by M. L. Maki
A female ensign walks purposely toward the cargo plane. It is quiet enough at the moment for him to hear her shout, “The engines come over here.” Under her breath she says, “Fuck.”
Morrison says, “Ensign?”
At that moment, he becomes something more than an obstacle. Her right hand shoots up, “My apologies, sir.”
A fork truck runs up to haul the cargo away.
“No problem. Can you point out the headquarters building? I need a ride to Scotland.”
“Sure. Um. Who are you?”
“Morrison. I command the San Francisco.”
“Oh. The sub.”
“Yes. What do you fly?”
“I don’t. I’m a RIO. The F-14, sir.”
Morrison smiles, “And your name, Ensign?”
“Oh, God. I’m messing up. I’m sorry, sir. Julie Mulligan. Sir.”
John, “Relax. I don’t eat ensig…oh shit. Now I’m screwing up.” He turns red.
Julie laughs. “It must be in the air. If you walk through that empty hard shelter, the headquarters building is the first on the right. You’ll need to show the guard ID. Spike’s office is the one closest to the command center, but she’s flying right know.”
“Thank you. Carry on.”
Before he gets to the HQ, LCDR Sandra “Cargo Britches” Douglas, commander of the helicopter detachment spots him, “Hey, Commander.”
He smiles, “Hi, Sandra. Can I hitch a ride to Holy Loch?”
CB smiles, “Sure. Are you in a hurry?”
“Not exceptionally so. Why?”
“My boys are working on my bird. I want to give them time to do it right. We can find a room for you and fly you out in the morning.”
“Agreed. Where can I eat?”
“The Manor House. Best beer in town. I’ll take you.”
“Okay, but not a date.” He smiles. “I just got engaged.”
“All the good ones are.” She gets in her 1938 Morgan 4/4.
He gets in the passenger side, “You’re not going to go fighter pilot on me, right?”
“Oh no. I am way too civilized for that. So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“Do you know Liz Petrea?”
“Oh God, Liz?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I saw you two at the concert in Australia. She’s awesome. I’m happy for you both.”
“Are you dating?”
“Mine is a distant love. You know. The hopeless kind.”
“I’m cool either way, but guy or girl?”
She smiles, “I’m pretty sure there are some lesbians around, but my taste runs to men. I like gentle giants.”
John asks, “Puck?”
“No. He thinks he’s fallen for Spike. I know he loves her, but they’re not a good match.”
“Swede?”
“Swede and Gloria are a couple. It is the worst kept secret known to man.”
“How about Fluffy?” They pull up and walk into the bar. Sandra orders.
“He’s married to Donna. She wouldn’t approve. I heard there have been a bunch of Scottish weddings.”
“True.”
“When are you and Liz tying the knot?”
“I don’t know. Admiral Klindt is supposed to arrange the stars so the wedding party can attend.”
“You know. Just because you and Liz have found happiness, you are not obligated to hook me up. Besides, I am interested in someone.”
“Can I ask who?”
“Do you know a SEAL named Russell Jeremy?”
“He’s a good man. A very good man. He’s deployed on the sub a couple times.”
MC P’S IRISH PUB, CORONADO ISLAND, CALIFORNIA
2021, 17 August, 1942 (0421 18 August GMT)
Lt. Russell “Triage” Jeremy and Lt. Mark “Fang” Fronczak, sit in the corner, drinking.
Russell, “No one from Class 1 will be even close to ready before you leave.”
“Yeah. I know. I hope Buford and Warren will be ready for you.”
“What do you think of Buford?”
“He’s part fish and has the right kind of steel. If he doesn’t break anything, or seriously fuck up, he’ll make a fine team officer.”
A group of college kids, three boys and two girls, walk in, laughing.
The waitress, a young Hispanic woman, brings out Triage and Fang’s steak dinners. “More beer?” She keeps looking back at the college kids.
Triage, “Please. Are they trouble Louisa?”
“I can handle them. The biggest. He is too handy.”
