Tempered Steel

Chapter 10

After two stops along the way, the Cessna business jet landed at San Francisco International Airport. As the engines shut down, a man came back, opened the cabin door, and let down a set of stairs. Hammond stepped out of the aircraft into the warm early evening. The sun was setting and he could smell the sea. It was like being reborn.

An old Cadillac pulled up beside the jet and a weathered looking Chief Warrant Officer stepped out. He was wearing summer whites that contrasted with his tanned and wrinkled face. He walked up and saluted the Captain. “Captain Hammond, I am Bos’n Patnaude. The XO asked if I could come pick you up, sir,” he said. Hammond extended his hand. It was met with a firm grip. The old man’s steely blue eyes never left him. It was almost as if he were sizing him up. “Let’s get your bags and head out,” the man said.

The suitcases and some boxes were piled into the trunk of the car. Instead of sitting in the back, Hammond crawled into the front seat beside the Bos’n or ‘Boats’ as rated Boatswain’s Mates are called. The car was started and moved rapidly out of the airport grounds and onto the freeway. They followed Interstate 80 across the bridge to Alameda and kept going northeast.

At first not much was said, and then Hammond broke the ice. “Okay, Boats, are you going to tell me the name of my ship or what?” he asked early in the ride.

Patnaude let out a crusty laugh. “You mean you really don’t know, sir?”

“Not a clue.”

He was still laughing a little. “Well, I’m sorry to say the XO told me I couldn’t tell you until you caught sight of her. It seems he got a call from none other than the White House to set some things up, so you can imagine we’re kinda impressed. When we get there, there’s a dinner going on in the wardroom with the Mayor and a few others to welcome you aboard. Everybody’s been anxious for you to get here,” he said as he drove.

Hammond let out a sigh. “Great. That’s just what I need.”

Patnaude glanced at his captain. They all heard of their new captain and what he had been doing, but now that he met him, Hammond seemed a pretty decent guy. No wonder the President liked him. Patnaude couldn’t let him linger. “Well, Captain, they didn’t say I couldn’t tell you what’s going on,” he said. Hammond twisted slightly to watch the old Bos’n.

“The ship is up in Vallejo, and the head of the shipyard up there talked to the mayor about refurbishing the ship on their own. So the city paid all the bills and got things going. They called in a bunch of veterans to help out. As a matter of fact, about half of the crew is veterans,” he said proudly. “When they called me back up, I jumped at it. Figured I’d never get this chance again. Anyway all us old hands have been drilling the younger guys on all the usual things — you know, planned maintenance, getting their personal qualifications up, how to actually run the older systems, and even some operations drills. We figure there won’t be much time for any kind of real training, so we’re improvising a little.”

“That sounds pretty good. What about damage control?”

“An everyday thing, Captain. We got a crash course at the firefighting school and have been training the guys in pretty much everything. I figure we can hold our own,” Patnaude said.

“What about the ship’s condition? Is she ready to rock and roll?” Hammond asked.

“We’ll find out. We get underway tomorrow evening for Seal Beach and the ammunition onload. The Weapons Officer has been drilling his crews like a demon with dummy rounds,” he said. “Needless to say all of the weapons types are really getting anxious to get some things going. We’ll be onloading the missiles and gun ammo.”

Hammond smiled. So it wasn’t a supply ship. Missiles and gun ammo meant a warship of some kind. Now he was happy.

Patnaude could see the change in the Captain’s demeanor. He plowed ahead. “The snipes are pretty anxious, too. They want to see the engines really move the ship. Then again, I guess we all do. I know my guys have been working on the main deck making sure everything’s ready. The windless is operational and the brake was relined. All the anchor chain was repainted and stowed. The accommodation ladder is rigged if we need it and all the fittings are greased and ready. It was a task, but not that bad,” he said.

Hammond listened carefully. The man rattled his way through a myriad of things necessary for getting a ship underway, but he stopped short of saying something that might give him clues to its identity or type. Hammond actually believed the old man was enjoying himself in his torture. Patnaude kept up a running conversation all the way.

Continuing on Interstate 80, the men eventually crossed Carquinez Bridge and entered Vallejo. Exiting on Tennessee Street, Patnaude steered the car across the Mare Island Causeway. They began making their way through a number of streets and buildings, passing several industrial plants and some residential neighborhoods that looked like old navy housing. After a few minutes they pulled past part of the river and went through a shipyard gate. They drove back into a large set of warehouses and workshops. It was hard to see much it was so dark. The few street lamps cast an orange glow on the buildings as they passed. Then they turned down a narrow road between two sets of warehouse buildings. In the clearing he saw the outline of a clipper-like bow. It rose majestically from the water to a bulb at the top. A huge anchor was seated in its hawser and just below it was an illuminated number. The number was 61.

Hammond gripped the arm rest of the car. This was definitely not a supply ship. It was a battleship. It was the kind of ship that every surface line officer dreamed of someday commanding. Before the advent of the aircraft carrier, this was the primary means of projecting power at sea. Although the aircraft carrier could strike harder and farther away with her aircraft, this ship could slug it out one-on-one with anything afloat. More importantly, it could fling its lethal cargo to support troops ashore. As they rounded the buildings he could see the two forward turrets with their three guns each pointing proudly into the night sky. Her tall towers swept upwards and were topped by a set of red aircraft warning lights. The ship was immense. She oozed strength.

Patnaude pulled the Cadillac beside the forward gangway. He came around and opened the door for Hammond to get out. As he did, the sound of four bells was heard and a voice announcing “Captain, United States Navy, arriving.”

Patnaude looked at his captain. He could see the emotion on his face, but knew that was as far as it would get. “Welcome home, Captain,” he said smiling. “I’ll take care of getting your things to your cabin.”

“Thanks, Boats. Thanks a lot.”

