by M. L. Maki
Fronczak says, “Now.” Four rifles fire and the tower guards drop. Eight men stream out of the guard barracks.
Grunt opens up with an M-240LWS machine gun, dropping most of them. “Go, Fang.”
Fronczak and BJ sprint a few steps to the gate and BJ sets a charge, Fang covering his back. BJ, “Done.” They fall back under sporadic fire from the barracks. When they are under cover, BJ detonates the charge and the gate blows apart.
Fronczak, BJ, Munchkin, and Dude rush the compound, engaging the surviving guards. Grunt checks their six, then moves to a new location. A belt of expended ammo hangs off his rifle, leaving no brass behind. As Fronczak and BJ enter the guard barracks, a German jumps out of a door on the opposite end, firing his weapon. Fronczak takes him out.
BJ, “Shit, I’m hit.”
“Where?” Fronczak finds the hole under the body armor. “Just a scratch.” He pulls the hot bullet off a rib, stuffs a bandage in its place, then hands the bullet to BJ, “Keep it. It’s good luck. Let’s go.”
Munchkin and Dude go to the prisoner’s barracks and open the doors. They see men in rags staring blankly at them. They are almost skeletal, with shaven heads. One approaches, and in Russian, he rasps, “Who are you?”
Munchkin, in rough Russian, “It doesn’t matter. We were never here. The Russian line is not so far. Perhaps fifteen or twenty kilometers.”
One of the prisoners whispers, “Stalin kills soldiers who surrender.”
Munchkin, “Stalin is dead. Field Marshal Kryukov is in charge. Tell him you broke out on your own and you will be heroes. We must go. God speed.”
They hear Triage on the radio, “Passing Wierzchucino. Team Fang, shag it.”
KARL GALSTER, Z-20, QUAY, GDAŃSK
SS-Oberführer Otto Von Bergan walks up the brow to meet the commander, “There is an American submarine off the coast. Please take us to sea so we may destroy it.”
“Yes, sir.”
FORREST NORTH OF WIERZCHUCINO
Grunt drives a German army truck north. He spots Triage and skids to a stop. Triage’s team climb aboard. Shockley and Warner work on the wounded. When they are all on board, Fronczak hits the cab and Grunt works up the gears, heading for the coast.
Munchkin stuffs a tampon into the bullet hole in Whizee’s back. He checks the exit wound, and puts on a pressure bandage, then starts an IV. Warner cleans and puts antiseptic powder on the gash on the outside of Spooky’s thigh. Then he binds it.
As they leave the village, they see two army trucks coming after them.
Fronczak, “Get this thing moving. This op is blown to hell.”
BJ, “I got it.” He starts shaping C-4 in his hands, “They still following?”
“They are.”
“Lean me down.” They grab his gear straps as he leans off the end of the truck, his hand almost on the ground. He tosses the charge like he is dealing cards.
Triage, “We’re going to have to leave this road fairly soon.”
Fronczak, “We have one more village.”
Triage, “If we leave the truck there…”
BJ, “Three, two, bang.” He detonates the shaped charge as the truck cab passes over it. The truck unsprings on its suspension and the back tarp covering shreds. The second truck crashes into wreck, pushing it a few meters, then they both roll into the ditch. They see a few men frantically escaping from the burning truck.
Triage, “…they might kill the locals.”
Fronczak, “Agreed.” He leans over into the cab, “Find a place to ditch the truck.” After about two hundred yards, Grunt sees a forest access road. He turns into it and drives until he knows the trees and brush hide the truck.
Triage says, “Buford, I got Whizee. Your hurt.” Grunt lifts Spooky.
Spooky, “I can run.”
Grunt, “Quiet.”
They get three hundred yards from the truck when they hear the sound of a prop plane. Under the forest canopy, they can’t see it. They run through the brush, Broke Dick leading. Bypassing the village, they continue to the coast, moving slower.
They catch a glimpse of the aircraft. Grunt, to himself, “A Stuka, great.”
Hunkered down in deep brush, Triage and Fronczak put their heads together.
FOREST EAST OF BIALYSTOK, POLAND
General Davydov, Field Marshal Kryukov’s intelligence officer, follows a major into the forest.
