D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground (31 page)

Setting his jaw tight, Vasiliy held back the tears.  As Sherensky rose, the younger man stood with him.

The captain placed a restraining hand on Vasiliy’s shoulder.  “No, stay here a while,” then
Sherensky left.

Despite his best efforts, Vasiliy’s eyes flooded with tears and he wept.  The tragic event fueled his hatred for Americans and helped him to regain composure.  He remembered his last visit to the security vault and the likely
name of the submarine that had launched the strike against Vladivostok, the USS
Denver
.  He had forgotten the officers’ names save one.  He’d seek out the man who launched the weapon against his mother and personally
take the life of Lieutenant Brent Maddock.

Chapter 16

Positions of each hydrophone in Dutch Meyer’s array along with the location of the Sealance missiles showed on an old IBM PC screen.  A computer wizard from USS
Newport
worked up a systems program and now enjoyed his achievement by tracking
Newport
through the approaches to Zane’s
Pitstop
.  Radio transmitters and receivers added by Meyer converted the austere Blockhouse into a top-notch command center.

A radioman transmitted to Birdman Four
,
the radio voice call sign for an S3A Viking pilot en route to a coded position designated as Springboard with serpent assigned as the code name for the submarine
Newport
.  “Estimate time on top of Springboard in two minutes.  Have serpent for you, over.”

The airman responded, “Springboard in two, Bottom.” 

Bottom identified the command center Blockhouse.

Dutch Meyer wanted the plane to drop a small explosive charge to fix its position in order to vector it on top of
Newport
.

“Roger, Four, request boomer on top, over,” said the Blockhouse radioman, referring to the explosive charge.

Birdman Four responded, “You got it, Bottom
.
”

Two minutes passed then the message came from Birdman Four, “Boomer away at Springboard
,
one-five-one-three-three-zero Zulu.  Let us know how we did.”

The transmission relayed a worldwide date-time-group used by the United States Navy with numbers 1 and 5 meaning the date, 1330 the twenty-four hour clock and Zulu meaning Greenwich Mean Time.  All U. S. military units use this time code system as a standard to avoid confusion when combat and training operations are conducted within various time zones throughout the world.

A short time later, the PC screen displayed an explosion close in to Springboard and the computer immediately
generated intercept data for transmission to the aircraft.  A series of coded numbers, giving the time, distance, course and speed of
Newport
, accompanied the message. 

“Now give us a boomer on the serpent, Birdman Four.”

“Roger, Bottom, tell ’em to watch their ears.” 

Forty seconds later, the boomer signal merged with
Newport’s
position, winning a cheer from all in the Blockhouse.

The watch officer, a submariner, exclaimed, “This beats all!  Never believed I’d help zoomies drop trash on one of our pipes.”  He radioed the S3A, “Great job, Four.  Put a scalp in your training log.”

“Roger, Bottom.  Now find me the real thing.”

“Soon as we do, you got ’em.  Four released to dry feet.”

Bottom then cleared Birdman Four to return to base.

The watch officer thought,
Wow!
 
Somebody sneaks in here and we bang ’em with a Sealance.  Then Birdman comes out and drops the kitchen sink on ’em.

Days later and with the first
Pitstop
refit completed;
Newport
had patrol orders in hand.

CLEAR SEAWAY FOR IDAHO
DEPARTURE. UPON COMPLETION, PROCEED TO SOUTHWEST PACIFIC AND ATTACK/DESTROY ENEMY ASSETS.

Everyone turned out to see
Newport
off.  Commander Phil Reynolds, looking more like he should be leading his company onto the parade ground at the Annapolis Naval Academy rather than taking a warship to sea, personally
thanked each person with a hand in getting his ship ready for war.  This involved a good number but he didn’t miss anyone.

The
Pitstop
’s informality did not include provisions for a band but a temporary public address system played recordings of Sousa marches in the background.

Phil Reynolds’ sense of humor revealed itself in the form of a large pasteboard box near the gangway.  It bore a sign,

ALL WHO’D GIVE THEIR LEFT ARM TO BE GOING WITH US — PLEASE DROP THEM HERE.

At their pre-sail meeting, the commodore commented to
Newport’s
skipper on his youthful appearance.  Then Reynolds reminded the commodore that as a Lieutenant, Danis was two years younger than Reynolds at the time he took command of his first submarine.

Danis then congratulated the
Newport
skipper.  “You did a superb job, Phil.  You know Captain Zane wrote
Newport
off as a box of spare parts when you showed up here, but you sure
turned that around.  Your ship is the first distinguished graduate of what we hope will be a long list from
Pitstop
.”

“Captain Zane says a lot of things, sir, but his bark is much worse than his bite.  He can resist anything but a challenge.  We’re very lucky to have him, sir.”

Next, Phil sought out the ever-busy Gerry Carter.  “Thanks for everything, Commander.”

Carter took the young skipper’s hand and shook it firmly.  “Even for turning your ship into an overpriced anchor?”

“Especially for that, sir.  You taught us we’re all in the same Navy despite the badges on our shirts.”

“If you find the bastard that sank
Savo Island
, make a big hole in him for me.”

“That’s a promise, sir.”

The public address system, at maximum gain, blared
Anchors Aweigh
as a pair of tugs rotated
Newport
and pointed her bow toward the harbor entrance.  The submarine’s air horn sounded a long resonant blast, in compliance with Rules of the Road, but actually signaled a final expression of gratitude to all at the
Pitstop
.

Dave continued to watch after the crowd dispersed to the next job. 
Newport
glided along slowly till she cleared the breakwater.  Then her propeller dug into the sea and thrust her ahead at full speed.  White foam contrasted with her sleek black hull as she slipped majestically out to sea.

With well-deserved satisfaction Dave Zane thought,
This is what it’s all about
.

Later, Blockhouse notified squadron operations that
Newport
had crossed the hydrophone array and performed the identifying maneuver.

Dutch Meyer took the phone call.

The watch officer said, “She sure is quiet, Commander.  Held her less than three minutes.”

Dutch added, “And
Newport’s
at high speed.  If someone tries to sneak in, we’re only gonna get a peek so our trigger finger better be quick.”

A furious Vasiliy Baknov believed sea conditions
to be
marginal for transfer of personnel from the rubber raft to ladder of a Peruvian tanker.  The zampolit had lectured on a Communist Party mandate that South American countries, a key factor in winning hearts and minds of conquered peoples in the Western Hemisphere, must be handled with care.  They had been exploited far too long by capitalist American greed and the Soviet Union would show them a better way.

These platitudes did little to aid Vasiliy and his boarding party as they struggled to leap from raft to ladder.  Soaked through, Vasiliy’s group appeared more as a pack of drowned rats than warriors from the most powerful Navy in the world.

He thought,
Too bad Poplavich didn’t have to drag his fat-ass up this ladder.  Maybe the Party policy would become less important to him.

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.