"Holy cow," said the Judge. "It looks like the Arab-Israeli War is about to heat up again."
"It's a damn lie," said Ginsberg. "The Israelis only attack military objectives. They probably shot up an Arab airfield."
"How the hell can you mistake a suburban area for an airfield?" demanded the Judge. "It was probably some trigger-happy fly-boy like the ones who shot up the Liberty."
The radio continued: "Switzerland: A jet airliner bound for Israel exploded and crashed shortly after take-off today. All eighty-five on board were killed. Arab saboteurs in Berne claimed they had planted a bomb on board the stricken plane."
"There," said Ginsberg. "You see what kind of sneaking animals these Arabs are?"
"But they only killed eighty-five," observed the Judge. "The Israelis killed two hundred."
"Nuts," said Ginsberg. "Them Arabs are all pigs. We're going to have to wipe 'em out - every one of them."
"Vietnam. U.S. forces advancing in Cambodia captured a huge enemy base yesterday with vast quantities of arms, ammunition, and food. The U.S. high command announced that the Cambodian operation is a huge success so far and is proceeding on schedule."
"Maybe that will shut some of the doves up for a while," observed Fatso.
"Washington, D.C.," continued the radio. "A group of five thousand agitators marched down Pennsylvania Avenue to protest extending the war into Cambodia. They carried Vict Cong flags, tore down and burned the U.S. flag at the State Department, hurled rocks and stink bombs into the offices, and shouted obscenities at the police. The police exercised great restraint but finally had to use tear gas to prevent the demonstrators from storming the building. Ten policemen were hospitalized, three in serious condition. The mayor issued a statement afterward praising the conduct of the police and saying that their expert handling of the demonstration prevented it from becoming a major disorder. Five of the demonstrators were arrested and charged with loitering."
"Good Gawd Almighty," said Fatso.
"Five of 'em charged with loitering," observed Scuttlebutt. "I'll bet that will be a lesson to them."
"In Vietnam, we shoot anybody with a Viet Cong flag," observed Webfoot.
"They tore down our flag and burned it," said Jughaid. "If anybody's got a constitutional right to do that, then you can have the Constitution, so far as I'm concerned."
"Pretty soon we'll be getting those kind of people aboard ship," observed the Judge. "I see where they got underground groups of protestors in the Army now. They grow long hair, publish dirty newspapers, and they're even claiming the right to organize a soldiers and sailors union, now."
"Boy, won't that be something," said Scuttlebutt. "The skipper says, 'No liberty tomorrow,' so the crew goes on a sitdown strike and pickets his cabin."
"I'd just like to see one of those dirty longhairs come aboard here," observed Fatso. "I'll give him something to protest about."
CHAPTER TWO
Malta
Next morning LCU 1124 entered the harbor of Valletta, Malta, where the U.S. had a small supply base. Making their way past the medieval entrance forts, they wended their way through the fishing boats of the harbor and up to the dock assigned them by the signal station at the entrance. As they approached the dock, Fatso said to Jughaid, who had the wheel, "Okay, Jughaid. She's all yours. Take her alongside."
Jughaid idled his engines and looked the situation over. It was going to be tricky tying up in the spot assigned to them. They had to squeeze into a space about 115 feet long between the stern of a British cruiser and the bow of a big oil tanker. This might take a little backing and filling, because LCU 1124 was 110 feet long.
"How do you want me to make it, Cap'n," asked Jughaid, "port side to or starboard?"
"Suit yourself," said Fatso.
Jughaid kicked her ahead slowly, pulled up alongside his berth about fifty yards offshore, and then swung in and headed directly for the dock. He came in just missing the bow of the tanker on his starboard side with about ninety feet of open water between his port side and the stern of the cruiser. He stopped his engines and coasted in till his bow almost touched the dock at right angles to it. Then he yelled at Satchmo up in the bow, "Okay, Satch - get your bowline out."
Satchmo tossed a heaving line to two British sailors on the dock. They took in the heaving line hand over hand with the bowline attached to it and threw the bowline over a ballard on the dock. Scuttlebutt took a strain with the forward winch till the bow was touching the dock. There was about a two-knot tide running, which swung the stern to port and carried LCU 1124 right in toward her berth. With a little help from the engines at the last, Jughaid warped the ship right into her assigned spot, port side to, about two and a half feet to spare, bow and stern.
