Captain Jernigan was still alive. But Chief Schultz was gone, replaced by Radioman First Class Henry Clatterman, who was younger than Ensign Lacey. Clatterman promptly announced that he really didn’t know diddly-shit about the cryptographic machine when he came aboard, and that despite Chief Schultz’s on-the-job training on the voyage, he was still baffled by most of what he was supposed to do.
With a little bit of luck, however, Mr. Lacey felt that the professional inadequacies of the communications section might not be brought to Captain Jernigan’s attention. Or at least delayed: The first attempt to communicate with the Devil Fish was scheduled for 0615. At this hour, the Captain, following his routine inspection of the ship after rising, normally took his breakfast.
At 0612, Captain Jernigan entered the radio room.
“We all set up, Mr. Lacey?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Clatterman?”
“We’re ready, Sir.”
Precisely at 0615, Clatterman started pounding his key in an attempt to communicate with the US submarine Devil Fish, which was somewhere on the high seas between the coast of Africa and the coast of South America.
There was no reply after three attempts.
Mr. Lacey was enormously relieved. They would try again, according to the schedule, at six-hour intervals hereafter—at 1215, 1815, 0015, and 0615. Eventually communication would be established. Between each try, there would be an additional six hours for him to learn how to operate the cryptographic machine.
“Clatterman, try to contact the Nantucket,” Captain Jernigan ordered. “They should be monitoring the frequency. If you reach them, send Contingency Code Six in the clear, and then stand by for a crypted reply.”
“The Nantucket, Sir?”
“The Devil Fish, I hope, has by now made a rendezvous with, and is being accompanied by, a fleet tanker,” the Captain explained. “I only know the names of two fleet tankers operating out of Panama, the Nantucket and the Biloxi. We’ll try both of them; a fleet tanker will have better communications than a submarine. What have we got to lose?”
“The call sign, Sir?”
“It’s in the book,” Captain Jernigan said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “You mean you don’t have the book out?”
“No, Sir,” Clatterman replied. “Mr. Lacey didn’t tell me to, Sir.”
“My God, Lacey!” Captain Jernigan said, went to the safe, worked the combination, opened the safe, and removed a notebook.
He looked at Mr. Lacey.
“You did remember to take the contingency codes out of the safe, Mr. Lacey?”
“I thought I would wait until we established contact with the Devil Fish, Sir. I don’t like TOP SECRET material lying around the radio room.”
“Mr. Lacey, go find the Exec. Tell him I’ll be here for a while, and would he please remain on the bridge. And then see if you can make yourself useful to him.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Do you mean you don’t want me to return here?”
“That is correct, Mr. Lacey,” Captain Jernigan said. He turned to Radioman First Class Clatterman. “GHR, Clatterman. See if you can raise them, please.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Clatterman put his hand on his key.
GHR, DSI, GHR, DSI.
There was no response from the Fleet Tanker Nantucket, call sign GHR.
“Try HJI,” Captain Jernigan ordered. “That’s the Biloxi.”
Clatterman turned to his key.
This time there was a reply:
GHR, HJI, GA GHR, HJI, GA.
“Send them, in the clear, Contingency Code Six,” Captain Jernigan ordered, and headed for the cryptographic machine.
Radioman First Class Clatterman heard the Captain mutter, “Now if I can only remember how to operate this sonofabitch.”
Twenty minutes later, Captain Jernigan examined a decrypted message from the Fleet Tanker USS Biloxi, which advised that she and the Devil Fish were proceeding according to orders, and that they expected to reach Point J at 0345 Greenwich time 1 January.
“Send them in the clear: “We will maintain established radio schedule and will monitor frequency,’” Captain Jernigan ordered.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Clatterman responded.
The Captain waited until there was acknowledgment from the Biloxi, then ordered: “Now try HKG. If they respond, send Contingency Code Six, and if they reply, relay the Biloxi’s radio to us.”
There was no response in four tries from HKG.
