Silent Vengeance

Chapter 1

Primary Flight Control — Pri-Fly, the "Perch." The control tower for flight operations on the carrier. From here the Air Boss and Mini Air Boss were in charge of takeoffs, landings, controlling an area that stretched 2,500 feet in altitude and spread over a five-mile radius.

At 2200, the Preston went to“ darken ship”conditions. All lights inside turned red. Air Boss Unger spoke into the 5MC notifying flight deck personnel that pilots would be manning their aircraft. Launches would begin at 2400. The flight deck crew was reminded to suit up in protective gear: earplugs, cranial helmets with thickly padded ear protectors, and goggles. Everyone wore "float coats" (life jackets) with water-activated strobe lights and a whistle. Anyone not assigned to the flight deck was ordered to vacate the area.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Kent Helmon was on his way to Pri-Fly to report for mid watch (0000 — 0400). This morning he'd be acting as a forward spotter, watching planes launch from the flight deck. One of his responsibilities was charting in a log book every plane that was in the air.

He walked unsteadily into Pri-Fly, catching the attention of Senior Chief Ted Bristol, who immediately noticed something was very wrong. Helmon was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. The senior chief looked at him through narrowed eyes, then stepped in front of him, pressing a hand against his shoulder, bringing him to a stop.

Bristol found himself staring into bloodshot brown eyes, and a sweaty, pale face. "I sure as hell hope you're sober, Helmon!" No response.

Hearing the senior chief, Commander Stetson (CAG) and Air Boss Unger turned away from the window. Unger called out, "What's goin' on over there, Senior Chief?!"

"Petty Officer Helmon is having some kind of problem, sir!" With hands on his hips, Bristol leaned toward Helmon. "What's wrong with you?!" Again, no response. "Petty Officer! I asked you a damn question!"

"Don't … know, … Senior … Chief." Helmon began swaying, as he wiped a hand over his face.

Bristol grabbed hold of his arm, trying to steady him. "You don't have the goddamn flu, do you?" Other men in the room glanced quickly at Helmon, then immediately turned their attention to the flight deck. Night ops were about to get underway.

"I … I … " Helmon's body went into uncontrolled spasms. His eyes rolled back. Bristol caught him before he hit the deck.

Kneeling next to the unconscious sailor, Bristol ordered over his shoulder, "Contact sickbay! Now!"

Petty Officer 3d Class Dan Worster, OS (Operations Specialist), sat up then slid his legs over the side of the lower rack (bunk) after another sleepless night. His pillow was soaked with sweat again, and his heart rate seemed higher than normal, but he felt energized in a good way. In an hour he was due to report for mid watch in CIC, the tactical "nerve center" of the carrier.

He reached under the mattress, feeling for a small plastic bag. Sealed inside was a tin holding a fresh supply of "go" pills. He removed the tin from the bag, then glanced briefly overhead, hearing Al Fiske snoring in the rack above, with an occasional grunt escaping from Shane Munroe in the top rack.

Returning his attention to the tin, he opened it and made a quick count. He paid for twelve 6mm pills, and that's what he got. Twelve to a tin — no more, no less — keeping transactions swift, and at a steady pace. Somehow he'd have to make these last until the next shipment.

He removed one, thinking it would do the trick and slow down his heart rate once he was up and moving. His job was stressful and intense while the ship was underway, but one pill should see him through until his watch was over.

He stashed the bag under the mattress. Looking at the small "energizer" in his palm, he was tempted to just "pop" it, but crush and sniff had a more lasting, potent effect. He grabbed his "douche" kit, towel, and shower shoes from his locker, then he took off.

After a quick, military-type wash down in the "rain locker," he waited just long enough until a few other sailors left. Standing by a sink closest to a bulkhead, trying to give himself some privacy, he removed a plastic pill crusher from the kit. Seconds later he dumped the powder on the back of his hand, looked quickly over his shoulder, then sniffed the substance with two quick breaths. He was good to go.

Dressed and ready for duty, Worster started hurrying down the darkened passageway, twenty minutes ahead of his scheduled watch. But something wasn't right. His energy started waning rapidly, with his body beginning to feel cold, clammy. Just as he neared the ladder, he stumbled. He tried reaching for the rail, but he didn't have the strength or coordination. A second later, he collapsed, unconscious. By the time a corpsman arrived, Petty Officer Worster was dead.

By 0700, four sailors were in sickbay, unconscious, in critical condition. Eight others were dead.