Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (53 page)

HARD STARBOARD

BOATSWAIN’S MATE BOTTS was at the helm when Captain Chardoff rushed in. He looked over his shoulder to see the big Marine captain dripping ocean from his black raincoat as he said something to Lieutenant JG Goodman who was standing duty as Junior Officer of the Deck. Botts didn’t hear what he said. The fierce storm was too loud. He guessed it was something about the helo attempting to land on the fantail.

Goodman had ordered Botts to hold course. It had been a challenging job for the past forty-five minutes. In a force eight storm it was important to head into the wind. Turning away could be dangerous. It would make the ride even rougher for the crew, risking injury. It would cause undue stress on the ship, perhaps causing fractures in the hull that could swamp, even sink the ship. It could even put them in danger of capsizing.

It was especially critical with a helicopter attempting to return two crewmembers. Botts did not envy
the chopper crew.

Suddenly, Chardoff yelled, “Look out!”

Botts looked back to him then ahead to the direction the Marine’s finger pointed. He squinted to see.

“Small boat, dead ahead!” Goodman cried out.

Botts searched the rolling ocean in front of him as the stem dove deep then lifted high. He could see nothing but the ash gray sea. Petty Officer Carter, manning the surface radar, alternated glances from his green screen to the outside.

“Nothing on radar, sir!” he said.

“I don’t see it, sir!” Botts said.

“Good God, man!” Chardoff said, running to the center of the windows in front of them. “It’s there. A small boat. Twelve o’clock!”

“Collision course. Come hard starboard!” Goodman said.

“But, sir,” Botts said, “the helo!”

“Damn it, Botts,” Goodman yelled, “that’s an order! We’re going to ram her. We’re going to kill people if you don’t. Hard starboard. Now!”

Botts didn’t understand. It was difficult to see out into the storm. The radar didn’t pick up a small craft, but in weather like this it was certainly possible. They must see something he didn’t.

“Hard starboard, aye-aye, sir!” he answered and spun the ship’s wheel clockwise.

The already tossing frigate became as wild and unmanageable as a rodeo bull.

DEATH LINE

THE STRAIN WAS taking its toll on North. He grimaced. Below her, Jesus’ body hung limp—below that the
Atchison’s
deck rocked. She needed to time her fall just right to ensure as little injury as possible, but that would be like a crapshoot. Then, it seemed the ship was turning. That’d be the wrong thing to do in a storm like this. Turning away from the storm was dangerous for the ship and for them. It would cause the vessel to rock and list even more.

Commander Reeves rushed onto the deck below. He fell to one hand to steady himself and lifted the other beckoning her to drop.

“Now!” North shouted.

She didn’t have a choice. After she dropped, North could either release himself from the harness and drop also, or he might even be able to pull himself into the helo and ride back to the more stable
Enterprise
.

Spurs let go as the deck rose dramatically more than before. She brushed by Jesus then braced herself, eyes forced shut, muscles tightened, fists clenched, waiting for what seemed like seconds for the impact. When she slammed onto Reeves, the air expelled from her lungs like a burst balloon. They both lay flattened on the flight deck. In an instant, the other three men nearby rushed out to assist them.

As they lifted her away, she looked back at the helicopter. The deck went crazy. She was sure now that the ship actually had turned away from the storm.

The aircraft seemed to drop from the sky as the
Atchison
’s deck came up just shy of meeting it. North fell, sprawled out onto the middle of the landing platform. Jesus’ dangling, lifeless body hit the deck like a bag of pipe wrenches, then was snatched back as the ship dipped away.

The helo and ship separated far enough to cause North’s safety harness’s tether to become taught and nearly lifted him from the deck. He tried to sit up. He reached out with weakened arms, barely able to bring them up from the deck, but no one would or could assist him.

