The Gray Ship

by Russell Moran

  The captain's job, and theirs, is to handle the situation, make rational decisions and, well, do something. But what? What are they up against?

  "Phil please bring us up to date."

  ***

  Commander Philip Bradley is a mystery to Ashley. He's been her Executive Officer for just over eight months, but she never felt the bonding that occurs between a commanding officer and the second in command. There's something in his attitude that she can't put her finger on. He's smart, competent, and professional, but she isn't sure she can trust him, a feeling that she doesn't like.

  ***

  Bradley began his briefing. "At 0309 we experienced the Daylight Event. We went from a dark night to a bright day in an instant. We've lost all satellite navigation, Internet connection, cell phone reception, and all communication with air, sea and shore. Our two-way radios work but we get no response from the shore or other ships. We know that the USS Ticonderoga was steaming 20 miles from us, and I spoke to the OOD on her bridge a few minutes before the event. She hasn't answered repeated attempts to raise her. We were also in communication with the Office of Naval Operations at 0230. We can't raise them either. Since the Daylight Event we've received no communication from anyone, including the weather service. We've tried to raise the Port of Charleston, our destination, but we're as cut off from them as we are from everyone else. All of our shipboard systems appear to be working. We have radar, sonar, and communications with every space on the ship. Because we lost satellite navigation we've relied on our paper charts and fixes by visual and radar. The problem is that none of the navigational aids, including buoys, are in the right place. The only visual object that conforms to the charts is the flagpole at Fort Sumter at the entrance to the harbor. There's another problem. The depth readings are way off by as much as 40 feet. To summarize, we appear to be cut off from the world beyond the USS California."

  Captain Patterson took over.

  "Thank you, Phil. Folks, it may sound like a hackneyed phrase but we need to think outside the box. We are outside the box, so we may as well think that way. I've considered just steaming into Charleston Harbor, but I don't want to put the ship at risk with depth soundings we can't count on. Also, I don't like navigating among buoys that are out of place. If we slip outside the channel we're aground. I won't risk it. Any comments?"

  "What if we head north and return to port in Norfolk?" said Lieutenant Commander Nick Wartella, the engineering officer.

  "Remember, we can't raise Norfolk either," Ashley said. "Something's very wrong, and I don't think location makes much of a difference."

  Ivan Campbell, the navigator, said, "Why don't we send in the motor launch, tie up to shore and find out what's going on?"

  "I've thought of that Ivan," said the Captain, "but I have a concern, one that I can't explain. Maybe one of you can explain it to me. We find ourselves in a very strange situation, and I believe we all agree." Heads nodded. "Something tells me that stealth is in order. Again, I don't know why, but it seems the safest choice."

  Lt. Commander John White, the ship's Communications Officer, spoke. "We have a detachment of SEALs aboard. They not only think outside the box, they trained outside the box. Weird situation management is in their blood. They're not just tough, they're smart, and they know a thing or two about stealth. They can hit the ground, recon the area and talk to people. Why don't we send a SEAL group ashore this evening to see what the hell is going on and report back?" The face of every officer in the wardroom told Ashley Patterson that John White had just nailed the answer.

  "Phil, call Lt. Conroy and tell him to come here immediately."

  Chapter 5

  Lt. Frank Conroy commanded a platoon of 16 SEALs, part of Seal Team 10, headquartered in Little Creek, Virginia. The platoon was assigned to the USS California as part of her deployment to the Middle East. They were scheduled to disembark from the California at a secret location in the Persian Gulf region.

  Navy SEALs are legendary as a unique fighting force. SEAL is an acronym for Sea, Air and Land. The training is the most demanding military preparedness in the world, consisting of six months of grueling physical and mental stress. During "hell week," SEALs spend their time swimming in cold water, crawling through mud, climbing trees and tall obstacles, and jumping out of airplanes from impossible heights like 30,000 feet. All of this is accomplished with little sleep. About 50 percent of those who start SEAL training finish. There is no other way of saying it: SEALs are tough. They are not only professional class athletes, they're also mentally disciplined and intelligent.

