“Six is a little young for that, isn’t it?” offered the captain.
Mac was quick to answer.
“That’s what Marsha says, but I kind of wonder. Michael’s got an unbelievable arm. Why, that little devil can already throw a curve ball. Andrew’s specialty is hitting. He’s already cost me a kitchen window and a new skylight. How’s your son doing?”
The Captain’s eyes sparkled.
“Ken Jr. will graduate junior high school with honors this June. That kid’s a mechanical genius. Just last month he took apart our personal computer and replaced a defective chip. Now he’s writing his own programs. He plans to eventually attend the Naval Academy, where he wants to study nuclear physics.”
A ringing telephone interrupted the captain. He reached for the handset at his side. While he initiated a conversation, Mac finished his chicken breast and took a second to survey the stateroom. Behind them was a comfortable sitting area — of a couch, a magazine-filled coffee table, and two upholstered chairs. Next to this was the captain’s desk. One could easily forget that such a setting belonged in a warship, though a CO’s duty hardly allowed one a moment’s respite.
“That was the XO,” said the captain, who had already hung up.
“It looks like that weather is moving in quicker than we’d anticipated. Our senior meteorologist recommends that we get you airborne pronto. Your chopper’s just about ready, so I’m afraid you’ll have to take a raincheck on dessert.”
Mac patted his stomach while following the captain’s lead, and pushed his chair away from the table to stand.
“That meal was more than adequate, Sir. I’ve had nothing all day but a half cup of coffee, and it really hit the spot. Thanks again for the hospitality.”
“You’re most welcome, Mac. And don’t be such a stranger. We’ll be back in Norfolk at the end of the month, and I’d love to have you stop by for a proper visit. Who knows, maybe by then you’ll be able to tell me what this mysterious excursion of yours is all about.”
Doubting that he’d ever get the clearance to talk about the project that had called him these thousands of miles, Mac nodded politely and followed the captain up the flight deck.
The weather topside looked menacing. Thick dark clouds blotted out the sun, while a rising wind made the mere process of walking difficult. They were halfway to the open fuselage of the Sea Stallion when the rains began falling in a torrent.
“Good luck to you, Mac,” offered the CO as he escorted his guest to the helicopter’s side.
“I sure hope the weather is better down south where you’re off to.”
“You don’t happen to know where that might be, do you, sir?” asked Mac as he climbed into the doorway.
The captain had to hold onto his cap and practically shout to be heard over the howl of the gusting wind.
“Afraid they didn’t bother to share that with me. Command will relay the exact coordinates to you once you get airborne. All that I know for certain is that you’re headed somewhere south of Kwajalein. Have a safe trip!”
“You too. Skipper,” returned Mac, who saluted and then allowed a jumpsuited airman to lead him further into the helicopter’s rather cavernous interior. There was room inside for at least three dozen passengers. Yet Mac was alone except for the single attendant.
No sooner did he sit down and buckle his restraining harness when the Sea Stallion’s dual turbine engines coughed alive. As its six-bladed rotor began madly spinning, a large drop of hydraulic oil fell onto Mac’s forehead.
He disgustedly wiped the smelly fluid off and addressed the airman seated across from him.
“I think something’s leaking up there!” shouted Mac.
“Welcome aboard a Sikorsky, Commander,” replied the airman stoically.
“It’s when this baby stops leaking that we’ve got serious problems.”
Mac could only shake his head and sit back as the helicopter began its ascent. They rose vertically. Except for a slight vibration, the wind didn’t seem to play a factor as the Sea Stallion turned to the south, all the while continuing to gain altitude.
Strangely enough, during the entire ascent Mac was unusually at ease. In fact, he was so relaxed that he fell asleep soon after they reached their cruising altitude.
Mac’s sound, dreamless slumber was broken by a loud buzzing noize. As he groggily opened his eyes, he watched as the cabin attendant picked up a bulkhead mounted intercom handset. The cabin was lit by a muted red light and Mac realized with a start that it was apparently night already.
“Good evening, Commander,” said the airman, who had completed his phone conversation and noted that Mac had awakened.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby,” Mac answered as he yawned and glanced down at his watch.
“Have I really been out for two hours?”
The airman nodded.
“That you have. You didn’t miss anything but a little lightning and thunder.”
“How’s the weather now?” quizzed Mac.
“It’s clear as can be. We left all the heavy stuff up north. So it looks like we can complete your transfer with a minimum of risk.”
“Transfer?” repeated Mac.
Mistaking Mac’s puzzlement as an inability to hear over the chopping sound of the spinning rotors, the airman shouted, “I just got word from the cockpit that you’ll be leaving us shortly. We’ll be dropping you onto the deck of a submarine. Have you ever used a rescue hoist before, sir?”
Mac was genuinely dumbfounded.
“I can’t say that I have,” he managed with a heavy sigh.
Noting his anxiety, the airman’s tone softened.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about, sir. I’ll be fitting you into a harness, and then utilize a winch to lower you by means of a steel cable. All you have to do is hit the release mechanism once you touch down on the deck.”
Mac looked up when a loud electronic tone sounded.
It proved to be the attendant who identified this noise.
“It’s showtime, sir. Just follow me over to the doorway and I’ll get you fixed up.”
Mac reluctantly did so, and was soon sitting on the edge of the now opened hatchway. The roar of the Sea Stallion’s turbine engines filled the cabin with a deafening grind. Outside the air was warm and clear, and Mac could see a myriad of stars glistening in the heavens.
Conscious that the helicopter was now hovering, he looked down and could just make out a single dim red light. As the Sikorsky began to descend, this light intensified until soon Mac viewed the distinctive, teardrop shaped outline of a submarine floating on the surface of the sea. When several individuals could be seen on the forward deck of this vessel, Mac heard the attendant cry out behind him.
“So long, Commander. Just ease your way off the ledge and we’ll take it from there.”
Mac managed a brave salute and after inhaling a deep calming breath, scooted off the helicopter’s hatchway.
He found himself dangling in midair now, his weight supported by the steel cable attached to the harness at the back of his shoulders. He could feel the downdraft of the Sea Stallion’s rotors as the cable began playing out, and he began to drop.
So rapid and smooth was this descent that Mac had little time to contemplate his precarious position. The submarine continued to grow larger, and Mac spotted two individuals perched in its sail. Behind them, mounted on the aft portion of the vessel’s deck, was a large, cylindrical object that Mac identified as being a deep submergence rescue vehicle. He was no stranger to the workings of a DSRV, and supposed that this would be the platform that would be conveying him to the seafloor itself.
He found himself being guided forward of the sail.
Here a pair of brawny sailors succeeded in grabbing his legs and stabilizing him. The moment that he touched down on the deck, he hit the harness release mechanism as instructed and felt the pull on his back lessen. The last he saw of the harness itself was as it was being hoisted back up into the hold of the still hovering helicopter.