Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad

by Stephen Phillips

  “Yes, we have drafted an initial memo for distribution to all municipal bomb squads. Additionally, we are constructing a second replica that is a cut-away so the initiation methods and the explosive train can be studied. We’ll send a follow-up memo with a formal procedure if we are able.”

  “Shit, good luck. Let us know if you have any success.”

  “So what else do you need us for?” asked Jazz. Maybe you just wanted to see me again.

  “We wanted you to look at our replica in order to verify its accuracy as you have already done. More importantly, I also wanted to inquire if you had any ideas.”

  “We’ve been working on it for sure,” said Jazz. “I’ve actually started dreaming about it... but it is a tough one. My inclination right now is to clear folks out and let the thing function. Hardly an EOD solution is it?”

  “No,” said Cruz. “But I agree, it is going to be a bitch.”

  “Well, if we come up with something, we’ll let ya know.”

  “Great, let me give you my card again.”

  “Fine,” replied Jazz. “Here’s another copy of mine.”

  T-Ball shot Jazz a look. Cruz sensed something. T-Ball’s face changed just as she turned toward him.

  “Agent Cruz, do you have a name for this thing yet?” he asked feigning innocence.

  “Actually, yes. It is called the SANPAT Bomb since it was found in San Patricio County.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Deployment

  Airline flights were one of the few times that he was able to relax. It was as if time stopped. There was nothing he could do except wait patiently until he landed. Nasih ceased to be concerned about customs long ago. There were no more accurate photos of him in the Western World. And in this part of the world, travel for him was especially easy. His appearance and coloring allowed him to fit in easily. He was unremarkable in Italy, Greece, Turkey, the Middle East, and now the Balkans.

  He smiled looking out at the beautiful Albanian countryside rising toward him. “The Balkans,” directly translated to “A chain of wooded mountains.”

  How appropriate, he thought.

  On his flight to Stockholm the in-flight entertainment was an American movie about the CIA manufacturing a war in Albania. As he looked out to Albania’s mountains beyond the airliner’s starboard wing he remembered laughing during the film.

  Nasih’s first visit was shortly after the coup in 1995. His superiors called it the new Lebanon, Tirane, the new Beirut. They could hide and thrive among the chaos, especially since their work was done in Afghanistan. Shortly after arriving the first time he realized the region’s name was astutely named. Nasih and several of his brethren used it as a base of operations ever since.

  The climate was much more comfortable than Texas this time of year. He stepped down the ladder and onto the tarmac. One of his brothers was waiting outside the main terminal.

  “I have already taken care of everything... we do not have to go in.”

  “Well done. I hope that you did not pay too much.”

  “No, I did not have to.”

  “Good. It is not really necessary here, customs is merely an inconvenience.”

  “The car is this way.”

  They walked in silence in a moment, though they knew that nobody nearby understood their language.

  “Everything is proceeding as we expected, except for the incident in Texas.”

  “That is none of your concern... and it amounted to nothing. In fact it may have been a suitable test of our friends there and they did well.”

  “Friends?” the shorter man said glancing sideways at Nasih.

  “Well, infidel friends anyway.”

  Nasih reminded himself not to speak of the tragedy of Green Leon. It was also none of the junior man’s concern.

  There was no telling what a five year old would understand. Jazz and Melanie tried to prepare their sons for the six-month deployment. Tyler, the youngest, only knew that Daddy was going to leave for a long time. And he did not even comprehend what “long” was. His parents constantly reassured him that Daddy was not leaving the family only that he was going away. At the end of these conversations he always asked one more time, “But you are coming back, right, Dad?”

  “That’s right, son,” Jazz would respond with a lump in his throat.

  Going onboard the ship with Tyler was difficult. The stairs were too steep for his little legs. The strange sounds often startled or scared him. But Nicholas, the eldest of Jazz’s mancubs, at five, was old enough.

  Father and son walked up the brow to Inchon’s quarterdeck. Jazz followed Nicholas, watching his feet carefully find each step.

  God, he’s getting so big, Jazz thought to himself. How much will he change while I’m gone?

