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

But what it was designed for is not the same thing as what it is capable of doing. That was proved at Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. Henderson was a hell of a lot rougher than the dirt road where the guy put down his Piper Cub— especially after the Japanese spent all night shelling it, and the holes were quickly and not too neatly filled in by Marine bulldozers.

But the Cactus Air Force— including yours truly, on occasion— operated TBFs out of there just about every day. Even with a torpedo in its belly, I could sit a TBF down on that dirt road. Nice, long, slow approach to grease it in. And I only have to make that one landing.

Or why not? Maybe two. After I put the torpedo into theReine de la Mer, I could go back to the dirt strip, take on some more fuel, and fly back to Brazil. The second landing would be easier; the torpedo would be gone. God knows that would be better than jumping out over the estancia. I really don't want to do that. Tony may think that parachute jumping is the next-greatest thing to sex, but it scared the hell out of me when I bailed out.

Could I hit theReine de la Mer? Why not? All you have to do is fly close enough so there's no chance to miss. You've been shot at before; you just don't pay attention to it. And I don't think that people on the Bofors and the machine guns will have had much experience. A low-flying airplane has a much better chance against them than against Japanese gunners.

I think I could reason with Colonel Graham about this, tell him I know what I'm talking about, and convince him that my idea stands a much better chance of working than anything else I can think of.

The question then becomes, how do I get in touch with Colonel Graham? I can't use commercial, Mackay or RCA, to send him a cable. Argentine Intelligence certainly reads commercial cables. And Nestor won't let me use the Embassy's communications or codes.

That leaves the destroyer. “Good afternoon, Captain. I'm Lieutenant Frade of the Marine Corps down here on a classified mission, and I need your radios to complain about my orders.”

Hell, just tell him the truth. Let him see the message to Colonel Graham. He may understand it and send it for me. Or he may think I'm some kind of lunatic and throw me off his destroyer. In which case, I'd be no worse off than I am now.

TheAlfred Thomas gets here Christmas Eve. I'll be waiting for her. That's the only real option I have, convincing her captain to let me get in touch with Colonel Graham.

Do I really have the balls to fly close enough to her to make absolutely sure the torpedo strikes? Into all that antiaircraft? Watching the TBF guys do that, I was perfectly willing to admit they had much bigger balls than I do.

I don't have any choice; that's the only way. . .

"This is the son of el Coronel Frade," he heard Enrico indignantly announce to the plainclothes policeman who wouldn't let him in. "He does not need an invitation!"

Enrico led him into the reception hall, where an honor guard of the Husares de Pueyrredon stood guard at the corners of the casket.

His father and his aunt and uncle were nowhere in sight. They were probably in the library. He decided against trying to find them. Uncle Humberto's "why Jorge and not you" look made him very uncomfortable.

A hand touched his arm.

"Cletus!" Dorotea Mallin said.

He turned to her. She kissed his cheek, really kissed it, not the air kiss American women give to casual acquaintances. As she came close to him, her breast pressed against his arm.

Jesus Christ, don't do that! Even if you don't know what you're doing.

He next accepted a kiss from Se?ora Mallin, then a kiss from the Mallin boy, Enrico—an Argentinean custom that bothered him a little. And he finally shook hands with Se?or Mallin himself. Mallin smiled broadly, but Clete had a strange feeling that he was not nearly as delighted to see him as he claimed he was.

"On our way here, we saw a Buick convertible," Dorotea said. "A beautiful machine. Was that yours, Cletus?"

"If it was parked three blocks away, it probably was."

"But you promised to take me for a ride just as soon as it arrived," she pouted.

"Soon, Princess," he said.

To judge by the look in his eyes, Big Ernie considers calling her ' 'Princess'' about on a par with calling her a Mi?a.

"Tomorrow?" the Virgin Princess pursued.

"Tomorrow, Dorotea, is out of the question," Mallin said quickly. "You know we are going to Punta del Este this afternoon."

"I loathe and detest Punta del Este," Dorotea announced.

"And Se?or Frade has more important things to do than take a young girl like you riding in his car," Mallin added. "People would talk."

"Henry!" his wife protested. "What a thing to say!"

"People can talk about me all night and all day, for all I care," Dorotea said.

"Perhaps when you come back from Punta del Este, Princess," Clete said.

Why the hell did I say that?

"And I would love to have a ride in your car, Clete," Se?ora Mallin said.

"And myself as well," Little Henry said.

"Certainly," Clete said.

"If you will excuse us, Se?or?" Mallin said. "I see your aunt. We should pay our respects."

"I will telephone the moment we come back from Uruguay," Dorotea said, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek again, thereby once more pressing her breasts against his chest.

Oh, Jesus Christ, I wish you wouldn't do that, Princess!

"You will see, Pamela," Mallin said, "that she does no such thing."

Pamela de Mallin winked at him.

A moment later, Enrico came out of a corridor, followed by Peter von Wachtstein, with Alicia Carzino-Cormano holding his arm, an arrangement both seemed to find delightful. Isabela trailed along behind them, looking more than a little unhappy.

Unhappy,Clete thought, as in pissed, because Alicia is on Peter's arm, where she realizes she doubtless wants to be . . . rather than playing the role she's chosen for herself as the grief-stricken near-fianc?e of the late Captain Duarte.

When Clete's eyes met his, von Wachtstein changed course.

"Buenos dias, Teniente," he said.

"Mi Capitan," Clete said. "That's quite a uniform. And the Se?oritas Carzino-Cormano, what a joy it is to see you again!"

Alicia smiled warmly; Isabela icily. Neither said anything.

"Your father, Teniente, has been explaining to the Se?oritas Carzino-Cormano and her mother that while we are officers of opposing military forces, we bear each other no personal ill will.

I thought I would greet you to make that point."

"In other words, Se?oritas," Clete said with a slow grin, "while it would give me the greatest of professional pleasure to shoot el Capitan down, I would hope to do so while smiling with warm affection at him."

"Precisely," Peter said. "But I would be unhappy in such an encounter because it would be ungentlemanly of me to take advantage of an inferior foe."

"We will have to try it sometime," Clete said. "In a spirit, of course, of friendship and professional admiration, mi Capitan."

"Teniente, I would not have it otherwise."

"El Capitan is a credit to the officer corps," Clete said.

"How kind of you, Teniente, to say so."

"De nada, mi Capitan."

It occurred to Isabela Carzino-Cormano that they both were mocking her. For a moment, Clete thought she was about to storm away angrily, but she didn't. Her smile, however, became even more icy.

"I saw your little friend around here a moment ago," she said. "I can't imagine what happened to her."

"What little friend?" Peter asked.

I think you're crocked, Peter. And now that I've thought about that, that cloud of fumes around you is not eau de cologne.

"I think, Se?orita Carzino-Cormano," Clete said, "that it was time for the lady in question's bottle. But I appreciate your interest in my personal life."