SILENT GUNS (17 page)

“
You stupid, black sonofabitch,”
Graves shouted.

“
I’ll kill you for that,” Harper
said, sucking air. Graves roared his enjoyment. Harper lay there,
his back against the bulkhead, his eyes blazing, still
spoiling.

“
That’s enough!” Madden drove
Graves off.

Newby sat, his mouth agape.

Graves guffawed. “Hey, Newby. Maybe you should try
doin’ the dishes, if the water ain’t too deep.” Holding his stomach
and groin, he staggered out the door. Harper rose to follow. Madden
implanted his foot in his chest and pinned him down. “Enough! We’ve
work to do tonight.”

It was a good fight, all three minutes of it. Harper
was surprisingly adept with his hands and agile; but, he was no
match for the rampaging, bull-like Graves. The pressure relief
valve had blown off. Madden dreaded the inevitable, but knew the
showdown was yet to come. He had to keep the peace. Harper, in a
miss-match, even in defeat, had something to prove—and he proved
it.

* * *

The door to his sea cabin stood ajar. Trent was
hunched over a chart when he noticed Maxie leaning against the
doorjamb. He looked better, but seemed ill at ease. “For Christ’s
sake, come on in and close the door,” he commanded. “Is this a
social visit, Maxie?” He didn’t look up, but continued
measuring.

“
I don’t know, Tony. I get these
tight pains in my chest and a tingling in my left arm,” he moaned,
patting his chest with his right hand. His face was lined with
worry and apprehension. “I just need rest; but I’ll be O.K., in a
bit.”

“
This has happened before, hasn’t
it?” Trent waved him to a chair, “down in the hold.”

“
Nothing serious, just a touch of
heart trouble from way back. The doc gave me pills. I guess I’m
pressing too hard. Probably just nerves.” He let his head fall back
and his breath out in a long-drawn sigh.

Trent laid down his dividers, clasped his hands and
eyed him thoughtfully, unable to decide. He wondered: Did Maxie
know about Lisa? Why did she accuse him of hiding him? Did he know
NARDO wanted him? Why did Maxie jump at the chance to sign on? Or,
was there something else he was not aware of? Madden suspected
Maxie’s difficulties were more than physical. Trent gauged a man he
had known as capable and courageous, was now on the verge of
collapse. Sharp mentally, yet deteriorating physically. Trent was
torn: he could order him shore-side; yet, he needed him.

Trent was blunt. “Do you want to quit?”

Maxie stared at him without speaking, then dropped
his head dejectedly, “It’s Flora. I worry about her all the time. I
lose sleep. You must promise me, if something happens to me...”
Maxie grabbed a cigarette from a loose pack. “If anything happens
to me, promise you’ll see she gets my share.”

“
Sure thing, Maxie, but, if you
want out, no one will call you a coward.” Maxie lit a cigarette
with methodical care. He looked at Trent blankly and sat in deep
thought. Trent broke his reverie.

“
Tell me about NARDO.”

Maxie reacted like a shell hit him. “How do you know
about NARDO?”

“
They know you’re here and figure
I’m hiding you,” Trent volunteered, “and they want you or their
money back.” He laid out his encounter with Lisa. Maxie’s hand
shook as he listened intently. “Lisa knows we’re due in tonight. I
bought you time. I guaranteed you’d not run off. She wants to talk
to you,” Trent continued until he heard footsteps. Madden pushed
open the door, his face torn in disgust.

“
Harper and Graves just had it
out. I had to break it up,” he reported, wiping the sweat from his
brow with his sleeve. “Graves asked for it. He just wouldn’t get
off Harper’s back. It was only a matter of time. They’re both still
hot. Nobody’s badly hurt, mostly egos—Graves’ ego. I don’t think he
expected Harper to fight back. We don’t need this; it better blow
over.”

“
Let’s get ready to shove off,”
Trent ordered. “It’ll be twilight soon and our timing has to be
perfect. Get the men together, I want no slip-ups.” Madden left
hurriedly. “Well, Maxie, this is it! The ammunition barge. If the
Navy catches us there the jigs’ up. No options right now, you have
a job to do.”

“
Tony, remember the time you got
caught liftin’ candy bars? Old man Tedowski had you dead to rights.
You ‘fessed up right on the spot! He didn’t know what to
do.”

