by M. L. Maki
“I was not. That could pose a number of issues.”
“Yes, well. It poses problems for Downing Street as well. Also, we have a somewhat delicate matter. One of our people recognized a high value prisoner of the Germans in Norway. She was brought up there by the SS to inspect what is left of the Tirpitz. A fine piece of work, that.”
“Thank you. You said she?”
“Yes. She’s one of yours. US Air Force. Evidently, you Yanks got smart and separated your air force and army. She’s said to fly something called a F-16 Falcon.”
“They did. Where is she?”
“She is being hidden in Norway. The Nazi’s are searching rather vigorously for her. It’s jeopardizing our operations there. Do you have the means to extract the woman and two agents?”
“I do. I need specifics.”
“Of course.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, PERISCOPE DEPTH, 100 MILES NORTH OF MURMANSK, RUSSIA
1722, 6 June, 1942
Morrison, “Eskimo, Yankee Bravo, I hope you can make it the rest of the way. We need to get back.”
“We understand and thank you. Eskimo out.”
Morrison, “You are welcome. Down scope. Take us down.”
ETC John Barton, “We sent our report and received a message. Decoding it now.”
“Okay, Chief. Miller, let’s get down to 400 and head back through the convoy lanes on our way home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morrison asks, “Commodore, are you up for dinner?”
“I am.” They walk forward to the wardroom. Cumberland is being held in the XO’s stateroom, so the wardroom is available for meals. As they sit, “Commander, I expect you’re looking forward to getting your stateroom back.”
“I’m managing, sir. I actually have learned a great deal by working with you.”
The steward serves them and the SEAL Officers, LT. Robert “Abdul” Issa and Lt. JG Russell “Triage” Jeremy, at the other end of the table.
There is a knock and Barton, “Here’s the message, sir.”
Morrison reads it and hands it to Holtz, “Lieutenant Issa, did your people bring small arms aboard?”
“Yes, sir. Like American Express, we don’t leave home without them.”
“Good, we have another mission. This one involves extracting three high value people from Norway.”
Issa, “In broad daylight, right?”
“Of course. It’s the time of year.”
“How do we get them back on the boat? Do we know their sizes?”
Morrison, “I’ll find out. I know you guys prefer to have six months to plan an op. These people do not have that time.”
“No problem, sir. We can get it done. We just need enough information to plan it.”
GERMAN FISHING BOAT SOUTH OF SMYGEHUK LIGHTHOUSE, SWEDEN
1820, 6 June, 1942
SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel waves at the Swedish patrol boat as it motors away. “We continue to fish. In darkness, we will search.”
SS-Stabsscharführer Fischer, “We have three hits that must be dived on. Why do we continue fishing?”
Seidel, “Our hold is not yet full of fish. It is where the atomic bombs will live after we find them.”
“Yes, sir. Heil Hitler.”
CHAPTER 2
ROTSUNDET STRAIT, NEAR ROTSUNDELV, NORWAY
0314, 7 June, 1942
Lt. JG Russell “Triage” Jeremy stands on a rock, his head just under the water, being buffeted by waves. Looking up through the water distorts the image before him. He spots the principal’s house. He also sees three trucks disgorging German soldiers, who split up, going house to house in the village. He slowly lifts his monocular out of the water and spots a drainage pipe. He touches BM2 Steve “Mac” Cook on the shoulder. They swim toward the pipe. The other four in his section move in behind them. They get to the shore and carefully scoot into the pipe. It’s nasty, with sharp edges from barnacles, but it is passable.
When they are through, his guys move out, taking cover positions. He and ET2 Gerry “Whizee” Monahan walk up to the door and knock.
An older woman answers the door and looks confused by the two men with rebreathers and M-14’s.
Whizee, in rough Norwegian, “We are American sailors to pick up three packages.”
The woman, in British English, “Then speak English.”
Triage, “I’m Lieutenant Jeremy. This is ET2 Monahan. There are three important people we need to remove from Norway.”
“This way.”
She leads them to a parlor where a woman and man wait.
