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

by Stephen Phillips

  Denke tensed again and crossed his arms.

  “I believe that we should be operators and divers, Senior Chief. I do not know where that happy medium is, but I do know that I can’t get us there... only you and Chief K can do that. Do you get me?”

  “I get you, sir.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  Now Denke uncrossed his arms, he appeared a little defeated.

  “I’m sure you heard, sir. The detailer and community manager have said that if I want to make master chief that it would help to have an MCM ride.”

  “Why is that if you already have your Master crab? Why is it important for a guy who is already a Master Blaster to go to an MCM team in order to make master chief? I’ll tell you the answer... because they want you to lead an MCM det. Someday if you are going to be the Group Master Chief, they want you to have MCM leadership experience. Otherwise sailors under your purview will look to you and say, ‘Master Chief Denke doesn’t get it... he’s just an operator, a Frog-wanna-be.’”

  Denke was silent. Jazz realized that he turned Denke’s own threat about making commodore against him.

  “Well?”

  “I see your point, sir.”

  “Senior Chief, we have two choices before us. The three of us can fight and argue for the next two years. If we do that nobody will win and we will make the best job in the Navy a drag. Or, we can figure out how you, me, and Keating are going to get along and run this det. A Master Tech may not be able to figure out how to do that, but a master chief, a real leader, can.

  “I want to become smart on the ‘operator’ skills, Senior Chief. And I am happy to have you on this det for that reason. But, I suspect that we will never use those skills. I think we are going to spend most of our time in that Mark-5 and the RHIB. Keating is the det expert in those arenas.”

  Jazz noted that Denke was now rubbing his head. Maybe it was a sign that he was struggling with what Jazz was saying.

  “Senior, this det was running fine before you arrived. I’d like you to make it better not worse.”

  Denke looked at Jazz a moment, then nodded his head silently.

  Before class the next morning, Denke walked to the front of the room.

  “Gents, I’ve got something to put out before we start today.”

  Denke looked directly at Jazz as the others quieted.

  “One of the most important things to do while the detachment is going through READIMPT is to develop our SOPs. We have not really been doing that, have we Lieutenant?”

  Jazz was not sure what Denke was saying but he sensed it had to do with their conversation the previous day.

  “Uh, no, Senior.”

  “Well, we are behind the power curve then. You do have SOPs for each mission area, right?”

  “Yes, they are Warrant Officer Fontaine’s... I have not really changed anything.”

  “Well we need to review them all and improve them where possible. Here is what I suggest we do.”

  Everyone noted Denke’s use of the word, “suggest.”

  “I think we need to assign each man a mission area in which he is to become the subject matter expert. As such that man will be responsible to you, Lieutenant, for the applicable SOP. Additionally, while everyone needs to be proficient at all skills, I think we need to develop a notion that certain members are the P1 for a particular mission area.”

  “Interesting,” said Keating.

  “Here is my recommended breakdown. I think Sinclair should be in charge of surface ops, Quinn takes chem and bio, okay?”

  “Sure, Senior,” said Quinn.

  “Delgado, as pubs and CMS handler, I want you to write an SOP for use of all our crypto and comms gear. I also want an SOP for small boat ops. I want specifics on how to load the boat, how to swing it over from a ship, how to perform basic troubleshooting for the engines.”

  “No kidding, Senior?” replied Delgado.

  “No kidding.”

  “Got it, Senior Chief.”

  “All mobility skills will be under the purview of T-Ball. I want an SOP for fastrope, CAST, rappel, and even jump operations. T-Ball, you are going to become the det’s premier HRST and CAST-master.”

  “I need the school, Senior.”

  “Already arranged. Ash, you are to take demolition. I do not want just basic range clearance stuff; I want a monster SOP that covers the demo required for all other mission areas. I’m talking underwater demo build up, special shape charge attacks on mines, and breaching.”

  “Wow, okay.”

  “I will take IEDs and Small Unit Tactics... and, Chief K.”

  “Yes?”