Hammond walked to the set of stairs on a platform and climbed to the top where the brow leading to the ship was placed. He then walked to the quarterdeck. A crowd of men in uniform had gathered. Just before him were two sets of men facing each other and another holding a Bos’n’s call. It was a formal reception. As he stepped over the edge of the ship, the Bos’n’s Mate began blowing the call and the men saluted. Hammond saluted and walked through the sideboys, dropping his salute when the pipe stopped. A tall man in a commander’s uniform stepped up extending his hand.

“Good evening, Captain. I’m Brian Davis, your XO.” CO and XO greeted each other for the first time and the XO continued down the line introducing the senior officers. The sideboys were dismissed and the XO got down to business. “Captain, I know you have been left a little in the dark about this, but we were asked to have a small dinner in the wardroom this evening to welcome you and to invite the Mayor of Vallejo and some of the other people who made this happen. If you’re ready, we can join them,” he said.

The Captain nodded and followed the XO through a door on the starboard side, down a corridor leading past officer staterooms and the XO’s cabin. They came to a door blocking further passage. You could hear the noise of many voices in the next compartment. The XO opened the door and stepped through, calling out, “Attention on deck!”

There was a shuffling of chairs as the people in the wardroom came to their feet and became silent. Captain Roger Hammond stepped into the room and was ushered to a place at the center of the head table. The room was arrayed with two long tables and one shorter one crossing the top of the others. The room was full. Nearly 80 people were there waiting for him. As he came to his seat he was introduced to Patricia Crowell, Mayor of Vallejo and Jack Latham, the local shipyard executive. Once the introductions were done, the Captain turned to the others.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for this welcome. I guess it is apparent to everyone that our President likes surprises.” Everyone let out a little chuckle. They all had been aware that some special arrangements had been made for the Captain’s arrival. “And this surprise is most definitely a pleasant one. So let’s take care of the business at hand first. XO please have it noted in the ship’s log that as of 2033 hours on this date, as per my orders, I am assuming command of this vessel,” he said smiling. “Please take your seats.”

Officers and guests applauded as they sat back down and some small talk began around the tables. The XO rose to place a call to the quarterdeck to provide the information and carry out one last part of his own instructions. After hanging up, he waited for a moment and the instrument rang again. He picked up the receiver, listened and said, “Yes, sir.” Then he turned to the Captain. “It’s for you,” he said holding out the receiver.

Captain Hammond excused himself a moment and went to the telephone. He placed the receiver to his ear and said, “Captain Hammond.”

“Did you like my surprise?” the President asked.

Hammond broke into a broad grin. “Mister President, you will have my vote and the vote of every family member for the next six generations,” he said. He could hear the President laughing on the other end.

“You more than deserve it, Roger. You personally helped get this country back on its feet. You helped me get a grip on things, and you didn’t fold on me when the crunches hit. I am personally grateful. Sorry I wasn’t here to see you off this morning.”

“That’s OK, sir. You are a busy man; besides, this more than makes up for that.”

“I guess, but I need to make up a little more. Your XO has arranged for me to say a little something to the crew, can you give him the high sign or something so we can do this?”

Hammond looked over at the XO. “He’s ready.”

Davis picked up another telephone and gave an order. A Bos’n’s call was heard on the 1MC, the ship’s general announcing system, and the President’s voice could be heard through both the phone and the announcing system.

“Officers and men of the Iowa, this is your President speaking. I am truly sorry that I cannot be with you tonight. Your new commanding officer, Captain Hammond, is a fine officer and in this case, a good friend. But I was not the one that selected him for this job, so you are not getting some kind of a political appointment. The CNO came to me with his name about a month ago. Quite frankly we could think of no one else so qualified for the job.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, our nation is at war with an enemy that is cold and ruthless in its methods. They mean to deprive us of our liberties and subjugate us to their will. This cannot happen. Your ship will help lead the way. As I mentioned in a speech there recently, everyone here has been astonished at the patriotism and drive the people of Vallejo have displayed to bring their ship online. On behalf of a grateful nation, I accept this gift. Although I would normally be there to do this personally, with the urgent situation at hand, I cannot do so. Instead I will simply ask the Captain and each of you to witness this.”

“Captain Hammond, as President of the United States, I hereby place the battleship Iowa in commission. God bless and God speed.”

A cheer rang up from throughout the giant ship as 1,500 voices rose as one to welcome the old ship back into the Navy she had served so well over the decades. The President could hear the shouts and cheers as the celebration began. “Captain, she’s all yours. Give me a call when you can,” he said.

“Thank you, Mister President. Thank you for everything,” he said. The line went dead.

Hammond rejoined the others and the meal was served. He actually enjoyed the camaraderie being displayed. It was something he had not experienced in many of the other ships he had been on. During the meal he spent much of his time talking to Mayor Crowell. She was middle aged and a widow. Her late husband had been killed in an industrial accident five years before. Mayor Crowell had devoted herself to politics and her community. Hammond liked her sense of humor and could tell she had a keen intellect. At least she didn’t just sit there and wait to be pampered.

Latham was another likable guy. Much like Hammond, he was all about ships and the people who work on them. The Iowa had been his brainchild and his pet project. He was the kind of a guy you met to have a beer with; friendly, honest, and someone you could count on. Hammond could see how they had worked together to bring a ship like this back.

As the dessert was being brought out, Hammond rapped lightly against his glass to get some attention. He stood up before his officers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this has been a rather momentous evening,” he said with a grin. “I understand we are getting underway tomorrow to complete our systems and onload ammunition. I can tell you that this will be a hurried evolution. They need us out there. Right now the North Koreans have taken over half of South Korean soil and we are in danger of losing the peninsula. Although I had been left in the dark about this ship specifically, I do know we will be a part of a major surprise to our enemies. This ship is going to war, and we are taking the war to our enemies. We will continue the XO’s training efforts and I will add a few of my own. Within the next thirty days we will be going in harm’s way, and if it is left to me, this ship will lead the way.” There were some shouts and some applause. He continued, “Listening to the Bos’n all the way here, I get the feeling this is just about the best crew in existence.” There was laughter this time and he saw Patnaude sit back grinning. “Well, we’ll see. What I do know is I work hard and when the job’s done I play. We may even have some lighter times along the way. But the main thing is that we all do our jobs to the best of our abilities. If there is a problem, let’s talk about it and fix it. If there is a rough spot, polish it down. If someone can’t cut it, let’s get someone who can. We don’t have time to waste on slackness. We have a job to do.”

