“Right, Cletus. What’s been discussed is that there are enormous numbers of long-range aircraft—bombers, B-17s and B-24s—now available in Europe to search for submarines. But I don’t think that’s going to be of much help except in the waters between Norway and the English Channel. Once the submarines get into the Atlantic—as some of them probably have already—they will head southwest for the Atlantic and soon be beyond the range of any aircraft looking for them.
“Similarly, although a bomb group has already been ordered to Sidi Slimane in Morocco, I don’t think it will be of much use. As soon as they can get there, the submarines will be deep into the Atlantic, beyond the reach of aircraft.
“At some point west of Europe and North Africa, Eisenhower’s—SHAEF’s—authority ends, and the military command is that of the Navy. They will be ordered—as soon as I can get to Washington and convince Admiral Leahy of the necessity to do so—to begin searching for these submarines. I don’t think they’ll have much luck, but the effort will have to be made.
“Insofar as sending B-17s and/or B-24s here to Argentina or Brazil, that has been considered and decided against. Brazil has asked for such aircraft in the past and, in the probably justified belief that they would use them against Argentina, their request was denied. And obviously we couldn’t send them to Argentina and not to Brazil.
“So, what happens now is that when I get to Washington, I am going to try to get you authority to call upon the B-24s we presently have at Canoas should you need them to deal with any enemy submarines you find, either offshore or within Argentine waters.
“That brings us back to that basic premise. The best—indeed almost the only—hope we have to either sink or capture the submarines in question is Team Turtle. And in doing so, you will not only be up against the Nazis involved in Operation Phoenix but against substantial numbers of our countrymen, in and out of uniform.”
Dulles stopped, looked thoughtful as he sipped his drink, then went on:
“Considering how everyone now has the OSS in their crosshairs, I was about to make an attempt at giving you a stirring pep talk about overcoming great obstacles. Then I remembered the best pep talk I ever heard. How many of you have seen the movie Knute Rockne, All American? With Pat O’Brien playing Rockne?”
I don’t believe this! Clete thought.
Our distinguished OSS deputy director is going to inspire us by quoting from a movie?
Is that the booze talking?
Everybody indicated that they had seen the motion picture, and Clete now saw some of the men showing curious expressions.
“All right then,” Dulles went on. “There was a scene in that motion picture where Coach Rockne went to the hospital bed of one of his players who was terminally ill. At the moment, I can’t think of his name, either in the film, or in real life—”
“Gipp,” Master Sergeant William Ferris furnished. “They called him the Gipper.”
“Right,” Dulles said.
“The actor’s name was Richard Reagan,” Frade said. “He’s now the only aerial gunner in the Air Force who’s a captain.”
“His name is Ronald Reagan,” Ashton quickly corrected him. “And he’s a first lieutenant in the Signal Corps making those venereal disease movies they make everybody watch.”
“You know,” Schultz chimed in, “you pick up some dame in a bar, diddle her, and two weeks later your dick drops off.”
That produced laughter.
“Clark Gable is the only commissioned officer aerial gunner in the Air Forces,” Ferris said. He then quoted Gable’s most famous line: “‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!’”
“You would if it was your dick about to drop off,” Schultz said.
More laughter.
Clete saw the look on Dulles’s face.
“Silence on deck!” Frade barked.
And when he had it, Clete said, “Please go on, Mr. Dulles.”
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” Dulles said. “And it was my mistake to open the bar so soon.”
Frade said, “Inasmuch, sir, as we obviously need a pep talk, I really wish you would. Please, sir.”
After a long moment, Dulles shrugged.
“Very well,” he said. “I think I should make the point that not all motion-picture actors in uniform find safe sinecures for themselves. Jimmy Stewart is also in the Air Forces. He has led his B-17 group on twenty-odd missions over Germany and was recently promoted colonel. Closer to home, Captain Sterling Hayden, a Marine, has been infiltrating fellow members of the OSS into—and out of—Albania for some time.”
He paused to let that sink in.
Ashton then popped to his feet, stood at attention, and said, “Sir, I started that unfortunate silliness. I hope you will accept my apology.”
“We are all under something of a strain, Major,” Dulles said after a moment. “No apology is necessary. Please take your seat.”
Ashton did, and after a moment, Dulles said: “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, in the film Rockne goes to the bed of the terminally ill football player known as the Gipper. As difficult as this will obviously be, try to think of me as the character, the Gipper, that Lieutenant Ronald Reagan played.
“This is what he said to Coach Rockne: ‘Rock, sometime when the team is up against it and the breaks are beating the boys, tell them to go out there with all they’ve got and win one for the Gipper. I don’t know where I’ll be then, but I’ll know about it and I’ll be happy.’”
There was silence in the quincho.
Frade thought: The silence of embarrassment.
“The point I had hoped to make,” Dulles said, “and obviously failed so completely to make, was that I know that Team Turtle is really up against it. But I haven’t seen a suggestion that any of you are thinking of throwing in the towel. And I wanted you to know how much I appreciate that. I’m proud to be associated with all of you.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Then O’Sullivan stood up.
“And I want you to know, Mr. Dulles, that this Irishman will be proud for the rest of his life that he was privileged to work for you.”
Ashton stood and said, “Hear, hear!” and began to applaud.
Five seconds later, everyone was on his feet and applauding.
I’ll be goddamned, Clete thought. Mister deputy director of the OSS looks like he’s going to blubber.
Dulles finally found his voice.
“Colonel Frade,” he said, “I would suggest that these proceedings are at the point where you may reopen the bar.”
That caused the applause to increase in volume.
“Thank you, all,” Dulles said, then drained his glass. “Now, let us really celebrate victory in Europe.”
[THREE]
Aeropuerto Coronel Jorge G. Frade Morón, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 0905 13 May 1945
As the Red Lodestar turned onto a taxiway, Clete Frade saw that two of the Constellations he’d arranged to have brought down from Los Angeles were already painted in the South American Airways color scheme. Another was in a hangar being painted, and the other two were parked waiting for their new paint jobs.
And then he saw two familiar men walk out onto the tarmac from the passenger terminal. One was his uncle, Humberto Duarte, managing director of the Anglo-Argentine Bank and director for finance of South American Airways. The other was the vice president, secretary of War, and secretary of Labor and Welfare of the Argentine Republic, el Coronel Juan Domingo Perón.