Mechanically ducking through hatches, he makes his way to his room. He kicks off his shoes and settles onto his bunk. Thoughts continue to race through his mind as he settles into a restless sleep.
Morning finds the
“Anything?” he asks, standing near the periscope.
“There are a few ships sitting off the channel but no engine noises. It’s been quiet, sir.”
Leonard raises the periscope and looks over the world above their heads. Indeed, several ships tug on the end of their anchor chains against the incoming tide. They sit waiting for pilot vessels that will never arrive. The crew that once manned the rusting vessels has left in one fashion or another. The ships will now sit until their chains break and they are cast free, either to run ashore or be swept out to sea with the tide. Those that don’t run aground will eventually rust through and sink to the depths.
He briefly thinks of searching the ships for supplies — medical and edible — but pushes that thought away. There is little chance that any night runners could still be alive aboard the vessels. Any food and water they might have had would be long gone but the thought of a single SEAL Team searching the darkened corridors of an unknown ship, with even the possibility that there might be night runners onboard, sends shivers down his spine. They could stay and watch the decks for any emergence of night runners but he decides against it. Anything they might find would be unsubstantial compared to the risks.
The periscope slides down. “Prepare to surface,” Leonard orders.
The
“Bring us just inside the strait. Just far enough so we can get a look at Astoria. Slow and steady,” Leonard says.
He knows these waters are tricky. Not only are the currents difficult but the sands shift within the waterway and have to be continually dredged. No captain would bring his vessel into these waters without the skillful guidance of the river pilots. The engine kicks in and the sub slowly advances on the twin headlands. Riding the ocean swells, they pass the eerie, silent ships moored at the entrance. Entering the channel, they sweep by sandy beaches to either side.
The long motorway across the river, connecting Washington and Oregon, comes into view little by little until it begins its arch up to the tall bridge leading into the heart of Astoria. Leonard brings his binoculars up. The center span is missing. Looking at the channel beneath the bridge, he makes out parts of the superstructure poking above the water in places. The dropped bridge will make any further progress up the river impossible.
The docks and buildings of the small port come into view. Glassing the area, he sees nothing that looks amiss with the exception that another span of a bridge to the west has also been dropped into the chill waters below.
“Park us here in the channel and blow the foghorn.”
The loud, low-pitched sound of the foghorn resonates from the hills and sweeps across a town mostly hidden by trees and rising terrain. Leonard keeps his eye on the docks and streets for any movement. There is no doubt that anyone here would hear the low, mournful cry of the signal. Like the towns he saw lining the shores of Puget Sound, the streets remain empty. He has the horn blown again and they wait for an hour. Nothing.
“Turn us around and take us out of here. Set a course for Seaside,” Leonard says and climbs down the long ladder leading into the control room.
Sitting in his chair, he feels the heel of his boat turning. Looking at a chart of the seaboard, he notices that there are few towns they will actually be able to see. Most reside in ports and bays which aren’t visible from the sea. The ports themselves are mostly fishing ports with entrances between rocky breakwater jetties. There is no way he’s bringing his boat into those. They just won’t fit, and the currents there are even trickier than the Columbia River entrance. Seaside, as its name implies, is one of the few towns residing right on the shore.
If things look okay when they arrive, he’ll send Chief Krandle in with his team to have a look around. His concern about his crew deserting extends to Krandle and his team as well. He’ll just have to take his chances with them though as he’ll need them to go ashore at times. He admits he had some reservations about Krandle upon his return from the mission in the Philippines. The story he told upon returning was a wild one and caused some disbelief because it was so far-fetched. However, events have since proved him right and he feels he can trust him. He’s glad the chief decided to stay with him instead of going with Walker. Leonard isn’t sure he could continue with his plans if the chief and his team weren’t aboard. He knows his regular crew isn’t prepared to handle themselves if they have to go ashore. They don’t have that kind of training.
He rises and leaves control of the sub to the XO. His destination is the crew mess where he knows that Krandle and his team usually hang out. Sure enough, they are gathered around one of the small tables sipping coffee and no doubt talking about what a fucked up situation the captain has forced them into. That’s usual when sailors or soldiers gather. Leonard would rather have them bitching. It’s when they stop bitching that any commander should start to worry.
The room is empty except for the six of them. They rise at his entrance. He waves them back into place and joins them. With the exception of Krandle, their discomfort is easy to see — their fidgeting and their eyes wandering off; their minds searching for any plausible reason to not be here. Leonard has seen them all, with having to use the head being the most popular. He wonders just how many of them are thinking that at this very moment. It’s funny how these men can face the dangers they do yet get nervous about sitting with a commanding officer.
“Sit your ass down, Speer. You don’t have to go to the head and you know it. The captain has graced us with his presence and you’ll sit through every minute of it…and enjoy it,” Krandle says, still looking at Leonard but with a smile in his eyes.
With a sigh, the man named Speer eases back down.
“I won’t make you cringe in terror too long,” Leonard says, looking at Speer. “I came to talk with you for two reasons. The first is that I owe you all an apology. I didn’t believe your story when you returned from the Philippines.”
“That’s understandable, sir. It was a rather wild one,” Krandle states.
“It’s both understandable and not. Regardless, events proved you correct so I apologize. The second is that we are heading down to the town of Seaside. I would like for you to take your team ashore and scout the area. It’s one of the few towns with which we’ll have the opportunity to do so.”
“When will we be arriving, sir?” Krandle asks.
“In about an hour.”
“So a daylight infiltration then?”
“Yes, chief. We won’t be doing any night operations if we can at all help it,” Leonard answers. “I’m sorry but I don’t have any information on the town other than it butts right up against the beach itself. If something comes up, get out and we’ll pick you up. We’re only going in for a look so don’t take unnecessary risks. As agreed to in Bangor, you have the right to decline.”
“Let us look over the town when we arrive. For now, you can count on us going, sir. We’ll make a final determination when we get a chance to see it.”
“Thank you, chief… gentlemen,” Leonard says. He rises and exits.
The captain rises and leaves the crew mess. The captain’s coming here rather than calling for him impresses Krandle. It is something he would never have expected. He knows they didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye before but also knew Leonard was a professional like him. They could work within those guidelines if nothing else. Personalizing the meeting was a long step for them to begin working as a team. Krandle feels better about his decision to stay onboard. He still hates subs but his dislike is less.
“Wait… did he just apologize?” Speer asks after making sure the captain wasn’t going to make another
