WAVE OF DEATH
Mystery by Charlie Vogel
Kindle: 978-1-58124-422-9
ePub: 978-1-58124-532-5
©2012 by Charlie Vogel
Published 2012 by The Fiction Works
http://www.fictionworks.com
[email protected]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Also by Charlie Vogel
Chapter 1
“Heave in all lines!” Echoed the order from bow to stern. I quickly stepped onto the Destroyer Escort’s quarter deck as four seamen pulled the brow in from the pier. Snapping the heels of my spit-shined oxfords, I smartly saluted the watch officer.
“Request permission to come aboard, Sir!”
His eyes shifted to the brown briefcase I held tightly in my left hand. Although his expression was curious, I knew he would not question the contents. A junior officer would obey orders from the ship’s commander and allow me to board without being subject to search.
He returned my salute. “Permission granted.”
I let out a breath and the Seventh Fleet research documents on Vietnam began their journey. Turning, I faced the pier. The staff car, which had secreted the highly classified papers and me to the to the ship, drove away.
The ship’s air horn blasted a warning to other vessels. The high pillars of the wooden pier seemed to drift by as the USS STEVENS roared to life. I balanced steady as the stern swept towards the marked channel of Subic Bay, Philippines. The water churned under the fantail into a boiling mass of bilged debris. As the hidden engines increased power, the gray steel deck vibrated, sending tremors up my legs. Black diesel smoke drifted low, casting a cloud against the early morning sun. My eyes watered. I searched across the bay towards the dark green Zambales Mountains, but the particles of soot blurred my vision.
Leaving the cool morning breezes, I stepped into an open hatch and the dark shadows below decks. Under the sheet of metal, the air turned stale and hot mixing with the odors of lube oil and sweaty socks. Someone above me closed the steel, water-tight cover-plate to secure the ship for sea.
After passing between the bunks of the berthing compartment, I followed the dimly lit corridor to the companionway that would lead me close to the ship’s office. The top secret documents had to be secured in a locked compartment. My safe in the ship’s office would serve that purpose. I chose to take the long route through the interior of the ship to avoid questions from the crew about my assignment. The less anyone knew about me arriving in a staff car, the less I would have to avoid answering.
Stepping over the lip of the hatch, I let the cover-plate drop. One turn of the wheel secured it. A few steps across the tiled deck placed me in front of the caged window of my office. I reached through the open top half of the door and unlatched the bottom half.
Yeoman Third Class Teddy Rhodes sat at the typewriter with his back to me. Without greeting him, I hurried to the wall-mounted metal table and knelt to open the large floor safe welded to the deck underneath. My fingers turned the dial to the numbers of my father’s date of birth.
The clicking of the typewriter stopped. “Made it back, eh, Pencils?”
“Yeah, Teddy. You get the ship’s diary ashore?”
“Sure did. I took a chance you’d be aboard before we got under way. Everyone’s present and accounted for. So that’s the classified shit, eh?”
After checking the intact seal on the manila envelope, I glanced at my signature under the cap words “TOP SECRET” dated 20 June 1963. Placing it inside, I slammed the door and spun the dial. I tossed my white hat on my desk before replying.
“Yeah. What are you typing?”
“I’m getting started on the Plan of the Day. We got a good movie tonight, and I don’t want to miss it. Before I forget, Lieutenant Barnes called a second ago and wants to meet you on the mess decks as soon as you get here.”
“What in the hell does he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
Teddy returned to his typing as I checked my clipboard for duties that had to be completed. Looking over the top edge of my notes, I watched Teddy a moment. His blond hair touched the edge of his ears and his wrinkled dungaree shirt hung over his bony frame. The ship took a slight roll to starboard as we entered the breakwater at the end of the channel in Subic Bay. I threw my clipboard aside.
“Teddy, why didn’t you get a haircut?”
“I didn’t have time.”
“You had plenty of time to chase the Olongapo whores and come in drunk every night. The ship was in port for four days. What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Sorry, Pencils. I’ll see if Jerry can trim it tonight.”
“And your shirt looks like you slept in it. You’ve got two hours extra duty tonight.”
I waited for a reply, but knew he wouldn’t say anything. He would rather take the punishment from me than go before the mast. Teddy returned to his typing. I checked over my white uniform. Finding no spots or dirt, I squared my hat and stepped towards the door. The sway of the ship increased as the first breakers rolled under the hull.
After four years in the tropics, I still wasn’t used to the heat between decks. The metal made it look and feel like an oven. Stepping over the curved bottom lip of the door, I entered the mess decks. To my surprise I found the portholes had not been secured. The welcomed breeze carried hints of the Zambales beaches, but also the smell of spoiled fish and sewage from the port town of Olongapo.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Lawrence Barnes sat at a table holding a mug of coffee. His dress khaki uniform looked starch-pressed perfect. Both of us had recently reached our thirtieth birthdays, but the deep lines across his forehead made him look older. While my dark hair remained thick and wavy, his had begun to thin at the crown.
