by M. L. Maki
“Will do, and God speed.”
ASCENDING SEAL’S
Fronczak leads his team up. As they near the surface, they see the trawler approaching. The bow wave dies down and it slows to a stop. After stopping at the designated three-meter point, the SEALs swim up to the boat. They see a hard hat diver preparing on the stern. Fang signals, and they go to the bow.
Fronczak tosses a hook and climbs up the port side with BJ. HMC Larry ‘Munchkin’ Shockley leads BM3 Shay ‘Dude’ Smith up the starboard side.
TRAWLER
SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel says, “What was that? Fischer, go check forward.”
SS-Stabsscharführer Fischer walks along the port railing, “It is nothing, Erik. Nothing.”
SEALs
Fronczak gets his head even with the rail and sees a man walking forward. One handed, he raises his silenced MP-5, aims and fires one shot into the guy’s ‘X’ ring. Thpp, clack, clack. Shooting subsonic rounds, the action cycling makes more noise than the round leaving the barrel.
He pulls himself over the rail and heads aft before the body drops. The guy in the dive suit scrambles to the door. Thpp, clack, clack. He drops.
Erik Seidel runs into the pilot house and grabs the radio mic. He looks out the forward window and sees a dark-skinned man dressed in a wet suit. Thpp, clack, clack. Thpp, clack, clack.
“Pilot house clear.”
Larry and Dude stack with Fronczak and rush the cabin. “Clear.”
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
BJ, “Sir, we have company.”
Fronczak, “No time to be selective guys. Take all their personal effects.”
Dude, “Sir, they’re Nazi’s.” He holds up a uniform.
“Just take it. Maybe Spooky could use it some time.” He goes back on deck. Near the horizon they can see a patrol boat. “BJ, get this thing running and point it toward that thing.”
“Roger.” The engine starts on the first try.
Fronczak focuses on stripping any useful intel from the pilot house. “I got this. BJ, plant explosives on the fuel tank and keel.”
“What are we doing?”
“A Panama.”
“Fuck. Roger.” He scrambles down the stairs.
Fronczak looks aft to the coast and then at their speed. “We need five miles, minimum.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
ST1 Johnson, “Conn, Sonar. I hear gun fire. I think they have the boat. Sir, they started the engine and are heading to the other boat.”
GERMAN S-100 PATROL BOAT
SS- Oberführer Von Bergan looks through the binoculars, “I see Seidel. Good, I must have a status.”
The craft master, “We are in Swedish waters, Herr Oberführer.”
“All will be well.”
TRAWLER
Shockley comes up on deck, “What are we doing, boss?”
“A Panama.”
“That didn’t work out well last time.”
BJ comes up, “Six minutes.”
Dude, “Bodies are below.”
Fronczak ties the wheel, “Time to go.” All four jump off the stern, put on their fins, and swim away.
GERMAN S-100 PATROL BOAT, 100 YARDS FROM THE TRAWLER
Bergan, “Where did he go?” Binoculars to his eyes, the trawler looks abandoned. It blossoms yellow orange flame and he yanks the glasses away from his eyes. The concussion hits his chest and pieces of the trawler fall on the boat. “What? How?”
SEALs
Two miles away, the SEAL’s lay in their inflated boat, safe from the detonation.
Shockley, “Wow, good work BJ.” They high five.
Fronczak, “We have a lot of swimming. Let’s go.” They deflate the boat and swim back, on the surface to save their air for the dive.
OUTSIDE TUBE THREE
Grunt man-handles the nuclear bomb onto the slide carriage as Blinder deflates the balloon. When they get it all the way into the tube, they swim back to the jet. They shift the two balloons to the right wing and the jet rocks onto its other side. That done, they swim back into the lock. Once cycled through and in the pressure chamber, Grunt calls, “Control, SEAL tank, two swimmers in. You have a bomb in the tube. We are standing by.” He racks the spent bottles. They eat and drink coffee. “How are you doing, Paddles?”
“I thought my bald head got me Blinder?”