Major Ulanov, “This is where we found the papers, sir.”
Davydov carefully surveys the scene. He picks up a brass cartridge, “7.62 Tokarev. The boot tracks have a Russian pattern.” He walks to the scattered papers, “You missed one under here.” He moves a leafy branch away and picks up another piece of paper. He hands it to the major. “Quite a lot of blood. Have we found the body?”
“We didn’t want to provoke the Germans.”
“I agree. We have what we have. Let’s go.”
SEAL HIDE ON THE CLIFF
Triage, “How the fuck are we going to make it to the boat with Stuka’s flying around?”
Fronczak, “Should we wait until dark?”
“No. If they have dogs, we’ll be fucked.”
Fronczak, “Have anything sticky in your snivel gear?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Sugar cookies, and a slow crawl.”
Triage, “Agreed.”
Fronczak, “My team will overwatch yours. Once you’re in the water with the boats, you can cover us.”
“It’s a plan.”
DESTROYER, KARL GALSTER, GULF OF GDAŃSK
Fregattenkapitän Harmsen August, “Sir, what do we know about this submarine?”
“It can be very quick and very deep diving. It does not need air to make its engine go. It will be exceedingly quiet. The advantage, though, is they are waiting for swimmers to come aboard. They can’t fight or move much as they wait.”
“Very good, sir.”
BEACH BELOW SEAL HIDE
Triage covers their uniforms with wet sand and sugared drink mix. That, with the camouflage, makes them very hard to see against the sand. Triage, and his swim buddy, BM3 Doug Adams, help Spooky. The three slow crawl into a shallow stream of water to hide their tracks. Fronczak scans the sky and beach and water. His team watches his back. The Stukas seem focused on the village. Quiet, they wait.
When Triage’s section gets to the boats and scuba gear, Broke Dick and Warner flank Mac, who is carrying Whizee on his back. After an excruciatingly long crawl, they make it to the surf.
The Stuka overflies the beach at about 500 feet. Fronzak doesn’t start breathing again, until the pilot turns the plane back inland.
Fronczak’s team begin the climb down the cliff. Munchkin is last, free climbing and carrying the untied rope. As each SEAL reaches the beach, he covers himself with water and sticky sugar drink mix and sand. Grunt, Munchkin, and Dude make the first trip, freezing every time the Stuka overflies the beach, then circles back into the village.
Finally, BJ and Fronczak start the crawl. Three quarters of the way across, they hear on the radio, “Fang, freeze. German patrol on cliff.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, BOTTOM, 5 MILES OFFSHORE
“Conn, Sonar. New contact, 085, designate Tango 72. Two screws. Sounds like a destroyer.”
Lt. Thoreau, “Thank you, Gordon.”
Morrison, “Load Tube 4. Flood it when ready. Keep the door shut.”
Backes, “We can’t shoot while they’re out there.”
Morrison turns to Backes, “I know. I want to be ready for a snapshot when we can take it.”
DESTROYER, KARL GALSTER, TWELVE MILES EAST OF USS SAN FRANCISCO
SS-Oberführer Otto Von Bergan, “Fire into the sea with your gun. It will flush our prey.”
Fregattenkapitän Harmsen August, “Yes, Oberführer. Are their weapons better than ours?”
Bergan pales, “Their torpedoes are guided and have a long range.”
August looks at him, “What is its weakness?”
“I
don’t know.”
SEALs IN THE WATER
Triage, his vision distorted by the water, watches the Germans looking out to sea. Eventually, the patrol moves on. A couple minutes later he tells Fronczak, “Continue.”
Fronczak, on radio, “There’s a destroyer coming.”
Triage, “The sub can handle it.”
Fronczak, “Not while they think we’re in the water. “
“True.”
Triage pulls his knife and taps it on his rifle action. He taps out in Morse code: W.E.R.C.L.E.A.R. He repeats it.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Gordon, in sonar, pushes the button, “Sir. I’m hearing tapping.”
Morrison walks in, “What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like it’s coming from the beach.”
Morrison listens, “It’s Morse code. Got it.” He walks into control, “Status on Tube 4?”
“In progress, sir.”
