In Danger's Path (90 page)

The Commander in Chief, Pacific, in a crisp white uniform, was having a cup of coffee when Admiral Wagam and Major Dillon were shown into his office.

“This is the original, sir, I hope you'll be able to understand the jargon.”

“It may come as a shock to you, Dan, but before I got this job, I was actually a seagoing sailor. Let me see what you have.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Help yourself to some coffee, Dillon,” Admiral Nimitz said. “The steward doesn't come on duty until 0630.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Nimitz read the long sheet of yellow paper. “I don't like that ‘unreliable' position report,” he said.

“They're going to be in contact again in five hours, sir,” Wagam said. “Perhaps they'll be able to give us a better one then.”

“But this means, as I read it, that neither Pickering's people, nor the people they found, seem to know exactly where they are.”

“Yes, sir, it would seem so.”

“Is this position, the unreliable one, within range of the Catalinas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I suppose you'd better alert Colonel Dawkins, and start this thing rolling.”

“Aye, aye; sir.”

“As I recall the Opplan, the aircraft will depart at midnight to give them daylight both at the rendezvous site and in the desert?”

“Yes, sir,” Wagam said. “The exact time is 2330, sir.”

“Then we still have time to get them off today,” Nimitz said. “But I'd like an on-site weather report from the
Sunfish
before we send them.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Tell Colonel Dawkins to prepare for a 2330 departure,” Nimitz ordered. “Subject to change. And get off a Special Channel personal to General Pickering. We were expecting contact before this, and he's probably concerned.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Admiral Wagam said.

[ONE]
Kiangpeh, Chungking, China
1115 2 May 1943

“Good morning, General,” Lieutenant Colonel Richard C. Platt said, saluting as he came through the door of McCoy's house.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Pickering said. “To get right to the point, get word to Yümen immediately that the expedition is not to move into the desert until further orders.”

“Is that wise, sir?” Platt said.

“The proper reply in the Marine Corps to an order is ‘Aye, aye, sir,' which means the order is understood and will be obeyed. What do they say in the Army, Colonel?”

“Sir, no disrespect was intended. But under the circumstances, sir, I felt obliged—”

“The circumstances? Meaning that Captain McCoy has not been heard from, and that we must reluctantly conclude that he has been lost in a futile hunt for Americans who we must also reluctantly conclude are lost?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the Marine Corps, Colonel, if we feel an explanation of an order is necessary, we say, ‘Aye, aye, sir. May I ask to be told the reason?' If you had done that, Colonel, I would have shown you this.” He handed Colonel Platt the most recent message to have come over the Special Channel.

“This is very good news, General,” Colonel Platt said.

“Yes, I thought so. That will be all, Colonel, you are dismissed.”

[TWO]
United States Submarine
Sunfish
121° 03” East Longitude 39° 58” North Latitude
Yellow Sea
1025 2 May 1943

Since he'd come aboard the
Sunfish
, Chief Carpenter's Mate Peter T. McGuire, USNR, had to some extent increased his knowledge of the customs of the Naval Service. Thus as he stuck his head through the port leading to the conning tower, he politely inquired, “Permission to come up, sir?”

Lieutenant Commander Warren T. Houser, USN, and Lieutenant Chambers D. Lewis III, USN, looked down at him. Except for his face, Chief McGuire was bundled in cold-weather gear, including a parka with a wolf fur-trimmed hood. All of those on the conning tower were wearing cold-weather gear. “Permission granted,” Captain Houser said.

The third man on the conning tower, the chief of the boat, chief bo'sun's mate Patrick J. Buchanan, did not look at Chief McGuire. Chief Buchanan had come to loathe and detest Chief McGuire—who had the bunk immediately above his—virtually from McGuire's first moment aboard. He did not wish to look at him. If he never saw him again in his life, it would be too soon.

These feelings were perhaps not very charitable, and he knew it. He was well aware that some lesser human beings were simply not equipped by their Maker to sail aboard submersible vessels. In fact, he was usually quite sympathetic to their plight. But Buchanan's patience and understanding had been pushed beyond his limits.

Early on, Captain Houser explained to him that Chief McGuire suffered from claustrophobia, a malady that was unsuspected until the first time the
Sunfish
slipped beneath the surface. There was simply nothing to be done about it, Houser elaborated. They were just going to have to deal with it for the duration of the patrol.

Chief McGuire's symptoms went far beyond a feeling of unease at being contained, at feeling that the walls, so to speak, were closing in on him. There were psychosomatic manifestations. He had severe headaches, for one thing.

For another, he suffered psychosomatic gastric problems, including nausea, flatulence, and diarrhea. In Chief Buchanan's many years at sea, during many patrols on submarines, he had never before encountered smells as foul as those he encountered when visiting a head vacated as long as a half hour before by Chief McGuire.

For another, Chief McGuire's sleep was disturbed. He tossed and turned as long as he was in the sack, and he frequently whimpered in his sleep, like a small child having a bad dream. It is not pleasant under any circumstances to take one's rest in a small, confined area with one's nose separated from the man above by not more than twenty inches. When the man above is whimpering or breaking wind, or worse, regurgitating without warning and with astonishing force ninety percent of what he ate at the last meal, it is even less pleasant.

Chief Buchanan often thought that in the old Navy—and maybe even today, on say a destroyer, or other smaller man-of-war—the problem would have solved itself. The chief would have fallen overboard. The skipper would have penned a letter of condolence to his next of kin, authorized the auctioning off of the contents of the chief's sea chest, conducted a brief memorial service, and that would have been the end of the sonofabitch.

“How are you feeling, Chief?” Lieutenant Lewis asked.