Fang, “This is our bar. It will be a SEAL hang out from now until eternity.”
Louisa smiles and walks to fetch their beers.
The biggest of the college kids shouts to her, “Hey. Senorita. Give us a smile.”
Peter, the bar tender, says, “Behave or leave.”
The kid sneers, “Shut up, old man.”
Fang and Triage look at each other and smile.
The kids find a table near the SEALs.
The big kid looks at Fronczak and says, “Hey, old man. Aren’t you too old to drink?” His friends laugh.
Fronczak smiles, “Son, I suggest you start respecting your elders.”
The kid shrugs his shoulders. One of the other boys meets Fronczak’s gaze. He pales, “Tad. Leave him alone.”
Triage says to Fronczak, “One has a survival instinct.”
Louisa walks past the table and Tad slaps her ass. “Hey, sweet senorita.”
Triage stands. Tad says, “Sit down, squidly,” and he stands.
Triage, “Tad, do you play sports?”
“Yeah. So?”
Triage, “Good. Now, this is how this is going to work. You’re going to apologize to Louisa and leave. When you’re gone, you’ll not ever return.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You may never play sports again.”
“You, and what army?”
“I’m in the Navy. Now quite talking and choose.”
The other boy, “Tad. Don’t fuck with him.”
Tad, “Don’t be a pussy.” He swings a right hook at Triage.
Triage ducks the punch. He hits Tad with a punishing, lightning fast jab to the stomach. It drives the wind out of Tad and curls him over. Triage stands him up with a knee to the face, spins him around in an arm bar, and marches him over to Louisa. “Apologize, if you wish to keep your arm.”
Tad struggles, then stops. The pain is excruciating, “I’m sorry.”
“Very good.” Triage walks him out the door.
Fronczak never moves. He sips his beer and looks over the remaining kids, “Are you going to behave?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. My friend and I value good manners.”
Triage joins him and picks up his beer. A silent salute and he takes a sip.
One of the college girls asks, “What kind of sailor are you?”
Fronczak, “We, young lady, are frogmen.”
“What’s that?”
Triage smiles, “In time, you will have the answer to that question, but not today.”
Louisa brings them a third round, “This one is from Pete. He says thank you.”
Triage, “He’s quite welcome.” He looks at his friend, “How are you and the starlet?”
“We’re still together and she’s an actress, not a starlet. Who knows if she can handle being with a team guy? What about you?”
“The woman I want is flying out of Alconbury.”
“Not Hunt, right?”
“Oh, no. I’d have to take a number and stand in line. The helicopter pilot, Sandra Douglas.”
“If I see her, I’ll put in a good word.”
“No, she doesn’t have a clue.”
“No problem.” Fronczak raises his glass, “To us, and those like us, damn few.”
Triage, “Here, here.”
CHAPTER 15
BERTHING BARGE, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
0845, 18 August, 1942
CDR John Mor
rison puts his bag on his rack on the berthing barge and goes looking for Greg Backes. He puts on a hard hat and walks onto the dry dock. Walking the floor, he checks the progress on the feet for his sub. The forward two are installed and extended. The crew is setting up the aft port one for lifting.
Lt. JG Maki walks over and salutes, “Welcome back, sir.”
“Thank you. Are you finished up forward?”
“Yes, sir. They still need testing.”
“We’ll want everyone cleared off the dock floor for that.”
“I agree, sir. I’m still working on a test procedure.”
“Carry on.” John climbs up the dock wall and across the brow into the sub. He finds Backes in control watching the electronics shop wire in the new sonar navigation system. “Greg, can I talk to you?”
“Yeah.” They walk forward and enter the CO’s cabin. The cabin is stripped bare, even the mattress is gone.
John sits, “I want to talk to you about Washington.”
“Good. I…I owe you an apology for Australia. I was an ass to question your relationship with Liz.”
“Greg, you weren’t out of line. You were trying to protect me.”
“Yeah, but you deserve some happiness. Wait, what happened in Washington?”
