Away Boarders

by Daniel V Gallery

  "He's nuts," said Hughes. "Why don't you let him go ahead with his story. It will make him and his goddamn magazine look foolish."

  "Okay, Jim. Over and out," said the Admiral, hanging up.

  "Sixth Fleet knows nothing whatever about this," he said to Smythe. "So there you've got it, right from the top. What you do with it now is your own business. But of course, even if it were true, you shouldn't publish it."

  "Why not?" asked Smythe in blank amazement.

  "It would cause all sorts of high-level international complications," said the Admiral. "It would be very embarrassing to the United States. The only ones who would benefit from it would be the Arabs - and the Russians."

  "But it's a hell of a scoop. It might even win a Pulitzer prize."

  "Well, yes," admitted the Admiral. "You and your magazine would also benefit from it. You'd make a hell of a splurge with it, but it would be against the interests of the United States."

  "Well, I can't be concerned about that," said Smythe. "My job is simply to find out what is happening and report it."

  "Regardless of what effect it has on our national interests?" asked the Admiral.

  "You gotta take a long-range view of things, Admiral," said Smythe. "Freedom of the press is the cornerstone of all our freedoms. An informed public is necessary for the welfare of the country. We've got to report everything of interest, regardless of whose ox gets gored."

  "Balls," observed the Admiral. "But anyway, in this case you've got the word right from the top now - not a word of truth in the story."

  "Well, you gotta remember, Admiral," said Smythe, "that in the My Lai incident, the top Army brass didn't know anything about it for a long time. And even when they did know, they kept quiet about it. They almost succeeded in sweeping it under the rug until an enterprising reporter broke the story."

  "And gave Ho Chi Minh the biggest propaganda windfall he'd had in years," observed the Admiral. "Exposing that thing did nothing but harm for our side. But of course about half of you reporters are working for the other side anyway."

  "Well - okay, Admiral," said Smythe, getting up. "Thank you for your time. I'm going to do some more checking on this before I drop it."

  Back in Twiggers' office, Smythe said, "Look. There's a signal station at the harbor entrance that keeps track of all ships entering and leaving. How about checking with them on what ships came in yesterday afternoon?"

  "Okay," said Twiggers. He called the signal station and was informed that the only ships that came in yesterday were LCU 1124 and three U.S. mine sweeps.

  He then checked with the OOD at the amphib base. The OOD knew nothing whatever about any Egyptian gunboat.

  Smythe used Twiggers' phone to call the Israeli consulate. The consul professed no knowledge of the Egyptian gunboat.

  He tried to get the Russian consul. But the Russian refused to talk to him.

  "Well - okay, Captain," said Smythe. "Thank you for your time. I'm going aboard that sailor's ship tomorrow morning and talk to the people on it. I still think there is something to this story."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Finale

  After making his deal with Smythe, Adams proceeded to the nearest bar and got himself well crocked. He returned to the ship about 7:30 P.M. and found only Scuttlebutt and Fatso aboard, playing acey-deucy.

  Adams seated himself across the table from them with a silly smirk on his face. "We're all going to be famous," he said. "We'll be ce-leb-rities."

  Fatso and Scuttlebutt regarded him disdainfully and went on with their game.

  "We'll all be better known than the astronauts," said Adams.

  "What the hell have you been drinking, anyway?" asked Scuttlebutt.

  "They'll probably have our pictures on the cover of the next issue of Time," declared Adams. "And personal interviews with everybody."

  "I think he's high on pot," said Fatso. "You better go to bed, kid, and sleep it off. You'll feel better in the morning."

  "Cap'n," said Adams, "it's going to make you another John Paul Jones."

  "What the hell are you talking about anyway?" asked Fatso.

  "You're going to be in Time magazine next week, skipper," said Adams. "The whole damn story about the Egyptian gunboat."

  "You must be nuts. What makes you think so?" asked Fatso.

  Adams reached into his jumper pocket, fished out the memo of his deal with Smythe and flipped it across the table to Fatso. "Read that," he said.

  Fatso's eyes popped when he read it. "Why you lowdown son of a bitch," he exclaimed. "You mean to say you spilled that story to Time?"

