Away Boarders

by Daniel V Gallery

  "What's at the Gulf of Laconia?" asked Scuttlebutt.

  "The Russians have a sort of a half-assed fleet base there," said Fatso. "They anchor out about three miles offshore, where they are in international waters, and they refuel their ships there and make minor repairs. I think I'll spend a couple of days in there and see what they're doing."

  In the radio news that evening there was a lot of stuff about the Egyptian gunboat. The Israelis had demanded that we have the Sixth Fleet intercept it, and when we refused, they stated that they themselves would intercept it and make sure it never got to Alexandria. This had called forth a statement from the Russians that they intended to intercept the ship and escort it in to Alexandria. Not a word had been heard from the ship itself since she sailed from Portsmouth.

  The Gulf of Laconia is a large arm of the sea at the south end of Greece about forty miles long and thirty miles wide. Cape Malea is on the eastern end and Cape Matapan on the western. As they passed Cape Matapan, all hands were on the bridge listening to Fatso hold forth about the Battle of Cape Matapan. "The British Fleet beat the hell out of the Eyetalians here," he said. "They never could get the Eyetalian Fleet to stand up and fight. They had a running fight with them here and beat the Wops so bad they never would fight again. The British had to go in their harbors and get 'em, like they did at Taranto."

  "What did they do there, Cap'n?" asked Jughaid.

  "The British sent torpedo planes in from one of their carriers and sank three or four of the Eyetalian battleships at anchor right there in the harbor. Just like the Japs did to us at Pearl Harbor. The Eyetalians raised them and fixed them up again, but they kept them out of gun range of the British for the rest of the war. The only big ship they lost in the whole war was the Roma. She was a fine battleship. But she was sunk by a German air attack when she was trying to surrender to us."

  "The Wops have no guts," observed Ginsberg. "Gangsters is all they're good for."

  "Just a minute," said Fatso. "The Eyetalian subs did a good job. And their frogmen did a hell of a job. Their big ships wouldn't fight, but their frogmen were terrific, and gave the Limeys a bad time."

  "I never heard of them. What did they do?" demanded Ginsberg.

  "Well, you saw the York that they sank in Suda Bay the other day. And they snuck in to Alexandria and sank two British battleships there with limpet mines that they stuck on their bottom. The Eyetalian frogmen were just as good as anybody's," said Fatso.

  "I hear the Russians are going in for this frogman business in a big way too," observed Webfoot.

  "Yeah," said Fatso. "And they're pretty damn good at it, too."

  Presently the Russian Fleet came in sight, anchored well up the bay about three miles offshore. There were two heavy cruisers, a helicopter carrier, a dozen destroyers, a couple of submarines, and various supply ships, oilers, and tenders.

  Fatso said to Ginsberg, "Get your cameras and get pictures of these guys. I'm going to cruise through their fleet close aboard."

  As they approached closer, Fatso observed, "I must admit they're pretty trim and businesslike looking. Look at that cruiser. She's a smart-looking craft."

  "Yeah, she does look pretty good," said Scuttlebutt. "What are those things forward and aft where the turrets ought to be?"

  "Those are missile launchers. They got guided rockets they can shoot at planes. That's what they used to knock down that guy of ours that we picked up the other day."

  "And hey . . . look at that carrier," said the Judge. "I didn't know those guys had any aircraft carriers."

  "That just a whirlybird carrier," said Fatso, "like the ones we have in the amphibious force. They don't have any regular carriers."

  They cruised slowly through the fleet, taking pictures as they went. The American colors were plainly flying at the main truck. As they passed the flagship they spotted the Admiral on deck with a group of officers looking them over with binoculars.

  "They're giving us a real good once-over," observed Fatso. "This is probably the first time anybody has come into their private anchorage."

  After getting pictures of all the ships, Fatso let go his anchor about half a mile from the Russian ships. "We'll just hang around here a day or so," he observed, "and see what goes on."

  Shortly after they anchored, a couple of Russian boats began patrolling around them. After about an hour, a boat with a Lieutenant in it came alongside and the Lieutenant came on board.

