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

«He gets sick on airplanes,» Big Steve said.

«And stays sick,» McGuire confirmed.

«I knew a sergeant major at Quantico like that,» Galloway said. «He used to get sick before we finished the climb-out. Isn't there anything that can be done?»

Commander Kocharski hesitated, just perceptibly.

«Yes, there is,» she said. «There's a pill. A little yellow pill. I'll get some at the hospital tomorrow.»

«That's very nice of you, Commander,» Chief McGuire said. «But don't bother. I am never ever again going to get on an airplane. Alive.»

«So tell me, Jake,» Galloway asked, smiling, «Why did the chief have to leave Espiritu Santo, where he was doing something useful, and come here?

Fly

here?»

Major Dillon and Lieutenant Lewis exchanged looks.

«Yeah, Jake, what the hell is going on?» McGuire asked.

«It's classified,» Jake said.

«What the hell does that mean? 'Classified'?» McGuire asked.

» 'Classified'?» Galloway parroted.

«We're doing a job for Flem Pickering,» Dillon said.

«I don't understand that either,» McGuire said.

«A job involving a submarine and a Catalina rendezvousing at sea?» Galloway asked.

«Where did you hear that, Charley?» Lieutenant Lewis asked.

«At the O Club bar at Ewa,» Charley said.

«Tell me exactly, Charley,» Lewis said softly.

There was something in Lewis's voice that told Galloway he had touched a nerve. He shrugged and provided the detail. «A Catalina sat down with radio trouble. He couldn't talk to the tower at Pearl, so he landed at Ewa because there's less traffic. And then Big Steve told him we couldn't fix the radios until the next day. So he went to the club, had a couple of drinks, and told everybody, including me, what a lousy day he had had. First he had to take off before zero dark hundred and fly out over the ocean. Then he landed and met a submarine, and after fucking—excuse me, Flo—fiddling around for an hour or so, which included one of his Airedales falling off the wing into the sea, the morons on the submarine—one of them an admiral's aide and the other a Marine major— finally realized what he could have told them all along, that you have a hell of a lot of trouble running a half-inch fuel line across the high seas from a submarine to a Catalina.»

«Oh, shit,» Jake Dillon said.

«I'll have his ass,» Lewis said furiously. «Excuse me, Flo.»

Commander Kocharski made a gesture with her hand showing the apology was readily accepted.

«I don't want to get that pilot in trouble,» Galloway said.

«He was told what we were doing was secret and to keep his mouth shut. He's in trouble and he deserves to be,» Lewis said coldly. «Damn it!»

«I don't know what anybody's talking about,» Chief McGuire complained.

«You're not supposed to, Pete,» Commander Kocharski said. «That's what 'classified' means. We don't have the Need To Know.»

Major Dillon and Lieutenant Lewis exchanged another look, this one a lot longer than the first.

«My decision, Lieutenant Lewis,» Jake said formally. «In case anyone asks.»

«For the record, I concur in your decision,» Lewis said. «And let the record show it came

after

it came to our attention that the

Sunfish/Catalina

operation had already been compromised by a Naval Aviator with a big mouth.»

Dillon nodded.

«The following is Top Secret,» Jake said, looking first at Charley Galloway and then at Chief McGuire. «Understood?»

Galloway nodded his understanding. After a moment, McGuire said, «Okay, Jake.»

«Would you like me to take a walk, Jake?» Commander Kocharski asked.

«As far as I'm concerned, Flo, you're the only one I really trust to keep her mouth shut.»

«I don't mind,» Flo said.

«Stay,» Jake said. «Okay, what we're doing,» he began, «what Flem Pickering is doing, with the blessing of CINCPAC—is sending a weather team into the Gobi Desert.»

It took him five minutes to explain exactly what they had been doing aboard the

Sunfish

when it met the Catalina at sea. Lewis was impressed. Jake's briefing was just as good a briefing as any given to CINCPAC by senior officers with years of experience.

If not as formal.

«The pilot with the big mouth was right,» he said. «Getting fuel aboard a Catalina from a submarine on the high seas is going to be a bitch. It may not be possible at all, which is really going to fu—foul—things up by the numbers. I've seen Pete find answers to problems when nobody else had a clue, so I sent for him.»

«Jake, not only do I hate airplanes, but I don't know the first goddamned thing about them,» Chief McGuire said. «

Or

submarines. So why send for me?»

«Like I said, Pete, I'm desperate. And I've seen you solve problems when no one else had a clue. I thought it was worth a shot.»

«Can I ask a question?» McGuire asked.

«Shoot.»

«Let me be sure I've got this straight,» McGuire said. «What you want to do is load people and equipment on an airplane—«

«Airplanes. Two airplanes,» Dillon interrupted. «Catalinas. The same kind of airplane that you flew on here.»

«Thanks to you, you bastard,» McGuire said. «Then you're going to land on the ocean, meet a submarine, and refuel the airplanes. Right?»

«Right.»

«And the problem is refueling the airplanes from the sub, right?»

«Right.»

«Okay. I don't know from zilch about airplanes, so I'll ask what will probably sound like dumb questions.»

«Shoot,» Jake said.

«How much of a problem would it be to move the people and the equipment from the submarine to the airplanes in rubber boats?» Chief McGuire asked.

«A lot less of a problem,» Lewis said, and then understood the implications. «Damn it!»

«I say something wrong?» Chief McGuire said.

«Steve,» Dillon said. «Tell me about auxiliary fuel tanks carried inside a Catalina.»

«It's been a long time since I flew a Cat, or had anything to do with one,» Big Steve said. «But the last I heard, there aren't any designed for the Cat.»

«Damn,» Jake said.

«But you could build them without much trouble,» Big Steve said. «BuAir would have a fit. It would be an unauthorized modification; but it could be done.»

«You're saying you could build such tanks?»

«If I had the stuff, aluminum, aluminum stringers, something to seal them. Sure.»

«And that fuel could be pumped up into the wing tanks?» Lewis asked.

«It could, sure. Or you could add pumps and valves to feed the engines directly.»

»

You

could do that, Steve?» Dillon asked softly.

Big Steve nodded.

Lieutenant Lewis pushed himself out of his chair and walked to the low wall that bordered the flagstone patio. He sat on the wall and dialed a number.

«Let me speak to the AAOD, please,» he said, referring to the Air (or Aviation) Officer of the Day. After a short delay, Lewis went on. «Sir, this is Lieutenant C. D. Lewis, aide-de-camp to Admiral Wagam, and speaking at his direction. There are two Catalina aircraft at Pearl reserved for a mission of the Admiral's. Both of them are to be at the Ewa Marine Air Station at the earliest possible time tomorrow morning. And please arrange ground transportation to return their crews topearl harbor. and, sir, you may consider this an order from Admiral Wagam: the crews are to be informed that they will not, under penalty of court-martial, tell anyone where they took the Catalinas.» There was another pause, and then Lewis said, «Thank you very much, sir,» and hung up.

«It would have been nice, Lieutenant Lewis,» Galloway said, «if you had

asked