  The idea behind SEAL training is to cheat reality of its surprises. When a SEAL is lying in a pool of mud and cold water, having not eaten for 24 hours, with two hours sleep, surrounded by a superior enemy force, he has one thought: "Been here, done this." Lt. Conroy was a typical SEAL. Six feet one-inch tall with a wiry build, Conroy was ready for anything an enemy may throw against him. After two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, Conroy was a hardened combat veteran.

  But nothing prepared Conroy for the Daylight Event, and in that regard he's just like every other human being on the California. He's frightened. His training prepared him for explosions, gunfire, bayonets, and all the other horrors of combat. His training did not prepare him for daylight at night.

  ***

  At 0600 Lt. Conroy entered the wardroom and sprang to attention.

  "At ease, Lieutenant," the Captain said. She explained to Conroy what Bradley had told them at the briefing a few minutes earlier.

  "Bottom line, Lieutenant, we're out here on a nuclear powered cruiser with the best that technology has to offer, and yet we're cut off from the world. I'm sure you've noticed the lack of Internet and email."

  "Yes Ma'am, I've noticed. I didn't get my 0315 briefing from headquarters in Little Creek, which I can usually set my watch to."

  "Lieutenant, I've decided to send a SEAL squad ashore to assess what's going on. The problem is, we don't even have a theory or a hypothesis to give you. What we need is information, and your mission is that simple, to gather information. Recon and report."

  "One of my people could be our best source of information," Conroy said. "Petty Officer Smith told me that he was here in Charleston about five months ago visiting his cousin. Since he can't call her, maybe he'll just ring her doorbell."

  "Who will be in charge of the mission?" Captain Patterson asked.

  "I'll take the squad in myself, Captain." The CO of a SEAL platoon seldom takes command of a specially tasked squad, but would send in a senior petty officer, just as the officer in charge of an Army platoon would assign the job to a sergeant. "I like to brief my people on what to expect, and, as you said Ma'am, we have no idea what to expect. I'll take a squad of eight, including me, just enough to fit in one of the Zodiac inflatable boats."

  "Remember, Lieutenant, we've got no satellite or cell tower communication, so we'll have to rely on two-way radios. I want radio silence if possible. We don't know what we're dealing with. We'll break radio silence only for a good reason. What's the range on your radios?"

  "We can get good reception up to 35 miles, Captain. If you could position the ship about 30 miles off the harbor entrance, that should be ideal. I'll dictate everything we see into my recorder. Chief Petty Officer Duane Jackson will be second in command."

  "Do you want backup from the Marines?"

  "No Ma'am. I'd have those guys covering my back anytime and anywhere, but this will be a recon mission. The fewer the better."

  ***

  "The time now is 0730 hours," Captain Patterson said. "Prepare to leave tonight at 2030,

  about 45 minutes after sundown. There's a quarter moon so it should be very dark at that time. You'll have six hours to snoop around. Be back at the ship by 0300 or earlier if you decide that you've accomplished the mission."

  "Aye aye, Captain. 2030 hours we leave, 0300 we return."

  Conroy called a meeting of SEAL Squad Alpha and briefed the men on their task. He
called on Petty Officer Smith and told him that he had a key role in the recon mission because of his recent visit to Charleston. He told them to get some sleep because the mission would stretch into the wee hours.

  It would be a mission that none of them would ever forget.

  ***

  Ashley spent the day reviewing reports from all department heads. There wasn't much else to do until the SEAL squad returned to give their report the next morning. She stepped out onto the portside weather deck off the bridge to get some fresh air. The day was sunny and clear, and the temperature was 62 degrees.

  From the deck below she heard shouting. She peered over the rail to see what was going on. A tall gangly kid was cornered by three other sailors. He was blond with a pallor to his skin, and his long skinny arms protruded far beyond the cuffs of his shirt. The bottom of his fatigues were a couple of inches above his ankles. He had a hard time finding uniforms that fit. He was being taunted mercilessly.

  "Hey, I'm talking to you shithead. Say something," shouted one of the bullies.

  "You're so fucking ugly you make a fish look good," said another.

