SILENT GUNS (33 page)

“
It has to work; It must work,”
Trent told himself.

“
We’re swinging,” Newby
said.

“
Sorry, Newby, I didn’t mean to
cut you short.”

“
Aye! Sir.” Trent sensed Newby was
placated. Minutes passed.

“
Keep giving me distances,” Trent
barked.

“
The bow is swinging faster than
the stern; in five minutes she’ll be north-north-west. She’s also
about a quarter-mile off the tip of the pier. Looks like they’re
lining her up to head due west.” A smile creased Trent’s face. He
glanced quickly at the chart and plotted her position. He checked
and re-checked the depths carefully under her hull. “Two tugs are
shifting from starboard to the port side.”

“
Ready in the chain locker,” Trent
ordered.

“
Aye! Ready, here.”

“
Latest distances,
Newby.”

Newby gave them.

“
Now! Madden, let go,” Trent
shouted.

A thunderous rumble swept across the Inlet. Then a
second rumble followed. Echoes reverberated between the surrounding
hills.

“
Sounds like Rip Van Winkle just
bowled two strikes,” Newby said as he heard the second anchor chain
rattle through the chock, splash and hurtle to the bottom. The
chains played out and came up taut. The burrowing flukes set deeper
into the gravelly bottom as the ship’s forward movement slowed. The
Missouri
came to a dead stop. Trent felt relief coursing
through his arteries like hot wine. He grinned widely. He twisted
around and dropped quickly to the shell deck. He re-emerged holding
two, small khaki sacks. He waited. Madden emerged followed by
Graves and Harper.

“
Sea detail secure, Commander,”
Madden said, saluting in jest, as he hauled up into the
turret.

“
What’s the matter with Maxie?”
Harper stepped to the slumped, inert figure, ghastly pale in the
flickering, yellow light of the lamp. Maxie lungs were gasping for
air, but getting none.

“
Sick,” Trent replied.

Harper’s mouth dropped open.

“
Later…” Trent said, “time enough
later.”

Trent tossed Madden and Graves khaki sacks. Harper
knelt towards Maxie; Trent reached out and placed his arm across
his chest and held him back. Harper was puzzled, strange, and then
angry. Harper swallowed hard, then clenched his fist. “He’s your
friend…and mine too!” Harper looked imploringly.

“
I know.”

The walkie-talkie blared. Newby said, “I don’t like
this. We’re being surrounded. The patrol boats are moving
alongside. I can’t see them; the ship’s side hides them. I’d bet
they try to board. They must think we’re all dead.” Madden and
Grave’s grabbed rifles and scrambled back down the hatch. Trent
picked up the walkie-talkie. “Newby,” he waited, “Madden and Graves
are heading for the gun tubs. Can you cover them?”

“
Aye! But, from what? We must be a
mile off the pier.”

“
Where are the tugs?”

“
Four are crowding in aft like
piglets sucking a sow…the patrol boats are…” A pop was heard, and
what sounded like an exploding skyrocket followed; then, an ear
splitting sound filtered through the open speaker. “Rifle
grenades!” Newby exclaimed. “Jesus! Graves. Where did you learn to
shoot like that?” Graves laughed, “From my third grade teacher.”
Graves answered. “We taught each other things.”

“
Don’t let him kid you, Newby,”
Madden broke in, “he was eighteen and she booted him
out.”

Clustered explosions followed in rapid order.

“
Newby, I can’t see a damn thing.
Where the hell are the grenades falling?” Madden yelled
frantically.

“
Right over the tugs, about fifty
feet up,” Newby came back loud and clear, “they’re getting sprayed
good. The Marines and deck crews have ducked inside. The civie tugs
are scrambling outta here. They must figure it’s not their war. Oh!
Oh! Here comes bad news. The destroyer is moving in. Looks like
she’s gonna cover them by raking us. Watch out, Graves.”

A long, low shape came charging up, its outline
becoming crisper as Newby watched. The stark square turret with its
slim 5-inch guns barrels sitting on a narrow hull. Aft, she seemed
all depth charges, amidships, small weaponry and a superstructure
that could sit on the
Missouri
’s foredeck with room to
spare. A fusillade of small caliber fire drenched the
Missouri
’s superstructure, spun off, spent and misshapen,
scattering the deck like rice at a wedding. Graves hugged the gun
tub as the destroyer steamed by, conscious of the nearness of the
peppering sounds.

