Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War, page 15
Jolene and Brownie sensed the major’s resoluteness too and scuttled out the door.
“Yes, sir.” Peggy snapped an unnecessary salute to show her displeasure. When the major returned it, she did an about-face and marched out of the office.
“They never think a WASP knows anything.” Jolene continued to sputter her disapproval as she strode down the hallway.
Peggy and Brownie hustled along but, being short, they couldn’t keep up with their fellow WASP’s longer stride.
Once outside, Jolene stopped and waited for her and Brownie to catch up. She shook her finger. “He didn’t believe you. He’s not going to do anything. The men in the army are all the same.”
Peggy hadn’t felt he’d been convinced either. “I’m sure he’ll look into it. You heard him. The government has to be careful not to cause more problems than we currently have in this war. Let’s give him a chance to investigate this. He can at least inquire about those names belonging to our military soldiers.” She prayed he would do the right thing rather than sitting on this information in the hopes she and her fellow WASPs forgot about it.
He was a good man. She needed to trust that.
Howie studied the slip of wrinkled paper. He wished Witherspoon had come to him straight away. He understood the WASPs weren’t always treated fairly so didn’t completely blame her for not speaking up. Even so, she and the other WASPs needed to understand they shouldn’t remain silent on something like this, and that they could trust him.
This was why getting involved with a subordinate was a bad idea—not that they were involved. It made disciplining so much harder. He might have let it slide had the other WASPs not been present. Now she would never believe his declaration of his feelings to be genuine.
He lifted the receiver on his phone. His sergeant didn’t pick up the other end. Probably still off filing those records.
Howie went to the outer office and searched Sergeant Miller’s desk for the sheet of phone numbers. Finding it, he returned to his own desk and dialed personnel. “I need information on three soldiers stationed in Cuba.”
He would get to the bottom of this and repair the strain between him and Witherspoon.
He hoped.
Two days later, Witherspoon, along with Nightingale and Brownie, knocked on Howie’s office door. He hadn’t given them any updates on the matter of the captive soldiers in Cuba yet.
“Come in.” Howie stood. “I can guess what this is about. Have a seat, ladies.” He’d been expecting a visit from them.
They sat, and Witherspoon spoke. “We were wondering what you’ve found out, sir.”
He wished she had come alone. Even though everything needed to stay strictly professional, he would have liked it to be just the two of them. He wanted to speak to her about his brusque behavior last time. “Not much. There are three US Soldiers stationed in Cuba by the names of Williams, Gillespie, and Nelson. Williams is a captain. The other two are a sergeant and a private respectively.”
Witherspoon’s eyes widened. “Then the note wasn’t a farce, sir.”
“We don’t know that. I’ve been trying to reach any one of the men by telephone, but I have been unsuccessful thus far. Communications to Cuba can be spotty. I also can’t get anyone to tell me their whereabouts. I feel as though I’m getting the runaround.”
Nightingale narrowed her eyes. “Do you think it’s because they’ve been captured and no one wants to admit it? Or everyone’s sworn to secrecy?”
He did, but he needed some sort of confirmation in order to take any action. “I’m going to speak to General Hawkins about this and see if he can get some answers.”
Witherspoon shifted to the edge of her seat. “I want to go with you when you talk to the general, sir.”
“That’s not a good idea. I’ll tell you what I learn. I have an appointment with him at 1400 hours.”
“But shouldn’t I—”
“No.” He wanted to give in to her but couldn’t trust her not to blurt out whatever came to her mind if she disagreed with the general. Howie appreciated her speaking her mind, but the general’s office wasn’t the place for it. “Come back at 1600 hours.” He should be back by then. “Dismissed. I need to prepare exactly what I’m going tell the general.” He rose to his feet.
The three WASPs stood. Two exited. Witherspoon pinned him with a look.
He wanted to ask her to stay, but to do so might cause the others to wonder why. It wouldn’t be the first time. He wanted to apologize for his previous harsh tone with her. The last thing either of them needed was to have tongues start wagging. He’d already made the mistake of confessing his feelings to her. He needed to remember his place. It would be best for both of them to keep everything professional, even if that wasn’t what his heart wanted. “Was there something else, Witherspoon?”
Silence stretched between them before she spoke. “No, sir.” She about-faced and left.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he sank back into his chair. He’d managed to let her go.
CHAPTER 18
At 1400 hours, Howie entered Brigadier General Hawkins’s Bolling Airfield office and stood at attention.
Without looking up, the general spoke. “At ease. Take a seat.” He continued to write on the form in front of him.
Howie sat and waited silently.
After a few moments, the general lifted his gaze but kept his pen poised over the papers on his desk. “I hope this won’t take long.”
This very well could, or it could be a simple relaying of information and a dismissal. “I’ve stumbled across some intelligence that may or may not have any relevance.” Howie handed the note Peggy had retrieved in Cuba to the general. “We believe those are coordinates where three American soldiers are being held in Cuba.”
General Hawkins set his pen aside and pinned Howie with a hard stare. “We?”