“Match and cross check the shot for Tango 72.” He motions Greg and Henry over. “The SEALs tapped out ‘we are clear’ in Morse code. They know about the destroyer.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morrison, “We’re pointed toward the open sea. Lift off and turn.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 4 is flooded.”
Morrison, “Roger that. The SEALs are clear. Drain the trim tanks to the mark.”
They feel the submarine lift.
“Left full rudder. Ahead one third. Open the door on tube 4.”
SEALs ON BEACH
Fronczak continues his slow crawl with BJ.
Spooky asks Triage, “What are we waiting for?”
They see the destroyer fire its gun.
Triage, “Let the sub deal with that first.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Gordon, “Conn, Sonar. They’re firing at us.”
They feel the concussion of the rounds exploding in the water well east of their position.
Backes exchanges a look with his captain, “They’re trying to flush us.”
Morrison, “Too bad we have an ace high straight. Fire tube 4.”
DESTROYER, KARL GALSTER, TEN MILES EAST OF USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Captain. They fired a torpedo!”
August shouts, “Right full rudder! Set depth charges for fifty feet. Drop one depth charge.”
The orders are repeated. At their stern, the depth charge creates a huge column of water.
“Active ping and drop another depth charge.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Conn. Sonar. They are pinging and dropping depth charges.” They feel the concussion of the depth charge explosion, even though it is miles away.
Morrison, “They’re shooting in the dark trying to get us to make a mistake.”
Thoreau, “Three, two, one.”
DESTROYER, KARL GALSTER, 9 MILES EAST OF USS SAN FRANCISCO
August and Bergan are knocked off their feet. The explosion lifts the ship into the air. The center of the destroyer settles back down and continues sinking. The bow and stern detach and move separately. The stern, its screws still turning, pushes the bow aside.
August gets to his feet, his face bloody. He turns on Bergan, “You fool! You cost me my command!” The bow section rolls, tossing both men into the cold Baltic waters.
SEALs
Seeing the rising column of water and feeling the distant concussion, Grunt says, “Jesus. I’m so glad I don’t serve on destroyers.”
Munchkin, “Yeah. We just get shot at. A nice safe job.”
Fronczak and BJ finally make it to the water’s edge. Triage signals his teams, and they slide into the sea, pulling their deflated boats with them as they swim back to the sub.
ESCAPE HATCH BELOW SEAL SHELTER
The three wounded SEALs enter first with the corpsmen. Morrison, below the hatch, growls control, “We have wounded.”
Backes “Captain, the last one is in the shelter air lock and the door is shut.”
“Greg, take us out into deep water. It’s time to get out of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
They hear, “Muster the walking blood bank at the wardroom.”
Grunt climbs down with the next group.
Morrison, “How are you doing, Chief?”
“How is Whizee?”
“He’s in medical.”
“Okay. He’s A positive, and so am I.” Grunt walks forward.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1139, 5 October, 1942
Shockley and Novogradic roll Monahan part way on his right side, using straps and chair cushions to support him.
Warren cleans up and redresses Spooky’s wound.
Buford moves around to Whizee’s back and puts a hand on his swim buddy’s shoulder, “Hang in there.” Warren finishes dressing Spooky’s leg and looks up at Buford. Buford shakes his head, “Later.”
Warren shifts to drawing blood from the crew members lined up in the hall, regularly replacing the bags on the two IV’s the corpsmen have set up.
Shockley takes the lead, pulling lead fragments out of the SEAL’s right lung. Fortunately, Whizee is passed out. His breath is ragged, but he is breathing. Shockley withdraws his forceps with another piece of lead. Using his speculum to open the wound, he irrigates it with distilled water and washes out more fragments.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1206, 5 October, 1942
Morrison walks into Control and straight to the chart table. “Steve, we have 800 feet. It’s time to report in. Take us to periscope depth. They’re still doing surgery, so nice and smooth.”
“Aye, sir.”
Morrison hands a message to radio, then heads back forward.
COMMODORE’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
Swede and Thud walk out, and one of the control room techs knocks, and walks in. “Message from Yankee Bravo, Ma’am.”
“Thank you. Stand by for a reply.”