“You get the documents secured, Coleman?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pushed his hat aside so nothing occupied the tabletop between us. Why would he be interested in that classified envelope? Barnes was only the Ordnance Officer. My duties allowed me to answer only to the Executive and Commanding Officers. And why isn’t he on the bridge with the Special Sea Detail? He wouldn’t be relieved until the watch section came on duty.
Removing my white hat, I placed it next to his. He lit a cigarette. His eyes squinted from the smoke as he closed the cap to his Japanese-made lighter. “You want a smoke?”
“No thanks, Sir. I don’t smoke. Is there something you wanted, Sir? I have a lot of work in the office.”
“I know, Coleman. I want some advice. But, first, tell me something about yourself. How long have you been in the Navy?”
“Ten years.”
“Only ten years and you’re a Yeoman First Class? Didn’t you take the Chief’s test last time around?”
“Yes, but I don’t think I made it. Is there something wrong, Sir?”
He stared into my eyes and asked in a slow, deliberate voice, “Do you know what you carried aboard this morning?”
“No. Only that it had
something to do with Southeast Asia. Why do you ask?”
“Well, inside that safe of yours is the complete naval battle plans for Operation Market Time. You haven’t heard the scuttle-butt about that? Do you understand the importance of what you had in your hands?”
“Look, Sir, I could care less what I carried. I had no desire to read it. I was instructed to pick it up and bring it aboard. That was all. I followed orders from our Captain and he carried out orders from Admiral Collins at CenPacFleet in Pearl Harbor. Isn’t that what this Navy is all about, just follow orders?”
He grunted. “Don’t you know anything about Operation Market Time?”
“No. I don’t really care to know, either. Excuse me, Sir, I have work to do.”
“Wait, Coleman. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I still have a few minutes before the Skipper misses me on the bridge. I know you’ve been here on the STEVENS for four years, and I’ve only been here for one . . . but do you know that whole time I’ve never figured out why they call you Pencils.”
“My first name is Marinous. It’s different and kinda hard for people to remember. When I first checked aboard, I kept pencils in my jumper pocket. The nickname Pencils sorta stuck on me.”
“I had a nickname when I went to college. They called me Horse . . . because of my size. Well, I was a few pounds heavier then. In OCS, I dropped the name. It didn’t seem appropriate for a Naval officer to be called Horse Barnes.”
I started to smile, but stopped to look harder at him. “What did you really want from me, Sir?”
He sighed heavily. “It’s that cook. I came down to get the Skipper a cup of coffee, and I found Flanders drunk on his ass. He’s back there, on the deck, under the kettles.”
“Why didn’t you call the Chief Master at Arms?”
“I thought we could get him awake before he got into trouble. He’s a good cook. A better one than those other two. Did you now he was a First Class at one time? He kept getting busted for being drunk.”
I placed my hat on my head. “Sure, I’ll see if I can get him up. You should get back on the bridge, Sir.”
“If the Skipper wants his coffee bad enough, he’ll call for me. I’ll help you.”
LT(JG) Barnes led me around the stainless steel, hot serving center and into the galley. At the far bulkhead, behind the large oval kettles, the white-clothed figure of Commissaryman Third Class Tom Flanders crouched between the pipes leading into the mammoth caldrons. Each taking an arm, we pulled the puny sailor off the stone tiles and onto the steel deck. He didn’t wake up. As the ship took a roll, a pail of fruit-flavored “bug juice” slid across the bottom of the sink. I glanced at the Lieutenant. He winked and nodded.
Flanders coughed and spit out some of the liquid. He tried to stand on rubbery-drunk legs. The strawberry drink faded his white t-shirt and apron to a pink. The ship rolled to port. Flanders’s feet went air-born to starboard and he sat hard on the wet, slippery deck.
After another cough, his eyes opened wide and he yelled, “What the hell! What’re you assholes doing? Get your goddamn asses out of my galley!”
“Watch your mouth, sailor!” I snapped. “Lt. Barnes is here!”
“I don’t give a shit who you are. Get your asses out of here.”
Lt. Barnes stepped aside as I reached down and grabbed Flanders by the top of his apron. Pulling the measly 100-pound drunk up with just my left hand, I fisted my right and placed it in front of his nose.
I softly hissed, “Look you little shit, the Lieutenant was nice enough not to report you to the MAA, but I’m not that nice. You understand?”
“Oh, it’s you. What-What are you going to do? You ain’t goin’ to hit me, are you? Come on, Pencils, put me down,” he whined. “I can’t afford another goddamn mast. I-I’ll do anything you want. But, don’t make me go before the Old Man again.”
The bug juice moved in waves back and forth across the deck. I let Flanders drop. Looking down, I noticed he had another tattoo on his skinny left arm. He must have spent a fortune on having his pathetic body tattooed. The only clear skin I could see was from the neck up.
“No, I’m not taking you to mast. Why are you concerned about going before the Captain?
