INTO A FORBIDDEN SEA: BOOK THREE: HUNTER/KILLER SERIES OF THE FIGHTING TOMCATS

by M. L. Maki

  Morrison finds their spot and LCDR Backes sorts the formation out. It isn’t long before they hear the drum begin its cadence. They march slowly down the three-mile route to the American Cemetery. The people of Cambridge line the route, their hats off in respect. The entire formation are silent during the march. Occasionally, a horse shakes its bridle. Even those watching are silent. Girls step out and give Audrey flowers. So many, that Samantha and the others with Audrey, end up carrying them. As they enter the cemetery, the saluting cannon thunders an eleven-gun salute.

  Inside the cemetery, six pall bearers carry the casket from the caisson to the grave side. The flowers are laid to the side. Morrison and his sailors form up in their place, the SEALs on one side and the men of the Livermore and Beaver on the other.

  Chaplain Chandler steps to the head of the casket, “Let us pray. Eternal Father, we commit these earthly remains to this hallowed ground. We do so, knowing that Commodore Holtz has already exchanged his pilot wings for those You provide.”

  The honor guard lifts the flag from the casket and fold it as the Marines fire a twenty-one-gun salute. Four planes from the Black Knights fly over in the missing man formation.

  When the flag is folded, Master Chief Bond, the Black Knight command Master Chief says, “Hand salute!” The bugler plays taps. As the haunting melody fades Bond says, “Two.” And they slowly lower their salute. Commander Hunt presents the flag to Admiral Lee and he takes a knee to present it to Audrey, the Commodore’s widow.

  LCDR Robert Issa, the SEAL team commander, walks up and puts his hand on the casket, his head down. He removes his SEAL trident as his SEALs line up behind him. He drives his trident into the wood of the casket with his fist. Each SEAL does the same. Hunt removes her wings and follows them to the casket. Head down, she says, “Goodbye, Papa.” She drives her wings into the wood.

  All the pilots, air crew, and ground crew line up. Morrison looks at his crew, then gets in line. Every submariner there hammers his dolphins into the casket.

  After the ceremony, Issa walks up to Morrison and salutes. Morrison returns the salute, “It’s good to see you here.”

  Issa, “I would move heaven and earth to be here. This is Lieutenant Fronczak. It’s his team that will deploy with you.”

  Fronczak also salutes, “Sir, do you know what we’ll be doing?”

  “I do, can we take a walk?” When they walk away, Morrison sees Hunt standing by some other graves. Once they are well clear, “I know your rebreathers are designed for relatively shallow water. Do you have the gear to dive 100 to 150 feet?”

  “We do, and we have been practicing. Will we have a pressure chamber?”

  “It’s being finished at Electric Boat. We’ll mount it where your garage would normally sit. What mix will you use?”

  “We plan to use Nitrox. If we’re too deep, we will use heliox. We’ve tested the gear. It works. Will you be able to loiter, so we don’t have to chase you down?”

  “We’re modifying the boat so it can be bottomed. Once we find it, we’ll not move.”

  Commander Hunt walks toward them.

  Fronczak, “You’re making me feel better about this. Will your corpsman be ready to treat anyone if something goes wrong?”

  “He’s sharp. I’m hoping your team will have Shockley, or another independent duty corpsman.”

  “We will, but it crossed my mind that he may be the patient.”

  “True.” They salute Hunt.

  She returns the salute, “Fang, are you in charge of Crossfire?”

  “Yes, Spike.”

  “I’m glad all of you are here. I need to take care of Audrey now. I would like to see Huber, Little, Issa, and you two in my office in about two hours. Go ahead and send your guys off. I’ll send you back by helo.

  They salute. Fronzak, “Roger that.”

  SOUTH OF ABBEKÅS, SWEDEN

  1830, 7 August, 1942 (1730 GMT)

  SS-Rottenführer Richter hands a heavy canvas bag up out of the water, then climbs out.

  SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel asks, “What did you get us?”

  Richter reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of gold coins. “No airplane, but a little bonus I think.”

  Seidel looks at the rest of the crew. “Yes. A bonus. Is there anymore?”

