SILENT GUNS (15 page)

Two light lines flew down to the deck as Captain
Larsen laid the
Helga
alongside the
Missouri
and tied
up fore and aft. Fenders were thrown. A Jacob’s ladder cascaded
over the side of the battleship, as if appearing from nowhere. A
sailor’s head followed to see where it landed.

“
O.K. below?” he asked.

Harper lifted one hand in acknowledgment.

“
We’ll lay over ‘til morning.” An
officer peered over the
Missouri
’s railing. “Be our guest.
Today is the last day for visitors. Tomorrow she’s all yours,” he
responded.

“
Then you guys get to watch us,
heh!” It was a half question, and the officer took the
bait.

“
Not on your life. We ship out to
San Diego tomorrow. Sea duty. Can hardly wait.” The officer waved
off. Trent was pleased; they were on station, no one else had
arrived and it appeared they would have time unobserved. Newby
deserved a medal, he mused.

“
Tomorrow we start unloading at
0500.”

The men slapped each other on the back. Trent sagged
in relief at the course of the day’s events. But, he was not misled
by the ease in their progress, the lack of detection nor how long
they might conceal their intentions. But, the men were ready and he
had done all he could. Morale was sky high. He never dared dream
that executing his plan would be easy, risk-free and that nothing
would go wrong. Overconfidence, he realized, was his deadliest
enemy. He tried to envision failures and wondered how they would
show themselves. But, those were gloomy thoughts, and, for the
moment, he banished them to join in the merriment. Tomorrow was
another day.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 11

Daybreak broke early over Sinclair Inlet. Seagulls
clashing over a meal shattered the early morning calm. The
mastheads of the Reserve fleet bathed in clipped sunlight cast long
shadows over the water’s surface. A languid trail of vertical smoke
rose from the
Helga
’s galley stove. Madden cinched up his
jacket against the cool morning air. He tightened the
Helga
’s lines then checked for Graves. Not finding him on
deck, he paused at the foot of the bridge ladder and called. With
no response, he entered the crew’s quarters and found him in his
bunk snoring. Angrily, he poked his ribs. Graves grumbled and
rolled over.

“
Get your butt up, Graves. It’s
pushing 0500 and we got to unload this bucket. No time for goofing
off.”

“
Screw you,” Graves mumbled. “This
here babe is stark naked, she is, and she’s rubbing my back. She
got me all excited.”

“
Must be something you
ate.”

Madden pulled off his covers and yanked Graves from
his bunk. Graves slid heavily to the deck. “Damn you, Madden.”

“
It’s about time he got up,” Maxie
mumbled as he poured a cup of coffee. “A guy can’t get a good
night’s sleep with all the noise he makes.” The serving hole door
flipped open and Harper called out, “Come and get it. Today’s
special.” The aroma of bacon, sausage, eggs and flapjacks wafted
out.

Graves dashed cold water on his face, dabbed himself
dry, and eased his hulk down at the table. Dishes clattered and
utensils rattled as the men dug in. Food disappeared, wolfed down
in silence. Graves with his arm, slammed down his coffee mug and
wiped his mouth off with his sleeve, and exclaimed, “Harper. You’re
an asshole, but you sure can cook.” Using his arm, Maxie shielded
his plate as Graves spewed wet morsels of food.

“
All right, let’s hop to!” Madden
said, pushing back from the table. “We got a long day ahead, let’s
get cracking.”

“
Cool it, Madden. This ain’t the
Navy.” Graves said, gulping down more food. “I ain’t finished,
yet.”

Madden slipped on his heavy work gloves, “How about
five-million reasons to move your ass?”

“
Crap! I ain’t seen a bloody
cent,” Graves bellowed.

“
Sit on your butt and you never
will,” Maxie said as he stabbed his fork into a lonely sausage.
Carefully wrapping half in a napkin, he stuffed it into his pocket.
He got up, scraped off his dish and slid his gear to
Harper.

“
This whole caper is
crazier’n-hell.” Harper ventured, leaning out the serving hole.
“Six guys to takeover and hold a battleship, Christ! Then, we set
like ducks lined up at a shooting gallery, holed up in a steel tomb
and wait for a payoff. Unless they’re stupid, the Navy will let us
sit here and rot. Yech!”