“Try HKG at hourly intervals,” Captain Jernigan ordered. “If they respond, send them Contingency Code Six, then relay the last radio from the Biloxi. Notify me at any hour when you establish contact.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Captain Jernigan then left the radio room for the bridge, where he asked Mr. Lacey to join him in the chart room. He delivered there a five-minute lecture to Mr. Lacey, whom he caused to stand to attention. During the lecture Mr. Lacey was advised that his performance of duty in the radio room half an hour before was below his expectations of his communications officer, and that if Mr. Lacey did not wish to spend the balance of the war serving as a permanent ensign and a venereal-disease-control officer aboard a yard tug operating in the Aleutian Islands, it would well behoove him to learn how to do what was expected of him, and then to demonstrate his ability to perform his duties when called upon to do so.
[FIVE]
Radio Room
USS Alfred Thomas, DD-107
100 Nautical Miles Due East of Punta del Este,
Uruguay
2220 30 December 1942
“What have you got, Sparks?” Captain Jernigan inquired as he entered the radio room. He was attired in his underwear, his bathrobe, and the somewhat battered brimmed cap with its somewhat moldy insignia and gold strap he customarily wore at sea.
Radioman First Class Clatterman was at the radio console. Ensign Lacey, in a crisp cotton uniform, showing evidence that he had recently shaved and was in need of sleep, sat before the cryptographic machine.
“HKG, Captain,” Ensign Lacey replied. “We have…”
“I was speaking to Clatterman, Mr. Lacey, if you don’t mind. Sparks?”
“HKG, Sir. They’re coming in five-by-five. It’s Chief Schultz, Captain. I recognize his hand.”
“Did you relay the Biloxi’s last radio?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Send, ‘Well done,’ Sparks,” Captain Jernigan ordered. “And then advise HKG that we will be monitoring the frequency.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“I’ll be in my cabin. Call me if we hear from anyone.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
[SIX]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
0740 1 January 1943
The chief operator of Navy Radio Station HKG tore the sheet of paper from the typewriter on his makeshift desk and turned around, taking off his headset as he did so.
“That has to be the oldest fucking typewriter in the world,” he announced.
“Beggars, Chief Schultz,” First Lieutenant C. H. Frade, USMCR, replied, somewhat unctuously, “cannot be choosers.”
“Up yours, Mr. Frade,” Chief Schultz said, adding, “it’ll take me fifteen, twenty minutes to decode this; without a machine, it’s a pain in the ass. Whatever it is, it’s not just one of them ‘standing by’ messages. It’s too long for that, and they said switch to Contingency Code Eleven.”
“I don’t have anyplace to go, Chief.”
“You want to hand me one of them beers? It’s hotter than hell in here.”
Eighteen minutes later, Chief Schultz handed Lieutenant Frade a sheet of typewriter paper.
“It’s two messages, Mr. Frade,” he said.
Clete read the messages, then passed the sheet of paper to Second Lieutenant Pelosi, who read it and handed it to Staff Sergeant Ettinger.
* * *
TOP SECRET
OPERATIONAL IMMEDIAT
E
FROM: ALFRED THOMAS DD107 0320 GREENWICH 1JAN43
TO: CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WASH DC
ALL USNAVY VESSELS AND SHORE STATIONS RELAY
1. RENDEZVOUS WITH BILOXI AND DEVIL FISH MADE AT POINT J 0310 1JAN43.
2. REFUELING WILL TAKE PLACE AT FIRST LIGHT.
3. IN CONTACT WITH PETER.
4. PROCEEDING ACCORDING TO ORDERS.
JERNIGAN, LTCOM USN COMMANDING.
* * *
FROM THOMAS TO PETER
REF OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE FROM THOMAS TO CNO 0320 GREENWICH 1JAN43.
1. ESTIMATE COMPLETION REFUELING 0930 GREENWICH 1JAN43.
2. ESTIMATE ARRIVAL DEVILFISH POINT M REPEAT POINT M 2300 GREENWICH 1JAN43.
3. ESTIMATE DEPARTURE DEVILFISH POINT M REPEAT POINT M 0200 GREENWICH 2JAN43. SHE WILL ATTEMPT ADVISE ACTUAL DEPARTURE TIME PRIOR DEPARTURE.