  "I sure do," said Adams. "And I'm getting two grand for it - and that's nothing to what I'll get from Life or Look for my personal eyewitness story."

  "Well, god damn you!" said Fatso. "You've sure put my ass in a bight - and maybe some other high-level asses, too."

  "That just squares us up for that haircut you gave me, skipper," said Adams. "My friend Smythe will be aboard first thing in the morning to talk to all the boys and check up on this story . . . You want a drink, skipper?" he asked, unwrapping a bottle of whiskey he had brought aboard.

  "No," said Fatso. Scuttlebutt shook his head, too.

  Adams took a long pull from the bottle. "That Time magazine guy is all excited about this story," he said. "Thinks it's going to be the story of the year . . . Well . . . I gotta be up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to meet him when he comes aboard in the morning."

  So saying he took another long swig from the bottle, got up from the table, staggered over to his bunk, collapsed in it clothes and all, and passed out.

  "That son of a bitch," said Scuttlebutt.

  "Gawd almighty," said Fatso. "There will be brass-bound hell to pay about this. This will stir up a high-level international rhubarb and before it's over we'll be ground up to hamburger. I'll probably get ten years in Portsmouth for it . . . and maybe the Admiral will, too."

  "Yeah," said Scuttlebutt. "You may go to Portsmouth. But not the Admiral. The worst they would do to him would be to retire him on three-quarters pay."

  "We gotta figure some way to kill that story," said Fatso.

  "You'll have a hell of a time killing it now that Adams has spilled it to this Time guy," said Scuttlebutt. "They'll print it come hell or high water."

  "Well, so far they've only got Adams' word for it," said Fatso. "None of our other guys will talk. If we could get Adams out of here, the reporter wouldn't be able to back up his story."

  "Well, he's out like a light now," said Scuttlebutt, indicating the prostrate figure on the bunk. "Maybe we could stick him in the brig for a couple of days and hide him."

  "That's no good," said Fatso. "We gotta make the son of a bitch disappear. Get rid of him."

  "You mean bump him off, Cap'n?" asked Scuttlebutt respectfully.

  "No. Not exactly," said Fatso. "But we gotta get him a long ways away from here - and fast. ... By gawd, if I could get to the Admiral I think I could swing it."

  "Well, the Milwaukee ain't showing any absentee lights, so the Admiral's aboard." said Scuttlebutt.

  "By gawd, I'm going out and see the old guy right now," said Fatso. "I'll change clothes and get a boat from the OOD. Meantime, you keep an eye on that guy," he said, indicating Adams, "and make sure he doesn't get ashore again."

  "He won't come to until morning," said Scuttlebutt.

  "Well, if he does, give him a couple of husky shots out of that bottle and pass him out again," said Fatso. "And by the way - did we turn in Adams' record and pay accounts to the Alamo today?"

  "No," said Scuttlebutt, "I was going to take them up to the exec's office tomorrow morning."

  "That's good," said Fatso. "The Alamo has never heard of this guy Adams. If things work out right, they never will. Keep those records and pay accounts handy in case we need them tonight. ... I ought to be back in about an hour."

  Fatso shifted to dress blues, got a boat from the OOD, and soon was aboard the Milwaukee.

  Sai
lors don't just go aboard the flagship at odd hours of the day or night and get to see the Admiral. The Admiral is protected by a large staff whose job it is to see that only those people with problems of prime importance get in to see the Admiral.

  The first underling to interview Fatso was the staff duty officer, a young Lieutenant. "And what do you wish to see the Admiral about?" he asked skeptically.

  "It's a private matter that I can only discuss with the Admiral," said Fatso.

  "Well, I gotta know more about it than that," said the Lieutenant.

  "It's about that Russian defector that you got this morning," said Fatso.

  "Okay. I'll let you talk to our intelligence officer about that," said the Lieutenant.

  "I want to talk to the Admiral about that Russian defector that you picked up todav," said Fatso when he was ushered into the intelligence office.

  "Oh? What about her?" asked the Lieutenant Commander.

  ''I have some more information on her that the Admiral ought to know about," said Fatso.

