The Fighting Agents Part 22

Three-quarters of the way down the line of stalls the donkey -s.h.i.+t car sat waiting for attention. As they approached it, Fulmar understood why he and another muscular young prisoner had been selected from the line of incoming miners. There was more than donkey s.h.i.+t to be loaded aboard the donkey-s.h.i.+t car today. There was a dead donkey.

"Tot [dead]," the foreman said, quite unnecessarily. [dead]," the foreman said, quite unnecessarily.

Then he showed them how one of the sides of the donkey -s.h.i.+t car could be removed, and how, with the aid of a block and tackle, they were to load the carca.s.s onto the car. The donkey's eyes were open, a curious white. And he was already starting to decompose, and to smell. When they got the block and tackle in place and hauled him out of the stall onto the tracks, the movement caused the contents of his lower bowel, not ordinary donkey s.h.i.+t, but a foul-smelling, bluish semiliquid, to pa.s.s from his a.n.u.s.

More of it came out after they had rearranged the block and tackle and dragged him onto the car. Fulmar felt nauseated, tried to fight it down, and failed.

The foreman laughed at him and said he could tell that he was a city boy who had never lived on a farm.

After they got the donkey carca.s.s into the car and closed the side, they went down the line of donkeys and shoveled the donkey s.h.i.+t into the car. By the time they were finished, you couldn't see the donkey carca.s.s.

And then they hooked a donkey to the car to drag the car to the elevator.

Fulmar had another unpleasant thought. He didn't know how long he had been in jail and working in the mine, and therefore did not know how much longer he would be in the mines. He thought he was a d.a.m.ned fool for not having made a scratch on his cell wall once a day. Then he would have known.

Then he thought it really didn't matter. Long before his ninety-day sentence was up, they would find out that he wasn't a black marketeer.

And soon after that, some other prisoner would roll his dead body off somewhere in a cart, just as he was doing with the donkey. The donkey, Fulmar thought, was actually better off than he was. The donkey had not had the ability to stand around imagining what was going to happen to him.

VII.

1.

HEADQUARTERS, COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, PACIFIC PEARL HARBOR NAVAL BASE OAHU ISLAND, TERRITORY OF HAWAII 0915 HOURS 13 FEBRUARY 1943.

Lieutenant Commander Stuart J. Collins, United States Navy, Cryptographic Officer, Headquarters, CINCPAC, was aware that the lieutenant commander in the crisp white uniform in the outer office of CINCPAC was looking askance at his uniform. Commander Collins's khaki uniform was mussed and wilted, and there were sweat stains under the armpits.

The cryptographic section, in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the neatly white-painted, red-tile-roofed headquarters office building, was of course air-conditioned. But it had been air-conditioned in 1937, when no one could have guessed how many people and how much equipment it would be necessary to stuff into the three small rooms. It was hot down there, and people sweated.

If the commander in the crisp white uniform in the admiral's cool and s.p.a.cious office didn't like his sweaty, shapeless uniform, f.u.c.k her. G.o.dd.a.m.n women in the Navy, anyway.

"The Admiral will see you, Commander," the WAVE Lieutenant Commander said, quite unnecessarily. Commander Collins was not deaf; he had heard the Admiral tell her, over the intercom, to send him in.

Commander Collins walked into the CINCPAC's office.

"Good afternoon, Sir," he said, and extended a clipboard to the Admiral, who scrawled his name on the form, acknowledging receipt of Top Secret Incoming Message 43- 2-1009. Commander Collins then handed him the message, hidden beneath a TOP SECRET cover sheet.

CINCPAC read it:

URGENT.

TOP SECRET.

FROM CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS WAs.h.i.+NGTON DC.

TO [EYES ONLY] COMMANDER IN CHIEF PACIFIC, PEARL.