  "What do you wish to do here?" asked the Lieutenant.

  "We thought we'd anchor here for a couple of days and fish," said Fatso.

  "We are having exercises here, and you will be in the way," said the Lieutenant. "You better go somewhere else to fish."

  "We are in international waters here. I think we'll try it here for a while," said Fatso.

  "You are in a dangerous position," said the Lieutenant. "My Admiral advises you to move." With that he saluted and shoved off.

  Shortly after he left a big Russian submarine stood in to the anchorage and passed them close aboard.

  "Hey, you guys," said Fatso to Izzy and the Professor, who were on deck with their cameras, "get pictures of this guy. This is one of their missile subs and we don't know too much about them."

  As the giant sub passed within heaving-line distance they got dozens of photos showing the missile wells in the deck.

  "She looks just like our Polaris subs," observed Izzy.

  "She is a lot like them," said Fatso, "only not quite as good - yet. We think their missiles have only got about half the range of Polaris. But they're getting better all the time. Those pictures you just got will tell our ONI people a lot about them."

  "How come?" asked Izzy. "There's no missiles in the pictures."

  "No. But the tops of the launching tubes are. We'll be able to tell a lot about the range of the missiles from the diameter of the tubes.

  About half an hour later the Russian Lieutenant was back again. "The Admiral says you have to move," he reported.

  "Did he say where he wants me to go?" asked Fatso.

  "No. He just wants you to go away."

  "We're on the high seas here. I think I'll stay," said Fatso.

  "Well, I'm just telling you what the Admiral says," said the Lieutenant. "We are holding underwater gunnery exercises here, and it's dangerous for you to be near."

  "Okay," said Fatso, "I'll think about it."

  After the Russian left Adams said to Fatso, "I think we ought to get the hell out of here."

  "Balls," said Fatso. "We have as much right to be here as they have."

  "You know what happened to the Pueblo," said Adams, "and she had a right to be where she was."

  Next morning about breakfast time the boat which had been patrolling around LCU 1124 all night was relieved by another one. Soon a skindiver towing a good-sized limpet mine slipped over the side and took off under water toward the American ship.

  About fifteen minutes later, while the boys were at breakfast LCU 1124 was suddenly shaken by a tremendous explosion. All hands picked themselves up off the deck and scrambled outside. They got there just in time to see a great column of white water collapsing about one hundred yards away on the port side.

  "Son of a bitch," observed Scuttlebutt. "I think that was meant for us."

  "It sure as hell was," said Fatso. "Let's get the hell out of here. Heave up the anchor. Start the engines."

  In half a minute they had their anchor up and were headed for the open sea at fifteen knots. There were numerous people on deck on the Russian ships, watching them as they went out.

  "Those sons of a bitches would have blown us up the same way they shot down that airplane of ours," observed Scuttlebutt.

  "They play rough all right," said the Professor. "I wonder what the hell that thing was that blew up?"

  "I dunno," said Webfoot. "I think it was meant for us but went off prematurely. Lucky for us."

  "Those bastards are getting cockier all the time," observed Fatso. "They're building a he
ll of a big fleet and pretty soon they'll have as many ships in the Med as we have."

  "I think we were just asking for it, steaming through their fleet and taking pictures the way we did," said Adams.

  "What the hell do you mean?" demanded Fatso. "They were in international waters. We got just as much right to be there as they have. They've got a tin can that hangs around the Sixth Fleet taking pictures all the time."

  "Yeah. But it's foolish to try to do it with a little spit kit like this," said Adams.

  "Okay," said Fatso. "So we found that out . . . and damn near got our names in the newspapers doing it."

  As the Russian fleet was disappearing astern half an hour later, a slightly built figure in a frogman's black skin-tight suit climbed over the bow gate and made its way up to the bridge."

  "Just who in the hell are you?" demanded Fatso in amazement.

  "I am Russian frogman, sir," said the figure, in a girlish voice.

  "And how in hell did you get aboard," demanded Fatso.

  "I hang on to your bow gate ever since mine blow up. I want to join your Navy."

