CHAPTER 8

"Do YOU THINK WE'LL EVER GET ACROSS?" TlM ASKED, AS WE climbed into a taxi, instructing a second cab to follow us.

"Sure. Why not?"

"There are so God-damned many difficulties in the way. . . .

"There are fewer than there were when we left Cairo," I reminded him. "We had no idea where to begin then: now we know what we have to do. . . ."

"But not how to do it," he laughed. "Have you ever had anything to do with shipping before? Do you know how to have a ship watered or coaled or repaired? Do you know where to go for rations and food? It can't be bought in this town. Do you know how to write a ship's sailing orders in wartime? Do you . . ."

"Shut it off!" I told him. "It's bad enough not to know the answers without having you rub it in. Here's the form: you'll get half of them before the day is out and I'll get the rest. We haven't both been newspaper reporters for nothing. As a reporter it would be easy to find the answer to any of those questions, so we'll be reporters for a while and find the answers to all of them: then we'll become officers again and act on the information. How's that?"

"Okay," he answered. "Here's Navy House. Let's go in and give NOIC the old 'one-two-three.' "

When we introduced ourselves to "NOIC" we understood what the Admiral must have had in mind in implying there might be difficulties in obtaining from him the things we needed. As we came to know him better in the days that followed it was obvious that he was overworked and that his responsibilities were heavy. He was in charge of the most forward Allied port in the Adriatic and enormous demands were currently made upon his resourcefulness. It was not unreasonable that he should look upon the Partisan ships without enthusiasm. They had nothing to do with his work, which was to keep supplies moving up to the Eighth Army and the advanced air bases.

"Who are these people who call themselves Partisans?" he asked without curiosity—really a rhetorical question that he wanted to answer himself. "There was a Colonel from the Jugoslav army here asking about them. He said they had simply stolen the ships, that the ships belong to the Jugoslav Government. They're an awful frowsy ill-clad lot of beggars. Who are they anyway?"

Tim and I exchanged glances. This was bad news and the question was difficult to answer in a few words, but I did the best I could to tell him about Tito.

"Well, I'm not interested in Balkan politics," he answered. "All I want to know is how long are they going to stay tied up at the only lighter pier in the port? How soon can you get that ship out of here? . . . that one and the others."

"Would you prefer that we move to some other berth?" I asked.

"Hell, no. That's probably the place where you're the least trouble; but it's the only lighter pier we have. How soon can you clear them out of here?"

"The Bog s Nama needs some repairs to the engine," I answered, "and she ought to have her bottom scraped. There's no food aboard and no water and no coal. Can you help us make her ready? Admiral Power is sending us two hundred tons of cargo and it should be here tomorrow."

"The nearest dock you could get her into to have her scraped is in Taranto, and that's booked full for a month. Go across and see Commander Roberts at 'Q' about repairs and stores. I can't give you any coal."

"Where can we get some coal? Whom should we see about that?" -

"There isn't any here," he answered. "We're short of coal. What there is I issue."

The flat stare that went with this contribution to our peace of mind made it clear that our nuisance value in the port was high, but that we had no other standing.

"Then may I borrow your telephone to make a call to Taranto?" I asked. "I'll only be a moment. As there are twenty carloads of food coming up here tomorrow, perhaps the Base could add a few carloads of coal."

"Certainly, if you can get through," NOIC answered. He obviously had noticed we meant to ask for the Admiral himself. That was like telephoning to God after a row with the Bishop.

As we waited I thought: everything depends on the Admiral now. If he remembers his pledge of help and speaks a few of the right words to NOIC our troubles will be much diminished; if he happens to be in a bad temper and answers sharplv we're sunk. Tim and I waited nervously until the operator called back to say the call was through. I asked for the Admiral and heard switches click. He was on the line.

"Hello, Huot," he bellowed, when I had introduced myself. "What do you want?"

"Some coal, sir, the NOIC says he is very short. I wondered if it would be possible to have some sent up from Taranto."

"Let me talk to NOIC," was the reply.

The Admiral's big voice filled the room, punctuated occasionally by "Yes, sir," from NOIC.

"They can't want much coal," we could hear the Admiral saying. "What are they asking for?"

NOIC turned to us and relayed the question. It was evident that the Admiral was as good as his word, but it would not do to call him up every few hours. Might as well get enough for several sailings. . . . The coal bunkers would hold about fifty tons. . . .

"About four hundred tons," I answered.

The information went back to the Admiral and we could hear him say, "Well, let 'em have it. You can spare four hundred. What else do they want? Better put Huot on again."

In the next few minutes I attempted to familiarize the Admiral with our principal difficulties, including the question of registry for the Bog s Nama and any other ships we might find in port.

"I'll see what I can do," he said. "Now let me talk to the NOIC again—unless there's something else?"

"No, that's all, thank you, sir."

"And give my best to your lawyer friend, what's his name . . . Radic," the admiral added. "Is NOIC there?"

We heard him tell NOIC to do the best he could for us and felt much cheered by the hearty voice, then he rang off. NOIC's manner was much changed as we said good-bye to go across to "Q"—the section that handles supplies in the British Services—in search of Commander Roberts.

"That's hardly what I'd call 'giving him the old one-two-three,' " I said to Tim as we left.

"I'm not so sure," he answered thoughtfully. "It may be."

Everything was easy at "Q." We explained our position to the Commander, a red-faced, genial, sea-going officer who nodded sympathetically on learning that neither of us was accustomed to handling ships, not even in peacetime, and that he would have to bear with us if we appeared a bit amateurish in our efforts to get things done.

"I'll give you all the supplies you want," he said. "I can give you rations in any quantity you require and such ship's stores as chandlers handle, that is, rope, sail, and ship's accessories; and I'll take you around and introduce you to the officer that looks after ship's repairs; but who's going to sign for it all?"

"I'll sign for it," I answered.

I was already stuck for four hundred tons of coal and probably for the two hundred tons of supplies from Taranto as well as the four hundred tons of cargo aboard the S. S. Brittany which would be arriving in a day or two, and there's an old saw which states one may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. . . . If everything worked I'd be praised for my initiative, and if not I'd be tried . . . well, amen! I had no authority to acquire and distribute such stocks of war material, but there had been no way of knowing that I would need it when we set out, and there was no way of obtaining it now: neither was there anyone else who could sign for it.

The Commander made everything easy for us and got us a top priority for our engine repairs. By the time we got back to the dock the workmen were already on the scene, carrying their heavy tools down into the metal bowels of the ship.