Dane took another long swallow and controlled the belch. “Now where do we go?”
Harris shrugged. “I guess you go back to your normal duty while I try to figure out what this guy is planning. My guess is sabotage. And unless he does something truly stupid that makes him stick out like a sore thumb, we’re going to have a devil of a time finding him before he strikes.”
“Firebells in the night” was a term Farris remembered from a history class he took in college before he left to join the army. He thought it was Thomas Jefferson who said it but couldn’t remember when or why. Maybe it had something to do with a possible slave rebellion in the American south before the Civil War?
Since there wasn’t a quiz coming up, he really didn’t care. His real concern was the burning oil tanker that was clearly visible a couple of miles offshore and closer to Captain Lytle’s headquarters than to Farris’s position. The explosions had awakened everyone and the entire platoon was armed and ready. This was the first time any of the many ships passing in front of their post had ever been attacked and the first time carrying a rifle was serious business. People were being killed out there on the ocean and it was a sobering experience.
A second explosion sent another cloud of flames billowing into the night. Oil was burning on the water and Farris thought he could hear screams as people burned to death. He prayed it was his imagination.
“That ship’s gonna take a long time to die,” Stecher said. “Maybe it’ll give the crew time to get away.”
“God, I hope so,” Farris said.
They had binoculars and were looking for lifeboats as well as the submarine that had torpedoed the tanker. Trying to find the sub was futile; the roaring, billowing flames had destroyed their night vision. They’d only see a sub if they picked up its silhouette, although just maybe they’d be able to spot lifeboats in the light caused by the fires. Farris commented that the spilled oil was going to leave a mess on the shore and kill a lot of wildlife. Stecher replied that war was hell and that he was more concerned about the crew than the seals. Farris agreed.
A distant pair of lifeboats came into view. The bulk of the dying ship had hidden them from sight, but now they were backlit by the flames. They were rowing toward shore and Farris thought they would come close to his position, but more to the south and closer to Lytle’s spot. He told his men to be ready with blankets and water and to stack their weapons. The Japs weren’t going to invade this night. He radioed his company commander for more blankets and water and for medical help as well, and the call was acknowledged. Farris wondered if that meant Lytle would actually send more help or was just noting the request. On a positive note, people from the little town of Bridger were arriving with all kinds of first-aid equipment. Sullivan, the store owner, was organizing the efforts. Apparently shipwrecks had occurred before. Farris wondered if the locals also scavenged for valuables that washed up on the shore.
“Jesus,” yelled Stecher. Tracers from shore-based machine guns south of them snaked out toward the burning ship, which was well out of their range. What the hell were Lytle’s men shooting at?
“Did you see a sub?” Farris asked Stecher with a feeling of dread.
“No, sir, just those lifeboats and the bullets are coming damn close to them. Aw shit, sir, you don’t suppose that our beloved captain ordered his men to shoot at the survivors in the boats, do you?”
Farris didn’t know what to think. Finally, the firing stopped. The two lifeboats had veered north and were now definitely heading right toward him. As they crashed through the surf, soldiers ran out and grabbed them, pulling them onto the beach. Other soldiers and civilians helped crewmen out and onto the sand. Many were unhurt, but others had broken bones and suffered horrible-looking burns. A few were covered with oil and were shivering uncontrollably. One crewman didn’t have an arm from the elbow down, and a buddy was trying to keep him from bleeding to death with a tourniquet. From the way the wounded man’s head was lolling, it was a losing battle.
Farris’s men laid the injured on the ground and tried to administer first aid. Vehicles were arriving, including still more civilians from Bridger. One man, clearly the tanker’s captain, strode up to Farris. He was livid with anger.
“You weren’t the asshole who opened fire on us, were you?”
“No, Captain, I wasn’t. The firing came from farther south. Was there a sub near your boats when it happened? I mean, could you actually see the one that hit you?”
“Hell, no,” he said and wiped some greasy blood from his face. “We never saw a thing, never knew there was a Jap out there until we got hit. One torpedo and we become a torch and the little Jap bastard is well away from here. Whoever shot at us from shore must be either blind or drunk or totally stupid. Or all three, dammit. Whoever he was is just damned lucky he only hit the boats and not us in them.”
He held out a large dirty hand. Farris took it and felt his fingers being crushed. “My name’s Ed Neal and I’ve been skippering that ship for ten years now. I guess I should be thankful I still have my life. And I am grateful for the help all you people here are providing. However, I guess I’m now unemployed. If you ever find out who the prick was who shot at us, let me know. I’d like to have a little talk with him.”
Farris assured him he’d look into it. The angry skipper strode away to check on his men.
Steve shook his and wondered if he should have told the tanker’s captain of his suspicions. He walked over to an arriving jeep. Lytle was in the passenger seat and got out unsteadily. He reeked of alcohol.
“Did we hit the sub? Goddammit, we had him in our sights and I wanted to sink the fucker.”
Farris seethed. The man was totally drunk and had just tried to kill a bunch of American merchant seamen. “Sir, the tanker captain and crew said the sub was long gone before you opened fire, and that you were shooting at his lifeboats.”
“Bullshit, Farris. I’m not blind. I saw the conning tower of a sub. Some of the men, like your buddy Sawyer, tried to argue with me, but I gave them a direct order to shoot. I know there was a sub and I know we hit it.”
“Sir, the captain of the tanker might disagree with you. He says gunfire from the shore wounded two of his men and shot up one of the boats.” Farris kept a straight face as he lied to his captain. Nobody’d been hit by Lytle’s machine guns. “He’s really angry and looking for somebody to kill and maybe send to jail when he’s done with him. He’s a big, mean-looking son of a bitch, so you might not want to talk to him right now.”
That finally got through to Lytle, who paled at the idea of the threat. He staggered back to the jeep and ordered the grim-faced private to drive him back to his headquarters. As they pulled away, Farris saw the private looking at him and shaking his head as if to say “get me the hell out of here.”
The tanker captain had calmed down seeing that none of his men had been killed or hurt by Lytle’s actions. Farris decided not to stir things up by saying he knew who’d done the shooting. Neal said he could almost understand how somebody could panic and shoot at shadows. He really wanted vengeance against the Japs and not necessarily against some trigger-happy son of a bitch, but he would knock the man’s head right out his ass if he was to find him anytime within the next ten years. Farris decided to keep that happy thought in a mental pocket for future reference.
“This may be the first attack on an American ship so close to shore,” Neal said, “but it damn well won’t be the last.”
Farris concurred. He wondered why it had taken this long.
CHAPTER 8
