SILENT GUNS (47 page)

Lt. Elston leaned over the table and grimaced. He
sucked in his lower lip and nibbled it reflectively. “It’s
possible, very possible.” He looked up at Simons, and then turned
away and ordered, “Yonkers, call to Visual Traffic Safety (VTS).
Get a precise fix on those three ships.” He turned to Simons, “they
radar track everything that floats.” He glanced at Conover, “You
may not be aware, Commander Conover, the Coast Guard’s interdiction
zones are restricted to no more than twelve-miles from the
mainland. Coming this sudden, with no warning, I did not foresee
the need for temporary authorization to expand our normal zone. I
hate to bother you with details, Commander Conover but you know
rules…But if one of those ships is Trent’s target…”

“
And the weather out there?”
Conover feigned deafness.

Lt. Elston nodded; uncertainty crossed his face. A
guardsman stripped a sheet of paper from a machine that cranked
incessantly. He hurried over and laid it before the Lieutenant. Lt.
Elston glanced at it, perfunctorily, and then read out loud,
“Low-lying, heavy fog off the mouth out to 45 miles. A heavy
weather front is moving southeast from the Aleutians. Winds up to
70 knots reported.”

“
Bad flying weather, eh!
Lieutenant,” Conover said.

“
It’s bad weather for anything out
there,” Lt. Elston said impatiently. Conover rubbed his Lt.
Commander’s insignia. “We must stay out there. We cannot abandon
the chase. My gut tells me Rabbit is hiding, conserving fuel.” He
grabbed a pointer and tapped in on the chart; it touched Port
Renfrew. “I can’t believe they’ve set down anywhere near here. It
has to be on the Washington side.”

Simons stared at the map. Trent’s scent hung in the
air; but if Rabbit was hiding, he thought, he must be getting set
to spring up out of his hutch. Rabbit was a well-chosen acronym, he
mused to himself. And at that precise moment, it occurred to him,
that Trent chose a ‘Pelican’ over a ‘Dolphin’ for its superiority
in range. If so, why then did Trent play hide-’n-seek? Lt. Elston,
he thought, had hit it on the nose. He was overweight. Fuel. Yes,
it had to be fuel. And fuel meant range. Yes! Trent needed range,
as much as he can get. The Foxes were burning up fuel chasing
Rabbit. Rabbit was quietly sitting on the ground, somewhere, saving
fuel - or refueling! Then he recalled Madden’s missing two days.
Could he have been out to Cape Flattery? A one-day trip. “Yes! It
must be,” he said out loud. They turned and looked at him.

“
What is it, Chief?” Gleese asked,
her manner abrupt.

“
Here.” Simons moved down the
table; they crowded around him as he pointed to Cape Flattery.
“Somewhere out here,” he circled the area with the tip of the
pointer,” Rabbit is re-fueling.”

Lt. Elston understood instantly, “Ona, order Foxes
to close on Tatoosh and Cape Flattery. Rabbit has to be on the
Washington side.”

“
Den Mother, Foxes 1, 2, close on
Cape Flattery and Tatoosh. Assume Rabbit is fueling. Fox 2, Tatoosh
is yours. Fox 3 refuel and standby.”

“
Fox 2, Roger.”

“
Fox 3, Roger.”

“
Fox 1, Roger.”

Simons stared at the map. Tatoosh, was a desolate
wind-swept wet rock; the perfect jumping off spot to the West.

Lt. Elston stooped over and said, “It’s a
gamble.”

Simons added, “They had better be there.”

* * *

“
Den Mother, this is Fox 2.
Visibility is zero. We are approaching Tatoosh.” The pilot, Lt.
Wilbur (Zeke) Zediker, was dark-haired with a full face sporting a
natty mustache, hollered into the mike. Co-pilot Lt. Howard Wolak,
blonde haired, a linebacker who got lost on his way to the game. A
farm boy at heart who couldn’t figure out how he got into
helicopters, looked across and nodded in agreement. “I can’t see a
damned thing; no visuals gives me the willies.” Wolak checked his
instruments: altitude 250; heading 220; speed 80 knots. “Give us
eleven minutes.”

“
Fox 2, this is Den Mother. Watch
your altitude; you dropped off my screen.” Zeke and Wolak both
looked at the altimeter; the co-pilot gave it a sharp rap. The
needle fell.

