by M. L. Maki
Russell, “I should give you your privacy, too.”
“I would rather…you need to talk to the captain, right?”
“I do.”
“Okay. What am I supposed to do?”
“Hang out with the team in torpedo. Or hang out here. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t take four years like McArthur.”
“Roger that.”
Shockley, “Dude, don’t lock horns with the LT. He’s squared away.”
Novogradic, “He’s squared away, until he sees a skirt.”
Larry, “You don’t fucking know him. I’ve fought beside him. When he says he’ll be her priest, he fucking means it. The dude is fucking squared away.”
Novogradic, “I don’t want to kill a kid. I don’t even think we have a speculum on board. Why would we need one?”
Larry, “I have one. I’ve had to care for women in the field before, and it works to open a GSW if you need to.”
Vince, “Have you ever wanted a family?”
Shockley, “I had a family. Wife and two kids. My little girls.”
“Would you want me to kill one of them?”
“Wrong question, dude. Wrong fucking question. We both know she’s in her first trimester.”
Vince fights it, but his eyes tear up, “What is the right question?”
Shockley looks him in the eye, tears in his eyes, too, “If one of my girls was an adult woman under your care, would you do what is right for her, or what is right for you?”
Triage walks into control, “Request to enter and speak.”
Lt. Thoreau, “Enter.”
Triage walks up to Morrison, “May we speak privately, sir?”
“Privacy is at a premium.” He looks the SEAL in the eye, “Come with me.” They walk to the Commodore’s stateroom. Morrison knocks, then enters.
Holtz sits up in bed, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, “What’s up?”
Triage takes a big breath, “Captain Thorne is pregnant, sir, and wants an abortion.”
Holtz, “Oh Lord. Can it wait until we get her to Alconbury?” He grabs his clothes and dresses.
Triage, “What is British law on abortion in 1942, sir?”
Morrison, “It is illegal in nearly every case. Same in America.” John turns to Holtz, “But sir, on this ship Roe V Wade is law. Unless our corpsman cannot or will not, I say we honor her wishes.”
Holtz nods, “I have several female warriors who serve under me. The prospect of their capture terrifies me. I’ve had nightmares. Captain Thorne is my nightmares come true. We have to take care of her. It’s the least we can do. I approve.”
Morrison picks up the 1MC, “Novogradic, lay to the Commodore’s stateroom.”
After a minute, Vince knocks and enters the crowded stateroom, “Yes, sir?”
Morrison, “Can you perform an abortion?”
Vince breaths a breath, “She’s about two and a half months along. In other words, in the first trimester. Yes sir. I can do it. I would prefer to do so in a proper theater, but I understand the legal implications.”
Holtz, “Corpsman, there are two of you on board. Do you have moral or spiritual objections to performing this procedure?”
Novogradic, “Sir. I am an independent duty corpsman. A doctor. My feelings are irrelevant. What matters is the needs of my patient. I examined her, sir. The captain has been gang raped for months. It’s amazing that she’s coherent and functional at all. Shockley and I have already discussed it. I will take the lead, and he will assist. Lieutenant, she’ll want you in the room, so you will have to scrub up.”
Triage, “Roger that.” He turns to Morrison and Holtz, “Sirs, I swam with her out of Norway and she’s clinging to me. She needs that rock, and I can be that for her, with boundaries. She and I have had that conversation and discussed the boundaries. I would ask that both of you help me stay within those boundaries, as well.”
Holtz, “What are they?”
“I’m her minister, counselor, care provider. We cannot, and must not, be intimate in any other way. I know I’m a guy. A warrior. I’ve never done anything like this, and I could not bear hurting her, sir. Please agree to keep me in line.”
Holtz, “Of course.”
Morrison, “I will. It’s almost dinner time and she has been through a lot. Plan the procedure for after breakfast tomorrow. I will make sure we’re in international waters. Gentlemen, keep this discrete.”
GERMAN FISHING BOAT SOUTH WEST OF SMYGEHUK LIGHTHOUSE, SWEDEN
2000, 7 June, 1942
The hard hat diver rises out of the water. Once his helmet is off, he says, “An anchor. A fucking anchor.”
SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel says, “Clean up. Our hold is full. It is time to return to Germany.”
“But we have failed.”
“We have not. We have eliminated eighteen possible locations. The correct location is out here, somewhere.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0022, 8 June, 1942
Everyone in torpedo wakes up to Ashley screaming. The SEAL’s leap for their weapons. Triage gets out of his rack and goes to her, holding her against his chest, “Shh, shh, Ashley. It’s okay.” He smooths her hair and she settles down. Grunt and Mac move his bed over beside hers and go back to sleep.
Triage crawls into bed and wraps an arm under her so she can rest her head on his chest. She cuddles up to him and goes back into deep sleep.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0223, 8 June, 1942
Miller is on watch, his team quietly monitoring the ocean as they steam under the convoy lines.
“Conn, Sonar. New contact, bearing 210. Designate Sierra 7. Twin five bladed screws. She’s a Flight 1, snorkeling.”
Miller, “Very well. Giblin, I got your panel, could you go wake up the skipper?”
MMC James Giblin, the A-gang chief, says, “Yes, sir.”
A few moments later Morrison walks in, “What do you have?”
Miller, “A sub. Twin five bladed and snorkeling.”
“Okay, probable hostile.” He walks into Sonar, “Johnson, what do you think it is?” ST1(SS/SW) Walter Johnson transferred from the Jarrett two months ago.
“It has the German flight one sound signature. The shaft seals have a different sound than the other flights, as does the flow noise.”
“Definite hostile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, how are you adapting to submarine life?”
“Okay. The sonar picture here is so much better.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Sir, who’s going to replace Brown as LPO?”
“You are, if you want it. I want to give Guthrie the senior watch and put the new sonarman with you.”
“Put him with Gordon. He has more experience on this panel.”
“Right, I understand.” Morrison walks out to Miller, “Close to ten miles, and come up to 150 feet. We’ll track it. It should lead us to the rest. When we hear another convoy, we can walk them onto the targets as before. I’m going back to my rack.”
“Aye, skipper.”
CHAPTER 3
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0710, 8 June, 1942
Lt. JG Russell Jeremy wakes and feels an unusual weight on his chest. Her tears have dampened his t-shirt. Her arm is in his bag and draped across his chest. The guys are up and silently moving around. Mac, his swim buddy takes a picture causing Triage to scowl.
Issa signals Triage to stay where he is. Soon they’ve left for the mess decks. She starts to whimper in her sleep, and he smooths her hair. He hasn’t slept for shit after the scream, but at least the guys did. Scream around a sleeping SEAL team and they go from snore to kill in a nanosecond.
She finally starts moving, “I’m sorry.”
“For what, Ashley?”
“I got your shirt wet.”
“I’m a SEAL. I spend half my life wet.”
“Okay. When I went to sleep you were over there.”
“You screamed in your sleep. I
came over to help you.”
“I woke everyone?”
“It’s okay. We get it. Let’s see about some breakfast.” They get out of their bags and Ashley goes behind the blanket the SEALs hung up for the females to dress behind. Soon, they join the others in the wardroom for breakfast.
Two hours later, she is back on the examination table with Triage holding her hand and Novogradic in the exam position, “You’re going to feel something a little cold. I tried to warm it up a bit. It’s going to stretch your vagina so I can see, okay?”
“Okay.”
He calmly walks her through the procedure as he does it. At 1016 GMT, 80 miles north of the Faroe Islands, 600 feet below the North Sea, in international waters, the procedure is completed.
USS SAN FRANCISCO, STILL TRACKING THE U-BOAT
TMC Kennedy, “Request to enter Control and speak.”
Cutting, “Enter.”
Kennedy walks up beside Morrison, “Sir, I have an idea.”
“Go ahead.”
“When we’re at periscope depth, I opened the drain valve for Tube 2. It rushed, then ran slowly. On the surface, or at periscope depth, we might open tube 2 and recover the fish and shut it. It would give us a chance to inspect the inside as well.”
“I’m a bit nervous about depending on a faulty seal.” Morrison thinks for a moment, “Right, Kennedy, write up a procedure and your safety recommendations. We’ll look it over.”
