The boat officer came ashore and went over to the duty officer.
Jake followed him. Water glistened on his raincoat and the lower portion of his trouser legs were soaked.
"It's getting bad out there, Rhodes. This may be the last boat tonight." "How bad?" Jake asked.
The boat officer turned to him. "Lots of swell. We damn near didn't get against the fantail float this last trip. I guess four or five feet of sea. Wind's picking up too.
Maybe twenty-five knots out there." Jake nodded.
"Pretty early in the year for it to get this bad." The duty officer's assistant, a first-class petty officer, was commandeering sailors to ad only to prevent your behavior on the pier, and placed into orange kapok life 5 for the boat ride, just in case they fell overboard. Then two had to escort each drunk aboard the mike boat. you two guys, you have this man. Get over here and get with the two reluctant men at whom the first-class was pointing slowly and walked over. Transporting drunks was a nasty ess. "For the love of Christ," one of them complained as turned their charge over. "This turd has really been drinkan. Jesus, he smells like he spent the night in a bottle." ey jacked the drunk into a sitting position. He snorted and halfheartedly to cooperate. Hey look! This dude has blood im.
One of the two stepped back. "Hey man," he called to the first" This guy's bloody. Maybe he's got that anally injected serum.
The first-class, a corpsman, stepped over and made a quick ination for wounds. He stood and struck a thoughtful pose, arms crossed on his chest. "He looks the type, don't he?" eah, man. He does. And who know shut up and grab him. You, too, clown," he snarled at the companion.
"Let's go," he roared to his working party.
"Get 'em rd." The two draftees rolled their eyes, glanced at Jake to see how as taking all this, and finished strapping the life-jacket to their mate.
ke read Toad's note again. He folded it slowly and eased it into his pocket.
rather. Rhodes, call my wife at the Vittorio and tell her I'm going to the ship. And I may have to spend the night aboard." essir." He waited for all the sailors to get aboard the mike boat before walking down the gangway onto the float and stepped carefully into the stern-the quarterdeck. The only light came from the and he couldn't see much. He stopped by the boat officer and inted down into the well of the boat.
The last of the drunks were being shoved against the rail and held there, just in case. If you're going to stand up here, sir," the coxswain said, you'll have to wear a life jacket." He handed Jake an orange one and Jake donned it. The coxswain helped him tighten the straps between his legs.
Chief Dustin came striding down the pier from the terminal building. He gestured toward the two Shore Patrolmen from his van, and they preceded him down the gangway and across the float. The Shore Patrolmen went down in the well of the boat.
Dustin snapped za salute to Jake.
"Get it straightened out, Chief?" "Yes, sir. We did." The chief slid down the ladder to join his men in the welldeck.
Lieutenant (j.g.) Rhodes called from the pier, "Shove off." The boat officer nodded to the coxswain, who called for the lines. The stern line came off first, and as the stern drifted away from the float the bow line came aboard and the coxswain gunned the engine. The boat backed smartly out onto the dark water.
Passing the terminal building and the frigate moored end-on to the top of the quay, Jake could see a halo around each of the lights. The rain drops came into the halos at an angle, driven by the wind. The lights of Naples reflected on the oily black surface of the harbor. The boat officer fastened the top button of his raincoat and turned the collar up. He wore his life jacket under the raincoat. He loosened the gold strap on his hat and slipped it under his chin. Everyone on this open boat without foul-weather gear would soon be soaked. The boat officer, a lieutenant (junior grade) from a fighter squadron, grinned when he saw Jake watching him. "Great navy night, sir." Jake Grafton nodded and filled his lungs with the sweet salt wind.
Proceeding down the harbor, they were swept periodically by the circling beam from the lighthouse at the harbor mouth. The boat began to wallow as it entered the turbulent water flowing into the harbor from the sea.
The coxswain played with the throttle and helm and coaxed the flat-bottomed landing craft to the right, toward the open sea. Now the square bow rose and fell to meet the incoming swells.
The pitching motion worsened when they cleared the breakwater. As the stern rose, the bow smashed down into the next trough, throwing water out to the sides. But before the boat could rise to meet the oncoming swell, the moving ridge of water smacked into the bow door with a thud and threw a sheet of water aloft, to be sprayed aft by the wind. The men in the welldeck unched against the sides of the boat in a vain attempt to stay dry. Jake could hear the sounds of retching from the welldeck. The carrier was several miles ahead, hidden by the rain. Jake watched the coxswain handle the boat.
A little red light shone on the compass and RPM indicator. The boat officer held onto a stanchion with one hand and aimed the boat's spotlight with the other. He swept the welldeck and the miserable humanity huddled there. Wet and shivering, Jake tightened his grip on the stanchion in front of him.
The wind was quartering from starboard and roared in his ears.
The puny light played on the Oncoming swells. The water was black with streaks of white.
The swells were at least six feet from crest to trough, and the wind was ripping spindrift from the tops.
The view was the same in all directions.
Apparently satisfied, the boat officer doused the light.
Over his shoulder Jake watched the glow of Naples fade into the gloom.
They were in total darkness. The assault boat plowed on, away from the land, into the heart of the stormy night sea.
