The Intruders (35 page)

“Fifteen miles.”

The roll was left. Full right rudder, left engine up. The roll stopped
but the nose came down. Full back stick didn’t help. He ran the trim
nose-up as he pulled the right engine to idle.

The nose was coming up. Yes, coming, so he started the trim nose-down.
The wing was slowly rising, oh so slowly, rising …

They bottomed out at fifteen hundred but the plane began a very slow
roll to the right, the nose still climbing.

He reversed the engines and rudder, played with the trim.

Slowly, agonizingly, the wings responded to the pilot’s inputs. Now the
nose fell to the horizon and kept going down.

Full nose-up trim! He held the button and glanced at the trim indicator
on the bottom of the stick. Still nose-down!

Come on!

They bottomed out this time at one thousand feet and the entire cycle
began again.

“We won’t make it the next time,” Jake told Flap.

Let’s jump at the top, when the wings and nose are level.”

“You first and I’ll be right behind you.”

Nose coming down, right wing coming down, soaring up, up, to … to
twenty-three hundred feet.

“Now,” Jake shouted.

An explosion and Flap was gone. Jake automatic-ally centered the rudder
as he pulled the alternate firing handle.

Instantly a tremendous force hit him in the ass. The cockpit
disappeared. The acceleration lasted for only an instant, then he began
to fall.

THE PARACHUTE OPENED with A SHOCK. As JAKE GRAFroN turned slowly in the
shrouds the airplane caught his eye, diving toward the ocean like a
wounded gull. The nose rose and it skimmed the sea, then began to
climb. It soared skyward in a climbing turn, its right wing hanging
low, then the wing fell and the nose went through and it dove straight
into the sea. There was a large splash. When the spray cleared only a
swirl of foam marked the spot.

The pirates! Where were they?

He got his oxygen mask off and tossed it away, then craned his head. He
saw the other parachute, lower and intact with Flap swinging from it,
but he couldn’t see the pirate ship or its victim.

Oh, what a fool he’d been. To By right over a drifting ship vnth
another craft bed to it-and to never once think about the possibility of
pirates! These waters were infamous …

and the possibility never even crossed his mind. Son of a bitch!

The sea coming toward him brought him back to the business at hand.
There was enough of a swell that the height was easy to judge-and he
didn’t have much time. He reached down and pulled the handle on the
right side of his seat pan. It opened. The raft fell away and inflated
when it reached the end of its lanyard. He felt around for the toggles
to the C02 cartridges that would inflate his life vest. He found them
and pulled. The vest pulled up reassuringly.

Goodly Now to ditch this chute when I hit the water.

Amazingly, the thoughts shot through his mind without conscious effort.
This was the result of training. Every time the ship left port the
squadron held a safety training day, and part of that exercise involved
each flight crewman hanging from a harness in the ready room while
wearing full flight gear. Blindfolded, each man had to touch and
identify every piece of gear he wore, then run through the proper
procedure for ejections over land and sea. Consequently Jake didn’t
have to devote much thought to what he needed to do: the actions were
almost automatic.

The wind seemed to be blowing from the west. He was unsure of
directions. The way he wanted to go was toward that island-yes, that
was south-and the wind was drifting him east. Somehow he also knew this
without having to puzzle it out.

The raft touched the water. He felt for the Koch fittings near his
collar bones that attached his parachute harness to the shroud lines and
waited. Ready, here it comes, and He went under. Closing his mouth and
eyes automatically as the surge of cold seawater engulfed him, he
toggled the fittings as he bobbed toward the surface. He broke water
gasping for air.

The parachute was drifting away downwind. Now, where was that line
attached to the raft?

He fumbled for it and finally realized it was wrapped around his legs or
something. He began pulling toward the raft with his arms and finally
grabbed the line. In seconds he had the raft in front of him.

all he had to do was get in.

The first time he slipped off the raft and went under on his back.
Kicking and gasping, he managed to get upright and swing the raft so it
was in front of him again.

This time he tried to force the raft under him. And almost made it
before it squirted out and his head went under again The swells weren’t
helping. Just when he had the raft figured out, a swell broke over him
and he swallowed saltwater.

