Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 01 - Honor Bound

[TWO]

D?rsena "B"

Puerto de Buenos Aires

1715 24 December 1942

Getting past the Armada Argentina and Polic?a Federal guards to D?rsena "B"—Wharf "B"—where the USS Alfred Thomas, DD-107, was docked proved considerably easier than getting past the two U.S. Marines, in dress uniform, stationed on the wharf barring access to her gangplank.

"I'm sorry, Se?ores," the Marine buck sergeant said, politely but firmly, in not bad Spanish, "but the vessel is not open to visitors."

"It's all right, son," Graham said, producing an ID card. "I'm Colonel Graham, and this is Lieutenant Frade."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but my orders are that no visitors are allowed aboard."

"Your orders from whom, Sergeant?"

"From the officer of the deck, Sir," the Marine said, nodding his head toward an ensign in dress whites standing by the gangway.

"Son, you think about this. Who would you rather have pissed at you? A wet-behind-the-ears ensign or a Marine colonel?''

"If the Colonel will tell the sergeant where he wishes to go aboard the vessel, Sir, the sergeant will be happy to escort him.''

"We're here to see the Captain, Sergeant."

"If the Colonel will follow me, Sir? The Captain is on the bridge, Sir."

The Marine walked up the gangplank. An ensign in dress whites and a sailor stood by a table.

"Sir," the Marine barked, "a colonel, United States Marine Corps, and a lieutenant, United States Marine Corps, request permission to come aboard, Sir."

The Ensign looked baffled, and made no reply.

"You're not considering withholding that permission, are you, Mister?" Graham asked.

By God,Clete thought admiringly, that sounded like a Marine colonel.

"No, Sir. Permission granted."

Graham stepped onto the deck. The Ensign saluted him. Graham returned the salute, then faced aft and saluted the national colors.

I don't think you're supposed to do that in civilian clothing,Clete thought. But what the hell!

He stepped aboard, saluted the Ensign, and then, facing aft, the national colors. He was surprised at his emotional reaction.

"How may I help the Colonel, Sir?"

"We want to see the Captain," Graham said.

"Sir, the Captain is on the bridge. I will escort you. You may return to your post, Sergeant."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

The Ensign led them to the bridge. A lieutenant commander, in a sleeveless white shirt and shorts, was seated in a nicely upholstered chair mounted on a pedestal, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Sir," the Ensign said, "these officers wish to see you."

"Good morning, Captain. I am Colonel A. F. Graham, USMC," Graham said.

The Captain got out of his chair. "I'm Commander Jernigan," the Captain said. "How may I help you, Sir?"

"Captain, as I understand your orders, you were, Direction of the President, ordered to proceed to Buenos Aires at maximum speed consistent with fuel exhaustion, there to hold yourself prepared to receive further orders, to be delivered by an individual who would identify himself by uttering a certain phrase."

“The Colonel will understand that I cannot comment on a classified order."

"Complete cooperation, Captain."

The Captain smiled.

"That's the phrase. I'm at your disposal, Colonel. What can the Alfred Thomas do for you?"

"I chose the phrase." Graham smiled back. "I thought it would remove any possible misunderstanding."

"The orders, Sir, would be hard to misunderstand. What you want, you get."

"Captain, this is Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR. He flew Buffaloes at Midway and Wildcats from Guadalcanal. He is down here on a mission of great importance, and our mission is to help him accomplish this. Do you understand?"

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"My cabin, Sir. But in this weather, may I suggest the chart room? My cabin is stifling."

"The chart room is fine," Graham said.

"Let me recap all this," Graham said. "You can, Captain, as you exit the Rio de la Plata estuary, take soundings of Samborombon Bay. But, in your professional judgment, these won't be of much use to the skipper of the ... What's the name again?"

"The Devil Fish, Sir."

"... of the submarine Devil Fish, because the bay is so enormous, and the Reine de la Mer can be expected to move every day or so. So we won't know where she is."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, but that's the way I see it. If I had a couple of weeks, I could take soundings of the whole damned bay and come up with some decent charts. But I'll have no more than six or eight hours, and if I start maneuvering all over the bay, it will be damned obvious what I'm doing."

"Sir," Clete asked, "can you find someplace out there, within, say, a fifty-mile circle of the last known sighting of the Reine de la Mer —someplace that the sub could more or less easily find, deep enough for her to lie on the bottom?"

"Frade, you probably know more about submarines than I do."

"I know nothing about submarines, Captain, except that I'm glad I don't have to serve on one."

"What are you thinking, Clete?" Graham asked.

"If the Captain can find such a place, and give its location to the skipper of the submarine—“

"That won't be a problem. I've made rendezvous at sea with the Devil Fish before," the Captain interrupted.

“Then the sub could move close to the Reine de la Mer,” Clete went on, "lie on the bottom, and surface, periscope depth only, at a specified time. If we can establish radio contact with the sub—"

"And we don't know that we can," Graham interrupted.

“If we can get a decent transmitter and a decent receiver from Captain Jernigan, and get it off the ship and to my father's estancia, Ettinger will be able to talk to the submarine. All he'll need is the frequency and the schedule."

"My orders are to give you whatever you ask for," Captain Jernigan said. "But—and this is probably none of my business— how are you going to operate a transmitter without being caught at it? The minute we entered Samboromb?n Bay, la Armada Argentina came aboard from a pilot boat and sealed our radios. I'm sure they monitor the frequencies you'll have to use, and they'll start looking for the transmitter. What do they call it, 'triangulation'?"

"We'll keep moving the transmitter," Clete said. "Ettinger will know how to deal with that. OK, for the sake of argument. We find someplace the sub can hide on the bottom. Captain Jernigan gives the sub the precise location, plus the frequencies, the times, and the codes, when he makes the rendezvous at sea. The sub comes into Samboromb?n Bay, finds the place it can hide, hides, and then, at the scheduled time, surfaces to periscope depth and tells us she's arrived.

"The next night, I go find the Reine de la Mer, radio its position to Ettinger, who relays that position to the sub. The sub goes after the Reine de la Mer either submerged or on the surface."

"Again, I don't know a hell of a lot about submarines," Captain Jernigan protested, "but I don't think it's as easy as they make it in the movies for a submarine to hit a ship at night. I think they need more to aim at than running lights."

"It has to be at night," Graham said. "During the day the Argentine Coast Guard patrols the Bay, and the Air Service of the Argentine Army routinely overflies it."

"Ships don't enter the Bay at night?" Captain Jernigan asked.

"The channel-marking buoys are not illuminated," Graham said. "I don't know what they do in an emergency."

"Put a Coast Guardsman on the buoys with a lantern?" Jernigan asked facetiously.

"So I'll get them to light it up, turn their floodlights on," Clete said.

"How?"

"I'll buzz the Reine de la Mer," Clete said. "That'll make them turn their lights on to look for me."

"Or off," Graham said softly. "How about it, Captain? If you were anchored out there and heard an airplane engine, what about the lights?"