  “Perhaps. There may still be an airplane down there.”

  Seidel, “It is even likely. When you are ready, please continue.”

  COMMODORE’S CONFERENCE ROOM, RAF ALCONBURY

  1800, 7 August, 1942

  Little, Huber, Morrison, Issa, and Fronczak eat cookies and drink coffee as they wait for Hunt. Still in her dress uniform, Hunt walks in, “Tomorrow they put a temporary star on me and give me the whole shooting match. Is that going to be a problem for any of you?”

  Little asks, “Do you have any special dietary needs we should be aware of?”

  Samantha, “What?”

  Huber, “Ma’am, we’re making plans to support you if you should ever need to deploy with us. Do you have any special needs?”

  She smiles, “No, I can eat just about anything, even Navy chow. Could you please give me an update on your status?”

  Morrison, “We’re about halfway through our yard period. Once floated, we’ll need to test all the modifications. It’ll be three weeks to a month. Another thing, we’re running out of torpedoes.”

  Spike, “If you’re out of everything, but the enemy, you’re in a combat zone. Give me a list of what you need and how many. I’ll have my staff sort it out. Little?”

  “We’re working on a surface to air missile system for the Livermore and Beaver. We’re installing the prototype on Livermore. The launchers will replace mount 2 and mount 3. If the San Francisco is going to be gone a bit, we would like to dry dock Livermore to complete the launchers and perform a short overhaul. When the Livermore is squared away and the system is tested, I would like to install the system on the Beaver.”

  “Approved. Keep me posted. We’ll test it by firing an inert AIM-1 for you to shoot at. The Brits have a safe range up there. Ask the Brits if they want the system. If they do, sort out the bugs and start modifying their ships. What’s the biggest thing your dry dock can handle?”

  Little, “A treaty heavy cruiser. Maybe a bit larger.”

  “Good. If they want it on a larger ship, they will have to use their own dock. Put the engineer or team that figured it out in for awards. Anything else?”

  Issa, “Ma’am, why am I here?”

  Spike, “First, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your teams work in sinking the Tirpitz. For the next, Commander Little, Commander Huber, could you excuse us?”

  “Of course.” The two men leave.

  Spike says, “Operation Crossfire. Do all three of you understand what is at stake.”

  Issa, “We don’t have to know. All we were told is that we will do a deep dive from the San Fran to get something.”

  Spike, “For this, you need to know. When Major Mossberg ditched his Hornet south of Sweden, he had four nuclear gravity bombs mounted. We have intel that the Germans are searching for them. You are going to sneak into the Baltic on the San Francisco. You and Morrison will find and recover them. I want them inserted into a torpedo tube rather than a hatch. These things are extremely heavy. Once in the torpedo tube, use radiation controls to inspect them. We don’t know for certain that the package will be intact, though they should be.”

  Morrison, “We can’t leave them there. As we do angles and dangles, they would roll around.”

  Samantha, “We have some inert practice munitions that are the same, size, weight, and arrangement. I’ll have them shipped up so your guys can figure out how to rig them into the torpedo room and secure them.”

  Issa, “Why do you have practice nukes?”

  Samantha looks at him, “You don’t need the answer to that question to do your job. Morrison, what would be a communication schedule that would work?”

  Morrison, “I’ll come u
p with something that isn’t so often that they could triangulate it easily.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  Morrison, “Do you have preferences as to our weapons load out?”

  “No. Coordinate with the SEAL’s for the space they’ll need. Figure out what you’ll need to lash down the gadgets. Carry what you want or need beyond that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Abdul, when do you fly out?”

  “Tomorrow morning, ma’am.”

  “Oh, one other thing. I prefer not to be ma’amed. Spike, Hunt, Commander, Samantha, whatever. Just not ma’am.”

  Issa, “Why?”

  “Ma’ams are eighty-five with too many cats. Keep me informed as the pieces come together, and God speed.”

  JUDGE ADVOCATE GENERAL’S OFFICE, NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, DC

  0750, 8 August, 1942 (1250 GMT)

  Hoover puts a file on Admiral Lawrence’s desk, “This is my amicus brief on the matter involving Commander Cumberland.”

