Decker's Dilemma (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

0005, Monday, December 24

The alarm required a simple task: get out of bed, get dressed as quickly as possible, and report to your duty station for a head count. The berthing suddenly teamed with sailors frantically getting dressed. Decker rolled out of his rack, slipped into his coveralls and boots, and headed out the door.

Hack Wilson wasn't so lucky. He groped in the darkness for his footwear. “Damn it, has anyone seen my boondockers?” he yelled amidst the chaos.

The only reply came from an anonymous voice across the berthing. “If they were up your ass, you'd know it.”

“Thanks, jerk,” Hack said to no one in particular. One last sweep of his hand behind his rack located the missing footwear. He didn't bother to tie them, his lone thought was to head out the door. Only fat Ollie remained, heavily panting over the exertion of energy it was taking to get dressed so quickly. Hack ran to the port side ladder, sliding down with his hands on the rails as the ship came to a halt, rocking from side to side with the waves. He covered the last few feet in record time and threw open the door to Supply Support. “I made it,” he exhaled.

“Hack, you're late,” Decker said. “What the hell took you so long? You really must stop that self-abuse all night long. And to think you've only been away from dear Leeandra for one day.”

Chief Fray stood in front of his desk and silenced his men with a scowl. Medium height with his thick, light blonde hair trimmed short in a buzz cut, Chief's life was being at sea. He stretched his back and surveyed the room. He spoke with an accent that gave away his Lawton, Oklahoma upbringing. “Enough out of you, Decker. Glad you could find time to join us Wilson. Where the hell are Kippen and Limpert?”

Pinto, Decker, and Hack exchanged glances. Decker was the last to see Kippen, but that had been topside, well over an hour ago. No one had seen Limpert all day.

Chief sat at his desk looking upset. He grabbed the handset of the growler, the shipboard sound-powered phone. “I'd better call the bridge.”

“Hold on, Chief,” Decker interrupted. “I'll double-check the berthing.”

Chief shook his head. “No time for that.”

“Maybe he's in his rack with headphones on and didn't hear the alarm.”

“He still would've noticed the stampede of people leaving,” Chief countered.

“One quick check,” Decker urged.

Chief tapped his fingers nervously on his desk. “Make it fast. I can't hold out much longer before I have to notify the officer-of-the deck.”

Decker raced out of Supply Support. Less than a minute later, he was back in the office, noticeably out of breath. “No sign of Kippen, Chief.”

“Alright, let me call Suppo real quick. Maybe he knows where they are.”

The sailors sat quietly as Chief cranked the handle of the growler. “Commander, we're missing Kippen and Limpert. Have you seen 'em? Uh, huh. No, sir. I don't know, sir. Wait, there's someone at the door.”

Everyone in Supply Support focused on the door. The knob slowly turned and the diminutive Ensign Winthrop Limpert stepped into the office wearing rumpled khakis and a ball cap that looked like it was made for a much larger man's head. He carried a flashlight in his left hand, which he tapped with his right. “Sorry I'm late, fellas. I was, um, I had a hard time getting here.”

Chief relayed the news to Commander Doerr that Limpert was found, and then hung up the phone. “You made it just in time, sir. I was about to report you missing.”

“I'm right here, Chief,” said Limpert.

“I can see that, sir,” said Chief, sounding exasperated. “Damn it, we still have someone missing. I can't sit on it any longer.”

Chief called the bridge to report that Petty Officer Kippen was not at muster. He hung up the growler and glowered at the blank faces staring back at him.

Moments later, Captain Girard announced on the intercom that Kippen was missing and there was a reliable report that someone had fallen in the water. “We're going to launch the helo and turn the lights on. I want all available hands to go topside to look for Kippen. Let the bridge know if you see anything. And I mean anything. It's dark as hell out there and a little rough so stay several feet away from the lifelines. We don't need another sailor overboard.”

Decker and Hack waited for the helicopter to launch and then walked topside to the flight deck. The ship crawled through the water retracing its path. The two sailors sat a few feet from the edge of the ship, carefully scrutinizing the water for a sign of their shipmate.

“I can't believe Kippen's overboard,” Hack said.

Decker kept his eyes focused on the ocean. “Me either, but he's a good swimmer. A little wiry guy like that can tread water for a long time.”

“I hope you're right,” Hack said. “I wouldn't be able to survive in those waves. I barely passed the swim test in boot camp. They'd find me floating face down.”

“Not right away,” Decker said. “A body that drowns will sink. It takes several days for it to float.”

“That's a pleasant thought,” said Hack. “Hey, what's that smell?”

