A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  Chief Petty Officer Gary Parker had volunteered for the dive. He was experienced in underwater photography and was the only man aboard to dive a real wreck besides the Captain. “How deep is she, Captain?” Parker asked as he spit into his mask to clear it.

  “She’s resting at one hundred feet, straight beneath our bow. That depth is pushing the maximum you and I can dive without being crushed by the water pressure, so we need to stay together—no wandering off. Sonar says most of her bow is hanging off the edge of a pretty precarious shelf. Ten more feet to the south or a shift in her ballast and she would have been gone for good in over fifteen hundred feet.”

  “How is the bottom? I mean...is it firm?” Parker asked.

  Fitzpatrick could sense the concern in the young C.P.O.’s mind.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Chief. I don’t know the stability of the shelf or whether the Truman is just resting there for the time being. Just keep one thing in mind: we’ve been ordered to head for the stern of the vessel and assess the damage.”

  “Are we looking for anything in particular, Captain?”

  Fitzpatrick spit into his mask as he shook his head. “I’d like to tell you, Chief, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “I understand, Captain.” Parker nodded, as he went back to checking his regulator and tanks.

  One hundred yards to port, the inflatable was making its way over to the body floating with the current. After nearly twenty-eight hours, the Captain was surprised that the remains hadn’t drifted farther from the wreck. Many of the other deceased still might have.

  As Fitzpatrick grabbed a hose and wet himself down, he hoped that the Ensign’s body might shed some light on what happened aboard the Truman. He could feel his wetsuit beginning to constrict in the morning sun. The cold water felt good on his face and hair. Parker came up alongside the Captain and handed him a pair of binoculars. “I thought you might want these to see when they pulled him into the inflatable.”

  “Thanks. I hope he hasn’t been in the water too long. I can only see the top half of his body from here. He could be shark food from the bottom down, by now.” Fitzpatrick focused in on the inflatable as the sailors pulled the body aboard. As the Ensign was lifted out of the water, he could see that the lower portion of his torso was crimson in color against the yellow boat. It was as the Captain feared; the Intrepid wasn’t the first to reach the body. He put down the glasses and slammed his fist on the railing. “Damn!”

  “What is it, Captain?”

  “Now the whole area is probably teeming with them now. Damned sharks! You can handle yourself down there, can’t you Parker?”

  “No problem, sir,” he boasted, patting the knife on his ankle. “I haven’t met a fish I couldn’t whoop yet!”

  “Well, can you ‘whoop’ five or ten of them, Chief?” The Captain said in all seriousness.

  Parker’s attitude abruptly changed. There was no more excitement in his eyes, no more thrill in his voice. The water suddenly looked much darker and ominous to him.

  “I’m not trying to scare you, Parker. I just want you to know what we might be up against if that man’s injuries were caused by sharks. You cover my ass, and I’ll cover yours. Have we got a deal?”

  Parker reached out and shook his Captain’s hand; the grip was firm and reassuring.

  As the inflatable pulled back alongside the Intrepid, a port side hatch was opened. Fitzpatrick quickly ran below deck to meet the boat. He ordered that only the medical staff that needed to be there remain.

  “Get the doctor over here on the double! Everyone else make like ghosts!” Fitzpatrick shouted.

  The medic pushed his way through the dispersing crowd and helped lift the body aboard. He was slipping on a pair of latex examining gloves when the Intrepid hit a large swell and he nearly fell through the open hatch. The Captain made a one-armed lunge and pulled the doctor back inside.

  “Get a thermal blanket and some fresh water over here!” The medic screamed.

  Fitzpatrick leaned over the body and picked a piece of seaweed off the Ensign’s nameplate. Hale’s face was bloated and distorted. There was no telling how much sea water he had swallowed. The doctor opened the buckle to the Ensign’s trousers and pulled them down below his thighs. The few remaining members of the medical team quickly turned away from what they saw. There was a hunk of metal the size of a dinner plate jutting out of Hale’s hip. The blood had coagulated around the wound but had loosened when he was pulled aboard. An inky substance trickled down from the Ensign’s wounds onto the deck.