  Admiral Douglas Lawrence, “I never asked you for a brief, and see no reason to do so. You do not have standing in this case. Do you have special knowledge of the facts?” The judge pushes the file toward Hoover.

  Hoover, “I interviewed Cumberland. Were you aware that his XO was Japanese?”

  “Director Hoover, you will cease and desist. You are out of jurisdiction and out of order. I will not allow you to poison this court. Take your file and leave.”

  Hoover picks up the file, “I’ll remember this.”

  “As will I. Good day.”

  ELECTRIC BOAT, GROTON, CONNECTICUT

  1443, 10 August, 1942 (1943 GMT)

  Lt. Gary Mallory watches from the bridge wing of the research ship as a crane lifts a large cylinder, with its wheeled carriage, off a ship and onto a flatbed truck. “Thank you, Captain. Your support is very much appreciated.”

  “No problem, Lieutenant. I’m glad I have that heavy son of a bitch off my boat.”

  Mallory shakes his hand and leaves the ship. He walks to the truck. The driver carefully installs cable straps over chaffing gear. “Your load, sir?”

  “Yeah. I’ve my bag. Can I ride with you to the airport?”

  “Yeah. No problems. What is this thing?”

  “It’s classified. Think of it as a very large coffee maker.”

  “If you say so.”

  Gary checks the straps, then helps him with the tarps. In a few minutes they hit the road to Groton Army Airfield. There, another crane removes the cylinder and puts it into position to be winched into a C-142.

  An Army Airforce captain says, “Frank Lester, you’re co-pilot. What does that thing weigh, and what the hell is it?”

  Mallory, “Including the carriage, forty-two tons, and it’s classified.”

  “Okay, that’s why they sent us.” The C-142 looks like a larger C-130 with six turboprop engines.

  Gary carefully inspects the tie downs used by the crew. They have been recently tested and are in good shape. The load engineer asks, “You don’t trust us?”

  Mallory, “If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be on the mission.”

  “What is this thing?”

  “A huge coffee maker. The new Commodore loves her coffee.”

  “Oh. Is the marked center of gravity verified?”

  “Yes. If you recall, that’s where the riggers put the crane hook.”

  “That’s right. Everything is in order.”

  Mallory writes down crew names and the serial number of the plane. He walks up to the flight deck, “Good afternoon, sir.”

  The pilot, a major, says, “Welcome aboard. I am David Barra.”

  “I’m Gary Mallory. What is the weight rating of this plane?”

  “Fifty-five tons. What does our cargo weigh?”

  “Including the carriage, forty-two tons.”

  “Does it have anything inside that could shift in flight?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Can I ask what it is?”

  “I’ve been telling folks it is a new, heavy duty coffee maker for the Commodore.”

  The Major snorts, “So that’s why we are flying to RAF Abbotsinch in Scotland.”

  “Yep.”

  DIVE BOAT, OFF THE COAST OF SAN DIEGO

  1500, 12 August, 1942 (1943 GMT)

  Issa stands on the fantail of a boat as it moves in the swells. A six-man team surfaces. The last on board is Lt. Mark ‘Fang’ Fronczak.

  “How did it go, Fang?”

  Lt. Fronczak says, “Like clockwork. The new gear works fine. We’ll have to plan for low visibility. It was easy to maneuver the mock units into the tube using the balloons. They work well. We need to plan for jammed mounting gear on the jet. We can’t blow it apart, so we’ll need to figure out how to cut them free.”

  WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT

  1231, 14 August, 1942 (1731 GMT)

  After a rough landing in a rainstorm, Morrison deplanes and walks into the terminal carrying a bag.

  Captain Rickover motions to him, “Over here.” The two men walk to a sedan and get in the back. Once they’re moving, Rickover says, “The driver is cleared. How are you doing?”

  “Okay. The maintenance period is going well.”

  “I don’t know the plan, and I am not supposed to know. You okay with the preparations for the op?”

  “Yeah. We are doing all we can to accomplish the mission.”

  “Good. How’s your command climate?”

