Clete nodded and waited for his reaction.
“Where are we going to get the aviation gas for that?”
Damn, I didn’t think of that!
“I don’t know. But there is aviation gas in Uruguay, and so are the people who loaned us the walkie-talkies we lost. They can get avgas for me.”
Tony nodded.
“Nestor didn’t say anything about a torpedo bomber,” Ettinger said. “Why is that a wild idea?”
“I don’t know,” Clete said. “He said something like that had already been considered and rejected by the OSS. I told him I wanted to appeal the order up the chain of command to Colonel Graham. I think I can convince Graham that getting me into a TBF would be the best way—hell, the only way that I can see—to put the Reine de la Mer out of action.”
“And?” Tony asked.
“He said that was out of the question. I had my orders and I would carry them out. And then I lost my temper, told him I had no intention of committing suicide, and then, I’m sorry to say, I threw him out of the car.”
“Lieutenant,” Ettinger said carefully, “I can’t think of a delicate way to put this…. Did Nestor suggest you were overly concerned with your own skin? Is that why you lost your temper?”
Clete met Ettinger’s eyes, then nodded.
“What?” Tony exploded incredulously. “That sonofabitch! You’ve been in combat. You’re an Ace, for Christ’s sake, a fucking hero, and he knows that.”
“Cowardice is apparently in the eyes of the beholder,” Clete said.
Ettinger, recognizing the wordplay, smiled. Tony looked confused.
“Well, fuck him, and his orders,” Tony fumed on.
“So what happens now, Lieutenant?” Ettinger asked.
“The only thing I can think of is to keep trying to reach Colonel Graham,” Clete said.
“How are you going to do that?” Ettinger asked.
“David, would the Alfred Thomas have a radio capable of communicating with—hell, I don’t know—some Navy radio station in Washington? Or with a station that could relay a message to Washington?”
Ettinger shrugged doubtfully, but then nodded and smiled.
“It’s possible, Lieutenant,” he said. “When Admiral Byrd was down in Antarctica, which isn’t far from here relatively speaking, he was unable to communicate with the Navy. But there was a radio ham, an amateur in Cedar Rapids, who could talk to him—I think on the twenty-meter band. The Navy was very embarrassed—I got this story from Mr. Sarnoff at RCA—but they had to swallow their pride and go to this fellow Collins and ask him how he did it. He started a company to build his equipment for the Navy, and it seems logical to assume that the Navy would at least try to equip their vessels in the South Atlantic with such equipment. But I don’t understand…”
“When the destroyer arrives, I’m going aboard. I’ll identify myself as a Marine officer and ask her captain to send a message to Colonel Graham.”
“And if he doesn’t have the right kind of radios, or let you send Colonel Graham a message, then what?” Tony asked.
Clete shrugged. “If you can think of anything else, Tony, I’m wide open to suggestions,” Clete said, then turned to Ettinger. “Unless you could set up a radio here?”
Ettinger shook his head no. And then explained: “I don’t have the equipment. And I don’t think I could find it here. I asked around. Most of their equipment is pretty primitive. And from what I remember about what this fellow Collins used, it required a hell of an antenna. Nothing we could hide; it would attract a good deal of attention. Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“It never hurts to ask,” Clete said.
“So what do we do now?” Tony asked. “While we’re waiting for the destroyer to show up?”
“Try to think of some way to take out an armed merchantman besides using a TBF…or three lonely guys with twenty-odd pounds of explosive,” Clete said.
“One thing we absolutely must not do,” Ettinger said thoughtfully, “is tell Nestor about this little chat.”
“He’s the OSS Station Chief,” Clete said. “I don’t want to put you in the middle of the fight between the two of us.”