by Unknown
The XO’s legs were at odd angles along with one arm. Jeffers eased him into a more comfortable position. “What about the rest of the bridge crew?” the XO gasped.
“They’re dead, XO. I got the ship pointed away from the rest of the formation. There’s one guy over here that is a little dazed, but he may be okay,” Jeffers reported.
The XO nodded. It was obvious he was barely holding on to consciousness. “I saw you swing the ship away from the carrier. Nice work. Damage control?” He suddenly winced in pain.
“They’re trying to get to us, but we’ve been hit four times and right now we’re alone,” Jeffers said.
“The cloak. The switch is beside the chart table,” the XO gasped. “CO turned the damn thing off.”
Jeffers got up and moved toward the chart table on the right of the bridge. A blast came from the front of the ship as a fifth missile struck the missile launcher just forward of the bridge and blew the launcher and the rest of the bridge windows over the side. Jeffers was lifted and thrown back by the blast ending up on the deck, his face and chest covered with cuts from flying metal shards.
Slowly he got himself up to a sitting position, then leaned forward and eased onto first one knee and then the other. Finally he managed to pull himself up and move, shakily, toward the chart table again. He found the small box with a switch and a light beside the chart table. He turned the switch and saw a green light come on. That was when he noticed a small fire erupt from near the door to the bridge. The door was glowing slightly and the paint was melting away. Jeffers was moving much slower. Not only had the blast given him another shock, but had caused him to be slightly dizzy. Grabbing the seaman, he ordered, “Help me with the XO.”
The seaman got to his feet and helped Jeffers move the XO away from the bulkhead and prop him beside the helm console. Then he went forward to make sure they were still in the clear. The other ships had moved away. On their starboard side a German frigate was keeping them company. He saw that teams were manning fire hoses along the frigate’s side ready to help put out the fires. He went as far as he could where the deck ended and waved to the ship. He saw an officer on the bridge wave back.
Suddenly the 1MC crackled to life. “Bridge, this is the Damage Control Officer. We need to turn the ship to go with the wind. Do you hear me? Turn the ship to go with the wind.”
Jeffers looked around the bulkhead and saw how the flag was blowing, then turned back inside the tattered structure. Looking around the bridge, the 1MC circuit had been torn off the bulkhead and none of the bitch boxes seemed to work. Looking along the overhead, even the radio circuits were a mess. Then he saw the handle for the ship’s whistle. Reaching up, he gave it a pull. The whistle gave a short blast. Looking back at the frigate, the ship began pulling away. Thank god someone could figure it out, he thought. Then he turned the ship’s wheel to starboard again.
The ship began moving into the general direction the flag was blowing. After a few corrections where he had to go back out and look at the flag, he got it close, then slowed the engines until the flag was almost limp on its halyard. Between conning the ship and caring for his two charges, Jeffers was kept too busy to mind his own wounds. Small puddles of blood appeared around the helm console, yet, he maintained his watch over the ship. Since there was no gyro repeater working and the magnetic compass was gone, there was no way of knowing what course they were on. Instead, he went back to the starboard side and looked down at the frigate which had returned to her position. He waved and the same man came out on the bridge wing.
Jeffers cupped his hands and shouted, “No compass and no coms. Need to have zero relative wind. I need to guide on you to maintain course,” he yelled down.
Jeffers saw the other man nod. “Will move ahead of you,” came the reply. Within minutes the frigate was ahead of the America and on course. Jeffers simply kept a relative position with the frigate. It made the job much easier.
On the bridge wing of the frigate, Captain Hufnagel turned to his navigation team. “Take the ship ahead of the America and steer a course with zero relative wind,” he said. “Secure the firefighting parties on the deck but have them ready if needed.” His crew jumped to the task and the frigate maneuvered to a position 500 yards ahead of the America and adjusted their course and speed so that there was almost no wind across the deck. He turned to his deck officer. “I am going aft. I’ll relay any commands through the after lookout watch,” he said.
Making his way to the stern of his ship, Hufnagel watched as the huge American turned to follow him. Looking through his binoculars he could see fires all around the bridge structure, but there was only one man moving on the bridge itself. With the entire front of the bridge structure torn away, he watched him both steer the ship and tend to two other crewmen lying nearby. My God, he’s all alone, he thought to himself.
It took forty five minutes before the men heard water and voices along the rear bulkhead by the door. When the door was finally pried open, the men saw Jeffers standing beside the ship’s wheel, covered in his own blood. A seaman was tending the XO, lying to one side of the steering console. Rushing in, they brought in stretchers to get the men out. Jeffers waved them away, but the XO stopped them. “No, take this man first. He has done more than his share this morning.”
“Tell the helmsman to take station on that frigate. She is keeping us going with the wind,” Jeffers said. One of the officers nodded and called for a sailor to take the helm.
Refusing the stretcher, the men walked Jeffers down the hot, smelling, burned out shell of what once was the ship’s island. They were passed by more men who gathered the XO and the seaman. After descending several ladders and moving down some now clear corridors, they entered lighted spaces. He was reassured that sickbay was not far. Somewhere along the way, Jeffers passed out.
