“Done what?” Ferniany said, curiously, a smile forming on his face.
“Used naughty words in front of the enlisted men,” Canidy said, gesturing to Alois and the men from the underground, who had been fascinated by the angry exchange, not a word of which they understood.
“Whatever will they think?”
Ferniany looked at the four Hungarians. Then, although he tried not to, the innocent curiosity on their faces made him laugh.
That seemed to reassure the Hungarians. The looks of puzzlement were replaced by broad smiles.
“I would be fascinated. Major Canidy, Sir,” Ferniany said, “to learn precisely how the Major plans to carry out this mission.”
XIV
lONE]
Near San Juan, Island of Mindanao Commonwealth of the Philippines
The commanding general of United States forces in the Philippines had climbed a tree. It wasn’t a very tall tree, and he hadn’t been able to climb very far up it, but it was on the highest point he could find on a bluff thirty feet above a narrow sandy beach, and he was sure that it was giving him the best possible view of the sea.
It was growing dark. In fifteen minutes, it would be completely dark. Moving through the jungle at any time was difficult, and when it was dark, damned near impossible.
He knew he had made a bad decision coming here at all. What he should have done was send Withers and one or two of his men down here to see what happened, not come himself.
But he had wanted so desperately to believe that something would happen.
So he had come himself, and brought an unnecessarily large force with him. He knew it was because he wanted witnesses that his hopes had come true. But what else was there for him to do?
He put the one and only pair of binoculars in the hands of U.S. forces in the Philippines to his eyes.
He would search the open sea one more time, until his eyes started to tear from fatigue, he decided, and then he would order the withdrawal of this force by night to the mountains, and on the way maybe he’d think of one more credible excuse why “the aid” hadn’t come this night either, one more reason to hope that maybe tomorrow-There wasn’t one miserable fucking thing on the surface of the water.
Somebody tugged on his shoe. He looked down in annoyance.
It was Master Sergeant Withers. He was pointing down at the beach, his hand shaking, and with tears running down his cheeks.
There was a submarine down there, in far closer to the beach than Fertig would have believed it possible for a submarine to maneuver. Torrents of water still gushed from ports in its side, but there were people on the conning tower, and then the colors went up on a mast over the conning tower.
Fertig’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch, there they are!
“Withers said.
There was all sorts of activity on the submarine now. Sailors ran purposefully about the narrow decks, objects were handed up through hatches.
The commanding general of USFIP slid down the tree trunk and slid down the bluff to the beach.
They had to wait for what seemed like an hour, but what was really not more than five minutes, before a rubber boat appeared close to the surf.
Half a dozen of his men ran out in water to their shoulders to reach it, to help it ashore.
Fertig thought, idly, that they seemed to be having a hell of a hard time pulling it.
And then somebody jumped out of the rubber boat, and Fertig walked into the receding surf to meet him, although he had told himself he would not, the salt water would be hell on already deteriorating boots.
He was a tall and good-looking young man in khakis.
He splashed through the surf to Fertig.
And then he stopped, still in water to his knees, and came to attention and saluted.
“Captain Whittaker, General,” he said.
“United States Army Air Corps.”
“Welcome to Mindanao, Captain,” Fertig said, returning the salute crisply, controlling his voice with a massive effort, glad now that it was dark enough that Whittaker wouldn’t be able to see the tears on his cheeks.