  "Okay," said the Lieutenant Commander. "I'll be glad to listen to it."

  "I've gotta tell it to the Admiral," said Fatso.

  "Humph," said the Lieutenant Commander. "Well, you gotta tell me more than that before I bother the Admiral with it at this time of night."

  "How about the Chief of Staff? Can I see him?" asked Fatso.

  "Not until you tell me what this is all about," said the Lieutenant Commander. "We shipped that Russian off to the States this afternoon, so there's nothing more we can do about the case now, anyway."

  "Okay, sir," said Fatso. "Thank you."

  Fatso made his way up to Admiral's country and presented himself to the marine orderly on duty outside the cabin door. "Boatswain's Mate Gioninni to see the Admiral," he announced.

  "What about?" demanded the marine.

  "I dunno," said Fatso. "He sent for me."

  "Oh," said the marine. "What's your name again?"

  "Gioninni," said Fatso.

  "Okay. Wait here," said the marine, and disappeared into the cabin. He reappeared a moment later, said, "Follow me," and led the way in.

  The Admiral was seated at his desk in a lounging robe reading a book. "Well, well, Fatso," he said. "Back again so soon? What can I do for you?"

  "I got trouble, sir," said Fatso.

  "That's nothing new to you. You ought to be used to it by this time. Have a seat," said the Admiral. "What is it this time? The Italian cops or the MP's?"

  "It may be more than that, sir. This is high-level international stuff," said Fatso.

  "Okay. I'm listening," said the Admiral.

  "You remember that Russian defector we talked about this morning?" said Fatso.

  "Yes indeed," said the Admiral. "I had a talk with her. She's quite a gal and may be very useful to us. We shipped her out to the States this afternoon."

  "And you know that Egyptian gunboat that everybody is looking for?"

  "Yes. Sure. The America has a big air search out looking for her," said the Admiral.

  "Well, Admiral - we intercepted that ship off Cape Bon about four days ago. We was flying Russian colors. Tania and I went aboard and persuaded the Spigs that we were Russians sent to take charge of them."

  The Admiral blinked and shook his head like a fighter who has just stopped a haymaker with his jaw. He stomped out his cigarette and leaned forward intently.

  "Then we brought her in here to Naples," continued Fatso. "I got in touch with the Israeli underground here and they snuck aboard last night while the Spigs were on my ship watching the movies, and took her out. She should get in to Haifa in about four days."

  "Good God," said the Admiral.

  "There was no rough stuff involved at all, Admiral," said Fatso. "Except we did have to knock out the gangway watch. But we left him on board. We took the rest of the crew out to the Russian consulate, dumped them there, and left 'em."

  "God almighty!" said the Admiral. "That story that Com South called me about this afternoon was true - every word of it. And I told him it was an out-and-out fairy story."

  "Yes sir," said Fatso. "A new guy on my ship gave the whole story to Time magazine here this afternoon. I just found out about it."

  "Boy oh boy!" said the Admiral. "This will precipitate an international crisis that will shake the E-Ring of the Pentagon. It will mean back to the farm for me . . . But I've had it pretty good for forty years and I'm about due to retire anyway," he added.

  "Well, Admiral, this story hasn't broken yet - and maybe we can stop it," said Fatso.

  "I'd sure like to know how," said the Admiral.

  "Well, so far the only dope this Time guy has on this thing is from this lad of mine. He's coming down to my ship first thing in the morning to check the story. If we could get rid of this one guy, I guarantee you, he'll get nothing out of the rest of my guys."

  "Uh huh," said the Admiral.

  "This guy is back aboard ship drunk now. He's passed out. We can move him around like a sack of rags. How about transferring him tonight to some out-of-the-way place like, say, Port Lyauty?"

  "Hmmm," said the Admiral. "Maybe. ... If this Time guy comes aboard tomorrow morning and all your people deny the story, and if his source of information has disappeared, he would probably be pretty leery of using it - just on the say-so of one sailor that he couldn't produce."

  "That's right, Admiral," agreed Fatso. "And the Alamo knows nothing about this guy Adams. He hasn't been taken up on their books yet. So far as they know, there is no such guy. And all of my guys will deny knowing anything about him."