He woke to find his forehead bandaged. His uniform had been removed and he was in a bed wrapped in clean sheets and a blanket. He lifted his head and looked around. The space was full of people in various states. Some were walking around with simple bandages while others were getting IV fluids. Despite all the people, it was quiet in the space. Everything was in order and people were working with a purpose. A figure came up next to his bed.
“I see you’re finally back with us,” said a friendly female voice.
Jeffers looked up to see the smile of Petty Officer Carter from the bluegrass band. “Nice to see a familiar face,” croaked Jeffers.
She reached in and felt his pulse. “Yea, I get around. You’ll be leaving soon. The Doc sewed up your wounds while you were out of it. Told me there won’t be any scars. Too bad. Most gals like a guy with war wounds,” she joked.
Jeffers chuckled and felt some of the stitches on his face tighten. He still smiled. “You did that on purpose.”
Carter laughed. “Not really, but we are going to move you. We really need the bed. You feel like getting up?”
“I’ll try,” he said. Jeffers rolled his legs out of the bed and slowly pulled himself up as Carter helped him along. He had on one of the hospital gowns. Carter gave him a bathrobe.
“Try and bring the robe back when you can,” she said. “Come on.”
She led Jeffers to a seat outside an office. In a few minutes the doctor came out and ushered him inside. “Have a seat,” he said.
The doctor looked over a few things, then turned to face Jeffers. “Commander, you seem to be the hero of the day. I must have pulled a pound of sheet metal out of you. Most of it was pretty small. The worst was in your left leg. Don’t worry, I got it all out. You lost some blood, but I just don’t have any to spare for you, so take it easy for a few days. Drink a lot of water. Don’t shower until I take out the stitches. I am giving you some pain medication, but don’t take it unless you really need it. You might want to just take it at bedtime to help you sleep. I have also given you some antibiotics just in case. I don’t know where those Russian missiles had been,” he joked. “Really and truly, Commander, take it easy a fe
w days and you’ll be fine. Come in next Tuesday and I’ll take the stitches out,” he instructed. “Any questions?”
Jeffers smiled and shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Doc, I’m too dazed to ask. Just get me to my stateroom and I’ll be okay,” Jeffers said.
The doctor grinned. “Good enough. If these wounds bother you, come back down and I’ll take another look, otherwise just get well.”
Jeffers nodded, the turned again. “By the way, how are the XO and that seaman? I hope I didn’t kill them.”
The doctor sat back and smiled. “Don’t worry about them, they’re fine. The XO won’t be walking for a while, but he’ll make it. Same for Seaman Kern. They had a lot of good things to say about you,” he said. “Now get out of my office,” he chuckled.
Jeffers shook his hand and left. Petty Officer Carter led him back through the maze of passageways to his stateroom. Fortunately, it was nowhere near the fires and his belongings were intact. He lay in his bed for a few minutes before getting back up and putting on another uniform. He was getting ready to try and get something to eat when the phone rang.
“Commander, the Admiral would like to see you in his quarters if you feel up to it,” said the person on the other end of the line.
“I’ll be right there,” Jeffers said. He grabbed his cover and left his stateroom. The admiral’s quarters were not far up the passageway. He knocked on the door and was beckoned in.
Hustvedt looked at the tired and mangled body of the man in front of him. He walked up and placed his hands on Jeffers’ shoulders. “I thought we had lost you, Rod. I am so glad we didn’t,” he said as he ushered the man to a chair. He noticed that Jeffers sat down gingerly. “The doctor told me how you were wounded. The XO told me what you did. Rod, I am at a loss. You single handedly saved this ship and prevented a collision with the Enterprise. Then you maintained your post until relieved, saving the lives of two members of the crew including the ship’s executive officer. That’s a fair day’s work for any man,” he said. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Just tired, sir. I was going to get something to eat and get back to bed like the doc said. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired,” Jeffers said.
Hustvedt called his orderly and ordered food brought in as they talked. Hustved wanted to know everything that happened from the time he left Flag Plot until that moment. He took notes.
After the meal, Jeffers looked more refreshed. He turned to the Admiral, “Sir, how are the landings going?”
Hustvedt grinned. “Far better than we could have expected. Our troops are far inland and the Turks are pushing hard up through Georgia. I just heard from our friend that he ordered the Italians and Spanish not to stop at the Slovak border. As Richardson swings back west, she will continue to the Crimea while the Turks continue north. We have taken out all the military bases within five hundred miles. The idea is to continue your plan and add more to it as long as we can. But as of now, the landings are complete. The secondary supply units are here and they are preparing to take in supplies and disembark more troops. From here on, everything will come in through Turkey. Your plan, was a tactical and strategic success in all areas. Good job,” he said. Hustvedt started to slap him on the arm but remember his wounds in time.
“I understand the doctor wants you to rest up a few days. Well, I have to shift my flag. We are going over to the Wisconsin tomorrow. While these guys make some temporary repairs, you stay aboard and heal up. In four days I will send a helicopter to pick you up and bring you over to rejoin us. Take a break, Rod. Of all my staff, you deserve it,” Hustvedt said.
Jeffers said, “Thanks,” then made his way back to his stateroom.