  "Hey, dickless, open your mouth before I punch it in," offered a third bully.

  Ashley grabbed Ensign Martin, the Junior Officer of the Deck by the arm. "It sounds like a fight is about to start on the deck below. Go break it up and get me the name of that tall skinny kid who's being bullied."

  "Aye aye, Captain," said Martin. He went below and ended the incident. Martin returned to the bridge and said, "Captain, the kid's name is Simon Planck, Seaman First Class. He's assigned to the clerk's office." Martin also handed her the names of Planck's assailants.

  Ashley called Lt. Cdr. Karen Sobel, the ship's personnel officer.

  "Karen, please come to the bridge. I need to talk to you about something." When Sobel appeared, Ashley told her what happened and asked if she knew Planck.

  "Yes, Captain. Planck is assigned to the clerk's office and I see him often. He gets picked on a lot. I've stopped it a couple of times myself, but we can't control what happens when he's out of sight. It's a shame because he's a good kid, bright and efficient. He's just homely and insecure, and that makes him..."

  "A bully magnet?" asked Ashley.

  "Yes, that's a perfect way of putting it, Captain."

  "Send him up to the bridge, Karen. Make up a story that he has to pick up a piece of paper from the Captain to deliver to you."

  Sobel was happy that the Captain wanted to do something about this. She, like Ashley Patterson, detested bullying.

  Planck appeared on the bridge and saluted his Captain.

  "Good afternoon, sailor, how are you today?"

  Planck couldn't believe that the Captain addressed him personally. Ashley always liked to get to the point and said, "I saw some sailors giving you a lot of shit recently. Do you have any thoughts on that?" Planck was shaken by the captain's bluntness.

  "I'm used to it, Ma'am. It happens all the time. I try not to let it bother me."

  "But does it bother you?" His eyes started to fill up. He's tall but Ashley's taller. She leaned over and gave him what people called an Ashley Patterson Eye Job. Ashley had large expressive eyes, eyes that could express anger, concern or, as in this case, sympathy. "Listen sailor, this is my ship and it's your ship. Nobody in my command gets treated with anything but respect."

  Ashley then shared a plan with the sailor.

  "SEAL Petty Officer Peter Campo is a martial arts instructor with the SEAL team. He runs a regular class for all ship's personnel twice a day. Martial arts are great training for a person's body, but it's also a way to improve your attitude. He won't turn you into a SEAL, but he'll do wonders for your head, not to mention your body. I could recommend this to you sailor, but I've decided to give you a direct order. Join Campo's class starting tomorrow." Another Eye Job: "You're a good person, Simon."

  "Aye aye, Captain" said Planck.

  "And Ma'am..."

  “Yes, Simon?"

  "Thank you, Captain."

  Planck felt dizzy. She even used my first name, he thought. He had told the Captain that he got used to bullying, but that was a lie. His life was a living hell. But somebody noticed, somebody didn't think that it was okay for people to treat him like a dog. Somebody cared.

  Nobody tortures a wounded bird on my watch, Ashley thought, as Planck left the bridge.

  Chapter 6

  At 2030 Lieutenant Conroy and the seven other SEALs lowered their boat over the side of the ship and headed toward Charleston Harbor. Their Zodiac inflatable boat was 20 feet long and equipped with a quiet battery driven motor. The temperature was 55 degrees Fahrenheit. It was clear and the winds calm. They had no idea what they may encounter, so stealth was essential. It was also second nature to a SEAL.

  At 2045 they passed Fort Sumter at the entrance to the harbor. Something wasn't right. Fort Sumter was totally dark. They expected to see a museum, and none of them could figure out why there were no lights. “Don't museums need security?” Conroy observed. "Why no floodlights?"

  Smitty pointed out that when he was in Charleston five months ago, Fort Sumter was visible from the shoreline at night. "It was lit up like a carnival," Smith said.

