“Mechanical, Sir, as opposed to electrical. I have been informed the mechanical trouble will be remedied first thing tomorrow.”
“Who told you this?”
“Captain Kuroshio of the Transportation Section, Sir.”
“Be so good as to get Captain Kuroshio on the telephone, Hideyori.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Lieutenant Hideyori sat down, hastily consulted a mimeographed telephone book, dialed a number, spoke briefly with whoever answered, and then handed the telephone to Captain Saikaku.
“Captain Kuroshio is being called to the phone, Sir,” he reported.
Saikaku took the telephone and waited, an impatient look on his face, until Captain Kuroshio came on the line.
“This is Captain Saikaku of the Kempeitai,” he announced. “Lieutenant Hideyori informs me you are in the process of repairing two trucks. These trucks are required for a Kempeitai operation. Required immediately. I want the necessary repairs to them begun immediately, and continued until the trucks are operating, if that means your mechanics work through the night. Do you understand me?”
He listened to the reply, and then hung up.
“As soon as the trucks are made available to you, Hideyori,” he ordered, “I want them manned around the clock. The sooner we locate this station, the sooner we can shut it down.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What is your opinion of the message? The code?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.”
“How soon can I expect to know what message these people are sending?”
“Sir, I took the liberty of sending the message to the Signals Intelligence Branch in Manila, asking them to attempt to decrypt the message.”
“You did this on your own authority?”
“Yes, Sir. I believed it to be the thing to do.”
“You are to be commended on your initiative, Hideyori,” Saikaku said.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Be so good as to inform the Signals Intelligence Branch that there is Kempeitai interest in this message.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And inform them that as a suggestion to help in their decryption efforts—you better write this down, Hideyori—that the message may contain the words ‘Fertig,’ ‘Brigadier,’ ‘General,’ and ‘U.S. Forces.’ Fertig is a name. The other words may be abbreviated.”
“I’m sure Signals Intelligence Branch will be pleased to have your suggestion, Sir.”
“As soon as you have word on your trucks, or from Signals Intelligence, or of any development at all, inform me. Call my office, they will know where to locate me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What we have here, Hideyori, is a weed. If we pull it from the earth now, that will be the end of it. If it is allowed to grow, it will become an increasing nuisance.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“One final thing, Hideyori. Have your radio operators on the watch for messages addressed to MFS.”
“I have already ordered that, Sir.”
“Good,” Saikaku said, then turned and walked out of Lieutenant Hideyori’s office.
[SEVEN]
Headquarters, U.S. Forces in the Philippines
Davao Oriental Province
Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines
1815 Hours 10 October 1942
Lieutenant Ball heard through his earphones the sound of the carrier and then a string of dots and dashes.
His heart beating and with tears in his eyes, he wrote down the letters:MFS KFS
MFS KFS
LPORD GHDSG NGFGP JKOWR
DKLHI WRHFS SUHIO SWERI
LPORD GHDSG NGFGP JKOWR
DKLHI WRHFS SUHIO SWERI
KFS CLR
KFS CLR
Prior to his attachment to Headquarters, USFIP, Ball had been a radio operator. He recognized the call sign of the answering station.
“That’s not Australia. It’s a Navy Station. I think Hawaii.”
The message, when decoded, was brief:STAND BY AT 0600 YOUR TIME
[EIGHT]
Lieutenant Ball erred in part. While KFS was indeed a Navy radio station, it was not in Hawaii, but rather at the U.S. Navy Base, Mare Island, near San Francisco.
And there the radio message had attracted the interest of a veteran chief radioman.
“What the hell is this, Chief?” nineteen-year-old Radioman Third Class Daniel J. Miller, USN, asked, handing it to Dugan. “It’s been coming in every hour on the hour in the twenty-meter band. Since yesterday.”
The Chief examined the message.
“Whatever it is,” he said, “it was encoded on an old Model 94. That second code group means ‘Emergency SOI.’ ”
“What’s a Model 94?”