4. ESTIMATE ARRIVAL DEVILFISH POINT 0 REPEAT POINT 0 0400 GREENWICH 2JAN43. SHE WILL REPORT ACTUAL ARRIVAL TIME.
5. GODSPEED AND GOOD LUCK.
JERNIGAN, LTCOM USN COMMANDING
* * *
“Chief,” Clete said, “since you’re dealing with a bunch of amateur sailors, maybe you’d better translate all that for us.”
“You mean that, Mr. Frade?” Chief Schultz asked.
“Each tiny little detail, each tiny little step,” Clete said.
“OK,” Schultz said. “OK. For openers, all these times are Greenwich times, which is a place in England. There’s four hours’ difference. When it’s noon here, it’s four in the afternoon there. Got it?” He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s quarter after eight. That’s 1215 Greenwich. Got it?”
Clete nodded.
Tony said, “Got it, Chief.”
“So, let’s talk about our time,” Chief Schultz went on: “The tanker, the Biloxi, and the Devil Fish rendezvoused-up with the Thomas off Punta del Este about eleven-ten last night. What I’m guessing is that Captain Jernigan decided there wasn’t much point in starting the refueling in the dark. If things fucked up—laying alongside another ship on the high seas isn’t easy in the first place, and at night it’s a bitch—forget the whole operation. So he waited until it was light to start the refueling.
“Only ten minutes later, he sent that Operation Immediate to the Chief of Naval Operations. That seems pretty dumb, but maybe when you’re operating DP you have to do it.”
“‘DP,’ Oscar?” Ettinger asked.
They must have a mutual admiration society, Clete thought. It would never have entered my mind to call Chief Schultz by his first name.
“It means ‘Direction of the President,’ Dave,” Schultz explained patiently. “Really big-time stuff. There’s probably six admirals sitting on their ass in the Navy Department, waiting to hear that you guys carried this off. Praying they don’t have to go to the CNO hisself and tell him he has to go to the President and tell him this got fucked up somehow.”
“Interesting,” Ettinger said.
“Anyway, to go through this, when Captain Jernigan sent that Operational Immediate at 2320 our time, it was not light.
“As soon as she’s fueled, which would be right about now, in another fifteen or twenty minutes, the Devil Fish will take off for Point J—which is probably just outside the twelve-mile line, just outside Argentine waters, off the Bay of Samborombón. She’ll try to contact us just before she leaves. We’ve been talking to the Biloxi and the Thomas, not the Devil Fish. They want to know if we can communicate with her. We’ll probably hear from her in the next couple of minutes.”
He turned around in his chair, picked up the headset, and put it on so that one speaker was on his left ear and the other was resting against his forehead.
“The Devil Fish’ll probably run on the surface for a while, but then she’ll run submerged, which is slower, to make sure nobody sees her. Then, when she’s at Point M, which she estimates at 1900 our time, she’ll surface, just far enough out of the water to get air to run her diesels and recharge her batteries, and then lay on the bottom until maybe 2300, when she will stick her antenna out of the water long enough to contact us and tell us she’s leaving.”
He turned suddenly in his chair, put both cans over his ears, and after tapping his key briefly, began to type on the typewriter. Finally he turned again.
“I’ll have to decode this to be sure, but I’ll bet—it’s short and right on time—that it’s the Devil Fish telling us she’s leaving for Río de la Plata. You want me to go on, or decode it?”
“Decode it, please, Chief,” Clete ordered.
It was in fact a message from the Devil Fish, reporting that she was departing Point J for Point M.
“Which proves our radio works,” Chief Schultz said. “Even with the shitty antennas on a submarine. Where was I?”
“The Devil Fish contacts us when she’s leaving for Point O,” Clete furnished.
“Not exactly,” Chief Schultz said. “She contacts us to find out where the Reine de la Mer is, so from the charts Captain Jernigan gave her, she can pick the best spot for her to lay on the bottom of Samborombón Bay.”
“I stand corrected,” Clete said.
“Then the Devil Fish goes submerged to Point O, sticks her antenna out of the water, and tells us where she is. Then Mr. Frade here tells her where the Reine de la Mer is, and asks when he should drop the flares.”
