Sea of Death

Ten

It took Stanley Roth the better part of twenty-four hours to make it to Alpha Base. As it turned out, the most trying part of this long trip was the relatively short drive up from Kadena. It took place in a driving rainstorm, and the narrow, winding road up Okinawa’s northern spine was particularly treacherous.

In his entire thirty-four-year naval career, the balding, potbellied master chief had never dreamed that a facility like the one he was currently entering had ever existed. The side of a mountain that opened up to reveal the top-secret military facilities within belonged in the world of fiction, not reality. Or so he thought, until the van that had conveyed him from Kadena drove into the dark tunnel and continued on deep into the mountain’s interior.

Stanley certainly wasn’t prepared for the scene that awaited him when they reached the mountain’s hollowed-out core. So astounded washe by it, he had his driver halt a moment at an overlook so he could take in the incredible scope of it all.

At the floor of the immense, brightly lit cavern that now lay before him was a channel of water, leading to a dual-sided pier. Floating on one side of this structure was what appeared to be a Sturgeon-class nuclear-powered attack sub, the majority of its sleek hull still underwater. And beside that, in dry dock, was the familiar profile of yet another submarine.

Because this vessel was out of the water, its hull was completely visible. Some fifty feet shorter than that of the warship beside it, this vessel left no doubt in Roth’s mind about its class.

“Holy Mother Mary,” muttered Stanley as the reality of it all began to sink in. He finally knew why he had been called these thousands of miles to the other side of the world.

His mind was awash in memories as they continued down to the pier, and when he left the van, he wasn’t all that surprised to spot three silver-haired figures emerging from the Sturgeon-class sub’s aft hatchway, followed by a younger officer in khakis. It was apparent that they hadn’t seen Stanley as yet, and the newcomer grinned in anticipation of the reunion that would all too soon betaking place.

He tried to act as nonchalant as possible ashe slung his seabag over his shoulder and made his way up the nuclear sub’s forward gangway. An alert seaman carrying a combat shotgun checked his name off a list of authorized personnel, and Stanley silently continued aft, toward the group of ex-shipmates he still hoped to take by surprise. Their backs were toward him, and he could actually hear part of their conversation.

“That was a hell of a fine tour. Commander Slaughter,” said the velvety voice of Vice Admiral Henry Walker, who’d been Stanley’s first XO thirty-five years ago aboard the USS Cubera.

“I’ll second that,” added Pete Frystak, the

Cubera’s ex-weapons officer and for many years Stanley’s closest friend.

“And I’m going to take you up on that raincheck for a ride in this little lady. Commander,” said a deep voice that could only belong to Bill Brown, the Cubera’s skipper and one of the finest men Stanley had ever served under.

Relishing this special moment, Stanley stepped forward as his ex-skipper continued.

“I wonder if your men realize what they’re about to get involved in. Commander. The difference between this ship and the Romeo is like day and night.”

“I’m sure it’s nothin’ they can’t handle. Skipper,” intervened Stanley Roth, who had already sized up the situation and now made the best of his surprise appearance.

“I guess we’re just going to have to teach them the basics all over again — reintroduce them to the world before computers. I sure hope they don’t mind getting their hands dirty.”

“Stanley!” exclaimed Pete Frystak ashe stepped forward to hug his old buddy.

“I guess we can all breathe easier. Master Chief Roth is — at long last — here,” commented Henry Walker with a wide smile.

“Now tell me, Roth, who spilled the beans to you about this mission?”

Before answering him, Stanley traded a warm handshake with Bill Brown.

“To tell you the truth, Admiral, it didn’t take an officer’s commission to figure out what the hell was goin’ on here the moment I laid my eyes on this incredible place.” Stanley winked.

“But it really became obvious when the three of you climbed out of that hatch. I take it that it’s nineteen fifty-eight played all over again?”

“You’ve just about got it right, Stanley,” returned Henry Walker, who was noticeably relieved.

“For a minute there, I thought that we might have had a slipup in security.”

Suddenly remembering their host. Walker looked toward the middle-aged officer in their midst and added.

