Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 08 - In Dangers Path

Houser correctly interpreted the gestures to mean that the

Sunfish

was on position, making wide circles on battery power a hundred feet below the surface of the Pacific Ocean, and that everything was hunky-dory.

Commander Buchanan returned the thumbs-up gesture.

«You may be wondering why I have asked you in for this little chat, Chief,» Houser said.

Buchanan smiled at the one officer who was not a submariner. His name was Major Homer C. «Jake» Dillon, USMCR.

«I'm afraid to ask,» he said. «Where is the Marine Corps taking us this time?»

The

Sunfish's

last three combat patrols had all been to Mindanao. They had gone like clockwork, but Chief Buchanan was a devout believer in odds. The more times you did anything, the greater the odds that something would go seriously wrong.

«All we're going to do is run around in a circle,» Major Dillon said. «We should be back at Pearl Harbor before it gets dark.»

«As I recall, the Marines are pretty good at running around in circles,» Chief Buchanan said.

This prompted another hand gesture, this one from Major Dillon. He held his balled fist upward with the center finger extended.

Captain Houser chuckled.

«In ten minutes, Chief,» he said, sliding a sheet of typewriter paper stamped top secret across the table to Buchanan, «at 0715, we're going to take the boat to periscope depth. Then, presuming we don't find ourselves in the middle of a Japanese fleet, we are going to surface and Sparks will transmit the following identifier—Code Group One—on that frequency, for a period of five minutes. He will simultaneously monitor the specified frequency, listening for the phrase specified. If within five minutes he receives the phrase specified, he will transmit what is described on that as 'Code Group Two.' «

Chief Buchanan took the sheet of typewriter paper and read it carefully before looking at the skipper for further orders.

«Copy the data,» Captain Houser ordered. «That Top Secret goes right back in the safe.»

«Aye, aye, sir,» Buchanan said, took a small, wire-spiral notebook and pencil from the pocket of his khaki shirt, and wrote down the radio frequencies and code groups.

«I think, Major Dillon,» Captain Houser said, «that your obscene gesture to Chief Buchanan has so intimidated him—he is, of course, such a gentle person— that he's not even going to ask what this is all about.»

«The hell I'm not,» Buchanan said.

«With a little bit of luck, Chief,» the third submariner in the wardroom said, «a Catalina somewhere within a hundred miles of our position will be able to get a radio fix on us, and there will be a rendezvous at sea.»

The third submariner was Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, a tall, good-looking member of the Naval Academy's class of 1940, and now aide-decamp to Rear Admiral Daniel J. Wagam, one of the more powerful members of the staff of Admiral Chester W Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific. Lewis was on Chief Buchanan's very short list of very good officers. Before he had become Admiral Wagam's aide, he had served aboard the submarine

Remora

. Among other hairy patrols,

Remora

had three times run the Japanese blockade of the Philippines to Corregidor, taking in desperately needed medicine and evacuating the Philippine gold reserves as well as nurses and blinded soldiers and Marines. He had also been on the

Sunfish

on her first trip to Mindanao, had gone ashore with the Marines, and stayed with them until evacuated later by the

Sunfish

.

«We're practicing personnel movement?» Buchanan asked, sounding a little surprised.

The

Sunfish

had twice met with seaplanes on the high sea, transferring to them people evacuated from the Philippines.

«That, too,» Lieutenant Lewis said, waited for that to sink in, and then went on. «Following is Top Secret, Chief, to be shared with no one without my, or Major Dillon's, specific permission in each case.»

Buchanan nodded his understanding, but Chambers waited for him to say, after a long moment, «Aye, aye, sir,» before going on.

«The plan is that the

Sunfish

will rendezvous with two Catalinas in the Yellow Sea, a hundred miles northeast of Tientsin, China. She will then refuel these aircraft so they may complete their mission.»

«Where are they going?» Buchanan asked without thinking.

«That's… right now, Chief, you don't have the need to know,» Captain Houser said.

«The Gobi Desert, Chief,» Major Dillon said. «They are going to set up a weather station in the Gobi Desert.»

«Jesus Christ!»

«My sentiments exactly,» Dillon said. «But that's what we're going to do. Some Marines from the Peking Legation, guys retired from the Yangtze River patrol, the 4th Marines, the 15th Infantry stayed in China, roaming around the desert. We're trying to get some people into them now. With radios.»

«Jesus Christ!» Buchanan repeated.

«I decided you had the Need To Know, Chief,» Dillon said. «We're really not running around in circles. This is damned important.»

«I meant no offense, what I said before, Major.»

«I know,» Dillon said. «I didn't take any. Let me get back to the keeping this a secret business. This operation has to be kept quiet, no matter if this rendezvous/refueling works or not, and not just for the next six months. And it's the sort of thing the men are going to want to talk about. If the Captain gives them a speech, that—no offense, Captain—just makes it a better story. So you're going to have to keep the cork in the bottle, Chief.»

«Yeah,» Buchanan said thoughtfully, and then remembered to say, «Aye, aye, sir.»

The order is understood and will be obeyed.

«How do you plan to refuel the airplanes?» Buchanan asked.

«We haven't figured that out yet,» Dillon said. «All suggestions will be gratefully accepted.»

«That's going to be a bitch,» Buchanan said.

«According to Lieutenant Lewis, you submariners can do anything,» Dillon said.

«Captain,» Lieutenant Youngman said, «it's 0712.»

«Thank you, Mr. Youngman,» Captain Houser said. He reached behind him and pressed a lever on a communications box.

«This is the Captain speaking,» he announced. «Bring her to periscope depth.»

Four men were in the conning tower: Captain Houser, Major Dillon, Lieutenant Lewis, and a sailor serving as lookout and talker. All had large Navy binoculars hanging from their necks. Chambers Lewis had an electrically powered bullhorn in his hand, and Jake Dillon had a clipboard. The clean, fresh, early-morning air was very welcome, although they had been running underwater for only eight hours.

The

Sunfish

was making a slow, wide circle across the calm, deep-blue Pacific.

«This would be as good as it gets, Jake,» Captain Houser said. «It's winter in the Yellow Sea. It's not going to be nearly as calm as this.»

«Yeah,» Dillon said, as much a grunt as a word.

«Captain,» the lookout said. «Aircraft dead astern.»

Everyone turned to face the stern, binoculars to their eyes. A Catalina, at perhaps 2,000 feet, was making a slow descent toward the water.

«Chief of the boat to the conning tower,» Captain Houser ordered.

«Chief of the boat to the conning tower, aye,» the talker parroted into the microphone strapped to his chest.

Buchanan appeared through the hatch less than a minute later. He looked dubiously at Lewis's bullhorn, which he was seeing for the first time.

«The fewer radio transmissions, the better,» Lewis said, answering Buchanan's unspoken question.

«Are they going to be able to hear you? Over the sound of their engines?» Buchanan asked.