The men fell silent at Harper’s dose of reality.

“
Quit harping, Harper,” Maxie
giggled at his pun.

“
Well, you volunteered,” Madden
added.

“
We’ll be lucky to see a penny,”
Harper countered.

“
You’ll get your share,” Madden
shouted.

“
Horsepuckey!” The veins on
Harper’s forehead throbbed. “You didn’t sign on for the dough,
Madden. You’re here because Trent is here. He’s an officer and
you’re his freakin’ enlisted man lackey. He tells you what to do
and you do it. You suck up to that stuff. I hate his
guts.”

“
O.K. Hot stuff. What did you sign
on for?”

“
Maybe, some of us have something
to prove.” Madden glared at Harper. “Like what?” Harper pulled in
his head.

“
That’s terrific,” Maxie chimed
in. “If you guys are just here to prove something, I’ll take dibs
on your share of the money.” Madden swatted Maxie with his cap.
Graves threw back his head and let out a roar as they ambled out to
the forward the cargo hatch. Two quick series of pop...pop...pop
and Maxie had the auxiliary engines up and running. Seagulls
scattered wildly at the unfamiliar sound. Maxie tested the winches,
fingering the gear levers with the fine touch of a surgeon. He
cajoled and tinkered until the running gear answered precisely.
Pulling his cap over his eyes, he nodded to Madden. Madden cracked
open the hatch. Graves shoved it aside until the opening was clear
and raised his bulky paw into the air. Maxie caught the signal and
eased the hook down into the
Helga
’s darkened
belly.

The men respected Captain Larsen’s claim to the
upper deck, where he regularly paced, Hauser at his side. Outside
of the wheelhouse, he kept to himself and made no effort to build a
rapport with the men. Leaning on the rail, he puffed his pipe as he
watched. Maxie was a pro, he judged, and pictured him as his Chief
Engineer. He turned to see Madden scramble up the Jacob’s ladder
and hit the
Missouri
’s deck as the first load touched
down.

“
Harper. Get up here and give me a
hand,” Madden shouted as he unhooked the bulky cargo net. Making an
indecipherably rude comment, Harper wiped his hands and popped out
of the galley to manhandle the load across the teak deck to the
handling hatch.

“
Clear away,” Graves bellowed up
from the
Helga
’s belly. A second load swung up and cleared
the hold. Maxie pulled and pushed levers swinging the vanging boom
sideways while the topping winch lifted the load. He set it down
gingerly on the
Missouri
’s deck.

“
Run a double winch on this one,
Maxie,” Graves shouted over the din of the machinery. “It’s a heavy
one.” As the last load cleared the forward hold, Graves stripped to
the waist, dragged up his sweat soaked body from below and,
gorilla-like, climbed up to the
Missouri
. Maxie shut down
the auxiliaries, wiped his brow, and disappeared below decks into
the cleared hold.

Captain Larsen watched Trent come aboard.
Pre-occupied, Trent neither smiled nor broke stride. The Captain
coughed. Trent turned. With his pipe stem, the Captain jabbed down
into the forward hold. Perplexed, yet tipping his fingers to his
forehead, Trent dropped into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he
searched and realized the Captain’s concern. Maxie sat, collapsed,
hunched up against the forward bulkhead, his chest slumped and legs
bunched up tightly.

“
Having trouble,
Maxie?”

“
I need to sit here for a few
minutes. I’ll be okay.” Trent recoiled at the terrible strain he
saw in Maxie’s face. A drawn look, ashen-white; his body shivered
with chills, his khaki shirt soaked through, with hardly a dry spot
on it.

“
Maxie, you are ill.”

“
No, Tony. I’m just scared,” his
voice quivered. “I don’t want the guys to see me like this.” Maxie
sensed empathy in Trent’s voice. “I can’t handle it! I just can’t!
God knows, how I tried, we may all be killed. And Flora…” Trent let
the tears flow, deep wrenching sobs. “We’ll never make it, Tony.”
Maxie gripped Trent’s arm, his still strong fingers bit
deep.

“
We’ll make it, Maxie. We’re half
way there now.”

