Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad

by Stephen Phillips

“Kermit, this is Fozzy. We got your runner. ‘Seems scared. You want us to keep him here?”

  “Fozzy, this is Kermit. Roger that.”

  When the SEALs were confident that they had control of the ship they moved all non-essential personnel to the deck in front of the ship’s main superstructure and placed them under guard. The captain remained at the helm and a second crewmember was in engineering also under guard.

  “Kilo Four, Five, Seven, Eight, search the house. Look for hidden Tangos or contraband,” said Holt.

  “Four,” Foote acknowledged for his element.

  “Kilo One and Three, Echo One, secure the bridge team and keep eyes on the main deck to help cover the security team there.”

  “One,” Senior Chief Daranchak answered.

  “Echo One,” replied T-Ball.

  Holt looked out the front windows of the bridge. “Fozzy, Kermit. Begin search of the main deck and all holds.”

  “Fozzy.”

  T-Ball stood in the starboard corner of the bridge. He faced his body toward the captain, now at the helm, steering the ship. T-Ball pointed his weapon at the deck just in front of his feet.

  Holt was outside on the bridge wing now, talking to the George Washington, giving them a situation report. Senior Chief Daranchak walked around the bridge slowly opening doors and cabinets.

  T-Ball looked at the ship’s captain from behind the anonymity of his balaclava. The captain was short and thin with a very dark complexion. He appeared more African than Arab. The captain’s hair and three days of beard growth were white and his eyes looked glassy. He held the helm steady and looked back and forth between the compass and the forward bridge window.

  T-Ball caught the man stealing a glance toward him.

  Again, he sensed something different about this captain. Most masters would talk really fast and act nervous, especially if they had contraband onboard. This one, despite his words to the contrary, seemed calm.

  Though Holt was just a few feet away out on the bridge wing, Daranchak called to him over the radio.

  “Kermit, Kilo One. Jackpot. I say again Jackpot.”

  “What ya got?”

  “Five Aces, over.”

  “Be there in a second,” said Holt.

  T-Ball walked to the back port corner of the room where Daranchak had opened a set of accordion doors to what appeared to be a closet. He stepped past the senior chief through the door into the shack. It obviously did not fit for a common merchant ship. He counted four separate consoles and guessed there were four separate systems, at least one of which was encrypted.

  Absent-mindedly, T-Ball swiveled the chair at the center console and saw an olive drab rectangular shaped canvas bag sitting on it. Though a flap on top hid most of its contents, through an opening in the corner he could see what appeared to be four large green blocks with bright orange cable running into them. The EOD Tech knew immediately what it was.

  “Kermit, all in Kilo, this is Echo One. Clear the house. Now!”

  “What!” exclaimed Holt and Daranchak together.

  T-Ball turned on his heel toward them.

  “No time, sir! Clear the house now!”

  Holt keyed his mike. “Kilo, this is Kermit. Clear the house!”

  Daranchak and Holt handcuffed the captain again and dragged him off the bridge. They knew the ship would not go far at such a slow speed.

  From his belt, T-Ball removed his K-bar knife. He flipped open the top of the pouch. Inside were a total of sixteen blocks of plastic explosive. Each block was about twelve by three by three inches. The orange cable running into each was probably some form of detonating cord.

  It was a military destruct charge. The crew did not place it precisely. That meant that the explosives had enough power to destroy the room easily, and it would probably take out the whole bridge.

  T-Ball had to determine how the explosives were initiated. On destruct charges it was usually a timer. He pulled a penlight from his vest and shined it into the sack. On one side he saw a black box. Undoubtedly, it held an electronics package designed to initiate the charge.

  Next he pulled a pair of cutters from his vest and cut the satchel from top to bottom on both sides, opening a flap on the face where the box was. He studied it quickly. It was a black metal rectangle, about the size of a hardback book.

