Part 27 (1/2)

And then, matter-of-factly, he had told Darmstadter where they were going-but not why-and pointed out their course on a chart.

And then he had told him, patiently, even kindly, as a flight instructor teaches a student pilot, how it was planned for them to find Vis and what would happen if things went wrong.

Canidy explained that the OSS agent with the British SOE force on Vis had a radio transmitter-receiver capable of operating on the frequencies used for aviation. Using the radio direction-finding equipment on the B-25G, they would home in on Vis very much as they would home in on Newark Airport after a flight from Was.h.i.+ngton.

With several significant exceptions: ”The trouble with RDF transmitters,” Canidy said, ”is that they can be picked up by anybody tuned to that frequency. For example, German or Italian aircraft. A curious Luftwaffe pilot looking for the way home from a patrol over the Adriatic might come across the signal from Vis and wonder what the h.e.l.l it was.”

”The worst possible scenario is that two pilots, or for that matter, two ground stations, might hear the Vis transmission at the same time and mark their position and the relative position of the Vis transmitter on a chart. If they did that, all that would have to be done would be to put the chart marks together. Triangulation. You with me?”

Darmstadter nodded. He knew that without actually following a signal to its source, the location of the transmitter could be easily determined. ”Triangulation” simply meant the drawing of straight lines on a chart from two different points of reception toward the source of the signal. The intersection of the straight lines indicated the location of the transmitter.

”So what they're going to do to reduce the odds of getting caught,” Canidy said, ”is to go on the air as little as possible. The first signal we'll listen for when we get close enough will be on the air for only five minutes. Then it will go off and come back on fifteen minutes later for sixty seconds on a different frequency and using different call letters.”

He handed Darmstadter a typewritten list.

There were three columns. The first gave times, starting at 1500 and ending at 1745. Sometimes there was nineteen minutes between transmissions, and sometimes as little as eleven minutes. But there were no two intermissions alike. The second column listed the frequency of the transmissions. No two of these were alike. The third column listed the three-letter identification code that the transmitter would send, endlessly repeating them for the period of time it would be on the air.

”Clever,” Darmstadter said.

”It presumes our guy on Vis has the transceiver, and that it's working, and that we'll be able to pick it up when we have to,” Canidy said.

”And if we don't?” Darmstadter asked.

”That could pose some problems,” Canidy said. ”You'll notice that the Point of No Return on the chart is here, and the point where we hope we can pick up the Vis RDF transmitter is here.”

Darmstadter saw that the first place they could hope to pick up the direction-finding signal was at least two hundred miles from the Point of No Return.

”And if we don't get the RDF signal?”

”Then we go down on the deck and try to find it by dead reckoning,” Canidy said.

”That would be kind of hard, wouldn't it?” Darmstadter asked.

”Think positively, Darmstadter,” Canidy said dryly. ”But since you posed the question, I think it would be impossible. ”

”And then what?” Darmstadter asked.

”Then you have a choice,” Canidy said. ”You can take the airplane over the Yugoslav mainland, bail out, and take your chances that the partisans might get you before the Germans do. If the partisans get you, you're home free. If they don't, you'll have to take your chances with the Germans. ”

”What do you mean by that?”

”You tell them you were on a bombing raid, got lost, and bailed out when you ran out of gas. If they believe you, you sit out the war in a Stalagluft [a prisoner-of-war camp for aviation personnel]. If they don't, you're in trouble.”

”And where are you and Dolan going to be while I'm taking my chances with the partisans?”

”Dolan and I will have drawn the 'Go Directly to Jail, Do Not Pa.s.s ”Go” and Do Not Collect $200' card,” Canidy said matter-of-factly. ”We can't get captured.”

”Why not?” Darmstadter blurted.

”Because the Germans can find out anything they want to know from anybody, if they put their mind to it,” Canidy said. ”And there are certain things that Dolan and I know that you don't, and that the Germans shouldn't.”

”What are you going to do,” Darmstadter asked, horrified, ”to keep from getting captured?”

Canidy ignored the question. Instead, he handed Darmstadter another typewritten sheet of paper.

”There will be a bombing raid by B-25 aircraft on the boot of Italy,” he said. ”Here're the details, what you would be expected to know if you had gone on the mission. Memorize as much as you can, especially your unit, your aircraft number, your departure field. Use your imagination for the names of the crew. I think you can probably get away with it.”

”And what, exactly, are you and Dolan going to do?” Darmstadter asked.

”To coin a phrase,” Canidy said, ”we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

”I'd really like to know,” Darmstadter persisted.

Canidy thought it over a moment before replying.

”They gave us a pill,” he said. ”Actually, it's a small gla.s.s vial, filled with what looks like watery milk. When you bite it, it's supposed to work before you feel the little pieces of gla.s.s in your mouth. The idea is that we're supposed to bite it when it becomes clear we're not going to make it to Vis. But what I think we'll do is bail out over the mainland and take a chance the partisans will find us before the Germans do. If we land in the lap of the Wehrmacht, then we'll bite the pill.”

”What the h.e.l.l do you know that makes suicide necessary? ” Darmstadter blurted.

Canidy had not responded.

Just over an hour before, Canidy had turned on the radio direction finder. By then, the three of them had relieved for each other at the controls at roughly hourly intervals, and Dolan was then sitting in the pilot's seat. At first, the signal strength indicator needle on the instrument panel had made no response as Canidy turned the crank that rotated the loop antenna mounted atop the fuselage.

Then the needle jumped, just perceptibly, and he reversed his cranking motion, aiming the antenna at the source of the radiation. The needle on the signal-strength indicator crept very slowly, barely perceptibly, upward as the signal strength increased.

And then, very faintly, over the static in his earphones, Darmstadter began to be able to recognize one Morse code letter, Dah-Dah-Dah, D, and then another, and finally a third, until there was in his earphones, endlessly repeated Dah-Dah-Dah Dit-Dit-Dit-Dit Dah-Dah-Dah. He wondered if DHD meant something, or whether it had been selected because it was a long, readily recognizable string of letters.

”I don't think,” Canidy's voice came dryly and metallically over the earphones, ”that's what they call 'right on the money.' ”

Dolan looked up at the roof of the cabin, at the needle on the antenna rotating mechanism. Then he put the B-25G into a very gentle turn, in a very slightly nose-down att.i.tude, and made small adjustments to the throttle and richness controls.

Finally, his voice came metallically over the earphones.

”f.u.c.k you, Canidy.”

A moment later, he straightened the B-25 on a course corresponding with that indicated on the radio direction finder, made a minute adjustment of the trim wheel, and then touched his intercom mike b.u.t.ton again.

”And if you can refrain from walking up and down, Darmstadter, like a pa.s.senger on a ferry boat, I would be obliged.”

Then he folded his arms on his chest.

The B-25 dropped very slowly toward the layer of cotton wool far below them.

The indicator needle on the signal-strength meter suddenly dropped back to the peg.

”You've lost the signal,” Darmstadter said.