“Thank you, sir.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1113, 10 June, 1942
Novogradic and Shockley are in the enlisted mess, eating. Gustaf at a nearby table asks, “So, Doc, this Air Force captain we picked up, was she, like, a prisoner before?”
Novogradic, “You know I can’t talk about my patients, Gustaf.”
Trindle, “Well, yeah, you can’t talk about your care for her or blood type, or whatever. What’s she about?”
Novogradic, “I do not feed the rumor mill, guys. You know that.”
Gustaf, “But now we have two women on board We know you’ve been taking care of one of them.”
Guthrie says, “Guys, drop it. I was on watch last night and heard her scream. Guys, I don’t ever, ever want to discover the hell that poor woman has been through. I say leave it completely alone.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, ON THE SURFACE, SOUTH WEST OF THE FAROE’S, 35 MILES NORTH OF SIERRA 7
1432, 10 June, 1942
Morrison stands near the torpedomen as Chief Kennedy opens the drain valve on tube 2. There is a rush of water, then the pressure drops. He opens the vent and over several minutes, the water drains away. He then drains the rest into torpedo, shuts the other drain valve, and drains the water out of torpedo. It’s a complicated process and requires patience.
Kennedy, “It’s all right to open now. There’s no water left in the tube.”
Morrison, “Proceed.”
They open the door and extract the torpedo. They find some debris on the bottom of the tube and sweep it out with a broom. The seal on the door is carefully inspected then it is shut, sealed, and flooded to prevent erosion of the outer seal.
Morrison, “Good job. What’s the debris?”
Chief hands a baggy with the debris to Morrison, “It looks like crumbled bits of zinc.”
Morrison studies the little pieces. “It is. A zinc fell off the interior and jammed the mechanism. Thank you, gentlemen. You worked this problem perfectly. Inspect the fish and let me know when, or if, it can be used. There’s a convoy to our south and we’re tracking a U-boat that is trying to kill it.”
Evan puts his nose to it, “God, this thing stinks. Can we clean it first, Chief?”
Kennedy, “Make it pretty, then run a full diagnostic. We need to get on it.”
OFFICER’S HEAD
1520, 11 June, 1942
ET2(SEAL) Gerry “Whizee” Monahan, and HT2(SEAL) Chris ‘Broke Dick’ Langley, stand guard outside the head. Two junior officers are in the passageway doing the pee-pee dance.
The British agent and Captain Thorne walk out, fully dressed and with wet hair. Broke Dick grins, “All yours, guys.”
U-437, SIERRA 7
1733, 12 June, 1942
Kapitänleutnant Werner-Karl Schultze paces in his small control room. “Our torpedo room is full of torpedoes.”
His XO, Oberleutnant zur See Bauer, “We just need a fat British convoy that we can insert our hard torpedoes into, so they can explode.”
Schultze laughs, “I think you have been too long at sea.”
“Ja, and those Norwegian girls have ice cold snatches.”
Schultze, “I found them to be warm enough.”
Their sonarman, “Kapitän, a convoy.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Conn, Sonar. New contact bearing 235. Designate Sierra 8. Twin five bladed screws, snorkeling.”
Lt. Thoreau, “Very well. What do you make of it?”
Gordon, “It matches German, flight 1.”
Thoreau, “Thank you. Master chief, could you fetch the skipper?”
ENCM Godoy stands, “Yes, sir. We need to get him into his own stateroom.”
“We’re working on that.”
XO’S STATEROOM
Cumberland paces back and forth. They have taken all his personal effects, even his shoes. There is nothing in the stateroom to use. All the hatches and access panels have been removed. He has even searched the wire ways. Nothing. He tears up his t-shirt and makes a garrote. “Fucking ass. Morrison is going to die. No one here has a fucking clue what I can do. I can kill them all.”
ET2(SEAL) Gerry “Whizee” Monahan stands the post at the XO’s stateroom door with his side arm.
HM1 Vince Novogradic, carrying his medical bag, and BM1 Bruce Sarvis, the SAR swimmer, carrying a bag of food, join Whizee.
