by W. J. Lundy
“Something wrong?” Brad asked.
“Nahh, just the damn GPS won’t lock the way I want it to. Nothing to worry about, though. Our destination is a straight shot. We can pretty much follow the coast and run into it,” Brooks answered.
“You picked up any radio traffic?” Brad asked.
“Nope, not a thing; I thought maybe closer to the shore we would at least get a radio station but, then again, this isn’t exactly a popular spot on the planet. Maybe as we get closer to the island.”
Brad took an empty seat next to Brooks and looked through the windscreen at the front of the bow to watch the open ocean of the unchanging scenery. Brad stood to look at a map of the region showing the penciled-in lines of their route that Sean and Brooks had drawn. They had a long way to go just to hit the island. He looked at a cutout on the corner of the map and could see that the region was very small when placed on an overlay of the globe. How would they ever make it home? he thought.
A number of different panels were bolted to the dash of the bridge. He could identify some of them from his times fishing on the Great Lakes, but others were a mystery to a ground-pounding soldier. Brad moved around looking at them, and saw what appeared to be a radar screen, almost like the emulated one he had seen in the tower. He asked Brooks if he could show him how it worked.
Brooks poked at the screen, showing how to identify objects and how to distinguish surface anomalies from actual targets. “What’s that there?” Brad asked, pointing at two very small blips on the radar screen.
Brooks looked closer. He pressed buttons and tuned the radar. Two small green objects were moving on an intercept course with their vessel.
“You know, I’m not sure, but judging from the speed and because they are in a pair … I would wager a guess that they are military aircraft,” Brooks said, still turning dials. “Brad, would you mind fetching the chief for me?”
Brad ran below and found Sean passed out in one of the bunks. After rousing him, Brad told him what they had seen on the radar, causing Sean to swing out of bed and quickly join them on the bridge.
“What do you got, Brooks?” Sean asked.
“Looks like a couple of aircraft; definitely fast movers. They are on an intercept course with us. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they are coming right at us.”
“Change your heading; take us straight out to sea away from the coast. And full speed,” Sean said.
Brooks moved back to his seat at the controls and turned the ship ninety degrees away from the coast they had been following. Once the turn was complete, he pushed the throttle all the way forward. The diesel engines roared and the bow rose up out of the water as the speed of the boat almost doubled. They quickly sped away and out of view of the coast.
Brad stood looking at the radar screen, watching the two objects slowly change course and stay on them. The rest of the crew had climbed up from the bow and joined them on the deck to ask what was going on and why the hasty maneuvers.
“Go ahead and take the speed back down and return to course, Brooks. Whatever they are, we won’t outrun them and they’re obviously tracking us,” Sean ordered.
Brooks pushed the throttle back down and turned the boat until it was back on the GPS heading before he looked back at the radar.
“At this speed and heading, Chief, we should have a visual at any minute.”
Sean opened the door to step out onto the deck just as two jet aircraft flying low and fast blew over them. Two quick blurs, and the roar of their engines filled the bridge.
“All stop Brooks, see if you can get them on the radio,” Sean yelled.
The jets flew past at low altitude and banked together, circling around. They were now easily identified as US FA-18 fighter aircraft. They had slowed in speed and appeared to float in the air as they made another pass. Sean took the radio from Brooks, but before he could speak the speakers came alive.
“Unidentified vessel, unidentified vessel, this is US Navy Aircraft Echo Two Seven, please identify yourself.”
With the sound of the radio, everyone on the deck started celebrating and high fiving. They had finally made contact with the outside world, and not only that, but a world that was still capable of putting fighter aircraft into the sky. Sean smiled but put his hand up, asking for silence.
“This is Chief Petty Officer Rogers of the United States Navy on a commandeered Pakistani-flagged vessel. Requesting assistance,” Sean said into the handset.
“Roger that Chief, we have been looking for you, we picked up your helicopter crew about an hour ago.”