HARBOR TERR HAWAIIDP YOU WILL MAKE AVAILABLE GATO CLa.s.s SUBMARINE FOR SUCH TIME AND FOR SUCH MISSION AS SPECIFIED BY C. J. CHENOWITH OF THE OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES. CHENOWITH AND PARTY OF THREE [3] EN ROUTE BARBERS POINT NAS ABOARD NATS FLIGHT 232 ETA 1530 HOURS 14 FEBRUARY. CARGO ACCOMPANYING CHENOWITH PARTY OF APPROXIMATELY TWO [2] TONS GROSS WEIGHT IN THIRTY TWO [32] WOODEN CRATES WILL REQUIRE TREATMENT AS TOP SECRET MATERIAL. OCNO DOES NOT DESIRE TO DISCUSS THIS ORDER. OCNO WILL BE ADVISED IN DETAIL BY MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS OF REASONS FOR INABILITY TO COMPLY WITH THIS ORDER. BY DIRECTION: SOLOMON VICE ADMIRAL.

CINCPAC looked up at Lt. Commander Collins.

"No reply, Commander," he said.

"Yes, Sir," Collins said, and started to do an about-face.

"Collins?" CINCPAC said.

Collins faced CINCPAC again.

"Hot in the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You talk to the engineer about it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And what did he say?"

"He said that the ambient temperature is within the operating range of the equipment, Admiral, and there's no way he can authorize more air-conditioning."

"Collins," CINCPAC said. "There's a Chief Kellerman over in Civil Engineering. We were aboard the old Des Moines Des Moines together. You go see him, tell him I sent you, and ask him to cool your shop down." together. You go see him, tell him I sent you, and ask him to cool your shop down."

"Yes, Sir," Commander Collins said. "Thank you, Admiral. "

"And on your way out, ask Commander Oster to get COMSUBFORPAC in here just as soon as possible."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

COMSUBFORPAC, Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Geoffrey H. Keene, USN, a ruddy-faced, freckled man of forty-three, who looked much younger, was a professional officer, and thus accustomed to carrying out any order given with cheerful, willing obedience.

"Gerry, what boat, or boats, Gato cla.s.s, have you got here ready for sea?"

"None this minute, Sir," Admiral Keene said. "But the Drum Drum's just about through with her sea trials. She's off Kahoolawe Island right now, and she's scheduled to go on patrol in three or four days, as soon as they correct what needs fixing."

"There will be a mission for her," CINCPAC said. "Apparently, a people-carrying mission."

"Yes, Sir?" Admiral Keene said. His tone made it clear he wanted more information.

"If the Drum Drum is all that's available, it'll have to be the is all that's available, it'll have to be the Drum, Drum," CINCPAC said.

"Admiral, may I suggest that the Narwhal Narwhal will shortly be available? She's about to leave Diego." will shortly be available? She's about to leave Diego."

"It'll have to be the Drum, Drum, Admiral," CINCPAC said. "And if you had anything special planned for her, it will have to be put on the back burner." Admiral," CINCPAC said. "And if you had anything special planned for her, it will have to be put on the back burner."

COMSUBFORPAC could not help but question the wisdom of using a multimillion-dollar naval vessel and its highly trained crew as a kind of seagoing taxicab. Transporting people somewhere was something that submariners did from time to time-but at the pleasure of the submariners, if and when that could be reasonably fitted into the normal duty of submariners: That, first, last, and always, was the destruction of enemy men-of-war and the interdiction and destruction of enemy s.h.i.+pping.

But CINCPAC had addressed Keene as "Admiral," rather than by his Christian name, a subtle reminder that he was giving an order.

"Aye, aye, Sir," COMSUBFORPAC said.

CINCPAC handed him the Top Secret folder.

"If you can find the time, Gerry," CINCPAC said, "it might be a good idea if you met this Mr. Chenowith at the airfield. Present my compliments, and as tactfully as possible, let him know that I would be grateful to learn what the h.e.l.l this is all about."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Admiral Keene said.

2.

WAIKAHALULU BAY, KAHOOLAWE ISLAND TERRITORY OF THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 0945 HOURS 13 FEBRUARY 1943.

The Alenuihaha Channel (depths of at least 1,000 fathoms) runs between the Hawaiian Islands of Hawaii, Maui, and Kahoolawe.

There is a shelf approximately forty miles off the southern coast of Kahoolawe Island, where the depth changes abruptly from about 1,400 fathoms to 650. Then, five miles off the Kahoolawe sh.o.r.e, the depth changes again abruptly to approximately forty fathoms.