“And if the Reine de la Mer moves after Lieutenant Frade gives her position to the Devil Fish?” Ettinger asked.
“Then we start all over again, finding the sonofabitch, and then waiting for the Devil Fish to get close enough to her to get a shot at her.”
“Is there enough moonlight for you to find her, Lieutenant?” Ettinger pursued.
“It depends on the cloud cover, and how much light I have. But I’ll find her. I’m going to keep tabs on her all day, starting now. You want to come with me, Tony?”
“Yeah, sure.”
[SEVEN]
Samborombón Bay
0940 1 January 1943
Clete tapped Tony’s shoulder and gestured toward the water 10,000 feet below them.
“You’re sure that’s her?” Tony asked.
“Yeah, that’s her.”
He consulted his Hamilton chronograph and the compass, made some quick computations, and then marked the position of the Reine de la Mer, sixteen miles off the coast, on the chart he had in his lap.
“Now we’re going back?” Tony asked.
“Now we’re going to go back and figure out some way to rig the chute so that I can operate it from up here,” Clete said.
“It can’t be done,” Tony said. “I thought about it.”
“Think some more.”
“Hey, I’m going. First: There’s no way you can drop the flares by yourself. And second: I’m going. And anyway, even if you could drop the first dozen by yourself, you’d have no way to reload the chute for a second run.”
“I’ll be very surprised if there will be a second run,” Clete said. “They expect us down there.”
He looked at Tony, who obviously believed him. There was fear in his eyes.
“They even know about the flares,” Clete added. “They think we’re going to try to set the sonofabitch on fire.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have a reliable source of information. He also tells me there are two Bofors dual forty-millimeter cannon on board.”
“I say again, repeat, first: There’s no way you can drop the flares from up here,” Tony said. “And second: I’m going.”
“I say again, repeat, that when we get back we’re going to see if there is a way I can do this myself.”
“If they have Bofors forty-millimeters down there shooting at us, you won’t have time to even think about dropping the flares yourself. Don’t try to be a fucking hero.”
Clete looked at Tony for a moment, then said, “Put the wire out the tail, and we’ll see if the walkie-talkies work.”
“Flyey-talkies?” Tony respond
ed. “About the only thing left of the walkie-talkies after Ettinger and the Chief finished fucking with them is the nameplate.”
“Let the wire out, Lieutenant Pelosi,” Clete said.
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Frade, Lieutenant, Sir,” Tony said.
Tony went into the now-stripped cabin of the Beechcraft and dropped to his knees near the open doorway. He put on a pair of heavy leather work gloves, then picked up a tiny parachute—a drogue chute—and carefully held the tiny chute out into the slipstream.
It was immediately snatched from his hand; and the wire it was attached to moved so quickly over the gloves that they smoked. When all the wire, which had been carefully coiled in a wooden box, was deployed outside the Beech, he carefully looked out of the door. He could see the wire, but not the drogue chute.
He smiled with satisfaction. This idea of his had worked too. When the wire was fully extended, the force exerted by moving through the air at 120 miles per hour was enough to tear off the drogue chute. Otherwise, what Chief Schultz referred to as “the straight-wire antenna” would have gyrated wildly, and would not have been a “straight wire.”
He had also solved the problem of dealing with the wire before landing, during which it would have posed problems. After Chief Schultz and the Argentine ex-Sergeant Major spent hours trying to come up with a crank to pull it back inside, he suggested they “just cut the sonofabitch; we have plenty of wire.”
The suggestion earned him the highest possible praise from Chief Schultz: “Coming from a second lieutenant, that ain’t too dumb an idea, Mr. Pelosi.”
Tony went back through the cabin to the cockpit.
“You couldn’t put the straight wire out by yourself, either, Clete,” he said.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Lieutenant Pelosi,” Clete replied, and picked up a microphone.
“Peter, this is Paul. How do you read? Over.”
“Paul, Peter,” Chief Schultz’s voice came back immediately. “Five-by-five.”
Honor Bound Page 63