John makes eye contact with his friend, “For starters, Cumberland got convicted on all counts and was sentenced to 306 years.”
“Wow. Damn. Good. What else?”
“A lot more. Klindt had Liz fly out from Bremerton for a meeting. She was my plus one at a White House dinner. I love her, Greg. Are you willing to stand up for me again?”
“Is it official?”
“I gave her a ring. She’s having her grandmother, and mine, arrange everything. Klindt’s wedding gift is to get the wedding party, including you, to the wedding.”
“We can’t both be gone.”
“Miller will be XO. You’re getting your own boat.”
“What? Really? Do you know which one?”
“Yeah. The Groton. I think it comes with a full stripe.”
Greg hugs his friend, “I have to send you to Washington more often. Do you know when the wedding will be?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What was FDR like?”
“I…That was a surreal experience. I ended up lecturing him on internment.”
“Good. That whole thing was fucked up. A stain on our nation. Isn’t your mom and grandma in one of the camps?”
“Yeah, but that isn’t how it came up. It came up because the FBI was following me around. Hoover wants to arrest me and send me to a camp.”
“Hoover? Fuck, dude. You had an eventful trip. There’s something I need to share, too.”
“Yes?”
“I have a girlfriend. I want to have you over, but I don’t want to jinx it yet.”
John hugs him, “I’m glad for you, and I don’t need to know any more.”
“Thank you.”
John, “I need to tell grandpa about my engagement.”
“Yeah, you do.”
DRY DOCK 4, PUGET SOUND NAVAL SHIPYARD
0834, 18 August, 1942 (1634 GMT)
CDR Liz Petrea walks alongside the USS Long Beach, CGN-9. The new steel superstructure is installed, and the barbettes are in place for the turrets. One of the turrets sits on the side of the dock, without its guns. A crane lowers the forward mast into a socket behind the bridge. She looks around, “That’s where he’ll be.” She walks up the brow.
“Power School, arriving.” She salutes and walks forward to the exterior stairs up to the bridge, “I’m never going to tire of that.” She finds Captain Tenzar right where she expected, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning. How was Washington?”
“Eventful. I can explain why the FBI hassled my school.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, sir. She’s starting to look like a boat.”
Tenzar smiles at her, “Yeah, she is that.”
The mast seats solidly and the two officers retreat to the captain’s cabin. Ed pours Liz a cup of coffee, and one for himself, “I’m all ears.”
“First, I’m now engaged to John, Morrison. Date to be determined.”
“The sub skipper? Good. You could do far worse. Are you planning for after the war?”
“Klindt is offering to align the stars so the wedding party can gather. It will be in New York. That’s where our families are.”
“I’ll try to come up with an excuse.”
She smiles, “Of course, you’re invited. If you can’t figure out an excuse, I get it. Anyway, you know John is part Japanese. Right?”
“Yeah. His birth mom.”
“Yeah. Anyway, Hoover does not approve. He had his agents following us all over the city. I think Hoover is gathering a file on all of us.”
Tenzar steeples his fingers, “All?”
Liz, “Every time traveler. He doesn’t trust us.”
“Does Klindt know?”
“He does. So does the President. I think the only reason John is not in an internment camp, right now, is because he and I were having dinner at the White House.”
“Thank you. This issue introduces new rocks and shoals.”
AFT BALLAST TANK, USS SAN FRANCISCO
1027, 2 September, 1942
CDR Morrison studies the installation. The retracted foot fits cleanly with the hull. All the hydraulic lines are properly secured. The components have been primed for paint and the zincs have already been mounted. The hydraulic fluid for the feet is water, so any leakage does not foul the environment, or leave a trail on the surface.
“Good. Very good.” He climbs over to inspect the other front leg.
MOUNT 3, USS LIVERMORE, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
1855, 2 September, 1942
Lt. JG Maki shows CDR Huber and LCDR Henry Morrison around the mount space. In the center is a revolving missile rack designed to hold eight missiles. The storage racks are on the aft and port bulkheads. There is an expanded steel guard covering the transfer system for moving missiles from the bulkheads to the revolving rack.