“One of the WASPs under my command, sir.” He relayed Peggy’s story and explained how she came about the information but left the other two out of his narrative. For now. If it became imperative to include them, he would. “I contacted personnel in Cuba to confirm whether or not these names relate to actual American soldiers, but no one will tell me much. I was hoping you could loosen some lips.”
“Do you realize the likelihood of American troops being held against their will in Cuba is highly remote?”
Howie leaned forward in his chair. “The fact no one will talk to me, tells me something is amiss. Someone is hiding something. If that something is our men, we should do something about it.”
The general spoke slowly as though thinking many scenarios through between his words. “If what you are saying is true, this could be tricky. Let me see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As though suddenly spurred on by a direct order, the general picked up his phone. “Sergeant, have my car brought around.” He hung up, shuffled the stack of files from his desk into an attaché case, and stood. “Come with me.”
Howie shoved out of the chair and followed the general out of the office. “Where are we going, sir?”
“The Pentagon. This is too sensitive to speak of here.” He addressed his desk sergeant again on his way past the enlisted officer’s workstation. “Inform General Arnold I’m on my way.”
The sergeant nodded, even as he was already on the phone, likely hailing the general’s car.
Outside, a government vehicle pulled up with small blue flags exhibiting a single white star flapping from the front fenders. The driver got out and opened the back door for the general.
Howie circled the car and let himself in on the other side. Not sure of the protocol, he remained silent. If the general wished to talk about this matter on the drive to the Pentagon, he would.
Instead, General Hawkins spent the duration of the ride, going through the files he’d brought.
As the car entered the Pentagon parking lot, all military personnel walking along stopped and saluted the vehicle. The driver pulled right up to the main entrance of the building.
Howie had never been able to do that. Having flags on your transportation had its benefits. No parking a block away on the far side of the car lot and hoofing it to the building. This was nice.
At the curb, the driver opened the general’s door, which left Howie to fend for himself.
The general marched toward the entrance. The people between the car and the building saluted him and Howie. He returned the gesture as did the general. A soldier near the door opened it with one hand and raised his other to his eyebrow.
The general saluted back. “As you were.”
Howie mimicked the action and scurried in after his superior.
General Hawkins marched through the corridors as though he were tasked with an urgent mission on the battlefield. Howie would not slow him down and hurried along, trying to hide that this pace was a bit of a challenge for him. Pushing himself beyond his perceived limits would make him stronger.
Outside a door with the general’s name on it, a middle-aged, female clerk pushed out of her chair to stand. “Sir. General Arnold has been notified. He’s expecting you.”
The general handed his attaché case to her. “Thank you, Mildred.” He turned to Howie. “You wait here.” He marched off.
While the clerk ducked into the office to deposit the attaché, Howie sat on a chair in the outer area. This might take a while.
Over an hour later, Howie stood and addressed the clerk. “May I use the telephone?”
The woman nodded as she continued to click the typewriter keys.
He lifted the receiver and dialed his own office, reaching Sergeant Miller. “I have a meeting with some WASPs scheduled in a few minutes at 1600 hours. I’m not going to make it back in time. Can you let them know I’ll speak with them tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir.”
He hadn’t imagined being here this long. He hadn’t imagined being at the Pentagon at all today. He would miss seeing Witherspoon.
A couple of minutes later, the telephone rang, and the clerk answered it. “Good afternoon, General Hawkins’s office…He is, sir…Yes, sir…I’ll be right there, sir.” She hung up the receiver. Then she gathered some folders from a desk drawer and stood. “The general wants you to continue to wait for him.”
Howie stood as well. “Did he say how much longer it might be?”
She tilted her head. “I’m sorry. He didn’t. I have to go. The general needs these files. There’s a mess hall on the ground floor if you’re hungry.” She strolled away.
He left a note on the clerk’s desk and got himself a sandwich. When he returned, the desk remained vacant, so he sat. He wished he’d brought some sort of work to keep himself busy.
The clerk soon returned, shook her head to indicate the general wasn’t coming yet, and resumed her seat.
The clock on the wall showed 1800 hours, and Howie still waited. Had the general gone home and forgotten he had left Howie sitting here? Howie had refrained from engaging the clerk in conversation so he wouldn’t hamper her work, but now he hoped to get a little information. “Isn’t it after quitting time for you?”
She smiled up at him. “One would think. The general works unconventional hours. I don’t really mind. A few late nights are minuscule compared to the sacrifices you boys have made in Europe and the Pacific.”
He suspected it was more than a few. This was probably business as usual.
At 1847 hours, General Hawkins marched down the corridor.
Howie stood. “Sir.”
The general gave a nod of acknowledgement but spoke to his clerk. “Mildred, do you have the copies of that report made?”
She pulled the paper from her typewriter with a ratcheting sound and tucked it inside the top folder. One by one, the ten folders had been filled with papers she had typed, page after page, each a crisp original. “Right here, sir.” She put her hand on the top of the stack. Each one must have contained twenty pages or more.