Big Mo walked towards the two sailors and sat between them, staring at the water the entire time. “Damn, not much of a moon tonight with the clouds. This sucks, man. They sure it's Kippen?”

“He wasn't at muster, and he's either in the water or hiding somewhere,” said Decker. “By the way, you stink.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Mo sighed. “You try working in the engine room all day and night and see how you smell.”

“Have you thought of a shower now and then?” asked Decker.

Mo shrugged. “Thought about it, but I was too tired after watch to clean up. Just took off my coveralls and crawled in my rack. It's the navy way.” Mo spotted Commander Doerr as he approached within a few feet in the dim light. “Here comes your boss.”

The supply officer sat next to them before they had a chance to stand. “What's the word, fellas?”

“It's too dark, sir,” Mo said. “It's going to be tough to find Kippen, if he's out there.”

“I agree,” said the commander. “Are we sure it's him?”

“He's the only one missing,” said Decker.

The commander and the three sailors sat on the flight deck without saying another word, silently scanning the ocean the best they could. The ship crawled along the same path of open ocean that had just been crossed. The helicopter circled the water in an ever-widening pattern. An hour later three Sikorsky SH-3 search-and-rescue helos from Cubi Point Naval Air Station joined the hunt. Four hours later, the group dropped out, one at a time. Suppo went first, telling the guys he was headed to the bridge. Mo left for watch a half hour later. Hack curled up on the deck shortly thereafter, nodding off in less than two minutes. Decker hung in for a little while longer, but his valiant effort to maintain a lookout for Kippen soon gave way to a lack of sleep. Exhaustion finally overtook him as he leaned back and rested his head on the deck.

CHAPTER THREE

0800, Thursday, December 26

The search continued into its third day. No sign of Kippen. An agent from the Naval Security and Investigative Command arrived on board the
Harvey
late Wednesday evening. Unwilling to pull into port, Captain Girard had requested that the investigator fly to the ship. He wasn't about to give up the search and, just as important, one lost day at sea meant the crew would fall behind in its training schedule, a day that the captain was unwilling to forego because of an accident.

Interviews began early Thursday morning. Decker waited his turn, sitting on the mess decks with the others and writing in his Book of Dates. No one talked much. When they did have a conversation, it was in hushed tones. When did you last see Kippen? When did you last talk with him? How could he have fallen overboard? How rough was the sea that night?

Decker drifted in and out of the conversations, thinking about Monday night. He noticed Hack fidgeting with his watch. “Nervous?”

Hack dropped his hands to his sides. “A little.”

“No need to worry. You should get over your fear of authority figures.”

“There's a death. And an investigation. I didn't sign up for this stuff.”

“Not a death yet,” Decker corrected him. “They could still find Kippen, if he's been able to stay afloat.”

“Then why do they want to talk with me?”

“You work with Kippen. It's a routine procedure they have to follow. Just answer the questions. It's as simple as that.”

“What questions?” Hack mumbled.

“Whatever they ask,” said Decker, sitting back in his chair. “I'm sure it'll be a breeze.”

“You're about to find out,” Hack said, pointing to the ladder leading down from the wardroom.

Decker turned and saw Commander Doerr slowly coming down the ladder from his interview with the investigators. Suppo walked over to Decker and put a hand on his shoulder. “You're next.”

Decker nodded in the affirmative, walked across the mess decks, and ambled up the ladder to the wardroom. He knocked and stepped into the room. A man in his early 30s, wearing a blue sport coat and tan slacks, stood near a sofa. No tie. His short brown hair, Marine style, shaved at the sides, made him look younger than his true age. Decker noticed his service record on a table beside the investigator's chair.

“Petty Officer Decker, thank you for coming up here,” the man said. “I'm Agent Bogen. Call me Scott.”

“Nice to meet you,” Decker smiled, extending his hand.

“Okay then,” Bogen said. “I won't take much of your time. This is a routine investigation we perform when there's a missing person. A few questions and you'll be on your way. How about something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Decker surveyed the wardroom, noticing with envy the formal dining table and plush furniture. First-class accommodations compared to junior enlisted quarters. “Coffee if there's some made. I don't want to pass up an opportunity to use officer china.”

“You're my kinda guy,” Bogen laughed. “I like the way you think. Sit down and I'll get you some. Might have some myself, now that you mention it.”

Decker sat on a leather sofa and watched as Bogen found cups and saucers.

“Let's get some background out of the way,” Bogen said as he poured coffee. “When did you report on board?”

“A year ago this past Monday, sir.”

“No need for the ‘sir',” Bogen said. “How do you like it?”