  T-Ball knew that he had to act fast; the timer on this device was probably initiated just as they got onboard. The crew knew that SEALs would be on the bridge quickly, therefore the timer probably had no more than ten minutes on it. In a microsecond he realized that the runner may have been afraid of them, but he was more afraid of this bomb.

  T-Ball dropped his response pack to the deck and unzipped it fully. Inside was a collection of mesh compartments. He opened one and pulled out a small pouch. From the pouch he extracted a handle with a square fixture on the end and a circular saw blade slightly larger than a silver dollar. He attached the blade and pushed a button on the handle. It sung to life.

  Next T-Ball selected a small suction cup with a handle from another compartment. He leaned over the metal box that contained the electronics package and placed the suction cup on it with his right hand. While still holding on to it, he pressed the button on the saw with his left hand.

  With the saw, he traced a rectangle just inside the outer edge of the box. As he cut, T-Ball was careful not to go any deeper than the thickness of the metal. He winced as hot shards pierced into his gloved hand and forearm.

  As he finished the trace, he pulled on the suction cup, removing the cutout. Now he could see the circuitry inside.

  It was a smorgasbord of chips, diodes, resistors, and lots and lots of wires. In the bottom right hand corner was a digital timer. When he first looked at it, it read, “0:05:16:21.”

  He had just over five minutes.

  T-Ball studied the wires. He knew the answer was there. From his vest he pulled a pair of wire cutters. He cut the plastic sheathing of one of the wires, careful not to cut through. He stripped off the sheathing, pulling it back like the skin of a banana. Now the bare wire was exposed.

  Then he pivoted back over to his response kit and grabbed a clear plastic bag. T-Ball pulled down his hood and brought the bag to his mouth opening it with his teeth.

  The first number on the timer was now a “4.”

  Out of the bag popped a small one by two inch box. It had two wires protruding from it. Each had an alligator clip. T-Ball clamped each alligator clip to the wire he stripped. Then he snipped the wire between the clips.

  He looked at the timer. It was now under four minutes.

  T-Ball continued to study the circuitry to ensure his procedure was correct. Then he stepped out onto the bridge wing and keyed his radio.

  “Kermit, Echo One. Procedure complete, standby.”

  “Kermit.”

  T-ball strode back onto the bridge and into the hidden communications shack. The time read, “00:00:00.”

  The destruct charge did not detonate. Smiling, T-Ball clicked his mike again.

  “Kermit, Echo One.”

  “Go, Echo One.”

  “Rendered safe.”

  SIX

  Annapolis

  After going to Mass, Jazz and Melanie loaded their kids in the car for a trip to Annapolis. The strained relationship with his father prevented Jazz from enjoying being near his parents these past few months. The one positive thing of living close to them was that his mother watched the kids from time to time to give Melanie a break.

  As they turned from Maryland Route 301 to Route 50 Melanie said, “So, what are you going to tell the Admiral?”

  “What can I say? I’m going to have to tell him. He’s probably going to flip. I’m going to get yet another lecture on how I’m wasting my career wearing cammies, diving and blowing shit up, and how I need to be driving ships and subtly highlighting the flaws of my peers.”

  “And how are you going to respond?”

  “I’ll tell him that I’d rather be an ex-Navy
Diver coaching little league than a retired war hero whose family refers to him by rank.”

  “Oh sure fine,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “Please do it after dinner this time so at least the boys are fed before I have to put them back in their car seats for the hour long ride home.”

  Jazz breathed heavily. She knew he wasn’t going to respond to the Admiral with a rebuttal. Jazz grew tired of that long ago. It was easier now to just keep quiet and let the Admiral rant and rave at him like he was a derelict sailor standing before him at Captain’s Mast or a negligent Officer of the Deck standing by to be fired after running his ship aground.

  “Jazz, I’m sorry,” Melanie said after a moment of silence. “He makes me tense too.”

  “I know.”

  “I was letting myself get excited again about getting back to our house. I mean, you are going to deploy and I’m going to be alone with three kids in Texas while all of our family and friends are here or in Virginia.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it this way either.”

