The Passage (66 page)
Authors: David Poyer
“I'll check it out, sir, see if we can set it up,” said Dan. He asked Shrobo, “You want to go right away?”
“As soon as I can, yes. I've been away too long as it is. Also, I want very much to put some of my systems analysts on this bug. I want to try to figure out where it came from.”
“What's your guess? Some kind of amateur hacker?”
“That's what I thought at first. But now I'm not so sure. It has to be somebody who knows UYK-sevens. Somebody who knows Navy computer systems. Somebody who knows a hell of a lot and is very smart indeed.”
“Whom could that be?” Leighty asked him.
“When we figure it out, you'll be the first to know,” Hank told him. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some sleep.”
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SHUFFERT came up to relieve him at eleven. Dan wolfed lunch, then checked his spaces. Everything seemed normal, so he went down to the office and cleared up his in box. He bagged his laundry, then went down to the barber shop for a trim. On the way back, he passed the ship's store. It was open, so he went in and bought a new lifer light and batteries. Then he remembered Billy and bought a USS
Barrett
T-shirt, size small, a USS
Barrett
belt buckle, and a Camillus stainless-steel Navy pocketknife and put them in the mail to him. No telling when it would go out, but when it did, they'd be in it. At 1530, he pulled on his shorts and running shoes, went up to the hangar, and did some stretching exercises. He jogged around the flight deck for half an hour, the rough black nonskid canting slowly under his feet, the horizon rolling up slowly, then down again beyond the deck-edge nets. He did some push-ups and leg lifts, then walked for a while, cooling down and letting the sun bake his bare chest, bare shoulders. The only mar on his peace was when he
looked at the waves and reflected that he still didn't know what had happened to Graciela and the baby.
Barrett
T-shirt, size small, a USS
Barrett
belt buckle, and a Camillus stainless-steel Navy pocketknife and put them in the mail to him. No telling when it would go out, but when it did, they'd be in it. At 1530, he pulled on his shorts and running shoes, went up to the hangar, and did some stretching exercises. He jogged around the flight deck for half an hour, the rough black nonskid canting slowly under his feet, the horizon rolling up slowly, then down again beyond the deck-edge nets. He did some push-ups and leg lifts, then walked for a while, cooling down and letting the sun bake his bare chest, bare shoulders. The only mar on his peace was when he
looked at the waves and reflected that he still didn't know what had happened to Graciela and the baby.
When he went back to relieve Quintanilla, the ops officer was reading a message. One of the radiomen stood beside him, waiting to take it back. “So, what's the news?” Dan asked him.
Quintanilla handed him the board. “Press your eyeballs to this,” he said. Dan scanned down an update on Operation Tempest. The Bahamian Defence Forces, three boats and fifty men, backed by
Rhyl,
the British destroyer previously assigned to the refugee assistance operation, and
Gatineau,
a Canadian destroyer, were landing on Anguila, the next island up the chain from the Cay Sal group. Dan initialed it, muttered, “Good luck, guys,” and handed it back to the radioman.
Rhyl,
the British destroyer previously assigned to the refugee assistance operation, and
Gatineau,
a Canadian destroyer, were landing on Anguila, the next island up the chain from the Cay Sal group. Dan initialed it, muttered, “Good luck, guys,” and handed it back to the radioman.
All through his watch, update messages came in every hour. The combined Caribbean Commonwealth forces, as they were now being called in the messages, completed the landing, picked up ten refugees, then reembarked for their next stop, Elbow Cay. So far, there was no sign from the Cubans either of preparations for resistance or preparations to depart. It looked to him, from reading the messages and measuring distances, that the showdown would take place at dawn.
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THAT night, he came suddenly awake out of a sound sleep. He didn't know why, but he knew something had changed. He fumbled in the dark for the phone, dropped it clattering down the bulkhead. His roommate grunted. “Sorry,” he muttered, dialing CIC by feel.
