Sea Devil Page 2

  Mac seemed confused. Taking the Captain aside, he spoke cautiously.

  “But how did you get involved with the find in the waters off Kwajalein?”

  The CO’s wide brow tightened.

  “I see that your briefing was as cursory as my own. To tell you the truth, Mac, I don’t know anything about any find. All I’ve been instructed to do is act as your transfer point and provide you chopper transport further southward.”

  Mac was suddenly aware of the meaning of the XO’s cryptic comment earlier.

  “I think I’m starting to see the big picture, Captain.”

  “At least someone around here knows what the hell is going on,” said the captain, whose attention was diverted by a call from the air boss.

  “It looks like we’re stuck with you for awhile, Mac.”

  The grinning CO hung up the telephone.

  “Seems that Harrier driver of yours is hot to get back to Oahu.

  Would you care to watch him lift off?”

  Without bothering to respond, Mac followed the captain over to the port observation window. Below on the flight deck, the AV-8B looked sleek and deadly in its camouflage paint. As the pilot switched on its jet engine, a throaty, high-pitched whine filled the bridge with intense sound. The roar intensified steadily until it reached almost deafening proportions. Appearing much like some sort of prehistoric beast, the Harrier proceeded to lift off vertically, straight into the air. Then, with a slight dip of its stubby wings, it gracefully turned its nose to the northeast and shot off in an incredible burst of forward speed.

  Awestruck, Mac continued watching the aircraft until it was but a speck on the horizon. It was a gentle hand on his shoulder that brought back his thoughts.

  “That’s quite a sight, my friend. No matter how many times I see it, it never fails to astound me. Now, how about joining me in my quarters for some chow? I should be able to get a decent meal into that belly of yours before your whirlybird’s ready to fly.”

  Mac readily accepted the captain’s gracious offer. It was while washing up that he realized that he had left home so hurriedly that morning that he had neglected to shave. While pondering whether or not to borrow a razor, he stood before the mirror and momentarily studied his reflection.

  He had inherited his full head of blond hair and his pale blue eyes from his mother. From his father he got a dimpled chin. The one feature that was distinctly his own was his nose. Broken during a collegiate football game and never set properly, Mac’s nose was unique.

  Even Marsha referred to it as his “personality.” Because of his fair coloring, his eyebrows and beard were fairly nondescript, and he knew that he could easily miss a shave without anyone but his wife noticing. With this in mind, Mac decided to forget about obtaining a razor, and after soaking his face in a handful of hot water, continued on to the captain’s stateroom.

  As he had proved during Mac’s previous visit. Captain Kenneth Exman was an excellent host. There was a genuine warmth to the CO’s smile as he greeted his guest and led him over to the table set for two.

  “I think we’d better get going with the chow. There’s another squall line approaching, and we’d like to get you airborne before it hits.”

  No sooner did they seat themselves when an alert orderly appeared with their salads and some hot rolls.

  This was followed by a platter filled with grilled chicken breast, noodles, and a helping of broccoli in cheese sauce.

  The Iwo Juno’s CO had originally been an aviator. A graduate of the Naval Academy, he’d flown the Grumman A-6 Intruder in Viet Nam, and had over 3,500 flight hours and over 700 carrier-arrested landings. Two and a half years ago he’d reported to the Naval Education and Training Center at Newport, Rhode Island, where he was enrolled in the prespective commanding officers’ course. Upon graduation, he assumed command of the Iwo Jima.

  Mac liked the man’s no-nonsense attitude. He genuinely cared about his shipmates and wasn’t afraid to candidly express himself. This was the case as he described the Iwo Jima’s current deployment.

  “I don’t have to tell you that I was worried as all hell when Command ordered us home by way of the Pacific.

  Our steam plant is over thirty years old. It needs some major overhauls. Yet to make matters worse, not only did they cut our funding, but they rushed us through our last refit as well. I’ve got over 2,600 men currently on board this ship. With only a single shaft to propel us, we can’t risk even a brief interruption of power. So far my boys have managed to keep us going, but the Lord only knows how long our luck is going to hold.”