Maxie spoke in small breaths. He formed his words
carefully. “My whole life’s been a washout. I ain’t been no hero to
nobody. Even my kids pegged me a bum, a loser. No matter what I did
I couldn’t prove I was somebody. I’m a failure.” The words spilled
out. “I know I sound corny, self-pitying, but it’s a fucking cruel
world.”

A shadow appeared over the hold. “Everything O.K.
down there?” The Captain’s voice betrayed his puzzlement. After a
moment of silence, Trent called up, “We’re coming up.” The shadow
faded. Trent felt sad, helpless.

The sky blackened, a rain cloud swiftly blew over
and drenched the
Helga
. As her scuppers overfilled and
gurgled, the men scrambled to cover and secure the hatches. Day had
turned into night. Old bodies had performed young men’s work. Too
tired to eat, they sprawled in their bunks, exhausted. Snores
resonated. Graves moved restlessly, shivering in the cold, under a
single blanket too small for his huge body. The
Helga
was
unheated save for heat spilled from the galley. Graves belched,
acid that had soured his stomach moved to his throat. Trent noticed
Maxie’s bunk was empty. Overcome by a series of yawns, his own body
rebelled, but he could not sleep. He dressed and stepped out into a
biting wind. The downpour instantly wetted him down.

“
Ahoy!
Helga
.” The
Helga
turned bright as day as a searchlight beam came
flooding on. Trent turned, his arm shielding his eyes against the
dazzle of the light. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood erect.
Sucking in his breath, he circled the deckhouse to the port side to
face the threat. He gripped the rail with a bad feeling. A voice
rose from behind the light, sharp and clear as NPB#41 bumped
against the
Helga
. Chief Petty Officer Martinez jumped
aboard.

“
How’s the old girl? Gotten inside
yet?” Trent recognized his voice. “Tomorrow, maybe,” Trent shouted
back fearful he had slipped up, been discovered. He concealed his
trembling by slouching across the rail. He reached into his pocket
and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He held the pack out to the
grinning Chief.

“
Thanks, you’ll get company
tomorrow; a couple of work crews should show up about
noon.”

“
Is that right?” Trent’s heart
rate quieted down.

“
The
Missouri
’s going get a
lady friend.”

“
That’s good news.” Trent
lied.

“
The
Oriskany
. They’re
moving her to the other side of the pier. She’s a good ship. That’s
her over there at anchor. She needs maintenance real bad.” The
Chief pointed. Trent did not turn, but his mind did the quick
arithmetic. The
Oriskany
’s flight deck stood 40 feet higher
than the
Missouri
. The threat of snipers ringing her flight
deck, taking pot shots chilled him. He exhaled blowing smoke rings
in the chilly air while he stole a quick glance at the 200 foot
high bluffs overlooking the bow shore-side. 1000 yards was not
tough shot for a sniper. The
Oriskany
would lie within 200
feet of the
Missouri
, as good as alongside. He looked away,
pained beyond words. With his hand-full of overage warriors, each
man had to count. His forehead puckered into little furrows of
irritation. Defensive adjustments must to be made.

“
Chief. Message from Base,” a
seaman reported.

“
Better get going,” the Chief
re-boarded and NPB#41 backed away.

* * *

The morning of the second day was pure hell.
“Everybody up, shake the lead out,” Madden yelled, “Get to work.”
Madden groaned as his own legs buckled casting him ungracefully to
the cold, steel deck. The men managed a weak laugh. Graves’ upper
arm tattoos seemed frozen in place as he tried to flex his bulging
muscles. Maxie worked hard, salving hands rendered chaffed and raw
from manipulating levers. The foul words that pealed from the men’s
lips did not ease their discomfort. Harper lay in his bunk soundly
snoring. Trent looked in, said nothing, but noted a crumpled, sorry
looking lot.

A cold blast of air blew the door open. Captain
Larsen’s bulk filled the doorway. The temperature dropped ten
degrees before he banged the door closed. “I didn’t see anybody up
this morning,” he mumbled. “I thought maybe you…”

“
We had a tough day yesterday,
Captain.” Madden replied, curtly, as he reached for his
boot.

“
Well! I made hot coffee,” the
Captain said quietly, the corner of his lip creased upward in a
begrudging smile.