THE CARRIER loomed like a cliff out of the heaving sea. She had swung on her anchor until her bow was pointed directly into the wind.
The boat officer held the spotlight on the float moored against the ship's stern as the coxswain maneuvered the assault boat in. From the cavernous fantail fifteen feet above the waterline, two more spots were trained on the float, which rose and fell to the rhythm of the sea, water spewing from the steel deck and the tires lashed along the side for bumpers.
The stairway up to the fantail had wheels mounted on its base, where it rested on the float, and was tracking madly back and forth across the bucking float like a giant phonograph needle on a badly warped record.
The coxswain threw the screws into reverse and jammed on the power, but the mike boat was in the sheltered lee created by the huge ship and continued to close too quickly on the float, which rose when the boat fell and fell when the boat rose. He slammed the lever for the screws out of reverse and jammed the throttles forward as he spun the helm.
He clawed off, barely missing one rner of the gyrating steel float.
The coxswain was no more than twenty. Framed by his slicker, is wet face was a study in concentration as he again brought the boat with its load of sodden, sick men in toward the ship. This time he closed too slowly, and the boat lost headway twenty feet elow the float, before it reached the wind shelter created by the ip. The coxswain poured on the power and Jake could hear the ngines roaring above the noise of the storm. But the corkscrewg boat was stymied by the wind deflected down the side of the monstrous ship, which pushed it away from the float and the loming stern-quarter of the carrier. The coxswain spun the helm and over and used full power on just one engine to swing the boat out, away from the ship, for another try. "Third time's the charm," Jake yelled into the coxswain's ear. The boy's lips parted in a slight grin, but his eyes never left the ri thing float.
The boat officer was standing by Jake now. As the senior officer in the boat, Jake was legally responsible for its safe operation. The young boat officer wanted to be where he could relay any instruction Jake cared to give. Jake knew this, and he also knew that the coxswain was a much better boat handler than either of the ofcers, so
he intended to say nothing at all unless the coxswain completely lost the bubble.
Then Jake's only real option would be to order him to return to the beach.
The coxswain had learned from his first two approaches. This time he held his speed" until the proper moment, then used the crews in reverse to bring the boat against the float. His line handlers lassoed the mooring bitts on the float and lashed their lines down as the boat and the float ground together, still moving up and down out of sync.
Jake eyed the heaving float, and jumped across when the boat and float established a brief temporary equilibrium. He held nto the lifeline and made his way to the moving stairway, which he leaped aboard and climbed while holding onto the railing with both hands.
He presented his ID card to the marine sentries at the top of the ladder, then stepped aside to watch the men exit the boat. The boat officer was directing men out of the well, and two men from the ship stood on the float and grabbed as men jumped or leaped across. The drunks were the last to be manhandled from the welldeck and assisted onto the float.
Then it happened. The next-to-last impaired sailor lost his balance and fell backward waving his arms violently. Somehow the men holding him lost their grip, and the flailing man fell against the man behind him and they both toppled over the stern of the mike boat.
Their lifejackets held them' up, but the wind and swells were pushing them away from the float.
"Man overboard, man overboard, from the fantail," the ship's loudspeaker blared.
The boat officer threw a life ring. Then he tossed a saltwater activated flare.
Jake fought his way through the marines checking ID cards and the stream of sailors coming up the ladder.
"Get these people off the float and outta here," he shouted at the sergeant in charge of the marines.
"Keep those lights trained on the guys in the water," Jake roared at the sailors manning the spotlights. He grabbed the bullhorn from the junior officer-of-the-deck and elbowed his way to the rail. "You in the boat!
Take those men there helping on the float and make off. Pull those guys out. Put life jackets on everyone. He turned around. The fantail was full of gawkers. He used the bullhorn again.
"You people get the hell out of here. Now!" Colonel Qazi led his two former Shore Patrolmen and four of the drunks down the narrow passageway that led from the fantail to the hangar bay.
He would have to work fast. The men in the water had been instructed to attempt to delay their rescue as long as possible, but once picked up, they would be taken to the ship's sick bay and there it would be discovered they were not Americans. Qazi hoped he had at least fifteen minutes, but that was about all the time he could reasonably expect.
There were many men on the hangar deck, all in soaking wet civilian clothes. They were just passing through on their way to the berthing compartments for dry clothes. Qazi's men in civilian clothes would become conspicuous in just a few minutes. Qazi fanned out his men and they began to search through the crates stacked against the aft end of the hangar bay. Men dribbled past from the fantail passageway. Qazi fought back the urge to help his men search through this mountain of supply crates and stood watching with his arms crossed.
A group of men in working uniform ran past, toward the enance to the fantail passageway.
The loudspeaker blared to life. "Flight quarters, flight quarters helo operations. Standby to launch the helo on the waist." Captain Grafton wasn't betting all his chips on the assault boat xswain, Qazi thought.
A chief petty officer approached Qazi.
"What's going on?" "Couple drunks fell overboard getting off the liberty boat." "No shit? What a night for it. You better go get some dry clothes on yourself." "Yeah, Chief." The chief walked away, headed forward. Qazi turned back to his men.
