“Look at that,” Carl said as he stood next to Jack. “It’s like the world moves on for them. Death by those fish-looking pirate bastards must be close to an everyday occurrence.”
“I’m afraid you’re probably right, Swabby.”
As the hundred boats moved silently past the warships, one of the men with mud covering his face raised a hand. Unlike the day before when there was not even an indication that these small people even realized they were there, this time there was a greeting. Jack watched the headman as he lowered his arm. Jack’s mind was filled with the glee of that little girl as he gave her the saltwater taffy. Then the memory broke apart as he saw her face in death not three hours later. He turned away from the railing.
“You’re having the same thoughts on Director Compton’s edict on getting involved with indigenous people?”
Jack watched the small fishing boats vanish into the rising sun of the east and then turned and nodded. “I tend to lean more toward the Garrison Lee way of doing things.”
“Yeah, kill the bad guys, and then we’ll figure out the rest.”
“Yeah, this noninterference stuff, sometimes it’s hard to see and grasp, even coming from one of the smartest men in the world.”
A Russian commando approached Collins, and with a sour look on his face, he reported, “Colonel, I have been sent to inform you that Colonel Salkukoff has requested you join him aboard Peter the Great.” The Russian saluted, but Jack held firm. The hand remained raised just below the man’s helmet. The commando finally caught on. “We have a prisoner.”
Jack finally returned the salute, and the Russian left with an arrogant gait. He brushed by two American sailors, and one of the men made a turn to go after the commando, but Captain Johnson walked by at just the right time and shooed the men back to work. The captain, his eyes momentarily on his men, finally turned and went to Jack and Carl.
“This is getting a little tense around here,” Johnson said as he joined the two.
“I don’t think it’s going to get any better,” Jack said. “Fighting a common foe hasn’t resulted in forgetting old animosities, has it?” Collins said, and then he faced Johnson. “It seems we’ve been invited over to Peter the Great. Want a look-see at this marvel of the seas?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnson answered as he gestured toward the gangway and the waiting Zodiac. “But you know, I think I’ll take a marine strike team with us. I like to share my experiences.”
“And Henri,” Jack said, smiling. “I like the way the Frenchman gives Salkukoff the creeps.”
“I like that aspect also,” Johnson agreed.
“We’re starting to think more alike every hour, Captain,” Carl said as he and Jack followed the captain of Shiloh to the waiting Zodiac.
Deep in the bowels of Shiloh and her darkened CIC, several radar men were busy making adjustments to their repaired systems and failed to see that the horizon had momentarily filled with a blip that, if they had seen it, would have been comparable in size to an entire battle group, just sitting there on the horizon.
Their own three ships were about to face the entire home fleet of their aquatic enemy.
Tempers and fears remained high as sailors accustomed to having everything they ever needed supplied to them by the navy had been exhausted. They fought tooth and nail with repairing so many systems that none of them suspected they would ever see home again. Several times, Houston started sliding down the mountain shelf as her weight turned against them. The ballast tanks remained filled with seawater as they battled the pumps that would eject that water from their tanks.
“Okay,” the chief of the boat said from a crawl space. “Try her now.”
With relief exploding from his pent-up breath, Captain Thorne heard the outer and inner vents open and then just as quickly close. He squeezed his eyes shut in offered prayer, as did the tired and frightened men around him.
“That did it, Chief,” Thorne said as he winked at the young ballast control technician next to him. The chief crawled out of the small enclosed space. He was covered with sweat.
“Remind me to write one hell of a nasty letter to the Electric Boat Division about making more room behind these damn consoles!”
Thorne assisted the small career navy man to his feet and slapped him on the back. “I’ll deliver it myself, Chief.” Thorne turned and nodded back into the control room. “Okay, Gary, give her a shot of air, and we’ll see if the chief’s magic works.”
Inside the control room, Gary Devers nodded at the ballast control officer. The man closed his eyes and then turned the small switch that activated the powerful pumps. They heard it throughout the boat as the ballast pumps kicked in. Every man heard the pumps start doing their job as water was beginning to be forced from the ballast tanks.
A loud cheer went up throughout the entire length of Houston. Captain Thorne stepped through the hatchway and watched the faces of his XO and of his ballast control officer. He waited for the word.
“Pumping ballast from the boat to the sea!” the officer called out loud enough that another cheer shot through the boat.
“Gary, have the engines ready for all back.”
“Aye. Make ready for full astern, and then—”
The explosion sounded distant, but every man knew exactly what it was. Ballast control had blown another one of her precious circuit boards as the makeshift system was unable to withstand the load of the powerful pumps.
Houston settled and calmed as the pumps wound down. The lights flickered and then steadied as USS Houston started to slide down the large shelf they had come to rest upon. The boat scraped and shuddered as every man felt the boat start to speed up. And then, as suddenly as the slide of death had started, it skidded to a stop and then silently went back to her death slumber precariously close to the end of the shelf.
Thorne placed his head into the crook of his arm and then cursed their luck. They had gone through every circuit board that they found, washing machine parts to privately owned stereo equipment. Even the old movie projector had been used. It all seemed hopeless.
“Close the outside vents. It doesn’t seem Houston is ready to leave just yet,” Thorne said with a wink to those control room crew who were watching him. This time, he saw the hopelessness in their eyes as the realization struck them that odds were fast climbing they would never see the open sky again. Thorne once more brought up the 1 MC mic. He started to talk but faltered, and then he momentarily hung his head. Instead of talking to his crew like he should have, he replaced the mic and then started forward, away from the despondent eyes of his young crewmen.
As he made his way forward, he passed his sailors, and they avoided his eyes.
“Captain, have a minute?”
Thorne stopped as he wanted to turn and tell whoever it was that he had all the damn time in the world, just as they all did, but stopped when he saw the weapons officer. He just nodded once.
“Skipper, I have to report something, and I just don’t know how.”
Thorne focused fully on the young man before him. He raised his brows as he refused to allow his voice to betray his distress over Houston’s situation to show.
The officer offered the captain a small jar. Thorne took it from his hand and looked at it. He rolled the bottle over and then held it up to the light. He lowered it, and the confusion on his face was evident. The water inside had a purplish hue to it.