The majority of the ships’ crews were on liberty. The duty watch sections of the three ships rushed to their damage control stations even before the alarms sounded. The USS Simon Lake sank slower than the USS La Sane. It began to list to the port side as its stern settled beneath the waters. Wrenching steel, crashing of gangways tearing loose, and the ripping and falling of antennas, lifeboat stanchions, and masts mixed with the screams and cries of wounded sailors as the two gray behemoths caved into each other. Their main decks entangled in a mass of aluminum, steel, and flesh.
The General Quarters alarm of three ships broke the eerie seconds of silence that followed the massive explosion.
On the USS Albany, the duty officer pulled himself up from the deck and, doing well for such a junior officer, assessed the situation correctly. He shouted an order to a nearby sailor to cut the stern lines. The sailor grabbed a fire ax and ran to the stern of the submarine and cut the aft line attached to the USS La Sane.
The USS Albany’s 1MC blared.
“Security alert, topside.
Security alert. Away the security alert team.” On board the lone undamaged warship, M-16s and shotguns were unlocked from storage and thrown to eager hands that snatched them in midair, grabbing a handful of ammo at the same time. Like angry ants erupting from a disturbed nest, The submariners poured out of the dark hull.
The Albany duty officer, holding a pistol in one hand and the topside bullhorn in the other, announced, “La Sane and Simon Lake, stand by for Albany security force personnel to pass through your ships to secure the pier.” He repeated it several times as the submariners, anger in their faces, fear in their stomachs, and tears on some cheeks, rushed up the slanted brow to the La Sane. Everyone had their finger on the triggers and the guns were loaded.
They raced through the La Sane and across the connecting brow to the Simon Lake. The officer of the deck of the Simon Lake, cradling a broken arm and sitting with his back against a bulkhead, motioned the Albany crewmembers onto the ship’s starboard side ladder, leading to the pier. The ladder canted to the right and swayed precariously between the ship and the pier. Within ten minutes of the incident the USS Albany had secured, by arms, the pier and the harbor entrance.
The Albany’s duty officer watched the damage control teams of La Sane and Simon Lake race about their injured ships. He took a deep breath and successfully controlled his emotions. He leaned against the conning tower and looked at his watch.
“Topside watch, make the following log entries….”
On board the USS La Sane and USS Simon Lake the lights flickered a couple of times and then went out as flooding belowdecks shorted the generators. The La Sane creaked as it hit the bottom of Gaeta Harbor. The ship rocked to starboard, bringing a new round of wrenching steel as it pushed further into the Simon Lake and settled lower in the mud.
“I don’t like sitting here,” Colonel Walt Ashworth stressed in a low voice to Admiral Cameron’s tall executive assistant commander. Jerry Baldston.
“Colonel, the seating arrangement was made a week ago and I passed that on the LAN,” Baldston objected to the stockily built, crew cut Marine, who stood five inches shorter than his own six-foot-five frame.
“I know, I know. Jerry, but I was temporarily deployed to Kosovo last week. Remember? I didn’t return until this afternoon so how in the hell could I read my e-mail and send you a reply. I couldn’t, so there.”
“Yes, sir. Look at it this way. Coloneclass="underline" you asked to be seated near the admiral before you went on this TAD trip and you are.”
“Jerry, I didn’t know that I was going to be sitting with my back to the door facing the admiral!” Walt whispered emphatically.
“Colonel, I’m sorry, but you may try trading places with someone else. Besides, Diana is already deep in conversation with Elsie, the chaplain’s wife. I’m not going to tell her she has to move.”
Walt looked to where Jerry pointed. Diana and Elsie were head to head, exchanging the latest gossip. He sighed.
Walt would never move her now. At least they had a great view of the valley out of the windows that lined the back of the bistro.
“Okay, Jerry, you damn politician,” he said congenially. “You win, but in the future don’t put me where my back is to the door, okay? It makes me nervous. Never know when some bill collector is going to show up.”
“Yes, sir. Colonel. I’ll remember,” Baldston replied.
thinking that Colonel Ashworth was going shell-shocked at the old age of forty-seven.
Colonel Ashworth wandered toward his chair, exchanging greetings with other members of Admiral Cameron’s Sixth Fleet staff, until he stood behind his wife.
“Honey, I told you there are some things even a Marine Corps colonel can’t change,” Diana whispered, her smile accented by soft blue eyes. The same eyes that first attracted him to her at college. She patted the chair beside her.
“Now sit down and quit acting like a spoiled child.”
He bent down and kissed her. Twenty-six years of marriage this past April and her hair was still mostly blond. A wisp or two of gray speckled the sides.
“Maybe two nights in a row?” he whispered in her ear.
She playfully slapped his hand and patted his stomach.
“Oh, you naughty boy, you.” She laughed; her eyes sparkled. How she loved this tall, muscle-bound Marine-the man who swept her off her reluctant feet in college.
Twenty-six years, two grown boys, and a life of moving every three years and they still acted as if they were new in-love teenagers. Plus, unlike other middle-aged men, four of Walt’s six-pack were still intact. Maybe when Walt retired he’d grow a small stomach, but she doubted it. She tried to imagine him with long hair, but found it impossible.
He’d be a Marine until he died.
Turning to her friend, Diana said, “Can’t take Walt anywhere, Elsie, unless I take him twice. Second time to apologize.”
Heads turned as Admiral Cameron and his wife, Susan, worked their way along the narrow opening between the long table and the row of windows behind to their seats located in the center directly across from Walt and Diana.
At the admiral’s movement, those engaged in conversation over before-dinner drinks started moving to assigned seating.
Everyone remained standing until the admiral and his wife took their seats.
Admiral Cameron leaned forward.
“Walt, good to see you, but much better to see your better half. Diana, how do you keep track of him?”
“I don’t know. Admiral. After twenty-six years I can’t even keep him in bed past five in the morning.”
Before Tailhook the admiral would have replied with something like, “You wouldn’t have that problem with me,” followed by ribald laughter around the table. He did miss the humor of the old Navy.
“You’re lucky, Diana,” said Susan.
“Gordon sleeps until seven. Used to be, he was up and running by six.”
“I’d call the doctor if Walt was in bed at seven.”
“Admiral, I would like to ask you to disregard any opinions my wife may voice concerning me. The good ones I give her money to say; the negative ones she invents.”
They laughed.
“Walt, you are such a twit,” Diana said sweetly.
“Admiral, how much would I have to give you to keep him at work longer hours?”
“I have problems now getting him to leave on time. My goal has always been to be the last off the ship in the evening and I’ve found that unless I leave first the rest of the staff feels it’s their duty to stay. I like to think that any three-star admiral worth their salt is capable of taking care of him-or herself.”