“Gentlemen, USS Iowa is going to war. So while we have the chance, I propose one toast,” he said picking up his tea glass. “To USS Iowa, fear God and Dreadnought.”

After the dinner Hammond was shown to his cabin and the XO bid the captain good night. Hammond looked around the cabin. It was more like a suite. A long dining table was fixed to one side and a sitting area was on the other. A desk sat in one corner. The bulkheads were covered in some sort of wood grained plastic making the room much warmer than the usual steel and paint. He turned the corner by the desk and entered a small bedroom. To his surprise, his belongings had been put away. Even his toothbrush had been placed in a receptacle in his bathroom. As he walked into the bathroom, or head as the Navy called it, he turned to see the tub. No other ship had a tub like it. It had been installed for President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1943 when he took this very ship to Casablanca for a conference. Hammond even turned the faucet to see the water run.

Returning to his bedroom he quickly disrobed and crawled into bed. With a 5:30 wake up call, he would need his sleep. As he lay on the bed he thought about the history wrapped in the one ship he now commanded. It had been serving the last time the North Koreans had become aggressive. It was interesting that each time the nation had run into problems, these ships had been there. Now she was back again. Strange, but it was almost like he could feel something in the ship; something that made him feel welcome. It really was almost like the ship was alive. Hammond decided to wrap himself in that feeling and quickly fell asleep.

Under the cover of darkness the ships steamed south. The canal would be cleared for their passage in two nights. They would transit under the cover of darkness and time it so that no one would see them go in or out. By the time morning came, the ships would be well out to sea. As they transited, more ships joined them. They had started in Boston, picked up four in New York, two in Philadelphia, more were joining off Norfolk. A few more would join up off Mayport and the tip of Florida. In all, the group would be comprised of forty-seven ships.

Tim Reardon watched with a bit of sadness as the last ship departed the pier and moved toward open sea. He was still busy as hell with additional ships, but these had been the heart of the effort. As his men and women had taken to the task, they added additional hours of their own just to see that the job had been done right.

Rust had been the biggest enemy. They found it in nearly every nook and cranny. It had been no one’s fault. Over the years, the paint covered bad spots and had been recovered many times. When they broke through it was like decay in a tooth — it had to be ground out and repaired. In some cases, they had to shore up the area with more steel. But now the old ships were as good as new. He was still a little upset that they had not been able to fully air condition the North Carolina, but the crew quickly got used to the heat. More fans were installed and the berthing areas were pleasant if not totally cool. Air conditioning had been provided in some spaces including the galley and mess decks, wardroom, and electronic spaces. It might not cover the whole ship, but at least they had something.

He watched the silhouette of the ship as she cruised through the channel towards the open sea. Not a sound was heard as she moved and no lights were visible. Reardon’s people had taken the time that day to break a second bottle of champagne on her bow. It had last seen service in World War II. They figured she needed a little refreshment.

What made Reardon happy was the captain. Captain Christopher Hustvedt came aboard with a determined approach that had people jumping. Yet on a personal side, he was a thoughtful, friendly person who understood problems and took the steps to fix them without casting blame. He took the time to explain why a job was important and needed to be done. As a result, people did things just because he asked. On the few occasions did he give an order, he expected 100 percent in everything — even in his own job. Mostly he managed like a good CEO and delegated responsibilities to people who could get the job done. His effect was like magic. People started going out of their way to make sure things were perfect.

But that was not all. Hustvedt’s distant relative had been the first commanding officer of this very ship. Upon his arrival it became a “family thing” to the crew and the shipyard. Every day, he went compartment by compartment talking to the men and giving an encouraging word. There had been a Captain’s Mast only three times. One time, a young sailor just in the service had mouthed off to a superior. In another, the sailor had gone AWOL on a drunken rampage. In those cases, the punishment was swift and severe. The third had been an honest error. The young man misunderstood his duties and damaged equipment. In that case, the Captain stressed to the sailor the importance of making sure he understood the orders given him and told to return to his duties. Then he talked to the officer and Chief Petty Officer who had given the order; not blaming them, but stressing the importance of making sure people were properly trained for a specific duty. It ended up setting the standard for the entire crew.

Captain Hustvedt also made sure to befriend Reardon and his staff. They learned to count on him and he knew he could call on them if there was a problem. It was a magnificent working relationship. The result was steaming out of Hampton Roads. Reardon smiled at himself. Whenever Hustvedt left the service, he would have a job at Newport News.

Reardon watched until the ship was no longer visible, then turned and caught the bus back to his home. He had determined he would not drive again until this was all over. Besides, the bus gave him the chance to relax after a hard day. As it rolled along the darkened streets he thought about the men on the ship, and how fortunate they really were.

“Your efforts have not been consistent with our approved plan, Comrade Minister,” the Chairman said sternly. “According to your plan we should have been on the outskirts of Pusan by now. As it is, we are seventy miles away. What excuse do you have, Comrade?” Chairman Kim was obviously angry.

Lu Chen was sweating. Yes, it had been his plan. Yes, they had seemingly accounted for every detail. But they were failing to move as rapidly as they could and the casualty rate was astronomical. He cleared his throat. “Much of the delay has been the determination of the people we fight, Comrade Chairman. Their determination has been almost heroic; however, I believe they fight because they wish to delay the inevitable as long as possible. They are counting on the United States and other nations to come to their rescue. However, I point out that, except for some limited re-supply, there has been no shifting of forces within the United States to counter our actions. They, Japan, and neighboring states are still caught by our offensive preemptory strike. According to our intelligence, no ships are gathering, no planes are being deployed, and no troops are being sent. In short, Comrade Chairman, they are waiting for something that can never come.”