He reached for the top serving counter and pulled himself to his feet. The pink tint had spread down onto his white trousers. Bracing himself for another ship’s roll, he replied, “I have a girl in Honolulu, now. I need to see her as soon as we tie up in Pearl. I can’t afford to be on restriction.”
“Heard about that girlfriend.” I couldn’t hide my smile. “Didn’t she threaten to kill you the next time she seen you?”
“Well . . .” He looked sheepish then gained momentum. “Yeah, we had a fight the night before the ship left port, but I have to talk to her. I need to set things straight.”
Lt. Barnes carefully stepped across the wet deck. He waved a hand. “I have to go. See you later, Coleman.”
“Yes, Sir. Don’t forget the Skipper’s coffee.”
I moved even slower, wiping the bottoms of my oxfords on the tiles. At the serving counter, I looked back. “Flanders, get yourself and your galley cleaned up. Mess gear will sound shortly and you’ll have a bunch of hungry sailors and no food.”
“Thanks, Pencils.”
The speakers vibrated with “Secure from Special Sea Detail. Watch Section Two relieve the wheel and lookouts.”
Instead of returning to my office, I decided to meet with the Executive Officer, or XO as that position is usually called. I knew he should be leaving the bridge about that time. Settling into the soft leather chair in the officer’s state room, I picked up a newspaper, but didn’t actually read any words. I toyed with a recurrent thought that had been getting stronger lately. Since his arrival on the STEVENS two years ago, the Exec and I had worked as if we sat on each other’s laps. Yet, every time I was around the man I felt uneasy and apprehensive. As if I expected what?
After several minutes of thumbing through the Navy Times, I finally heard Lt. Andrew Holcomb’s hoarse voice, “Pencils, have a seat in my room. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Backhanding the paper onto the end table, I came to my feet at attention. “Aye, Sir!”
Across the room from the officer’s dining table, I entered the doorway and sat down inside the small compartment the XO used as an office and berthing. Mister Holcomb pushed aside the curtains to his room and placed a mug of coffee in my hand. He leaned back in a chair a couple of feet from me and savored his own coffee.
His khaki uniform appeared as if he had just taken it out of a Chinese laundry. His hat covered all but the fringes of his curly red hair. Attached above the chin band, the brass sparkled in the sunlight shining through the porthole over his bunk. Though the man made me uncomfortable, I had always admired him. He and the captain were the only officers on the ship that were regular Navy. Both had graduated from the Academy.
He braced his feet on the desk as the ship took a heavy roll to port. I could see the whitecaps outside the porthole. The sea had become choppy and the ride bouncy. The horizon line disappeared. A gray mass of waves filled the round glass.
“You secured the classified documents?”
“Yes, Sir. They’re in the safe.”
“Good. Now, tell me what went on in the galley.”
I blinked. “You heard about it?”
“The Captain sent Jones down to check on Barnes. Jones stopped by the chart room on his way back and said he saw you reprimanding Flanders. Are you going to write him up?”
“No. I think he learned his lesson.”
Just as I set the cup to my lips, the ship rolled, forcing more coffee in my mouth than I wanted. My mind shifted into automatic as my gums and tongue blistered. I swallowed slowly with tears moistening my eyes. My hand pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of my jumper. Wiping my chin and wishing I had a mouthful of ice, I barely heard the XO tell how he handled a similar incident back when he was a lowly ensign. My mind returned to the momen
t when he asked, “Did you get mail from home?”
“Yes, Sir. My father wrote three pages on how he arrested this murder suspect. The guy killed three people before they collared him.”
“Didn’t you tell me he has thirty years on the police force?”
“Yes, Sir. My youngest brother just joined, so now I have three brothers who are also policemen.”
“Pencils, that is really something. I mean, you have five brothers and two sisters, each of them with a civilian future, and here you are, a career sailor. I never did understand why you decided to enlist.”
“After a couple semesters of college, Sir, I did spend a year on the police department, but I decided I wanted to travel a little.”
“You could have signed for any officer’s program. Why be an enlisted?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Come to me as soon as you make up your mind, promise?”
“I will, Sir.”
“Good. Before you go, I have a list of five names here. I want you to check their service records. It seems they have been making threatening remarks towards Mister Barnes. How well do you know the Lieutenant?”
“I’ve never had a problem with him. He does irritate some of the crew, especially First Division, but you know the deck hands. They’re sort of a lazy bunch.”
“I’m well aware of their attitudes. On that list you’ll find each man named is on the deck force. I wish I had someone like you as a boatswain mate. You are big and you have that air of leadership, something not normally found in a yeoman. If not officer, have you at least thought of changing your rate?”
“No, Sir. I like what I do.”
The following morning, ten minutes before reveille, I stepped out of the first class quarters. The collar of my dungaree shirt scraped my neck, probably because, once again, I had sprayed too much starch as I ironed. My concentration had been a bit foggy from restless sleep. The rough seas had the ship in fifteen to twenty degree rolls most of the night.
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