Wolak panicked, “Christ! Pull up. Zeke. Possible
rocky outcroppings quarter-mile ahead.” Zeke gradually increased
the ‘copter’s altitude, shying away from rocks and banked away
along the water’s edge

Zeke said, “Right. Anything yet?”

“
Not a damn thing.”

“
Hey! You guys in the back, see
anything?”

Flight Mechanics Craig Floray and Raj Kapur
thumbs-upped as they adjusted their headphones and voice-operated
mikes drowning out the deafening windblast and engine noise. Eager
hands unclamped the locks and slid back the cargo door. The rush of
air whistled by and drummed on the hollow, metallic interior. Kapur
leaned out.

“
Small islands off to starboard,
Captain, at 2 o’clock; breakers are riding high against cliffs at 3
o’clock.” Glimpses of rocky cliffs appeared momentarily through the
lashing rain and then quickly vanished again. Tendrils of fog and
low-lying clouds seemed pulled along like cotton candy.

Zeke announced, nervously, “I’m taking her up to
200.” He slowed airspeed to near hover as he edged up cautiously,
yet the higher he rose the thicker the cloud cover became.

Wolak shouted, “Zeke. No radar, you’re too
close.”

“
Roger.”

“
See anything?”

“
A small beach, maybe.” The beach,
lapping at the foot of tall black cliffs, was smaller than at first
glance. It consisted of a patch of sand surrounded by broken black
rocks shed over the centuries to form a treacherous slope. The
beach, which shelved precipitously into deep water, was thrashed by
an angry maelstrom of short, steep crashing waves. The ‘copter’s
world vanished as they punched into a low, dark cloud.

Floray reported, “Lieutenant. I can’t see the
surface…we’re backing down, sir, and very fast.”

“
Goddamn!!!”

Zeke shouted, “Hold tight, I’m shifting her nose
down.”

Two seconds later, the forward altitude alert blared
‘rapid descent’ through 150 feet.

“
Jesus!!” They heard Wolak’s
voice. “We’re gonna hit. Hang on…”

Zeke shouted, “She’s pulling max power…”

“
Shit.”

It was a resounding crash; it felt like a cliff had
fallen in on them. Fox 2’s blades hit the water hard, immediately
rolled over and began to take on water. She stabilized momentarily
with only a foot of her undersides showing. Four heads bobbed up
nearby.

“
Zeke, I tossed the life raft
off,” Floray shouted over the din of crashing waves. He pointed to
a yellow, drifting object.

“
I’ll get it,” Kapur said pushing
off from the bobbing hull.

“
Everybody, O.K.” Zeke shouted,
spitting out a mouthful of icy, salt water and staring at his
bloody hand. “Stay together, you clods.”

“
Floray checked himself, his teeth
chattering. He’d been banged up in the face and leg. He felt like
he’d been punched in the side of the head. “I damn near got trapped
in there. Where are we?”

Wolak spoke up, “Tatoosh. I recognize the beach.
Better make for it before we get trapped in those rocks.”

Zeke interceded, “Let’s wait for Kapur and the
raft.”

Floray said, “Let’s just get ashore, my ying-yang’s
freezing.”

Zeke ordered, “No. Wait, he’s got it.”

They climbed aboard the raft and pushed off.

Zeke said, “Start paddling, Floray. It’ll warm you
up.”

“
Look, there she goes.” Fox 2
nosed up, then tilted nose down and slipped beneath the
surface.

Wolak said, “I guess that drops us out of the chase,
eh Zeke? I wonder where that bastard Trent went too.”

Zeke shouted, “Just paddle. If we survive, you can
read about it in the newspapers. Now paddle, damn it.” The raft
staggered and lurched until its bottom caught loose stones as the
men leaped and stumbled ashore. All about them broke freak waves as
they dragged themselves onto flat sand and higher ground. They
stood shaking themselves off and stamping their feet. Accounting
anxiously for their ‘copter mates, they sought a safer
location.

Zeke Zediker shivered as the coldness sapped his
strength said, “This place has been abandoned, cut-off from
civilization, a god-forsaken place to be stranded.” Den Mother
better come looking and not too soon for him, he wished. Tatoosh
didn’t welcome tourists, never did. A boarded-up lighthouse and
keeper’s station stood at the top, their hope for warmth and
shelter and await rescue.

* * *

Simons closed up behind Operations Specialist Ona.
Staring at the rotating wand made him dizzy; yet, he found himself
mesmerized by the green-eyed machine. With time to think, he put
himself in Trent’s shoes, his next move. He munched on potato chips
and swilled caffeinated soda pop. Ona stayed glued to the screen,
tracking every movement, alert for a sign, a signal, a misstep; but
none came - Rabbit lay silent.