Lauderdale answered. He said that yeah, formation course had changed; they were headed east now.
“Any change in the situation?”
“Yeah, that's why we turned. The Cubans are pulling out.”
“Is that right?”
“That's what the last report from the Commonwealth force says. They're postponing the morning landing on Elbow Cay to let them evacuate. They'll leave Cay Sal itself as soon as the Bahamians have a police presence there.”
“How about the Russians?”
“The Kirov battle group has turned south. Southeast, actually. Anyway, away from us.”
“Jesus. At the same time?”
“Yeah. Obviously coordinated.”
“Huh. So that's it?”
“I guess.”
He hung up and lay there, staring into the dark. Was this really how the whole crisis, the whole face-off was going to end? Just sort of evaporate, fizzle out? Everybody turn around, go home, live happily ever after? He couldn't quite believe it.
T
WO days later, Dan pulled his chair out from the wardroom table as Antonio flicked a breakfast chit in front of him. He yawned as he picked up the stub of pencil and stroked off pancakes, egg, sunny-side up. Someday he'd get a full night's sleep againâmaybe when they got back to Charleston. Check in at the Q, not leave a forwarding phone, then just turn the air conditioning up and the lights off ⦠.
WO days later, Dan pulled his chair out from the wardroom table as Antonio flicked a breakfast chit in front of him. He yawned as he picked up the stub of pencil and stroked off pancakes, egg, sunny-side up. Someday he'd get a full night's sleep againâmaybe when they got back to Charleston. Check in at the Q, not leave a forwarding phone, then just turn the air conditioning up and the lights off ⦠.
TF 142 had left Point PAPA on a course of 105, opening the range between the two forces to the east as the Kirov group opened it to the southâboth sides gradually retiring but keeping a close eye on each other.
Lexington
kept her reconnaissance and CAP aircraft in the air.
Barrett
stayed at Condition III with weapons systems in standby. But the atmosphere in CIC was noticeably less tense. The radarmen were already discussing the chances of pulling liberty in Key West.
Lexington
kept her reconnaissance and CAP aircraft in the air.
Barrett
stayed at Condition III with weapons systems in standby. But the atmosphere in CIC was noticeably less tense. The radarmen were already discussing the chances of pulling liberty in Key West.
For the last forty-eight hours,
Lexington
and her escorts had remained in the Straits of Florida, monitoring the situation and sending out an occasional fighter sweep to demonstrate presence. But the Cubans left Elbow Cay peacefully. The Bahamian police landed on Cay Sal itself the next day, and the invaders left there, too. Dan had watched their patrol boats creep across the screen, headed south, back toward the Cuban navy base at Mariel.
Lexington
and her escorts had remained in the Straits of Florida, monitoring the situation and sending out an occasional fighter sweep to demonstrate presence. But the Cubans left Elbow Cay peacefully. The Bahamian police landed on Cay Sal itself the next day, and the invaders left there, too. Dan had watched their patrol boats creep across the screen, headed south, back toward the Cuban navy base at Mariel.
That had been yesterday. Today, the task force, its mission fulfilled, was breaking up.
Dahlgren
had detached first, headed for a long stay in the yards.
Canisteo
had departed after a last alongside refueling of
Voge, Bronstein,
and
Barrett.
This morning, the remaining ships were simply waiting for the signal to disband and their orders as to where to proceed from there.
Dahlgren
had detached first, headed for a long stay in the yards.
Canisteo
had departed after a last alongside refueling of
Voge, Bronstein,
and
Barrett.
This morning, the remaining ships were simply waiting for the signal to disband and their orders as to where to proceed from there.
“See the news, Mr. Lenson?”
“The what?”
“The bird farm puts out a paper every day for their crew. Mr. Van Cleef figured how to get it sent over to us by radio. Ain't electronics wonderful?”