  “You are obviously our diving and MCM expert, so I would like you to review our procedures there and spearhead all associated procedural changes. I recommend you include all emergency procedures for diving.”

  “Okay, Senior.”

  “Lieutenant Jascinski, I did not suggest a mission area for you because your job will be to review all mission areas, apply your common sense approach, suggest revisions, and of course exert veto power when needed.”

  Jazz just nodded.

  “Two weeks gents, all SOP reviews need to be completed in two weeks. Then we’ll each brief our area.”

  “Senior Chief,” said Keating. “I think that this is a great idea.”

  Jazz was fined seven cases of beer during Det Four’s time at TEU TWO. For him nearly all of the evolutions were firsts. First night patrol, first waterborne insertion, first rappel, first fastrope, first CAST, first CAST at night.

  Navies the world over possess in their arsenals drifting mines, the jellyfish of naval warfare. These are the death orbs from World War II movies with multiple horns protruding from their top half. They float at or near the ocean’s surface running with the ocean’s current.

  A drifting mine campaign is not precise. The minelayer merely hopes that the mine ends in the path of a ship, any ship. He does not know who, when, or where one of his mines will find its prey. It simply drifts, waiting for the force of an unsuspecting ship to impact the horns. Shortly after detonation, steel, oil, and flesh slip together into the sea. The victim’s distress calls are as a stung tourist crying out in pain and disbelief. Like the jellyfish, the terror that ensues by only one mine is devastating enough that all ships flee at its report.

  For the price of a used SUV a third world country can empty a small sea, prevent merchant fleets from using a strait, or close down a major sea-lane. Until of course, EOD arrives.

  As EOD Technicians, part of Det Four’s training to tread on land or in the water where others dared not included “pouncer” or CAST operations. Specifically, this is a technique of inserting two men via helicopter to countercharge the mine.

  This quickly became Jazz’s favorite of all the EOD mobility skills.

  TWENTY-TWO

  CAST

  Jazz and Ashland donned wetsuits in the locker room prepping for Jazz’s third CAST op. His wetsuit was still wet from his first CAST op the previous day.

  Jazz called the house in Annapolis the night before just after Melanie arrived with the kids. He described to Melanie, Eleanor, and the Admiral how he and Ashland jumped from the open ramp on the stern of a CH-46 helicopter into the Atlantic Ocean. Jazz was disappointed that nobody was impressed, yet their varied reactions were amusing.

  Melanie was nervous about Jazz flying in the helo. Understandably, she thought it might crash. The Admiral was worried about him toting explosives through the water. He asked for a detailed description of their safety precautions. Eleanor wanted to make sure her son was dressing properly.

  “Maybe you could wear long underwear, dear. I am sure the water is cold.”

  “Mom, I’m 27. I’m a parent,” Jazz said with exasperation. “Not only am I a lieutenant in the world’s greatest Navy, I’m a Special Operations Officer...”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m still your mother and as such I outrank both you and the
Admiral. You may be TACON to Melanie but you are still OPCON to me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You do as I say and dress warmly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jazz thought of his Dad as he strapped the knife and a flare to his inner calf. Ashland offered some last minute advice.

  “Remember, LT, don’t swim at it like a bat outta hell. Make sure you stop and watch it in the seas. In three feet swells these things bob like a motherfucker. If you are not careful on your approach you could set it off. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, LT.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get fired up man... EOD baby! It’s a blast!”

  Jazz smiled as he put on his UDT vest, then his dive booties. He thought to himself, This is why I joined EOD.

  He noticed that his heart was pounding with excitement.

  The lieutenant picked up his fins, mask and helmet and followed Ash to TEU TWO’s back lot where Keating was waiting for them. Dressed in a flight suit with a helmet in his hand, he would be their CAST-master for the op.

  “You guys ready?” the chief asked.

  “Ready! I’m fired up! We gonna do some of that EOD Shit!” screamed Ash.

  “Fuckin-A right,” said Keating.

  The chief drove them down to the landing zone. Chief Potter was there leaning against a pickup. Jazz could see a box containing the explosives they would use in the bed of the truck. Potter had a backpack with a small radio in it, the handset dangled over his shoulder.