  Nicholas grabbed his daddy’s hand as they headed aft toward his stateroom.

  When Inchon and her task group departed in March 1999, it was to be the first deployment of an MCM flotilla. Inchon was already fully loaded on this Sunday afternoon in preparation for deployment to the Mediterranean and Arabian Seas.

  There were four EOD detachments onboard. Four, Six, and Eight from EODMU SIX and Det Eleven from EODMU THREE in San Diego, California. Mobile Unit Six also brought the FARC as Fontaine had described with a crew of Diving Medical Technicians to operate and maintain it.

  The EOD force structure included support personnel from supply clerks and yeoman to boat mechanics and Seabees. The underwater portion of the MCM triad was commanded by CDR Solarsky and would be commonly referred to as EODMU SIX FORWARD.

  The whole of HM-15 embarked with their minesweeping helicopters. They brought more boats than the EOD Techs did to control launch and recovery of their sleds and sonar fish. The hangar had just enough space to perform maintenance on two helos if they were folded and stuffed. The rest nested on the flight deck.

  HM-15 also brought the largest complement of officers. There were at least four officers for every aircraft onboard. Jazz guessed that there were almost forty of them.

  Four Mine Countermeasures ships were to follow Inchon to the Med as part of the flotilla. Avenger, Pioneer, Gladiator, and Defender were to remain within sight of Inchon during the trans-Atlantic crossing like ducklings following their mother.

  As part of her conversion, Inchon was given the capability to refuel the sweeps via astern refueling. She could also transport food, mail, medical supplies, and people back and forth between each of the ships.

  The mine warfare ships would separate while in the Med to participate in different MCM exercises with other NATO countries. Then all would rendezvous prior to going through the Suez Canal and on to the Arabian Gulf.

  Jazz’s stateroom looked much like all of the others aboard Inchon. All of the fixtures were made of gray sheet metal. There was a wall of lockers, drawers, and two built-in desks lining the left side. A sink with a mirror was on the right in the front of the room. One set of bunk beds was in the back right corner. Nicholas climbed into the bottom bunk.

  “So this is where you will sleep, Daddy?”

  “Yep, that’s where I will sleep.”

  Nicholas surveyed the room. He had a look on his face of approval, but his father could also see that he felt the need to be inquisitive.

  “And that’s your sink over there?” he said pointing to the sink next to Jazz.

  “Yes, this is my sink. I will share this room with one other diver guy. He has the top bunk.”

  “Are a lot of diver guys going on this trip?”

  “Yes, there will be about twenty divers going.”

  Nicholas flipped on the reading light above Jazz’s rack.

  “Who is the other diver guy in here?”

  “Uh, he’s a man named Jake Duvall.”

  Duvall’s detachment, Det Six was stationed in Charleston, so the two encountered each other only a few times before the deployment. Jazz met him when he passed through Charleston before reporting aboard. They got to know each other better during work-ups for the INCTASK
GRU deployment. Duvall had been a SWO like Jazz. The Special Operations lateral transfer board picked him up the year before Jazz.

  There were nine officers going on the deployment. There was one OIC per detachment. The other two lived next door to Jazz and Duvall. O’Malley and Thicke were both warrant officers. Chief Warrant Officers in Navy EOD are given the moniker “Gunner.” As a result these two were affectionately known as “Gunner O” and “Gunner T.”

  Across the hall from Jazz and Duvall lived the Mobile Unit Six Operations Officer and the tactics officer. They would interface with the MCMRON and direct the employment of the detachments. Captain Solarsky had a stateroom forward of the superstructure, closer to the squadron spaces. All of the senior officers onboard had staterooms there.

  Nicholas hopped off the bed. He stopped and looked around the room approvingly.

  “This is cool.”

  “Yeah, I think so too. Do you want to see where they drive the ship from?”

  “Yeah!”

  The reaction of any visitor was the same. The five year-old could not even see over the helmsmen’s console. He grabbed the helm and moved it back and forth. Jazz looked to the rudder angle indicator. It did not move, the rudders were in local control in aftersteering.

