--”
“--What about the U-Boat pens?” asked Toliver.
Curtis shrugged. “Two, three months. There’s a very tight ring around each one. It’ll be tough. Plus, we have to capture Brittany first.”
“How big is your Normandy perimeter?” asked Wellman.
“It’s expanded to about sixty miles long by fifteen miles deep ranging from Lion Sur Mer in the East to Cherbourg in the west.”
“That’s pretty good, I’d say,” said Wellman.
“Anyone else?” asked Sorrell.
When they shook their heads, the Admiral nodded to Captain McCann on his right. “Dick will now give us the Pacific Island summary. I believe he has some interesting news for us. Take it away, Dick.”
McCann rose and walked to a second blanket-covered easel. “Hot in here, Admiral.” His eyebrows went up.
Sorrell glanced at the clanking wall radiators. “Can’t shut the damn things off. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Of course. Blouses off, everyone.”
They all removed their blouses except, Landa noticed, Bunker who still slouched. McCann said, “Thank you, Admiral. Now,” he turned to his chart and whipped off the blanket, “last week we learned of the Saipan invasion by Howlin’ Mad Smith. So far, he’s secured most of the southern end of the island. The Jap’s forces are split, and he’ll soon begin his campaign to drive north. The Marines expect to secure the entire island by the 15th, thus giving us our first strong foothold in the Marianas.”
“About time,” said Wellman, puffing mightily.
Sorrell cleared his throat. “Thanks Dick. Now we’re saving the best for last.” He waved to Villafort. “There’s been a great victory in the Philippine Sea, gentlemen-- an aerial victory with minor losses for us. So Lieutenant, since you’re the token zoomie, could you summarize for us, please?”
Landa felt himself growing red with jealousy. Rumors had been flying around about the Philippine Sea fracas ten or twelve days ago, but these would be the first specifics he would hear. He admitted to himself that he appreciated being home and out of danger’s path, especially if it meant saving Todd’s life. But another part made him regret giving in so easily to Arleigh Burke.
Villafort walked to the opposite wall and flipped a black cloth off a board. This guy was no ordinary dog robber, Landa could see, as he examined his battle ribbons. He had the distinguished flying cross, purple heart, and five battle stars.
Villafort said, “Admiral Spruance finally broke radio silence with a detailed report. And thanks to another release from COMSUBPAC, we’ve pasted together a broader picture as well. Here’s what it looks like.”
He held up a flimsy. “Spruance set a trap on June 19th and the Japs fell into it. Basically, what he did was keep his Big Blue Fleet close to Guam, denying the Japs the chance to shuttle bomb off their carriers. This sucked them close to Task Force 58 and Admiral Mitscher, who had already wiped out their Guam airfields, along with the bases in the rest of the Marianas. Mitscher hit the Japs with everything he had. Over the next two days, he shot ‘em all down. Nearly 400 planes.” Villafort looked up and grinned.
Landa ran his finger around his collar again, cursing Arleigh Burke for sending him stateside during one of the greatest Naval Battles of all time. But then he reminded himself of Ingram and what the Japs were doing to him. Torture? Get with it Jerry.
“Three hundred ninety-five planes to be exact,” snapped Bunker.
Villafort stared at Bunker. “You’re right, Commander. Three hundred ninety-five plus another fifty land attack bombers situated on various runways in the Marianas.”
Landa sat back as the meeting broke into a minor hubbub.
“And that’s not all,” said Villafort, gaining control. “The Japs lost three flattops. Submarines Albacore and Cavalla got the fleet carriers Taiho and Shokaku and that’s confirmed by COMSUBPAC. So is the fact that Belleau Wood TBFs got the carrier Hiyo.” McCann rubbed his chin, “Goes on to say that the Jap flattop Zuikaku was heavily damaged along with the battleship Haruna--”
“Big Blue caught ‘em with their pants down,” said McCann.
“Also damaged were the light carriers Chyodo and Ryho, heavy cruiser Maya, destroyers Samidare and Shiguri.”
Wellman and Curtis puffed heartily, the cloud nearly obscuring a hacking Toliver.
“--and the hermorphadite carrier Hayasui.”
“What’s a hermorphadite?” asked Curtis.
“Who cares? As long as it’s headed for the bottom. Soooo solly Cholly,” said Wellman.
Villafort waited for quiet and then said, “There’s something else.” He paused again. “To accomplish all this, Admiral Mitscher was forced to launch planes late in the day on the 20th. They hit their targets but had to find their way back in full darkness.”
“What?” They stared at Villafort.
“It says Mitscher turned on the lights to guide ‘em back. Had every ship in the fleet turn on their lights, search lights, running lights, breakdown lights, boy scout flashlights, the works. Planes landed on any deck they could find. He recovered a bunch of them that way. And not one ship of Task Force 58 got hit by a Jap sub. Some planes ran out of gas on the way back, though. Others crash-landed alongside ships in Task Force 58.”
“Wow,” said Wellman.
Villafort shook his head slowly. “I’ll tell you, the guys of Task Force 58 are true heroes in my book, from cooks to pilots. I hope Admiral Nimitz gives every last one of ‘em medals.” He looked at Landa and smiled. “Even the tin can sailors.”
Landa had crammed a doughnut in his mouth. “Umfff. Glad to be of service.”
Bunker sat up and said, “Our losses were 130 planes, most of it due to Admiral Mitscher’s, ah, nocturnal ramblings.”
Villafort
clenched his teeth. “Commander. I don’t think--”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, you may be seated, “ said Admiral Sorrell.
“Admiral, I don’t think this man--”
“--I said sit.”
It became quiet as eyes bored into Bunker, who nonchalantly doodled on a note pad. At length, Sorrell asked, “Captain Landa, could you fill us in on OPERATION NEPTUNE, please?”
“NEPTUNE. Yes, sir.” Landa explained the I-57's progress and finished with, “As of this morning, we have word that the I-57 is preparing to round the Cape of Good Hope and head into the South Atlantic. So now, we’re moving into the finesse phase where I’ll be working with Task Group 26.3, which consists of the escort carrier USS Purvis Bay and eight destroyer escorts. Turns out the Group Commander is Pete Hutchinson an old friend. We served together aboard the USS Golden back in the early thirties. We’ll fix it so the Purvis Bay gets the U-581 after she refuels the I-57. Then we help the I-57 make it through the North Atlantic to Lorient. And we’ll do this by working with two other HUK groups stationed up there.” Landa dropped the pointer in the tray. “That’s about it. Any questions?”
“Admiral?” said Bunker.
Sorrell said, “Yes?”
“I’m curious. Do you think we are getting the best out of our resources?”
“I don’t understand,” said Sorrell.
Bunker waved to the table’s end. “This man, Wellman. He’s the cryptographer assigned to this operation, right?”
“Yes.”
“Also, he reads and writes Japanese, Is this true?”
“Yes, Howard’s a very talented man,” said Sorrell. “Spent eight years in Japan, right, Howard?”
Wellman pulled out a cigar and said, “My dad was in a traveling circus. We went everywhere. Got stuck in Japan when he went Asiatic and married a Japanese girl. I got out when I turned fifteen. But that’s where I learned to play the trumpet.”
“And then you joined the Navy,” queried Bunker.
Wellman thumped his fist. “Yes, sir, I did.”
“At the age of fifteen. You lied about your age.”
THE NEPTUNE STRATEGY: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 4) Page 21