“Got you,” Dunne said and took one of the small, black handsets from the communications closet behind the main desk. He handed another handset to Smith. “Channel One?”
Smith nodded, turning on the radio and tuning it to the correct channel. “Don’t forget a comms check when you get down below. We don’t want to be screeching at each other and nobody being able to hear what’s going on.”
“Roger that, Smith,” Dunne said. He glanced at McDonnell and nodded his head sideways. “Come on, let’s go take a wee look.”
McDonnell solemnly nodded and the two big Irishmen left the bridge.
We stood in silence for a few minutes. I didn’t really know what to say to relieve the obvious tension in the room. Even if I had spoken, I’d probably have said something stupid.
Smith stood staring out of the front windows with the VHF radio in his hand. O’Neil paced up and down the bridge with his hands behind his back. Hannigen sat back down on the chair and rubbed his face. McElroy shuffled around next to Smith, turning around from side to side. Chernakov leaned against the desk, staring downwards. I didn’t know if he was studying the map or simply staring into space. I didn’t ask and I didn’t want to know what the Russian was thinking.
I remained where I was, rooted to the spot, wondering what kind of calamity lay in front of us now.
Dunne’s distorted voice came through on Smith’s radio, checking the communication system was working okay. Smith replied, verifying the comms were good.
“We better not try to move anywhere until we get a sitrep from the boys down below,” Hannigen said.
Smith and McElroy both nodded. Chernakov stayed where he was at the desk, with a far away, glazed look in his eyes.
“How far away do you think that island is?” I asked nobody in particular, just to try and relieve the pressure each of these guys were feeling.
Smith shook his head. “I don’t know, kid. Maybe half a click, maybe more, it’s difficult to say.”
“We should have engaged the sonar and radar,” Chernakov growled. “This would never have happed if you cowboys had known what you were doing. This is a sophisticated piece of equipment that cannot simply be run like a stupid American automobile. It needs much training to know how to use this apparatus. You cannot simply jump onboard and expect to arrive at a chosen destination at the drop of a hat. You have to gain knowledge and experience in navigation and…”
“Shut the fuck up,” Smith, McElroy and Hannigen all yelled in unison.
I giggled, I didn’t know why. It sounded comical, even in our dire situation. That was just me, a macabre sense of humor. Smith always said it was because of my British and Irish upbringing. Those nations were the masters of gallows type humor.
Dunne called in on the radio. Smith acknowledged.
“The bulkhead is dented inwards and a little buckled but we’re not taking on any seawater,” Dunne confirmed.
“Roger, that,” Smith said into the radio. He turned to Chernakov. “Okay, we got a choice. Either try and reverse backwards off the reef or stay right where we are and take the boat over to the island.”
“What boat?” Chernakov barked. “Don’t you remember? You tossed away the life boats when you fled from Belfast.”
Smith exchanged glances with McElroy.
“Yeah, but we still got the RIB,” he said.
The rigid inflatable boat was basically a dinghy with an outboard motor, mostly used for emergencies, such as rescuing a person who had fallen overboard or to transport a small crew to carry out maintenance work along the ship’s side.
“If we try to move astern, we could rip the bows off the ship,” Hannigen groaned. “Or maybe at the very least tear a big hole in the side. Why didn’t you ejits sort out where the hell we were going? Between you, you’ve managed to lead us into dangerously low waters.” He swung around in his chair to face the windows and banged his fist on top of the control panel. “Now, we’re totally fucked.”
“It’ll take us a fair few trips in that small boat to get us all ashore,” O’Neil sighed.
“What’s your best guess at the chances of you getting us off that damn reef, Hannigen?” Smith asked.
Hannigen sighed and swiveled around in his chair to face the bridge. “Look, Smith, I really don’t know. Without going down under the briny to take a look, I really couldn’t tell you. This is a nuclear powered ship and I don’t know how much damage we could do to the reactor if we start flooding the decks with seawater, which may well occur if we rip a hoofing great hole in the side.”