“
I’ll tell you what he did do. He
told my old man. I got a licking I never forgot. This time, I
suspect the licking will be more severe.”

They laughed at the shared moment.

~ * * * ~

CHAPTER 12

Sam Simons eased back and planted his foot on the
tabletop. Trent had arrived at that crucial moment where he could
still back out unscathed. Simons let his foot slip to the floor
with a thud.

“
Looked like an opportune moment
to back out.” Simons cadged. “With Maxie sick, the men disgruntled.
Hit that ammo barge and the Navy’s on you. So far, you had done
nothing illegal, committed no crimes. Did you ever seriously
consider calling it off? No one would have been the
wiser.”

“
No, never.”

“
After Maxie. Even after Newby
showed up. Danger signs, red flags everywhere,” Simons chortled.
“And you hit that ammo barge, your luck runs out, there is no hope
of turning away. The cat is out of the bag. Successful or not, the
odds against you turn grimmer than grim. Did you…”

“
Yes. I did,” Trent cut him short,
he felt the power and thrust of the
Helga
coursing beneath
his feet. The stirring of memories, of the wrongs, the promise he
swore to himself, the need to press on against a clear weighing of
the consequences. “Not to me; but, to the men—their past lives,
their future prospects, their commitment to the adventure. For
better or worse, I was committed; the men were committed. All doubt
vanished: relieved, I promised myself to never again pander to
doubt.”

“
Have you ever killed a man,
Trent?”

“
That’s a strange
question.”

“
Why should it be, you were
leading five men to their deaths. Do you know what it is like? You
live with it.”

“
And you, Simons. Have you ever
killed a man?”

Simons’ face clouded, “Two.”

“
There you go.”

“
A grocery store robbery. They
killed my partner. I killed them. My partner did his duty, he knew
the risks, the exposure to being a policeman.”

“
Why did the two men rob a grocery
store?”

“
For money, of course.”

“
Where is the
difference?”

“
Your way innocents may get hurt,
even killed.”

“
Don’t sell us short. The
difference is my men were reliving a past they never fully lived,
picking up their lives from where they dropped them. They knew we
could fail: they understood the price. I bartered money in a fair
trade for a dangerous adventure. How is that different from your
two robbers?”

Trent stopped short. From the cove came uproar of
shouts and wild hallooing. They both ran to the cliff edge. Two
fishermen were lustily climbing the upturned hull of a small boat.
Overloaded, it had tipped over. A small boat set out from shore to
render assistance.

* * *

As dusk drenched the hills surrounding Sinclair
Inlet, the land bled subtle green and blue colors. Falling darkness
changed all to deep purple shadows that slowly cascaded down the
hillsides. The land fell under the spell of an eerie blackness that
extended it, fingers over the surface of the water. The shadows
that embraced the
Helga
turned to a deep red-blue. Lines
were heard to splash, quickly coiled and quietly put down.

“
Engine Slow Astern,” rang down.
The engine room answered. A propeller thrashed and the
Helga
slowly backed away from the lifeless
Missouri
. “Engine Slow
Ahead,” Captain Larsen rang down as he spun the wheel to right full
rudder. The keel divided the phosphorescent water into a white
foaming wake that curled away. The white puffs of engine exhaust
that rose lazily above her stack traced her progress. The
Helga
moved stealthily, a fox on an unsuspecting hare, her
bow cleanly parting gurgling waters as they tumbled aft. Astern, a
steady wake twirled and burbled in whorls of phosphorescence. Her
working lights basked her upper works in dazzling brilliance, an
inkblot on white paper.

Maxie patted the diesel as it thumped and grumbled
steadily driving the
Helga
into the night. He pampered the
auxiliaries, pumps, generators and hoisting gear, never doubting
his ability to coax the most out of machinery. Outside, he held his
private thoughts. Flora no doubt wondering where he was and what he
was doing. Was he taking his heart pills? Just a few months, he
said, but not to worry. He wondered if confiding in his best friend
had been wise. Yet, he had learned that NARDO was hot on his trail,
much too close for comfort, he ruminated.

Satisfied, Trent double-checked the working lights,
turned on his heel and headed topside. Taking station on the
starboard wing, he scanned the far western reaches of the
anchorage. He sensed Newby ease up the ladder, making almost no
sound to stand by his side. For this moment, they had drilled until
each man could carry out his part in his sleep. “No screw-ups,”
Trent had forewarned.

