AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Crowhaven kicked the chart table like an unruly child.
“No, by God, she’s going to move if I have to tear the guts out of her.” He stared at the chief with a withering gaze. “Full astern!”
The chiefs eyes widened. “Sir?”
“I ordered full astern, dammit”
“Begging the commander’s pardon, that’ll beat the hell out of the screws, sir. They’re half stuck in the seabed now. And there’s a good chance we’d shear a shaft.”
“It beats the hell out of dying,” Crowhaven said curdy. “We’ll kick this mother out of here as though she were a mule in a swamp. No more arguments, Chief. Give me full astern for five seconds and then jam her full ahead for five seconds. Keep repeating the process until we bust her into scrap or she breaks free.”
The chief shrugged in defeat and hurried off to the engine room.
After the turbines were engaged, it took only half a minute before the first dire report came into the control room.
“Engine room, Commander,” the chiefs voice carried through the speaker. “She can’t take much more. We’ve already bent the screw blades, twisting them into the sand. They’re out of balance and vibrating like crazy.”
“Keep at it,” Crowhaven snapped over the microphone. He didn’t have to be told; he could feel the deck shuddering beneath his feet as the giant propellers pounded themselves against the bottom.
Crowhaven stepped over to a young red-haired, freckle-faced man standing in front of several deck to ceiling control panels, intently studying the massive banks of gauges and colored lights. His face was pale and he was mumbling softly to himself; Crow-haven guessed he was praying. He put his hand on the technician’s shoulder and said “Next time we come up on full astern, blow all the forward torpedo tubes.”
“Think that will help, sir?” The voice was imploring.
“It’s only a drop in the bucket pressure wise, but I’m willing to snatch at any straw.”
The chiefs voice came through from the engine room again. “The starboard shaft just went, Commander. Broke clean through aft of the seal Took two bearings with it.”
“Maintain procedure,” Crowhaven came back.
“But sir,” the chiefs voice was pleading, desperate. “What if the port shaft goes? Even if we break free to the surface, how do we make headway?”
“We row,” Crowhaven said curtly. “I repeat, maintain procedure!”
If both propeller shafts were going to shear, they were going to shear. But until the port shaft went with the starboard, he’d rip it to pieces while he still had a chance at saving the Starbuck and his crew. God, he wondered, how could so much go so wrong at the very last minute?
Lieutenant Robert M. Buckmaster, U.S.M.C., unleashed a short burst from his automatic rifle at a concrete bunker and wondered the same thing. The best-laid plans of mice and men, he thought. The operation should have been simple: take the transmitter, his orders said. A group of Navy men were still hidden in the tropical underbrush waiting for word of the capture so they could commandeer the equipment and send the coded messages that Buckmaster didn’t understand. Marine lieutenants were seldom privy to classified information, he mused. It’s okay to get killed, but it’s not okay to know why.
The old Army installation on the northwest tip of Maui had looked deserted and innocent enough, but the instant his squad began infiltrating the perimeter, they’d run into more detection and warning gear than surrounded the gold depository at Fort Knox. Electrified wire, light beams which activated ear-blasting sirens, and bright flood lamps drenching the entire installation in a blinding, naked glare. Nothing in his briefing had prepared him for this, he thought angrily. Sloppy planning; no detailed warning of the obstacles. Lieutenant or not, he was personally going to read the riot act to his commanding officers for causing this mess.
From windows, doorways, and rooftops that had seemed empty only moments earlier, the defenders opened up with a heavy burst of automatic weapons fire, halting Buckmaster’s commando force in their tracks. The marines answered back and their aim had been deadly; bodies were beginning to pile up around the bunkerlike openings. At the height of the battle, a burly, grizzled-looking sergeant ran through the shadows cast by the flood lamps, and threw himself down on the ground next to Buckmaster.
“I pulled one of their guns off a dead body,” he shouted above the din. “It’s a Russian ZZK Kaleshrev”
“Russian?” Buckmaster echoed incredulously.
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant held up the automatic weapon in front of Buckmaster’s eyes. “It’s the newest light arm in the Soviet arsenal. Beat’s the hell out of me how these guys got hold of them.”
“Save it for the Intelligence Section.” Buckmaster turned his attention back to the transmitter buildings as the noise of firing increased in the darkness.
“Corporal Danzig and his squad are pinned down behind a retaining wall.” The sergeant broke off to fire a series of short bursts to draw some of the defenders’ attention. “I’d give up retirement for a ninety-millimeter tank buster,” he yelled between bursts.
“This was supposed to be a surprise assault, remember? They told us we wouldn’t need any heavy armament.
Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion; a huge cloud of dust billowed up and chunks of concrete fell over the area like hail. The shock of the concussion made Buckmaster gasp; then he slowly rose to his feet and stared at the shambles of the transmitter buildings.
“Radio!” he shouted. “Dammit, where’s the radio man?”
A marine with a blackened face clad in black and green camouflage fatigues, raced from the shadows. “Here, Lieutenant”