It was three stapled pages, a summary of stateside and international news, sports scores, the Dow Jones. Dan got coffee and read through it. The papers were applauding the successful resolution of the Cay Sal crisis. The
Los Angeles Times
called it a “showdown.” They said, “The US Navy and the Soviets went eyeball-to-eyeball a second time, and once again, the USSR blinked.” The
Chicago Tribune
said, “A scratch force of Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard, hastily assembled from training duties and reserve bases while front-line units were deployed to face Iran, held the line until Castro understood he could not expect acquiescence in this latest adventure.” He smiled wryly, reading the excerpts. They were heroes this week; next week they'd be villains, fools, and wastrels again ⦠. A volcano had exploded in Washington state, killing an eighty-three-year-old man who refused to evacuate ⦠. The rioting and looting in Miami was still going on. Whole blocks of the city were burning. The mayor had called in the National Guard and they were searching for weapons at roadblocks, but Liberty City was a free-fire zone. Snipers were shooting at anyone who moved, black or white. Chief Dawson had told him about Williams's and Shrobo's narrow escape the night the rioting began. Dan wondered whether they'd actually been safer out here at sea, facing the Russians, than if they'd stayed in Miami or North Charleston. He remembered warning his men to buddy up going ashore in a foreign port. Now stateside was the most dangerous liberty of all. He noticed there was nothing at all about the Cuban refugees. They were last week's news. Just as Task Force 142's vigil, the insanity of courting war over a couple of specks of useless sand, Larry Prince's meaningless deathâall would be forgotten in a week or two. Erased, as the wave marks on the sand were obliterated by the next tide.
Los Angeles Times
called it a “showdown.” They said, “The US Navy and the Soviets went eyeball-to-eyeball a second time, and once again, the USSR blinked.” The
Chicago Tribune
said, “A scratch force of Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard, hastily assembled from training duties and reserve bases while front-line units were deployed to face Iran, held the line until Castro understood he could not expect acquiescence in this latest adventure.” He smiled wryly, reading the excerpts. They were heroes this week; next week they'd be villains, fools, and wastrels again ⦠. A volcano had exploded in Washington state, killing an eighty-three-year-old man who refused to evacuate ⦠. The rioting and looting in Miami was still going on. Whole blocks of the city were burning. The mayor had called in the National Guard and they were searching for weapons at roadblocks, but Liberty City was a free-fire zone. Snipers were shooting at anyone who moved, black or white. Chief Dawson had told him about Williams's and Shrobo's narrow escape the night the rioting began. Dan wondered whether they'd actually been safer out here at sea, facing the Russians, than if they'd stayed in Miami or North Charleston. He remembered warning his men to buddy up going ashore in a foreign port. Now stateside was the most dangerous liberty of all. He noticed there was nothing at all about the Cuban refugees. They were last week's news. Just as Task Force 142's vigil, the insanity of courting war over a couple of specks of useless sand, Larry Prince's meaningless deathâall would be forgotten in a week or two. Erased, as the wave marks on the sand were obliterated by the next tide.
So what was the lesson? he asked his coffee. The yellow specks of creamer floated up, swirled in tiny whirlpools, dissolved. Perhaps it was an answer, but he couldn't decode it. What was he supposed to conclude from all this? Should he see his dad when they got back? Forgive the bastard before he died? Get serious about Beverly Strishauser? Leave the Navy and go back to school, get a degree in something useful, like civil engineering?
“Pancakes, sir.”
“Thanks.” He set his quandaries aside and dug in, tuning into the conversation around him, the officers enjoying a second cup of coffee and a few minutes of bullshit before quarters.
“No way,” said Dwight Giordano. The engineer looked, Dan thought, the least worn of them all; he'd stood normal watches
through the entire crisis. So that now his habitual harried look seemed relaxed next to those who had stood endless bridge and CIC watches. “They'll never send us back. Are you nuts? There're other ships scheduled now. Five bucks says they bless us and say, âGo and train no more.'”
through the entire crisis. So that now his habitual harried look seemed relaxed next to those who had stood endless bridge and CIC watches. “They'll never send us back. Are you nuts? There're other ships scheduled now. Five bucks says they bless us and say, âGo and train no more.'”