“We’re literally up Shit Creek without a paddle,” McElroy said.
“Or up Shit Creek without a ship that’s fully maneuverable,” Hannigen reiterated.
“So you want somebody to go down underwater and take a look at the damage, huh?” Smith asked.
“Well, at least it would help to make a full diagnosis of our situation,” Hannigen said. “But how the hell are we going to manage that task, Smith?”
Smith flashed me a rapid glance. If I hadn’t known him so well, I would have missed it. But I knew that expression and the sudden look in his eyes. He was thinking of something, another bizarre plan.
I also knew that plan involved me somehow.
Chapter Five
“What do you have in mind, Smith?” I asked, fearing his answer would be some hare-brained scheme.
Smith looked at me with a cocksure, crooked grin. “Remember when you told me you had a life-long ambition to go scuba diving, Wilde Man?”
I could recall no such conversation but that didn’t mean I’d never uttered those words, perhaps during a late-night, drunken exchange, when you say the most ridiculous things.
“I don’t know what you’re even talking about, Smith,” I sighed.
Smith smiled and ducked his head slightly, using a pose he probably used in the past when threatening Brooklyn street hustlers into handing over a week’s takings before they took a serious beating.
“Well, we got a load of gear in the diving store down below. How about me and you go for a little swim with the fishes?” He pointed downwards to the floor.
I laughed nervously, holding up my hands in a surrendering motion. “What, me? Go down there? You must be kidding, right?” I knew there could be some very big fishes down there. “I’m sure Mac or one of the others would be happy to go scuba diving with you, Smith.” I was trying to volunteer other people for Smith’s crazy mission now. I really didn’t want to go down into the depths of the sea.
Smith sighed and cocked his head to one side, staring at me like I was an insubordinate school kid. I knew he wanted me to do this loathsome task alongside him. Smith slapped me on the shoulder in a friendly manner but it was also a little harder than a buddy blow. He was telling me to go ahead with his plan or I’d be in deep shit.
“Hey, Wilde Man, caaam aahhn, will you. Don’t make me have to beg you.”
I knew Smith had no intention of and wouldn’t beg, period.
McElroy shook his head. “I don’t think any of the rest of us are divers, Brett,” he said. “It was kind of a rich man’s pastime back in Belfast, you know.”
O’Neil and Hannigen were both staring at me as though they were expecting a favorable answer.
“Hey, guys, I’ve never worn a damn wetsuit in my life. I don’t know shit about scuba diving,” I protested in an overly loud voice.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ll run you through it,” Smith said, gripping my shoulder. “I haven’t been diving since I was in the Corps so I’m a little rusty myself but I’m sure it’ll be okay. Trust me.” He winked at me with a slight smirk on his face.
I breathed a deep sigh. “Here we go again.”
I reluctantly followed Smith down below decks to the diving store, where they kept all the appropriate gear. The room was nothing more than a steel plated locker room with large gray colored cabinets, housing tightly packed rubber suits, masks and air tanks. The enclosed space stunk of old seawater, sweat and
musty rubber.
Smith began rummaging around inside the lockers, picking out wetsuits for our differing sizes. I took a quick peek back out into the corridor beyond the lockers to check nobody was in earshot.
“Smith, tell me honestly,” I said. “Why the hell do you want me to come down under the sea with you?”
Smith tossed me a black rubber suit that hit me full in the face. I sincerely hoped it hadn’t started my nose bleeding again.
He gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. I figured you could use a little action. Get you off this damn ship awhile. Besides, we haven’t teamed up for some time and it might be good to spend some time together. Just you and me again, kid.” He flashed me a broad, unconvincing smile.
“Seriously?” I sighed.
The smile dropped from his face like a missile falling from a fighter jet. “Look, I need somebody I can trust to watch my back, kid. The Irish guys are dedicated but I’m not sure I can still rely on them one hundred percent. It’s a different thing when we’re all running about the land, armed up and shooting at bad guys or dead guys. We all have a common cause. But when things are really tight, I’m not sure they’ll still be there at my side. You will. I know that for a fact.”
