Ashley then shared a plan with the sailor.
“SEAL Petty Officer Peter Campo is a martial arts instructor with the SEAL team. He runs a regular class for all ship’s personnel twice a day. Martial arts are great training for a person’s body, but it’s also a way to improve your attitude. He won’t turn you into a SEAL, but he’ll do wonders for your head, not to mention your body. I could recommend this to you sailor, but I’ve decided to give you a direct order. Join Campo’s class starting tomorrow.” Another Eye Job: “You’re a good person, Simon.”
“Aye aye, Captain” said Planck.
“And Ma’am…”
“Yes, Simon?”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Planck felt dizzy. She even used my first name, he thought. He had told the Captain that he got used to bullying, but that was a lie. His life was a living hell. But somebody noticed, somebody didn’t think that it was okay for people to treat him like a dog. Somebody cared.
Nobody tortures a wounded bird on my watch, Ashley thought, as Planck left the bridge.
Chapter 6
At 2030 Lieutenant Conroy and the seven other SEALs lowered their boat over the side of the ship and headed toward Charleston Harbor. Their Zodiac inflatable boat was 20 feet long and equipped with a quiet battery driven motor. The temperature was 55 degrees Fahrenheit. It was clear and the winds calm. They had no idea what they may encounter, so stealth was essential. It was also second nature to a SEAL.
At 2045 they passed Fort Sumter at the entrance to the harbor. Something wasn’t right. Fort Sumter was totally dark. They expected to see a museum, and none of them could figure out why there were no lights. “Don’t museums need security?” Conroy observed. “Why no floodlights?”
Smitty pointed out that when he was in Charleston five months ago, Fort Sumter was visible from the shoreline at night. “It was lit up like a carnival,” Smith said.
They continued on to the main pier at Charleston Harbor. It looked nothing like the photographs they had seen. Instead of a modern dock with a steel frame and rubber cushioning devices, the pier was all wood, with the salty smell of tar and seaweed. The area was lit by what appeared to be gas lamps. A few vessels were tied up along the waterfront. They all looked like they were from the nineteenth-century, not the typical boats you expect to see tied up next to a modern pier. About a dozen workers were on the dock, all dressed in period costumes.
“These people take their historic reenactments seriously,” whispered Conroy.
They motored slowly along the docks until they found a deserted area with no activity. They came to a narrow indentation in the dock, and Conroy ordered the boat to be pulled into the opening. The Zodiac fit under the dock, completely hidden.
“Okay, let’s have a look around. Head out.”
They wore night camouflage, which is excellent for lurking in the shadows, but if they walked among the crowd it would be obvious that they weren’t part of the upcoming ceremony.
Conroy spotted a flat roofed building that was totally dark. At four stories tall it would make a good place to recon the entire area. An exterior stairway on the side of the building led up to the roof. The area was unlit, so they climbed the stairs without fear of being spotted. From the southwest corner of the roof they had a perfect line of sight to a downtown business district that bustled with activity, mainly people staggering from bar to bar. Gas lamps lit the street.
The area bustled with people and horse-drawn carriages. Everyone they saw wore a period costume.
“We’re here to observe and to report,” Conroy said.” “‘What the fuck?’ does not count as an observation.”
“Okay, I want each of you to tell me what you see. I’ll dictate your observations into my recorder. You guys chime in when I call on you. If you see something that you want us all to look at right away, just speak out.”
Conroy spoke first. “I’m observing a scene that looks like a Hollywood set. There are no motor vehicles in sight, only horse drawn carts and carriages. I can’t see anything that appears to be electric light, only gas lamps. Although the Civil War reenactment ceremonies don’t begin until the day after tomorrow, all personnel in view are wearing nineteenth-century costumes. Anything look familiar Smitty?”
“Yes and no, sir. My cousin lives right near the waterfront, but almost everything looks different. I see two buildings that were there on my visit, but they’re painted different colors. I remember a whole bunch of modern buildings, the kind you see in any city. But they’re not here now. What really blows me away is that I can’t see the Cooper River Bridge. My cousin is an engineer, and she loves that bridge. The thing was built in 2005, just eight years ago. It had these huge diamond shaped towers, and I remember her saying they were 575 feet tall. The bridge was beautiful when lit up at night. It should be right there,” said Smith, pointing southeast. “It’s not there. It’s not fucking there.”
Conroy asked Smitty if he could locate his cousin’s building.
“From where we are, my cousin’s apartment building is about four blocks away — I think.”
They continued surveying the crowd on the street, all decked out in their nineteenth-century finest.
Petty Officer Cyrus Durbin said, “Maybe these people went to method acting school and they’re just getting into their characters for the ceremony.”
“I know you meant that as a joke, Durbin, but I’m willing to listen to any observation or impression you have, and that’s not a bad one.”
Petty Officer Rick Donnelly spoke. “The smell is incredible. It’s a combination of horse shit and raw sewage. I just saw a guy dump what looked like a bed pan out a window. How authentic do you have to get?”
Petty Officer Emilio Juarez called out. “Look, here come a bunch of guys on horseback all dressed up like rebel soldiers. And check out the cannons they’re dragging behind them. This is going to be one hell of a reenactment.”
A cavalry unit of about 40 horsemen strode into view and paraded past the building heading toward the dock area. Behind the column were six artillery caissons each drawn by a team of two large work horses. The column passed by the building just beneath them.
Petty Officer Walter Reilly called out. “Look at the barrels on that cart. They’re tied up next to a couple of goats. I can see the word ‘milk’ on them. Where I come from, the county health department would go ape shit over that.”
Chief Jackson said, “I don’t see one black face in that crowd. Will this be a reenactment for white people only?”
“Look again,” said Giordano. A cart with a half dozen black men came into view. They all sat on the floor of the cart in chains. Through his binoculars Chief Jackson could see visible scars on a couple of the men. The temperature was 55 degrees Fahrenheit, but the black men were all shirtless. “I guess those guys volunteered to play the part of slaves,” said Jackson. “These people are assholes.”
“Okay, listen up SEALs,” said Conroy. “I think it’s accurate to say that none of us can figure out what’s going on. Maybe Durbin is right. We’re looking at a bunch of reenactors getting into their roles. But we need to go into that crowd and mingle so we can get some information. I want to know what they thought about the Daylight Event and whether they know something that we don’t. With all of the military bases around here, I’m sure they’ve seen combat fatigues before, but if we just walk into the street in uniform, the conversations will turn to why we’re wearing modern fatigues and not Civil War costumes. We need to blend in.”