“Picked up? Is everyone okay?”
“Everyone is fine, Chief; Captain Bradley sends you his greetings. Chief … Please adjust your heading twenty degrees east and wait for instructions.”
“Roger, can do,” Sean called back over the radio as Brooks pulled the controls to make the course corrections.
23.
The entire crew was packed on the bridge. Sean had a set of heavy binoculars scanning the horizon. They had just begun to pick up multiple objects on the radar screen. Other than the occasional call on the radio for a course correction, they had not received any new details. Sean directed Brooks to maintain course and speed.
Slowly a fleet came into view out of the haze. Brad could make out a number of objects on the horizon: large steel bodies topped with huge masts. He was not familiar with Navy vessels, so a ship was still just a ship to him. Brooks, on the other hand, had begun to get excited and started calling out the names and classes of different vessels. Brooks pointed to a carrier, appearing to stand tall and proud over the others.
As they motored closer the radio came alive again. This time the order was to kill the engines and go dead in the water. Brooks cut the engine and the boat began bobbing in the calm seas. With the large ships on the horizon, the attack boat no longer felt very large to Brad. He opened the bridge door and stepped out onto the bow to take in the view.
Swanson and Nelson joined him on the front of the ship, marveling at the fleet in front of them. They could just barely make out a small Zodiac headed in their direction. A number of armed sailors were on the boat, along with a man standing behind a mounted machine gun. The sight didn’t give Brad any second thoughts; he knew that was how he would do things if the roles were reversed.
The rigid-hulled Zodiac pulled up alongside them. The Zodiac’s crew was dressed in digital blue camouflage with orange flotation devices, and the men were armed with M4s and shotguns. Still ten yards away, they called over a bull horn announcing their intentions to board. Sean was on the rear deck and asked them to toss him a line.
A man tossed Sean a rope and with the help of Nelson, they pulled the small boat in tight and tied it up to the attack craft. A man jumped on board and extended his hand to Sean.
“I’m Lieutenant Hanson; we’re just going to process you all aboard, Chief. This shouldn’t take long,” the smiling young man said as he shook Sean’s hand.
With the two boats secured together, the sailors boarded. They had asked for and received permission from Sean to do a quick search of the vessel. A doctor was with the boarding team and set up shop in the berthing compartment of the bow. One at a time he asked the crew of the attack boat to enter the compartment and strip naked. The doctor gave them a thorough inspection to make sure they were not infected.
When everyone had gone through the inspection process, Lieutenant Hanson asked the crew to have a seat on the aft deck of the attack boat while he called in the status of the crew and said they were ready for departure. Brad could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation, as Hanson was wearing an earpiece and it made it hard to follow what was happening.
Hanson stepped out of the bridge, smiling. “Okay everyone, looks like the doc has cleared you for arrival to the fleet. I’m sorry we don’t have a lot of room, so I won’t be allowing you to take any belongings onto the Zodiac. But don’t worry, you will get everything back. And we’ll be getting you out of those
dirty uniforms.”
Brad looked at himself for the first time. His uniforms were tired and worn, but still he had spent almost two months in the field with nothing more than a change of clothes. He wasn’t sure if he should take the officer’s comments as good news or an insult. Either way, it didn’t sound like it was a point worth arguing.
Sean stepped up from his position on the bench and approached the officer. “Sir, you can have my dirty skivvies if that’s what it takes. When will we be leaving?”
“Oh … Sorry, Chief, you’ll have to leave your weapons also,” Hanson said, pointing to Sean’s sidearms and the MP5 clipped to his gear.
Sean smiled at Hanson and leaned in close so the rest of the sailors couldn’t hear. “Okay son, now you are just starting to sound stupid. I’m not about to surrender my weapons to you. I think you need to get back on that radio and make some calls,” Sean said just above a whisper.