I didn’t know if Smith was bullshitting me just to make me feel pumped up or if he genuinely meant what he said.
“I appreciate what you’re saying, Smith,” I said. “But this is diving in the sea. Shit, people get the fucking bends or whatever you call it from going underwater and not knowing what the fuck they’re doing.”
Smith screwed up his face and dismissively flapped a hand at me. “That only happens when jerks come up too fast. Besides, we ‘aint even going down that deep. It’s a few goddamn feet down in the shallows. You can virtually see the bottom from the side of the ship. It’ll be more like snorkeling at the beach. Remember doing that?”
I shook my head. “I’m still not happy about this situation, Smith.”
“Ah, come on, kid. Grow a pair will you. Besides, you’ll love it down there.” He grinned again. “It’ll be fun.”
My eyes instinctively widened. “Seriously?”
Smith tossed the wetsuit he was holding over his shoulder. “Okay, kid. We’ll take the gear we need out from the lockers and I’ll run you through the basics of diving.”
We hauled equipment from various lockers and piled it in the center of the room. Smith explained in typical Brooklyn detail about the assorted jumble of paraphernalia in front of us.
“Ya take this fukin’ mouthpiece and blah blah blah…”
“The air tanks hold so much fuckin’ air…”
“Do this…don’t freakin’ do that…yakety fuckin’ yak…”
My head swam but I forced myself to take onboard as much information as my brain could absorb. I knew every small detail could mean the possibility of life or death down in the watery depths.
Chapter Six
We stood either side of the diving apparatus for over an hour. I asked Smith several questions and I knew he was becoming more infuriated with me by the second. He gritted his teeth and spat out the answers as we went over and over the same things. I had to be sure I had some vague idea of what I was doing and the hazards going underwater posed.
“If all else fails, kid. Just slowly swim up to the surface,” Smith finished up with. “You got that? Are we fucking clear now?”
I shrugged. “I suppose. As clear as it’s going to be.”
Smith groaned. “Listen kid, I’m losing the will to live here. Work with me a little here, will you do that?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m good with it, Smith. Let’s rock and roll.”
“All right, that’s what I’m talking about.” Smith held out a clenched fist and we bumped knuckles. “Let’s get geared up and ready to go.”
Smith tested the air tanks and we stripped down to our skinnies. Smith dressed me in the wetsuit then tugged on his own.
“We’ll put on the rest of the shit when we get up top,” Smith said. “We’ll get Hannigen to drive the boat and take one more guy out with us. Mac and his crew know how to lower the boat onto the waterline.”
We scooped up the rest of the equipment, weight belts, masks and fins and the scuba units themselves. All the gear seemed heavy and I struggled to haul it all to the upper deck.
Thomas McElroy, Connor Hannigen, McPherson, Dunne, McDonnell and Duffy were already waiting for us on the boat deck, along with a small crowd of anxious looking people. I noticed Batfish and Wingate among the welcoming party. The worried look on their faces didn’t exactly instill me with confidence.
“You took your time, Smith,” Hannigen snapped. “The damn ship could have sunk by the time you made it up here.”
“Yeah, well, worse things happen at sea, Hannigen,” Smith quipped.
Hannigen’s glowering expression turned to one of confusion. “What? We are at sea, you ejit.”
Smith pointed a finger in the Irishman’s direction. “Exactly, well spotted that man. By the way, we need you to drive the boat.”
Hannigen shrugged. “All right. If I must.”
Smith turned to McElroy’s stern faced crew. “We need somebody else out in the boat with us to haul our asses back onboard when we come up.”
McPherson nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll go out there with you, Smith.”
“Good man, well volunteered. Ever think about a career in the military?” Smith asked.
McPherson looked dumbfounded.
“Only kidding, man. Let’s get geared up,” Smith said.
Smith seemed in a weird mood, unusually lighthearted. And he hadn’t even been on the bourbon as far as I knew. Even to a novice like me, drinking before scuba diving didn’t seem like a good idea but Smith never played by the rules of life. I was probably assuming the worst but in these troubled times, optimism and straight thinking wasn’t much of the norm.
