If anyone saw him from up there, they’d probably dismiss him as another lost soul in the confusion of General Quarters.
It had now been ten minutes since the GQ alarm had sounded. He was probably one of only a handful still walking the decks of Sea Base. He thought most likely he was the only one unauthorized to do so. He was wrong.
Kiang moved cautiously through the covered walkway to the main deck, which was covered with supply pallets stacked on top of each other. He stepped carefully along the deck, not looking up to see if anyone watched. If he looked up, they would see his face; this way, only the top of his head was visible.
When he reached the forward forecastle, he took a deep breath of satisfaction because he had encountered no one.
He opened the nearby hatch on the forecastle of Antares and entered, wincing at the screeching of the metal catch freeing the rubber seals from their watertight suction. White lights blazed inside the passageway. On warships, they would have been red during GQ. He turned and pushed the metal bar down, feeling the hatch tighten around the rubber seals, securing the door, making it watertight once again. Kiang looked both ways, reached up, and pushed his sweat-matted black hair away from his eyes. He ran his fingers beneath the leather straps of the binoculars and camera, easing the weight slightly around his neck. He felt the tender skin beneath them, knowing later he would have blisters.
Satisfied no one was moving in the passageway, Kiang started downward, ladder by ladder, quiet as possible, moving toward the main hangar — the cargo hold — where the Air Force had loaded mobile office buildings in Pearl.
He opened the hatch to the huge main cargo hold of the Antares. The Fast Sealift Ships had two main cargo holds. The largest one was located beneath the main deck between the two forecastles of the ships. A smaller bay was in the aft section of the Fast Sealift Ship directly beneath the helicopter pad. Kiang entered the larger of the two cargo holds — the forward one located between the fore and aft forecastle.
The sound of voices came from the aft portion of the cargo hold. The main cargo hold was so large that echoes could be heard when it was empty and rumor had it that small clouds were known to condense in the overhead and produce rain. A short burst of laughter and the conversation continued. He couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but could tell from the laughter and the number of voices that the group was doing little but talking.
His attention went to the starboard side of the cargo hold, where a two-story white mobile facility had been fitted. Air-conditioning units projected from each office. Small curtained windows allowed light into the offices. It made Kiang compare the situation to someone putting a house trailer inside a massive cave.
On shore, the two-story mobile facility would have fit comfortably along the side of an aircraft hangar. Here inside the bowels of one of the Navy’s largest supply ships, the two-story mobile facility barely made a dent in the available space of this cargo hold. One of the many Morale, Welfare, and Recreation tours he had taken when Sea Base first stood up, to get an idea where his targets were located, had taken him through the bay of every Fast Sealift Ship. This ship could carry seven hundred Army vehicles when fully loaded for its primary job of quickly transporting large mechanized equipment to support the Army and Marine Corps at war.
Kiang secured the hatch as quietly as possible. He listened to the voices talking and laughing on the far side of the hangar. Walking quietly, he stayed near the forward bulkhead in the shadows as he neared the Air Force spaces. He could read the sign on the doors of the offices — large red letters blazed authorized personnel only. He took a step forward. The maintenance and ground crew occupied the bottom offices. Officer country was the second floor. He looked up in that direction. The Ready Room, where the pilots hung their helmets, the offices that were most likely to have classified material, and the offices of the senior officers were on the second floor.
A loud burst of laughter caused him to jump. Kiang pulled back into the shadows of the forward bulkhead as he moved, his head turning from the mobile offices to the unseen group at the other end of the cavernous cargo bay. He looked around the cargo hold. The huge steel frames running up the sides of the cargo hold bulkhead created numerous shadows where anyone could be hiding. He paused for several seconds, trying to see if anyone else hid in the shadows.
Satisfied he was being overly cautious, he let out a quiet sigh of relief and continued. Seconds later, he passed into the alleyway created by the forward bulkhead and the mobile office complex. Metal stairs led up.
The two ready-alert Raptors taxied to the end of the runway. Willard stood with his feet apart and arms crossed. Large hearing protectors were pulled down over his ears, shielding him from the noise of the jet engines revving up for takeoff.
A moment later, the two aircraft sped down the runway. The lead pilot was nearly two aircraft lengths ahead of the wingman. When they lifted off together, the wingman eased forward slightly, closing the distance. Willard watched it with the same awe today as he did as a young airman at Nellis when he helped launch his first aircraft. The Air Force had come a long way since the F-15s of yesteryear, and he, by the grace of God, had been part of it.
“Chief Willard!”
He turned at the muffled shout. Master Chief Jacobs approached. Willard smiled, lifting the ear protectors off his ears.
“Hi, Jerry. What brings you out here on this bright sunny afternoon?”
“You and General Quarters do. Johnny, do you need all these people topside? I know you have to launch aircraft, but can’t some of them clear the decks?”
Willard looked at the officers standing off to one side, talking with each other. “I guess I could ask some to go below until we need them, but you know how fighter jocks are, Jerry. They gonna want to stay up here and provide us with all the advice and assistance they can.”
Jacobs looked to where Willard pointed and smiled. “I see they’re having a conference about it now.”
“Conferencing is something officers do well, my fine squid friend.”
“Well, my zoomie comrade, can you ask them to do their conferencing in the Ready Room? Tell them they’re too valuable to be topside. Tell them the Navy loves them and wants to cradle them inside its protective arms.”
“Pardon me, Jerry, while I throw up.”
Jacobs waved the comment away. “The Air Boss is going to say something soon if everyone remains topside, Johnny. Just trying to save you and me additional General Quarters angst.” Willard crossed his arms and looked at the officers again. “I can send a few belowdecks, Jerry, but we’ve been told to launch all of them, so we’ll need the ready pilots available topside.”
Jacobs looked over toward the starboard aft side of Sea Base and saw his First Division personnel forming up. He pointed them out to Willard. “Thanks, Johnny; I got to go and distribute my people.” He looked at his watch. “You got about a minute before GQ is fully set. I recommend getting them be-lowdecks ASAP.” “How’s the arm?” Willard asked.
“It’s okay,” Jacobs said, lifting the right elbow, dragging the sling upward. “But can’t talk right now, but you need to get your people into life vests.”
Jacobs started to walk away, but Willard grabbed his sleeve. “What’s going on?”
“Torpedoes are what is going on. One of the sound-powered phone talkers told me Sonar had eight of the bastards inbound.”
“Torpedoes? If they hit, it won’t matter where everyone is,” Willard objected. “Maybe keeping them topside is safer?”