Lewis actually showed sympathy to the bastard, as did Captain Houser. And Lewis was even genuinely worried about the state of Chief McGuire's health generally and his mental health specifically. McGuire had lost perhaps twenty-five pounds, and there were deep black rings under his eyes. No one on a submarine has an enviable tan, but McGuire's skin was an unhealthy white.

“I'm all right,” McGuire said, not very convincingly. “It's only when I'm downstairs and they close the hole in the roof that I start getting sick.”

“Well, if everything goes all right in the next hour or so, Chief,” Captain Houser said, “we'll be on our way home.”

“I hope,” Chief McGuire said, and then broke wind. The sound immediately penetrated his cold-weather gear. By the time the odor inevitably followed, the skipper of the
Sunfish
, her chief of the boat, and Mr. Lewis, her supercargo, all had independently decided to look in the direction of the prevailing wind to see what might be out there.

“Bridge, Radio,” the squawk box went off.

To provide Chief McGuire with a space on the bridge, Captain Houser had decided to dispense with the services of the talker who normally would have relayed commands from the bridge.

Captain Houser bent over the squawk box, pressed the switch, and said, “Radio, go.”

“Captain, I have a faint signal on the aviation frequency, transmitting G.S.”

“Radio, send five G.S. signals at thirty-second intervals,” Captain Houser asked.

“Aye, aye, sir,” the radio operator replied.

“You don't suppose they've actually found us, and on schedule?” Lieutenant Lewis asked.

“You don't believe in miracles, Mr. Lewis? Shame on you,” Captain Houser said.

“Captain, I've been thinking,” Chief McGuire said.

“Not now, Chief, please,” Captain Houser said.

“That maybe I could go with the airplanes,” McGuire plunged ahead.

“I thought you got sick on airplanes, Chief,” Lieutenant Lewis asked.

“Not as sick as I am on here,” McGuire replied. “And anyway, Flo gave me some inner-ear airsickness pills.”

Captain Houser held up his finger before Chief McGuire's pale face and said, “Sssssssh!”

“I believe, Captain,” Lieutenant Lewis said, “that Chief McGuire is referring to Commander Florence Kocharski, of the Navy Nurse Corps.”

Commander Kocharski had confided in Lieutenant Lewis that the inner-ear seasickness pills she had given Chief McGuire were placebos, usually prescribed for women in the early stages of pregnancy. Sometimes, Flo said, they stopped morning sickness and sometimes they didn't. But they wouldn't do Chief McGuire any harm.

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis, I never would have guessed.”

“Bridge, Radio.”

“Go.”

“Aircraft sent Verifier Sea Gypsy. It checks.”

“Continue sending G.S. at thirty-second intervals.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“I hope he's not far away,” Houser said, almost to himself. “I don't like sitting out here like this.”

“There's supposed to be
two
of them,” Chief McGuire said. “
Two
Catalinas.”

“What do I have to do to make you shut up, McGuire?” Captain Houser flared, and was immediately sorry. McGuire's face was that of a kicked child. A
sick
kicked child.

“Sorry, sir.”

Chief Buchanan suddenly stopped in his binocular sweep of the skies, moved to the port bulkhead, and rested his elbows on it.

“Got anything, Chief?” Lieutenant Lewis asked.

“I have two objects at estimated two miles.”

Captain Houser pressed the lever on the squawk box. “Suit up the deck crew. Notify when ready.” This command was necessary because it was too warm in the interior of the
Sunfish
for the deck crew to put on their cold-weather gear until they were needed.

“Two Catalinas at two miles,” Chief Buchanan said.

Captain Houser reached inside his hood and came out with a cord for his earphones. He plugged it in, then picked up a microphone. “Sea Gypsy One, this is Gas Station.”

“We have you in sight, Gas Station. What are the seas?”

“The seas are three-to-four-foot swells. The wind is from the north at estimated twenty miles,” Houser replied.

“We'll turn into the wind and have a shot at it,” the pilot replied.

Captain Houser pressed the squawk box switch. “Pass the word, aircraft in sight,” he said. Then he looked at Lieutenant Lewis. “Would there be space? Weight-wise?”

“I'd say the chief weighs about thirty-five gallons of avgas,” Lewis said, and then added: “He's really sick, I think.”

“Yeah,” Captain Houser said thoughtfully. “McGuire, make up your mind. Do you really want to go on one of the airplanes? You know where they're going.”

“Yes, sir,” Chief McGuire said. “I think I could probably make myself useful, sir. Maybe help the weather people. Keep their generator working. I can fix practically anything—”

Houser held up his finger again. “Ssssssh!”

“Do you think they could make do with one less meteorologist?” Lieutenant Lewis asked.

“I don't think we could go that far,” Houser said. “But that would be your decision, wouldn't it, Mr. Lewis?”

He bent to the squawk box. “As soon as the deck crew goes on deck, suit up the supercargo,” he ordered.

“The first one's down, Skipper,” Chief Buchanan reported.

Captain Houser looked. The first Catalina had not only landed but had slowed enough for her pilot to start turning toward the
Sunfish
. As Houser watched, the second touched down.

He bent over the squawk box. “Deck crew on deck, break out and prepare to launch rubber boats. Suit up the supercargo. Prepare to pass cargo onto the deck.”

He picked up the microphone. “Sea Gypsy One, what would an additional two hundred and fifty pounds do to you?”

“That would depend. Any change in our coordinates?”

“No.”

“We can handle another two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Thank you,” Houser said. “McGuire, your decision. You want to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go below, and have someone show you how to go on deck.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Chief McGuire said. “Thank you, Captain.” He saluted, which Captain Houser returned. Then he saluted Lieutenant Lewis, which Lewis returned. “I'm sorry to have been such a mess, Buchanan.”

Chief Buchanan turned and looked at him, then put out his hand. “Take care of yourself, Chief,” Buchanan said. “Don't take any wooden nickels or anything.”

[THREE]