Vasiliy gave the elderly tanker captain before him a crisp salute. Unfamiliar with such protocol, the captain made a sincere, if ungainly effort to return the gesture.
In Spanish, the ship’s captain said, “Welcome aboard the Peruvian merchant vessel, Bolivar.”
Through his interpreter, Vasiliy announced, “We will examine your ship’s papers and inspect cargo for contraband. You will be delayed as little as possible.”
The Russian interpreter translated Russian to English then in turn English to Spanish by the tanker’s interpreter. Vasiliy did not like the looks of the ship’s young translator … The cut of his clothing, perhaps. To Vasiliy, the man’s accent and demeanor appeared very much American. Additionally, he appeared more annoyed over the search than the ship’s captain. He grew suspicious when the Bolivar translator read the papers in English.
“Do not be too concerned, Comrade Lieutenant,” said the Soviet interpreter. “The important words are the same in Spanish as English. I am certain we are being told the truth.”
Bolivar’s papers showed her to be a tanker loaded with Malaysian crude oil, bound from Sarawak to Lima. The papers also showed deck loads of teakwood and hemp.
Vasiliy believed the Bolivar interpreter grew more pugnacious with each completed inspection; the sort of smug look expected from an American who succeeded in hiding something from the boarding party. He thought, That bastard’s an American, I know it. Perhaps we should take him prisoner then conveniently lose him overboard on the way back to Zhukov.
All tanks proved to be filled with crude as shown in the manifest. The deck loading correlated correctly also, except for several tons of copra, not considered contraband.
When the Bolivar interpreter accidentally struck Vasiliy’s chest with his elbow while retying a deck load strap, Vasiliy lost control.
Quickly drawing his pistol, Vasiliy pointed it at the interpreter and snapped in Russian, “American bastard!”
With terror in his eyes, the young man looked first to the Zhukov interpreter and then back at the Russian officer’s angry stare. Vasiliy stepped forward and struck the man’s face with his pistol, knocking him to the deck unconscious.
The Soviet interpreter exclaimed, “Comrade Lieutenant! This must stop immediately.”
Vasiliy growled back, “What do you know? He is an American, I say.”
Several tanker crewmen attempted to scurry the young man off but Vasiliy stopped them by gesturing with his pistol. “I want to see this man’s papers.”
Panic showed on the crewmen’s faces as they wondered what else might be in store.
Bolivar’s first mate located the injured man’s papers and presented them for inspection. They identified him as a Peruvian national. This did not placate Vasiliy. His mother’s death at the hands of Americans had driven him beyond being rational.
The Soviet interpreter demanded, “You must apologize, Comrade Lieutenant.”
Vasiliy snapped back, “Never!”
Then he ordered a light signal to the submerged Zhukov where he knew a periscope monitored the tanker. He led his party down the ship’s ladder where they again performed the acrobatics of re-boarding their raft.
Zhukov resurfaced in the tanker’s wake after Bolivar had been released and directed to proceed on course. On Bolivar’s bridge, the injured interpreter, head bandaged, reported to his captain that aside from a headache, he felt well.
The captain said, “I am sorry, Manuel. If the son of a bitch had put that pig boat anywhere near my bow, I’d have cut him in half.”
Neither Vasiliy nor his interpreter picked up on the slight English-accented Spanish by Bolivar’s captain, the only American on the tanker.
The Pitstop PA system blared Anchors Aweigh to welcome home rust-streaked Denver as she rounded the breakwater and pushed her way into a beautiful June morning. She moored outboard of three 688s, two having deployed from Bremerton by order of Commodore Danis on the eve of the war. The third, like Denver, a WestPac returnee, had deployed from Pearl Harbor before the war started.
With the Denver’s brow set in place, Commodore Danis strode briskly across and greeted Captain Bostwick. “Welcome home, Hal. And congratulations. There’s some great satellite before and after photos of your Vlad attack.”
The captain said, “Commodore, it’s great to be back. Hey, looks like you’ve been pretty busy,” as he gestured about the facility.
“A few things going down here. Enough to get your good ship turned around and back out there to do us some more good.”
Bostwick did not want to hear these words. He thought, Surely my relief must be aboard.
Danis continued, “But there’s some bad news. You’re going to have to give up Denver. Jim Buchanan’s onboard with orders as your relief.”
“Oh, no.” Bostwick feigned disappointment, “Don’t I get at least one more shot at kicking Soviet butt?”
“It’ll be a long-range kick, all the way from the other Washington. You’re reporting to a flag maker job on 02’s staff.”
Bostwick thought with great relief, Right on. “I’ll go wherever I’m sent, Commodore, but I sure hate to give this up. Would you like to come below?”
“Lead the way, Skipper.”
Brent did not see her at first. Bea stood behind a group of workers congregated to form a welcome home contingent. The crowd parted for an instant and he caught his first glimpse of her. Back lighted by the bright sun, she looked quite feminine in a light blue dress. How wonderful to see you, ran through Brent’s mind as he raced across the brow, threaded his way through the welcome-home crowd and took her in his arms.
As they embraced, applause arose from Denver’s main deck, led by Dan and Woody.
The pair yelled in unison, “Hi-ya, Den Mother.”
Bea and Brent waved their response.
When he caught his breath, Brent said, “Can’t tell whether my mind or body is happiest to see you.”
Smiling at him, Bea asked, “How ’bout we run a contest?”
“I’m game,” and then his tone grew serious. “Bea, I didn’t know if you survived the attack. It had me worried sick. You told me you were going to the Digs. I figured you reached there before the attack came but I didn’t know. Commodore Danis knows how things are with us and I banked on hearing from him if anything bad had happened. That kept me going, Bea. He did a great job of letting the crew know about families when he could. Each time he learned something, he’d squeeze it into the limited radio broadcasts we received.”
“He is a dear, that man. Stuck his neck out a foot but let me know Denver survived. And he sent me a heads-up on your homecoming.” She could not help but smile each time she looked at Brent. “And that’s how I knew to look so beautiful today, even though you didn’t say so. First time I’ve worn a dress since you left.”
“Oh damn, Bea, you are gorgeous. Guess you’re gonna make me eat crow for not saying that right away?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “For a while.”
They boarded Denver, went below and joined an impromptu gathering in the wardroom. The captain had ordered up two bottles of Vodka and some cans of caviar recently liberated from the hapless Soviet minesweeper. A similarly supplied party, under auspices of the COB, had broken out in the crew’s mess.