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

A stocky, round-faced, tightly muscled, short, barrel-chested Marine in utilities appeared in the wide cargo door. He looked around the airport, dropped a nearly empty barracks bag from the door, and then, carefully, one hand clasping the leather sling of the 1903 Springfield rifle he had slung from his shoulder, climbed down the aluminum ladder.

Lieutenant Kenneth R. McCoy, USMCR, walked up to the Marine and put out his hand.

"I figured you'd be involved in this, McCoy," Gunnery Sergeant Ernest W. Zimmerman, USMC, said. "What the fuck's going on?"

"I need you," McCoy said. "So I sent for you."

"Shit!" Gunnery Sergeant Zimmerman said, and then noticed a Navy lieutenant in khakis walking up behind McCoy. After visibly making up his mind whether or not to do so, he saluted.

Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis, USN, returned the salute.

"Zimmerman, this is Mr. Lewis," McCoy said.

Zimmerman just perceptibly nodded his head, then briefly and somewhat reluctantly shook Lewis's extended hand.

"Welcome to Australia, Sergeant," Lewis said.

Zimmerman nodded.

'Tvegottopissbad,"Zimmermansaid. "Thefuckingrelieftubewasbroke."

"Go behind the airplane," McCoy said. "Nobody'll see you."

Zimmerman nodded, unslung the Springfield from his shoulder, handed it to McCoy, and then walked around the tail of the airplane. Two minutes later, he returned, in the process of buttoning his trousers, and with a look of pleased relief on his face.

"Now what?" he asked.

"We've got to run you past the hospital, and I thought you might be hungry. You want to go to the hospital first, or after?"

"After. What I really would like is a cold beer."

"We've got beer in a bucket in the car," McCoy said, pointing to General Pickering's staff car.

Zimmerman nodded, took his Springfield back, picked up his nearly empty duffel bag, and started to walk to the car.

"What is that, a Studebaker? Where'd you get that?"

"It belongs to General Pickering."

"Who the fuck is he?"

"My boss. Your new boss."

"All I got to wear is what I have on, plus a change of socks and skivvies and a pair of boondockers. My gear is all in Hawaii."

"We can fix that," McCoy said. "We'll get you an issue."

They reached the car.

"The beer is in the back, Ernie, get in the back."

"What about him?" Zimmerman asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of Lieutenant Lewis.

"He will ride in front with Lieutenant Hart," McCoy said.

Zimmerman climbed in the back of the Studebaker, took a bottle of beer from an ice-filled bucket, took a K-Bar knife from the small of his back, opened the bottle and drank deeply, emptying it.

When he finally took it from his mouth, he belched loudly and with obvi-ous satisfaction.

"Welcome to civilization, Gunny," Lieutenant Hart said, a touch of laughter in his voice.

"Who's he?"

"Lieutenant Hart works for General Pickering," McCoy said. "Watch out for him. He used to be a cop."

Zimmerman took another beer from the bucket and flipped the top off ex-pertly with his K-Bar.

"And the swabbie?" he asked, either as if he believed Lieutenant Lewis was deaf and could not hear him, or simply didn't care whether he did or not.

"He's going to give us a ride on a submarine."

"A ride to where?"

"We're going into the Philippines."

"Why?"

"There's an Army officer there, and some guys from the Fourth Marines who didn't surrender. We're going to take them radios, a little gear and medi-cine, see what kind of help they need, and figure out how to get it to them."

"We? You and me?"

"You and me, a staff sergeant named Koffler, and Captain Robert B. Macklin."

"Macklin? Not the same sonofabitch who tried to fuck us-you and Lieu-tenant Sessions in particular-in China?"

"One and the same."

"You're working for him?"

"No. He's just going along."

"I'm surprised somebody hasn't shot that bastard by now," Gunnery Ser-geant Zimmerman said. He took a long pull at his fresh bottle of beer, and belched again.

"Good beer," he said. "Where are we going now?"

"I thought you could probably use a steak, maybe with fresh eggs. Hart knows a good place."

"What I really could use is a place to take a good dump," Zimmerman said. "How far is this place?"

[SEVEN]

Office of the Military Governor of Mindanao

Cagayan de Oro, Misamis-Oriental Province

Mindanao, Commonwealth of the Philippines

1450 Hours 8 December 1942

"There has been a development in the Fertig matter," Lieutenant Colonel Tange Kisho said to Brigadier General Kurokawa Kenzo, "which we feel should be brought to the General's attention."

General Kurokawa nodded. Lieutenant Colonel Tange turned to Captain Matsuo Saikaku, who handed him a single sheet of paper. Tange handed this to General Kurokawa. He read it, and then looked at Tange, waiting for an expla-nation.

"As the General can see, Signals Intelligence has broken the simple sub-stitution code used by the Americans in Australia in their last message to Fer-tig. The message reads, 'We'll see you soon,' signature 'Killer.' "

"And your interpretation of the significance of this, Colonel?"

"After some thought, I have come to believe that Captain Saikaku's inter-pretation, while it might be in error, is one that we cannot afford to ignore."

"And what is your interpretation, Captain Saikaku?" General Kurokawa asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Sir, I believe we must proceed on the assumption that the Americans will soon attempt to infiltrate Mindanao and make contact with Fertig."

"Expand," Kurokawa ordered.

"It is my analysis, Sir," Saikaku replied, "that Fertig is now accepted by the American command in Australia as legitimate, and that they are now going to attempt to establish physical contact with him."

"For what purpose? And how?"

"If I were the American commander, General, I would first try to get in place a sophisticated communications set. An encryption system that we will not be able to break as quickly as the primitive one they are now using. And, since I don't believe they will be able to send him much in the way of supplies, I believe they will send him gold. And perhaps some medicine and small quan-tities of small arms and ammunition."

"How? By air?"

"I think by submarine, Sir. I don't believe the risk to American long-range aircraft-what they have available is the Boeing bomber, primarily-would be justified by the amount of cargo they can carry. I also think that they would be unwilling to send a surface vessel, which would almost certainly be detected by our air patrols. That leaves only submarines. As I am sure the General will remember, the Americans used them successfully until almost the day Corregidor fell."

"Where?"

"This of course is a guess, Sir, but I would say somewhere on the eastern shore of the island."

"They are succeeding, aren't they?" General Kurokawa said.

"Sir?"

"In forcing us to divert personnel and equipment to watch for them. That's one of the objectives of irregular forces, to cause their enemy to expend re-sources they otherwise would not have to expend."

"Yes, Sir, I'm afraid that's true," Saikaku said.

"There must be several thousand miles of shoreline on Mindanao. Obvi-ously, we don't have the aircraft or the people on the ground to patrol every foot of it waiting for a submarine which may or not attempt to put people ashore. So what would you suggest we do, Captain Saikaku?"

"I have given that some thought, General, and Colonel Tange has been kind enough to offer me his counsel. I have prepared a map on which are marked what are in my judgment the ten most likely places where a submarine would attempt to put people ashore. May I show it to the General?"

Kurokawa nodded, and Saikaku laid the map on his desk.