During this maneuver, Fatso had been leaning on the rail apparently paying no attention to what was going on and saying nothing. As the last line went ashore, Jughaid called over to him, "All tied up, Cap'n. Permission to secure the engines?"
"Okay," said Fatso. "Nice landing," and went below.
This was indeed high praise from Fatso, who belonged to the Ernie King school. His theory was: Don't expect a medal for doing a good job. That's what you get paid for. So just those two words coming from Fatso, "Nice landing," were very high praise indeed.
Shortly after tying up, Fatso went ashore to check in with the chief in the supply office. Fatso and the chief were old friends from way back. As the chief busied himself at the coffee urn, Fatso asked, "Well, what's been going on around here since the last time we were in?"
"Apt-solutely nothing," said the chief. "Not a gahdamn thing."
"Well, it all counts on twenty," said Fatso. "Just the same as if you were on the firing line at Yankee Station. What have you got for me this time?"
"A couple of shipments of diplomats' liquor," said the chief. "One goes to Tel Aviv and the other to Athens."
"Okay," said Fatso. "We'll take care of it."
"We're transferring a man to you, too," said the chief. "He's a new kid we haven't any place for here. Maybe you can use him."
"Okay," said Fatso. "We'll put him to work."
While Fatso was ashore, a queer-looking figure came trudging down the dock with a sea bag over its shoulder and a guitar under its arm. It looked like an American sailor, except it had shoulder-length hair and a heavy black beard. The figure boarded LCU 1124 and found its way aft to the messroom, where an acey-deucy game was in progress.
The Professor was about to roll the dice when the figure entered the messroom, set his sea bag down on deck and took off his hat.
The Professor stopped rattling the dice box, his jaw dropped, and finally he said, "Jeezus Keeriste."
"It looks a little bit like Him, at that," said the Judge. "But I don't think it really is."
"Hi ya, fellas," said the figure.
All hands gaped at the newcomer in astonishment and no one replied to the greeting. Finally the Professor said, "Are you looking for somebody on here?"
"I guess so," said the figure. "Or maybe you're looking for me. I got orders to report to this bucket for duty."
All hands focused their attention on the newcomer and for a moment no one spoke. Finally Ginsberg said, "Hell - it's got to be a gag. He's wearing a wig and a false beard."
"Well, who do I report to?" demanded the figure. "I got a set of orders here that says proceed and report to LCU 1124 for duty."
This was the first time a situation like this had come up. Usually LCU 1124 got its personnel from the crew of the mother ship, the USS Alamo. They were all hand-picked by Fatso and there was always a quite a list of young hopefuls waiting for a vacancy to occur.
"Lemme see those orders," said Scuttlebutt. He studied the paper for a moment, noted it was signed by the CO of the naval station, Malta, and then said, "You'll have to see the skipper about this. He's ashore now. But he'll be back pretty soon . . . Have a seat."
The newcomer took a seat at the table and the others all studied him in open-mouthed amazem
ent. Finally one of them said, "What's your pitch, sailor?"
"How do you mean?" asked the newcomer.
"I mean you must be for - or against - something. What is it?"
"Well, I'm against the Establishment, naturally," said the newcomer.
"Whaddya mean, the Establishment?" demanded the Judge.
"I mean the 'ins' - you know. The military-industrial complex and the international bankers. The politicians and, you know, the cops."
"How about the college professors?" asked the Judge.
"Some of them belong to the Establishment, too. But most of them are on our side."
"Whaddya mean, our side?" demanded Scuttlebutt.
"I mean the oppressed minority, you know, like you and me. People whose constitutional rights arc denied them by the Establishment, you know?"
"How the hell did you get in the Navy?" demanded Scuttlebutt.
"Oh, I volunteered." said the figure.
"Volunteered, for gawd's sake," said Izzy incredulously. "You must of been higher than a kite on pot - or maybe having a bad trip on LSD - when you did that."
"No. They tried to draft me for the Army. But I outsmarted them, and joined the Navy."