The helo fluttered in the sky like a wounded dove. It passed over them within a few yards and then cut back. The pilot seemed to be trying to regain control— realizing he had a man in the harness, trying to keep from swinging him into the ocean or into the ship. When it swooped past, North’s safety tether looped around a post-like lifeline stanchion on one side of the fantail.

The
Atchison
rode a huge swell rising to collide with the helo and Jesus’ rag doll-like body smacked onto the steel. This time the ship swatted the chopper. Sparks flew from inside the Sea King. Fire erupted from the engine housing below the big rotor, rolled across the ceiling inside and belched from the side doorways.

The helo bounced up, hesitated, and then came back down, crossing overhead. One of the helicopter’s crewmen had released his safety line or was broken free from it and either leaped or fell from the other side door, his body in flames. He flopped onto the ship, thirty feet in front of them as North was pulled along the deck in the opposite direction away from the helicopter because of his looped tether. He hit the lifeline at the stanchion it was wrapped around.

Spurs glanced at the others with her and could see that they weren’t about to attempt a rescue of either man. The torching crewman was past hope. She bolted toward North, reminded as soon as she did of her drained strength. She tumbled, got up, and then ran to him using her hands on the deck to keep from falling.

She reached North as Jesus’ limp body hooked the lifeline on the opposite side of the ship. The young, dead crew chief acted as the chopper’s anchor, as the
Atchison’s
fantail pitched high, then dove deep, waves washing the entire topside and everyone on it, aft of the superstructure. The forceful water shoved down on Spurs, almost taking her with it, but she managed to hold onto North’s harness.

The tangled helo was yanked back like a yo-yo. It engulfed in flames. The rotored fireball struck the edge of the fantail, teetered momentarily, then flipped into the ocean, popping, crackling and sizzling.

North sat dazed, tangled in the lifeline and safety tether. He looked up at Spurs hopelessly, his arms limp, then at the rapidly disappearing safety cable he was attached to as it snaked across the deck following the helicopter into the deep.

Within seconds the steel tether would drag North under with the helo. Spurs tugged on the harness, attempting to lift it over North’s head but his dead weight didn’t cooperate. She fumbled with it, but it seemed stuck, finally yanking it with all of the strength she could gather.

No good.

“A knife!” North said feebly, “Something sharp!”

Spurs thought of the fingernail file she always carried. She’d sharpened it to a nice sharp edge in case of an emergency—you never know when something like that might come in handy to a girl. It certainly had less than two days ago with Henry Dubain. She fished into her drenched pocket and was surprised to find it still there as the slack in the line pulled tight. She took the file out.

North’s eyes bugged and his body jolted. Spurs’ hand came up with her homemade knife. She slashed at the nylon harness. It frayed but didn’t come in two. The cable suddenly yanked him around the stanchion and he skidded across the deck. He followed the chopper, which had now completely submerged, lighting the abyss with metal burning fire. Halfway across the landing platform, the harness broke loose and disappeared over the side.

TIT FOR TAT

SPURS RAN TO North, but not to comfort or save him. She drew her fist back, glaring. He was the man that had just saved her life, but now they were even. He was her prime suspect involved in Nader’s death. He was also the bastard whose arm she’d grabbed when she was thrown overboard. He’d tried to kill her and why he had saved her later didn’t matter. She was upset at herself for needing saving, for showing her weakness, especially to North.

Lieutenant North’s face showed pure surprise. She caught him in the mouth with her first weary strike and raised her fist for another when she lost balance and rolled backwards. Two men grabbed her arms and another two made their way to North as the ship turned back into the storm.

* * *

Within ten minutes Spurs and North sat wrapped in blankets in front of Reeves inside the lieutenant commander’s stateroom. Doc Jolly had just left after attending to them. Corporal Sanders stood by the hatchway, trying to maintain parade rest against the rocking ship. The two soaked sailors glared at each other, North feeling his chin. His nose was already beginning to swell from the head butt she’d given him.

“What in the hell happened out there?” Reeves asked.