Novogradic, “Okay, he hasn’t given us a problem, yet. But he might. We use the minimum force necessary to control him and keep us safe. Questions?”
Bruce, “Got it, Doc.”
Whizee, “Got it.”
Novogradic, “If we need you Monahan, make sure he can’t get your side arm.”
Whizee, “Ain’t no way I’m letting that happen.”
Novogradic knocks, “Sir, we are coming in.”
Vince walks in. Cumberland, behind the door, wraps the garrote around his neck and pulls.
Sarvis, “Fuck no!” He pushes past Novogradic and gets to Cumberland, slamming his left hand down against Cumberland’s wrist. Then, he punches Cumberland in the neck.
Cumberland slackens his grip on the garrote, losing his balance. Novogradic pushes back against Cumberland and they fall to the deck. Novogradic gets his hands under the garrote and rolls off, away from Sarvis. Sarvis gets on top of Cumberland and punches him in the face.
Cumberland punches Sarvis in the side.
“Come on. I’ve been wanting to.” Cumberland looks up and sees Monahan standing over him, a pistol pointing at his head. He looks him in the eyes and lays back.
Novogradic wipes Cumberland’s arm with an alcohol pad and injects him.
When Cumberland comes to, he is tied to the rack.
Miller is on watch. Morrison leans against the wall in the back.
Novogradic, “Request to enter and speak.”
Miller, “Enter.”
Novogradic walks in and hands Morrison a report, “Sir, Cumberland assaulted me and Sarvis while attempting to escape.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 1 is flooded.”
Morrison, “That’s an abrasion on your neck. What did he do? Are you okay?”
Miller, “Open the door.”
“Yes, sir. It’s in the report, sir. Shockley looked me over.”
“Thank you. Where is he?”
“He’s strapped to his bed, sir.”
Miller looks at Morrison.
Morrison, “Proceed, Steve.”
Miller, “Fire 1.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 1 fired electrically.”
“Conn, Sonar. Fi
sh running hot straight and normal.”
Morrison, “We pull in in two days. Can we keep him in his bed that long?”
“Yes, sir, if you don’t mind replacing the mattress.”
“I see. We’ll talk later. Thank you, Doc.”
Miller says, “Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”
They hear the rumble of the explosion that was Sierra 7.
“Conn, Sonar. Good hit. Sierra 7 is breaking up.”
Miller, “Thank you, sonar. Give us an update on Sierra eight when you can.”
Morrison, “Take us up to periscope depth.”
Miller, “Aye, Captain.”
USS MOFFETT (DD-362), ESCORT FOR CONVOY DS-2, SW OF USS SAN FRANCISCO
LCDR Jesse Sowell, sits in combat, relaxed as his crew calmly works. Their focus is on station keeping, as much as searching the sea.
On the radio he hears, “Convoy escort, Yankee Bravo. Convoy Escort, Yankee Bravo.”
“What is Yankee Bravo?” He picks up the radio, “Yankee Bravo, authenticate.”
“Authentication Bravo, Sierra, Oscar, Oscar, four, Papa.”
“It’s a US Submarine, sir.”
“Yankee Bravo, US Navy destroyer Moffett. Go for traffic.”
“Moffett, you have a German submarine thirteen miles at your 023 actual. It is at two hundred feet, traveling 190 at three knots.”
“Are you certain?”
“Positive identification. We are out of torpedoes, or we would engage.”
“Understood. We are engaging.” He puts down the radio, “Ahead full, right standard rudder, come to 048. General Quarters.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, PERISCOPE DEPTH, 10 MILES EAST OF SIERRA 8
“Conn, Sonar. Tango 32 has just kicked it in the ass. They are turning to starboard.”
Miller, “Very well.”
Ensign Joseph Vaught, the Conning Officer, asks, “Sir, you said 023. That is right in front of him. Why is he turning?”
Morrison, “The U-boat is heading right toward him. He is smart enough not to approach a viper front on. Much safer to get behind or beside it. Also, by rushing off in another direction he doesn’t necessarily warn his target.”
“Thank you, sir. I have trouble seeing the tactics part.”
“You have only been on a sub for four months. Cut yourself some slack. You’ll get it.”