  Mac polished off his broccoli.

  “I still say that your crew deserves a lot of credit. Captain. The gator navy might not be glamorous duty, but just look who’s called upon when there’s trouble brewing. If you ask me, we’ve got our priorities all wrong. Nuclear-powered aircraft carriers and high-tech cruisers are great for worldwide conflicts, but for the low-intensity threat operations that we’ll most likely be facing during this upcoming decade, it’s vessels like the Iwo Jima that will lay down the law.”

  “Well said, Mac. I’m glad to hear that someone out there calls it like it is. Now if we could only get the backing of Congress and the Pentagon.”

  “You’re not asking for much, are you, Captain?”

  A wide grin turned up the corners of the COs mouth.

  “Here I go and invite you to chow, and all I do is bore you with my problems. So enough of my bellyaching.

  How’s that family of yours doing? If I remember correctly, you’ve got a set of twins about five years old. At least those two should keep your mind off the Navy.”

  “Actually, Andrew and Michael will be six next month,” said the proud father.

  “And yes, when I’m home they keep me occupied every minute of the day.

  Their new love is baseball. Marsha got them uniforms, and now they’re pestering us to let them join Little League.”

  “Six is a little young for that, isn’t it?” offered the captain.

  Mac was quick to answer.

  “That’s what Marsha says, but I kind of wonder. Michael’s got an unbelievable arm. Why, that little devil can already throw a curve ball. Andrew’s specialty is hitting. He’s already cost me a kitchen window and a new skylight. How’s your son doing?”

  The Captain’s eyes sparkled.

  “Ken Jr. will graduate junior high school with honors this June. That kid’s a mechanical genius. Just last month he took apart our personal computer and replaced a defective chip. Now he’s writing his own programs. He plans to eventually attend the Naval Academy, where he wants to study nuclear physics.”

  A ringing telephone interrupted the captain. He reached for the handset at his side. While he initiated a conversation, Mac finished his chicken breast and took a second to survey the stateroom. Behind them was a comfortable sitting area — of a couch, a magazine-filled coffee table, and two upholstered chairs. Next to this was the captain’s desk. One could easily forget that such a setting belonged in a warship, though a CO’s duty hardly allowed one a moment’s respite.

  “That was the XO,” said the captain, who had already hung up.

  “It looks like that weather is moving in quicker than we’d anticipated. Our senior meteorologist recommends that we get you airborne pronto. Your chopper’s just about ready, so I’m afraid you’ll have to take a raincheck on dessert.”

  Mac patted his stomach while following the captain’s lead, and pushed his chair away from the table to stand.

  “That meal was more than adequate, Sir. I’ve had nothing all day but a half cup of coffee, and it really hit the spot. Thanks again for the hospitality.”

  “You’re most welcome, Mac. And don’t be such a stranger. We’ll be back in Norfolk at the end of the month, and I’d love to have you stop by for a proper visit. Who knows, maybe by then you’ll be able to tell me what this mysterious excursion of yours is all about.”

  Doubting that he’d ever get the clear
ance to talk about the project that had called him these thousands of miles, Mac nodded politely and followed the captain up the flight deck.

  The weather topside looked menacing. Thick dark clouds blotted out the sun, while a rising wind made the mere process of walking difficult. They were halfway to the open fuselage of the Sea Stallion when the rains began falling in a torrent.

  “Good luck to you, Mac,” offered the CO as he escorted his guest to the helicopter’s side.

  “I sure hope the weather is better down south where you’re off to.”

  “You don’t happen to know where that might be, do you, sir?” asked Mac as he climbed into the doorway.

  The captain had to hold onto his cap and practically shout to be heard over the howl of the gusting wind.

  “Afraid they didn’t bother to share that with me. Command will relay the exact coordinates to you once you get airborne. All that I know for certain is that you’re headed somewhere south of Kwajalein. Have a safe trip!”