“Commander Slaughter, I’d like you to meet Master Chief Stanley Roth. We’re going to be relying on Mr. Roth here to size up the conditions inside our Romeo’s engine room and then teach your men the ins and outs of running those Chinese diesels.”

“Ah, so she’s a Chink,” reflected Stanley ashe turned his glance back toward the dry dock.

“How soon do you plan to get her under way?”

The white-hot spark of a welder’s torch flew up from the Bokken’s still dented, V-shaped bow, as Henry Walker tentatively answered.

“How does a week sound to you?”

Stanley’s eyes opened wide in astonishment.

“A week you say? Just because you’re an Admiral doesn’t entitle you to ask for miracles. Henry.”

Walker’s tone softened.

“I’m not asking for a miracle, Stanley. Just do me a favor and look over that engine room real good. Whatever you need to get it back in shape, just ask for it and it’s yours. And to give you a hand, you’ve got a group of Commander Slaughter’s best and brightest at your service.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to share with me exactly where it is you’re in such a hurry to get to-and why it’s got to be on this particular Romeo,” questioned Roth.

“You’ll begetting a full briefing as soon as you’re settled in,” promised Henry Walker.

“Though I can tell you right now that the voyage we’ve got in mind should only last fourteen hours each way at the most.”

“That sounds a bit more reasonable,” replied the portly master chief, who looked at his ex-shipmates and added, “Did Henry talk you two old salts back onto the company payroll for this one?”

“Let’s just say that both Pete and myself have decided to volunteer our services as consultants,” said Bill Brown diplomatically.

“While you’re doing your thing in the engine room, we’ll be passing on our wisdom to the lads who will be operating the rest of the boat.”

“Who knows, perhaps if we behave, Henry might even allow us to go along for the ride,” offered a grinning Pete Frystak.

“Things must have gotten awfully dull at that resort of yours, Frystak,” teased Roth.

“Does Kathy know what you’re considering?”

The veteran weapons officer grimaced.

“You’ve got that three-week winter’s stay on Big Pine Key you’ve always wanted in exchange for keeping your trap shut, Stanley.”

“That’s a deal!” Roth sealed the agreement with a handshake.

“You know,” Stanley reflected.

“This might not be such bad duty after all. So before I go and get sentimental, I’d better have me a look at those diesels.”

“I’ll expect that preliminary report from you tonight at eighteen hundred hours,” instructed Henry Walker.

“Not only does he want miracles, he’s a slave driver as well,” playfully muttered the potbellied Master Chief ashe turned to make his way over to the drydocked Romeo.

“See you shortly, Stan,” said Pete Frystak, who remained alongside Henry Walker, Bill Brown, and Chris Slaughter at the aft hatchway.

“Stanley seems as fiesty as ever,” observed Brown.

“The years sure haven’t changed him much,” Frystak reflected.

“We’re lucky to have him aboard,” said Walker.

“If anyone can pick apart the Bok ken’s engine room and make it tick, it will be Stanley.”

“But can he pass along his knowledge to my men?” asked Slaughter.

“When we’re out at sea a week from now, they’re the ones who are going to have to do the majority of the work in that engine room.”

“Relax, Commander,” advised Henry Walker.

“Chief Roth’s last assignment was as senior instructor at the Basic Enlisted Submarine School in New London. The way I hear it, he got his boys so motivated they practically jumped all over themselves to volunteer for duty inside the wet trainer.”

“I always said, next to his technical knowledge, Stanley’s best quality was his ability to work with other people,” said Pete Frystak.

“He’s the ideal man for this job.”

“I’ve certainly got full confidence in him,” added Bill Brown.

“I remember those days on the Cubera. If Stanley couldn’t fix something, you could consider it permanently broken.”

The Hawkbill’s captain appeared distracted ashe looked at his watch and queried, “What’s the schedule for the rest of the afternoon?”

Walker momentarily eyed Brown before answering.

“After your men get settled aboard the Bokken,

I thought they’d take a general tour of the boat.

We’ll exclude the forward torpedo room, where most of the yard work is being done. Pete, would you mind organizing this tour?”

“Not at all, Henry,” replied Frystak.