We geared up into the diving equipment. Duffy and Dunne helped Smith and I with our air bottles, flippers and weight belts, whilst McElroy lowered the sea boat to deck level from the big gray winches overhead.
“Just be careful down there, you guys,” Sarah Wingate called out from the crowd.
Smith winked at her in reply. “We’re always frosty, babe.”
I glanced at Batfish, she immediately averted my gaze and looked down at the deck. No ‘good luck, Brett,’ rally call like the old days.
I suddenly felt exactly like who I was. A small town dickhead totally out of his depth, going into a dangerous situation using equipment I knew nothing about.
The sea boat shook slightly when McElroy stopped the winch. The boat was around a foot from the deck.
“All aboard,” Smith said.
Smith clambered into the boat with ease, followed by McPherson and Hannigen, who immediately took up his position behind the steering wheel and the central control panel. I struggled to make it over the side, weighted down by the heavy belt and air tanks. Duffy and Dunne assisted me, roughly shoving me over the spongy rubber boat’s side.
I tumbled inside the small craft and righted myself, sitting at the back of the boat on a wooden board. Smith glanced at me from the opposite side of the vessel.
“You okay, kid?”
I nodded, my facemask bobbing around while dangling around my neck. My mouth was dry and I felt incredibly nervous. Talking about diving was one thing but actually carrying out the procedure was something else entirely. Once again, I had the bad feeling I was going to let Smith down. He trusted me and I always felt as though he was testing my limits. Maybe he saw something in me I hadn’t recognized. Perhaps he always thought I was actually a better human being than I thought I was. I knew in the military they liked to bust you down to build you back up. Conceivably, that was what Smith was doing with me. He was a former U.S. Marine and during some of our drunken, late night sessions, he’d spilled the beans about his experiences in several combat zones. From what I remembered him telling me, I wouldn’t like to be the guy on the r
eceiving end of Smith’s wrath.
Smith made a whirring motion with a raised finger and McElroy hit the winch lever, lifting us in the boat and outboard from the ship. I clung on to the side as the boat rocked under the motion. McElroy lowered us down to sea level. I felt a little sick but stopped myself from vomiting, swallowing down the stomach bile infiltrating my mouth.
The bright sun glinted across the clear sea and as the boat lowered, I could see the hulk of the warship’s side, wedged firmly against a black mass below the surface. What the hell had we done? A bunch of amateurs trying to coast around islands surrounded by reefs and rocks. It had taken the Europeans centuries to navigate the Caribbean Islands and we thought we could do it in one attempt. It was almost laughable if it wasn’t so serious.
“Got a smoke?” Smith asked McPherson.
McPherson nodded and offered his pack. Smith lit up and we shared the cigarette as the boat hit the water.
“What was it they said during World War Two?” I said, tossing the butt into the sea. “A last smoke before they got shot by the Nazi firing squads.”
Smith grinned and pointed at me. “The bad guys in that war had the best equipment and the best uniforms. Tough on them they had a complete asshole directing the field operations.”
“Adolf Hitler would have won that war if he hadn’t invaded Russia,” Hannigen interjected, turning his head. “That was his big mistake.”
Smith laughed. “Weren’t you guys neutral during that war?”
Hannigen grimaced, gritting his teeth as he glowered over his shoulder. “You should breeze up on your history, Smith. Belfast took its fair share of bombing during the Blitz, so it did. I think you’ll find the Republic was neutral, not the North. We stood alone as one until you American boys joined the party, very late on. 1941 was it?”
Smith smirked. “Discussion to be continued, Hannigen.” He waved up to McElroy then pointed to McPherson. “Release the strops, dude.”
McPherson nodded and leaned forward across the boat. He unhooked a big yellow clasp that held together four sturdy straps connecting the boat to the winch. The straps fell inside the boat and McPherson brushed them to the sides.
The Left Series (Book 6): Left On An Island Page 3