“It did. Now your broken hand gets you Paddles.”
They wait as the torpedo crew completes cycling the tube.
S-100 CLASS PATROL BOAT
Bergan, “Run us through the debris.”
“Sir. We need to go.”
“Run us through the debris!” He spots a body floating in the water. There is a bullet hole in its nose. “I want to recover him.” They maneuver closer and Bergan realizes it’s Seidel. “We need to recover him!”
“Sir, If the Swedish authorities find us, they will assume we sank one of their fishing boats.”
“Very well. We will return.”
SEAL TANK, USS SAN FRANCISCO
The phone growls and Grunt answers, “SEAL tank.”
“It’s Morrison. The team is on their way back. We’re ready for the third bomb. Are you up to it or should we wait?”
“We got it, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Grunt and Paddle suit up.
“Grunt, I got to pee.”
“Unless you want to piss in the ocean at 36 degrees, I suggest you wet your suit.”
“Okay.”
“Good call, that water would turn the poor thing inside out and we’d have to call you girly.”
They lock out and follow the line to the jet.
When they arrive, they see that the two balloons they attached to the jet lifted the plane. It allowed the current to get under the wing and jam the nose into the rocks. The outboard device is still accessible, so they carefully lift the Mark-61 nuclear weapon and disconnect it from the mount.
The bomb swings over and its nose hits a rock. They stop breathing. When nothing happens, they inflate the balloon enough to neutralize the weight and swim the bomb to torpedo tube 3.
Grunt feels a tap on his shoulder and snaps around to see Fronczak motioning to the shelter. Grunt touch signals to wait. He pushes the bomb all the way into tube, then quickly deflates and disconnects the balloon. They swim to the garage and cycle into the pressure chamber.
Helmet off, Grunt asks, “Everyone okay?”
Fronczak, “Yeah, Grunt. How’s it going?”
Grunt whirs the call box and picks up the phone, “Control, SEAL tank. The third device is ready to be cycled in.” He hangs up the phone, “Paddle broke his hand. It needs to be looked at. When the tube is cycled and tagged, they’ll call.”
Larry moves over to Paddle and starts undoing the wrapping, “Pain level?”
“Seven. It’s better when we’re out there.”
Larry, “Yeah. That’s the cold. Not good.”
Fronczak, takes a bite of sandwich, “Grunt, when they’re ready, you and I will cycle out for the last.”
Grunt, “The jet shifted in the current. Let’s cycle out Dude and BJ too.”
“Okay.”
BJ, “I have some thermite. Once we have the devices, I’ll melt the jet. No sense giving them technology.”
Fronczak, “Good call.”
The phone whirs.
Fronczak picks up, “SEAL tank.” After a moment, “Aye, sir. We’re on it. Four will lock out. We have Munchkin and Blinder staying in, so do not depressurize.” He looks at his team, “Showtime.”
They lock out. The aircraft is still wedged into the rocks. Grunt deflates the two balloons and moves them. He installs a third around the tail of the bird, and the SEALs inflate all three at the same time. This lifts the aircraft onto its left wing and nose.
Grunt rigs two balloons to the bomb. One to each side of the wing. He fills the rear one a little and the front one a little more. Then he motions Fang clear and uses the tool to release
the last bomb. It swings forward and around and the fins touch rock. Grunt deflates the rear balloon slowly and the device sets on the bottom. He removes the rear balloon and inflates the front. The device rises.
Fang and Grunt guide it to the tube. BJ and Dude pack thermite into the cockpit, nose, and engines. The SEALs cut the line and coil it up on the way to the lock. BJ unties it from the ring. All four lock into the decompression chamber.
Six in the chamber is cozy. Grunt whirrs the phone, “Control, SEAL tank. The last device is in the tube. Thermite has been planted on the jet to destroy technology. We’re all locked in and are commencing decompression.”
Morrison, “Chief, how long until the thermite detonates?”
“Sir, it’s thermite. It doesn’t detonate. It burns.”
“Will it burn at this depth?”