  “What’s the verdict, doc? Did he die in an explosion?”

  The medic held up a finger to silence his commanding officer as he pulled the stethoscope from his ears. “You’re not going to believe this, but he’s still breathing. It’s very shallow and weak. It sounds like his lungs are barely functioning.”

  “You’re kidding me!” Fitzpatrick muttered. “How is that possible after all this time?”

  “His lungs are probably burned to a crisp,” the doctor confirmed. “There had to have been a fire. I’d give him oxygen, but it would only exacerbate his condition.” He looked over at the Captain. “This isn’t good, sir. We need to airlift him out of here right away if he is going to have any chance at all. There is nothing I can do for him here. If we can’t get a chopper here within the hour, he doesn’t stand a chance. I’m sure he’ll never make it back to port,” the medic added as he covered the Ensign’s inert torso with a thermal blanket.

  The doctor put his ear to the badly burned Ensign’s mouth to check on the amount of air he was pushing out. “I honestly don’t know how this man is still alive...wait, hold on a minute. He’s trying to say something!”

  “Move over, doc. I’ve got to hear this.” Fitzpatrick ordered as he pushed the medic out of the way, almost knocking him over in the process. The Captain leaned over and put his ear over the Ensign’s mouth. “Just whisper, Hale. Come on man, tell me what happened to you.”

  Fitzpatrick had his right ear nearly pressed against the Ensign’s mouth, and he could hear what could only describe as a baby’s breath. With his face staring down Hale’s torso, he couldn’t help cringing at the chunk of metal protruding from the body like an enormous fin.

  “Soul,” was the single word Fitzpatrick was able to make out of the Ensign’s garbled murmuring.

  “Come on Ensign, what are you trying to tell me?” The Captain couldn’t feel any more warm air on his cheek. He lifted his ear as Hale’s head slumped to the side. A huge gush of bloody water poured from the Ensign’s mouth. Fitzpatrick backed off and let the medic take over. His wetsuit felt warmer than it ever had before. He stood up and leaned against the open hatchway, the cool air tingled on his wet face. He turned back to see the doctor fully draping Hale’s body with the blanket. The Captain took a deep breath and spit into the ocean. “What do you think he was trying to tell us, doc?”

  The medic, who was a very devout Catholic and who willingly served double duty as the ship’s chaplain, knew immediately what the Ensign was trying to say to them. It was a dying man’s last request. He stood next to the Captain and looked out on the vast emptiness of the ocean.

  “I believe Ensign Hale wanted us to pray for his eternal soul.”

  Fitzpatrick nodded his head. “So you think he was a religious man, Doc?”

  The medic spread his opened hands across the watery expanse before him. “Yes, I’d like to believe that. You look at this magnificent ocean and tell me, who wouldn’t believe in the Almighty’s existence?”

  The Captain, who couldn’t remember the last time he had crossed the threshold of a house of worship, nodded mainly to mollify the doctor. “Amen, Doc. So what are you going to do with his remains?”

  “Well, I’d like to find out the extent of his lung damage. That would tell us a lot. An autopsy is in order, and any family will have to be n
otified. This was a classified mission, so I don’t know which will come first. The guys with all the stars on their caps will have to make that decision.”

  “Are you going to do the procedure?” The Captain asked rubbing his wet beard.

  “I can’t do an autopsy onboard,” the doctor admitted. “They are going to want people who are better trained in determining the actual cause of the Ensign’s death. When we get back to the port, they’ll most likely ship the body off to the Jacksonville Police Department. They have one hell of a forensics unit there. It’s one of the best in the southeast.”

  Fitzpatrick looked surprised. “Really? I never knew that.”

  The medic snapped off his gloves. “I’ve heard cases from all over the country are referred there. They do great work.”

  Fitzpatrick stared down at the oily water. “Take care of Hale’s body until we get back to port, Doc, he deserves first-rate treatment. And have this hatch secured once the inflatable is aboard.”

  The doctor nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Captain.”

  Fitzpatrick made his way up on deck where Ensign Parker was waiting for him. “Are you okay, Captain? Is the ensign dead?”