“I'm not taking any bets, but we've got to go back. You can't graduate without passing the battle problem,” Quintanilla insisted.
“Why not?”
“That's what they said from the start. It puts everything together, shows whether you can make the band play in tune.”
“They can't figure? Look at
Dahlgren,
those guys fucking saved their fucking ship.”
Dahlgren,
those guys fucking saved their fucking ship.”
“They already passed. We haven't. If we'd gotten hit and put out a fire, stopped flooding, treated casualties, maybe then we could ask for some kind of waiver.”
Obviously, they were talking about Gitmoâwhether, now that the boat lift and the Cay Sal crisis were over,
Barrett
would be required to finish refresher training. “What I heard,” he said, just to bait them, “is because our training was interrupted, we'll have to do it all over again from the beginning.”
Barrett
would be required to finish refresher training. “What I heard,” he said, just to bait them, “is because our training was interrupted, we'll have to do it all over again from the beginning.”
“Get out of here.”
“That's just crazy enough to be right.”
Kessler said, “This was more real than Gitmo. This was realworld operations. I say they'll waive it.”
“You just want to get home, Casey. That ain't your brain talking; it's fifty million backlogged sperms.”
“Shit yeah, I'm ready to go home. We've jumped through our grommets enough on this fucking cruise.”
Vysotsky cleared his throat from the door. They glanced at him, then went on to other topics, such as how the syrup was holding out.
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“NOW quarters, quarters for morning muster and inspection. Officers' call.”
The exec's grating voice rose above the murmur. “Okay, listen up. We have the word on where we're going.”
“Shut up, goddamn it,” somebody muttered in the back. The mass of khaki shuffled, quieted.
“Okay, listen up. We will out-chop from Task Force One forty-two on signal this morning. At that time, we will set course once more for Guantánamo Bay.”
The mutter rose again to something near anger. Vysotsky's shout cut through it like a load of gravel being dumped. “That's
enough
! Pipe down! We will not be at Gitmo long if everyone turns
to and remembers what they learned a week ago. We'll do one day's refresher work-up, then do the battle problem the next day. If we pass, we'll be headed back to Charleston by Friday.”
enough
! Pipe down! We will not be at Gitmo long if everyone turns
to and remembers what they learned a week ago. We'll do one day's refresher work-up, then do the battle problem the next day. If we pass, we'll be headed back to Charleston by Friday.”
A voice from the rear. “What about Guadeloupe?”
“We no longer have time to make liberty in Guadeloupe. We have predeployment inspections, maintenance assistance, and a multiship battle group work-up scheduled. Then we'll be deploying.” He waited. “Any other questions? The senior watch officer will be posting a five-section watch bill this morning. We'll transit the Windward Passage tonight and get into Gitmo tomorrow morning. All right. Today ⦠I know everyone's tired, but we've got to get the ship cleaned up. We've let things go for the past few days and we need to do basic titivation. Also, restore the ship to readiness for the battle problem. Check your fire-fighting gear for proper stowage. Planning board for training will meet at fourteen hundred ⦠.”
After the XO broke them, Dan walked a few paces away, into the shadow of the helo hangar. Not yet 0800 and already the sun was intense, glaring off the water at a low angle till it brought tears to his eyes. He waited as his division officers and chiefs gatheredâHarper and Dawson and Mainhardt; Kessler; Chief Fowler, nervously patting emptiness; Ed Horseheads, grinning at nothing; Chief Glasser; and Burdette Shuffert and his two chiefs, Alaska and Boyer.
“Okay, you heard it,” he said to them all. “We need to put it out to the troops, make sure they understand what's going on and why.”
“They aren't gonna like it.”
“Yeah, that's gonna take morale to about minus twenty.”