Trent pointed, “There, Newby, watch NPB#41 sweep
around those hulls, then back and forth like a farmer plowing
furrows, never varying her pattern. I’ve timed her a dozen times.”
Newby steadied himself on the handrail to stare through night
glasses shifting his feet as the
Helga
lifted to a swell.
“There’s her sister,” Trent pointed off. Newby swung his glasses
over, stirred by the impending danger. He gloried in everything
about the caper; he accepted its purpose, this dangerous passage,
and, particularly, the tough men aboard, their comradeship. He knew
only his own particular part of the job, Trent’s overall plan and
the way it was shaping up. And, that up until this moment, the
score was running steadily in their favor. Facing danger, he now
knew all his dreams were coming true.

We’ll soon find out how good we are, eh, Newby.”

The air turned briskly cold, lashing their faces,
their fingers stiffened. Suddenly, something caught Trent’s
searching eye and he straightened up. “There, Newby, that dark
object off to the left, that is our target for tonight.” A black,
shadowy bulk drew closer, its corners daubed in dull red light.
Trent quickly glanced at Captain Larsen’s outline in the darkened
wheelhouse. He stood unmoving at the wheel.

“
Look.” Newby turned back and
caught NPB#22, still a mile distant, a white wave breaking before
her stem, her lights bearing straight for the
Helga
. “My
God! They must know.” Newby trembled.

“
It’s her routine, Newby,
Relax.”

“
What’s that?” Feet clattered on
the deck grates.

“
Harper and Graves: you missed the
rehearsals.”

Two shadowy figures unshipped the forward hatch
cover and laid it on the deck. An engine chugged to life: Maxie
positioned the boom over the uncovered hold. One figure stepped to
the hook and was lowered into a yawning blackness. Newby turned
away and looked at Trent. His mouth hung open.

“
Practice makes perfect, Newby.”
Anticipating his next question, “For combat, you are trained to
react: thinking is both dangerous and a luxury. In the moment of
crises, routine still ruled all. And, this is combat.”

Gray and sinister, her engine roaring wildly, NPB#22
cut deftly across the
Helga
’s bow. She passed so close Newby
cringed, envisioning .50 cal. shells tearing at his skin. He felt
weak and miserably ashamed. Trent said calmly, in an almost
matter-of-fact tone, “She’ll run out, complete her loop, then
inbound the ammo barge in exactly twenty-five minutes.” Trent
twisted his wrist and set his watch stop-clock alarm. “This is not
a time for guess work,” he remarked, his tone deadly serious. Newby
craned his neck, not sure where next to press his attention.

Trent rasped at Newby, “Now watch, act one, scene
two.” He nodded over at Captain Larsen’s back then signaled. Harper
came bounding up the ladder, his face a charged, focused look.
Grabbing a handhold, he nimbly climbed the mast. Just as nimbly, he
shifted the ship’s working lights to port and slid back down. To
Newby, Harper seemed one continuous stroke of a paintbrush. A
solid, impenetrable cone of darkness had been created to starboard,
blinding anyone curious enough to approach.

“
Newby, stand clear.”

Newby moved to the handrail. Maxie darted about like
a squirrel storing nuts. He slapped gobs of grease on blocks and
pulleys, daubing any running gear that moved. At the aft hatch,
Madden readied heaving lines. Graves bent over stuffing noisy air
leaks and adjusting the mufflers Maxie had installed on the
auxiliaries. Newby’s body tingled.

Trent lifted his binoculars and made a quick last
minute sweep catching NPB#22 reaching the extreme limit of her
patrol. Her stern angle changed and her silhouette lengthened, then
she disappeared behind the most distant row of silent ships.
Checking his watch, he broke off abruptly. “Newby, get with it. You
know what to do. Now, be off,” Trent ordered. Newby, in his haste,
nearly stumbled down the ladder. Trent ignored him, swearing
softly. He turned as the ammo barge loomed larger, its high,
box-like shape and massive, sliding doors emerged out of the night.
With the close proximity, his sense of danger heightened. Beneath
his feet, the
Helga
pounded on course to safely pass the
unmarked, gray barge.