“Mr. Rhodes, call my wife at the Vittorio and tell her I’m going out to the ship. And I may have to spend the night aboard.”
“Yessir.”
Jake waited for all the sailors to get aboard the mike boat before he walked down the gangway onto the float and stepped carefully up onto the stern — the quarterdeck. The only light came from the pier and he couldn’t see much. He stopped by the boat officer and squinted down into the well of the boat. The last of the drunks were being shoved against the rail and held there, just in case.
“If you’re going to stand up here, sir,” the coxswain said, “you’ll have to wear a life jacket.” He handed Jake an orange one and Jake donned it. The coxswain helped him tighten the straps between his legs.
Chief Dustin came striding down the pier from the terminal building. He gestured toward the two Shore Patrolmen from his van, and they preceded him down the gangway and across the float. The Shore Patrolmen went down in the well of the boat. Dustin snapped a salute to Jake.
“Get it straightened out, Chief?”
“Yes, sir. We did.” The chief slid down the ladder to join his men in the welldeck.
Lieutenant (j.g.) Rhodes called from the pier, “Shove off.”
The boat officer nodded to the coxswain, who called for the lines. The stern line came off first, and as the stern drifted away from the float the bow line came aboard and the coxswain gunned the engine. The boat backed smartly out onto the dark water.
Passing the terminal building and the frigate moored end-on to the top of the quay, Jake could see a halo around each of the lights. The rain drops came into the halos at an angle, driven by the wind. The lights of Naples reflected on the oily black surface of the harbor.
The boat officer fastened the top button of his raincoat and turned the collar up. He wore his life jacket under the raincoat. He loosened the gold strap on his hat and slipped it under his chin. Everyone on this open boat without foul-weather gear would soon be soaked. The boat officer, a lieutenant (junior grade) from a fighter squadron, grinned when he saw Jake watching him. “Great navy night, sir.”
Jake Grafton nodded and filled his lungs with the sweet salt wind.
Proceeding down the harbor, they were swept periodically by the circling beam from the lighthouse at the harbor mouth. The boat began to wallow as it entered the turbulent water flowing into the harbor from the sea. The coxswain played with the throttle and helm and coaxed the flat-bottomed landing craft to the right, toward the open sea. Now the square bow rose and fell to meet the incoming swells.
The pitching motion worsened when they cleared the breakwater. As the stern rose, the bow smashed down into the next trough, throwing water out to the sides. But before the boat could rise to meet the oncoming swell, the moving ridge of water smacked into the bow door with a thud and threw a sheet of water aloft, to be sprayed aft by the wind. The men in the welldeck hunched against the sides of the boat in a vain attempt to stay dry. Jake could hear the sounds of retching from the welldeck.
The carrier was several miles ahead, hidden by the rain. Jake watched the coxswain handle the boat. A little red light shone on the compass and RPM indicator. The boat officer held onto a stanchion with one hand and aimed the boat’s spotlight with the other. He swept the welldeck and the miserable humanity huddled there. Wet and shivering, Jake tightened his grip on the stanchion in front of him. The wind was quartering from starboard and roared in his ears.
The puny light played on the oncoming swells. The water was black with streaks of white. The swells were at least six feet from crest to trough, and the wind was ripping spindrift from the tops. The view was the same in all directions. Apparently satisfied, the boat officer doused the light.
Over his shoulder Jake watched the glow of Naples fade into the gloom. They were in total darkness. The assault boat plowed on, away from the land, into the heart of the stormy night sea.
20
The carrier loomed like a cliff out of the heaving sea. She had swung on her anchor until her bow was pointed directly into the wind.
The boat officer held the spotlight on the float moored against the ship’s stern as the coxswain maneuvered the assault boat in. From the cavernous fantail fifteen feet above the water-line, two more spots were trained on the float, which rose and fell to the rhythm of the sea, water spewing from the steel deck and the tires lashed along the side for bumpers. The stairway up to the fantail had wheels mounted on its base, where it rested on the float, and was tracking madly back and forth across the bucking float like a giant phonograph needle on a badly warped record.
The coxswain threw the screws into reverse and jammed on the power, but the mike boat was in the sheltered lee created by the huge ship and continued to close too quickly on the float, which rose when the boat fell and fell when the boat rose. He slammed the lever for the screws out of reverse and jammed the throttles forward as he spun the helm. He clawed off, barely missing one corner of the gyrating steel float.
The coxswain was no more than twenty. Framed by his slicker, his wet face was a study in concentration as he again brought the boat with its load of sodden, sick men in toward the ship. This time he closed too slowly, and the boat lost headway twenty feet below the float, before it reached the wind shelter created by the ship. The coxswain poured on the power and Jake could hear the engines roaring above the noise of the storm. But the corkscrewing boat was stymied by the wind deflected down the side of the monstrous ship, which pushed it away from the float and the looming stern-quarter of the carrier. The coxswain spun the helm hard over and used full power on just one engine to swing the boat out, away from the ship, for another try.
“Third time’s the charm,” Jake yelled into the coxswain’s ear. The boy’s lips parted in a slight grin, but his eyes never left the writhing float.
The boat officer was standing by Jake now. As the senior officer on the boat, Jake was legally responsible for its safe operation. The young boat officer wanted to be where he could relay any order Jake cared to give. Jake knew this, and he also knew that the coxswain was a much better boat handler than either of the officers, so he intended to say nothing at all unless the coxswain completely lost the bubble. Then Jake’s only real option would be to order him to return to the beach.
The coxswain had learned from his first two approaches. This time he held his speed until the proper moment, then used the screws in reverse to bring the boat against the float. His line handlers lassoed the mooring bitts on the float and lashed their lines down as the boat and the float ground together, still moving up and down out of sync.
Jake eyed the heaving float, and jumped across when the boat and float established a brief, temporary equilibrium. He held onto the lifeline and made his way to the moving stairway, which he leaped aboard and climbed while holding onto the railing with both hands.
He presented his ID card to the marine sentries at the top of the ladder, then stepped aside to watch the men exit the boat. The boat officer was directing men out of the well, and two men from the ship stood on the float and grabbed as men jumped or leaped across. The drunks were the last to be manhandled from the welldeck and assisted onto the float.
Then it happened. The next-to-last impaired sailor lost his balance and fell backward waving his arms violently. Somehow the men holding him lost their grip, and the flailing man fell against the man behind him and they both toppled over the stern of the mike boat. Their life jackets held them up, but the wind and swells were pushing them away from the float.
“Man overboard, man overboard, from the fantail,” the ship’s loudspeaker blared.
The boat officer threw a life ring. Then he tossed a saltwater-activated flare.
Jake fought his way through the marines checking ID cards and the stream of sailors coming up the ladder. “Get these people off the float and outta here,” he shouted at the sergeant in charge of the marines.
“Keep those lights trained on the guys in the water,” Jake roared at the sailors manning the spotlights. He grabbed the bullhorn from the junior officer-of-the-deck and elbowed his way to the rail.
“You in the boat! Take those men there helping on the float and make off. Pull those guys out. Put life jackets on everyone.” He turned around. The fantail was full of gawkers. He used the bullhorn again. “You people get the