They were still scouring the crates, which were piled four deep on pallets and the pallets were stacked together with narrow passageways all the way back to the aft bulkhead. There must be two hundred crates stacked here. Where was their crate? "Over here." It was back in one narrow walkway, on top of one crate, with other stacked on top of it. One of the men grabbed a fire ax from a bulkhead mount and attacked the crate. The planes forard of them in the bay and the piles of boxes sheltered them from observation by other people going to and fro. Yet the ax against the wood made a lot of noise, the wrong kind of noise.
when the wood gave.
They pulled the other crate off the top of it and pushed it up on other pile and disassembled their crate. Two diesel engines were packed side by side.
"Stack the wood neatly against the bulkhead," Qazi directed. 5 the men quickly cleared up the wood, Qazi examined the two gines. He found the mark he was looking for. "This one," he said. "Bring the ax." The six men lifted the gine and he led them out of the crate-storage area and between the aircraft which filled the bay to a compartment on the port de.
An A-6 with wings folded was parked nearly in front of the or, shielding it from the view of the man in the fire-fighting compartment high in the bulkhead on the other side of the bay. azi used the pointed, piercing tool on the back of the axhead to rce the door.
The compartment was a damage-control locker. Fire hoses, oxygen-breathing apparatus, fire extinguishers, fire-resistant suits, and other tools of the damage-control party filled the space.
With the engine and all the men inside, Qazi shut the door.
When he turned around, the men were opening the container, which really wasn't an engine at all but merely a metal shell stamped to look like an engine. Inside the shell were uniforms and weapons, Uzis with silencers. There were also Browning HiPowers with silencers for everyone. The men stripped to the skin and put on the uniforms, bell-bottom jeans, and short-sleeve denim shirts. Over this they added a navy-blue sweater and a jacket. White wool socks and black, ankle-high brogans went on the feet and wool caps on the heads.
"Go get the other shell and bring it in here," Qazi said when everyone was dressed. That shell held plastic explosive and fuses.
The Command Duty Officer relieved Jake on the fantail. Tonight the COULDO was Commander Ron Tri8orn, the chief engineer. The mike boat was a hundred yards from the ship making an approach to one of the men in the water. The helo was still on the flight deck. As Commander Tri8om explained the situation by telephone to Captain James, who was on the bridge and had ordered the helo launched, Jake left the fantail and walked through the hangar bay.
He passed Ray Reynolds dog-trotting aft. Jake climbed a ladder amidships and went to his stateroom on the 0-3 level. After he stripped off his sodden clothes and toweled himself dry, he called the air wing office.
"Who've you got up there tonight, Farnsworth?" "Well, sir, one of the yeoman and three of the officers have showed up.
I'm getting the yeomen in here to help with the muster." Whenever "man overboard" was called away, every division and squadron on the ship had to muster its people. Since so many men were on the beach tonight, the listing of personnel who could not be accounted for would be time-consuming and tedious. "I was already here when they called man overboard," Farnsworth continued.
"Lieutenant Tarkington was looking for you, so I came down to the office to give him a place to sit.
He's waiting for you now." "I'll be up there in a few minutes. I'm changing clothes." "I'll tell him, sir. And CAG," Farnsworth's voice dropped to a his per, "Mr.
Tarkington's pretty upset." "If he thinks he's going to rag me about securing his liberty, he'd better have another think before I get there." "I doubt if that's it. He doesn't look a bit self-righteous." "Humph. Remind Tarkington to call his squadron to muster." Jake put on a clean khaki uniform and pulled on his leather flight jacket. The air inside the ship was at no more than sixty degrees tonight. It had been so warm these past few days, perhaps someone had forgotten to turn on the heat. Or Captain James had ordered it left off to save the navy sixty-four cents worth of enched uranium. Jake toweled his head dry and combed his hair. He grabbed his combination ca
p, the one with the scrambled eggs on the visor, and locked the door behind him.
"What's your problem, Tarkington?" "I need to talk to you, sir. And I heard you were looking for me.
"Into the office." Farnsworth and his two assistants were already checking names on muster sheets as the squadrons called Jake closed the office door and motioned Tarkington to a chair. He felt around for the note the lieutenant had written to him on the beach, but he had left it in his civilian trousers. "They shot two men to death tonight at the Vittorio." "I heard," Jake said. "I was there." "Oh," said Jake, and sank into his chair.
"Judith Farrell was the leader of the assassination team." Jake Grafton threw his hat on the desk and rubbed his eyes. Start talking." His men stood casually. Their handguns were in the back of their trousers, in the small of their backs under their sweaters and ckets.
The Uzis were in small gym bags, along with spare magazines and grenades.
Qazi examined each face. "Okay, you know your assignments. the success of our mission depends on each one of you carrying out your assignments exactly as you have been taught. Remember, they do not yet know we are aboard, and the longer we remain undetected, the easier this mission will be. You are now American sailors. Just proceed purposefully, yet unhurriedly, and the Americans will accept you as one of them." Three of them spoke no English and the other three spoke only a little, with heavy accents.
Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 2 - Final Flight Page 29