Brad watched as the lieutenant’s facial expression changed from a smile to a look of concern. Hanson left the aft deck and casually walked onto the bridge, closing the door behind him. Sean strolled near the Zodiac and made casual conversation with the sailors. Chelsea shot Brad a concerned look and Brad responded with a shrug of his shoulders. He really didn’t know how all of this would play out or how far Sean was willing to take it.
Hanson walked back out of the bridge, leaving the door open as he walked aft. Sean turned, smiling at him. “What’s the word from the boss?” Sean asked.
“Good news, Chief. The skipper of the Barry says he will allow you all to bring on weapons and a basic supply of ammo, as long as you have a locker to secure them in.”
“Great work Hanson, I knew you could do it,” Sean replied.
Tony came forward and explained that there was a large tool box below that should hold everything. Hanson agreed, so they opened the engine room hatch and the sailors helped them bring the tool box out onto the deck. The crew, one at a time, verified that their weapons were clear as one of the sailors observed and then placed their weapons into the tool box.
With everything loaded in the box, Tony snapped its hatches shut and they loaded the box onto the Zodiac. Hanson quickly ushered everyone aboard.
“What happens with the attack boat now?” Brooks asked.
“Oh, it will become part of the fleet. You have a good amount of supplies on board; they will come in really handy,’ Hanson said. “Don’t worry; my guys will take good care of it.”
They had all boarded the Zodiac with the exception of two sailors, who stayed on board the attack boat. They untied the line marrying them together before the engines came to life and the boats headed in the direction of the fleet. As they got closer, the attack boat peeled off and went away from the Zodiac.
Brad sat in the center of the Zodiac with Chelsea beside him. The small boat rode very rough in the water; plowing through swells. Brad bounced along and reached out to steady himself. As they drew closer to the vessel that he assumed would be their destination, Brad saw the number ‘52’ stamped on the hull.
“52?” Brad asked no one in particular.
A sailor next to Brad turned around. “She is the DDG-52, the USS Barry,” he said.
“What is it, some kind of battleship?”
The sailor laughed. “Nahh man, this is a destroyer!” the sailor said, with obvious pride in his voice.
The Zodiac pulled in close to the side of the large ship. Many men were on the deck tossing lines and shouting instructions to the Zodiac’s crew, directing them toward the back. The crew quickly secured themselves and they rushed Brad and his friends onboard. Brad watched as a group of men brought the tool box aboard and sat it on the deck near them.
They found themselves sitting on a large helicopter landing pad, but the helicopter was missing. Brad knew they were on the back of the boat and that was about it. A group of officers also dressed in digital blue uniforms approached the group, but ignored everyone and walked directly to Sean. One of the officers stuck out his hand.
“Chief Rogers, welcome aboard,” the man said.
“Thank you sir, good to be here,” Sean answered.
“Good, good. I’m Commander Shepherd, the Executive Officer of the Barry. I wanted to greet you firsthand. I wish we had more time to talk right now, but we have protocols to follow for new arrivals,” Shepherd said.
“Protocols?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, nothing to worry about. You are going to sit in a twenty-four hour quarantine. But don’t sweat it, Chief. Enjoy the downtime, okay? Try and get some rest. I will be down to debrief you about this time tomorrow. Sorry I can’t stay, but I am extremely busy today. Once again, welcome aboard,” Shepherd said smiling, shaking Sean’s hand again before walking away.
As the officer left, another man stepped forward. He was short and solidly built with a gold anchor on his collar. “I’m Master Chief Swan; I want to welcome you aboard. You have no gear so that will make this easy. I need you to follow the instructions of my masters at arms and follow them below. You will all have an opportunity to shower and clean yourselves up. We will provide you with appropriate rest, gear, and get you a clean rack and some hot chow for your bellies. I know you all have questions, but seriously, the sooner we start the clock on this quarantine, the sooner I can get you all out. So let’s get moving.”