“Sir, it will burn damn near anywhere.” BJ holds up fingers. “Nine minutes, sir.”
“Roger that. We can’t move until the last device is secured. How long will it take for all of you to decompress?”
“About twelve hours.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nope. We got it.”
As master divers, Grunt, Munchkin, and Fang manage the decompression. CO2 scrubbers and oxygen tanks keep the air breathable. The guys put on masks that increase the oxygen concentration as the pressure comes off. This speeds up the decompression and reduces the smell of urine and sweat.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Conn, Sonar. The thermite has started burning. It sounds like lava falling into water.”
Cutting, “Roger, Sonar.”
Morrison, “Can I gather round the watch standers for a pre-lift brief?”
Once he has everyone’s attention, “Okay. This will be a cross current lift off. The current is about two knots coming on the starboard bow. We’ll need propulsion almost immediately to keep from weather vaning. That said, let’s lift the bow first. We cannot exceed five degrees up angle, or we might strike the rudder or screw. At three degrees, we roll up to one third. With thirty feet under our keel, we need to trim the boat and work ourselves into deeper water. Questions?”
Cutting, “Where do we go from here?”
“We find some deep water and report in on schedule.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Morrison, “Okay. I hope you realize that we have done the absolutely craziest shit that no one will ever know about. Set condition two. Set sea and anchor. Cutting, your boat.”
Once everyone is in place, Cutting says, “Commence draining the forward trim tank.” He turns on a stopwatch. In forty seconds, he says, “Commence draining the aft trim tank.”
Two minutes later the bow lifts.
The Conning Officer, ENS Mike Brown says, “One degree. Two degrees. We are swinging to port. Three degrees.” The stern lifts.
Cutting, “Retract the legs. Ahead one third. Make our course 160.”
CHAPTER 19
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0324, 29 September, 1942
One by one, the SEALs climb down the escape trunk from the decompression chamber.
Giblin wrinkles his nose, “Holy Shit.”
Fronczak, “Drop it, LT.”
“Roger that.”
The SEALs head straight to the torpedo room, grab their bags, and make for the crew showers.
Giblin shuts the trunk hatches, “I’m not cleaning that.”
Forty minutes later, Fronczak, showered and in a clean uniform, heads to control, “Where’s the captain?”
Miller, “In his stateroom. Just knock.”
Fang goes to Morrison’s stateroom and knocks.
“Enter.”
Morrison greets him with a can of cold soda when he walks into the room.
Morrison, “How’s BM3 Smith?”
Fronzak pulls a slug of his drink, “Three broken fingers. He should recover.”
“Good. I didn’t want to send him out with a hurt hand. It’s one of those decisions.”
Fronczak, “Yeah, I understand.”
“We picked up a couple destroyers approaching our location. The clock was ticking. Any injuries taking the trawler?”
“No, that went like clockwork. I want you there when we go through the haul of intel.”
“Okay. Did the decompression tank work?”
“It needs a toilet and a heater.”
Morrison chuckles, “You want me to have my guys clean it.”
Fronczak, “No sir. It’s our equipment and we will care for it. Where are we going?”
“We’re tooling around south of Bornholm Island. Nice deep hole. In a few minutes, we check in. After that we should be sneaking our way out of here.”
“Good. I can smell the beer.”
“Your boys kicked some serious ass. While we’re tooling around, put together an award package.”
“Yes, sir.”
They feel the deck tilt up, “We’re climbing to periscope depth. What’s your first name?”
“Mark, sir.”
“Mine is John. Is there anything that the upper hierarchy can give your teams that you need?”
“We need more funding. Right now, we are a side show for the side shows.”
“What you just did should help that. The people who need to know are cleared.”
“Who’s that, sir?”
“Well, Mark, about fifteen years ago, I was a JG and Admiral Klindt was a lieutenant. We became friends. He’s a very good friend to have.”
“How good a friend?”
“He’ll be standing up for me at my wedding.”
“Okay. That’s a good friend.”