“An old-time crypto machine. They don’t use them anymore,” the Chief said thoughtfully. “Maybe the Japs captured one on Wake Island or someplace and are fucking with us.”
“What’s an emergency SOI?”
“It means you don’t have a valid signal-operating instruction, so use the Emergency One,” the Chief said absently, and then, thinking aloud, “And maybe they ain’t.”
“Maybe aren’t what?”
“Fucking with us.”
“Then what the hell is this?” Miller asked.
“I don’t know,” the Chief said. “But I’m going to find out.”
He consulted a typewritten list of telephone numbers taped to the slide in his desk, found the number of the Communications Section of the Presidio of San Francisco Army Base, and dialed it.
“commo, Sergeant Havell.”
“Chief Dugan. Let me speak to Sergeant Piedwell.”
“What can the Army do for the Navy?”
“You’re always telling me what hot shits you doggies are.”
“Statement of fact, Chief.”
“If I was to send you something encrypted on a Model 94, could you work it?”
“If I had a Model 94, I could. What’s this?”
“You got one, or not?”
“Yeah, there’s one in the vault. I saw it last week and wondered what the hell we were still doing with it.”
“I’m going to send a fine young man named Miller over there with a message that needs decryption. Out of school, OK, Piedwell?”
“What kinda message?”
“Use the Emergency Code,” Chief Dugan said. “Whoever sent this didn’t have a valid SOL”
“What’s this all about?”
“When I find out, I’ll tell you. But in the meantime, just do it, and keep it under your hat, OK?”
“What the hell, why not?”
“Thanks, Piedwell.”
Two hours later, Radioman Third Miller was back from the Presidio with a blank, sealed, business-size envelope. When Chief Dugan opened it, he found a single sheet of typewriter paper inside:WE HAVE THE HOT POOP FROM
THE HOT YANKS IN THE PHILS
FERTIG BRIG GEN
Dugan handed it to Radioman Third Miller.
“What’s this mean?” Miller asked.
“It could mean the Japs found a Model 94 and are fucking with us,” Chief Dugan said. “And it could mean it’s for real.”
He refolded the sheet of paper and put it back in the envelope.
“The next time these people come on the air, send them ‘Stand by at 0600 your time,’ ” Chief Dugan said, and stood up. “I’ll be back as soon as I get back,” he said.
“Where are you going, in case somebody asks?”
“I’m going to tell the Admiral how to run the war,” Chief Dugan said.
“I mean, really.”
“Chief petty officers never lie, son. Write that on the palm of your hand so you never forget it,” Chief Dugan said, put on his jacket and hat, and left the radio room.
“Long time no see, Dugan,” Rear Admiral F. Winston Bloomer, USN, said. “You can spell that either ‘sss eee eee’ or ‘sss eee aaa.’ Coffee?”
“Thank you, Sir,” Dugan sa
id.
The Admiral and the Chief went back a long way, to when the Admiral had been a lieutenant (j.g.) commo officer on an old four-stacker tin-can and the Chief had been a radioman striker.
Dugan handed Admiral Bloomer the envelope, then helped himself to a cup of coffee from the Admiral’s thermos.
“OK. What is it?” the Admiral asked.
“Somebody’s transmitting that on the twenty-meter band for a couple of minutes every hour on the hour. It was encoded on a Model 94, no SOI.”
“A Model 94? They haven’t used those for years. Japanese playing with us? They captured one somewhere? Wake Island, maybe? Or in the Philippines?”
“It may be the real thing.”
“What do you want to do, Dugan?”
“I want to find out if there is a brigadier general named Fertig.”
“In other words, you want me to go to Naval Intelligence for you?”
“I’ve got a pal who can find out for me in a hurry.”
“Why does that make me uncomfortable?” Admiral Bloomer asked, adding, “Faster than ONI?”—The Office of Naval Intelligence—“Who does your pal work for, the President?”