Triage, “Then you’re the third? Get out of the dress. You too, ma’am. Can any of you swim?”
The blond woman, “Are you SEALs?”
“We are.”
“I passed SERE. I can swim.”
“Okay. Put on this dry suit. You’re each going to buddy swim with one of us. It’s the only way out.”
Ashley says, “Hooah, Lieutenant.” She quickly strips and puts on the suit. As she puts the dry suit on, Triage sees the bruises and abrasions that cover her entire body. The other two follow her lead.
Triage exchanges a look with Whizee, but they say nothing.
On the radio they hear, “You’re going to have company, Triage.”
He touches a button, “We’re on the main floor and almost ready to move. If you must, engage.”
Chris, nearly dressed, peeks out of a window, “Trouble.”
Triage, “Focus. It’s handled.”
They hear the rattle of gun fire.
When they’re done changing, Triage says, “Let’s go. You will each pair up with a swimmer. Do exactly what they say.” He leads them out the door they came in at the back of the house and down to his position. He keeps Ashley with him and hands-off Chris to BM1 Paul “Grunt” Bruce. The female agent pairs with Whizee. On the radio he says, “Clear of the house, Broke Dick. Can we move?”
On the radio they hear, “One more.” They hear a loud crack from HT1(UDT/SEAL) Chris ‘Broke Dick’ Langley’s .308 caliber sniper rifle. “You are clear straight across the road and into the water.”
They run in a shuffling gait across the road. They pass a German truck covered in patches of blood. Over a dozen bodies are down on the road. They climb down the rocks to the shore. Triage puts the regulator in Ashley’s mouth and gives her a thumbs up. She repeats it, and they sink beneath the waves.
At first, she hyperventilates, so Triage uses a hand on her sternum to indicate she needs to slow down her breathing. She shudders, struggling for a moment. In a few breaths, she has it is under control.
Broke Dick, carrying his sniper rifle, runs across the road and slips into the water. He’s the last to sink into the safety of the waves.
Triage pulls Ashley tightly to him with his left arm, and with powerful strokes from his flippers, drive them out into deeper water. His team materializes around them for the four-mile swim to the sub. She wraps her arm around him and grasps a strap to hang on, trying to position herself to stay out of his way. Recognizing what she is doing, he puts her on his back.
After an eternity, she sees the submarine materialize out of the murk. They maneuver to the garage and one of the guys opens it. He and Monahan are the first to cycle through with the two women.
MMC(SS) Jim Giblin helps the four people out of the lock and cycles it for the next four.
In the sub she pulls off the mask, “Thank you, Lieutenant Jeremy. Thank you.”
Morrison says, “Welcome aboard USS San Francisco. May I ask for introductions?”
The female agent says, “You can call me Jolene. We’re with British Intelligence.”
Morrison, “Fair enough.”
Ashley straightens up tall and salutes, “Captain Ashley Thorne, US Air Force, reporting.”
Morrison returns the salute, “Very good to see you. What do you fly for the Air Force?”
“Only the best multi-role fighter made, the F-16 Fighting Falcon.”
Holtz wa
lks up with a smile, “I’ll have to profoundly disagree, Captain. I fly the F-14. Let’s get you to medical.” He looks up as Oliverson walks in. He looks at the agents, “Are either of you two injured?”
Chris says, “No sir.”
Morrison, “Lieutenant, get them cleaned up and take them down to torpedo. Restrict our guests to necessary movements. Propulsion, radio, etcetera are off limits.”
“Yes, sir.”
GERMAN FISHING BOAT SOUTH OF SMYGEHUK LIGHTHOUSE, SWEDEN
0517, 7 June, 1942
The hard hat diver breaks the surface, lifted by the crane. After the helmet is removed, Seidel asks, “What have we found?”
SS-Rottenführer Richter says, “Another fishing boat. How is it that the Swedes can still eat? Their fishing fleet is sunk.”
Seidel smiles, “It is true. Perhaps it is why their women look so nice. They are starved.”
The crew chuckles.
