W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps V - Line of Fire

"Try them now," Commander Feldt ordered.

Cahn did so. There was no reply from Ferdinand Six. Neither was there a reply at the appointed hour.

"Keep trying," Feldt ordered.

At 120-second intervals, Cahn tapped out FRD6, FRD1.

FRD6, FRDI.

At 0710, twenty minutes late, FRD6 came on the air:

FRD1, FRD6. FRD1, FRD6.

"He's calling us, Commander," Cahn said. "Not responding to us. Maybe his reception is bad."

"Try him again."

FRD6, FRD1. FRD6, FRD1.

FRD1, FRD6. UR 2 x 5.

FRD6, FRD1, SB CODE.

FRD1, FRD6. GA.

FRD6, FRD1.

USE AS SIMPLE SUBSTITUTION

FIRST NAME BELLE OF WAGGA WAGGA

SECOND NAME DITTO

MODEL RPT MODEL BANNINGS CAR

05xO8xl5xl6xO2

O5x2lxl2xO2xO4

15x04x21x11x10

13x14x24x25x13

11x23x06x17x02

15x21x23x24x02

ACKNOWLEDGE UNDERSTANDING

FRD1,SB

Signalman Cahn listened carefully, making minute adjustments to his receiver for half a minute.

"I lost his carrier, Sir. He probably shut down to decode that. "

"We hope," Banning said. He turned to Sergeant Esposito.

"Esposito, get on the Teletype and send what we have to Brisbane. Eyes only, Lieutenant Hon."

"Aye, Aye, Sir."

"Tell him I suggest-use that word, suggest-that he relay to General Pickering on the special channel."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Feldt asked. "Falsely raised hopes are worse than no news at all."

"O ye of little faith," Banning said. "Send it, Esposito."

Sergeant Esposito picked up the various messages and sat down at the Teletype machine and started typing.

[Three]

FERDINAND SIX

BUKA, SOLOMON ISLANDS

0715 HOURS 6 OCTOBER 1942

"I hope you know what the hell Wagga Wagga is," Lieutenant Joe Howard, USMCR, said to Sub-Lieutenant Jakob Reeves, RANVR. "Because I don't."

"It's a backwater town in New South Wales," Reeves said.

"A town?"

Reeves nodded. "Using the term generously. And as far as I know I don't know a living soul there, much less the belle thereof."

"My girl's from Wagga Wagga," Sergeant Steve Koffler said.

"That must be it," Howard said.

"I thought your girl was down at the creek, washing your linen Reeves said.

"I told you, goddamn it, you sonofabitch, to knock that shit off"

"That's enough, Koffler."

"Fuck him, I told him to stop!"

"That's enough, Sergeant Koffler," Howard said firmly.

`Shit!"

"He has been diddling-"

"That's enough out of you, too, Reeves," Howard said.

"You don't give me orders, Lieutenant!" With a great effort, Howard controlled his temper, although he did not flinch under Reeves' angry glare.

Eventually Reeves shrugged.

"Sergeant, I apologize," he said. "I was making a joke. Or thought I was."

"Forget it," Koffler said, sounding not at all sincere.

"For reasons I can't imagine, I think all of our tempers are on a short fuse," Howard said. "None of us can afford to let things get out of hand."

"Just for the fucking record," Koffler said, the picture of righteous indignation, "that happened just once, and I was drunk." Howard had a terrible urge to laugh.

"On that beer shit that Reeves makes," Koffler said.

"Well, fuck you, Sergeant," Reeves said. "If you feel that way, you can't have any more of my beer shit."

Howard laughed out loud. Reeves looked pleased with himself.

"You just dug your own grave, Koffler," he said. "No more of Lieutenant Reeves' splendid, tasty beer for you."

"That shit sneaks up on you," Koffler said.

The flare-up seemed to have passed, Howard decided with relief.

"What do you think they mean by `model of Banning's car'?" Reeves asked.

"Studebaker," Howard said. "Right? Or are they talking about that English car, the Jaguar, that Captain Pickering was driving?"

"It says `model repeat model,' " Koffler said. "I think they mean `President,' a Studebaker President. If they meant the Jaguar they would have said `Pickering."'

"I'm sure Steve's right " Reeves said.

"Let's try it," Howard I said. It did not go unnoticed by him that Reeves had used Koffler's first name.

"Well, it's English," Howard said five minutes later, "but what the hell does it mean?" Reeves and Koffler looked down at the sheet of paper. On it Howard had written the message in code blocks, then his interpretation of that:

N A T H A

N S W A N

T H I S N

0 R N T 0

S E E P A

T I E N S

Nathan Swan This Norn to See Patiens

"'Norn' is maybe `North'?" Koffler guessed.

"There's no `M' in `Daphne Farnsworth Patiens,"' Reeves said. "Make it `swam' and `morn."' "Nathan swam this morn to see Patience," Howard said.

"That makes more sense, but what does it mean?"

"Nathan is obviously the Nathaniel of the first message, Reeves said. "What it could mean is that he came ashore, swam ashore, from a submarine or something."

"This morn? This morning?"

"Yes. If that's what it means. This morning."

"Could he do that?" Koffler said.

"He could try to do it. That's not quite the same thing. The reason there are so few ports on Buka is that the surf is so rough in most places-this time of the year especially. Presumably they know that. That means he would either have to try to make it ashore near a port, which would place him very fat away, or through the surf somewhere near here. Which won be quite difficult."

"They know what shape we're in supplywise," Howard said "Maybe they figured it was worth the risk."

"You think there's a chance he's not alone?" Steve asked.

"This could very well be wishful thinking, Steve," Reeve said. "Certainly, it is. But if I were the man in charge and we going to all the trouble of sending someone up here, I would the extra mile and try to send in more than one person-an supplies, of course."

"Get on the air, Steve," Howard ordered. "Send, `Message acknowledged and understood."

"That's all?"

"That's all. If they wanted to tell us more than they did, the would have."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

[Four]

COMMAND POST, 2ND BATTALION, FIFTH MARINES

GUADALCANAL, SOLOMON ISLANDS

0830 HOURS 6 OCTOBER 1942

Using his arm as a pillow, Major Jack (NMI) Stecker USMCR, was curled up asleep on his side on the deck of the S-3 section. His Garand rifle, with two eight-round clips pinned to the strap, was hanging from a nail in the wooden frame the situation map.

When the flyboy from Henderson Field walked into the command post asking to see the Old Man, Stecker's S-3 sergeant was reluctant to disturb him.

"He was up all goddamned night, Captain," he said. "Can't this wait a couple of hours?" Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, shook his head no, and then said it aloud: "No, it won't, Gunny."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the gunny said, and went to Stecker an knelt beside him and gently shook his shoulder.

"Sir? Sir?" Stecker woke reluctantly, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder. But then he was suddenly wide awake, forcing himself to sit up.

"What's up, Gunny.?" Stecker asked as he looked at his watch.

"An officer to see you, Sir." Stecker searched the dark area and found Galloway.

"This better be important, Captain," Stecker said, matter-of-factly.

"Sir, my name is Galloway. I have VMF-229." Stecker saw the look on Galloway's face.

"Give us some privacy, will you, Gunny?" he said softly.

He waited until the gunny was out of earshot and then said, "OK, let's have it."

"Your son crashed on landing about twenty-five minutes ago, Sir," Galloway said.

"You're here, that means bad news," Stecker said.

"He's pretty badly banged up, Sir, but he's alive."

"Define `pretty badly,' would you, please?"

"Both of his legs are broken; he has a compound fracture of the right arm; his collarbone has probably been cracked. He almost certainly has broken ribs, and there are probably some internal injuries."