  “You too. Skipper,” returned Mac, who saluted and then allowed a jumpsuited airman to lead him further into the helicopter’s rather cavernous interior. There was room inside for at least three dozen passengers. Yet Mac was alone except for the single attendant.

  No sooner did he sit down and buckle his restraining harness when the Sea Stallion’s dual turbine engines coughed alive. As its six-bladed rotor began madly spinning, a large drop of hydraulic oil fell onto Mac’s forehead.

  He disgustedly wiped the smelly fluid off and addressed the airman seated across from him.

  “I think something’s leaking up there!” shouted Mac.

  “Welcome aboard a Sikorsky, Commander,” replied the airman stoically.

  “It’s when this baby stops leaking that we’ve got serious problems.”

  Mac could only shake his head and sit back as the helicopter began its ascent. They rose vertically. Except for a slight vibration, the wind didn’t seem to play a factor as the Sea Stallion turned to the south, all the while continuing to gain altitude.

  Strangely enough, during the entire ascent Mac was unusually at ease. In fact, he was so relaxed that he fell asleep soon after they reached their cruising altitude.

  Mac’s sound, dreamless slumber was broken by a loud buzzing noize. As he groggily opened his eyes, he watched as the cabin attendant picked up a bulkhead mounted intercom handset. The cabin was lit by a muted red light and Mac realized with a start that it was apparently night already.

  “Good evening, Commander,” said the airman, who had completed his phone conversation and noted that Mac had awakened.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby,” Mac answered as he yawned and glanced down at his watch.

  “Have I really been out for two hours?”

  The airman nodded.

  “That you have. You didn’t miss anything but a little lightning and thunder.”

  “How’s the weather now?” quizzed Mac.

  “It’s clear as can be. We left all the heavy stuff up north. So it looks like we can complete your transfer with a minimum of risk.”

  “Transfer?” repeated Mac.

  Mistaking Mac’s puzzlement as an inability to hear over the chopping sound of the spinning rotors, the airman shouted, “I just got word from the cockpit that you’ll be leaving us shortly. We’ll be dropping you onto the deck of a submarine. Have you ever used a rescue hoist before, sir?”

  Mac was genuinely dumbfounded.

  “I can’t say that I have,” he managed with a heavy sigh.

  Noting his anxiety, the airman’s tone softened.

  “Well, you have nothing to worry about, sir. I’ll be fitting you into a harness, and then utilize a winch to lower you by means of a steel cable. All you have to do is hit the release mechanism once you touch down on the deck.”

  Mac looked up when a loud electronic tone sounded.

  It proved to be the attendant who identified this noise.

  “It’s showtime, sir. Just follow me over to the doorway and I’ll get you fixed up.”

  Mac reluctantly did so, and was soon sitting on the edge of the now opened hatchway. The roar of the Sea Stallion’s turbine engines filled the cabin with a deafening grind. Outside the air was warm and clear, and Mac could see a myriad of stars glistening in the heavens.

  Conscious that the helicopter was now hovering, he looked down and could just make out a single dim red light. As the Sikorsky began to descend, this light intensified until soon Mac viewed the distinctive, teardrop shaped outline of a submarine floating on the surface of the sea. When several individuals could be seen on the forward deck of this vessel, Mac heard the attendant cry out behind him.

  “So long, Commander. Just ease your way off the ledge and we’ll take it from there.”

  Mac managed a brave salute and after inhaling a deep calming breath, scooted off the helicopter’s hatchway.

  He found himself dangling in midair now, his weight supported by the steel cable attached to the harness at the back of his shoulders. He could feel the downdraft of the Sea Stallion’s rotors as the cable began playing out, and he began to drop.

