SILENT GUNS (23 page)

* * *

The Navy Patrol Boat stood motionless, idling.
Madden cut the speed, and the
Helga
slowed, coasting until
the two ships drew abreast. Trent stepped to the starboard wing and
hesitated. The signs were ominous: the Navy had checked the ammo
barge. Maybe, they had checked the
Missouri
, too? Did they
know? Were they just waiting for us?

“
I can’t believe you guys made
it,” the Chief Mate bellowed. “Didn’t you get the Coast Guard’s
warning?”

“
We got it too late,” Trent
replied, nonchalantly.

“
You’re lucky you made it over,”
the Chief took off his cap and scratched the back of his head. “We
got the tail of the storm in here. We’re still rounding up strays.
Three boats went down.”

“
Guess they didn’t get the word,
either.” Trent said.

“
They got it, but didn’t listen.
It was the worst blow in thirty-years. Rated Force 9. WestPoint
Coast Guard station recorded peak 83 knot winds. Hood’s Canal got
94.” Trent’s stomach twisted.

“
How’s the
Missouri
?” he
asked.

“
You gotta be kidding,” the Chief
smiled as he waved his helmsman on.

Trent made for Larsen’s cabin two steps at a time.
Madden took the wheel.

“
How’s Harper?” Trent
inquired.

“
Captain pumped him dry,” Maxie
answered.

“
And Graves?”

“
The Captain’s working him over,
too.” Maxie looked up, and nodded his head towards the Captain’s
bunk. “He had to sew Graves up. Cut bad on the head. Took ten
stitches.”

“
Graves say anything, yet?” Trent
inquired, solemnly.

“
Not yet,” Maxie
answered.

“
Otherwise?”

“
Nothing broken, Captain gave him
morphine.”

“
And Harper?”

“
Hard to tell. Nothing visible,”
Maxie continued. “Maybe something busted inside. At best, he’ll be
sore as hell.”

“
How long?”

“
Don’t ask me, ask the Captain. He
knows more about broken bones and cracked skulls than he lets
on.”

“
What do you mean?” Trent asked,
puzzled.

“
He’s got a doctor’s bag aboard.
He took to the guys like a butcher to a side of beef. There was
nothing in his bag for me.” Maxie smiled as he filled hot water
bottles and placed them besides Harper, who was shaking violently.
“The Captain could have made a break for the Patrol boat, but he
didn’t.” Maxie looked up. “I would have nailed him before he got to
the door.” Trent smiled: he tried, but he just couldn’t picture it.
Trent went aft and threw back the access hatch. Schiller lay at the
foot of the ladder, still bound and tied.

“
You bastard!”

Trent cracked a smile then slammed the hatch
shut.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 16

Madden adroitly clambered up the Jacob’s ladder that
danced lightly against the side of the battleship. If he was weary
from the day’s travails, he gave no sign. Once aboard, he whipped
lines down to the
Helga
. Trent rang down ‘Finished with
engine’ as he rested on the wheel.

Maxie burst into the wheelhouse, “Graves and Harper
are conscious and talking, but, where the hell is Newby?”

Trent turned, “Isn’t he with Madden?”

“
Nobody’s seen Newby since Madden
shipped him off to the galley.” Maxie frowned. Trent moved with an
agility that surprised him. They checked hatches and doors until
Maxie finally asked, “Think he got washed overboard?”

Trent tried to fathom what might have happened when
Madden ambled aft. “Where’s Newby?”

Madden hunched up his shoulders in a small
chuckle.

“
What’s so damn funny! Where is
he?”

“
Did you try his bunk?” Madden
replied, stifling the same chuckle. “He’s seasick. The rollers did
him in. What was left of his breakfast came up. Phew! The bulkhead
and deck are a stinking mess. He kept missing the bucket. He
claimed it was a stomach bug and he’d get over it quick. I got him
seasick pills, but he just got worse. He didn’t want anyone to
know,” Madden continued, “and he asked me to cover for him. What
could I say?”