  Morrison takes a breath, “It’s getting better. It takes time. The issue now is all the killing.”

  “I can understand that. Do you know the plan?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow I testify.”

  “Yes. You’ll be staying at Klindt’s home. It’s what he wants. You okay with that?”

  “Sure. That’s fine. Is he in town?”

  “He’s on the hill right now.”

  “Right. Is there anything else I should get done while I’m here?”

  “No, not that I know of. Do you have family around here?”

  “My grandma and dad are in Jersey. My grandpa is in Scotland. He’s the XO of the Livermore.

  “Here’s a key for the bosses house He’s supposed to be home in a bit.”

  “Thank you.” The house is a large white brick Victorian on Fort Humphreys. He gets his bag and walks up, unlocking the door. A blond woman comes from the back of the house and smiles. She is wearing black slacks and a white button up shirt, “Hello, you would be Commander John Morrison.”

  “I am. You have me at a disadvantage.”

  “I’m sorry. I am Julie Klindt, Craig’s wife. I thought he would say.”

  “I knew he was interested in someone. It can take weeks to months to get mail.”

  “As I understand, you two have more important things to talk about. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t, at all, mean to diminish your relationship.”

  “You didn’t, nor am I. I understand how important his job is. I support what he has to do.”

  “Thank you. Um, coffee, if you have some.”

  “Of course. How do you like it?”

  “Straight up. Thank you.”

  She joins him at the table with her own cup. “I know Craig thinks the world of you. What can I talk you into sharing?”

  They are on their second cup of coffee, talking as she cooks dinner.

  John, “So Craig was dropping me off at the airport in Edinburgh, but we got there early and decided to have lunch at a pub. The place had an American style pool table. Anyway, these two Scots wanted us to play. So, we decided to play them to shut them up. I barely know which end of the stick to use, but Craig is cleaning up. He keeps telling me where to hit the ball, and I keep missing. Meanwhile, he has dropped every other ball and the Scots are struggling along.”

  They hear the front door open, “Hi honey, did John make it?”

  John, “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Julie says, “John is e
xplaining how great you are at pool.”

  John gets up and offers a hand. Craig takes it and pulls him into a hug, “Edinburgh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She hands Craig a cup of coffee, and John continues, “So, it’s my turn and all we had left was the eight ball. It’s way down the table. He told me to hit it soft and miss the eight. I tried but hit it a little too hard. I just hit the eight and panicked. Somehow, that ball rolled right up to the corner I called, and fell in.”

  Craig, “Now they thought we were trying to hustle them, even though the game had no money bet.”

  John, “So, Craig takes two balls and the eight right on the far rail. He tapped them a bit and carefully balances the eight ball on the other two, using the rail. He bets them if he can hit the eight ball without touching the other two balls, they had to leave us alone. If he doesn’t, we’ll buy the next round.

  “They agree, and he makes a show of setting up the cue ball. That done, he hits the cue softly. Then he hits the table with his fist. The balls roll away dropping the eight to the table where the cue can hit it. Your pool shark husband cleared the way for us to enjoy our beer.”

  Julie, “Pool shark?”

  Craig, “I never profited on my skills, honey.”

  John, grinning, “So, how are you doing, Craig?”

  Klindt looks at his friend, “Holding on by the skin of my teeth. At this point, I have something like 350,000 people working for me, and my organization is still growing. It is dizzying.”

  John, “You love it.”

  “I do. How is she doing?”

  John, “I was in a meeting with her just a few days ago. As soon as we heard about Holtz, I told Little and Huber that she would be chosen. Those two are coming along nicely. In the meeting, she asked them directly if they had an issue with her being in charge. Their issue? They wanted to know if she had any dietary restrictions, so they could support her if she deployed with them. I don’t know if you realize, Craig, but she’s a natural leader and she wears command very well.”

  “Do you see any issues ahead with her or her unit?”

  “They’re struggling for supplies. I think the lot of them are somewhat battle fatigued. That’s true of my sub, too.”

  “We’ll have new F-14’s soon. That project is Lee’s baby, but as a new technology, it still falls under my umbrella. How many kills do you have?”