W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps VII - Behind the Lines

A passenger in the first rubber boat was returning to the Sunfish from the beach-a passenger wearing an old-fashioned, broad-brimmed campaign hat, what looked like dirty white pajamas, and a full, blond beard.

"McCoy said he would try to send a senior officer out," Commander Houser said. "That must be him."

Lieutenant Youngman turned to the Chief of the Boat, who was scanning the horizon through binoculars.

"Chief, make sure we bring that man safely aboard," he ordered.

"Aye, aye, Sir," Chief Buchanan said.

Chief Bosun's Mate Buchanan turned, trained his binoculars toward shore, looked a moment, and then handed the binoculars to a sailor standing in the center of the people crowding the bridge.

Then, moving with surprising agility for someone of his bulk, he disap-peared down the hatch in the deck of the conning tower, and a moment later emerged on the deck of the submarine.

By the time the rubber boat reached the Sunfish, Chief Buchanan had tied a half-inch line securely around his waist and placed the end into the hands of three sailors on the deck. He had also made a loop in a second length of half-inch line, handed the end to the sailors, and was swinging the looped end in his hand, not unlike a cowboy about to lasso a calf for branding.

"Put the line around that gentleman," he bellowed as he made his way down the slippery, curved hull of the Sunfish.

He tossed the line to the two sailors in the rubber boat. Their attempt to grab it failed, and Chief Buchanan, using language not customarily heard in Sunday schools, offered an unkind opinion vis-a-vis the legitimacy of their births.

He retrieved the line and tossed it again. This time the sailor in the aft of the rubber boat managed to snag it.

"Just put that over your head, Sir," he called encouragingly. "And under your arms, and we'll have you aboard in no time."

Captain James B. Weston did as ordered, then lifted himself very un-steadily to his feet and jumped onto the curved hull. He lost his footing, fell flat on his face, and started to slide down the hull into the water.

"Haul away!" Chief Buchanan bellowed.

Captain Weston's descent became an ascent; he was dragged up the hull to the deck, where Chief Buchanan and one of the sailors jerked him to his feet.

"Right this way, Sir, if you please," Chief Buchanan said.

From some long-dormant corner of Weston's memory, Naval protocol suddenly came to life and could not be denied. He shrugged free of Chief Bu-chanan's arm, faced aft, and saluted.

"Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

Chief Buchanan tried to place his hand on Weston's arm to guide him to the port in the conning tower. Weston, his right hand and arm still raised in salute, pushed him away with his left.

"Permission granted!" a voice called.

Weston followed the sound of the voice and saw a Naval officer's face high on the conning tower. His salute was returned. Weston lowered his arm.

"Escort the gentleman to the wardroom," Commander Houser ordered.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

Weston allowed himself to be led down the deck, and then through a hatch in the conning tower. He found himself in a hot, crowded world of dials and pipes, smelling of oil and sweat, with sailors in work clothing and officers in khaki staring at him with undisguised curiosity.

He was led aft, and then Chief Buchanan pushed aside a green curtain and motioned him inside.

"Someone will be with you shortly, Sir," Chief Buchanan said. "You'll have to excuse me. I've got to get back topside."

"Thank you," Weston said politely.

He walked into the small compartment and turned around. The curtain was back in place, and the Chief gone.

Weston sat down at the small table. On the chair beside him was a copy of The Saturday Evening Post. He picked it up.

The curtain parted, and a sailor stepped inside.

"Fresh coffee, Sir," he said. "If there's anything else, just push the but-ton."

He set a tray before Weston. It held a cup and saucer, a silver coffeepot, a pitcher of something like cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes. A small plate held a half-dozen chocolate-chip cookies.

Weston pushed at the cookies with his index finger, then picked one up and took a small bite.

"Are you hungry, Sir?" the sailor asked. "Can I fix you something?"

Weston looked at him without replying.

"Anything from an egg sandwich to steak and eggs, Sir," the sailor said.

"Yes, please," Weston said.

"Which, Sir? The sandwich or the steak and eggs."

"Could I have both?"

"Absolutely," the sailor said, and left.

Weston took another bite of the chocolate-chip cookie, and then thrust the whole thing in his mouth and chewed it very slowly.

He poured coffee into the cup, then sniffed it, then took a sip. It was so hot, it burned his lips. He added cream and a lump of sugar and stirred, then took another sip.

He put another chocolate-chip cookie in his mouth all at once, and then dipped a third into the coffee with cream and sugar.

The curtain opened again as Weston mopped up the juice from the steak with a piece of toast.

It was the officer who had given him permission to come aboard. Weston now saw the golden oak leaves of a lieutenant commander on his collar points and started to rise, as officers of the Naval Service do in the presence of a superior officer.

"Keep your seat," the lieutenant commander said. "Cookie take care of you all right? Is there anything else we can get you?"

Weston shook his head, no, and then said, "Thank you."

"I'm Warren Houser. I'm the skipper."

"Captain Weston, Sir," Weston said. "No-Lieutenant Weston, Sir."

"Which is it, Mr. Weston?" Houser said gently, smiling, offering his hand.

"Captain, U.S. Forces in the Philippines, Sir. First Lieutenant, USMC."

"Welcome aboard the Sunfish, Captain."

"Thank you, Sir. What's happening now, Sir?"

"We're discharging cargo."

"Captain, if the Japs don't know you're here, they will shortly. A Jap patrol was on the beach just before the first rubber boat landed. I killed them, but someone's going to wonder where they are, and probably right about now."

"Well, we've come a long way with this stuff, and we'd like to discharge it. I understand you've had a supply problem."

"We haven't had any supplies at all," Weston said simply.

"So we heard," Captain Houser said, and then changed the subject. "As soon as we're finished here, we're going to Espiritu Santo."

"Where, Sir?"

"It's an island. Sort of a forward base. From there, I expect you'll be flown to Australia."

"Yes, Sir."

"If you don't want anything else to eat, may I suggest a shower and a shave? And we'll find some khakis for you. I want to get back to the bridge, so if you'll excuse me, we'll continue our conversation once we're under way. My officers are pretty damned curious."

"I think I'll keep the beard," Weston said. "Lieutenant McCoy said I wasn't to shave it off until General Pickering saw it."

"From what I've seen of him, it would behoove you to do what Lieutenant McCoy told you."

"May I have another cup of coffee? I seem to have drunk all..."

"You can have anything on the Sunfish, Captain Weston," Lieutenant Commander Houser said, and rang for the messman.

[FIVE]

Approximately 30 miles south of Boston

Davao Oriental Province

Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines

0745 Hours 24 December 1942

Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, USN, and First Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, were standing just inside the vegetation on the shore. McCoy was holding a carbine, the butt resting on his hip. Lewis had a carbine slung from his shoulder.

The Sunfish lay about two hundred yards offshore, her 4.2 cannon and an-tiaircraft machine guns manned, her colors now hanging limply from the conning-tower mast. She had surfaced just over two hours before.