  His son said, “Brooom, broooom,” as he pretended to steer the ship. Jazz laughed.

  “Is that what the ship sounds like?”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Okay.”

  Nicholas got the grand tour. Jazz could tell that it helped his son understand what his father was doing. Now Nick would have a visual picture when thinking of his father far away at sea. He knew where Daddy would eat, sleep, and work.

  Some wives had to watch the ship pull away from the pier. It provided them with closure. Not until they saw the ship leave could they grasp that their husbands were truly gone. The Jascinskis knew of wives in Norfolk that would watch the ship leave the pier and then race to the Chesapeake Bay-Bridge Tunnel so they could see it once more as it passed to sea.

  Melanie preferred the drop-off. She tried to pretend that it was as if one of their cars was in the shop and she had to drive Jazz into work. It helped her to deal with the sorrow.

  Jazz’s service dress blues were hot. His mind raced through all the things he wanted to tell Melanie before he left. He wanted to make sure she had all the information she needed to take care of herself and the family while he was gone.

  “Hon, don’t forget to...”

  “I know, Jazz, whatever it is, I know. We’ve done this before. Now just be quiet so I can drive us without causing an accident.”

  The quiver in her voice registered with Jazz. He turned to see his children once more. They all stared blankly ahead, sleepy but not able to sleep. His thoughts turned again on the notion that they would change dramatically over the next six months, especially Abigail.

  Closer to the pier, they could see a hundred teary goodbyes now. Men and women, children and parents, held onto one another for a final time trying to make it last. Melanie stopped on the side of the road across from the quay. Jazz got out and opened the sliding door of the mini-van. He reached in and gave each of his kids one more long hug and kiss.

  “I love you, Tyler.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, Nicholas.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  He leaned over to kiss his infant daughter. As he did he heard Melanie sobbing.

  “I love you, Abby.”

  As he tried to close the door, Tyler reached his hands out.

  “Daddy, kiss!”

  He leaned over and gave each son one last quick kiss and hug. Now Nicholas was crying.

  Jazz closed the door and walked around to the driver side window. Melanie rolled it down. Tears were streaming down her face.

  He kissed her and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too. Go now before I really lose it.”

  Jazz turned on his heel and headed for the ship. He passed several women and children crying and clinging to each other. He saw the backs of many other sailors, walking slowly toward their ship.

  Against his better judgment, the young husband and father turned to look at his family one more time. The van had not moved an inch. Melanie was looking at him. Her body shook as she sobbed uncontrollably. His two sons cried hysterically, not fully understanding why but sharing instinctively the sadness that their mother emanated.

  Jazz turned again and walked toward the brow of USS Inchon. This time he did not look back.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Tasking

  “Echo One, this is Echo Two. We have your floor secure. We’re beginning to clear those above and below you.”

  “Copy, Two,” Jazz answered.

  Jazz loosened his tie as he bent over to study the device. There was a small opening on the top. He turned on his flashlight and tried to see what was inside without touching it.

  A noise in the other room startled him. He stood and walked toward the door. Jazz heard the noise again. He was shocked by what he saw as he entered the room.

  “Special Agent Cruz.”

  “Hello, Jazz,” she purred.

  Elena looked stunning. She was wearing a fitting black dress, black silk stockings, and heels. Jazz’s eyes wandered from her face, through her cleavage, to her shapely legs.

  Elena smiled at him as she bent over, hiked up her dress, and removed a holstered pistol from her garter.

  “Uh, Elena... you need to get out of here. There’s a suspect package.”

  Now she pulled a pin from her hair, allowing shiny black tresses to cascade down. She bit her tongue, smirking at him playfully.

  “Elena...”

  She reached behind her back and pulled, untying her dress. She tugged on it slightly and it fell to the floor. Elena Cruz was now standing in front of him clad only in stilettos and thigh highs. That’s when Jazz realized that she had placed the suspect package in the next room.

  Elena saw the recognition in his face and strode toward him.