“Afterward,” continued Walker.

“I’d like to breakdown the group into smaller segments and begin concentrating on specialized duties such as diving the boat, operating its sonar, radio, and weapons systems. Even though the distance from Alpha Base to Takara Island is only two hundred miles, I want every aspect of the Bokken mastered by sailing time, which remains one week from today.”

“My navigator. Lieutenant Laycob, is fluent in Japanese,” interrupted Chris Slaughter.

“He’ll be able to translate the technical gauges and console labels into English.”

Henry Walker seemed most pleased with this news.

“Excellent, Commander. Get him on it at once. The only way we’re going to succeed is by making this a team effort. So please, don’t be afraid to share your thoughts and ideas.”

This prompted an instant response from Bill Brown.

“I think we’re going to need a detailed work schedule to gauge the men’s daily progress. We should also have a department-by-department list of individual personnel, with a qualification test of some sort to be given before we sail.”

“Admiral, do you have any idea how long we’ll be at sea?” questioned Chris Slaughter.

“If all goes as planned, three days at most,” returned Walker.

“Then, with your permission, I’ll have my galley staff transfer over enough foodstuffs to last us at least ten days,” suggested the Hawkbill’s CO.

Walker nodded.

“That will be fine, Commander.”

“I’d sure like to see some charts of Takara Island and that bay we’ll be penetrating,” Pete Frystak said.

“We should have something stored below in Hawkbill’s chart bin,” Slaughter responded.

“Do you want to have a look?”

Before answering, Frystak instinctively looked to his ex-CO to get permission.

“Go ahead, Pete,” said Bill Brown.

“There’ll be a meeting with the refit people on the Bokken at fifteen-thirty.

Then I’d like to pull together all the department heads and formulate that training schedule.”

“Aye, aye. Skipper. I’ll bethere.” Frystak followed Chris Slaughter back down into the Hawkbill’s hatch.

This left Henry Walker and Bill Brown alone on deck. A moment of thoughtful silence passed as they both gazed out at the drydocked Romeoclass submarine.

“We’re certainly going to have our work cut out for us,” reflected Brown.

“That we will. Bill. But together we’ve faced some pretty dicey situations and met them head on.”

Walker established eye contact with his former commanding officer before continuing.

“I realize it’s asking an awful lot to want you to just put your life on hold and fly out here.”

“Nonsense, Henry. In away, it’s good to be needed, to have areal purpose again. Ever since Mary passed on, all I’ve had is time and plenty of it.

If it wasn’t for my sailboat, I don’t know what I’d do to keep my sanity. And the Arcturus will be wai ing for me back in Longboat when this thing’s completed.”

“Mary was certainly a great gal,” said Walker with a sigh.

“I’ll never forget that surprise luau she threw for your fortieth birthday. Brother, were we socking down the rum that night! And when you put on that grass skirt and began to hula, I thought I was going to bust my gut laughing.”

Bill Brown couldn’t help but grin at this memory.

Yet his happiness soon faded to melancholy.

“I miss Mary so damn much, sometimes I think I can’t get through another day without her,” he admitted, his voice filled with emotion.

“My god. Henry, we shared over two-thirds of our lives, though I spent most of that time at sea. I seemed to be perpetually leaving her on some dock with tears in her eyes. But not once did I hear a peep of complaint from her.”

“Mary had a special way with the wives of the crew,” Henry Walker recalled.

“When we were at sea, she always gave a helping hand to the families that needed one. Don’t forget, it was Mary who drove my Monica to the hospital when our first child was born. And I can’t count the number of times she was over at our house with that blessed tool kit of hers — whenever the plumbing backed up or the fridge gave up the ghost.”

“She did enjoy working with those tools.” Brown’s heavy mood was beginning to lighten.

“Do you know, once I even overheard her discussing the proper way to replace a frayed electrical cord with Stanley Roth, during a dependent’s cruise aboard the Cubera?”

Henry Walker smiled.

“She was one in a million, Bill. And you should thank the good Lord for allowing both of you the time you had together. But life moves on. And I’m sure Mary would want you to put her passing behind you. As you very well know, life is too short to waste in mourning what will never be again. Just be thankful for the memories you have, and in that way Mary will never really be that far away from any of us.”