"The guy does have some sense at that," conceded Scuttlebutt.
"How come you let your hair grow that way?" asked Jughaid. "Don't they have no personnel inspections up here at Malta?"
"Yeah. They have them. They kept telling me to get my hair cut. But I didn't want to."
"They must run a funny Navy here at Malta," observed Scuttlebutt. "You better get a haircut before our skipper sees you."
"Oh - he'll get used to it," said the newcomer.
Soon after this, Fatso returned aboard. As he sat down at the head of the table and called for a cup of coffee, his glance fell on the newcomer. He did a double-take and his jaw dropped. Finally he turned to Scuttlebutt and said, "Who's your long-haired friend?"
"New man. Just reported aboard for duty, Cap'n," said Scuttlebutt, handing Fatso the orders.
Fatso studied the orders and noted they were in proper form and duly signed by the skipper of the naval base. "Well," he said, "it looks like we'll have to move over and make room for Seaman Adams here. We've got a spare bunk and locker, haven't we?" he asked of Scuttlebutt.
"Yes sir, Cap'n," said Scuttlebutt. "No trouble about a bunk and locker."
"How long you been in this Navy, son?" asked Fatso.
"Six months, skipper," replied Adams. "Three months in boot camp and three here at Malta."
"When was the last time you had a haircut?" asked Fatso.
"Back in boot camp," said Adams.
"Hunh!" said Fatso. "Didn't they ever tell you to get one in Malta?"
"Well, yes, they did. But I didn't think I needed it."
"Oh, I see," said Fatso. "Well, you need one now."
"Uh huh," said Adams, dubiously.
"Are your clippers working okay, Webfoot?" asked Fatso.
Webfoot, among his other duties, was ship's barber. "Yes sir, Cap'n," said Webfoot. "They sure are."
"Then break them out," said Fatso, "and trim Seaman Adams' hair a bit."
"Aye aye, Cap'n. Can do," said Webfoot. He went over to his locker, got out an electric hair clipper, plugged it in and said to Adams, "How long do you want it on top?"
Adams squirmed uncomfortably and said, "Buzz off, mister. I don't want a haircut."
"Oh, yes you do," said Webfoot, as four of the boys got up from the table and took station, two on each side of Adams.
As Webfoot approached with his clippers, Adams started to get up, but was seized and restrained by the four.
"Hey, what the hell's coming off?" yelled Adams, as he struggled to get loose.
"Some of them flowing locks of yours are coming off, pal," said Ginsberg, as Adams found himself unable to move. He struggled briefly, saw that he was helpless, and then yelled at Fatso, "You mean to say you're going to give me a haircut whether I want it or not? You mean to say I got nothing to say about this?"
"No indeed," said Fatso, "you got a constitutional right to free speech. You can say any damn thing you want to. But you'll get your hair cut just the same."
Webfoot began to apply the clippers and cut a swatch across the top of his head clear down to the scalp. Adams struggled a bit at first, but soon found it was useless, stopped struggling, and submitted. In a short space of time his flowing locks were shorn and his head was as bare as a billiard ball.
"How about his whiskers, Cap'n?" asked Webfoot, brandishing the clippers.
"No-o-o," said Fatso. "Let him keep them for a while."
Adams ran his hand over his bald pate and looked ruefully at his shorn locks lying on deck. "You got no right to do that," he said to Fatso.
"We gotta do it," said Fatso. "We got a ship's order, put out by the Captain of this bucket, saying that hair shall be neatly trimmed. So there isn't a thing we can do about it."
"It's illegal," declared Adams. "You got no right to put out such an order. That was assault and battery, what they just did."
"Judge Frawley here is our legal expert," said Fatso. "How about it, Judge? What do you say about that?"
"It's what we lawyers call a moot point," said the Judge. 'The Supreme Court hasn't ruled on it yet. So, until they do, you gotta get a haircut. But you got a right to complain about it."
"Yeah," said Webfoot. "Just as soon as we get to Naples, you can go around and see the senior chaplain there. He'll give you a sympathy chit and the key to the weep locker."
"That's a hell of a way to run a Navy in a democratic country," declared Adams.