“The Secretary of the Navy has an administrative assistant. The administrative assistant has a Chief who works for him.”
“And you know where he buried the body, right, Dugan?”
“Bodies, Admiral.”
“I don’t want to know about this, Dugan. But if you get in trouble, you have my phone number.”
“Thank you,” Dugan said. “What if I find out something?”
“Yes, please, Dugan. Keep me posted. I hope this is genuine.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Radioman Third Miller walked up to Chief Dugan’s desk and handed him a sheet of paper.
“This what you’ve been waiting for, Chief?”
URGENT
FROM SECNAV
FOR OFFICER COMMANDING
US NAVY BASE MARE ISLAND
ATTN: CPO EDWARD B DUGAN, USN
THERE IS NO GENERAL FERTIG IN US ARMY OR USMC
LTCOL WENDELL W. FERTIG CORPS OF ENGINEERS,
USARMY RESERVE REPORTED MISSING AND
PRESUMED JAPANESE POW ON BATAAN.
LTCOL FERTIGS NEXT OF KIN WIFE MRS MARY
HAMPTON FERTIG, GOLDEN, COLORADO DOB
11MAY1905
BY DIRECTION SECNAV
HAUGHTON CAPT USN ADMIN OFF TO SECNAV
BY HANSEN CPO USN
Dugan read the teletype message.
“What time is it here when it’s 0600 in the Philippines?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Chief.”
“You don’t know? My God, Miller, you’re a radioman third, you’re supposed to know that kind of thing. Find out, and be here when it is.”
“You know what time it will be here, right?”
“Of course. I’m a chief.”
Dugan stood up and put on his cap and jacket.
“I’ll be back when I’m back,” he said.
“You’re going to tell the Admiral how to run the war again, right?”
“Actually, I’m going over to the Presidio to talk the Army into loaning me their Model 94.”
Radioman Third Miller put his fingers to his radiotelegraph key:KFS TO MFS
KFS TO MFS
BY
The reply came immediately. Chief Dugan looked over Miller’s shoulder as the words appeared on his typewriter.
MFS TO KFS
STANDING BY
“Send it,” Chief Dugan ordered.
Miller took his right hand from the typewriter keys and put it onto the radiotelegraph key.
KFS TO MFS
SEND ENCRYPTED MAIDEN NAME FERTIGS NEXT
OF KIN AND DATE OF BIRTH
STANDING BY
There was no reply for several minutes.
“They’re either encoding it, or we’re talking to the Japs, and they’re wondering what the hell to do now,” Chief Dugan said.
And then there was a reply:MFS TO KFS
JIOQT LPITZ SHDQW JFIUO GMCIT
PSATY SDERJ HQWKM JEWRP AITCD
ITDFS EWNOR HSQIT SDRTP CFENG
JIOQT LPITZ SHDQW JFIUO GMCIT
PSATY SDERJ HQWKM JEWRP AITCD
ITDFS EWNOR HSQIT SDRTP CFENG
MFS BY
Chief Dugan ripped the sheet of paper from Miller’s typewriter, walked quickly back to his desk, and operated the Model 94 Cryptographic Device he had borrowed from the Army at God only knew what cost in future favors to be repaid.
“Miller,” he called, and paused a moment as if he was trying to regain control of his voice. “Send ‘We are ready for your traffic.’ ”
“No shit? It’s for real?”
“Belay that. Send ‘Welcome to the net. We are ready for your traffic.’ ”
Chief Dugan reached for his telephone.
“Operator, Chief Dugan. Long Distance Priority Code Sixteen-B. Get me Mrs. Mary Fertig in Golden, Colorado.”
Radioman Third Miller, without stopping his tapping on his key, called over his shoulder:
“Chief, you think you should do that without asking somebody?”
“If I ask somebody, they’d likely tell me not to,” Chief Dugan said.
Mrs. Mary Fertig came on the line two minutes later.
“Mrs. Fertig, this is Chief Dugan, Mare Island Navy Base.”