“Tell them we're almost home. Two days in Gitmo, then we'll be headed back.”
“Dan?”
“Yessir.” He turned; it was Vysotsky. “Sorry, I forgot to mention about Dr. Shrobo. Tell him we've got his transportation set up out of Gitmo. He's to have all his gear together, ready to hop off and ride over to Leeward Point as soon as we touch the pier in the morning.”
“Aye aye, sir. Okay, let's turn to.”
He went along with Horseheads to see how the enlisted took it. There was considerable griping, but that was acceptable. It had bothered him once, as an ensign. But now he knew bitching and moaning was more or less the normal situation. It was only when you got dead silence that you were in trouble with American enlisted men. That meant they no longer trusted you. Satisfied, he went down to the department office, greeted Cephas, and set to work on the ever-growing pile of administration and reports.
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ALONE in his cabin that afternoon, Thomas Leighty stripped plastic off a fresh khaki shirt. Hands moving with the deftness of long practice, he pinned silver oak leaves to the collar, an inch and a half in and centered on a line bisecting the angle of the points. Then, above the left pocket, the five rows of uniform ribbons, combat ribbons, unit commendations, achievement medals; and, in careful priority, the gaudy scarlet and yellow and gold decorations from a government that no longer existed. Above that, one-quarter inch spacing and centered, he attached the crossed swords of the surface warfare insignia. And above that, pinned centrally and another quarter-inch up, the small-boat command device that every time he pinned it on made him remember the growl of engines, the distant popping of AK-47s, and the omnipresent smells of delta and river.
Slowly buttoning it, he looked at himself soberly in the mirror. Regarding him was a face he had always thought of as expressive, handsome, almost aristocratic. The touch of gray at the temples only added to it now. And the pull-ups and exercise kept his body slim, well-muscled, honed beneath the uniform. He carried himself well, and just that conveyed an impression of self-confidence. What had the young man in Coconut Grove called itâVernon, that was his nameâsomething about him looking authoritative? He didn't recall now exactly what the word was he had used. But he understood. He understood how that could appeal to a younger person.
His eye moved to the clock. Four more minutes.
He extended his hand, noticing a faint tremor. Yes, he was excited. He was afraid, too.
He'd only slowly become aware of the glances that the young steward had been giving him. Only over weeks had he noticed him lingering after his work was done. Pedersen was only twenty, not long out of boot camp, and he had a refreshing shyness about him. Tall and lithe, dungarees tight where they should be tight and flaring above polished shoesâthat was what he'd noted first, just that he looked shipshape and seamanlike. But gradually, Leighty had noticed other things about him: something graceful about the way he moved; a little extra inclination in the head when he spoke to him; a glance that lingered the fraction of a second too long. Could he be mistaken? He didn't think so. It happened, but not often.
It was the same way it had started with the young technicianâSanderling. That, too, had started with small things, eye contact, a smile, the sense that he was being examined as he bent over a message board. Then it had moved on to a first-name basis, at least Leighty used the younger man's first name, and then to something
that he really should not have permitted. He knew that, but he couldn't say even now he was sorry. Only that he hadn't gotten close enough to the boy to understand how close he was to self-destruction.
that he really should not have permitted. He knew that, but he couldn't say even now he was sorry. Only that he hadn't gotten close enough to the boy to understand how close he was to self-destruction.
Now he stood waiting for the call.
It had happened casually. Not at his instigation. Last night, just as dusk was falling. He'd been in his chair on the bridge. They were alongside refueling, and he couldn't go below for dinner. Pedersen had brought him up a covered plate and stood beside him as he ate, Leighty glancing out occasionally to check on Lenson's conning as they approached the oiler, matched courses and speeds, and sent the first line arching over. And Pedersen had asked him casually what he'd done in Miami. He hadn't told him. But the memory of the park had risen up in his memory. And the boy, Pedersen, had said, “I had a good time, Captain. I met some other fellows. We had a good time,” looking at him as he said it.
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