“Shoot, Bailey,” Willy said defensively.
“What do we do if the MER won’t release the missile? I mean, it has been through a crash and a fire. It may not let it go.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Willy admitted.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” De Napoli chimed in “It is a good plan. Let’s go with it and cross that bridge if we come to it.”
Ash donned his protective gear again. Zeke joined him again as the P2. Ash fought back crankiness. It was now well into the evening. He was tired physically and emotionally. Still, he felt that he should return to the site at least one more time.
Each Tech carried a CMC with him. Zeke also had a wooden pallet that Ash would secure the CMCs to. If the seas got rough they would stay in one place. Ash heard of EOD teams saving the day only to have the ordnance they rendered safe roll off the deck of the ship and into the ocean.
They set the CMCs down next to the aircraft. Zeke placed the pallet fifty feet away on the other side of the ship.
“CP, P1 downrange. Opening CMCs.”
“CP.”
Ash and Zeke lifted the lids off the CMCs to make the transfer of the carts go faster. It would not be wise for the P1 to fumble with the lid with an explosive cart in his hand.
“Ready?” Zeke asked.
“Sure, Zeke, I got it.”
“CP, P2 coming back up range.”
“CP, roger.”
Ash stepped up to the MER and located the two carts. Like everything else, they were covered with soot. It surprised Ash that none of the explosives associated with the weapon detonated. The DCA definitely saved the day by cooling the weapon with water. He wondered if the properties of the explosives remained the same. Perhaps they were more sensitive now.
“P1, CP. P2 is back in the CP.”
“Hooya. Removing first cart.”
The cylindrical cart was threaded on the end. Its size reminded Ash of a 35-millimeter film canister. The cart required a lot of force to break it free, but then Ash was able to unscrew it by hand. As it came out Ash carefully set the cart into the CMC and closed the lid.
“CP, P1. First cart in CMC.”
“Heard it click shut. Hooya.”
He repeated the procedure with the second cart.
“CP, P1. I’m gonna secure these CMCs to the pallet now. Then I’ll come home.”
“Roger.”
An hour later Ash helped to dress out Zeke and Bailey. Zeke was to be the P1 now. The two tripods were constructed and all other equipment staged. Willy spoke as they dressed.
“Fellas, take the crate down first. Then you’ll know about what distance to place the tripods. Then take the falls. Zeke, do you have the plugs?”
Zeke padded his bomb suit like a best man feeling for wedding rings. He pointed to a pouch on the front breastplate.
“Yep, in here.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
As soon as they left the quarterdeck, Ash curled up in a ball on the floor. He laid his head on his waterproof bag.
“Willy, LT, call me if you need me.”
He was asleep before they answered.
“Ash, get up.”
When he opened his eyes, De Napoli was standing over him.
“We got more work for you.”
He rose and stumbled like a zombie over to where Willy and January were standing.
“What’s up?”
“We think we got some cutting to do,” Willy said.
Zeke’s voice came over the comms box.
“CP, P. We’re coming back.”
“CP,” January answered.
“What’s happening?”
“They can’t separate the missile from the MER. Zeke thinks we can cut off at the pylon.”
“How?”
“Blow torch. The DCA is having one brought up now.”
“Damn, Willy, what’s the first thing they teach you at EOD school? Heat, shock and friction don’t mix well with explosives. Who the hell is gonna do this?”
“You.”
“What! Forget it.”
Now De Napoli spoke up. “Ash, we took some convincing, too. Listen to Willy. I think he has a good point. Willy, tell him what you told us.”
“Ash, this thing has experienced a heck of a lotta heat shock and friction already. It didn’t detonate when the helo crunched into the VLS, it didn’t cook off when it was on fire.”
“The DCA hit it with water.”
“You won’t be cutting on the weapon, you’ll just hit a bead along the pylon.”
By now Zeke and Bailey had returned. The whole det was looking at Ash.
“So why me?”
De Napoli was quick with the answer. “You used to be a Hull Technician. You are the best of us at using a blow torch.”
“Heat, shock, friction.”
“Chicken,” replied De Napoli.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But after this thing comes from together and turns me into a big pink mist, you’re the motherfucker that mows my lawn every Saturday.”
“In more ways than one baby.”
De Napoli deflected Ash’s punch with his forearm. The whole detachment laughed at the two friends.
“Okay. Well, if I am going down there to put fire on the damn thing, I am not wearing the bomb suit. I cannot work with that on.”
Willy and January looked at each other a moment. Both felt a modicum of responsibility for Ash’s safety; January as the OIC, Willy as the det member who derived the plan.
Finally January said, “Okay.”
Zeke helped Ash move all the bottles and equipment to the site. Ash looked at the work accomplished while he slept. The tripods were in place, the chain falls hung from each, and the crate was hoisted up around the missile. Then he looked at the MER.
“Zeke.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you guys pull the pins out?”
“Huh?”
“If you don’t pull the pins out the thing won’t release the weapon. You pulled the pins out before you tried to release it right?”
“Uh, yeah, we just replaced them afterward to be safe.”
Ash looked at Zeke sideways.
“I’m not fooling, Ash, we pulled them out.”
“Fine, go ahead back.”
Ash had not done any cutting with a blowtorch in a long time. He checked again to make sure he set up the equipment properly. Then he donned the protective visor, apron, and gloves. He reminded himself that his work did not have to be neat, just a quick cut along the pylon so that it would separate from the fuselage.
“Okay, P1, P2 is back in CP.”
“Got it.”
He lowered the shield over his eyes and brought the torch to life. The cut went very quickly. When he was three quarters of the way across the weight of the missile tore it free. It dropped into the crate, which then swung free in the chain falls.
Ash turned off the blowtorch and raised the shield.
“P1, CP. We heard something — are you done?” came January’s voice over the comms box.
“Yeah. It’s clear.”
“Ash, this the first time you ever cut on a weapon like this?”
“Yeah. I’ll never do it again.”
“First time, you’re buying a case a beer buddy.”
“Fuck you guys. You owe me much beer for this one.”
The shrill whistle of a boatwain’s pipe sliced open the early morning slumber of the men aboard Normandy. It resonated throughout the ship emanating from the 1MC, the ship’s public address system.
“Reveille! Reveille! All hands heave out and trice up! Breakfast for the crew!”
There was no doubt in Ash’s mind why this tradition remained after hundreds of years at sea. Even a sailor filled with last night’s rum could not doze through it.