"Well, lemme explain to you how we run this ship," said Fatso. "Whenever any question comes up about what we're going to do, we take a vote on it. Everybody has one vote - one man, one vote, just like the Supreme Court says. That is, all except the Captain have one vote. He has one more vote than all the rest. So that way there can never be a tie vote, and we always know what to do."
Adams continued to feel his head, and said nothing.
"So-o-o," said Fatso to Scuttlebutt, "you assign Seaman Adams a bunk and a locker, and put him on the watch list." Fatso got up from the table and went to his cabin.
Next morning just before they got underway from Malta, a civilian technician came aboard with half a dozen big black suitcases. "Jenkins," he said, reporting to Fatso. "I'm with the CIA. I've got some special gear here to deliver to the America."
"Okay," said Fatso. "We can take care of it for you. Any special instructions about it?"
"No," said Jenkins. "It's electronic equipment - and I'm going along with it."
"Oh. Okay," said Fatso. "This ain't exactly a luxury liner we got here. It will be some time before we join up with America. But we can give you a bunk and a place at the table."
"That's all I want," said Jenkins. "And a place to put these suitcases out of the weather."
"Bring 'em right in here," said Fatso, "and stick 'em up over there in the corner."
CHAPTER THREE
USS America
While these things were going on on board LCU 1124, the rest of the Sixth Fleet was about its business of maintaining control of the seas and spreading peace and good will throughout the Mediterranean. To do this, the fleet is organized into task forces. The spearhead of the fleet is the Striking Force, which consists of several carriers, cruisers, and a couple of dozen destroyers. This group ranges through the Med from Gib to Istanbul, conducting exercises at sea and visiting places where the sight of its ships in the harbor may stiffen the backbones of our NATO allies. This is the arm of the fleet which makes our foreign policy effective and adds weight to the words of our diplomats. Its carriers have planes which can deliver atom bombs to a range of two thousand miles and blast a large city off the face of the earth.
Another major element of the fleet is the Amphibious Force, to which LCU 1124 belonged. This element consists of a marine battalion embarked in various ships which carry an array of smaller landing craft c
apable of beaching themselves. In case any small countries around the Med take any ill-advised action, these leathernecks are always ready to appear offshore, land, beat the hell out of the local inhabitants, and restore peace and good will.
The third element of the fleet is the Service Force. This consists of oilers, supply ships, and ammunition carriers. It has periodic rendezvous at sea with the striking and amphibious forces and supplies them with beans, bullets, oil, anti-stink lotion, and everything else required to keep the peace.
The Sixth Fleet has no fixed base in the Med. The Service Force, which shuttles back and forth from the U.S., provides the fleet with a mobile base whose status cannot be jeopardized by local upheavals and revolutions, which are S.O.P. these days, especially in North Africa.
Command of this fleet was vested in Vice Admiral Hughes, who flew his flag in the cruiser Milwaukee. A high-powered radio network including satellite relays kept him in constant touch with the Commander in Chief of U.S. Naval Forces, Europe, in London, and C. in C. Allied Forces Southern Europe in Naples. By means of satellite relays, the Pentagon could bypass the normal chain of command and issue orders to him by scrambler phones, which upset carefully arranged military applecarts throughout his bailiwick.
The Striking Force was currently at sea just west of Malta. On board the attack carrier America, Rear Admiral Mason was being briefed. Seated in front of a large vertical chart of the Med in Flag Plot were the Admiral, his chief of staff, and operations officers. On the bulkheads around them were displays showing the state of readiness of all their ships and planes and the ships of all other navies in the Med, the current weather map, and many other items of interest. In the rear of the compartment was the coffee urn, presided over by the Admiral's messboy.
An aide, pointer in hand, was filling the Admiral in on the latest flashes from hot spots around the Med. "The Israeli government has just announced that the bombing of Cairo in which those civilians were killed was a mistake due to a mechanical failure in one of their aircraft. To show their good faith in this matter, they have just advised the Egyptian government that among the bombs dropped was one five-hundred pounder with a twenty-four hour delay fuse. They have advised the Egyptians that this bomb should be defused immediately."
Away Boarders Page 2