A group of young sailors dressed in civvies and carrying seabags emerged onto the Hawkbill’s foredeck and began exiting the sub byway of the gangplank.

Bill Brown’s thoughts changed focus ashe noted that these individuals were headed straight for the dry dock.

“So there goes the first of them, Henry. I pray to God they can pull this thing off.”

“With you, Pete, and Stanley around, how can we fail?” joked the grinning Director of Naval Intelligence.

“We won’t let you down, Henry. Though I hope I can say as much for that toxicologist you introduced us to during the briefing. Assigning her to a SEAL team is like throwing her to the dogs.”

Walker’s handsome face broke out in a full grin, and he shook his head.

“From what I’ve seen of the good doctor, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Don’t let her frail frame fool you. Dr.

Miriam Kromer’s a tough one. And in this instance, I’m afraid it’s the men of SEAL Team Three who are going to have their hands full.”

A narrow, earthen footpath had led them up into the thickly forested slopes of the mountain whose hollowed-out core was the site of Alpha Base.

Miriam Kromer was glad to escape the stuffy confines of the cavern and join the SEALs in what was supposed to be “a mere stretching of the legs.”

From the moment they’d left the fenced-in security perimeter, the SEALs had set a blistering pace.

This hike was well into its second hour, and it took a total effort on the lexicologist’s part to keep up with her four muscular escorts, who had the added handicap of carrying fifty-pound backpacks.

Miriam had always prided herself on her excellent physical state. She swam, rode a bike, and jogged regularly. Twice a week, she even attended aerobics classes. Since she always enjoyed agood hike in the woods, she saw no reason why she couldn’t keep up with the SEALs, who’d remained cold and distant ever since Admiral Walker had introduced them to her. It was obvious that it had not been their idea to ask her to join them on this mission, and now they were trying to intimidate her by displaying their physical prowess. If at all possible, Miriam was not going to give them the satisfaction of breaking her.

Their present course took them alongside a dried-out creek bed, its banks lined with lofty pines. The wiry, wavy-haired SEAL nicknamed Cajun led the way, ashe had from the start. Second in line, some twenty yards behind, was the serious-faced giant known as Old Dog. Close on the Texan’s heels was Warlock. He was the brains of the outfit, and Miriam felt very comfortable with the MIT graduate around. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for the blondhaired Romeo who had been incessantly dogging her for the last quarter of an hour. She had met her fair share of guys like Traveler in the past.

Blessed with abundant good looks and motivated by overactive hormones, such men were determined to make every female they met fall in love with them.

Miriam certainly had no intention of falling for such a heartbreaker, yet no matter how hard she tried to increase her stride to escape his pesterings, the persistent commando was right at her side.

“Just yell, honey, if it’s too much for you,” advised Traveler as they crossed the creek bed and began climbing up a scrub-filled embankment.

“I’m fine,” replied Miriam between breaths.

“But I’m glad I usually run at least ten miles a week.”

“That’s great, hon,” returned Traveler with a self-satisfied smirk.

“But we do at least that much every morning, and that’s before breakfast!”

A series of steep switchbacks led them out of the valley and farther up into the forested slopes. The rain that had accompanied them for the first hour of the hike had dissipated, but the humidity remained, and with the temperature hovering in the mid-eighties, Miriam’s fatigues were soon drenched in sweat.

The steeply sloping gradient of the path did not let up, and she could feel the effects of this climb in her thighs and the backs of her legs. She was thirsty, hungry, and out of breath, but determined not to falter.

Trying her best to focus her concentration solely on her leaden stride, she looked up in astonishment as Traveler proceeded to sprint the rest of the way up the incline with apparent case. True to form, he was waiting for her at the top of the switchback, with a Cheshire-cat grin lighting up his sweat-free face.

“Not bad, hon,” he calmly observed, while scrutinizing her body with all the intensity of an anatomy student.

“Hey, are you married?”

Barely stopping to catch her breath, Miriam did her best to ignore this irrelevant query, and hurriedly continued up the next switchback. Traveler was not to be denied, and rushed back to her side.

