We had to have something really strong to move that hummer along while shoving tons of weight ahead of it.'
'We got on the internet and started making inquiries until we found out about this outfit in Argentina,' John said. 'They had developed a real ass-kicking engine for moving sled-type equipment vehicles down in Antarctica. We flew down and took a look at it.'
'The problem was that it was too small,' Harry added. 'So we sat down with their chief design engineer and came up with some solid ideas. The company boss was so impressed that he retooled one section of his factory to accommodate the concept.'
This company, Poder-Ventaja, S. A. of Cabo Blanco, offered a part ownership in the resultant product, but the brothers settled for a free engine with the options of claiming two more in the future. Four months after their return to Florida, their power plant arrived from Argentina and was installed aboard the newly christened
'Things worked out better than expected,' John stated happily. 'My brother and I have ended up with an excellent product. We made a couple of short runs for a local barge outfit with great results.'
'We just have to find somebody who'll buy it,' Harry pointed out. 'So far, none of the barge companies we've contacted are interested. They don't seem to be overly concerned about speeding up their operations.'
'They simply don't have a 'hurry-up' frame of mind,' John said.
The vessel is forty feet long, twenty feet wide, and propelled by a pair of eight-foot, six-bladed variable-pitch airscrews mounted on the stern. These and oversize rudders provide a fantastic turning radius that whips the ACV around on the proverbial dime. The lift comes from a ten-foot, twelve-bladed fan located on the bottom of the craft. The engine is a 1,000-horsepower Poder-Ventaja Marine Gas Turbine from Argentina. It has moved the vessel at a speed of ninety miles per hour over open ocean without a load. The brothers estimate that they could push forty tons of barges along at half that speed. Needless to say, it is
The cabin offers excellent all-around vision and has such amenities as a head, a triple-tiered bunk, and a small but functional galley that contains a microwave oven and small refrigerator. The engine room is located in the aft portion of the cabin. Two semi-rigid dinghies are mounted on the sides of the hull for extracurricular maritime activities.
As of this writing, the prototype sits at the DuBose workshop dock, except for the times when the brothers take it out for tune-up runs between Titusville and Melbourne. It is an excellent vessel waiting for the right outfit to come along and take advantage of its features.
Chapter 1.
NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
5 SEPTEMBER
PETTY Officer Second Class Mike Assad had disappeared.
The Arab-American member of Brannigan's Brigands wasn't AWOL, assigned on a TDY detail, on furlough, or transferred to a different outfit. He had simply vanished. Even though this extraordinary situation caused reactions from mere curiosity to outright anxiety, the United States Navy didn't seem particularly worried about this absence from his duty station. And this perplexed his SEAL buddies to distraction.
Mike's non-presence was discussed in much detail one evening at the Fouled Anchor Tavern in Coronado. This was the favorite bar of Brannigan's Brigands, and was owned by a retired SEAL by the name of Salty Donovan and his wife Dixie.
Salty had joined the Brigands at their table to partake in the near-ceremonial downing of pitchers of beer as well as discuss the discombobulating circumstances regarding Mike Assad.
'He wouldn't quit the SEALs, would he?' Salty asked. 'I don't mean to suggest he turned chicken or candy-ass, but maybe he's figured he wants a change in his Navy career.'
Dave Leibowitz, Mike's best buddy, violently shook his head at the suggestion. 'Mike would rather die than not be a SEAL.'
'Oh, shit!' Bruno Puglisi suddenly exclaimed. 'You don't suppose--?' He stopped speaking as if what he was about to say was so horrible it shouldn't be spoken aloud.
'Go on with the theorem you were going to asseverate,' Chad Murchison, ex-preppy and best-educated Brigand, urged.
Puglisi frowned in puzzlement. 'I never understand a fucking word you say, Chad.'
'I'm merely asking you to express your opinion on why Mike is no longer among us.'
Puglisi hesitated, then blurted out, 'Maybe he's gone to OCS.'
'Oh, no!' Leibowitz said. 'Mike would never want to be a fucking officer.'
A murmuring of agreement followed, and Garth Redhawk, a taciturn Kiowa-Comanche from Oklahoma, sighed loudly. 'It's just a deep dark mystery that may never be solved.'
'I suppose we should just accept the fact he will no longer be with us,' Joe Miskoski said.
'Oh, God!' Dave Leibowitz moaned.
.
THIS disappearance occurred after Mike had been awakened from a sound sleep during a Standards of Conduct class being given by a droning female officer from the Naval District Human Relations Department. A shadowy figure in officer's attire had come quietly into the classroom and shaken Mike by the shoulder. The SEAL woke up instantly and was quietly ordered to follow the man outside. When the rest of the detachment returned to their quarters at the end of the duty day, they found Mike's rack stripped and his locker sealed up. The situation smacked of criminal activity, and everyone in the detachment tried to think of some felonious deed that Mike might have committed. But since his best buddy, Dave Leibowitz, was still present and accounted for, it didn't seem any wrongdoing was involved. After all, the two were inseparable.
Even the ever-knowing Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins was at a complete loss as to the wandering lad's fate. His appeals to numerous contacts and friends had been futile.
.
6 SEPTEMBER
LIEUTENANT Wild Bill Brannigan, the skipper of the special SEAL detachment known unofficially as Brannigan's Brigands, had been summoned to the office of Commander Thomas Carey, the N3 of the base. Brannigan's mandatory invitation included instructions to bring along his 2IC, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins. The trio, still having misgivings about the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mike Assad, was not in a good mood when they reported in. The orders passed on to them by Carey did very little to improve their grumpy dispositions.
The commander glanced across his desk at them, grinning happily at their discomfiture. 'How are you gentlemen today?' He slid three paper-clipped documents over to them. 'These are xeroxes of a short article that recently appeared in
'Never heard of it,' Brannigan said.
'I'm not surprised,' Carey said. 'It deals with unusual and far-out scientific and technical matters. At any rate, I'd like you all to read it. Don't worry. It's not long.'
The three SEALs quickly scanned the article concerning an ACV called the
'A special assignment has come down for you gentlemen,' Carey said. 'It involves this particular hovercraft or air-cushion vehicle or whatever it is. You'll be doing a bit of travel.'
'Our assignments always involve
'You'll be visiting the Sunshine State, i. E., Florida,' Carey replied. 'The Navy wants you to check out the potential of that newly designed ACV for SPECOPS.'
'Us?' Jim Cruiser remarked. 'We're not technocrats.'
'The Navy realizes that,' Carey said. 'In fact, I don't think you guys would be qualified to pass judgment on potential wheelbarrows for the Seabees. There'll be a qualified engineer joining you later. All you have to do is see if you can fight with the damn thing. Take a ride on it with the inventors. That would be'--he glanced at the