Trent shoved the door wide. Newby lay curled up in a
fitful position; his hands clutched his stomach. His round,
cherubic faced screwed up and nearly in tears. Vomit trailed from
the corner of his mouth, his shirtfront was marked. His pleading
eyes begged for a quick death emphasized by a long, wailing
moan.

Trent left quietly.

* * *

The
Missouri
lay a floating mass of cold,
lifeless steel. Engines and boilers were dead. With her machinery
inoperative, her powder and shells removed, she lay useless. In her
heyday, she could have reduced Seattle’s skyline to rubble in a
matter of hours. Since the time of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the
battleship had been declared obsolete, a dinosaur of another age.
Unfortunately, aircraft easily dispatched a battleship unless
protected by the strong arm of an aircraft carrier. General Billy
Mitchell proved his point. The battleship’s wounded pride resided
solely in the sting of their 16-inch guns.

“
This barbette is tighter than a
steel drum, an impregnable fort at sea,” Harper said, his hand
patting the breech of the center 16-inch gun. The men listened
intently. “Those flap doors seal the powder magazine below against
flashback,” he pointed. “You guys heard the story of the
Hood
. She took a shell hit from the
Bismarck
. It
either hit a magazine square or flashback set it off. Anyway,
Blooie! The
Hood
disappears.”

“
Found a firing lock yet, Harper?”
Madden queried.

“
No luck,” Harper fidgeted. “Maxie
is searching.”

Newby joined the group.

“
Feel better,” Harper
asked.

“
Never so sick in my life. They’ll
have to tie me in chains to get me aboard another lousy
ship.”

“
The lock has got to be on board,”
Newby blurted out. “The ship’s records say it’s here.”

“
The primers went bad out on that
barge,” Graves said, fingering one. “No fear. I can replace the
powder.”

“
They look like rifle shells,”
Newby picked one up.

“
They are, dummy,” Graves said,
snatching it back.

Newby’s jaw stiffened.

“
It’s not all bad news,” Harper
said. “Maxie found two sets of gas-check pads stuffed in Cosmoline.
We could get by without one, but I wouldn’t want to be in here when
we fire.”

“
How come?” Newby
asked.

“
The pads seal the expanding gases
in the gun.”

“
How about the ignition charges,
Graves?” Harper asked.

“
I did like you told me. I packed
the powder bags by the book,” Graves demonstrated, “See here, the
black powder is butted right up against the smokeless and each
ignition-charged end is daubed regulation red. Just don’t screw up
the load, Harper, the red end goes in first.” Graves said, shaking
a box of primers.

“
And don’t blow yourself up,
either,” Harper warned.

“
A waste of primers,” Newby
added.

Graves’ face turned red.

“
It will soon be dark,” Madden
interrupted. “Let’s get the shells aboard.” Graves nodded jerkily,
stood up and said, “Time enough later for these toys, those shells
are real man’s work.”

Madden followed Graves out, “When everything’s
stowed, we’ll spot-welded shut all the barbette doors and hatches,
except the aft turret hatch and the hatch aft to the second deck
down to the Broadway. We don’t want strangers sneaking up on us.”
Madden moved away into the shadows. “All of you, get familiar with
the entry ways so you know them blindfolded.”

“
The Broadway?” Newby
asked.

Madden stopped. “It’s the only clear passageway fore
and aft below decks. It’s protected from shellfire and used to move
supplies fore and aft during a fight. If the Navy comes after us,
it will come in handy,” he explained. “Oh! Sort of like a mole
hole.” Newby grimaced at a great howl of laughter.

Maxie stuck his head up the turret hatch. “The
contract crews have left, the deck is clear.” They were still
laughing. “What’s the joke?”

“
Newby’s got a weird way of seein’
things,” Graves’ said.

“
I bet those contract guys head
for the White Pig.”

“
How about us?” Harper
asked.

“
No way, for you, Harper,” Madden
waved him down.

“
My money sez it’s the Anchor
Tavern,” Maxie offered. “It’s closer and the girls are easier. A
gal named Jinks once worked there. She had a wooden leg. She got
drunk and conked off. A buddy took her leg back with him board the
Essex. He hung it up on a bulkhead.”