Chairman Kim listened to his Defense Minister. He considered the Americans and their allies politically weak. The intelligence services reported nothing from any nation surrounding them. He also remembered an old Soviet missive that a determined defense was a difficult thing to confront. After all, the Soviets had used the scorched earth policy against the Germans in the Great Patriotic War to amazing effect. They too had been waiting for help from the other allied nations. It had worked well for them, but delays were costly to the Party. Action must be taken now to assure the People’s victory. “What steps are being taken, Comrade? We must achieve a victory soon before the imperialists can mount any type of offensive.”

The Chairman’s wrath had been calmed a bit. Lu Chen picked up on this and continued. “Comrade Chairman, we cannot say that there have been some errors. I have charged two of our senior officers with cowardice in the face of the enemy. One we suspect of using Army resources to build himself a new home. These men have been punished extremely and their families removed from their government quarters and jailed,” he said. Both men knew what the extreme punishment would be; usually ending with a small hole in the back of the head. Their families would be placed in work camps.

Lu Chen knew the Chairman thought highly of catching people who failed and using them as an object lesson. He was rewarded by a smile. Lu continued. “After reorganizing our supply system, our trucks are now able to adequately supply our advancing army. Each day we gain more ground. At this rate, we should completely dominate the peninsula within six weeks. Even Seoul will fall by that time. My military advisors assure me of this,” he said.

It was the same old thing, Kim thought. Always optimistic. But the Army had been successful in their march through South Korea. There was not one defeat as yet. They had merely been slowed down. But he must make sure they knew he was in charge. “Comrade Minister,” he said. “The Party demands success according to schedule. We obviously understand some delays, but they are getting too frequent and too costly. You are to make the outskirts of Pusan in no less than five weeks. If not, the Party must look to other leadership,” he said as he turned and stormed off.

Lu Chen watched him leave with some trepidation. Kim was all powerful in his country, but his family had a reputation of being ruthless and demanding. Many a man lost his head, literally, when they were displeased. He knew this was his last chance. He gathered the papers and left the room, summoning his military advisors to accompany him.

They arrived in his personal offices the next floor down in the building. No one spoke until he did and that was when the door was closed. “I want this campaign concluded as soon as possible. How can we do it?”

The senior general stepped forward. “The fighting has drained our ranks comrade. We still have the largest force in the area, but the kind of lightning action the Chairman desires would require doubling our attacking force. To do that, we will have to draw down our forces here in the North and around Seoul. Since there is no way the Americans can adequately resupply Seoul, that could be accomplished easily. It is much easier to hold ground than to take it,” he said, forgetting the Americans had been very effective at holding ground up to now with a much smaller force.

“That means drawing down our reserves,” another officer said.

“True, but there is no offensive inside North Korea. Our provincial police will have to keep order.”

“Our submarines have orders to sink all their shipping and the air force to attack supply aircraft. That should keep the resistance to a minimum,” the naval officer said.

“Have we heard from our submarines?” the Minister asked.

“Not as yet. They are under radio silence but should be returning to port within a few days,” the naval officer said. He purposefully did not mention that one submarine was already overdue. Nor did he mention no shipping had been coming into port over the last week. Most of their supplies came from the People’s Republic of China, so the lack of shipping had little effect on what they were doing.

“What about air dropped supplies?”

“Our planes are shooting down any supply aircraft or large transports coming into or out of any major city. Nothing should be getting through,” said the air force officer. Once again, he neglected to tell his minister that they were only in the air during the day. The night sky had a few patrols, but none had any really reliable systems. He knew some supplies were getting through, but it couldn’t be much.

The Minister thought a moment. “Comrade General, call in more troops to launch a main assault. I want this fighting over before the Chairman’s deadline.”

The men saluted and left the room. A massive movement of men and equipment began within the next 24 hours.

Kee Yuan Ho was dog tired. Kee had been contacted, but had no idea when the next contact would be. The first told him to return to the terminal for another assignment. Once there, he was assigned to drive to the People’s Republic for a load of machine parts for the war effort. A party official came along. When they reached their destination for onloading the parts, Kee was told it would not be ready until the next day. The party official simply shrugged his shoulders and left for one of the better hotels in the area. Although Kee would have been allowed to do the same, he did what he always did — pulled out a bedroll and slept on the back of his truck. This simple gesture earned him some respect within the party since it spared the party some expense and demonstrated his reliability. Kee offered a spare roll to the party official, but it was politely declined. Obviously he didn’t need to prove anything. The one other thing it did was give Kee the chance to be alone for a while.

Kee unrolled the mat and sleeping bag. He strung a wire from the top of the trailer to the end and draped a tarp over it for some protection from the elements. With all the electric lights around the compound, his flashlight was not needed. He was able to set his little shelter up and rest comfortably. As he lay on his mat, he looked out to see the men busily working around the area. Even here the people seemed happier and more industrious than in his country. Some of the men joked and roughhoused around. Some even sat and enjoyed a meal together. In his country such things were discouraged. People were there to work for the state and not much else.

After a few minutes he realized he was hungry. The terminal had a small kiosk where workers were fed. He dropped off the flatbed and made his way to it. The cook behind the counter recognized him from previous visits. He seemed excited to see him.

“Good to see you back again. You hungry?” he asked.

Kee nodded. “It’s been a long drive.”

The cook rolled his eyes. “Aren’t they all. We have a good fish stew tonight. I give you extra portion,” he said with a smile. He produced a large bowl of steaming rice covered with a fish broth. It smelled heavenly. Kee thanked the man and took a seat at a small table in the corner. The hot bowl warmed his hands. He took his chopsticks and quickly devoured the contents of the bowl. Then he tipped the bowl to his lips to drink the broth. Even the food here is better, he thought.

As he set down the bowl the cook came from behind the counter and walked over. He had something in his hand. “I have never seen anyone eat as fast as you. You must have been very hungry,” he said.

