The lieutenant and the Navy captain exchanged salutes. The Army captain, hands jammed into his pockets, nodded at the lieutenant.
“Hold it down there a minute,” a voice called from the pilot’s window of the B-25. A moment later, the pilot, who wore the stars of a brigadier general on the epaulets of his horsehide zippered jacket, came out of the airplane and walked toward the others. Another salute was exchanged.
“Good evening, Captain,” the general said, offering his hand. “I’m General Jacobs. What’s this all about?”
“Captain Farber, Sir,” the Navy officer said.
“I’m the air operations officer. This is your passenger.”
“My name is Whittaker,” the Army officer volunteered conversationally.
Brigadier General Jacobs did not like the appearance of the captain.
He was wearing a horsehide aviator’s jacket over his tropical worsted uniform; that was not only against uniform regulations, it was unsightly, for the leather jacket did not cover the blouse. Moreover, he was annoyed at being ordered to divert to Alameda to pick up a priority passenger who turned out to be nothing but a lowly captain.
Your appearance, Captain,” he said, “is disgraceful,” “I’ve been traveling, General,” Whittaker told him. “And you have been drinking,” the brigadier general snapped. “I can smell it!”
“Yes, Sir, I have been drinking,” Whittaker confessed cheerfully. “I have been informed that he is on a high-priority mission,” Brigadier General Jacobs said to the Navy captain.
“My first reaction is to order him back to his unit.” Whittaker chuckled.
“You’re amused?” the general flared. “That might be a little hard to do, General,” Whittaker said. “General,” the Navy captain said, “this officer just came out of the Philippines.”
“Oh?” The general’s tone softened, but just barely. He looked at Whittaker.
“I’m sure,” he said, “that you have seen difficult service. But that’s really no excuse for looking slovenly. Or drinking on duty. Let me see your orders, Captain.”
“Sir,” the Navy captain said, “Captain Whittaker’s orders are classified Secret.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“Yes, Sir,” the Navy captain said.
“Captain Whittaker has the highest possible priority to facilitate his movement to Washington.” That explained, then, General Jacobs thought, why he had been ordered to Alameda Naval Air Station. Brigadier generals bound for Washington on their own important business are not routinely ordered to divert for passenger pickups. Curiosity got the better of him. He looked at Whittaker. “How did you get out of the Philippines?”
“In apt boat,” Whittaker said.
The story of MacArthur’s escape-General Jacobs privately thought of it as “personal retreat”-from the Philippines was well known. It was logical to conclude that this young officer had been with him. “Well, get aboard, Captain,” he said.
“We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, and we’re only going to stop for fuel.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Whittaker said to the Navy captain. General Jacobs waited until Whittaker and his aide had disappeared into the fuselage.
Then he looked at the Navy captain. “You can’t tell me what this is all about?” ,I’ve had two telephone calls already from Washington,” the Navy captain said, “asking for his schedule. All I know is that he’s headed right for the White House.”
“Very interesting,” General Jacobs said. He gave his hand to the Navy captain, then walked to the airplane. As he started up the ladder, the port engine starter began to grind.
TWO I It was a long and cold flight from San Francisco to Salt Lake City. The aircraft’s weapons had been removed, but the pieces of Plexiglas intended to cover the weapons ports had not been replaced, and cold wind whistled through the fuselage from the moment they began the takeoff roll. When they were at altitude, General Jacobs went back into the fuselage and expressed regret that it was uncomfortable for Whittaker, but that he could unfortunately do nothing about it. In Salt Lake City, while they took on fuel, Whittaker stole a case of paper towels from the men’s room in base operations. As soon as they were airborne again, he stuffed the towels in the openings in the nose.
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it helped. When they refueled again at the Air Corps field at Omaha, Nebraska, It was a toss-up, Whittaker reflected, whether the general was more annoyed with him for the appearance of the airplane, or with the people at Omaha for not having the parts to fill the gaps in the windows. The paper towels were removed and replaced with strips of blanket, taped in place. General acobs’s ire had preceded them to the Air Corps J base at Columbus, Ohio, and when they landed there to refuel again, a captain and two sergeants were waiting with the missing pieces of Plexiglas. From Columbus to Washington, it was not quite as cold in the fuselage, but Whittaker’s blood was still thin from the tropics, and he spent the flight huddled under a thick layer of blankets, When the B-25 landed at Bolling Field, a Follow Me pickup led it far away from the lights of Base Operations and the hangars to a distant spot on the parking ramp.