Spurs was exasperated. She raised her voice. “I told you, the son-of-a-bitch tried to kill me.”

North rolled his eyes.

“Calm down,” Reeves said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions here, Ensign. What you’re accusing Mr. North of is a very serious matter. If you insist on this claim, there’ll be a very extensive investigation. This ship could be in port for weeks, possibly leave the fleet.”

Spurs caught what Reeves was saying. If she raised a stink about what happened, the Jap Rap investigation could be compromised. That was a much bigger matter, affecting many more lives.

“Just tell me what happened, Ensign Sperling,” Reeves said.

Spurs cleared her throat. She glanced at North. North looked away, shaking his head.

“I was on the signal bridge, and. . . .”

“What in the hell were you doing on the signal bridge during a force eight storm?” North asked, his voice weak, speech slurred.

“Getting fresh air, okay . . . ,” Spurs nipped, then remembered his rank, as her head became light and she leaned back against the bulkhead, “. . . sir?”

“Mr. North,” Reeves said, “I’ll ask you to hold your questions and comments until the Ensign is finished. I’ll listen to your side of the story then. Go ahead, Ensign Sperling.”

“I saw Chief Franken. . . .”

Now, it was Reeves doing the interrupting. “What? You mean Senior Chief Petty Officer Gus Franken?”

“Yes, sir,” Spurs said. “He went overboard, too. He’s dead.”

“I don’t know if Chief Franken is dead or not, but you couldn’t have seen him on this ship tonight.”

“Sure I did, sir. I talked to him. Somebody . . . ,” she began, then thought about what Reeves had said of the investigation. If what had happened appeared purely accidental, there was sure to be a simple inquiry, but a full-fledged felony investigation that would surely spoil their mission, wouldn’t be necessary, “. . . that is, he slipped and fell over.”

“I don’t know who you saw and talked to, but it wasn’t Franken. Our chief didn’t report back from liberty in Rota yesterday. He’s AWOL.”

Spurs glanced at North, then back to Reeves.

“But, sir,” she began, “he. . . .”

“Okay, so you thought it was Franken. Had you met him before? How did you know it was him?”

“No, sir, he said that was his name.”

“I see.” He turned to the corporal and said, “Sanders, have Mr. Goodman muster the crew and account for all hands.” He turned back to Spurs as the corporal acknowledged and left the room. “We’ll see who, if anyone is missing. Go on with your story. How did you end up overboard?”

Spurs took time to consider. “It felt like someone threw me.”

“Threw you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think that someone was Mr. North?”

“Yes, sir.” She frowned at North, then looked back to Reeves and said, “May I ask where you might have been when all of this took place?”

He looked straight faced at her and said, “Although I hardly see how that’s relevant, I was in my stateroom in the middle of trying to figure out what to do with you and the rest of the WINS when one of Lieutenant Chardoff’s men, Sergeant Krebs, reported an emergency on the fantail. Said the tarp had come off of the Tomahawk missile station and he was afraid someone might have tampered with the missiles. The man overboard sounded while I was aft.”

“And did something happen to the missiles?”

“No. By the time I got there, the Marines had them covered back up and they said nothing had been damaged.”

Spurs glared at him and his lame but possible excuse. She wanted to ask him why the hell he hadn’t been watching the signal deck as he was supposed to. He paid no attention and turned to North.”

All right Lieutenant North, what’s your story?”

North wiped away the droplets of water trickling down his face. “I stepped onto the quarterdeck to check the storm, and I heard a commotion overhead. When I went up the port side ladder, I saw Miss Sperling about to fall over the bulwarks. I reached for her and she grabbed me and pulled me over with her.”

“Did you see anyone else on the signal bridge with the Ensign?”

North paused. Spurs couldn’t tell if he was trying to make up a story to cover up something or that he too was choosing his words carefully to avoid a nasty investigation.

“No, sir, I did not.”