  "That's good," said the Admiral. "How about Tania? What does the Alamo know about her?"

  "Nobody knows nothing, sir - except the skipper, and he wouldn't give a newspaper reporter the time of day."

  "Okay," said the Admiral. "So the only other sources of info that the Time guy might have would be the Spig crew or the Russian consul - and I don't think any of them will want to talk to him - the story would make them look foolish."

  "That's right," said Fatso. "So, like you said, the only thing he will have to go by is the say-so of a sailor he never saw before and who has disappeared. He won't dare use the story."

  "Okay," said the Admiral, buzzing for the orderly. "Tell the Chief of Staff I want to see him," he told the marine.

  "Joe," said the Admiral, when the Chief of Staff came into the cabin, "Gioninni here has just told me a very interesting story. Maybe someday later I'll tell it to you. But right now we have an urgent matter which requires immediate attention."

  "Yes sir," said the Chief of Staff.

  "There is a man attached to Gioninni's ship now. He is on board drunk. Passed out. It is urgent that he be transferred to Naval HQ, Vietnam. I want him on his way tonight with an armed escort who is to stay with him till they put him on the plane in Honolulu. You can use my plane tonight to fly him to Rota."

  "Aye aye, sir," said the Chief of Staff, as if the,Admiral had just told him to have his barge called away. "I'll take care of it."

  "Here's his name, rate, and serial number, sir," said Fatso, handing the Chief of Staff a slip of paper. "If you'll send a car to the after gangway of the Alamo, we'll have him and his records ready."

  "Okay," said the COS. "We'll have a car on the dock alongside your ship in a little over an hour . . . Anything else, sir?"

  "That's all," said the Admiral.

  An operation of this kind takes a bit of doing. Orders have to be written up, an escort provided, a car sent to the dock, the plane's crew have to be rounded up and briefed, and confidential dispatches have to be sent to various commands along the line, alerting them to the fact that this is a special case. But when Com Sixth Fleet issues a sweeping directive to his COS, as the Admiral just had, a large and efficient organization springs into action and these things all happen.

  An hour and a half later a station wagon pulled up alongside the after gangway of the Alamo. Adams, dead to the world, was lugged down the gangway
and loaded into the station wagon with the contents of his locker in a sea bag. His records were turned over to the escort, and he was whisked out to the airfield and loaded aboard the Admiral's plane. Three hours later the plane landed at the naval base, Rota, Spain; and Adams, still dead to the world, was loaded into a MATS plane bound for Maguire Air Force Base, New Jersey. He came to halfway across the Atlantic in a rather confused state, and the escort confused it some more by feeding him liquor until he passed out again. Next time he came to, he was halfway across the Pacific to Honolulu. Forty-eight hours after he had passed out on LCU 1124 in Naples, he staggered down the gangway of the big jet transport at the Saigon airport. There he was put aboard a whirlybird, which landed him on board the USS Suwanee in the Mekong River, where he was assigned to duty peeling spuds in the galley.

  This all happened so smoothly and so fast, and his state of sobriety was so sketchy, that Adams remembered very little of it when he finally sobered up. However, this experience did teach him that there is no use in a little guy like him trying to buck the Establishment. He gave up his old hippie ideas, shaved off his beard, and became an exemplary U.S. Navy sailor - more or less.

  Meantime, back in Naples, Smythe showed up on the Alamo promptly at 0900 next morning and was shown aboard LCU 1124.

  "I'm Smythe of Time magazine," he announced to Fatso.

  "Oh?" said Fatso. "What can we do for you, Mr. Smith?"

  "I've come aboard to see one of your crew by the name of Adams."

  "Adams?" said Fatso. "We have no one on board by that name."

  "He told me his name was Adams, and that he was on this boat," said Smythe.

  "Well, maybe he gave you a phony name." said Fatso. "What sort of a looking guy was he?"

  "He was a young guy, with a billiard-ball haircut and a heavy black beard," said Smythe.

  "We got nobody aboard who looks like that," said Fatso.

  "Well, maybe you can answer some questions for me," said Smythe.

  "I'll be glad to if I can," said Fatso.