  “Obviously, the first group is already out there,” said Keating.

  “Yeah, but we just got a call that they are on their way back. You guys will be flying in fifteen minutes,” replied Potter. “They got Dee and Sinclair in the water, then Dee went again with Quinn. Denke said that T-Ball did real well on his U/I CAST-master. Denke said to make sure we remind him that he owes.”

  Something garbled came over Potter’s handset. He grabbed it.

  “This is LZ, go.”

  Jazz heard a static response.

  “LZ, roger out.”

  Potter dropped the handset again. “Okay, they are five minutes out. Get ready to board the bird.”

  Jazz and Ashland donned their helmets and put their masks on over them. Keating grabbed two satchels from the box in the bed of the truck. He handed one each to Jazz and Ash. Jazz opened his to ensure the explosives were in it. Then he strapped it around his waist.

  Before he saw it, Jazz heard the thumping of the blades of the CH-46 helicopter. Jazz had seen the –46, called a Sea Knight, throughout his life as a Navy brat growing up on bases around the world. He marveled how the two counter-rotating blades, one on a pylon above the cockpit and the other on the higher tail kept the bird flying.

  The three men closed their eyes and tucked their chins to their chests, hiding from sand and grass thrown at them by the helicopter’s downwash. As it settled on the landing zone, Jazz could hear the RPMs decrease. He looked up just as the pilot surrendered to gravity and the aircraft settled, compressing the hydraulics on its landing gear.

  The ramp came down from the rear of the -46. An aircrewman stepped out first, then Jazz saw the rest of his team emerge from the below the tail. They were all grinning as they cleared the prop wash. Jazz saw the aircrewman motioning at them. He followed Keating and Ashland through the brush up the ramp and into the helo.

  In a moment they were strapped into the two canvas benches lining each side of the helicopter. Jazz sat across from Ash. Keating strapped on a long safety harness connected to the floor of the aircraft. He plugged his helmet into a comms box so he could talk on the intercom with the pilots.

  From inside the whine of the engines was louder than the helo’s blades. Jazz felt heavy for a moment as the helo’s engines revved up and the aircraft began to climb.

  Once airborne, Jazz noted Ashland visibly relaxed. The EOD Tech closed his eyes, leaned over and began to nod. Jazz looked out the window across from him. They had turned and were already over the Atlantic Ocean. He could see several boats in the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay.

  When the boat traffic thinned Jazz surveyed the inside of the helicopter. It was nearly a relic. He noted the deck was covered with hydraulic fluid and there was a visible leak from the overhead. Keating warned him earlier to be careful not to slip off the ramp.

  Jazz thought it a crime that most Americans drive a car no more than five years old while the Navy had to fly aircraft more than twenty. Not a single –46 pilot in the fleet was older than his aircraft. The most recent vertical lift aircraft expected to replace the Sea Knight was experiencing difficulty. Jazz surmised the Navy should simply buy new models of the –46 while waiting for the emerging technology.

  As he pondered the ways that he would improve his Navy, the blades eventually lulled Jazz to sleep.

  Once Chief Keating tapped Jazz, everything happened quickly.

  The jumpers could barely hear the chief yell as he held up one finger, “ONE MINUTE!”

  Jazz and Ash donned their masks again, then slipped their fins around each wrist. The aircraft was in a tight turn, pulling Jazz into his seat. He looked down to make sure the satchel around his waist containing the demolition charge was still fastened. He felt a rush of air as the aircrewman opened the ramp.

  Keating moved aft to the ramp. When he got there Jazz saw him hold his hand up like a puppet screaming, “THIRTY SECONDS!”

  Jazz and Ashland unbuckled their seatbelts. They could feel the aircraft nose come up some as it slowed forward airspeed and began to hover.

  “STAND UP!”

  At this command the pair stood and began walking toward the ramp. Jazz ducked his head as he stepped on the ramp. Keating slapped him in the ass.

  “GO!”