TO: TFYAN
FRM: YB
REG: Hail Mary
Mission accomplished. Multiple casualties. Exiting soonest.
Morrison
She writes out her response, “Send this immediately.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
ETCS Barton, “Sir, we have a response.”
Morrison, “The Commodore says, ‘Good job and God speed.’”
MEDICAL, USS SAN FRANCISCO
1310, 5 October, 1942
Whizee comes awake, gasping for air. He whispers, “Hey, Munchkin.”
“Hey, Whizee. Stick with us.”
“You know I’m fucked.”
Shockley, “We’ll get you through this. You’re a tough mother fucker.”
Monahan takes a ragged breath. They hear gurgling in his lungs. As he breaths, air bubbles out of his chest. “I know I’m fucked.”
Buford, “Stick with me, Buddy.” Tears fill his eyes.
Shockley, “It’s rough, but you’ll make it.”
“You done your best.” He weakly coughs and bloody foam comes up.
Novogradic is now the lead. He sews together the tissues, trying to close the wound.
Shockley realizes Monahan is fading, “Get Triage!” He fights his tears. “Come on man. We’re buttoning you up.”
Warren walks carefully on the blood slippery deck and hangs another IV.
Buford walks around to see Monahan’s face, “Dude, I need you.”
Monahan meets his friend’s eyes, “Tell her.” He coughs, more bloody foam comes up.
Warren hangs another bag.
Morrison arrives, then Triage.
Whizee looks at Triage, then Morrison, “Tell my folks.” His eyes roll back.
Larry, “No. No, no, no, no.” He wipes the blood from Monahan’s mouth and begins CPR breathing.
Novogradic finishes the last stitch, then puts his fingers on Monahan’s neck. He shakes his head and grabs Shockley’s shoulders, pulling him away, “He’s gone, Doc. Let him go.”
Buford leans over and wraps his arms around his friend.
Shockl
ey eyes fill with tears, “No!”
Morrison, “He’s gone, Munchkin. You did your best.”
Shockley turns and punches the wall, putting a dent in it. He cradles his hand, wincing.
Novogradic, “Dude, you’re done. Clean up.”
Larry nods and leaves. He walks to the officer’s head, leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
Novogradic gets a body bag and cleans up Monahan. “Time of death 1325, 5 October, 1942.”
Novogradic gently pries Buford’s arms from around Monahan, “Clean up, Ensign. Your men need you.”
Novogradic and Triage gently put Monahan into the bag. They pull the zipper closed and open the door. Warren, Carbone, and Cook carry their brother out of the room.
COAST OF POLAND, NEAR WLADYSLAWOWO
1419, 5 October, 1942
SS-Oberführer Otto Von Bergan stumbles ashore, helping the sailors pull their raft, and the wounded it carries.
The locals have come down to the beach to watch.
A German truck pulls up and soldiers get out to help.
Bergan is too weak to even climb into the truck.
CHAPTER 23
USS SANFRANCISCO, SOUTH OF COPENHAGEN
0700, 6 October, 1942
Morrison listens to pinging north of them.
Backes, “Shit.”
Morrison, “Okay, we’re probably not dealing with their ‘A’ team. Let’s think this through.” He studies the chart table.
GERMAN FORTIFICATION, NORTH OF CHELM, OCCUPIED POLAND
0720, 6 October, 1942 (0620 GMT)
SS-Oberführer Otto Von Bergan inspects the fortification. Much of it is hasty construction using logs with dirt thrown over it. The larger gun mounts are fresh concrete. The colonel here knows what he is about. “Good. Very good. You have all in order, Herr Oberst. Heil Hitler.”
Bergan walks to his car.
An aid runs up to the colonel.
“Herr Oberführer.”
Bergan turns and the Colonel approaches, “You are directed to report to Berlin.” He hands Bergan the message.
In the distance they hear a rumble like thunder. It doesn’t stop. The Colonel jerks straight, turning to listen. “Without warning?”
Bergan, “What do you hear?”
“Russian artillery. The ceasefire is over. Heil Hitler.” He turns on a heel and walks away.
ROADBLOCK, LUBIN POLAND
0843, 6 October, 1942 (0743 GMT)