“It was wonderful,” Kee said. “I live alone and haven’t had cooking like yours in a long time.”

The cook beamed. “I learned from my father. I enjoy making people’s day more pleasant, so I cook special. Here, I have something for you,” he said handing over a small chocolate covered cake. He kept his back to the other men as he handed it over. “I had one more and held it for you. A little extra for the drive from Korea,” he said.

“Kee looked at the cake. It was very rare that he could have chocolate and it meant a lot to receive such a gift. “That is very kind of you.”

The old cook waved him back. “No, I have seen you come here for several years. You work hard. Much harder than some of these,” he said pointing around. “I am closing up for the night, so you take it. Tomorrow I bring more for you and your rider,” he said.

Kee thanked him again. The old man took the empty bowl and went back to his kiosk. After a few minutes cleaning up and putting things away, he pulled down the front flap of the small shack and locked the door. He gave one last wave as he walked toward the front of the terminal and home.

Kee got up and walked back to his little canvas shelter. There he took off his shoes and clothes and slid into the bag. He had bought the bag in China as well and it was down filled, making it snug and warm on cold nights. Sitting with his back against the windscreen of the flatbed, he ate the chocolate cake and savored the rich flavor. He ate it slowly so he could keep the taste in his mouth a long time. Then he licked the excess chocolate off his fingers and washed it down with water from his canteen. It had been a nice ending for the day.

Kee sat a while, looking out along the terminal floor and the other trucks. But soon his eyes grew heavy and he eased down on the mat to fall into one of the deepest sleeps he had ever experienced. He was awakened when he felt a prodding in his ribs. He opened his eyes to find one of the terminal managers trying to get his attention. “We’re ready to load you now,” he said.

Kee quickly dressed and packed up his mat and canvas. In a few minutes an old wheezing forklift started placing pallets of heavy equipment on his truck. As they did, Kee and another man began securing each pallet with chains and straps. It took only 30 minutes to get the flatbed filled to capacity and beyond. The party official showed up with 5 minutes to spare. It was obvious he was not planning on giving any assistance. Instead, he spent his time talking to the Chinese political officer for the terminal. As soon as all was tied down securely, Kee climbed in his truck and tried to start the engine. Despite his best efforts, the engine failed to turn over.

Kee stepped out of his truck and unhooked the locks for the cab. The entire cab tilted forward and he worked his way over the engine step by step, making sure the wires were tight and nothing was cracked or loose. By now the foreman was beside the truck.

“I need this space open,” he said angrily. “You need to move this thing.”

Kee looked up at him. “Give me a few minutes, it doesn’t want to start,” he shouted back.

After going over it a second time, he closed the cab and tried to start it again. The engine cranked but failed to run. Now several men were beside him giving advice on what to look for and how to fix it. The party official came out and added his two cents worth, then told Kee he was a fool and headed back to the office.

Kee could feel the pressure to get things moving now. After another series of failed attempts, the terminal manager had another truck pull in front of Kee’s and hook on a chain. The truck was pulled to a small maintenance facility at the far end of the yard. Kee was truly frightened now. Truck repairs were often taken out of a man’s pay and were notoriously expensive. A mechanic came out of the facility and greeted Kee. He was wearing a set of dingy, stained overhauls and was covered up to his elbows with grease and grime. He was wiping his hands on a rag that would probably leave more grease than it took off.

“What is the problem?” he asked.

“It was running when I pulled it in and it won’t start now,” Kee said.

The mechanic nodded and helped him tilt the cab again. Then he crawled up on the edge and began leaning over the engine. After a moment, he called Kee over. Kee jumped up on the edge with the man and looked where he was pointing.

“You seem to have paid attention to our signal, my friend,” the mechanic said in a low voice.

Kee almost jumped off the truck in surprise. Although he knew there was to be a contact, he never expected it here, in the open, with his political officer watching.

“Do not be afraid, Comrade. My government is watching out for your best interests. We simply would like some information that you may be able to obtain for us,” he said calmly while appearing to work on the engine.

Kee nodded briefly and handed the man a wrench from the tool kit. At least he could appear to be helpful. “What information would you like?” he asked.

The mechanic leaned back and grabbed another wrench. “We would like to know the locations of the tunnels leading from your nation across the demilitarized zone,” the man said.

Kee blinked at that one. “That is no problem,” he said. “I have already traveled through all of them. Have you a map we could look at?”

The mechanic sat up and stared at the man. It was that easy? Surely these were state secrets.

Kee saw the puzzled look on the man’s face. He couldn’t understand why he would not understand. He had said it plain enough. He repeated himself. “I have delivered military supplies through each of the five tunnels going under the former zone. I can show you right now,” he said.

The mechanic nodded his head. “Wait here,” he said as he got off the truck and went back into the building. Two minutes later he came out carrying a box with a part in it. He jumped back on the truck and joined Kee. Taking the part out, he placed it beside the engine and unwrapped it. The wrapping was a map with every known road in North and South Korea. As the men leaned over the engine again, Kee took out a pencil and marked where five roads were detoured and came out on the other side of the Zone. He also indicated where they linked up to roads in the South. Then he started making other notations. He talked as he wrote.

“These two tunnels are only one way. Although I could get this truck through them, there was only three feet of clearance on either side of the road. I do not like them. This one is made for very heavy equipment like the tank carriers. It is very wide and lighted inside with thick concrete walls and top. There are also security posts along the way. I heard one of the other drivers say they could pull our fighter planes inside.” Then he pointed to the last two. “These are for general trucks. They are two way, but not as wide as they should be. There are no guards there,” he said.

“How deep do these tunnels go?”

“I am not sure, but they go down at an angle for more than a mile before leveling out. Then they climb for more than a mile. I know my ears pop several times before getting to the bottom or coming to the top. They also tell us to drive through swiftly. The air in the bottom will make you pass out if you stay too long,” Kee said.

