The man in the coveralls hesitated, then gave the socket wrench a final tightening twist before setting the tool back into the kit on the deck beside him.
“Coming right up, Mr. Beltrain. I just spotted a lubricant leak down here … ah, to hell with it.”
Beltrain thought it still sounded funny to have Carl Thomson address him as “Mister”. When they had served together aboard the USS Cunningham, Thomson had been the Duke’s senior engineering officer and Beltrain’s vast superior in both rank and experience. Now, Beltrain was first mate and the Chief insisted on following the proprieties. His orderly engineer’s mind required it.
Thomson clattered up the ladder to the gangway and the two men studied the silent engine room for a long moment more.
“Christ,” Thomson said finally. “But it makes you want to weep.”
“I hear you, Chief,” Beltrain replied, pleased that he wasn’t alone in his sentimentality. “They tried to figure it every other way they could, but she’s just too dangerous to keep around. Even under another name.”
“That’s true, I guess,” Thomson nodded. “But being sensible is a pain in the ass sometimes.”
They went topside.
The sky had started to pale with the coming dawn and the horizon was empty, save for a single cluster of ship’s running lights on the horizon. The wind had a bite to it that hinted at the Antarctic. They had come to this specific spot in the wastes of the southernmost Pacific for two reasons – one because it was far from all the frequently traveled sea and air lanes, and the other because the nearest land was four miles away, straight down.
An unmarked Agusta Bell A-109 helicopter sat atop one of the MacGregor hatches amidships. As Beltrain and the Chief emerged from the deckhouse, the pilot spotted them and lit off her turbines, preparing for take-off.
The only other person aboard was clad in army camouflage with a green beret tugged low over one eye. “We’re all ready, sir,” he yelled to Beltrain over the spool up of the aircraft.
“Very well, Sergeant. Set ’em and let’s get out of here.”
The Special Forces trooper turned his attention to the end of a wiring cluster that emerged from a nearby hatch. Kneeling, he plugged a series of connector jacks into a small black box. Carefully, he checked the timer settings, then flipped a final set of switches. With his task accomplished, he joined Thomson and Beltrain aboard the waiting helo.
The Agusta Bell lifted off and climbed away, going into an observation orbit above the ship as the seconds ticked off on the LED displays on the little black box.
Alone now, abandoned to her destiny, the vessel drifted, her lights still glowing.
Five minutes passed and the relays closed. Detonator cord flared and the linear explosions streaked away into the bowels of the ship. The decks shuddered.
There were no overt indications of an explosion, no bursts of fire and smoke, but small carefully placed shaped charges cut through the ship’s hull in a score of places, admitting a deluge of chill seawater.
The ship’s lights went out and, within moments, she began to settle. Five minutes more and the Motor Vessel Galaxy Shenandoah lifted her bow, vanishing in the nexus of a boiling fury of foam and spray. She left nothing behind, not even an oil slick, for she had carried only enough fuel to reach her dying ground.
The helicopter circled once more and then angled away towards the cluster of
lights in the distance. Shortly thereafter, the Motor Vessel Galaxy Shenandoah steamed over her own grave, heading north.
The USS Evan F Carlson
Bonaparte Bay, Australia
0900 Hours; Zone Time, October 9, 2008
“You’re not going to believe this, you preposterous piece of vegetation,” Amanda commented aloud to the little palm tree, “but I’m actually going to miss you.”
She gave the palm a final farewell squirt from the misting bottle. Setting the sprayer down on the counter, she took a lingering look around the deserted wardroom. Someone – she thought it might have been Marion Hargrove – had once said that leaving home was always sad and a soldier has so many homes. That applied to sailors as well.
She would not be back here again. At least as the TACBOSS of the Sea Fighters. It had been a long road, from the Chesapeake Bay to the savage coasts of West Africa to the pirate stalking grounds of the East Indies to here. Now, this door in her life was closing behind her and she was stepping into the unknown.
When she had stood down from the Captaincy of the Cunningham, there had been the solemn litany of the change of command to work through. There would be no such ceremony this time. There was only the helicopter waiting to lift her into Darwin. In theory, she was flying back to NAVSPECFORCE headquarters at Pearl for a board of inquiry.
But she was also leaving under a steadily darkening cloud. The carefully
orchestrated campaign of “leaks” and half-truths being fed to the media were making it look as if she had
totally fallen on her face here in Indonesia. A number of noteworthy political
pundits critical of the Childress administration were already predicting a
court-martial and a possible congressional investigation. Other media talking
heads were salivating over the titillating phrases “dereliction of duty” and “conduct unbecoming an officer.”
Oh well, Amanda mused grimly, if one’s career was going to be trashed, one might as well have it trashed
spectacularly.
She wasn’t happy with the effect the situation was having on the Sea Fighters, however. No US Naval Task Force had ever mutinied en masse before – but her people were close. She’d done her best to mellow the situation, insisting that it was only a hearing and that things would be straightened out in due course. Still, she was glad she was handing the temporary TACBOSS slot over to Captain Carberry of the Carlson. An outsider would likely have had tough sledding for awhile.
The Board of Inquiry was sophistry, of course. It would never convene. Nor would Amanda ever reach Hawaii.
Someone cleared his throat near the passageway entry. Stone Quillain stood in
the door, twisting his utility cap in his hands. “Your gear’s loaded and ready to go, Skipper.”
From the tone of his voice, he might have been inviting her to try on her coffin. In spite of herself, Amanda had to smile. The big marine was positively suffering.
She lifted an eyebrow. “And you came all the way up here just to tell me that they’ve put my suitcase on the helicopter?”
He grimaced. “Aw hell, it’s just that the other officers are gettin’ together on the flight deck to see you off and I guess I wanted to get a head
start on it.”
“Stone, it’s just a board of inquiry, not a firing squad.”
“I know, I know, Howlin’ Mad Smith had a few of those in his time.” He hesitated and then exploded. “The thing is, it’s a load of crap! The whole damn deal!”
“Of course it is,” Amanda nodded. “That’s how it goes sometimes. We were bucking a complex situation out here and we had
to get extraordinarily unconventional. That never sits well with some people. I’ve got some actions to justify, that’s all.”
Quillain’s brows knitted together. “I can see how the way we operate might get sideways with some of the brass hats
in CONUS, but hittin’ you with a dereliction of duty? What kind of drunk ’n constipated son of a bitch came up with that one?”
Amanda found it increasingly difficult to stay in her lie. “No doubt I’ll find out when I get back there,” she said, straightening from the edge of the table. “Speaking of that, I’d better get going.”
She held her hand out to Stone. “You take care of business here and I’ll take care of things back in Pearl.”