  “I know that,” Melanie paused for a moment. “I disagree with the Admiral on something else though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Unlike him, I’m glad you did this thing. I think it is crazy, the diving and blowing stuff up and all, but I can tell it makes you happy. I would have liked to see you put on admiral’s stars, but it took courage to defy your father, to be your own man.”

  Melanie put her hand on his knee.

  “I know what you’re doing is difficult. I guess what I am trying to say is I think in many different ways you are very brave, and I think that’s very sexy.”

  Jazz smiled. “Well, hooya, baby.”

  “Stop right there, sailor—I was not implying anything,” Melanie giggled.

  “Too bad.”

  The Jascinskis fell quiet again and remained so for the rest of the trip.

  The Jascinski estate was on the Chesapeake Bay. The Admiral was a competent financial manager. He invested wisely and now owned most of the houses that the family lived in over the years. There were two in Norfolk, Virginia, one in San Diego, and one in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, in addition to the one in Annapolis. Each one was rented only to fellow naval officers who the Admiral deemed reliable and likely to maintain the properties in good condition.

  Jazz’s mother came to the door as he pulled the 4Runner into the circular driveway. She smiled and waved enthusiastically. His mother knew that coming home, wherever that was, held mixed emotions for her son.

  Eleanor Jascinski began her marriage as a Navy wife of the old school. She was a junior officer’s wife in the days when you had to be ready to entertain the commanding officer and his wife at a moment’s notice. If you wanted to help further your husband’s career, upon joining a new wardroom you inquired as to what the CO and his wife liked to drink, and kept your bar stocked accordingly. It was not uncommon for a junior wife to receive a phone call from the CO’s wife at two in the morning.

  “I need diapers. Do you have some? Or could you please go out and get some for me?”

  In the late sixties and early seventies a Navy wife rarely had a career unless it allowed her to move with her husband. Those women who worked were likely nurses or teachers. Eleanor chose not to work, but when her husband finally realized positions of command she also rejected the culture of their early Navy life. Still, she exuded a loyalty to the Admiral and his career that Jazz never understood. It was almost as if through her suffering and sacrifice it had become their career.

  “Melanie, you are simply glowing!” Eleanor said as she hugged Melanie.

  “Thanks Mom. Could you help me get Tyler out of the car? I’m having trouble bending over.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Jazz was unbuckling Nicholas from the other side.

  “Hey, Ma, how ya doing?”

  “I’m fine, dear. The Admiral’s down on the pier if you want to speak to him about something.”

  Jazz stopped at his mother’s words. He shot a look past her to his wife standing behind her on the driveway. Melanie was flushed. Jazz realized that she already told Eleanor about the assignment in Ingleside. He frowned at both of them.

  From the back of the house, Jazz could see the Admiral on the pier. He was polishing the teak on his 50-foot sailboat, Grace. Jazz walked down the stairs they built together that ran from the bluff that the house sat on to the deck at the foot of the pier. There was a fair amount of boat activity on the bay. He wished he could go out there today, but even if there were time, his father would never allow it.

  The Admiral looked very Annapolitan dressed in an oxford shirt, khakis, and boat shoes. Jazz noticed that the skin on his head was starting to darken with the spring. He was thankful that male pattern baldness passed through the female side of the family.

  He caught his father’s eye as he walked down the pier.

  “Junior, good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, sir.”

  “How is school going?”

  “Fine, sir, I’m almost done.”

  “That’s what I understand. Do you have orders yet?”

  “I do... to Ingleside, Texas.”

  “The HELL you say!”

  “Yes, sir. Officer in Charge, Explosive Ordnance Disposal Mobile Unit Six, Detachment Ingleside.”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “Well, sir, Mobile Unit Six is in Charleston but they have two detachments in Ingleside, Texas to support of all the minesweepers and minehunters there.”