“I take that as a no,” he said ashe matched her stride step for step.

“Then tell me, hon, are you at least shacked up with anyone?”

Again Miriam increased her pace to escape this pest. And once more the persistent SEAL caught up and addressed her.

“Well, another no. Would you like to be shacked up then? I’ll tell you, hon, a body like yours shouldn’t be wasted.”

This comment proved to bethe proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and Miriam halted and vented her anger while looking the commando right in the eye.

“Look, buster, I don’t know what your problem is, but could you please give me some space. And quit calling me honey!”

Warlock was sipping from his canteen when he overheard this outburst. He quickly sized up the situation, and backtracked to intervene.

“Come on, Trav. Give the lady a break!” he firmly warned.

“She’s a special V.I.P guest, not one of your barfly girl friends.”

Traveler calmly replied, “Keep your shirt on. Warlock.

I was just testing the waters a bit. There’s no harm in that I hope. You guys have no sense of humor.”

Shaking his head in mock disgust, he added, “See you later. Doc,” making a special effort to emphasize this last word.

Traveler continued on up the trail, leaving Warlock behind to defend his honor.

“Don’t mind Traveler. He’s really quite harmless.”

“That type usually is,” said Kromer, who had no trouble at all matching Warlock’s steady pace.

They reached the top of the switchback, and she gratefully found that this was the extent of their upward climb. The path leveled out now, and they followed it through a forest of stunted oaks.

“How are you doing, Doc?” asked Warlock, his tone showing true concern.

“Are we pushing you too hard?”

“I’ll survive,” said Kromer.

“Though I’ll certainly sleep well tonight.”

Several minutes of contemplative silence followed as they continued on through the oak grove.

Strange-sounding birds with deep fluid voices called from the twisted branches that gently swayed in response to a soft breeze.

“You know, I’m impressed that an outsider like yourself has volunteered to tag along with us,” Warlock said softly.

“But you know, I’m beginning to wonder if your presence is really that necessary.”

“Admiral Walker seems to think that it is,” snapped the toxicologist.

Warlock sensed her frustration, but pushed on regardless.

“I’m not about to go second-guessing an admiral. Doc. But couldn’t you just draw us a detailed picture of what that BW lab looks like. It would sure save a lot of wear and tear on your part.”

“I wish it were that simple,” replied Kromer.

“But from what I understand, the building complex you’ll be entering has a number of different industries based under one roof. I’ve worked at several different biological warfare labs, and know precisely what to look for. It could take you days to find the lab.”

Warlock’s response to this was simple.

“Not if we take down the whole damn place it won’t.”

The path led them past a massive wall of rock that had several large caves cut into it. Much of the rock face was chipped and blackened, and it was Warlock who explained the significance of this damage.

“See those tunnels. Doc. The Japs hid in them when our invasion force landed here to take the island back in nineteen forty-five. That blackened area — those are scorch marks caused by the flamethrowers that eventually burned those bastards out.”

“I understand there was quite a battle to take this island,” said Kromer.

“One hundred and twenty thousand soldiers never lived to return home,” Warlock declared bluntly.

As they passed the last of the caves, the footpath began to gradually slope downward. They rounded a sharp bend in the trail, and entered a wide, tree-lined valley. The air seemed cooler there, and the gusting wind carried the hypnotic, throbbing cries of forest creatures.

They had long ago lost sight of the rest of the team, but Warlock seemed content to amble on at a moderate, relaxing pace. This was fine with Miriam, whose feet were beginning to hurt from the new combat boots she was wearing.

The distant crash of cascading water first signaled the obstacle that soon blocked their route. It was in a clearing beside this rain-swollen stream that the other SEALs were waiting.

Old Dog had removed his pack and was propped up against a fallen tree trunk digging into an MRE.

Cajun and Traveler were also in the process of lightening their loads as the two stragglers arrived.

“I don’t suppose there’s a convenient bridge nearby?” Warlock’s gaze was fixed on the swiftly moving waters of the stream.

“If ya’ll don’t want to get wet, I could scout upstream, around that bend yonder,” offered Cajun.

