by Lyle Howard
“Did you see the holes in the starboard?” Fitzpatrick asked.
“Aye, Captain. There are two holes the size of compact cars below the waterline. The metal is bent inward, which means the blast was caused by an explosive charge placed on the outside of her hull.”
Parker shook his head in agreement. “Are you getting all this on the surface, Intrepid?”“Affirmative, sir,” came the reply from above.
The Ensign pointed towards the deck of the Truman. “We’ve got to go inside, sir. We’re down here anyway. We have plenty left in our tanks. Let’s try the forward compartments. We’ve got to take a look, sir. There are Coast Guard seamen in there.”
Fitzpatrick took a deep breath which Parker and the surface both heard clearly. “Fine, but I don’t want to stay down here too much longer. We can make another dive after a few more ships arrive.”
The two divers rose slowly over the side of the ship and swam slowly toward the bow of the Truman. Reaching the small round hatch, Parker set his light down on the deck. The light showered the two men with a cloudy brightness. A large grouper, puzzled by the trespassers, swam just out of arm’s length and watched them with natural curiosity.
Parker waved to the fish, which was nearly five feet long. “Don’t worry, Captain, he’s as nosy as we are.”
Once above the ship, the Ensign struggled to release one of the forward hatches, but it wouldn’t budge. Fitzpatrick reached down to his ankle and removed his knife from its sheath. He wedged it between the spokes of the handle and used it as a lever to loosen it. The deep-rooted vision of those bloated corpses floating to the surface in a single line of death made him take a momentary breather.
Parker noticed that the Captain had paused. “Do you want me to do it, Captain?”
Fitzpatrick didn’t answer, so the Ensign grabbed the knife and began twisting the wheel.
“Is everything okay down there?” questioned the familiar voice from the surface. “Everything’s good,” Parker replied.
Fitzpatrick instinctively backed away as the hatch was lifted open. Huge air bubbles gushed toward the surface as the pressure inside and outside the Truman equalized. Parker found it hard to see until the bubbles slowly subsided. The pale glow of the halogen light slowly began turning a pinkish hue. Both men instinctively took a few strokes back as soon as they realized that blood was flowing freely through the opened hatch. Gallon after gallon of blood poured from the opening, blending with the salty water.
“Shut it!” Fitzpatrick screamed, almost damaging Parker’s eardrums.
“Okay Captain, she’s closed. Are you going to be all right?”
The Captain could feel the cold sweat dripping inside his wetsuit. “Let’s leave her interior for another team that’s more qualified to deal with those men. I want to examine the starboard side again to examine the damage to her hull. It might give some clue as to the exact cause.”
Parker nodded, but he knew what the Captain meant. He wanted to check for evidence of explosives. “Aye aye, Captain. I copy. I’m going to finish checking out the port side. Maybe there was some damage below the waterline that I didn’t notice the first time around.” Parker was trying to sound steady, but he wasn’t too thrilled about whatever awaited either of them. There were hundreds of effective ways of sinking a ship the size of the Truman. Perhaps they would find something that could narrow it down to a few.
Parker swam slowly around to the port side of the ship. He floated a few feet above the soft, sandy bottom, nearly walking on it with the tip of his fins. There was no debris on this side of the ship. The pattern that formed on the bottom was as expected. It had settled in waves of decreasing size the further it was from the vessel. Soon, the underwater current would wash away any signs of the initial impact, and order beneath the sea would be restored.
As Parker moved slowly past midship, something half buried in the silt a few feet away caught his light. It was very close to the bow, which hung dangerously over the ledge of the shelf where the Truman had come to rest. It glistened like a piece of glass, but there was no other material like it anywhere nearby. Parker glided away from the Truman towards the object. Even directly over it, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.
“Captain, do you copy? I may have found something over here. Do you copy?”
Fitzpatrick’s voice was garbled again, but Parker could make out that he was on his way.