“It will be daylight soon. Stow the equipment and prepare to fish.”
WARDROOM, USS SAN FRANCISCO
1210, 7 June, 1942
Ashley is wearing a borrowed khaki uniform with the two silver bars of a captain on the collar. She has a cup of coffee and an empty plate in front of her. Sitting next to her is Triage. Sitting across from her are Morrison, Holtz, and Backes.
Ashley, “I did the best I could. I filled them with lies, like we’re taught. After all of it, they did get information from me.”
Holtz, “You followed your training. There’s no shame in that.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
Holtz smiles, “In 1942, a one star is a Commodore. I guess it beats being a rear admiral of the lower half.
Morrison, “We recognize that you’ve been through hell. We also know you’re going to be asked these questions a thousand times before intel is done with you. Do you want to proceed?”
Under the table she takes Triage’s hand and squeezes it. She takes a clearing breath, “I’m with the 23rd Fighter Squadron. I was on Brendenmeyer to fly against the MiG-29. After the storm, I ran out to my bird. It was fueled, but it only had 20 mike. Without a ladder, I had to scramble, but I got in and got it started. ME-109’s were strafing the field and ground troops were entering the base. I turned on my radio, but the tower was offline.
“I picked my moment, firewalled the engine, tripped the brakes and got rolling. I saw the F/A-18 rolling ahead of me with the…Right. Anyway, he got airborne. I knew I had to run interference. I hit a German prop plane, I think it was a 109, right after I was wheels up. I was hit by small arms. At two thousand feet, I hit another plane. Then all my alarms started lighting up. Engine on fire. It was time to leave.” She looks at the officers in front of her and takes a deep breath, “For one minute, I considered auguring in. Instead, I punched out and was immediately captured. I was handed off to the Gestapo, and then…” She looks at them, “Do you need this part?”
Holtz, “The F/A-18 carrying four Mark-61 nuclear gravity bombs was flown by Captain Louis “Shotgun” Mossberg, a Marine. He ditched his bird and is now flying F-14’s with the Black Knights. Only share what you consider important. I know this is hard.”
Still holding onto Triage’s hand, Thorne continues, “They really want to find those weapons. It’s almost all they asked about. I…I finally had to admit what they were. I tried not to.” A tear slips down her cheek, and she lowers her head.
Holtz, “No one could do better than you did in the situation you were in. I think we’ve questioned you enough. Please follow HM1’s dietary recommendations while we your body heals. It’ll be a few days until we make it back to Scotland. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about what you want to do for your future. For now, rest.” He looks at Triage, “Lieutenant, she seems comfortable with you. Please look out for her. When you can, Lieutenant Jeremy, I would like to speak with you privately, Okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
The officers leave her and Triage alone in the room.
Ashley, “Thank you.”
He gently brushes her hair from her face, “You’re welcome. We should talk.”
Her voice very small, “Can I hug you?”
He gently hugs her, and she clings to him. Her bodyfat is so low he can feel her bones, “What you’re experiencing is called transference. You’re transferring to me the feelings you have about another protective person in your life.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, Ashley, I’m honored. I’m quite willing to be your white knight, but there are inherent boundaries to this relationship that we both need to understand.”
“Okay?”
“You’ve been through a hell I can’t even imagine. You need a rock, and I’m willing to be that rock. What it does, though, is set up a counselor/patient relationship between us. It means I must be very careful not to hurt you further.”
“You would never hurt me.”
“I wouldn’t. Not on purpose. I could do so accidently, though, if we didn’t understand the boundaries.”
“What are the boundaries?”
“I can be your rock, your mentor, your confidant, your guide. I can never be, um, intimate with you. It would violate you again in a terrible and evil way.”
“You won’t love me?”
“I do love you, as a father loves a child.”
“I…” She looks away, then back in his eyes, “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because we need to start out as we mean to go on. If you’re going to heal, I must stay in this role. It’s what you need, and what I can give.”
“I don’t want sex. You understand that I was raped?”
