The cabin offers excellent all-around vision and has such amenities as a head, a triple-tiered bunk, and a small but functional galley that contains a microwave oven and small refrigerator. The engine room is located in the aft portion of the cabin. Two semi-rigid dinghies are mounted on the sides of the hull for extracurricular maritime activities.
As of this writing, the prototype sits at the DuBose workshop dock, except for the times when the brothers take it out for tune-up runs between Titusville and Melbourne. It is an excellent vessel waiting for the right outfit to come along and take advantage of its features.
Chapter 1.
NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
5 SEPTEMBER
PETTY Officer Second Class Mike Assad had disappeared.
The Arab-American member of Brannigan's Brigands wasn't AWOL, assigned on a TDY detail, on furlough, or transferred to a different outfit. He had simply vanished. Even though this extraordinary situation caused reactions from mere curiosity to outright anxiety, the United States Navy didn't seem particularly worried about this absence from his duty station. And this perplexed his SEAL buddies to distraction.
Mike's non-presence was discussed in much detail one evening at the Fouled Anchor Tavern in Coronado. This was the favorite bar of Brannigan's Brigands, and was owned by a retired SEAL by the name of Salty Donovan and his wife Dixie.
Salty had joined the Brigands at their table to partake in the near-ceremonial downing of pitchers of beer as well as discuss the discombobulating circumstances regarding Mike Assad.
"He wouldn't quit the SEALs, would he?" Salty asked. "I don't mean to suggest he turned chicken or candy-ass, but maybe he's figured he wants a change in his Navy career."
Dave Leibowitz, Mike's best buddy, violently shook his head at the suggestion. "Mike would rather die than not be a SEAL."
"Oh, shit!" Bruno Puglisi suddenly exclaimed. "You don't suppose--?" He stopped speaking as if what he was about to say was so horrible it shouldn't be spoken aloud.
"Go on with the theorem you were going to asseverate," Chad Murchison, ex-preppy and best-educated Brigand, urged.
Puglisi frowned in puzzlement. "I never understand a fucking word you say, Chad."
"I'm merely asking you to express your opinion on why Mike is no longer among us."
Puglisi hesitated, then blurted out, "Maybe he's gone to OCS."
"Oh, no!" Leibowitz said. "Mike would never want to be a fucking officer."
A murmuring of agreement followed, and Garth Redhawk, a taciturn Kiowa-Comanche from Oklahoma, sighed loudly. "It's just a deep dark mystery that may never be solved."
"I suppose we should just accept the fact he will no longer be with us," Joe Miskoski said.
"Oh, God!" Dave Leibowitz moaned.
.
THIS disappearance occurred after Mike had been awakened from a sound sleep during a Standards of Conduct class being given by a droning female officer from the Naval District Human Relations Department. A shadowy figure in officer's attire had come quietly into the classroom and shaken Mike by the shoulder. The SEAL woke up instantly and was quietly ordered to follow the man outside. When the rest of the detachment returned to their quarters at the end of the duty day, they found Mike's rack stripped and his locker sealed up. The situation smacked of criminal activity, and everyone in the detachment tried to think of some felonious deed that Mike might have committed. But since his best buddy, Dave Leibowitz, was still present and accounted for, it didn't seem any wrongdoing was involved. After all, the two were inseparable.
Even the ever-knowing Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins was at a complete loss as to the wandering lad's fate. His appeals to numerous contacts and friends had been futile.
.
6 SEPTEMBER
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan, the skipper of the special SEAL detachment known unofficially as Brannigan's Brigands, had been summoned to the office of Commander Thomas Carey, the N3 of the base. Brannigan's mandatory invitation included instructions to bring along his 2IC, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins. The trio, still having misgivings about the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mike Assad, was not in a good mood when they reported in. The orders passed on to them by Carey did very little to improve their grumpy dispositions.
The commander glanced across his desk at them, grinning happily at their discomfiture. "How are you gentlemen today?" He slid three paper-clipped documents over to them. 'These are xeroxes of a short article that recently appeared in Advanced Technological and Scientific Design Magazine. Are you familiar with the publication?"
"Never heard of it," Brannigan said.
"I'm not surprised," Carey said. "It deals with unusual and far-out scientific and technical matters. At any rate, I'd like you all to read it. Don't worry. It's not long."
The three SEALs quickly scanned the article concerning an ACV called the Waterflyer. When they finished, they looked up at the commander without further comment, waiting for him to get into the purpose behind the session.
"A special assignment has come down for you gentlemen," Carey said. "It involves this particular hovercraft or air-cushion vehicle or whatever it is. You'll be doing a bit of travel."
"Our assignments always involve a bit of travel," Brannigan grumbled. "Where're we going this time?" Since the detachment's activation, they had been to Afghanistan and South America where P. P. P. P. had all but gotten them wiped out on each mission.
"You'll be visiting the Sunshine State, i. E., Florida," Carey replied. 'The Navy wants you to check out the potential of that newly designed ACV for SPECOPS."
"Us?" Jim Cruiser remarked. "We're not technocrats."
'The Navy realizes that," Carey said. "In fact, I don't think you guys would be qualified to pass judgment on potential wheelbarrows for the Seabees. There'll be a qualified engineer joining you later. All you have to do is see if you can fight with the damn thing. Take a ride on it with the inventors. That would be"--he glanced at the article--"John and Harry DuBose. As you just read, they built a prototype for the purpose of having it push barge traffic up and down the Intracoastal Waterway, but couldn't sell the idea. They contacted the government and the ball started rolling until it came to a stop right here in front of my desk."
"At least it'll be change of scenery for a while," Brannigan said. "When do we leave?"
Carey reached in a desk drawer and pulled out three packets. "Here're your plane tickets. You'll travel in civvies on a commercial flight out of San Diego International to Orlando International. You can rent a car there and drive over to Merritt Island. Enjoy."
"Thank you, sir," Brannigan said, taking the papers. "I take it we'll have to make a written report."
Carey shook his head. "Let the engineer type take care of that, Lieutenant. You'll be grilled back here in Coronado in a combination discussion and critique on how all this will fit into your lives as SEALs."
Brannigan gave Cruiser and the senior chief their tickets, then looked back at Carey. "By the way--"