  “Elena, wait, no... they’ll catch us...”

  A high-pitched whine startled Jazz, waking him from his dream. Instinctively he reached behind his pillow, grabbed his earmuffs and put them on to protect his hearing. It was the davit crane again; its machinery room was just next door.

  The stateroom was pitch black. Not fully conscious, Jazz wondered what time it was. His right hand felt the lock knife clipped into his right pocket. Then his hands reached to his waist. They felt his rigger belt and cammie trousers. He wriggled his toes.

  Yep, got boots on, he thought.

  He remembered that it was just after lunch, he was napping. Even with the hearing protection on, he could not fall back to sleep through the noise of the pumps working the davit just outside. He heard Duvall’s muffled voice from the bunk above him sending expletives toward the overhead. The Detachment Six OIC was irritated at having his JORP, his Junior Officer Rest Period, interrupted.

  Suddenly the door opened, the light from the passageway blinded him. More expletives came from his stateroom-mate. As Jazz’s eyes adjusted he saw Quinn in the doorway.

  Jazz stood and walked to the door, Quinn was trying to say something but Jazz could not hear him. The noise from the davit’s electric motor plus the knocking of the winch’s hydraulic fluid was loud enough to destroy thought. Jazz shook his head and pointed to his ears, then he pointed down the hall. The two walked ten feet. Distance and steel now muffled the davit machinery. Jazz took off his ‘ears.’

  “What’s up?”

  “I bumped into Captain Solarsky a few minutes ago in Aft V. He wants you and Senior Chief Denke to come see him.”

  “Okay. Have you found Senior Chief yet?”

  “Yeah, he is on his way up here.”

  A few minutes later Jazz knocked on Solarsky’s door. He heard the captain shuffle and chairs sliding on the deck. Then the door opened.

  “Jaz
z, Grover, come in, sit down.”

  The captain’s cabin was small. It was intended to be the stateroom for a junior department head. The room was suitable for its occupant and one visitor, but with two extra chairs and two extra bodies and it became cramped. Jazz sat, his shoulder brushing against the sink.

  “I’ve got a special tasking for your det. You are going to Sigonella and Mobile Unit Eight for awhile.”

  “Really? What for?”

  “Mostly Secret Service Support. Fiona Koss, the Secretary of State, is doing an Eastern European tour to include the Balkans. You’ll be with her in Italy, maybe Greece, and probably not Bosnia-Hertzogovina. We want you to take field gear anyway in case you’re called upon to go there.”

  “Why not B-H?”

  “There are two Navy teams and a variety of Army and Air Force teams there already. They’ll probably take care of it.”

  “Why us? Why not a det from Eight?”

  “Damn, Lieutenant! Don’t you wanna get off the ship and go operate?” Denke said incredulously.

  “Well, yeah...”

  Solarsky smiled. “Our young OIC is just gathering intel, Senior Chief. The problem, Jazz, is that everyone at Mobile Unit Eight is gone. You know EOD is stretched thin all over. They have a det in La Spezia, two dets in B-H, a det at TEU TWO, and a detachment in stand-down. The stand-down det is apparently short about six guys. They are waiting for guys to transfer in.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it is busy out here. Anyway Group Two decided that a team from MU SIX had to take up the slack. It makes sense right? We’re out here anyway.”

  “Okay, sir, when do we go?”

  “In about two days. We’ll helo you into Sig with all your gear. Get packed for every mission except extensive MCM. Eight will provide any boats you may need and you never know when you may have to get wet. Take your dive gear.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The streets of Brindisi felt more like Greece than Italy to Nasih. It was as if the city were not Mediterranean, but Adriatic.

  Near the waterfront the nightlife began to boil. He walked slowly looking at the multitude of olive-skinned teenage girls. They were more like women. Every one was voluptuous and had beautiful long black hair and grasping brown eyes. He knew it was blasphemy to praise Allah while examining the fashion of the day. The light summer dresses that showed much leg made it difficult for him to fight impure thoughts. These women were like snowflakes, all the same yet each magnificently different and more beautiful than the one before.