They dropped down out of the turret to the deck.

The auxiliaries went Pop! Pop! The winches were up
and running. Madden moved to the handling hatch. Harper waited on
the shell deck. Graves signaled and Maxie hauled up the first
shell. Satisfied, when the loading was nearly complete, Trent
headed back down the Jacob’s ladder. “Keep that .45 handy, Newby,”
Trent warned, striding forward. Newby stayed close as he unlocked
the Captain’s door. The Captain sat in his easy chair, his head
sagged. Trent sat down and lit up a cigarette.

The Captain looked up.

“
Well, Captain,” Trent said. “I
appreciate all you did for my men, today. Now, what am I going to
do with you?”

“
The
Helga
is still my
ship.”

“
Tomorrow, I’m releasing you, the
Helga
and Schiller.”

“
Schiller,” the Captain looked up
sharply, anguish on his face. “But I thought…”

“
You thought, what,
Captain.”

“
Schiller’s dangerous.”

“
To us both. You hoped I would
dispose of Schiller?”

“
Yes, that came to
mind.”

“
We are not murderers.”

“
I didn’t know.”

“
You’ll get your $55,000 and the
Helga
. Schiller is going back with you.” Trent rose and
called to Newby.

The men gathered on the
Missouri
at the
handling hatch.

“
Commander Trent, sir,” Madden
snapped, coming to attention and saluting, smartly. “All seven
shells are on deck, sir. One target-practice; six, common,
reporting for duty, sir” Madden said mockingly, dropping his
salute. Trent couldn’t help but crack a smile. The men could hardly
contain themselves as he snapped back Madden’s salute.

“
Get them down to the shell deck,
Chief.”

“
Aye! Aye! Sir.”

“
Yeah! Better snap to. Anybody
spotting these crates will know something ain’t copasetic. And,
with those Patrol Boats snooping around…” Maxie fumbled in his
pocket for chewing tobacco and bit off a wad.

“
Nobody would guess there was a
shell inside?”

“
Chief Wilson didn’t!” A voice. A
laugh.

“
Are we gonna use the target
shell?” Another voice.

“
We’ll see,” Trent
answered.

“
It has no bursting charge; it’ll
sure scare the hell out of ‘em, show’em we mean business,” added
Graves. “What a joke! Tourists have been looking at that shell for
over twenty years, sittin’ right there outside the turret
hatch.”

“
Got some names and phone numbers
on it, too.” Newby grinned. “And one guy writes you what you can do
with it!”

“
Rig up the block and tackle. Keep
it moving, guys,” Madden ordered as he disappeared down the
handling hatch. Two hours of back breaking labor followed. Powder
bags were stowed in the magazine. Shells were lowered, lined up and
chained up on the shell deck. Newby stood watch atop the turret.
Maxie and Madden worked all that night below decks, deep in the
barbette, with the revolving equipment, in hopes of electrically
rotating the turret. Two disassembled emergency diesel (250 KW)
generators were lowered to the main engineering spaces; parts lay
strewn about.

“
Tomorrow, we’ll free up the
barbette, pull the tampions, remove the cover plate and rotate the
turret. If everything checks out, we release the
Helga
.”
Trent said. “Life will be much easier without Schiller, the Captain
and the
Helga
. “We will be on our own,” Trent paused,
letting the significance sink it.

“
Great. We get rid of that creep,
Schiller,” Graves ventured. “But, I’m goin’ to miss that old
geezer, the Captain.”

“
Me too,” Maxie said. “And,
Hauser. I’ll miss the dog.”

And, it was back down to the
Helga
, a last
night aboard.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 17

The
Helga
’s sea cabin stood no larger than a
walk-in closet. Charts, mechanicals and ship’s plans were strewn
about the small chart table with no semblance of order. Leaning
wearily on his elbows, head in hands, Trent hunched over the table.
The past two days had taken their toll. Hammers pounded the back of
his head. Easing his body away, he collapsed into a dead heap onto
a narrow bunk.