  The captain pulled on his neoprene hood. “Yes, he died onboard. He tried to tell me something before he succumbed. Some people believe it was a miracle that he lasted this long. I just can’t stop thinking about his last word. I think he said ‘Soul.’ What does that even mean? What was he trying to tell me? The doctor thinks he wanted us to pray for him. He may be right, but it still bothers me.”

  Parker leaned against the railing and pulled on his first flipper. “Maybe he was talking about Captain Sowell of the Truman.”

  Fitzpatrick turned to Parker. “What?”

  The Ensign wasn’t sure what he had suddenly done wrong. “You said Sowell, sir. I just assumed you meant Captain Sowell of the Truman.”

  Fitzpatrick’s eyes widened. “God damn it, Parker! That’s got to be it! I didn’t even make the connection!”

  Parker shrugged innocently. “It… just came to me, sir.”

  Fitzpatrick smiled. “Good job, son. You just keep on guessing. You’re good at it.”

  The Captain tucked his hair under the stretchy yellow and black diving hood. If he didn’t get into the water soon, this mystery was going to drive him crazy. When they got back to the surface, he would have to do some critical research on the commander of the Cutter Truman, Captain Roy Sowell.

  17

  Fitzpatrick gave the thumbs up signal to Parker as he checked the communicator in his face mask. The Ensign climbed down a rope ladder to the wooden dive platform attached to the stern of the Intrepid. Fitzpatrick followed him, but his left flipper caught in the last rung of the ladder and he fell backward onto the deck.

  “Are you okay, Skipper?” The Ensign’s voice echoed in his mask.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little clumsy and embarrassed, that’s all. How is the reception, still loud and clear?”

  “You’re breaking up a bit, Captain. You may have damaged the transmitter in the fall. Do you want me to replace it for you?”

  “Negative, we can’t waste any more time. As long as you can understand me, we’ll be okay.”

  Parker returned the thumbs up signal.

  “Now remember, you follow me,” Fitzpatrick said. “Once we get down to fifty feet or so, we’re going to have to follow the guide line we dropped down there. Don’t let go of it until we reach the Truman. The water is going to be especially tough to see through because of all the oil. Keep your light pointed toward the bottom like I do. Don’t lose the air bubble trail I leave behind.”

  Parker nodded affirmatively. “No problem, sir. The lights are working perfectly. They should help us once we get down to the ship.”

  “I hope so. Just remember that we go to the stern first.”

  The Ensign’s voice came a bit too loudly inside his mask, so Fitzpatrick adjusted the volume control by his right ear. “It would be helpful if you could tell me what we’re supposed to be looking for, Skipper.”

  The Captain waggled his finger. “Just keep sweeping your light once we’re inside the stern of the Truman. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “I’m ready to go then, sir.”

  “After I search the interior of the stern, we can move forward toward the bow and investigate the extent of the total damage. And Parker, most of all, stay away from the shelf. It’s a sheer drop over that ledge. We don’t want any surprises down there.”

  “No problem, Skipper. I don’t intend to go anywhere near it. I’ll be on your six the entire dive.”

  Fitzpatrick smiled behind his foggy mask. Once he hit the water, he knew it would clear. The two divers looked up one last time at their ship and the bright, blue sky arching above them. They turned toward each other and covered their facemasks with their free hands. Holding onto their lights, they fell back into the murky water.

  At fifty feet, Fitzpatrick was the first to reach the line dropped over the port side of the Truman. He pulled himself along with the Ensign trailing a few feet behind. At seventy-five feet they lost all light from the surface and turned on their halogen lamps. The water was still plenty viscous from the oil and fuel leaking from the wreck below.

  Every few seconds a shadow or shadows would skirt along the periphery of their lights. Bull sharks. Not what either man wanted to see. They were probably curious about the sudden intrusion of light into their murky realm; but as for attacking them, the divers were morbidly composed, figuring that the shark’s hunger had already been satisfied by the feast waiting below.