  They continued on to the main pier at Charleston Harbor. It looked nothing like the photographs they had seen. Instead of a modern dock with a steel frame and rubber cushioning devices, the pier was all wood, with the salty smell of tar and seaweed. The area was lit by what appeared to be gas lamps. A few vessels were tied up along the waterfront. They all looked like they were from the nineteenth-century, not the typical boats you expect to see tied up next to a modern pier. About a dozen workers were on the dock, all dressed in period costumes.

  "These people take their historic reenactments seriously," whispered Conroy.

  They motored slowly along the docks until they found a deserted area with no activity. They came to a narrow indentation in the dock, and Conroy ordered the boat to be pulled into the opening. The Zodiac fit under the dock, completely hidden.

  "Okay, let's have a look around. Head out."

  They wore night camouflage, which is excellent for lurking in the shadows, but if they walked among the crowd it would be obvious that they weren't part of the upcoming ceremony.

  Conroy spotted a flat roofed building that was totally dark. At four stories tall it would make a good place to recon the entire area. An exterior stairway on the side of the building led up to the roof. The area was unlit, so they climbed the stairs without fear of being spotted. From the southwest corner of the roof they had a perfect line of sight to a downtown business district that bustled with activity, mainly people staggering from bar to bar. Gas lamps lit the street.

  The area bustled with people and horse-drawn carriages. Everyone they saw wore a period costume.

  "We're here to observe and to report," Conroy said." "‘What the fuck?' does not count as an observation."

  "Okay, I want each of you to tell me what you see. I'll dictate your observations into my recorder. You guys chime in when I call on you. If you see something that you want us all to look at right away, just speak out."

  Conroy spoke first. "I'm observing a scene that looks like a Hollywood set. There are no motor vehicles in sight, only horse drawn carts and carriages. I can't see anything that appears to be electric light, only gas lamps. Although the Civil War reenactment ceremonies don't begin until the day after tomorrow, all personnel in view are wearing nineteenth-century costumes. Anything look familiar Smitty?"

  "Yes and no, sir. My cousin lives right near the waterfront, but almost everything looks different. I see two buildings that were there on my visit, but they're painted different colors. I remember a whole bunch of modern buildings, the kind you see in any city. But they're not here now. What really blows me away is that I can't see the Cooper River Bridge. My cousin is an engineer, and she loves that bridge. The thing was built in 2005, just eight years ago. It had these huge diamond shaped towers, and I
remember her saying they were 575 feet tall. The bridge was beautiful when lit up at night. It should be right there," said Smith, pointing southeast. "It's not there. It's not fucking there."

  Conroy asked Smitty if he could locate his cousin's building.

  "From where we are, my cousin's apartment building is about four blocks away — I think."

  They continued surveying the crowd on the street, all decked out in their nineteenth-century finest.

  Petty Officer Cyrus Durbin said, "Maybe these people went to method acting school and they're just getting into their characters for the ceremony."

  "I know you meant that as a joke, Durbin, but I'm willing to listen to any observation or impression you have, and that's not a bad one."

  Petty Officer Rick Donnelly spoke. "The smell is incredible. It's a combination of horse shit and raw sewage. I just saw a guy dump what looked like a bed pan out a window. How authentic do you have to get?"

  Petty Officer Emilio Juarez called out. "Look, here come a bunch of guys on horseback all dressed up like rebel soldiers. And check out the cannons they're dragging behind them. This is going to be one hell of a reenactment."

  A cavalry unit of about 40 horsemen strode into view and paraded past the building heading toward the dock area. Behind the column were six artillery caissons each drawn by a team of two large work horses. The column passed by the building just beneath them.

  Petty Officer Walter Reilly called out. "Look at the barrels on that cart. They're tied up next to a couple of goats. I can see the word 'milk' on them. Where I come from, the county health department would go ape shit over that."

  Chief Jackson said, "I don't see one black face in that crowd. Will this be a reenactment for white people only?"

  "Look again," said Giordano. A cart with a half dozen black men came into view. They all sat on the floor of the cart in chains. Through his binoculars Chief Jackson could see visible scars on a couple of the men. The temperature was 55 degrees Fahrenheit, but the black men were all shirtless. "I guess those guys volunteered to play the part of slaves," said Jackson. "These people are assholes."