"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.
"Sir... Sergeant Withers?"
Fertig pointed to the second rubber boat coming through the surf. With
the same apparent difficulty that those helping the first boat had had, Withers was trying to hurry it ashore.
"Excuse me, sir," Whittaker said, and ran into the surf. He returned with a very small sailor riding on his shoulders.
"Send "B,"" Whittaker ordered as he set the small sailor onto the beach.
Joe Garvey flashed the Morse code signal for "B," a dash and three dots, from a flashlight with an angled head.
There was an immediate response from a signaling light on the conning tower of the submarine. Garvey hurriedly took a pad from his pocket and wrote it down.
"What was that?" Fertig asked.
"Garvey sent them "B,"" Whittaker explained. ""B' is 'safely ashore, with equipment, in contact with U.S. forces in the Philippines."
" "Sir," Radioman Second Joe Garvey reported, "Drum messages, "Aloha God Bless."" Fertig looked out at the submarine. It was under way. The colors had already been hauled down. Its deck was already awash. It was going back under.
It didn't matter. If one came, others could. Others would.
"My men seem to be having a time getting your boats ashore, Captain," General Pertig said, trying valiantly to sound nonchalant.
"We've got medicine for you, General," Whittaker said.
"And some small arms and ammunition. And a million dollars in gold coins. You wouldn't believe how much a million dollars weighs until you try to tow it around in a rubber boat with a five-horse outboard motor."
[TWO]
St. Gertrud's Prison