Finally, after three or four tries, he got into the raft. He gingerly
rolled so that he was on his back and lay there exhausted and gasping.

A minute or two passed before he realized he was still wearing his
helmet. He removed it and looked for a lanyard to tie it to. He might
need it again and everything not tied to him was going to be lost
overboard sooner or later. He used a piece of parachute shroud line
that he had tucked into his survival vest months ago.

Only then did he remember Flap and start sweeping the horizon for him.

The radio! He got out his survival radio, checked it, then turned it
on. “Flap, this is Jake.”

No answer.

Jake lay in his bobbing, corkscrewing, raft looking at clouds and
thinking about pirates and cursing himself. In a rather extraordinary
display of sheer stupidity he had managed to get himself and Flap Le
Beau shot out of the sky by a bunch of pirates. Yo ho ho and a bottle
of rum. After the war was over! Not just any Tom, Dick or Harry can
put an almost-new, squawk-free A-6E into the goddamn drink!

Is that talent or what? The guys at the 0 Clubs were going to be
shaking their heads over this one for a long long time.

Colonel Haldane was going to shit nails when he heard the happy news.

He looked at his watch. The damn thing was full of water.

It had stopped. Perfect!

And his ass was six inches deep in water. Occasionally more water
slopped in, but since the doughnut hole in which he sat was already
full, the overflow merely drained out.

Useless to try to bail it.

Luckily the water wasn’t too cold. Sort of lukewarm. The tropics. And
to think real people pay real money to swim in water like this.

He tried the radio again. This time he got an answer. “Yo, Jake. You
in your raft?”

“Yep. And you?”

“Nope. It’s like trying to fuck a greased pig.”

“You hurt?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

“Well, nice talking to you. Now I gotta get into this sonuvabitching
raft.”

“Pull the damn thing under you. Don’t try to climb into it. Pull it
under you.”

“Call you back after a while.”

A cigarette. He could sure use a cigarette. He made sure the radio was
firmly tied to his survival vest, then laid it in his lap. The
cigarettes and lighter were in his left sleeve pocket. He got them out.
The cigarettes were sodden. The lighter still worked though, after he
blew repeatedly on the flint wheel and dried it off somewhat. It was
one of those butane jobs. He extracted a wet cigarette, put it to his
lips and lit the lighter. The cigarette refused to burn.

He put the cigarette back into the pack and stowed the pack away. If he
ever managed to get ashore he could dry these things out and smoke them.

Wait! He had an unopened pack in his survival vest. Still wrapped in
cellophane, an unopened pack would be watertight.

He wanted a cigarette now more than anything else he could think of. He
got the left chest pocket of the vest open and felt around inside,
trying not to let the rest of the contents spill.

He found it. Thirty seconds later he had a cigarette lit and was
exhaling smoke. Aaah!

Bobbing up and down, puffing away, he decided he was thirsty. He had
two plastic baby bottles full of water in his survival vest. He got one
out and opened it, intending to drink only a little. He drained it in
two long gulps.

He almost tossed the empty away, ut thoug t tter o it and slipped it
back into the vest pocket.

Something on top of a swell to his left caught his eye, then it was
gone. He waited. Flap, sitting in his raft, visible T HE IN TRUD E R S

for a second or two before the out-of-sync swells lowered Jake or Flap.

He checked the radio. He had turned it off. He turned it on again and
immediately it squawked to life. “Jake, Flap.”

“Hey, I saw you.”

“I’ve seen you twice. How far apart do you think we are?”

“A hundred yards?”

“At least. We’ve got to do some thinking, Jake. We’re going to be out
here all night. The ship won’t be close enough to launch a chopper
until dawn.”

Jake looked longingly at the island, the one he and Flap had been trying
to reach when they ejected. He saw flashes of green occasionally, but
it was miles away. And the wind was blowing at a ninety-degree angle to
it.

“Let’s try to paddle toward each other. If we could get together, tie
our rafts together, we’d have a better chance.”