USS Iowa
“Okay, what do you suggest?” asked Captain Rhodes. The ship now had over 400 Russian sailors aboard. There weren’t enough racks aboard for each to have his own bed, so there had to be some compromises.
The Supply Officer scratched his cheek. “Well, we do have space for an admiral’s staff, but nowhere near enough. Out of the whole ship, I might be able to dig up about seventy spaces. For the officers we can bring in about ten. I’ll put three in the admiral’s cabin with some sleeping on the couches. Your sentry might not like the idea of having them that close, but they’ll have to get over it. I can put some of their senior enlisted in with the chiefs in their lounge. We can request some extra mattresses to put around the messdecks or down in the storage lockers, but mostly these guys will have to hot bunk it. That means 12 on and 12 off. I would suggest we transfer some to the other ships with us and then ask for an amphib to come take them all off. In the meantime, what do we do with them when they are awake? We can’t keep them down in the messdecks all day. I won’t be able to feed the crew,” he suggested.
“This could be a major security risk,” said the CO of the Marine Detachment. “If some of these guys wanted to damage the ship or do something rash, there wouldn’t be much to stop them if we let them roam free.”
“Yea, but aside from Strike and a few other spaces what’s classified aboard the ship?” asked the engineer. “And with our guys around, they will be watched round the clock.”
Boats Patnaude grunted. “Hell, why don’t we put them to work?”
Rhodes lifted his eyebrows. “What are you thinking Boats?”
Patnaude didn’t back down. “Captain, we have maintenance to do and spaces to get clean. I even have a mess to clean up back aft. I say we portion out some of the crew’s work and get some things done. It will let us keep them busy and keep an eye on them as well,” he said.
“What about the Geneva Convention? I’m not sure we can work these guys,” said the Operations Officer.
“Not if we make it a volunteer thing,” said Rhodes. “It will need to be just some general maintenance but that might work, especially since our crewmen would be there with them.”
“I can even take some to care for the sick Russians in sickbay,” said Doc Dickerson.
Rhodes nodded. “Okay we put them to work. Volunteer only, but I would say they should be getting pretty bored sitting on a steel deck by now with nothing to do. I want every department to come up with a plan to use some of these guys. Let’s get them busy as soon as we can. In the meantime, in addition to seeing about a new First Lieutenant, I’ll get off a request for mattresses of some kind to get these guys a place to sleep. I like the idea of using our storage lockers as berthing. They’re open and ventilated. We can work out head access and showers. Now how do we communicate with these guys?”
“A bunch of them speak some English,” said the Supply Officer. “They can translate to the others. Turns out, they teach English in their schools.”
“Then make this work, people,” said Rhodes. “Keep these guys busy until we can figure a way to get them off the ship. It may take a week or so, so do as best you can.”
USS America
The phone woke Jeffers from his sleep. He was still dog tired, but even a short nap had seemed to do some good. He picked up the phone.
“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, this is Petty Officer Carter, in sickbay.”
“Yes, Carter, what’s up?” he asked groggily.
“Sir, your friend, Lieutenant Chambers asked for you to bring his guitar down to sickbay,” she said. There was something in her voice that caught Jeffers’ attention.
“Sure. What’s it about” he asked.
There was a pause on the line. “Sir, you really need to bring it down. Bring yours as well. I’ll explain when you get here,” she said in a sad tone.
Jeffers sat up in his bed. “On my way,” he said as he hung up the phone. Putting his uniform back on, he grabbed his guitar and headed down the passageway to Chambers’ stateroom. The door was unlocked and he saw the guitar sitting in the corner. With both in hand, he made his way back to sickbay, and hoped his friend only wanted to play for the troops.
Petty Officer Carter was waiting for him when he arrived. Instead of taking him to his friend, she took him ba
ck to the doctor’s office.
“Thanks for coming back,” the Doc said. “I wouldn’t bring you back unless I felt it was important.” He sat Jeffers down the chair. “Your friend Chambers is dying. His damage control party was fighting the fires in the hangar deck. After personally rescuing about ten sailors out of a compartment, a fuel line ruptured and sprayed flames all over the place. He still went in and brought out one more, but not without getting seriously burned. The burns I could deal with, but he was caught in the flames and inhaled the fire. His lungs are giving up. There’s nothing we can do for him but make him comfortable. When he asked for you, I had Carter call,” he said.
Jeffers looked stricken. They had talked about this only the night before. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. He looked up at the doctor. “Is there nothing that can be done?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not even if we were at Johns Hopkins. The only thing I can do is ease the pain. I’m sorry.”
Jeffers let out a sigh. “I better get in there then,” he said.
He left the office and Carter took him to a separate room where there were only two bunks. The top was empty. Carter warned him that Chambers had also been blinded by the flames, and to be prepared for the worst.
Chambers lay on the bunk propped up almost to a sitting position. His whole head was burned. There was no hair on his face or head and everything looked a mottled red and yellow. His neck looked the same up to where his uniform had protected him. Chambers’ eyes were opened, but the corneas were white where they too had been burned. As they stepped into the room, Chambers turned his head slightly and asked, “Who’s there?”