“Yes?”
“Ma’am, I think we have just heard from your husband. General Fertig?”
“You must be mistaken. My husband is Major Fertig. And he’s in the Philippines.”
Radioman Miller handed Chief Dugan another sheet of paper, and then hurried back to his typewriter.
“Ma‘am,” Chief Dugan said, “let me read you something. ‘For Mrs. Fertig. Quote. Pineapples for breakfast. Love. End quote.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
There was a long pause.
“Yes, that means something. It means my husband is on the island of Mindanao. We used to go there often, to play golf on the Dole Plantation. We always had pineapples for breakfast.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Is there any way I can get a message to my husband?”
“Yes, Ma’am. A short one. What would you like to say?”
There was another pause.
“Please tell him all is well. And send love.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll try to get that to him right away. Ma’am, I’m sure some people will be in touch with you. Maybe, when they come to see you, it would be better if you didn’t tell them I called you.”
“I understand. Thank you so very much, Mr. Dugan.”
“That’s Chief Dugan, Ma‘am. Good-bye, Ma’am.”
V
[ONE]
Office of the Military Governor of Mindanao
Cagayan de Oro, Misamis-Oriental Province
Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines
0900 Hours 13 October 1942
“My General,” Lieutenant Colonel Tange Kisho said to Brigadier General Kurokawa Kenzo, “Captain Saikaku has been handling the matter of the clandestine radio station and related matters. With your permission, Sir, I will ask him to brief the General.”
General Kurokawa nodded and looked at Saikaku. Instead of rising to his feet as Colonel Tange—and perhaps even General Kurokawa—expected him to do, Saikaku carefully set his teacup on the conference table and slumped back against his upholstered chair. He had decided that it was important to appear relatively unconcerned about the existence of this General Fertig and his radio station, and with Hideyori’s inability to locate it.
“My general,” he began, “on 10 October, Lieutenant Hideyori’s radio operators began hearing a coded message transmitted on the twenty-meter shortwave band. Hideyori brought this to my attention. The message was partly in the clear and partly encrypted. It was addressed to U.S. Forces in Australia.
“At my direction, the message was forwarded to the Signals Intelligence Branch in Manila, together
with several suggestions of mine to aid in the decryption process.
“The same day, late in the afternoon, a radio station which we believe to be the U.S. Navy station on Mare Island, California, responded to the station here. That message was also encrypted. There has been a further exchange of messages since then, but let me take this one thing at a time.
“This morning, Signals Intelligence Branch furnished me with their decryption of the first messages. They informed me the encryption was performed on a U.S. Army Model 94 cryptographic machine, two examples of which came into our hands on Luzon.
“The first message, the one Hideyori’s operators intercepted, was quite simple. Quote: We have the hot poop from the hot yanks in the phils Fertig brig gen. End quote.”
“So there is a General Fertig?” General Kurokawa interrupted.
“We don’t know that for sure, General,” Saikaku said. “I’ll touch on that in a moment. The body of the message is in American vernacular. ‘Hot poop’ is a slang expression meaning, roughly, ‘fresh information.’ ‘Hot yanks in the phils’ obviously means ‘Yankees in the Philippines.’ ”
“ ‘Hot Yankees’?” General Kurokawa asked.
“I don’t know what that means, General. Possibly it refers to the heat. The reply from California told the station here to stand by—be attentive—at six the following morning. At that time, the California station asked MFS—the call sign of the station here—to furnish them the maiden name—the name of an unmarried woman’s father—of Fertig’s next of kin—presumably his wife—and her date of birth. This was furnished.”
“Obviously, then, there is a Fertig,” General Kurokawa said.
“Yes, Sir. A Fertig. Not necessarily a General Fertig. I have been looking into this. Nowhere in captured personnel records is there a record of a General Fertig. There is a record of a Major Fertig, believed killed during the Luzon campaign.”
Behind the Lines Page 11