The final sea trial after refitting of the USS Drum-SS- 228, Drum-SS- 228, a 311-foot-long submarine of the Gato cla.s.s-required her to approach the Alenuihaha Channel from the open Pacific, on the surface, in the hours of darkness, navigating by celestial navigation. a 311-foot-long submarine of the Gato cla.s.s-required her to approach the Alenuihaha Channel from the open Pacific, on the surface, in the hours of darkness, navigating by celestial navigation.

She would remain on the surface, crossing the channel until she reached the shelf, whereupon she would submerge to maximum operating depth on a course that would bring her off Waikahalulu Bay. She would then rise to near periscope depth and maintain that depth and course in the forty-odd-fathom water until visual contact with their a.s.signed target was established, by periscope, in daylight.

She missed Waikahalulu Bay by five miles. Her skipper, Lieutenant Commander Edwin R. Lennox, USN, a stocky, round-faced, sandy-haired officer who had three days before celebrated his thirtieth birthday, was disappointed, but not surprised. There was really no good way to read the currents of the Alenuihaha Channel or the offsh.o.r.e waters of the island.

When his periscope picked up the targets, without taking his eyes from the rubber eyepieces of the periscope, Commander Lennox softly ordered, "Battle stations, Mr. Rutherford. Gun crews to stand by."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Lieutenant William G. Rutherford, USNR, the Drum Drum's twenty-seven-year-old executive officer, a tall, black-haired, skinny man, said. He pushed the heel of his hand against a round bra.s.s k.n.o.b. A bell clanged throughout the submarine, and there was frenzied activity everywhere but around the periscope itself.

"Steer zero eight five," Commander Lennox ordered.

"Coming to zero eight five, it is, Sir," the helmsman said. And a moment later, "Sir, the course is zero eight five."

"Periscope down," Commander Lennox said. "Take her to one hundred feet."

Commander Lennox slapped the handles of the periscope in the up position.

"Down periscope," he ordered, and the periscope moved downward.

"One hundred feet, Sir," the chief of the boat reported.

"Hold her so," Commander Lennox ordered. He crossed the crowded area and pushed down on the lever that activated the public address system.

"This is the captain speaking," he said. "If I have to say it again, and I think I do, the way to achieve speed is to be sure of what you're doing, and then to do it carefully. We will lose time if somebody falls down a ladder or over the side."

There was a murmur of chuckles throughout the boat.

"Gun crews standing by, Sir," the chief of the boat said.

"Very well," Commander Lennox said. "Bring her around to two sixty-five."

"Coming to two six five it is, Sir," the helmsman replied. The Drum Drum banked like an airplane as she changed course. And then she straightened up. banked like an airplane as she changed course. And then she straightened up.

"Up periscope," the captain ordered, and the periscope rose.

"Sir, the course is two six five," the helmsman reported.

"Keep her so," Commander Lennox said, and turned to the executive officer. "Got your watch, Bill?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Punch it," Commander Lennox said, then: "Surface, surface!"

Twenty seconds later, in boiling water, the bow of the Drum Drum emerged from the sea. emerged from the sea.

There was a burst of black smoke as she went from battery to diesel power.

Commander Lennox, Lt. Rutherford, and a talker came onto the conning tower.

"Make turns for ten knots," Commander Lennox ordered. "Gun crews man your guns, report when ready."

The talker repeated his orders into his microphone.

Bluejackets in steel helmets and life vests poured from hatches in the conning tower. Some made their way to the five-inch cannon mounted forward of the conning tower, and began to prepare it for firing. Others went to a rapid-firing 40mm cannon mounted on a platform just below where the skipper, the exec, and the talker stood. A third group went to the 20mm rapid-firing cannon mounted on the rear of the conning tower.

Other sailors formed a human chain, pa.s.sing ammunition from the submarine to the guns.

One by one, the guns signaled (the gun chiefs raising a hand overhead) their readiness to open fire.

"The guns are ready to fire, Sir," the exec reported, and then added, "one hundred eighteen seconds."

"Commence firing," Commander Lennox ordered.

"Commence firing," the talker repeated.

Commander Lennox and the exec put binoculars to their eyes and trained them on the sh.o.r.e of Waikahalulu Bay. There were targets in place, wooden frameworks covered with canvas, fairly credible replicas of oil storage tanks.