Quickly a group of younger enlisted sailors stepped forward and ushered them into the ship. They were split into groups. Sean was quickly pulled aside by the master chief while Brad, Brooks, and Nelson were taken away by two men. They watched as Chelsea was led away by two females and Tony was taken in another direction by two other sailors.
They were led deep into the ship and down various passageways. Brad was quickly lost and didn’t have a clue where he was. They were brought into a small compartment that looked like it might possibly be a workspace. The two sailors guided them into the room and asked them to sit down while they waited outside.
Brad took a seat across from Brooks and sat quietly. Nelson was sitting in a corner looking nervous and uncomfortable. “Relax brother, this is all part of the game,” Brooks said to him.
A new face entered the room: a middle-aged tall black man, obviously enlisted by the way he carried himself. He introduced himself as a Navy corpsman and asked the men to remove their shirts. He dropped a small bag on a table and pulled out a number of syringes and vials. He walked up next to Brooks and readied the needle. Brooks quickly snapped up his hand and grabbed the corpsman by the wrist.
The two masters at arms men looked in the doorway with nervous stares.
“Would you mind telling me what this is before you just go sticking me with it?” Brooks said in a calm voice.
“I’m sorry; this is just a batch of antibiotics. The next is a host of antivirals. It will kill any crud you may have picked up and help keep you all from getting sick on the boat,” the man said nervously.
“Oh cool, thanks for explaining that to me, Doc; proceed,” Brooks said, letting go of the man’s wrist.
The corpsman went around the room administering drugs. He left, and promptly their two escorts got them back to their feet and ushered them further down the passageway. They walked past a cage door where a female sailor handed them a pillowcase with two sheets, a pillow, a pair of ugly blue shorts, flip flops, and a yellow T-shirt.
Again they were led down a long passageway, ending up in what looked like a locker room. A man was waiting for them; he sat them in a chair one by one and shaved away the beards and unkempt hair. Then the escorts handed them a number of heavy Ziploc bags. They were instructed to dump all of their belongings into the bags and to strip naked and discard their uniforms into a large, black plastic trash bag.
Brad placed everything from his pockets into the bag and started to seal it. He stopped, pulled his unit patch and the American flag off his uniform, and added them to the Ziploc. Then he stripped down to his boxers and sat back on the bench. One of the escorts looked at Brad and shook his head. “Al
l the way naked, Sergeant,” he said.
Brad shook his head and stripped off and tossed his boxers into the bag. “Damn Navy meat gazers,” he joked to Nelson.
Nelson laughed and stripped down next, then stood and thrust his hips at the sailor. “Am I naked enough for you seamen?” he laughed.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Brooks said to the two of them, trying not to crack up himself.
The bag of soiled uniforms was taken away and they were led around a corner and instructed to shower. When finished, they dressed in the Navy athletic uniforms, which made them all, except Brooks, feel very awkward. The two escorts again led them down a hall and into another room.
This room had two sets of bunk beds and a table in the center. The table held trays of food and a pitcher of water. The escort informed them that they would have to stay in the room for twenty-four hours under observation. If they needed anything they should pound on the door. Then he stepped back into the passage way and closed the door, locking it behind him.
24.
Brooks walked across the room and tossed his bag onto a mattress. “I call bottom rack,” he said.
“Yeah, me too,” said Brad as he tossed his onto the other bottom mattress.
“Cool, I got top!” Nelson said with fake enthusiasm.
Brooks sat down at the table and pulled a tray close to him. He took a scoop of the food, slowly tasted it, and feigned a thoughtful expression before he shoveled down the rest. Brad and Nelson followed suit. Soon the food was gone and the pitcher empty.
Brad walked across the room to fill the pitcher from a faucet. They were lucky to have the rare berthing space equipped with a working head and running water. Almost like a prison cell. There was barely any water pressure, but it was enough. He sat back down and set the pitcher on the table. He saw that Nelson had already climbed onto a top rack and was snoring away on his pillowcase full of bedding.
