SILENT GUNS (30 page)

“
Aye, sir!” Newby was
off.

“
I didn’t expect them over the
bow, it could be a diversion,” Trent shouted. “I’ll cover the
foredeck from the wheelhouse.” He slung a rifle across his back,
and took off running. He bent low as rifle fire pinged around
him.

A grappling hook clunked over the fantail, fixing
its grip on the gunwale. Then another. Then two more clanked. Newby
stripped off his thick glasses and watched through binoculars.

“
Here they come!” he
shouted.

“
How many?” Graves
hollered.

“
Four port; four starboard. We got
bad angles. Maxie. See if you can pin them down,” Newby
called.

Graves stood tall. He sprayed a burst of fire,
swinging the M60 in a back and forth pattern. RATARATARATA…dark,
camouflaged figures froze in place, and then dove for cover.
“Where’d they go?” Graves shouted.

“
I see them,” Maxie shouted, “Two
are headed over the side, slid back down their lines. One guy’s
lying behind the hatch cover, another’s behind the winch. Where are
the other four?” Graves questioned, “It’s suicidal to cross the
deck, it’s too open.” Maxie said, “They gambled we were tucked in
for the night.” He surprised himself at how calm he felt, as if
suspended in space, distant, remote, and fearless: he exulted in
the danger. He opened fire again; a machine gun rattled off
somewhere. A dark figure jumped up and started to run, faltered; a
limping shadow dove for the rail. Two crouching figures stood up,
stark and unreal, and raced for their lines, plunging over the
side. “Still three unaccounted for,” Maxie said.

“
Portside clear,” Graves
reported.

“
One guy is dragging his leg,
starboard side,” said Madden. Oh. I got twenty or so guys coming at
us across the gangway.” Graves said, reassuringly, “Hang on, I’m
comin’.”

Trent jumped in. “I’m O.K. here. I’ve got two pinned
under the number one turret. They got by me, but I think I can keep
them from getting aft.” Two bullets passed so close he stumbled to
the rear of the wheelhouse. “Son-of-a-bitch, they must have
infrared on the
Oriskany
,” he said, the bullets burst into
fragments. He jumped to the window, jerked his sights down and
squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He released the clip and a
thirty-round empty magazine crashed to the deck. He jammed in a
fresh clip of cartridges.

“
I got them in my sights, Tony!”
Maxie yelled at two running figures. The long, slender barrel, the
tubular flash-suppressor of the M-16 steadied, paused, and then
jerked four times. One running figure threw up his arms and dove
suddenly for cover as spurts of chipped paint kicked up around
him.

“
Two guys are down here on the
Broadway,” Harper yelled, his first report. “I’m on my way,” Maxie
said, slipping down from the foretop. “I’ll cut them
off.”

“
My two are falling back,” Trent
reported.

The sound of renewed firing reverberated from the
starboard side. The air quivered with explosions as bullets ripped
the gangway timbers to shreds. “Madden, here, mine turned back -
twenty men moving off. Thanks, Graves.”

“
Mayday! Mayday! I got three men
on the Broadway. Where the hell did they come from?” Harper
shouted. “Shit! Harper, that’s me you’re shooting at,” Maxie
shouted.” Get back in the barbette and shut the goddamn
door.”

“
We’re coming down,” Newby and
Graves reported.

“
Don’t let them get settled in,”
Trent ordered, hurriedly. He shuddered at the thought of ambush, or
face-to-face, close in fighting needed to rout them out. He could
not afford to lose a man. “The bow is clear,” Trent radioed. It was
a sweet tactical retreat: there’s no war on, can’t say I blame
them.

Maxie shouted, “Graves and Newby, you guys I’m at
the aft end of the Broadway. Looks like we are gonna have to sweep
forward. Two guys are holed up down here somewhere.”

More gunfire heard topside, and then all fell
quiet.

“
Harper, I’m coming down, hang
on,” Trent shouted. Trent scurried below. “O.K. Harper, let’s clear
them out.” They un-dogged the barbette door and swept aft,
leapfrogging warily, from door to door, checking each compartment.
Trent felt the whoosh of a bullet pass his head. Instantly, he
rolled away, crashing to the deck. A second shot blurted out loudly
and spun off ineffectively down the passageway.