The Ensign directed his light directly on it. Two-thirds of the object was buried beneath the sandy bottom. He reached down and pulled out the trusty knife strapped to his ankle. As he dug around the fringe of the object, he tried to clear away the sand by waving his hand above it. As the thing revealed itself, Parker stared at the gas mask for a full minute before realizing the significance of his find. Why was there a Navy issue gas mask just lying here? They weren’t standard issue in the Coast Guard. Pulling a plastic inflatable pouch from his weight belt, the Ensign slipped the mask inside. He was about to fill the bag with air from his regulator and let it float to the surface when Fitzpatrick’s voice came through his receiver.
“What are you doing out there? I told you to stick close to the ship.”
The Ensign could see the Captain’s light coming down the side of the ship. He was moving over the railing and swimming toward the bottom, casting an eerie shadow against the hull. Fitzpatrick was halfway down the hull when he suddenly started kicking downward to slow his descent.
“Parker, get over here. I think I found another live one!” The Ensign swam quickly over to the hull of the ship to see what his Captain had found. Parker tapped his transmitter; he thought he heard things. The faint ticking sound was definitely coming from the saucer-shaped object attached to the hull of the Truman. Parker was sure it had to be a dud, or it would have exploded with the other ones. Before Fitzpatrick could stop him, he reached out and touched it ever so lightly with his metal knife. He never could have guessed that it was a proximity mine explicitly placed for anyone who got close enough to investigate the wreckage.
The crewman monitoring them on the surface ripped the earphones off his head. The Captain and Ensign were dead before they felt the actual energy of the detonation. The entire structure of the Truman trembled and let out a mournful cry as the shelf beneath her keel collapsed.
On the surface, the radioman instinctively reached over and slammed his fist down on the button which sounded the general quarters alert. The piercing alarm was drowned out by the sound of the explosion and the deluge of water that erupted just off the port side. It was as if the Intrepid was under attack. It was only a split second before the surface water surrounding the cutter began to churn wildly. The majority of the crew had no time to secure themselves for the blast. A few that were near the railing were thrown overboard into the turbulent water. They were the lucky ones. The remainder of the crew was tossed around on deck, crashing against steel bulkheads or exposed pipes. One seaman recruit that was scrubbing the mast tumbled from his scaffold and was impaled on the radio antenna, knocking it out of commission.
Far beneath the Intrepid, Parker and Fitzpatrick’s bodies were quickly crushed by the water pressure in the whirlpool caused by the Truman descending over the ledge. It took less than two minutes for the cutter to split apart as it impacted with the rocky sea floor some seventeen hundred feet below. At this depth, the wreckage would only be accessible by a submersible, and that would take months.
But yet, there was a proper epitaph yet to be written for the cataclysmic events of that day. A bright yellow pouch had pierced the surface of the water and bobbed gently in the swells, just waiting to be spotted and retrieved.
18
Vice Admiral Theodore “Teddy” Baer stood on the warm concrete dock and tapped his left foot impatiently. He looked down at his watch, and then out to the inlet as the Intrepid limped back into port. He had just got off the phone with Washington, and they were eager to learn wha
t had happened. Only his closest advisors and medical personnel had security clearance to come to the pier to await the arrival. Three other officers, who all held the rank of Lieutenant Commander or greater, stood by his side. The three other officers didn’t have the combined years of service that Baer had himself. He was in his fortieth year in the Navy and had won almost every conceivable commendation awarded. All of the fruit salad on his chest didn’t mean a hill of beans to him now. If this mess weren’t straightened out soon, all of his accolades wouldn’t buy him a rum punch on Jacksonville Beach.
The afternoon humidity was on the rise. To hell with protocol, he thought as he removed his tie and took off his coat.
“There she is!” Someone called out.
Baer grabbed a pair of binoculars and searched the horizon until he caught his first glimpse of the disabled ship. “I need to find out what happened to their communications. I know that no cell phones were allowed on board because of the mission’s secrecy, but it sounded like all hell had broken loose when their scrambled radio signal went dead.”
