Griffin, W.E.B. - Honor 01 - Honor Bound by Griffin W. E. B

Author:Griffin, W. E. B.
Language: eng
Format: epub

"Corps of Engineers?" Tony said delightedly. "Me too." "I thought you guys were in the OSS," the pilot said. "Never believe what anybody over the grade of captain tells you," Clete said, "as we say in the Marine

Corps." "Marine Aviator? You sounded like a pilot, on the horn." "Fighter pilot, way out of his element," Clete said. "I thought you were supposed to air-drop this stuff." "The Air Corps wanted to. They were going to make a big deal of this, come in with a C-47, drop some

pathfinder in first, then drop this stuff with a great big fucking cargo parachute, you know how they are. I figured, shit, this stuff doesn't weigh fifty pounds altogether, I can put it in the backseat. So I came overlost, of course-here yesterday, and took a look, and here I am. What is that stuff, anyway? It looks like boards."

"It's supposed to," Tony said. "It's Composition C4. They molded it to look like wood boards." "Then that explains what your guy meant when he said 'be damned careful with these.' Detonators, right?" Tony took the small package the pilot extended to him and opened it. "Right," he said. "I hope you didn't have this near the explo-sives." "I had it on my lap." "Jesus!" Tony said. "Let's get me unloaded and out of here," the pilot said. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I really don't want to know what you guys are going to do with that stuff, and I don't want to spend the war in a Uruguayan jail."

Three minutes later, he was gone. When Clete got behind the wheel of the Ford and pressed the starter, the battery was dead. Tony, sweating and swearing, had to push the car to get it started. But in another three minutes, they too were gone.

Chapter Twelve

[ONE]

Aboard the General Belgrano

Rio de la Plata

0945 13 December 1942

Shortly after they sailed from Lisbon, Captain Manuelo Schirmer, master of the General Belgrano, began to extend to Hauptmann Freiherr von Wachtstein of the Luftwaffe certain privileges. First, that of his table. At the start of the voyage, Peter was assigned to an eight-place table in the dining room. When he arrived for lunch, six other people were there, a middle-aged Argentinean couple and a somewhat younger German couple and their two children. When he politely asked about their home, they replied they were from Heidelberg, then made it quite clear they were not interested in conversation.

When he went in for dinner, the steward intercepted him and led him to the captain's table. This was placed lengthwise across the back of the room and was set with ten places, all on one side.

"Mi Capitan," the steward said, addressing a stocky, blond-haired man in his forties, who was wearing a uniform blouse with four gold stripes on each sleeve over a navy-blue turtleneck sweater. "El Capitan von Wachtstein."

"I am Kapitan Schirmer, Herr Hauptmann," Schirmer said in German, examining him carefully and unabashedly, "I thought you might be more comfortable taking your meals here.

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