“If you don't mind the endless days at sea and the long workdays in port, I guess I like it okay,” Decker said. “Overnight duty every four days makes up for the bad times,” he added, sarcastically.

“I mean your coffee,” Bogen said.

“Sorry, I thought you meant the ship. Cream and a little sugar. The real stuff, if it's there. I've never been a fan of artificial sweeteners.”

“I'm with you,” Bogen said. He filled two mugs and walked over to Decker. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir, I mean Mr. Bogen.”

“Don't call me that, either. Mr. Bogen's my father. Call me Scott.” He sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “Okay, back to the ship. You go to sea, and the work life isn't the greatest, but how are things on board the
Harvey
? Everybody get along?”

“For the most part,” Decker nodded. “We all live as amicably as can be expected with five hundred guys crammed into the small living quarters of a
Belknap
-class cruiser.”

“Where were you stationed before reporting on board the
Harvey
?”

“This is my first duty station. I spent two months in boot camp in Orlando, and two months in supply school in Meridian, Mississippi.”

“When did you arrive in the Philippines?”

“A year ago this past Monday. I went straight from Clark Air Base to the ship.”

Bogen browsed his notes. “Okay, let's see. You've been on board a year. How well do you know everybody in your department?”

“I know them all well. But, except for Hack Wilson, I don't hang out with any of them.

“Why do you call him Hack?”

“His choice. I don't think he likes Lewis as his first name. He's named after a baseball player, a former Cub great, if there's such a thing.”

Bogen laughed and scribbled something in his notebook. “How well did you know Petty Officer Kippen?”

“Did? I hope he's still treading water and they find him.”

“You're quite right,” said Bogen. “Thank you for correcting me. Now, how well do you know Kippen?”

“I've known him my entire time on board the
Harvey
.”

“How is he as a coworker? Does he seem to enjoy his work, and being on the ship?”

“As far as I can tell, he likes it as well as anybody. I've never heard him complain about anything other than the usual stuff.”

“What usual stuff?”

“You know, going to sea a lot. Long workdays under-way. The usual gripes sailors have.”

Bogen sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Has he ever mentioned anything that was bothering him? Maybe something with work, or in his personal life?”

Decker paused. “No, not that I can remember.”

Agent Bogen shifted positions in his seat. “You hesitated. Don't hide anything.”

Decker focused on a welded seam in the bulkhead to his left. He had promised Kippen that he wouldn't tell anyone about their late night conversation. But with Kippen missing, Decker knew the deal was off. “Monday night. He came looking for me topside.”

“What time was that?”

“Around 2230.”

“How long did you talk with him?”

Decker shrugged. “I don't know, maybe 15 or 20 minutes. Then I went inside.”

“What did you talk about?”

“He was worried about some missing parts. And his girlfriend had broken up with him Sunday. He was tossing her letters overboard.”

Bogen rested his hands behind his head and stretched his legs. “What was his mood like?”

“Somewhat dejected. Must've been because of Claire.”

“The girlfriend?”

Decker nodded. “She's transferring to CONUS and ended it.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Shelley or Shelby. Something like that. I never had the chance to meet her. She's in the air force stationed at Clark.”

Bogen took a slip a paper wrapped in a Mylar sleeve out of his notebook and handed it to Decker. “Someone found this topside along the starboard passageway forward of the fantail. We don't have the second page with the writer's name on it.”

Decker read the first line of the letter. “It's probably from Claire. He was throwing her letters overboard. The wind must've blown it back on the ship. I told him it happened.”

Bogen took the letter from Decker and set it on a nightstand. “You mentioned missing parts. What did he say about them?”

“He just said some parts are missing and that he was worried he'd get blamed for them. I told him he's just being a perfectionist. I reminded him it's happened before.”

“What has? Missing parts?”

“No, things that he thinks are life and death that turn out to be nothing.”

“I see,” said Bogen. “Did Kippen mention anything else? People who disliked him or were out to get him?”

Decker shook his head. “No, and I can't imagine him even getting into an argument with someone.”

Bogen put his notebook in his lap and sat back in his chair. “Where was he when you left him?”

“On the flight deck.”

“Where were you when he went overboard?”

“In my rack. Sleeping.”

“Can anybody verify that?”

Decker thought for a moment, suddenly becoming nervous.

“Just one or two names,” Bogen urged.

“Hack saw me.”

“And he can confirm that you were asleep when the alarm sounded?”

“I was in my rack,” Decker repeated.

Bogen stared at Decker. “It appears that you were the last person to have a conversation with Kippen. It's important that someone can attest to your whereabouts.”

Decker started to reply when the forward wardroom door flew open. He saw who it was, and hastily shot to his feet.