Seeing that Kee was finished, the mechanic nodded and folded the map back, placing it in the box again like a piece of waste paper. He grabbed the part and replaced the old one on the truck. He also took out a small wire and replaced one already on the engine. “It should run fine now,” he said.

As they stood up the Political Officer came running up. “I see how you treat state property. If you had taken better care of your equipment, this would not have happened!” he shouted.

The mechanic held up his hand. “Comrade, it is not this man’s fault. The Soviet factory that made this part has produced faulty ones for years. It is a wonder it lasted this long. As a matter of fact, we have never seen one last as many miles as this one has. It is a tribute to this man’s skill that this truck is still on the road. I have examined the engine and except for this, it is perfect. We of the People’s Republic assume some of the blame for this part. After all, we helped our Comrades in the Democratic People’s Republic get these trucks. We have a stockpile of new parts to take care of such matters. It is provided at no cost. I will make a formal report to the state committee on the ongoing problem so that it is on the record. I hope this has not delayed you too long.”

The Political Officer seemed to be placated. Since it was not the driver’s fault, there would be no blame at the delay. He thanked the man and asked where the bathroom facilities were. After some directions, he took off again.

Kee turned to the mechanic. “Thank you for your help. It could have been bad for me.”

The mechanic smiled. “I said before we were looking out for your best interests. It is also in our best interests for you to continue in your job. We will be contacting you again,” he said. Then he grabbed the tool box and his “trash” and went back into the building. Within five minutes, Kee, his passenger, and his cargo were on the way back to North Korea.

“Single up all lines,” came the order over the sound-powered phones. On deck, the men scurried to the lines to let all but one loose from the ship in preparation for getting underway. On the pier men stood by each bollard letting go each set of lines and allowing the men onboard to pull them in. Captain Hammond and the XO stood on the bridge wing watching the evolution. The last brow was lifted by a crane and set on the dock.

The pilot, an older man named Jamison, looked over at the Captain. “Ready when you are, Captain,” he said.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Hammond said. “The ship is yours, sir.”

Jamison winked and ordered all lines in. As the last line was lifted from a bollard on the pier, the ship’s Boatswain’s Mate keyed the 1MC, blew his whistle, and said, “Underway, shift colors.” With those words the American flag rose on the main truck of the mast along with the ship’s commissioning pennant. It was the first time the flag had flown there in over 25 years. The Bos’n’s mate reached up and pulled a handle on the bridge and the ship’s whistle let out a long boisterous blast.

Using a newly arrived set of radios, the pilot called the tugs to start pulling. Six big harbor tugs began straining at their cables, pulling the massive ship away from the pier. It was a slow process. 58,000 tons does not move quickly. After ten minutes the ship was in the middle of the channel and the pilot had the forward tugs continue pulling while the after tugs began pushing the stern around. The Iowa slowly began turning around in the channel for her trip to the sea.

Once the bow was pointed generally in the proper direction, Jamison turned to the two men inside a large protective steel cylinder on the bridge. “All engines ahead one third. Helmsman steady on 150.”

“All engines answer ahead one third, coming to course 150, aye sir,” replied the men in the conning station. The ship’s four gigantic bronze propellers began to turn at the command of the engineers below and Iowa began to move under her own power down the channel.

The Iowa made her way through the industrial section of the waterfront and turned right into the main channel. The Captain called down to the chief engineer on the “bitch box,” an intercom system on the ship. “Cheng, are we up to standard speed?”

Commander Kimberlain, the Chief Engineer or CHENG, was eagerly awaiting that order. “Ready and willing, Captain. The systems seem to have steadied out pretty well.”

“Mister Jamison, you can take it up to fifteen knots whenever you want.”

Jamison grinned. “Been waiting for the last fifteen minutes, Captain. It should be no problem at all.” The speed was increased and a foamy wake appeared behind the ship as she sped into the darkening bay.

Captain Hammond sat back in his chair and took in the view. He was seated on the starboard side of the bridge where the bridge windows formed a corner. From there he looked out over the forward part of the ship, over the top of turret two and past turret one along the tapered bow coming to a point nearly 300 feet in front of him. Men were scurrying about the deck doing their routine duties, but he could also see Bos’n Patnaude up forward wearing a white plastic helmet with a set of crossed anchors stenciled on the front. The captain watched as a young sailor came up to Patnaude with a coffee cup in his hand. He handed the cup to Patnaude, who took a sip. Hammond could almost see the old man’s eyes roll back in delight.

The Captain glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30 in the evening. They had been ordered to time the transit through the Bay Area after dark. The ship seemed to be running normally and he started getting a good feel for how she maneuvered. He glanced at the OOD. In the dim glow of the last rays of the sun he could tell the lieutenant was paying attention to all the details of a ship in transit — even more so since there was a pilot technically in charge going through the bay. When little things came up, he took care of them without much of a sweat. “OOD, how is the steering gear doing? I understand there were some occasional problems in the past.”

Lieutenant Lopez walked over to the captain. “Nothing has been reported, Captain,” he said. Then he walked to the big armored door and looked in at the helm and lee helm. “Golden, you have any problems with the steering at all?”

Petty Officer Golden shook his head. “No, sir, everything seems to be working okay. It’s just like it was before,” he said. Golden had been on the ship back in 1988 and 89. He could probably tell them a lot about this ship.

“Good enough,” said Hammond, who walked over to hear the report personally. “Golden, did you ever hear of steering problems when you were aboard before?”

Golden nodded as he made an adjustment in the steering to stay on course. “Yes, sir, but that was when operating at flank speed. The pressure from the engines can overpower the hydraulics. You have to watch it, especially anything like a full or hard rudder. Otherwise it’s okay,” he said. The whole time, he never took his eyes off the gyro repeater in front of him.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Boats,” Hammond said. He returned to his seat and continued talking with the OOD. “I thought I had heard something like that on these ships. How do you like this duty, Lopez?”