  "Well, I'll be gah damn," observed Fatso.

  "They sent me out to put limpet mine on your ship. I made it explode too far away to do any damage and swam under water to your ship. I hang on to your bow for the past half hour."

  "Well, it was mighty white of you to blow that mine up where you did, instead of attaching it to us," said Fatso.

  "You will let me stay on board?" asked the Russian.

  "Well, I sure as hell ain't going to take you back there," declared Fatso. "Yeah. You can stay aboard. Come on down below and we'll get you some dry clothes."

  Down in the messroom the Russian removed the foot fins and oxygen bottle while all hands crowded around in amazement.

  "Now," said Fatso, "tell us some more about yourself. Just who are you?"

  "My name is Ivan Ivanovich," said the Russian. "I am seaman in Russian Navy. I want to join your Navy."

  "Well, we can give you a place to eat and sleep until we get to port," said Fatso. "But then we'll have to turn you in, and I don't know what they'll do with you. Where did you learn to speak English so good?"

  "At Moscow University," said the Russian. "I am language specialist. I speak English, French, Spanish, and some German. What port you go to?"

  "Naples," said Fatso.

  "Okay," said the Russian. "Naples is good. Where do I sleep?"

  "Right there in the upper bunk at the end," said Fatso. "Why don't you go take a shower and we'll get you some clothes to wear . . . Izzy, you show him where the shower is . . . Jughaid, you go down to the storeroom and get him a couple of suits of underwear and a set of dungarees and shoes."

  When the Russian withdrew Scuttlebutt said, "This guy claims he went to the university. I wonder how come he's just a seaman?"

  "Maybe he's not a party member," said the Professor. "But it does seem funny for him to wind up being a frogman."

  "Yeah," said the Judge. "Maybe he's an NKVD man, and they're trying to plant a double agent on us."

  "No-o-o," said Fatso. "This thing was cooked up too suddenly for that. I think he was sent out to blow us up, all right."

  "Maybe so," said the Judge. "But there's something funny about the guy. He's sort of frail looking. I'm not sure what it is. But he doesn't look like a frogman to me."

  "I dunno," said Webfoot. "He doesn't look like a frogman. He's built too slight. But we have all kinds of them. Some are big, some are small, some look real tough, and some look almost like girls."

  "I think you better tell Sixth Fleet we got a Russian on board who wants to defect to our side, and ask for instructions," said Adams.

  "Why the hell should I do that?" demanded Fatso. "I'm certainly not going back in there to return this guy to the Russians. They would probably shoot him if I did. I'll take him to Naples and then dump him in Sixth Fleet's lap."

  "I think you better ask Sixth Fleet for instructions," persisted Adams. "Otherwise you'll get yourself involved in an international incident."

  "Nuts to that." said Fatso. "I'm skipper of this craft and this is one of those things a skipper has to decide on his own hook. If I'm wrong they can sack me and get another skipper."

  At this point Ginsberg came back into the messroom with his eyes as big as golf balls and said, "Hey. I got news for you guys. This Russian is a she."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Fatso.

  "I mean that Russian is a woman," said Izzy.

  "How do you know?" demanded Fatso.

  "I seen her under the shower," said Ginsberg.

  "Well, I'll be gah damn," said Fatso. "What the hell are we going to do with her?"

  "We can fix her a bunk up forward on the well deck," said Scuttlebutt.

  "Yeah," said Fatso. "I guess we can put up with her till we get to Naples. Matter of fact we've got to put up with her."

  Presently the Russian came back to the messroom dressed in U.S. Navy dungarees with the skindiver's equipment under her arm. All hands present gave her a careful once-over. With her short hair, she could pass for a slightly built man with a fanny a little bigger than normal.

  As she put her frogman gear down on the table, Fatso said "Um . . . er . . . say - I understand you're a woman?"

  The Russian shrugged, looked up at Fatso, and said, "Yes - I am. I didn't want to tell you at first because I was afraid you would put me off."

  "What the hell?" said Fatso. "Do they have women on Russian Navy ships?"