“
Graves. Newby. Maxie, watch it,
you guys. Harper and I are in the passageway heading your way.”
They stepped out. Four compartments had not been cleared. “You
Marines. Step out. We have you trapped. You won’t be hurt,” Trent
ordered. “Toss out your weapons. Come out with your hands on your
head. Do it now! Now, let’s see your weapons.” There was no answer,
no reaction. Harper stepped forward when a door swung open in front
of him. A gleaming weapon suddenly flamed. Harper felt the heat of
the bullets singe his neck. A second shot seared his forehead.
Harper cried out and fell forward, his face slack-jawed. The Marine
put one foot outside the door, holding it open with his foot, and
aimed. Harper, in a rage, fired wildly and charged the Marine. The
Marine reeled onto the deck, his arm thrown wide: Trent jabbed a
gun to his head.

“
We’re coming out.”

It was over.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 20

“
Shell Fourth and Pine!!! It will
be a goddamned catastrophe!” Bud Mitchell, Seattle Chamber
President, bolted out of his chair and angrily pounded his fist on
Mayor Joe Grille’s polished mahogany desk. “You want me to tell my
Board that at 0500 tomorrow the Bartell’s Drug Store is going to be
obliterated. Blown sky-high! That Doomsday is here! That a madman
is loose! And, that the City can’t do anything about it? Even the
all-powerful United States Navy? Incredible!!! I can’t believe my
ears.”

“
Calm down, Bud. We are all doing
everything we can,” Mayor Grille implored, waving him back.
“They’re being routed out right now.” Grille leaned forward. “Give
the Navy a chance, Bud. The Marines are on the
Missouri
.
Hell, it’s almost over.”

Mitchell’s florid face reddened as he pressed his
knuckles to the desktop. Grille recoiled, slouched back into his
high-backed, green leather chair. Casting a wicked look at the
Mayor, Mitchell spun away and paced. Chief Simons sat by
silently.

Mitchell stopped.

“
Sam. Do you believe that crap?”
Black, wavy hair combed straight back gave charge to Mitchell’s
angry features. His piercing black eyes hardened and fixed on Sam
Simons: eyes that demanded the truth. “I can’t say, for sure,”
Simons parried, aware the Mayor did not take kindly to
contradiction. He caught Grille’s icy stare.

Mitchell was noted as a sharp judge of people.

“
You think we should pay them off,
don’t you, Chief?” Mitchell cut to the quick. Beads of sweat formed
under Simons’ collar.

Grille coughed, a smile curled from the corner of
his mouth, “Go ahead, Sam, give Bud your honest opinion.”

“
A 16-inch shell is very
persuasive, Bud. The city has no defense against one. The Navy
tried to rout them out, but so far failed. I’ve been told
battleships are impregnable. Trent demonstrated his capabilities
and lack of conscience. He fired once, and I have no doubt he will
not hesitate to fire again.” Simons shot a snapshot glance at the
Mayor, then said, “I suggest we pay.” A tense silence blanketed the
room. Grille’s persuasiveness melted away. Simons read no dismay in
his eyes.

“
Questions?” Without looking,
Simons knew it would be Chitterman. Bud Mitchell ignored him, “Pay,
you say?” Chitterman rose from his chair, his body wavering,
“They’re asking the impossible!” His bloated face set off in
alarm.

Simons counseled, “It is the reality of the
situation, Hiram. We stop the shelling and buy time.”

Grille sagged back into his chair, “The City Council
has refused to pay, said ‘no’. I appealed to the Governor’s office
and the Feds for help. No dice, neither will buy in on a payoff.
The Feds passed it off as a local problem. The Governor offered
Special Forces: the Navy said a payoff wasn’t their concern.”

Mitchell eased off, his taut muscles relaxed ever so
slightly. As he stroked his chin, an aura of comprehension swept
over his black eyes. The Mayor smiled faintly in the pervasive
quiet. A twitch of relief crossed Mitchell’s face when he said with
quick vehemence, “Maybe, the Marines have already dug them
out.”

Grille snapped, “If they had, we would have
heard.”

Mitchell wiped his forehead. Simons fumbled for a
cigar, then solemnly mused aloud, “A live shell. I’ve seen pictures
after one hits, the devastation. It’s not a pretty sight: the Smith
Tower is not a pretty sight. And that was a dud.”