Lopez smiled a crooked smile. His teeth were a little uneven, but that didn’t seem to bother him. “Well, Captain, she’s not like my first ship. I was on a frigate with gas turbines. I swear that thing could turn on a dime, but when they asked for volunteers for this ship, I jumped at it. I mean, when will I ever get this chance again?” he said.

“True enough. How do you like working with all these older guys?” he said a little louder so the others could hear. That got a few smiles from some of the other bridge watchstanders. They were interrupted by the navigator’s report stating they were on track and giving the time to next turn. Jamison shook his head each time — as if he didn’t know where they were, he thought.

“It’s interesting, Captain,” Lopez said. “I got some guys in my division who are old enough to be my grandfather. But I must admit they are handy as hell to have around. It’s almost like having a division full of Chiefs,” he said.

The Captain laughed. “Better not let the Chiefs hear you say that,” he said.

“Too late,” came a cry from the navigation station behind the armored citadel. There were some chuckles around the bridge. Lopez blushed and the Captain sat back and grinned. Hammond had spent the day touring the ship and meeting his people. He took the time to enter each compartment and find out where everything was and how it worked. They were scheduled to fire the guns in three days for some crash gunnery training off of Camp Pendleton. Between now and then he would sit in with the gunners to see how they did their job. Already some ancient Master Chief was drilling the hell out of the fire control types. They were taking bearings on every point and every structure they could to calibrate the equipment and train the crews. He was thinking about this when the Weapons Officer walked up.

“Excuse me, Captain, but I want to do some exercises with my turret crews. We are going to sync in the guns and run some exercises in main battery plot. This will mean the turrets and guns will be moving, but we obviously won’t be loading any projectiles. I need your permission to move the guns. I’ll be moving the turrets first, then some of the 5-inch,” he said.

“Will this interfere with our transit?”

“No, sir, I already checked with Mister Jamison. I’ll still have some of the 5-inch directors providing the bearings and ranges for navigation.”

“Permission granted. Let me know if there are problems.”

“Will do, sir,” he said as he turned and left the bridge. Within a few minutes the warning bells began ringing on the turrets and the massive 2,200 ton structures began rolling along their roller path pointing toward imaginary targets farther inland. It was impressive watching the huge 16-inch guns turning and aiming to the commands of the computers deep below.

The city of San Francisco was under a blackout, but the moon was nearly full. People looking from shore were awed at the sight of a giant black shadow crossing through San Francisco Bay. The few cars out stopped near the Bay Bridge as the ship passed beneath. Something was happening. They had rarely seen ships that big and those were museum pieces. Almost all of them thought the same thing. America was being sneaky. To a person, it made them feel really good.

Su Lynn was slaving over several pots cleaning out the remains of boiled cabbages and other vegetables. Since deciding to stay in the city, Su Lynn demonstrated an amazing talent at cooking, especially for larger numbers of people. What most people didn’t know was that she had acquired this talent from the masterful instruction of her mother and several years of providing food for all the workers at their farm. She had developed a knack of getting the most out of any food. This served well since food was now being rationed throughout the city. All that had been allowed for two weeks was the equivalent of one good meal a day. However, Su Lynn was able to teach a few of the people the basics of gardening. Even now several plots of new vegetables were sprouting in the courtyard of the facility. She had also been able to befriend an older fisherman who still had a boat. In return for cooking for himself and his family in the facility, he would go out when he could and fish. On several occasions he came back with his boat filled with fish and other sea creatures.

Nothing went to waste. Even seafood that would ordinarily be thrown away found its way into soups and other tasty meals. The South Korean government was being very strict on whom it would let out of the harbor each day, but they allowed the old man to continue fishing because they knew what he was doing with the catch. On two occasions they sent along a soldier to make sure there was no espionage going on. In both cases the solders came back worked to death and filled with the old man’s many years of stories of the sea. After that, they simply inspected his catch each time and let him continue on.

Su Lynn had been working her assistants all afternoon, and the sweat was pouring from each of them. Gone were the days when she sat silently in the back of a Jeep. Over the weeks she grew more assertive and more outspoken. She had been given a great responsibility and was determined not to let down the people who counted on her. Yet she was one of the most pleasant people in the facility. Although the work was hard, she tried to make all the chores more bearable and often led the cooks in singing while they worked. The people assigned to Community Shelter Number 2 thought the world of her.

She was busy scrubbing out a pot when a very haggard looking man appeared at the doorway. Most of the people in the kitchen couldn’t tell who he was because of the bright evening sun coming through behind him. His shoulders were slouched and his whole body had a very tired look. The uniform was dirty and wrinkled, with what appeared to be bloodstains on it. His hands hung from his sides like two pieces of meat on a butcher’s hook. They were filthy and calloused.

But it was the face that seemed to tell most of the story. It too was dirty; the eyes slightly sunken and barely open. Deep bags under each eye told of long days without sleep. They were almost lifeless — devoid of feeling or understanding. Even the cheeks seemed hollow and pale. The lips were devoid of color and stretched in a thin line across the front of his face. Wrinkles lined his brow, yet the thick, dirty hair didn’t have a trace of gray in it. It was the hair of a young man.

The eyes scanned the room and rested on Su Lynn. When they did, life sparkled back into them and his lips slowly spread wider, even if just a millimeter. Several people looked up to see him and then got Su Lynn’s attention. At first, she didn’t recognize him. Suddenly she jumped up from where she was to run to his side. Her face was a mask of joy and great concern.

“I had to come see you again,” Ricks said through his exhaustion. This was the third time Ricks had come to see Su Lynn. The people of the shelter had been wary at first, but gradually accepted him.

“You no be here,” Su Lynn said with concern. “You go bed!” she said as she led him to a chair in one corner of the kitchen. He sat heavily into the chair and drank thirstily from a cup of water offered by one of the workers.

“I just got here,” he said. “They gave us 72 hours before we have to go back. I’ll go to bed, but just had to visit with you first.”

