by M. L. Maki
The sergeant looks at Bergan’s ID, salutes and returns it. He pulls out, driving into Lubin. He makes it a short way when he sees two Russian jets fly over him. There is no noise until they have already passed. Bombs fall from their wings onto the town and the German armor staged there.
“Where the fuck did Russia get jets?” The concussion rocks his car. He turns south to bypass the town.
USS LIVERMORE, BELFAST ESTUARY
0830, 6 October, 1942
The Livermore is at the van of the formation as the surviving ships of their unit moor up in Belfast. Henry Morrison stands with his captain on the starboard bridge wing. The tarp, over what’s left of mount two, flaps in the breeze. The four-man operating crew of mount two, and Lt. Edwards were their only fatalities. A six-inch shell penetrated at the base of the launcher, detonating all the missiles in the magazine.
Following his eyes, Huber says, “The heavy casemate designed by Maki held. In a way, he saved the ship.”
“Yes, sir. I hope he’s okay.”
“I as well.”
Up and down the quay, damaged ships are moored with various degrees of battle damage.
Huber says, “It brings to mind a ditty.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Among the quay side junkers, what’s left of a mighty fine fleet, sits a Navy shitter, an Admiral on every seat.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1120, 6 October, 1942
Every man is absolutely silent as they creep into the strait. The destroyer with the active sonar is anchored west of the channel. Using their ultrasonic sonar, they pick their way east of the channel. They have ten feet under their keel and thirty feet over their sail. For three hours they creep along, until Saltholm Island is between them and the destroyer.
Morrison, “Let’s get into the deeper channel and continue.”
ST1 Johnson, “Conn, Sonar. New contact, bearing 350. Designate Tango 83. It’s begun active pinging.”
Miller, “Thank you, Walter.”
Morrison studies the chart, “Left standard rudder. Come to 130 feet. Extend the legs.”
“Rudder is left standard.”
“Extending legs. Legs extended.”
“Very well.” Backes walks up to the chart table, “What devious scheme do you have now?”
“We’re going to park and wait by the wreck.”
With practiced ease, they set the sub down 100 feet from the wreck they found on the way in.
The destroyer continues south, still actively pinging. Once it is gone, they lift and continue north.
OVAL OFFICE, WHITE HOUSE
0700, 7 October, 1942
Admiral Leahy ushers Admiral Lee, and Colonel William Donovan in. President Roosevelt stands, “Welcome.” He shakes their hands and sits.
A steward serves coffee and leaves.
Roosevelt asks, “I understand the conflict between Russia and Germany has resumed?”
Donovan, “Yes, sir. Our officer is proving adept. Of course, none of it would have been possible without the support of the Navy in the UK.”
Roosevelt, “We need to show our appreciation. Does he have a name?”
Donovan, “I’m holding that close, sir. However, Commodore Holtz gave him a call sign I’m rather fond of. We call him Spooky.”
Roosevelt chuckles, “Yes, yes. That’s very good indeed. Has the submarine exited the Baltic?”
Lee, “We just received word that they’re out.”
Roosevelt, “Let’s give them another Presidential Unit citation. Write up Commander Morrison for a Navy Cross. He, and his exceptional vessel, are proving to be indispensable.”
Lee, “Yes, sir. Morrison reports that his XO is ready for command. Klindt has it in mind to give his XO the new submarine, Groton.”
Roosevelt steeples his hands, “That is the first of Klindt’s new design? I want it in Scotland. With two of the super subs, it will double our effectiveness. When we have a dozen in Scotland, I’m ready to send them to the Pacific. Prioritize officers trained by Morrison to command each of these subs. How long can we keep Morrison in command of the San Francisco school of undersea warfare?”
Lee, “He’s only been in command for four months. He deserves two or three years at the helm.”
“Good. Send him the very best officers to train. It’s not my wish to meddle, Admiral, but that vessel is so very vital. It has done what nothing else could do. He’s broken the back of the U-boat menace. How long until they can be back out fighting the U-boats?”