  So rapid and smooth was this descent that Mac had little time to contemplate his precarious position. The submarine continued to grow larger, and Mac spotted two individuals perched in its sail. Behind them, mounted on the aft portion of the vessel’s deck, was a large, cylindrical object that Mac identified as being a deep submergence rescue vehicle. He was no stranger to the workings of a DSRV, and supposed that this would be the platform that would be conveying him to the seafloor itself.

  He found himself being guided forward of the sail.

  Here a pair of brawny sailors succeeded in grabbing his legs and stabilizing him. The moment that he touched down on the deck, he hit the harness release mechanism as instructed and felt the pull on his back lessen. The last he saw of the harness itself was as it was being hoisted back up into the hold of the still hovering helicopter.

  “Commander Mackenzie, welcome aboard the USS Billfish.”

  This greeting came from a wiry, khaki-clad officer who stood at Mac’s side. He continued, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Jenkins, the sub’s XO. Captain Holden is up in the sail and sends his respects. I’m afraid that time is a bit critical, so if it’s all right with you, we’d like to get you loaded into the DSRV and get on with the dive.”

  “Lead on, Mr. Jenkins,” replied Mac, who was relieved that his long journey was finally about to end.

  As they proceeded around the sail, Mac noted that the chopping roar of the helicopter was no longer audible.

  This racket was replaced by the splashing sound of lapping water as it gently broke against the sub’s rounded hull. The warm night air was fresh and smelled of the sea. Quite happy to be back in this familiar medium, Mac traversed the vessel’s spine, finally coming to a halt beside the DSRV. Here he spotted an individual dressed in dark blue coveralls, in the process of inspecting the mini-sub’s forward thruster ducts. It proved to be the XO, who provided the introductions.

  “Commander Mackenzie, I’d like you to meet the DSRV Avalon’s pilot, Lieutenant Richard Sullivan.”

  Mac accepted the pilot’s cool handshake. The lieutenant was well into his forties and displayed a lined, weather-worn face as he looked Mac directly in the eyes.

  “The Avalon’s ready to go whenever you are, Commander.”

  Mac sized him up as a man who had worked his way up through the ranks. He exuded confidence, and Mac felt instantly at ease with him.

  “Were you the one who made the initial discovery?” asked Mac.

  “I’m the one,” the pilot answered.

  “I’d be happy to give you a complete briefing once we get underway.”

  “I’d like that, returned Mac. He followed Sullivan as he climbed a portable ladder that was propped against the DSRV’s side.

  A humped casing on the Avalon’s upper deck hid a narrow hatchway. As Lieutenant Sullivan opened the hatch,
the XO of the USS Billfish called out to Mac.

  “Have a safe voyage, Commander. If you need anything, just ring us up on the underwater telephone.”

  Mac returned his salute and then followed the Avalon’s pilot down into the DSRV’s interior. A short climb led to the main pressure capsule. The air was cool here and smelled of machine oil. By the light of a red lamp they moved forward. This put them in the central command module. While the pilot settled into the padded chair on the port side, Mac squeezed into the seat beside it. Following the grizzled veteran’s example, Mac fastened his safety harness.

  “I take it you’re no stranger to a deep submergence rescue vehicle, Commander.”

  “Actually, I spent some time on the Mystic. And please, call me Mac.”

  The pilot continued while addressing the various switches and buttons of his console.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know Matt Crowley, would you?”

  “I certainly would,” answered Mac.

  “Matt was my driver during a dive off Kauai.”

  “Good op angles-and-dangles Crowley,” reflected the pilot.

  “He taught me the business, and was almost responsible for getting me to muster out of the service early. That guy’s scared of nothing.”

  Mac grinned.

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  The intercom activated, and they were informed that the Billfish was standing by to dive. Only when he was absolutely certain that the Avalon was properly pressurized did the pilot notify their mother ship that they were also ready for the black depths below. A raucous blast of compressed air signaled that the dive was on. Still anchored piggyback-style on the deck of the Billfish, the DSRV slid beneath the surface of the sea.

  “How long until we disengage?” asked Mac.

  “A couple of minutes at most.”