Patterson and the others nodded, and within a minute the force of the wind lessened. The helicopter suddenly rose and turned to port, falling aft as the ship moved ahead. The Seahawk then banked and headed east- northeast, paralleling and preceding
Hampton nodded to the petty officer, who unscrewed his phone cord from a jack in the bulkhead. The XO ushered the group toward a watertight door, and they began filing inside. Patterson hung back, letting the others go first, and Hampton remarked, “They’ll be tracked by Russian radar soon. We’ve detected aircraft to the north, both a land-based patrol plane and a radar helicopter.”
He saw her look of alarm, and quickly reassured her. “Both types can’t harm a helicopter, and there is no indication that anyone will interfere with the helicopter’s mission.”
Then he paused. “But as long as the Russians are treating this as a tactical situation, we’re going to be on guard.” He looked to the northeast. The Seahawk helicopter was just visible. “None of us will relax until they’re back aboard.”
The Seahawk helicopter cruised at one hundred knots. He could go faster, up to a hundred and fifty, but he’d burn fuel too quickly. The pilot held the craft in a slow climb. Like all aviators, he liked distance from the unforgiving ocean, and it expanded his horizon. The increased altitude helped
And his own radar was definitely on. They’d seen the Russian radars operating before he’d even taken off, so there was no point in trying to be electronically quiet. Besides, his APS-147 radar was an excellent sensor. As he rode over an empty sea, with home falling away behind, those sensors guided him, and gave him the knowledge he needed to get his job done and find his way home.
The flight proved to be smoother than they had originally thought, and they had a great tailwind. After only forty-three minutes in the air, they got their first glimpse of the injured submarine. “Contact at five eight miles, bearing zero seven niner,” the sensor operator reported.
The pilot acknowledged the message, then ordered, “Tell
The XO poked his head into the crew’s mess. “They’re about thirty minutes out,” he said hurriedly, and disappeared. Just aft of the midships escape trunk, Chief Gallant had staged the three crewmen who were to be evacuated. EN2 Brann had been heavily dosed with painkillers, and his broken leg had been padded with blankets. Along with MM1 Heiser, he sat quietly. ET1 Troy Kearney fidgeted, and occasionally looked at the chief like he wanted to speak, but Gallant glared him down.
Several other crewmen were there as well, either to help or say good-bye. Gallant reminded them, “Remember, everyone has an escort up the ladder to the escape trunk. Escorts, don’t hurry them, but we need to move quickly.”
The captain came into the mess. Everyone except Brann and Heiser started to stand, but Rudel quickly waved everyone back into their seats. “It looks like we’re ready here, Doc. Any problems?”
Chief Gallant shook his head, smiling. “Just Kearney’s constant complaining.”
As if prompted, ET1 Kearney stood and held out his splinted wrist. “It feels great, sir,” he said while trying to suppress his wincing. “The doc took care of it and I’m good, sir. You can’t send me off the boat with those parts coming aboard. You’ll need me, Skipper!”
Rudel shook his head. “You need to get a cast on that break, ET1. A splint isn’t good enough. Without one, you could cause permanent damage to that hand. You don’t want to end up like Mr. Mitchell. You might never fly jet fighters again.” Everyone smiled. “Besides, Petty Officer Kearney, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, sir.”
Rudel handed the petty officer a brightly wrapped package, the size of a large book. “This is the information on the Russian sub’s condition, on our latest situation report, letters to Rountree’s folks, and some other stuff that’s none of your business.”
The XO appeared again, and announced, “Sir, the helicopter’s in sight. Four, maybe five minutes.”
Rudel acknowledged the report, and Shimko added, “I’m on my way to the freezer. They’ll start bringing Rountree up.”
Somber, Rudel replied, “I’ll be on the bridge.”
“Yessir.” After a short pause, Shimko added, “Chief Hudson is down there, and Mr. Mitchell has everyone organized.”
“Understood, XO. Thanks.”
Rudel seemed to remember the package in his hand. Turning back to Kearney, he said, “I’m entrusting you with this package. Give it only to
Kearney looked at the package carefully, as if it might explode. He asked, “What about Heiser, sir? He’s got two good hands.”
Chief Gallant said, “Not with his concussion. I’ve got him full of painkillers. And Brann’s got enough to worry about with his leg.”
Kearny nodded and took the package with his good hand. “I’ll take good care of it, sir.”
“If it falls in the water, it will float. Dive in after it.”
Kearney grinned. “Yessir, I understand.”
Rudel patted Kearny on the shoulder. “We’ll be thinking of you while you’re gone.” He stepped back and looked at all three men, silent for a moment, reluctant to leave. Finally, he said, “Take care of yourselves, and good luck.”
Rudel left and Gallant walked over to Kearney. As the chief opened the immersion suit and helped Kearney secure the package inside, the young petty officer remarked, “Sometimes I can’t tell when the Skipper is joking or not.”
“This goes in the water and nobody’s laughing,” Gallant answered. “Keep a good hold of it and you won’t have to find out.”
Jerry Mitchell wanted to be in several places at once. He was in charge of organizing the men that would pass the repair parts for the radios from the escape trunk to the wardroom, just forward of the opening. He wanted to be with Troy Kearney, one of his men who was about to leave the ship, and most of all, he wanted to be down in stores, with Rountree.
He really didn’t need to be in any of those places. Chief Gallant had everything under control in the crew’s mess, Master Chief Hess had a working party organized to handle the radio parts, and Chief Hudson and all the off- duty ETs were ready to move Denny Rountree.
Captain Rudel had agreed to let Rountree’s division bring him out of the freezer. Once the helicopter was in sight, Rountree’s remains had to be moved as quickly as dignity allowed down one passageway, up a ladder, down another short passageway, and then up the vertical escape trunk. It would be rough treatment, and it would be best if it was done by his own people.
But Jerry knew he had to be there when they brought Rountree out, for himself if for no other reason. Quickly, he made his way to the freezer on the third deck. There was little room in the cold storage area, and the ETs struggled with Rountree’s frozen form, wrapped in a plastic body bag. “Wish we could have thawed him,” Robinson muttered softly. “Idiot,” Hudson replied, slightly annoyed. “The whole idea was to keep him cold as long as possible.” As they shifted their grip on the slippery plastic, Lamberth and the others apologized to the body.
Jerry kept well clear, but wanted to gauge their progress, or at least that was a credible excuse for being there. Hudson saw him at the base of the first ladder. “We’re okay, sir,” he reported, and Jerry reluctantly climbed back up. They had some time. Rountree would go up last, after his three injured shipmates.
The 1MC announced, “ATTENTION ALL HANDS, THE HELICOPTER IS OVERHEAD, ALL PERSONNEL GOING TOPSIDE CHECK YOUR SAFETY GEAR.”
Jerry stopped briefly in the passageway outside the wardroom. The midships escape trunk hatch was open, and a fresh chill wind whistled down the ladder.
Enlisted crewmen shivered as they waited to pass the supplies forward from the escape trunk to the wardroom. Two others aft of the trunk supported Brann, ready to help him up the ladder, while Chief Gallant watched from the messroom door. Everyone present had a job to do, and there just wasn’t any space left for Jerry