“Do it,” instructed Warlock.

“But don’t waste anytime tracking possums. We’ve got at least another five miles to go, and I want to get back while the chow’s still hot.”

Cajun tied a brown bandana around his forehead, then silently disappeared into the surrounding woods. Miriam followed Warlock’s lead, and sat down against the tree trunk beside Old Dog. She was genuinely surprised when Traveler approached and humbly addressed her.

“I meant no disrespect back there. Doc. It’s just that we haven’t had leave in over a month. And you are quite an interesting and attractive lady.”

“Apology accepted,” replied Kromer sincerely.

Traveler seemed almost likable ashe continued.

“You know, I don’t ever remember bringing an outsider along on one of our ops. I sure hope it doesn’t get hairy.”

“It makes no sense to me,” said Old Dog, who talked while chewing on a mouthful of dehydrated peaches.

“No offense, ma’am, but they had no business assignin’ you to us like they did. We’re a fine-honed fightin’ team that cats together, sleeps together, and, when necessary, kills together. You’ll only end up getting’ in the way.”

The shrill blast of a whistle sounded in the near distance, and Warlock anxiously stood.

“Sounds like our resident coon hunter has found something. Mount ‘em up, ladies!”

They found Cajun a quarter of a mile upstream, beside a fallen tree trunk that conveniently crossed the raging waters.

“It ain’t the Lake Pontchartrain causeway, but it will get us across just the same,” said the bayou born point man.

Warlock seemed to be in a hurry ashe beckoned them forward.

“Let’s go for it, ladies.”

With the grace of a tightrope walker, Cajun crossed over, with Traveler following close behind.

As Miriam prepared to give it a try. Warlock expressed his concern.

“Can you handle it. Doc?”

The toxicologist flashed him a thumbs-up.

“No problem. Back in school, I used to compete in gymnastics, and after taking on a balance beam, this should be a snap.”

“As you most likely know, the trick is to concentrate on a point straight ahead and not to look down,” advised Warlock. He noted that Old Dog didn’t seem to be in any hurry to follow in his teammate’s footsteps.

“What’s the matter, big guy? You look a little pale.”

Old Dog responded, though his glance remained locked on the swiftly moving waters.

“It’s nothin’ but some bad peaches, Warlock. You guys go ahead, and I’ll bring up the rear.”

With Warlock’s assistance, Miriam climbed up onto the fallen-log bridge and began crossing over.

She was careful to walk in as straight aline as possible, with her arms extended for balance. Two-thirds of the way across, she encountered a slippery section of loose bark, and for a fraction of a second, she lost her balance. Fortunately, her forward momentum carried her past this obstacle and into the arms of Traveler.

Warlock crossed without incident, and this left only Old Dog on the opposite bank.

“Come on, big guy. Time’s a-wasting!” shouted Warlock, ashe joined the others on the sandy shoreline.

Old Dog waved and tentatively climbed up onto the fallen trunk. Miriam could tell that he was going to have problems the moment he took his first cautious step forward. His big body was too tense, and his huge combat boots were practically as wide as the walkable surface of the log.

Two times he lost his balance and almost fell into the roaring stream. But he managed to stay upright, and Miriam actually thought he might make it all the way across until he hit the slippery part of the log. This time his frantic efforts to remain standing were in vain, and he tumbled off the trunk to land headfirst in a relatively shallow portion of the stream only a few yards from where his shocked teammates stood.

Without a second’s hesitation, Miriam jumped off the bank to assist him. Oblivious to the icy current that incessantly pulled at her, numbing her legs, she fought her way over to the fallen commando, whose head remained under water. She needed all of her strength to turn him over, and was greeted by a fit of coughing as Old Dog snapped back into consciousness and attempted to clear his lungs of the water he had swallowed.

By this time, the other SEALs had arrived, and with their help, the big Texan was able to sit up and eventually to stand. The water barely covered his shins, and he appeared more embarrassed than anything else ashe looked his redheaded savior in the eye and voiced his gratitude.

“Thanks, Doc. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not so bad havin’ you around after all. I guess this means welcome to the team!”