A better chance. The words sprang to his lips without conscious
thought, and now that he had said them he considered their import. A
night at sea in one of these pissy little rafts was risky at best. The
sea could get a lot rougher, a raft could spring a leak, the pirates
might come looking, sharks …

Sharkst A wave of pure terror washed over him.

“Okay,” Flap said. “You paddle my way and I’ll paddle toward you. I
don’t think we can make it before dark but we can try. I’m going to
turn my radio off now to save the battery.”

Jake inspected himself to see if he was injured, if he was bleeding.
Adrenaline was like a local anesthetic; he had been far too pumped to
feel small cuts and abrasions. If he were bleeding .. . well, sharks
can smell blood in the water for miles and miles.

He felt his face and neck. Tender place on his neck. He held out his
gloved right hand and stared at it: red stain.

Blood!

For the love of God!

Must be a shroud burn or Plexiglas cut.

He got up on his knees in the raft. This was an inherently position and
he took great pains to ensure he didn’t Crouching as low as he could, he
began paddling with his hands, making great sweeping motions. Then he
realized he didn’t know where Flap was, so he forced himself to stop and
look. There, just a glimpse, but enough. He turned the raft about
sixty degrees and resumed paddling.

It was hard work. Every thread Jake wore was of course soaked, so even
though the air was warm and humid, he stayed cool. Stroke for a while,
pause to look for Flap, stroke some more, the cycle went on and on.

Finally he became aware that the sun was down and the light was fading.
He got out his survival light, triggered the flash, and stuck it onto
the Velcro that was glued to a spot on the right rear of his helmet.
Then he put the helmet on.

Three minutes later he saw that Flap had done the same thing. They
were, at this point, maybe fifty yards apart.

Jake paused for a moment to rest.

What a mess! And if he had had a lick of sense, used an ounce of
caution, they wouldn’t be floating around out here in the middle of the
ocean, at the ends of the earth.

He cussed awhile, then went back to work.

It was completely dark when they got the rafts together.

Lengths of parachute shroud from their survival vests were quickly tied
so the two rafts lay side by side. They arranged themselves so that
Jake’s feet were adjacent to Flap’s head, and vice versa.

The two men lay inert in the rafts for minutes, resting.

Then Flap said, “This is a fine mess you got us into, Grafton.

A very fine how-do-you-do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Flap was silent for several seconds. “You really think this is your
fault? I’m sorry I said that. It ain’t. It’s the fault of that
asshole son of a bitch over there that smacked us with that twenty
mike-mike. Talk about a cheap shot! I’d like to cut his nuts off and
make him eat ‘em.”

“Think Black Eagle heard any of our transmissions?”

“I don’t know.”

“Boy, I hope so. I’d hate to think that that chicken-shit pirate
cocksucker might get a free shot at somebody else tomorrow.”

“Turn off that flashing light on your helmet. Makes my eyes hurt.”

Jake did so. He took off the helmet. Then he got out his second baby
bottle of drinking water and took a big slug.

He held it out for Flap. “Here.” Flap had to feel for it. The darkness
was total. There were some stars visible, but the moon wouldn’t be up
for some hours yet.

“Shit. This is water.”

“What did you expect? Jack Daniel’s?”

Flap drained the bottle and handed it back. Jake carefully screwed the
top back on and stowed it.

“Want to try mine?”

Jake felt in the darkness. Another baby bottle. He sipped it. Brandy.
The liquor burned all the way down. He passed it back. “Thanks.”

“So what’s for supper?”

“I got a candy bar in my vest someplace,” Jake told the Marine. “Stuck
it in here while we were in the Philippines, so it’s only three months
old.”

“I’ll wait. I got one from Singapore. Maybe for breakfast, huh?”

“Yeah. You hurt any?”

“Scratched up in a couple places. Nothing bad.”

“I did a little bleeding from a cut on my neck. Maybe the sharks will
come.”

Flap had nothing more to say, so Jake sat thinking about sharks. He
hated the whole idea. An unseen terror that stalked and ate you-it was
something from a horror movie, some poorly animated, low-budget
monstrosity designed to make kids scream at the Saturday afternoon
matinee.