  As they continued to pull themselves downward, the silhouette of the Truman grew from shadow to muted color as the two divers approached. She looks so serene, Parker thought.

  The cutter was resting with four feet of her bow buried in the silt. A diverse community of sea creatures had already claimed the ship as their own. The sea life was a multitude of bright colors and odd shapes that darted and swam lazily in and out of the mangled wreckage.

  The Truman looked to Fitzpatrick to be listing about twenty degrees to starboard. While the right side of the ship looked like someone had reached in and ripped out her guts, she appeared to have very little structural damage on her port side.

  “I know I told you to stay close, Ensign, but I need to go into the stern alone. Either you stay here, or go up to the bow and work your way back toward me. Either way, I want you waiting out here for me in five minutes. Understood?”

  “Aye, Aye, Captain,” Parker said as he began kicking furiously against the current. A handful of brightly colored angelfish darted through his light. There was no way he was going to tread water for five minutes while there was exploring to do.

  Parker swam the full length of the Truman’s port side, pausing every few seconds to shine his light into an open hatch or glass porthole. There were no signs of life that he could see from the outside. Even through the hull, Parker could hear the dull pounding of cargo shifting around as he swam by the cargo hold. Twenty feet below him, he didn’t notice a small metallic object attached to the side of the Truman. The disc-shaped explosive was half buried in the sand. His ears did not pick up the rhythmical ticking of a second set of detonators that had failed to explode halfway up on the Truman’s port side.

  Parker made his way over the bow railing and swam toward the bridge. The windows had been blown outward, and glass was scattered all over the deck. What he saw inside, through his bright beam of light, he could only describe as the first course of a very ravenous group of diners. Two seamen were floating against the overhead bulkhead with very little of their flesh intact. Parker had seen enough. His five-minute limit must have been close to over. He began kicking as hard as his fins would allow and did a double-timed tour of the starboard side of the ship from its bridge back to the stern.

  “How are you doing, Captain?�
�� The Ensign asked as a curious jellyfish swam through his light. “Any sign of sharks?”

  Fitzpatrick’s words came through garbled with static. Parker could only make out a few words. “I’m...searching stern ...pack ...gone ...calling surf...”

  The Ensign waited until the Captain was finished and pressed his microphone. “Did you catch that, on the surface? The Captain is breaking up in my ear. How are you receiving him?”

  A radioman on the surface that was monitoring and recording all of their transmissions spoke up. “He’s coming in clear as glass up here Mr. Parker. You can’t make him out?”

  “No, the problem may be on my end. You’re sounding okay, but not perfect. Did you get the Captain’s message?”

  “He said, he was searching the stern, and the package was missing.” The Ensign stopped kicking his feet to remain in place; he wasn’t sure what to do now. What package was the Captain talking about? He tried to clear his thoughts. The Truman’s mission was clearly above his pay grade, but whatever the package contained, it had to be mighty important. What were the chances that the Truman had been sunk deliberately? It was a shame that the state of affairs in the modern world made him think of terrorism first and foremost. Now, he had to look for signs of sabotage.

  “Captain, I’m taking another lap around the ship. I will be back in a few minutes. Do you copy me?”

  Fitzpatrick’s voice came in clearly now. “Are you outside of the stern?”

  “Aye, Captain. I’ve witnessed that the starboard side is breached in multiple locations, but the port side appears to have taken no damage. Do you copy on the surface?”

  The radioman piped in. “We’re recording every word, sir.”

  Fitzpatrick’s voice was commanding. “I want you to stay put, Ensign. I have one more place to look, and then we’re going to take a lap together to survey the damage. Then it’s topside. Do you copy?”

  Parker frowned inside his facemask. Moving laterally along the side of the ship, his beam illuminated only thirty feet in front of him. He thought there would be more bodies in plain sight, but if the crewmen on the bridge were merely the appetizers, he was okay without spotting any others. Parker watched as the railing above him became bathed in soft white light. Fitzpatrick had swum out of one of the hatches and was coming over the top of the stern to join him. The Captain gave Parker the “thumbs down” sign as he swam up to him. The Ensign acknowledged the gesture.