“
Hey! It’s the
Hammann
.
I’ve been on that tub,” Madden said. “Cool it! She’s turning, gonna
try a second run, port side, this time,” Newby warned. “What the…?
She’s high-tailing it outta here, she turned up the wick and
cutting out like a cat with her tail between her legs.” A perplexed
look crossed Newby’s face. He looked down and knew instantly. He
would never forget that moment.

“
Jesus!” Newby exclaimed, as he
grinned wide. Harper and Trent were rotating the turret, tracking
the
Hammann
as she sped away. The three 16-inch guns barrels
were leveled ominously at the sprinting destroyer. She ducked
behind the walls of Dry Dock No. 6, the closest refuge. Newby found
himself cheering, pressing forward, and waving his cap at the
scattering boats. “All of a sudden, I feel like a leper,” Newby
shouted. “Doesn’t anybody want us?” He called down to Madden and
Graves, shrieking like a maniac. It was as if every doubt and fear
left his mind at once. Tears ran down his cheeks. That nagging
feeling of the closeness of death had left him. Light-headed
happiness engulfed him, the relief enormous, flooding every part of
his chubby body as a calm settled over the ship.

* * *

The turret hatch lazily swung back and forth until
its weight centered and gravity held it in perfect harmony. The sky
was clear, but of an unearthly blue-black color. The fresh, cool,
early morning air flooded in. Along the edge of the Inlet, a
narrow, winding road, sparsely settled with shacks, traced the
Inlet’s contour. Light from the shacks broke through glass
windowpanes and dotted the lightening blue with yellow squares.
Bremerton twinkled in the distance, like pinpricks of light against
a black curtain. The Navy had gone. The bulkhead clock read 0326.
Harper relieved Newby.

“
I can’t move, Tony. My chest
feels like lead.” Maxie shivered uncontrollably, his breathing
heavily labored. Trent held his blue hands; they were clammy,
almost death-like. He rubbed them to give them warmth. Beads of
sweat spotted Maxie’s forehead. Trent propped him up and then drew
a blanket tight over his shoulders. Graves and Madden shook their
heads, looked at him vaguely, without expression or
comment.

“
Your pills. Where are they?”
Trent demanded.

“
Lost them yesterday chasing those
guys. I couldn’t find them,” his voice weak.

“
I’ll go find them right now!”
Trent moved to pull away.

Maxie held tight. “Don’t leave, Tony. Around my
neck: a key. Take it. See that Flora gets it.” He caught Trent’s
wrists with feeble hands.

“
Nonsense, give it to her
yourself.”

Maxie’s eyes pleaded, “And my share too. See she
gets it.”

“
I’ll call the Navy. They’ll come
and get you. We’ll get you to a hospital.” Slowly, with great
gentleness, he started to unbutton his shirt.

“
No. Tony, I’m a loser. This is
the best way. I’m going down fighting, it’s the way I want it. We
had great times together, didn’t we? Make sure Flora gets the
money. Promise.” Maxie’s grip turned powerful with renewed
strength.

“
I will.”

Maxie let go of his hold. Trent tried to say he was
sorry; but the apology caught in his throat. As he held him tight,
he felt the man slip away. Maxie died in his arms. The men fell
silent. Graves slipped off his cap. Newby shoved his hands in his
pockets; his head stared at the deck. Madden stood uneasy and
shuffled his foot. Awkward glances passed between them.

“
He was my friend, too,
Commander,” Graves said, his voice muffled. Trent asked, “What time
is it?” Madden flashed a light on his wrist watch…
“0410.”

“
Let’s fire this one for Maxie,”
Trent cried out.

“
No, let’s not,” the men turned to
Madden.

