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

The truth was, he liked his first impression of Wagam. This at first sur-prised him, until he reminded himself that he really liked and admired Admiral Chester Nimitz, for whom Admiral Wagam worked. He doubted that Nimitz would tolerate a fool on his staff for more than sixty seconds.

That triggered the thought, the realization, that he was in a lousy mood. And he knew the reasons for that: He didn't want to send McCoy into the Phil-ippines at all, much less with the albatross of Macklin hanging around his neck. And he didn't want to send Koffler along with him either, even if he had no choice. El Supremo had refused to give him a qualified radio operator.

"I'm just a simple sailor, Admiral, sailing in uncharted waters," Pickering said.

"You're an any-tonnage, any-ocean master mariner, General," Wagam said. "Not a simple sailor. I'm sure that you can navigate safely through any array of rocks and shoals."

Pickering was surprised-and somehow pleased-that Wagam knew that he had spent time on the bridge of a ship.

"When I use somebody else's room, I always worry whether or not there's hidden microphones," Pickering said, now smiling.

Wagam's face showed his confusion. He wasn't sure at first if Pickering was serious or not.

"You think the Japanese have placed a microphone in here?"

"I'm not sure about the Japanese," he said, and switched to a thick but credible German accent. "But the Germans"-he pronounced it Cher-mam- "you haff to vatch out for dem."

Wagam had picked up on the smile. He smiled back. Despite the English-sounding name, General Charles Willoughby had a Germanic background, and sometimes spoke with a perceptible German accent.

"Do you really?" Wagam said.

If Charley Willoughby does have a microphone in here-and I wouldn't put it past him, come to think of it-that should ruin his whole day, Pickering thought, pleased.

"Der Chermans," Pickering went on, "they are not too schmardt, but dey are thorough!"

Wagam laughed out loud.

"Would the Admiral be kind enough to join me for lunch at a place where I know there are no microphones?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"George, call out to the cottage and tell Mrs. Cavendish four for lunch as soon as we get there."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"I'll drive the Admiral in the Studebaker, and you bring Lieutenant Lewis with you," Pickering ordered, and then had another thought. "And I think it would be a good idea to drop by the dungeon and ask the Killer to join us. Would that pose a problem?"

"No, Sir. They're just about through, General."

"Tell him to leave the gold there, and then take it back after lunch."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Admiral Nimitz told me to be careful if General Willoughby asked about Op-eration Windmill," Admiral Wagam said when they were in the Stude-baker, "but do-"

"About operation what?" Pickering interrupted.

"Operation Windmill," Wagam replied, surprise in his voice, "the mission to Fertig."

"I never heard it called that before," Pickering said. "Where'd you get that?"

"It was in Admiral Leahy's Special Channel Personal to Admiral Nimitz," Wagam said, "in which he said that if we can't provide the kind of a submarine you want-in support of Operation Windmill-and when you want it, he'll want to know our reasons."

"Nimitz's Special Channel Personal to me suggested there was a problem with the submarine."

"Not from your position, General, but from ours. My orders are to explain the problem to you, and pass on Admiral Nimitz's thoughts on the subject, and then to give you whatever you think you need."

Pickering grunted.

"I was about to ask if you really thought there might be a microphone in that conference room," Wagam said.

"Charley Willoughby," Pickering replied, "is not only about as smart as they come, and a thoroughly competent intelligence officer, but is also fiercely loyal to General MacArthur. That's fine for SWPOA and El Supremo, but sometimes it gets in my way."

" 'El Supremo'? Is that what you call him?"

"Only behind his back," Pickering said.

Wagam laughed.

"We have a personal connection, General," he said.

"We do?"

"My nephew, Lieutenant David Schneider, USMC, flew with VMF-229 on Guadalcanal."

"Did he come out all right?" Pickering asked.

"With five kills, a DFC, and some injuries to his legs when he barely made it back to Henderson Field in a pretty badly shot-up Wildcat. He is now recov-ered."

"My boy-thank God, luck was with him-wasn't injured," Pickering said. "Well, they're both out of it now, at least for a while. An old pal of mine, General Mclnerney-"

"I know Mac," Wagam interrupted.

"-told me The Corps plans to use those kids as instructors, hoping they can pass on what they learned the hard way to the new kids."

"He told me the same thing," Wagam said. And that the two of you were in France together. That's how I knew about your son."

"Small world, Mac, me, and Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker. At the time we were young enlisted men foolish enough to believe we were in the war to end war forever."

"Me, too," Wagam said. "My contribution to World War I was com-manding a couple of three-inchers welded precariously to the superstructure of a freighter. I used to worry about my Naval career, now that there wasn't going to be another war. I was afraid I would never get to be a commander, much less an admiral."

The two men looked at each other for a moment.

"Admiral, would there be any problem having Jack Stecker and the Lieu-tenant who's going into the Philippines-his name is McCoy-sit in on our little chat?"

"I was going to suggest that my aide sit in," Wagam said. "He's a subma-riner. He made three trips to Corregidor before it fell. He's suggested that he go along on this operation to see if he could be useful."

Pickering, you've just done it again. Another of your brilliant, snap judg-ments of character is one hundred eighty degrees off course.

"Fine with me," Pickering said.

"And the OSS people?"

"There's only one of them, and I'll tell you about him later," Pickering said.

Mrs. Cavendish removed the luncheon plates from the dining-room table, brought in two pots of coffee, and left, closing the door softly behind her. Gen-eral Pickering and Admiral Wagam were at opposite ends of the table. Lining the sides were Colonel Jack (NMI) Stecker, Captain Ed Sessions, Lieutenants McCoy and Hart, USMC, Lieutenant Lewis, USN, and a last-minute addition General Pickering sensed upset Lieutenant Lewis's concept of Naval propri-ety, Staff Sergeant Steve Koffler.

The Navy's wrong about the way they treat-and think about-their en-listed men, Pickering thought when he saw the shock on Lewis's face after he told Koffler he wanted him present at the meeting. And I wonder where it started? In the merchant marine, just about every master, every chief engineer, first goes to sea as an apprentice seaman, or an apprentice wiper. The ones with brains and ambition, the ones willing to accept responsibility, are encour-aged to think about getting out of the forecastle. The Navy chains the forecastle port shut.

"The problem, gentlemen, I should say problems," Admiral Wagam began, "are these: CINCPAC has available one submarine designed to carry cargo, the Narwhal. She is currently undergoing engine refit, and some other modifications, at Pearl. The operative word there is 'one' cargo sub. Her value to the Pacific fleet goes without saying." He paused, and then went on. "There is a shortage of standard boats as well. We've taken some pretty bad losses, and the sub fleet isn't half as large as we would like. We really can't afford to lose any more."

"Tell us what Admiral Nimitz thinks we should do," Pickering inter-rupted.

"All right," Wagam said. "And I am in agreement... not only because I work for Admiral Nimitz, but because I've given this problem a good deal of thought. First of all, the risk posed to the Narwhal in this operation is unaccept-able, in my opinion."