Lee, “It’s Commodore Hunt’s thought to give them a couple weeks off, and I agree. Once in port, the cargo will be shipped with armed escort to Admiral Klindt’s folks out in the desert. We’ll be giving the SEALs some time off as well. They deserve the time to bury their fallen.”
Roosevelt, “Yes. Yes, of course. Is it true that one of the SEALs took a bullet to protect Hunt from a sniper?”
Lee, “It is, sir. Ensign Buford. He’s being put in for an appropriate award.”
Donovan, “These SEALs. Given their skills shouldn’t they be sent to me?”
Lee, “Absolutely not. Sneaky shit is only part of their resume. As combat swimmers, they perform missions essential for us. SEALs can support OSS-type missions, however, from time to time.”
Donovan chuckles, “So, I can borrow them from time to time, so long as I take care of them and return them in good shape. I can live with that. Can I send my people through their training?”
Lee thinks for a bit, and grins, “Sure, specific schools like parachute, survival, sniping. If one of your people goes through the whole program, I’m going to pin a Budweiser on them and send them to a team. Is that fair?”
Donovan, “It is.”
SS-REICH MAIN SECURITY OFFICE, NIEDERKIRCHNERSTRASSE, BERLIN, GERMANY
1610, 7 October, 1942
SS-Oberführer Von Bergan walks into the massive building and walks up to Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler’s office.
Himmler’s aide says, “Von Bergan, three doors down. See Brigadeführer Priess.” SS-Brigadeführer Hermann Priess commands the Deaths Head Division.
Bergan is escorted into Priess’ office. He snaps his heels together, “Heil Hitler.”
Priess, “Yes. Von Bergan, I have orders for you. You are aware that the Communists violated the ceasefire?”
“Yes, Brigadeführer.”
“Very good. I have an armored company that needs your attention. Report to 200th Battalion at Łódź. As SS, I will expect you to be the most aggressive leader on the front. Of course, you will need to correct your uniform. Good day, Hauptsturmführer.”
Bergan closes his eyes, then nods, “Heil Hitler.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
0855, 9 October, 1942
Backes and Brown conn the Frisco into the loch. Backes, “Ahead two thirds. Steady as she goes.”
Phone talker, “Ahead two thirds, aye. She goes 355.”
Backes, “Very well.”
Brown, “It looks like the war didn’t touch here.”
Backes, “Yeah. Oh, God. Look at the dry dock.”
“It looks a hundred years old.”
Backes, “Something to keep in mind. Sometimes the best way to hide something is in plain sight.”
“Yes, sir. The Beaver has dropped its anchor.”
“I see that, thank you. The dry dock tugs are bringing over the barges. They are going to want us on the starboard side as usual.”
Brown, “They’re blinking. Um, I think it’s mooring instructions.”
“You’re right. Brown, master the blinker.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the way, I see a blue Ford driving down to the pier.”
Browns smile grows wide, “Yeah. There she is.” They are ordered to wait as they secure the barges and prepare for them to tie up. Brown says, “This place has become home.”
Backes, “It has.”
“Sir, I see a wine and tan Dodge inbound.”
Now, Backes
smiles, “Good. Very good.”
USS LIVERMORE, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
Huber, a fresh bandage on his head, and Henry Morrison study the shore, watching that they’re keeping in the channel. The Beaver drops its anchor at the same spot as before. The San Francisco is ahead of them. On the west bank of the loch, the dry dock leans over in the water. It looks rusty and decrepit, like it has been there for decades.
Huber, “Now that was intelligent. I thought Maki was going to make it look like trees or something.”
Henry Morrison smiles, “Yeah. Very clever. I see no damage in Dunoon.”
“Nor do I. Beaver is signaling that we’ll moor to their port side.”
Huber smiles at his XO, “Welcome home.”
“Yes, sir. Are we going to have a service for the five we lost?”
“Commodore Hunt wants to bury them in Cambridge with honors.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They watch as the submarine moors on the starboard side of the Beaver.
Two F-14’s circle overhead. A helicopter lands on the pier.