“Thank you. Would you take them to General Arnold? Then you can go home.”
She stood and handed a folder to him not from the stack. “The original.” She scooped up the folders and walked off.
General Hawkins motioned to Howie as he entered his office. “Come in. Take a seat.”
Howie waited for the general to sit first before he did.
“Thank you for waiting.”
Like Howie had much of a choice. “Not a problem, sir.” Good thing he’d gotten that sandwich.
The general steepled his hands. “I spoke with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President of the United States. You can probably guess what I was told.”
Howie was afraid of that, and it wasn’t as though he could petition to someone higher. Other than God. “Is there nothing that can be done for our men?”
“Cuba’s official position is that no US soldiers are being held against their will. President Batista has less than nine days in power, so it is unlikely he will take any action with tensions so high. It’s too risky to send in a rescue team. The military personnel in Cuba are being watched carefully. We can’t chance an international incident. We have to think of the big picture here. And that picture is over in Europe and in the Pacific.”
Howie didn’t always like the big picture, especially when lives could be in jeopardy, but he understood.
“This is all the information I could learn. There are suspected German sympathizers, and they even believe there are some actual Germans hiding out in Cuba from the U-boat that was sunk in the area two and a half weeks ago. That’s who they believe has them.” The general showed him the folder. “The coordinates you gave me were confirmed. Those three soldiers have indeed been missing for nearly two weeks. There will be no rescue attempt made by US military personnel. Do I make myself clear?”
Howie didn’t like this. Not one bit. Had he been left for dead and abandoned, he wouldn’t be here. People had risked their own lives to rescue him. Even as he was helpless to drag himself out of his crashed plane, he knew the decision to rescue him or not would be made. He was only one life. It didn’t make sense to risk a dozen other men to maybe save one who might not even be alive. He wouldn’t have wanted others to die on his account. A farmer had come to his aid and hidden him in his cellar for two days until it was safe to transport him to a place where the military could retrieve him.
If Howie hadn’t been delirious with pain, he would have urged the farmer not to put his own life in peril to save Howie’s. Fortunately, the man had gotten Howie to Allied forces, and he’d woken up in a field hospital. They patched him the best they could before transporting him to England. After three surgeries and five months recuperating, he had been shipped back to the States. His military flying career over. That hurt as much as his leg. In another six months, the pin that had been put in his right thigh would be removed, and he would be deemed cured. But he would never be the same. He would likely carry his limp for the rest of his life. And the nightmares still hadn’t abated. Would they also haunt him the rest of his life?
“I said do you understand, Major Berg?”
He did even though it made anger burn inside him. “Is there nothing we can do for our soldiers, sir?”
“It’s the cost of war, Major.” The general seemed resigned to those men’s fate. “You know that.”
Why did it have to be such a high cost? “We aren’t at war with Cuba.”
“Nevertheless, we need to do everything we can to keep it that way. After the tenth when President-elect Dr. Ramón Grau takes office, we can approach him.”
It could be too late by then. “But our soldiers?”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but my hands are tied. The US military and its members can do nothing to help those soldiers without the cooperation of the Cuban government.”
Howie chafed at the idea of leaving those soldiers to their fate. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Howie stood, saluted, and left.
What was he going to tell Peggy—WASP Witherspoon? She would be so disappointed in his failure.
Disappointed in him.
The next day, Peggy went to Major Berg’s office, along with Jolene and Brownie. Unfortunately she hadn’t heard news of the plight of the US soldiers in Cuba yesterday. Hopefully, the delay meant he had good news. Perhaps even that the men had already been freed.
“I’ve met with General Hawkins, as you know.”
“Have the soldiers been rescued?” Peggy had been praying for their safe return.
His hesitation couldn’t be good. “I’m afraid not.”
Jolene edged to the front of her seat. “Why?”
“It’s complicated. Cuban President Batista has less than eight days in office. The successor he chose didn’t win the election. Dr. Ramón Grau did. Tensions are high in Cuba’s government with the transfer of power on October 10.” Eight days away.
Peggy sensed she wouldn’t like where this conversation was heading. “All the more reason Batista would want to help the US. Or would Dr. Grau be more inclined to assist with a rescue?”
The major appeared to want to speak but didn’t.
His delay in answering fueled her irritation. “When are our men coming home?”
The major still hesitated. “Our government has been negotiating with both President Batista and Dr. Grau. Batista is busy with last-minute government issues and says now isn’t a good time to look for the missing men. He also refuses to allow American troops to search for them.”
“And Dr. Grau?”
“He would make no promises one way or another, but his lack of commitment isn’t encouraging. He could surprise us after taking office.”
Peggy hated politics sometimes. “Our men could be dead by the tenth. What about a covert operation? No one need know a rescue team is there.”
“No official operation can be pursued at this time. I know that’s hard to hear. Maybe after the transfer of power, we can negotiate with Dr. Grau. Even then, it’s doubtful any efforts will be made to retrieve the soldiers.”