She pulled up a stool beside him and took his hand. It felt coarse and rough in her own, but that didn’t bother her. “I know, but I fine. I can wait,” she said warmly.

He smiled at her. “I know that, but I couldn’t,” he said.

She smiled and looked him over. She had no way of knowing that just a few hours earlier he had been in the thick of battle. “You fighting hard?”

He nodded. “They’re getting closer every day. We are having a hard time keeping them back, but we manage,” he said. An older woman brought him a bowl of the food they had prepared for the evening. It mainly consisted of cabbage and some meat in a broth. Some rice was in it as well. He ate as the people asked him questions about the war and he shared his more recent experiences. All the while Su Lynn stayed by his side. When he finished the bowl, he thanked the old woman and handed it back to her. She smiled and scurried away.

The few minutes he sat talking to the group seemed to draw more out of him. Su Lynn noticed. “You need go bed,” she said in her broken English.

He nodded. “I’ll head back to base,” he said.

“No. You too tired,” she said as she took his hand and pulled him from his chair. She led Ricks across the kitchen to a small room that had been set aside for her as the head of the kitchen staff. Opening the door, he saw only enough room for a small bed, a table at one end with some shelves, and one small chair to sit in. She led Ricks to the bed. “You go too hard. I glad to see, but you rest. Come, sit,” she said. Ricks almost fell on the bed.

Su Lynn placed her hand on his cheek. “I like you here, but you hurt yourself,” she said with some concern.

Ricks smiled at her. “I feel much better now,” he said tiredly.

Su Lynn smiled. “Just rest. I clean up some,” she said. She began helping him remove his shirt and pants. She then laid him back on the bed as she went to get a large bowl of warm water and a wash cloth. The clothes she handed over to the man who cleaned the kitchen towels each night and asked him to clean them as best he could. The man nodded and left. When she returned to her room, Ricks was dead asleep. She laid the bowl on the floor and soaped up the cloth. Beginning with his face, she gently cleaned the grime and sweat from him. Then she pulled the cover back and washed his chest and torso. She liked what she saw. Ricks had lost much of the boyish look and had developed well-defined muscles on his arms and chest. He wasn’t muscle bound or overly developed, but more of a youthful, very masculine look. His chest even boasted a small tuft of hair, something she really liked.

Su Lynn continued to wash Ricks even though he didn’t wake as she worked. His hands were the hardest to clean. It was as if the dirt from crawling 1,000 miles had been ground into them. Taking her time, she slowly worked the grime from the hands and even from under the fingernails. Then she rolled his body toward her and cleaned his back, down to his underwear. Next she covered his upper body and exposed his legs. They too were well-defined from miles of running and walking. She lifted and washed each leg until nearly his entire body had been cleansed. Then she gently laid each down and covered them with the blanket. Ricks hadn’t stirred. His breathing remained steady and deep. She tucked him in slightly and lightly kissed him on the forehead. She turned to see an older woman watching her. She had kept the door open the whole time so that no one would suspect anything outrageous. The old woman smiled at her.

“This is the one you talk about?” she asked.

Su Lynn smiled and nodded.

The woman smiled and bid her to follow. “Then we must treat him very nice. After all he fights for us,” she said. They went to a small closet and the old woman pulled out a straw mat. “This is my son’s, but he will not mind you using it,” she said.

They went back to Su Lynn’s room, moved the chair to the far end, and lay the mat down beside the bed. “You stay here with him,” she said. “He may need you.”

Su Lynn was surprised. Such things were not proper and would be frowned upon. Her fears were reflected in her face.

The old woman laughed. “Child, he is exhausted. Nothing will be wrong. You sleep on the mat. I will sleep in this chair outside the door to make sure you are not disturbed,” she said.

Su Lynn nodded and laid some sheets on the mat. The old woman produced a pillow. Su Lynn changed into a sleeping gown and lay down on the mat. She left the door open and watched as the old woman walked over and switched off the kitchen light. She then pulled back the blackout curtains from the windows to let the breeze through. It was now dark outside and only a little light seeped into the room. Su Lynn heard the woman sit in the chair and lean it back against the wall. Within minutes she was snoring.

Su Lynn lay on her mat for a while, but couldn’t sleep. She had been around Ricks overnight before, but now it was different. She sat up in bed and watched him sleep. At one point he began thrashing around and let out a moan. Su Lynn reached over and took his shoulder, steadying him. “It okay. You safe. I here with you,” she whispered to him. Her touch immediately stopped the thrashing. His breathing became steady and she felt his hand rub her arm. “Love you,” he muttered in a groggy sleep.

She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

Su Lynn lay her body over his for a moment in a soft hug, then lay back on her mat. She listened to the old woman’s snoring a while longer before sleep finally overtook her.

The letter had been sitting on his desk as he came in for the evening. The ammunition onload at Seal Beach had kept Hammond out of his cabin at meetings both on the ship and ashore. A pile of documents sat on the desk for him to sign or approve. Hammond started working through the correspondence, but his eyes kept returning to the letter. It had a Vallejo return address but not anything official. He returned to the pile. Reports on damage control drills, eight o’clock reports, NALC reports, messages, a firing plan for the gunshot; just the myriad of things that a CO must deal with. But his mind drifted back to the letter.

Hammond finally gave into temptation and opened it. It was handwritten, with a light and delicate hand. It was two pages and he hurriedly flipped to the back to see who sent it. It was from Patricia Crowell. Something about a letter from her excited Hammond. He returned to the first page and began reading.

Hammond sat back in his chair and let out a long breath. Patricia Crowell was an open and interesting woman. More than that, he had fun around her. He actually didn’t mind that she wrote. It kind of reaffirmed some things he had thought about her. Hammond smiled. It could be interesting.

Hammond looked back at the desk and then at the clock on the bulkhead. It was after 10 pm. He didn’t really feel like finishing the pile tonight. Placing the letter back in the envelope, he placed it in a side drawer. He yawned and then turned out the light and went to bed.