Captain Gene Wells, who was in charge of the air reconnaissance group, spoke up. “From what Recon One reported on his first pass, the ship looked like she had been through a hurricane. A crewman signaled our plane with a white flag that everything was under control.”
Baer began pacing while waves of hot air rose off the surface of the concrete dock. “I hope that seaman was right. Washington is all over me about this, and they want answers yesterday! We don’t even know if the equipment is still intact on the Intrepid! I’m sure that Captain Fitzpatrick will be able to fill us in on what he saw first-hand.”
The base had fallen into an unusual silence for this time of day. No traffic was allowed in or out of the gates until the crew of the Intrepid had been debriefed. Baer looked up at the few clouds that dotted the light blue sky; they hung, motionless, like cotton balls. The large brown pelicans which would typically be pestering the men for scraps of food sat idly by, perched on the wooden pillars of the dock.
As the Intrepid slowly made her way back into her berth, Petty Officer Second Class Scott Simms walked the deck surveying the damage. Onboard there had been only one casualty, but there were at least another thirteen men receiving treatment in the sick bay for broken bones and/or concussions. The loss of Captain Fitzpatrick and Ensign Parker made the trip back seem eternal. Even he had taken a nasty gash above his right eye.
The Intrepid was running on only one engine; the other was shut down as a result of an oil leak caused by the ship being slammed around. Simms had never experienced anything like that in his life. The explosion directly under the vessel had been deafening. When the Intrepid had started spinning in the whirlpool caused by the blast, he didn’t think the cutter was going to withstand the metal stress. He had hung onto the railing like he was on an amusement ride. He watched in terror as many of his fellow seamen were tossed around on the deck like dressing on a salad. He had no idea where the socket wrench came from that hit him above his eye. He considered himself lucky that it hadn’t caught him an inch lower. If it had, he would be wearing a patch right now.
Simms was highest in rank after Ensign Parker. He had reluctantly taken command and circled the Intrepid for nearly an hour, picking dazed and injured crewmen out of the oily water. Simm knew that Air Sector Jacksonville would be sending out a recon flight as soon as the ship’s transmitter went silent. He had been the one to signal the plane using his handkerchief. The aircraft had dipped its wing in response before turning back. He watched it become a tiny speck off in the distance, and wondered what the pilot was going to report.
The Intrepid performed like she was built to. She cut through the calm seas like a wounded warrior returning from a victorious battle. As the ship bounced and slid through the gentle swells, Simms walked down to the foredeck and stared at the broken men and women that were once a vital, well-disciplined crew.
The ship’s medic had set up cots and blankets on the deck. There were too many injured seamen to treat in the sick bay and not nearly enough space. Simms strolled amongst the crew and asked how each was feeling. One cot lying against the portside railing had a sheet entirely over its occupant. It was a clean white sheet with one red stain that had spread over the chest area. It was Seaman Recruit George Todd, who had fallen off the scaffolding and onto the radio mast. Simms didn’t know him that well, but he knew he had a family with children.
A Seaman Apprentice who was manning the bridge called down to Simms and mercifully ended his morbid train of thought. “The base is in sight!”
Simms didn’t answer; he just acknowledged the message with a wave of his hand. The broken and battered crew each acknowledged Simms’ presence as he walked amongst them. They knew who was in charge now; Seaman First Class Scott Simms had become their leader this day.
The neon yellow pouch containing the gas mask was still lying on the deck by the ladder. One of the crewmen on the stern had spotted it while circling for survivors after the explosion. No one bothered opening the pouch until now. Simms saw it lying on the deck and out of curiosity picked it up. At first, he thought that it was just something that a crewman had left sitting there by mistake. Gas masks weren’t standard equipment on Coast Guard cutters, and it didn’t take long for him to ask around as to where the pouch had been found. Once he learned that it had been recovered adrift, he began to wonder why.