Huber, “How fast can they fire?”
Maki, “I’m not sure, sir. It still needs to be wired and aligned. It should be in the neighborhood of six missiles a minute, for the first eight missiles. After that, it’s two to four missiles a minute, until they can reload. The control panel is here.”
Henry Morrison, “Why isn’t it sound isolated?”
Maki, “The operator will have headphones to communicate with combat. He has to be certain the rack operators are clear when the system is spinning or loading missiles. For the most part, the launcher itself will be operated from combat, but the only place where the revolving rack can be loaded is here.”
Huber, “How many watch standers?”
Maki, “Four. Two rack operators, a launcher operator, and the mount captain.”
Huber, “Why are the bulkheads so thick?”
Maki, “If this gets hit by plunging fire, it will go up. Everything will explode and blow the overhead blast panels open. Because the bulkheads and deck are thick, and the access hatch opens inward towards the mount, the explosion should be isolated to the mount.”
Huber, “Isn’t that backward? Armor is supposed to prevent penetration.”
Maki, “On a tin can it is impossible to armor everything. If you can’t armor everything, design it so a single hit will not take out more than one vital area. If the ship has redundancy, it will be able to keep fighting.”
Morrison, “Where did you come up with that?”
Maki, “It’s how the Long Beach is designed.”
SS- REICH MAIN SECURITY OFFICE, NIEDERKIRCHNERSTRASSE, BERLIN
1100, 06 September, 1942
SS- Oberführer Von Bergan is ushered into Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler’s office. Himmler, in command of the SS, stands, looking out a window, “Have you found the eggs the Americans so carelessly lost?”
“We have eliminated a great swath of the sea. We a
re getting closer.”
Himmler turns to face him, “The Führer grows weary of your searching. He recognizes that these weapons may not have been on the aircraft you suggest. The bunker may have been empty. Find them, and you are a hero. Fail, and you are a fool. That is all.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, HOLY LOCK, SCOTLAND
1412, 10 September, 1942
The crane slowly lowers a large dripping cylinder onto the back of the submarine. It covers the escape hatch behind the sail. Unlike the SEAL garage, this cylinder design has an air lock and a separate decompression chamber. The airlock in the aft has the mission equipment. Forward of the air lock, the decompression chamber is fitted to the access hatch on the sub and is designed to fit a team and their gear.
CDR Morrison says to Lt. Mallory, “Thank you for humoring me and testing the mission module. Just because the engineers say it has neutral buoyancy, doesn’t mean it does.”
“No problem, sir. I understand. Will this thing change your handling characteristics?”
“It will be most apparent on the surface where it will increase our roll. The sub already rolls like a tub on the surface. Underwater, it will slow us some, but we’ll still be much faster than anything else. What did you make the cone out of?”
Mallory, “It’s free flooding. It’s rubber over sheet metal, and that over a metal tube frame.”
Morrison, “Tubes. Did you drill holes in the tubes so those can flood, too?”
Mallory, “Yes, sir. I thought of that. I understand that if we need to go deep, we can’t have that structure imploding because water can’t get inside. The rest of it is designed to handle the same pressure as the sub. I had it dropped by cable 200 feet below max depth. It’s fine.”
“Did it pressurize?”
“No, sir. We had a chart recorder monitoring pressure. It stayed stable.”
Morrison, “What if it floods?”
“There are extra air tanks in there for de-flooding, and they can move into the sub’s air lock and use that for decompression if necessary.”
“And if they need medical attention?”
“They have a corpsman and there’s a locker in the chamber where he can keep his gear. If need be, Vince can lock in using the escape trunk to render aid. I’m told coming up in pressure isn’t as dangerous as going down, so once he’s in there, he’s pretty much stuck.”
Morrison asks, “Mallory, when did you have time to design this thing?”