Mitchell blurted out, “Harvey Bassett’s building
sits just off the corner of Fourth and Pine. It’s a showpiece; big
and all glass and reflects like a mirror. They could hit it
blindfolded.” He paused and wrung his hands. “Harvey says pay them
off.”

Grille picked at his fingernails with a letter
opener. Chitterman looked up, raised his bushy eyebrows and shook
his head. Simons made a mental note: never underestimate the
back-room boys at the Chamber. The moment was like a tonic. Bud
Mitchell: a community leader, had spine, never one to duck a tough
issue. Bassett: influential, more so than Mitchell, worked behind
the scenes, hated publicity, and had the right contacts. Simons
focused on the faces of each man: Grille the manipulator: Mitchell
the born again realist.

“
A payoff off still rubs me
wrong,” Mitchell said, his lips tightened as he shifted
uneasily.

“
Paying isn’t all that bad,”
Simons interjected.

“
How’s that?” Grille leaned in
tossing his letter opener to the desk. It landed with a
thunk.

Mitchell’s expression remained impassive.

“
It’s quite simple,” Simons
lectured. “Nine times out of ten the payoff money is recovered.
And, think about it: how will they escape? Where will they run?
Picture six men lugging around thirty million dollars in cash. They
might as well be wearing a ball and chains.” Simons feared he might
understate Trent’s options; but escape did seem
impractical.

Mitchell snapped back, “Sam has a point. I’m sure my
Board and the business community would support the City paying off
Trent.” Mayor Joe Grille rolled his eyes up into his forehead and
shrugged.

“
Bud, the city’s message is
simple. The city doesn’t have thirty-million in cash just lying
around waiting for some wacko extortionist to show up.” Grille
popped forward in his chair. “I’ve been through this with the
Council. They threw the whole mess back in my face. Why hasn’t the
Police Department caught the terrorists? Or, what else are you
doing. Blah! The meeting was an absolute disaster. Ask Hiram.”
Mayor Joe Grille pleaded, vehemently and then paused for
effect.

A faint grin touched Simons’ face: a goddamn Academy
Award performance.

Mitchell nodded, “a bit of an exaggeration, Mayor,
but you make your point. Suppose I was able to arrange a loan to
the City.” He turned to Chitterman. “Hiram. What are the chances of
City Council coughing up some money? Or, at least, guaranteeing the
safe return of a loan?”

“
None, either way,” Chitterman
squirmed, shifting his bulk uncomfortably. “My council adamantly
feels Trent is the Navy’s problem since he’s on Navy property.
Councilmember Emerson suggests the Navy blow up the
Missouri
. Councilmember Kantor says the Navy should fork
over the thirty million. If they don’t, he wants the City Attorney
to sue the Navy for the money plus damages.” Chitterman paused to
wipe his forehead with his handkerchief.

The Mayor laughed. “See the crap I have to put with,
Bud!”

The phone rang. The Mayor let it ring. It stopped.
Murial buzzed, “Call for the Chief from the Navy Base.” The Mayor
selected a button: Charlie Wingate’s voice blared over the
speaker.

“
Chief. Charlie, here!

“
It’s O.K. to talk, Charlie.
What’s the latest?”

“
The Marines tried to get aboard
the
Missouri
, but got caught in a wicked crossfire and
backed off. Trent had his defenses well set up. Major Hartwell
vetoed another frontal assault. He said those guys are dug in and a
frontal assault wasn’t going to dig’em out.” Charlie’s voice faded
slightly, “Hartwell feared a high death toll with no payoff, except
to make Trent madder. The Admiral’s staff agreed,” Charlie went
on,” something interesting, though, two Marines were wounded, three
captured and, get this, Trent released them all.”

“
What’s the Navy’s plan now,
Charlie?” the Mayor asked.

“
Shove her away from the pier,”
Charlie answered.

“
Do what?” the Mayor
exclaimed.

“
Yeah! Conover came up with the
idea. Back the
Missouri
out and hold her bows to the west,
seems the battle mast limits the forward turret’s training arc to
300 degrees, which prevents Trent from firing on the center of the
City. The Pentagon got their nose in this and they O.K.’d the plan.
Admiral Burns ordered Conover to commandeer tugs and get on with
it. He’s shooting for 0200, tomorrow Saturday.” Charlie concluded,
“I’d better get back. Any orders?”