Simms was there when Ensign Hale of the Intrepid was pulled onboard. Simms was an avid detective novel reader and prided himself on being able to figure out the “whodunit” before the protagonist did. If he hadn’t gone into the Coast Guard, he would have almost certainly been an investigator of some kind. He was determined now more than ever to find out what was going on. He had to find out what happened aboard the Truman—and if Seaman Todd had died in vain. He owed it to Todd’s family.
Simms paced the deck, waiting for the Intrepid to dock. It was taking too long for the ship to get back into its berth. Sure, they would have questions for him, but right now he had some issues of his own. The mooring cables were tossed over the side and tied to the large metal cleats on the dock. Simms could see Vice Admiral Baer and three other Captains waiting impatiently for the ship to come to rest. One of the other officers waved up at Simms, but he ignored the gesture.
The Vice Admiral and the three other officers surveyed the injured as they were helped off the ship. The last two stretchers carried off were completely covered. They carried the bodies of Seaman Todd and Ensign Hale. The tallest of the three officers motioned for Simms to come over. Simms disregarded him and helped lift Hale’s body into the back of a waiting Jeep. The ships’ medic climbed into the rear of the vehicle next to the body and strapped it in.
“When you get to the infirmary,” Simms instructed him. “Tell the doctor I want to talk to him later, okay? Tell him I’ll be there in half an hour.”
The medic frowned at Simms and then looked back at the Vice Admiral. “Do you honestly think he’ll be through with you in half an hour?”
Simms nodded. “I’ll make sure he is. Just tell the Doctor, I’m on my way.”
The jeep pulled away with the white sheet covering Hale’s body flapping in the wind. Simms turned and gave a distasteful look at his commanding officers. If he was going to pull this off, he was going to have to make them believe he meant business. He didn’t move, so the officers had to walk over to him.
Vice Admiral Baer stared at Simms but was taken aback when the Petty Officer Second Class didn’t salute him or stand at attention. It appeared that proper military protocol had been abandoned out at sea.
“Where is your commanding officer, Simms? Is he still onboard?”
“My commanding officer sir? All my commanding officers are dead, sir!” Simms snarled, overemphasizing the word “dead.”
The Admiral and the officers exchanged shocked glances. It was Simms’s turn to play his aces.
“What’s the matter, Admiral? Cat got your tongue?” Simms tried unsuccessfully to control his anger. The bandage above his eye was slipping, so he reached up and tightened the knot.
“Come inside Simms, and we’ll talk,” Baer said as he reached around to put his arm on Simms’s shoulder.
The Petty Officer shrugged the hand away. “We’ll talk now, Admiral. Right here and right now or you won’t get any answers from me. Go ahead and lock me up for insubordination if you want, but I need to know what my commanding officers died for. I want to know what was so damned important about the Truman that everyone aboard died for. I want to know why my crewmembers were injured and maimed. This is the United States for God’s sake, not the middle east!”
The three officers stared at each other in disbelief. How could this enlisted man dare to speak to a commanding officer with that tone? The beefiest of the three officers, Commander Troy Johnson, rushed up and grabbed Simms by the collar. With the Commander’s bulldog face inches from his own, Simms quickly rethought his strategy.
“Do you know who you’re speaking to P.O. Simms? I’ll have you scaling fish in the brig for fifteen years for not showing the Admiral the respect he deserves!”
Simms swallowed audibly but returned the threat with glaring contempt.
“You cocky son-of-a-bitch!” Johnson screamed as he pulled back his fist.
“COMMANDER JOHNSON,” Baer yelled. “AT EASE!”
Johnson grudgingly released his grip and Simms straightened his uniform. The Vice Admiral pulled the officers aside and began whispering to them. Simms looked over at the Intrepid and the ocean beyond her bow. He wondered if he would ever be allowed out to sea again. After today it didn’t much matter to him anymore.