CHAPTER 24
BARGE, STARBOARD SIDE OF BEAVER
Commodore Hunt steps out of a boat onto the barge. Eight Marines and LCDR Anthony Chatman follow her. Once the brow is down, the crew goes ashore to hook up services. Brown shouts down, “Tell the boss the Commodore is here!”
Morrison climbs out the SEAL shelter, salutes, and steps off the sub.
“San Francisco, departing.”
Morrison salutes, “Good morning, Commodore.”
She returns the salute, “Good morning. How are you?”
“Good. What are the Marines for?”
The Commodore looks at the Marine sergeant, “Post on the barge for now. The command security team will clarify who comes and goes.”
He salutes, “Ma’am, yes, Ma’am.” The Marines deploy with rifles at port arms.
Morrison, “Oh, the gadgets. I understand.”
She nods, “Exactly. Before anyone leaves, they need to be told they’re top secret.”
“They already know, Spike.” He escorts her aboard.
“Task Force Yankee, Arriving. San Francisco, arriving.”
The SEALs have the garage door open and are removing their gear. They stop and salute. Triage offers a hand, “Welcome aboard, Spike.”
“Thank you. Who was the fatality?”
“ET2 Monahan, ma’am. Whizee.”
She takes a breath, “Who was wounded?” She sees Buford climb out. His right arm is in a sling and his head is bandaged.
Lieutenant Jeremy realizes her attention is not on him, “Buford, Carbone, and Spooky.”
Her gaze returns to Jeremy, “I remember Monahan. He got his call sign when his team inserted Spooky into France.” She looks back to Buford, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Triage continues, “He was shot in the back. It was a heavy machine gun round. It went through his vest. Ma’am, it exited through his right lung. Despite all their efforts, Shockley and Novogradic couldn’t save him.”
Buford leans against the SEAL shelter watching Samantha.
The SEALs, saluting, leave, carrying their gear. After the third salute, she walks with Triage to the front of the sub, “I don’t want to get in the way.”
Buford follows them, hanging back.
Spike, “Who was Whizee’s swim buddy?”
Triage, “Buford. The Germans had a machine gun on an armored car. I told the guys not to use heavy weapons. We were trying to make it look like the resistance. I fucked up.”
“Look at me, Triage.” She gets his undivided attention. “Do not dwell on what you cannot control. Learn from it and move forward. If you can’t, you will be combat noneffective in a week.”
Buford asks, “Is that what you do?”
She looks at him, “I have to. What we do is too important. What we do is worth the loss of life. It’s worth the loss of our own lives. What we do is too important to stumble over grief. Grieve, then find a way to let him go, and move forward. There will be other battles, and other losses. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
Triage, “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiles, “I know it’s hard.” She looks back at Buford, “What happened to you?”
“I got winged good. No broken bones. I stuck my arm out as I was shooting. I know better. The head was a machine gun round taking my helmet off.”
“How were the other two wounded?”
Buford, “Spooky took one across the thigh and fell. Whizee ran out to get him.” He stops. “Me and Warren ran out to get them both. At least, I made a better target than our corpsman.” He takes a breath, “BJ got one that punched through his armor as they were liberating the camp. It hit a rib but didn’t break it. Really a scratch.
Spike, “Okay. Thank you. I need to talk to Morrison for a bit. I would like to see both teams in Beaver’s wardroom in about an hour. Triage, I brought purple hearts. Before you leave the UK, I need an award package. Write Monahan an appropriate medal for his family.”
Triage, “NAM with a V?”
Spike, “Silver Star. Don’t short your guys.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, I have things to do. Carry on.” She walks to the SEAL shelter to climb into the sub.
Triage asks, “Buford. Are you okay?”
“I’m just glad we’re back.”
Triage shakes his head, “You were looking at Spike like a lost puppy. What’s up?”
Buford looks at his team leader, “Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“I can.”
“Did you notice how distracted she was when I climbed out?”
“So? She noticed the broken wing.”