Ona offered, “Maybe Rabbit did put down for
good.”

Trent heard the Operations Specialist utterance, “He
needs to be flushed?” Ona replied harshly, “If you’re wrong about
the ships, no and he’s dead meat: If you’re right, he’ll make for
Bandera
or
Hestia
before they get out of range.”

“
How will Rabbit know when to
move?” Simons asked.

“
A radar device or a signal of
some sort.”

“
Where would the signal come
from?”

“
Someone might be on
lookout.”

“
On a night like this?”

“
Could come from one of the
ships?”

“
How?” Simons sat up
straight.

“
From someone on
board.”

“
Someone on all of
them?”

“
Unlikely, I see the point,” Ona
said.

“
How about an automatic
signal?”

“
Sure, you could pick the ship you
wanted, put one aboard and activate the signal from a distance.
Rabbit could fly the beam right to the target. They wouldn’t even
have to see the ship, except at the last minute.”

“
And bad weather?” Simons
asked.

“
Shouldn’t make any difference?”
Ona shrugged. “Rabbit has radar. Bet she could pin-point a goose
egg on a beach.”

“
Den Mother, this is Seattle
Center, do you have you all your foxes? We picked up an IFF off of
Tatoosh; he was yours, but we lost him. Is everything O.K.?” Ona
turned, “Lieutenant, Fox 2 dropped off the screen. He could have
landed on Tatoosh, but we’ve had no contact for ten
minutes.”

“
Try the radio.”

“
Nothing, sir.”

“
Fox 1 is low on fuel,” Lt. Elston
looked at the printout. “Have Navy 1 go in. Hold Fox 3 in
reserve.”

“
Aye. Sir.”

Yonkers sung out, “Sir, position reports in from
SurfaceOps.
Bandera
and
Hestia
have been
re-positioned and
Vada
removed from the tracking table.
SurfaceOps says our cutters are out of position to intercept either
ship.” “They could, if they wanted to,” Lt. Elston cursed under his
breath as he stared at the table. “Yacona is close enough and at
flank speed fifteen knots, she has a good chance.” He suddenly felt
irritated, disbelieving of SurfaceOps reluctance to commit the
cutters. “They report strong headwinds; a nasty weather front has
moved in. Waves are topping twelve feet.
Bandera
has crossed
the 100-mile marker;
Hestia
just cleared the Cape. She’s way
behind schedule.”

“
Which one will Rabbit make
for?”

A radioman turned and reported, “I’m picking up a
strange signal, sir. It’s not morse; no message, just a probe of
some kind.” he closed his eyes and listened carefully. “I’m getting
a constant signal back sir. It’s a homing beacon of some kind; like
from a downed aircraft.”

Lt. Elston’s nostrils flared. “Get a directional fix
on it from SurfaceOps.” The radioman turned back to his radio
set.

The speaker crackled to life.

“
Den Mother, Navy 1. We’ve been
fired on.”

“
Navy 1. Den Mother. Position
report, please.”

“
Den Mother, we spotted a
‘Pelican’ on Tatoosh on the other side away from the lighthouse. We
turned floodlights on and prepared to land to assist Fox 2. Greeted
by machine gun fire. Felt unwelcome. Doused lights and flew off. No
damage. The numbers are Rabbit’s. They are fueling from jerry cans.
No sign of Fox 2. Request instructions.”

The radioman reported, “Sir, SurfaceOps advises a
fix on the homing beacon is the same as the coordinates for
Bandera
. They also advise dispatching Yacona, but will
expect she will be unable to intercept
Bandera
. Are there
any further orders, sir?”

“
When I’m damned good and ready,”
Lt. Elston shouted, pounding his fist on the tracking table. Simons
stared at him in surprise. They were all a bit on edge, even his
nerves were strumming like wires on a guitar.

Lt. Elston stuck out his jaw. He was tall and gaunt,
youthful appearing under light hair plastered straight back. His
face was stern and radiated great self-confidence for one so young.
Yet, he displayed little-boy pique, curiously out of keeping with
his command of events up to the moment. His cap lay on the table,
beads of sweat formed across his brow. In truth, he did his best to
shield his own failing confidence. He cursed Lt. Cmdr. Rath for
taking leave. He realized events were getting out of hand, moving
beyond his competency. He felt the crimson rush rising above his
collar.