“I do. It’s a thing you can talk to me about if you wish. Sharing pain begins, over time, to diminish it.”
“I accept your boundaries. But I still need you.”
There is a knock and HM1 Vince Novogradic walks in, “Ma’am, can I talk with you?”
“Yes?”
Vince, “This should be a private conversation.”
She says, “I want him here. Go ahead.”
“Ma’am, it probably isn’t a surprise, but you’re pregnant.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, then looks the corpsman in the eye, “Can you help me abort it?”
Novogradic stiffens, face going neutral, “Is that what you want? To kill it?”
“Corpsman, I doubt you could understand. I do not want a reminder of…of the worst period in my life. It wouldn’t be fair to the child, and I could not deal with it.”
Vince, “May I perform an ultrasound?”
Ashley, “Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t want to see it.”
“Okay.”
Novogradic starts opening up lockers and moving things around in the wardroom, which does double duty as the infirmary. “Have you ever had an ultrasound?”
“No, but my sister did when she was pregnant.”
“Did she abort it?”
Triage, “Corpsman.” They exchange a hard look.
Novogradic, “Okay. I need you to strip down to the waist and put on a gown. Once you have that sorted please get on the table. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She looks at Triage, “Am I doing the right thing?”
He answers, “It’s your body and your right to decide. For what it’s worth, I agree with your feelings.”
There is a knock and Novogradic says, “Lieutenant, may I speak with you in the hall.”
Triage smiles at Ashley, “I’ll be back. Can you handle getting ready yourself?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Triage walks out of the wardroom and sees Novogradic and HM1 Larry “Munchkin” Shockley.
Novogradic, “What the fuck are you doing, sir?”
“Corpsman?”
“Sir, shut up. I’m not done. That woman has been through hell. She needs help, not a fucking gropey LT trying to get laid.”
“Stow it, Doc. Fucking stow it. We’ve had the conversation. Moving forward, I am her priest, her therapist, her advocate.
I know I have a careful path to follow, and I will need your help to stay accountable and appropriate. She needs a rock. I am willing to be her rock. She does not need a judgmental corpsman talking down to her about the sanctity of life after a fucking Nazi monster impregnated her. Unless you are ordained or have a better answer, do your fucking duty.”
Shockley, “Rein it in Lieutenant. He swore an oath to save lives.”
Triage, “Yes, but in your equation, does hers matter, too?”
Novogradic, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, are you willing to perform the abortion?”
Shockley, “Sir, it should be performed by a doctor, in the UK, in a proper operating theater.”
“Is it legal there?”
Shockley, “No, probably not. It isn’t legal in the states either.”
Jeremy, “Okay, then it needs to happen here. You two are what we have, so you need to sort this out.”
Novogradic, “Sir, the Captain will have to approve it.”
“I’ll deal with him. He isn’t the monster Cumberland was. Are you ready to perform the ultrasound?”
“Yes, sir.”
Triage opens the door and walks back in. Captain Thorne is sitting on the exam table watching the three enter. She looks at Munchkin, “Who are you?”
“HM1 Shockley, ma’am. I am a SEAL corpsman.”
Ashley, “Okay. Can we do this?”
Vince, “We can.”
She lays down and puts her hand out to Triage. He takes her hand. With the other, he brushes her hair out of her eyes, “It is going to be okay.”
Ashley, “I heard you arguing.”
Triage, “Please understand, they were arguing in defense of you. They were afraid I was taking advantage of you.”
She says with confidence, “You would never do that.”
“I’m human, Ashley, but I will give you my best.”
“I know.”
Vince, “Ma’am, I am going to spread some cold slimy stuff on your lower abdomen, okay?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
Novogradic sets the monitor so she can see it. He puts the lubricant on her abdomen and proceeds with the ultrasound. Triage reaches over and moves the screen so she can’t see.
Ashley says, “Thank you.”
After a few minutes, the two corpsmen consult a book and look at each other. Vince says, “Okay, ma’am. All done. I’ll wipe this stuff off you, and we’ll leave so you can get dressed.”