“Triage, I am an idiot. I know I am an idiot. I am fully aware that I am an idiot. I love Samantha Hunt, and I just got a little hint that she might give a shit about me, too.”
“That’s what Monahan was talking about. Listen Romeo, that isn’t dumb. It’s life. Know this though,” he pauses until he has Buford’s full attention, “If you break her heart. If you hurt that woman. If you play the cad, men will be lining up to fucking kill you. And, Romeo, I will be in that line.”
“Roger that, boss.”
“I hope you like the call sign, Romeo, because you’re stuck with it.”
“Why Romeo?”
“His was a doomed love. That is what star-crossed means.”
“Really?”
“Romeo, read a fucking book sometime.”
“Roger that, sir.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1110, 9 October, 1942
Morrison, Backes, and Hunt watch LCDR Anthony Chatman inspecting each bomb. After closing the access panel on the last one, Chatman stands, “The circuits are fucked, but the physics packages appear fine. I would like to disassemble the devices on the Beaver before we ship them.”
Backes, “They want these in Los Alamos?”
Chatman, “Look, without the electronics there is no way for the package to be detonated. But, if a stray current caused one of the explosive blocks to detonate, that could be a huge mess. It will take four or five days.”
Morrison nods, “Take all the time you want. I’m not in a hurry.”
Chatman, “Okay. I have a two weapon transport cases to load on board. We rig a device into a case, then remove the case using the weapons loading hatch. Before we start, I need to inspect it and all the rigging.”
Morrison, “No problem. Chatman, are you a nuke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You interested in dolphins?”
Chatman, “I’m tied to what I am doing right now, but I’m open to that kind of thing.”
Morrison, “I’ll keep you in mind.”
LCDR Steve Miller walks up, “Can we grant liberty for section 1 and 2?”
Morrison, “Have the Marines been briefed on who has access to the boat?”
Miller, “Did it myself.”
“Thank you. Liberty call granted for section 1 and
2.”
Hunt, “I wanted to talk to your crew. But it can keep for another day. Let them go.”
Morrison, “Thank you, Commodore.”
Hunt, “Thank you. I need to debrief the SEAL’s.”
Morrison walks out with Hunt, “How are you?”
“I’ll live.”
“We know nothing about what happened here.”
She looks at Morrison, “I’m sorry this will sound harsh, but read it in a paper. I have things to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He watches her as she walks away, her back stiff. Morrison turns and walks to a liberty boat.
USS BEAVER
The SEALs quietly wait. BM3 Doug Adams starts laughing. Lt. Jeremy asks, “What?”
Adams asks, “The Commodore is in charge of this ship too, right?”
Buford, “She’s in charge of all things Navy in the UK.”
Adams, still chuckling, “Then she is in charge of a Beaver.” He snorts, laughing. He notices the silence and looks around. “Guys, come on, that’s funny.”
Buford, “Listen, shit for brains, all of us here understand what she’s done to keep this island, and all of us safe. You don’t talk shit about her. You got it, Brain?”
“Yes, sir.”
Samantha walks in, “Did I miss something?”
Fronczak, “Nothing important, Spike.”
“Okay, let’s go through it.”
NAVY PIER, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND
1146, 9 October, 1942
The liberty boats run back and forth disgorging the off-duty sailors from the three ships. Ensign Brown, Lt. JG Giblin, and LCDR Backes end up on the same boat. They see the faces of their loved ones light up as they walk to the gate. As Mike gets close Jean Luc pulls away, “Daddy! Daddy! There were Germans!”
Mike scoops him up, “I heard. Was it scary?”
“Ah huh, but papa wern’t scared.”
“I bet not.” He pulls Laureen into his arms and kisses her.
“Mummy, was ye scared?”
Laureen smiles at her son, “Were you scared, not was ye.”
Jean Luc, “But, Mummy?”
“Yes, darling son. I was afraid, but not too much because I knew your daddy would keep us safe.”
“Okay.”
Mike asks Sheamus, “How are you, Dad?”
“All’s berries now, son.”
Nearby, Greg Backes picks up Trisha and kisses Catherine.