  “So your CO will be in Charleston?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hundreds of miles and a full time zone away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bad enough you guys never deploy with your CO’s, now you won’t even be in the same damn state.”

  A silence passed between them.

  Finally the Admiral said, “Ingleside, near Corpus Christi right? Isn’t that where Inchon is now?”

  “Yes, sir. She has been reconfigured from an Amphibious Assault Ship to a Mine Warfare Command Ship.”

  The Admiral looked at Jazz a minute with a frown on his face. He looked as if he was going to say something important.

  “Unfuckingbelievable,” the Admiral cursed suddenly.

  Jazz felt sick to his stomach as the Admiral stepped over the lifeline on Grace into her cockpit, and through the hatch into the cabin below.

  Jazz was not invited on board so he turned and headed back toward the house. He looked up as he began ascending the stairs and saw his wife and mother looking down at him from the porch off the kitchen. They knew without being there what transpired between their husbands.

  Their early supper was at least cordial. Nothing more was said of the future. Jazz and Melanie packed the boys in the car with the Admiral and Eleanor watching from the front porch. Jazz imagined that to an outsider, the scene could be on the cover of the Saturday Evening Post with “ROCKWELL” written in the corner. He knew better.

  Eleanor continued to wave as the 4Runner headed down the street. She spoke through her smile to her husband.

  “If you don’t fix this soon he’ll never come back.”

  “He’s already gone. I suppose being a Navy brat did it to him. Junior has been rebelling against me all along. That boy is as different from me as they come.”

  “You’re wrong, Admiral,” she said. “He is exactly like you.”

  “Echo One, Echo Two, Bravo Zulu. Good job, hooya, and Merry Christmas.”

  “And don’t forget Happy Anniversary.”

  There was a pause on the circuit.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Eight years and two kids to date.”

  T-Ball re-packed all the tools in his pack and vest with the exception of his crimpers. He thought of the crimpers as the most basic tool of the EOD Tech; like a scalpel for a surgeon or a pipe wrench for a plumber. T-Ball’s crimpers looked like a pair of pliers but the jaws had two openings. The first had no edge to it and
was slightly smaller that the M-7 non-electric blasting cap used to initiate military and many commercial high explosives. The second was a cutter with an edge designed for slicing detonating cord at an angle that would not crush the explosive crystals inside or create enough friction to set it off.

  T-Ball used the cutter to snip the detonating cord that connected each of the blocks of explosive.

  How did the signal get from the electronics to the det cord? he wondered.

  He had to study the box closer.

  From the backside of the box two wires emerged. They appeared to run into the closest block of explosives. There was undoubtedly an electrically initiated detonator inside.

  Hooke was the first one back on Leon’s pilothouse.

  “You dumb motherfucker,” he said. “I should shoot you right here. If you came from together on your damn anniversary Jeannie would have killed me! Then Rebecca would send me over your place shoveling snow, unclogging toilets, and changing oil for the rest of my natural life! I coulda brought Tommy, damnit! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me!”

  T-Ball gave him a smug look.

  “It was my turn.”

  Holt, Daranchak, and Pops were right behind Hooke with the ship’s Master. The Master now looked more like a whipped puppy. They replaced him at the helm.

  “Slow the ship to bare steerageway. Understand?” asked Holt, “...very slow.” Then the SEAL officer in charge called out.

  “Echo One, come here, man!”

  “Sure, LT, what do you need?” he said.

  “Hooya on the bomb disposal. We need to send a full report back to GW. I’m sure Guterson wants to know what is happening.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  T- Ball followed Holt out on the bridge wing and into the Arabian sun yet again. The SEAL called the George Washington.

  “Rebel, this is Kermit. Romeo sierra on that Five Aces package... Say again? Roger here he is.”

  Holt handed T-Ball a hand-held radio.

  “It’s Guterson. You are secure so nobody outside George Washington can hear you, but I don’t know who over there is listening.”

  “Oscar, this is Echo One, over.”

  “Roger One. Good job. What happened?”