  "Yes. Some. In the intelligence department. Interpreters and code specialists."

  "Then how come you're a frogman?" asked the Professor.

  "The Captain didn't like me," said the Russian. "He knows I am good swimmer so he gives me dirty job of blowing you up."

  "Why didn't the Captain like you?" asked the Professor.

  "He wants me to sleep with him, and I won't do it. I tell heem to go pees up a rope. He is a goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch."

  All eyes popped at that statement and after a moment the Professor said, "Where did you sav vou learned to speak English?"

  "At Moscow University."

  "Did you learn those words there?"

  "No. I was assigned to make friends with American marine on duty at the embassy. He teach them to me."

  "Oh," said several. "That explains it."

  "Why? Did I say something wrong?" asked the Russian.

  "Well - what you said wasn't exactly ladylike," said Fatso.

  "I'm sorry. My marine friend say things like that all the time," said the Russian.

  "Yeah - a marine would," said Fatso. "But you shouldn't. Now, what's your right name?"

  "Tania Ivanovich," said the Russian.

  "Okay, Tania," said Fatso. "We'll fix you a bunk up forward on the well deck. You can hang out here if you want to, and eat here. But you'll have a place all to yourself to sleep."

  "I don't mind sleeping here," said Tania. "I'm used to sleeping with men."

  "Well, maybe you are - but we're not," said Fatso. "We'll fix your bunk up forward. Now tell us some more about yourself."

  "I was in intelligence. I am radio operator and code expert. I am interpreter. And I am also a good frogman. I get along all right with everyone on board except the Captain. If we didn't have Admiral on board, I would have to sleep with him."

  "And why do you want to desert? On account of him?" asked Fatso.

  "No. Because my marine in Moscow tells me all about life in United States. How everybody has everything they want. How you can do anything you want, go anywhere you want, and say what you think."

  "Can't you do that in Russia?" asked Fatso.

  "Hah!" said Tania. "Every time you turn around you must get permission. We don't have automobiles and TV like you do in the States. If you are not a party member you are nobody. If the party don't like what you say or do, the NKVD comes to your door in the middle of the night and they send you to Siberia. I much rather live in United States."

 
"Well, we'll take you to Naples," said Fatso, "and turn you over to our Naval Intelligence there. If you know anything about codes and ciphers, the chances are they'll send you to Washington. ... Do you think any of your people saw you hanging on to our bow when we were leaving the anchorage?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "I think there's a damn good chance some of them did," said Scuttlebutt. "After all, we passed close aboard some of their ships coming out while she was hanging there. There were lots of people on deck looking at us."

  "Well - okay, Tania," said Fatso. "Your bunk will be up forward. Make yourself at home here until we get to Naples."

  Soon after this a hail come down from the bridge: "There's two ships overhauling us from astern - coming up fast." All hands went up to the bridge.

  Coming up from astern with great bones in their teeth were two Russian destroyers heading right at them.

  "I don't like the looks of this," said Fatso to Scuttlebutt.

  "What do you think is cooking, Cap'n?" asked Scuttlebutt.

  "I think those guys know we've got Tania and they want her back."

  Soon a bright light started blinking on one of the destroyers: "STOP."

  "Pay no attention to that. Don't answer them," said Fatso.

  In a few minutes the two destroyers overhauled LCU 1124 and took station about two hundred yards abeam on each side. A flag signal went up to the yardarm of one of them. Jughaid looked it up in the international signal book.

  "He says for us to stop, Cap'n," he reported.

  "Okay. Pay no attention to it. Don't answer. Steady as you go," said Fatso to the helmsman.

  Soon one destroyer began closing in and cut directly across their bow close aboard. Then he zigzagged back and forth, repeating this maneuver several times. Fatso paid no attention to him and continued on his course west at fifteen knots.

  Fatso said to the Professor, "Get out a priority dispatch to Com Sixth Fleet. Give him our position, course, and speed, and tell him we are being harassed by two Russian destroyers . . . Tania, you go below with him and see if the Russians do any transmitting."