  Jazz jumped. He crossed his legs and pulled his right hand over his mask and his left arm over the satchel in one motion. The fall was just long enough for him to think about it.

  He surveyed himself quickly after hitting the water; nothing was broken. He kicked hard to the surface and held an arm straight up over his head giving the “thumbs up” sign. He saw Ashland doing the same. Keating waved as the helo climbed again, leaving the EOD Techs to their work.

  They both bobbed over on their stomachs, slipping the fins off their wrists and onto their feet. Jazz kicked, treading water as he looked for the mine. There was a two-foot swell with whitecaps from winds coming from the same direction.

  Jazz first looked for the telltale smoke dropped by the aircraft to mark the mine. The winds were keeping the smoke low on the water and disbursing it quickly.

  “Do you see it, LT!” Ash called out.

  “No!”

  “Ah, I got it... look to port!”

  Jazz looked to his left side. He saw the swells breaking on it, each time a wave crashed over the mine it seemed to roll like a buoy.

  “Go ahead, LT, I am right behind ya!”

  Jazz began swimming for the mine. He concentrated on developing a rhythm of breathing that matched his stroke and the seas. Still, every now and then he got a mouth full of seawater when he tried to breathe as a wave came over him. Suddenly he realized that he had lost track of time.

  Damn it! he cursed to himself. Had he been swimming five minutes? Ten?

  Now he remembered Ashland’s advice. “Remember, LT, don’t swim at it like a bat outta hell. Make sure you stop and watch it in the seas. In three feet swells these things bob like a motherfucker.”

  Jazz stopped and looked up, he could not see the mine. He quickly became confused. The seas and winds were increasing still.

  Did the mine sink? he wondered. Have the seas dragged it under?

  He looked back from the direction he came from for Ashland. At first he did not see him, creating a moment of panic. He noticed the helo circling overhead passively. From Keating’s perspective all was going well.

  Jazz looked again and saw Ashland behind him near the mine. He had swum past it. By mi
sjudging the current, not keeping his eye on the mine, and worst of all losing focus, he had gone past it by fifty yards. Immediately he realized his dilemma. Now I gotta swim against the current and wind to get to it.

  He rolled over on his back and screamed, “FFFUUUUUUCK!”

  He could not wait a moment more. Jazz began a hard swim into the current back toward the mine. He swallowed seawater with every breath. After what seemed an eternity he reached Ashland and the mine.

  “What the fuck are you doing, LT!”

  Jazz looked at Ashland sheepishly. The LPO could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

  “Well, let’s get it over with, sir. Put the charge on.”

  Jazz took a breath and rolled onto his stomach again. He opened the satchel and extracted the demolition charge. Then he swam up to the mine. Jazz timed the movement of the mine in the waves and being careful of its horns, attached the charge to it.

  When he finished, Ashland was right behind him. “Good job, sir, now head for pick-up while I attach the dogbone.”

  Swimming with the current again was almost relaxing. Jazz noted that Keating was watching the evolution closely because the helo was in perfect position down-current, with the hoist already in the water.

  He did not make the same mistake twice and repeatedly noted the position of the hoist to ensure that he did not swim past it. As he got close to the downwash of the -46 on the ocean surface he could feel the blade pushing air against him. It took the last bit of his strength to plow to the ‘sweet spot,’ the calm right under the helicopter.

  Jazz slipped the hoist under his right arm, around his back and under his left arm. Then he clipped the free end to the lifting shackle and again gave the thumbs up signal. He looked up, watching the aircrewman guiding him as the helo got closer. At the top the aircrewman pulled him into the bird and got Jazz fully on the deck. He put slack in the cable and unshackled him.

  Jazz gave Keating the “okay” signal and flopped back to his seat. Within seven minutes the process was repeated with Ashland.

  The helo stood off at a safe distance and altitude. The two pilots, the aircrewmen, and all three EOD Technicians looked out the starboard side of the helo, watching for the mine to detonate. Ashland had the time running on his watch from when he lit the initiators. Jazz looked over and saw that it read, “00:00:05.”