“He’s creating a network of officers who want to make the Navy better. People who want to avoid our baser natures and make the world a better place.”
Fronczak, “We feed him information about what is happening on the deck plates, and he campaigns for our needs. I’m in.”
“I’ll see what we can do about funding.”
“Thank you.”
“Care to join me in control?”
“Sure.”
“Mark, do you have a girlfriend, or wife, yet?”
“Girlfriend, but it probably won’t last.”
They walk in.
“Captain in control.”
“Anything, Henry?”
“No, sir.”
“Go ahead and take the scope.” He walks into radio, “Barton, as soon as the mast is up, please send this.”
FROM: YANKEE BRAVO
TO: TFYAN
REG: CROSSFIRE
Operation successful. Zero casualties. Commencing egress.
Yankee Bravo
Morrison walks back into control, “Let’s give them a few minutes to reply. Keep an eye on the radar detector. Don’t want to be caught speeding.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morrison turns to Fronzak, “Why won’t it work?”
Mark, “I met her at the Hotel Del Coronado. I came out of the surf while she was playing in the water. It’s a SEAL pick up technique.”
John chuckles, “That doesn’t answer the question.”
Mark, “She’s a movie star. Her stage name is Myrna Loy.”
John, “I have to admit I never heard of her.”
“Her biggest role was in the ‘Thin Man’ series. She was post-divorce and decided to take a chance on a frogman.”
“I wish you the best.”
Barton walks in, “Reply, sir.”
FROM: TFYAN
TO: YANKEE BRAVO
REG: EGRESS
Remain on station in deep water. Stand by to pick up additional SF via parachute. Op designated ‘Hail Mary’ in future comms. Maintain current communication schedule.
HUNT
TFYAN
Morrison hands it to Backes, “Henry, take us back down. Six hundred feet. Keep us in an op box within these bounds, here.” He marks the box on the chart.
Lt. Henry Thoreau, “What are we doing?”
“We’re going t
o hang out for a while and receive another SOC group.”
Fronczak, “How?”
John, “Probably HALO.”
Fronczak, “In the Baltic? That’s nuts.”
“I agree. Mark, get your guys squared away for another op. Take your time and get it right. Whatever this is, it’s too hairy for you six to do alone.”
“Roger that.”
“Greg, we need to figure out how we can host six to eight more SEAL’s.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Meanwhile, if we hear any vessels, let’s work on our sound library.”
USS BEAVER, BELFAST HARBOR
0912, 29 September, 1942
CDR Little studies the wharf with binoculars. Their spot is just aft of a royal navy cruiser that is blackened and disfigured by battle. “All stop. Back one third.”
The ship slows to a near stop.
“All stop. Tell the tugs to push.”
After several moments, he says, “Heave the lines.”
His crew throws the light lines, which are weighted by a piece of lead wrapped in a rag and a monkey’s fist knot.
“Moored. Shift colors.”
A Royal Navy line handling detail pulls in their mooring lines and drops the loops on bollards.
Little uses his engines to help tighten the mooring hawsers by using ahead and astern bells to give the crew slack. When he is happy, “Land the brow. Prepare to receive the Livermore outboard.” A group of RN officers wait on the wharf.
“Yes, sir.”
He picks up the VHF radio, “Livermore, Beaver. We are ready to receive you.”
“Roger, Beaver. The crew we borrowed are looking forward to their own racks.”
Little shifts to the port bridge wing to watch the Livermore work its way in. “Muster the weapons handling team fore and aft.”
Captain, Sir William Agnew, RN, “Request to enter.”
Little, “Enter. How can I help you, Captain?”
“I’m told you have a surface to air missile system?”
“We’re finishing the first install on the Livermore and we’re fabricating more. Which is your ship?”
“The HMS Aurora ahead of you. She’s an Arethusa-class light cruiser.”
“You need a great deal more than a missile system. What happened?”
“We tangled with the Krauts off the invasion beach. We could hold our own against their ships. The jets are another matter.”
“Sir, we’ll do all we can.”