* * *

The men stood solemnly and watched the sun bring new
life and color to the Inlet. The clouds were powdered in a pink
glow. Patches of light blue scattered across the surface of the
water. The surface so smooth that glancing over the side, you could
view your own reflection. The
Missouri
swung calmly at
anchor three miles offshore. It was Saturday and the Friday night
party was over. Trent smiled when he thought of Haury’s. A mile
off, he watched a racing tide burble around a point of land,
churning white over rocks hidden just beneath the surface. Upland,
dark green firs and spruces peppered the sides of the Olympic
Mountains until they nudged the tree line. Snowcapped peaks reached
into low-lying clouds.

Trent had the men gather around Maxie’s body. He
stood before them, removed his cap and then waited until the men
followed. Trent said a prayer then, together they repeated the
Lord’s Prayer. The circumstances offered little choice. It was
temporary, Trent assured them. They lifted Maxie into the turret,
his body zipped up in a sleeping bag. Placing him head first on the
loading tray, Harper opened the breech of the number one gun. Trent
nodded and Maxie was slid forward into the ice-cold, mausoleum-like
steel gun barrel. They closed the heavy breech and locked it home.
“A proper burial for a seaman was at sea,” Newby offered.

Trent demurred: a lonely burial at sea, he thought,
confined to the sharks and crustaceans of the deep, was not for his
friend Maxie. Maxie loved his Flora. A small headstone, a marker
for his grave ashore, where he and Flora would rest together in
eternity, seemed the wiser choice.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 23

Chairs scraped across the bare wood floor of the
Operations Center as the men shifted about uneasily. Their eyes
distant, faces heavy and deeply lined with fatigue. Tobacco smoke
lazily curled upward, a rasp of a cigarette lighter cut the
silence. Discarded butts piled up in nondescript tin cans.
Commander Conover stood scanning the luminous dial of his watch. It
was Saturday morning, 0843. The hour had come too quickly for him.
The model of the
Missouri
was still firmly wedged onto the
mudflats of Sinclair Inlet…except, it wasn’t.

“
It should have worked.” Commander
Conover stood hunched over staring at the model.

“
Trent was tipped off,” Major
Hartwell’s shoulders moved stiffly. He waved his hand in a
half-hearted feint to ease Conover’s pain. “Christ! The man’s not
blind, he saw us coming,” Lt. Rankin cut in and stared at him for
several seconds. CPO Wilson swung around, his face
unsympathetic.

“
Get real! You just don’t snap
your fingers and drop anchors, they were warned.”

“
How come nobody thought of
it?”

“
Drop anchors with that rag-tag
crew. Impossible!”

“
Sure! But, they did
it.”

“
Aw! Shut up.”

“
The Frenchies didn’t expect a
German “end-run” around the Maginot Line, either.” Hartwell
volunteered, “But the Huns pulled it off.”

CPO Wilson added, “Do we get an “A” for effort?”

“
Big deal. We got chased off by a
bunch of guys with popguns.”

“
It wasn’t pretty to watch,
either.”

“
Hot coffee, you guys?” Bennie
Lightfoot appeared.

“
It’s hot enough in here,” CPO
Wilson snarled.

“
What are you so upset about? You
didn’t get shot up like I did. The #41 got off easy. The deck of
the #22 is a shambles. The bastards popped rifle grenades right
over my head,” CPO Mauro Martinez said.

“
I was only saying what I
thought.”

“
This whole caper was screwed up
from the start.”

“
Look who is talking?”

“
Calm down, the brass plain
underestimated Trent.”

Lt. Rankin sniffed, “That’s how you lose wars.”

Conover sat down heavily. The main impression was of
utter failure: the second of helplessness. Inner anguish turned to
self-pity. The phone buzzed. Lt. Rankin picked it up. “Commander!
The Admiral wants to see you.” He hung up the phone. Conover
stiffened, his face paled.

Rankin assumed he had not heard. “Commander!”

“
I heard. I heard!”

Conover got up slowly, his knuckles showing white as
he bunched his fingers into fists. He kicked his chair into a
corner and stormed out, mumbling, “Why me? Why should I take the
blame?” The Admiral’s words stormed back: No more failures,
Conover.

“
He’s a strange one,” said
Martinez. “He keeps coming up with these crazy plans. He figures
Trent’s going to lie down and let him take back the
Missouri
. Conover will get us all killed, you can be sure.
He’s got a screw loose somewhere.”