Twenty Minute Wars: CGB Seven
by Michael G. Crawford
Chapter Ten
The last time Terry had boarded this vessel, it was to escort the remains of Dr. Chu and keep an eye on the despondent Dr. Adam Jackson who had watched their friend die in what could only be described as totally horrific circumstances. Not to mention considerably bizzarre.
Now, as they drew near to the Nicholson, Terry was hard pressed to put down the sudden wave of emotion he felt at the moment, his own feelings about the incident still powerful after almost 15 years.
As the Botswain throttled back, the whaler settled down, and the drew alongside the gangway ladder. With a shallow jump, Terry crossed the distance to the tiny ramp and crisply climbed the thin steel steps leading up to the deck. Once there, he just as crisply saluted the colors, "Permission to come aboard, Sir".
"Granted" rang out the voice of the Officer of the Deck, and once again Terry was hit with both nostalgia and grieve. Pushing it down, he returned the OD's salute and moved into step with the Lt. Commander who began to lead him to the starboard side hatch which Terry knew led up and into the ship's bridge.
"The Captain is anxious to see you, Sir. It seems there is some interesting scuttlebutt about your arrival."
"I don't wonder, Commander" he replied with a shallow grin, himself concocting the probable stories that had been circulated as word had spread of his "visit". Let's hope your Captain doesn't chuck me into the bilge once he hears what I have to say!"
That drew a quick glance from the young officer, but the man was disciplined enough to only let it escape for moment, an admirable poker face suddenly replacing the look of curiousity.
"What's the matter, Commander, the Captain tortured the curiousity out of this crew?"
The commander laughed at that. "Oh no Sir. But as I'm sure you know, besides the Captain, only the Exec engages visitors in serious conversations, and what you just said sounds pretty serious."
Terry smiled at this, perhaps a little broader now. "Ahh. How perceptive. We'll just hope that you get to hear it first hand while it's still fresh and accurate. Who knows what scuttlebutt will do to my nice little story."
"Aye, aye to that, Sir."
They reached the last ladder and with a few steps made their way into the bridge's spacious quarters and Terry was introduced to the Captain.
"Captain Sustance to see you, Sir".
"Welcome aboard, Captain Sustance."
"Thank you, Sir" replied Terry, even though he knew quite well he outranked the ship's
Captain by some many years, even if his commission was a reserve commission.
"May I call you Terry?"
"By all means, Sir."
Then addressing the bridge, the Captain continued. "Everyone else will address our guest as Commodore, so there is no confusion. Dr. Sustance has been a Captain almost longer than I have been in the Navy, so we'll give him the honor he is due, even if his government is a little late in this matter."
That made Terry suppress a grin of his own. He was old enough to be the Captain's father, that was true, but even the U.S. government would not have given him credit for all the years of inactive reserve he had clocked in. But it was a gracious gesture, and certainly would prevent anyone from accidentally addressing him when the ship's Captain was intended.
"How very generous, le Cap'atan" he said in a phony French accent, of which, of course, he had none. Then he smiled to ensure the Captain would know he meant. "It will cut down on the confusion, yes. But if my superiors should hear of this..." and he raised his voice and eyes together in the stereotypical French fashion, eliciting chuckles on the bridge.
As the Captain let it rumble for a moment or two, Terry realized the ship had good morale, at least amongst the bridge crew. That bode well for the rest of his visit.
"Well, Commodore, I imagine you'd like to take a moment or two before we sit down to our little discussion. And as it is such a fine story, or so I hear...I wonder it would't be a burden to wait and tell it over the lunch mess in about 30 minutes."
Terry understood that was as close to an order as he was going to receive from the overly polite ship driver, and also realized quickly he could only accept. "But of course" he said again in the accent.
Again the crew realized he was pretending and loved it. An easy crowd this group. "I have a small package being brought aboard, I wonder if that could be delivered and the paper taken off it but not opened?"
"Certainly. Mr. Olsen will take care of that for you right after he shows you to your cabin. You will be bunking with the Exec, Commander Charlie Wilson. Charlie will probably be down to escort you to the mess. However, you have the run of the ship, Commodore. I understand you've been aboard her before."
"Aye, Sir. She is an old and reliable friend." He pointed to one of the combat stars on his French uniform. "This was the result of our friendship, and that is part of the story."
That caught the ears of the bridge crew, and Terry knew he had started a new legend.
He followed the earnest Lt. Commander Olsen as they wound down stairs into Officer Country. The passageways, familiar to Terry already, were never-the-less large in his eyes. The giant Spruance destroyer dwarfed most French ships, and her wide body design while a little bulky, made for excellent quarters, especially in Officer Country.
"Well I guess I'll get to hear the story after all, Commodore" spoke up Olsen as he openned the door after rapping.
"Yes it would seem that way. On the package, please make sure the box is left unopenned. I don't want to ruin the surprise."
"Yes Sir!" spoke the young man as he saluted and left as Terry returned it. With a sigh, he sat in a small chair at the desk which appeared unused in the fairly spacious Exec's cabin. In some of the larger ships, a few spots were open for visitors, and the Exec tended to keep his own room as one of those, if only to not have to share space with someone else...a perk of the position, so to speak. It also allowed the Exec to feel out the visitor in non-threatening conditions, sometimes a major plus if the visitor were someone important to the Captain. Terry had been an exec for a number of years, however, had never gotten the chance to Captain a ship. Another good reason for the Commodore title, one which in the U.S. Navy really had no meaning, and certainly lie outside the chain of command.
He ran his hands through his hair and decided to wait patiently after visiting the head, no need to go and get lost just before lunch. He had plenty of time to wander around the box like superstructure. He was most interested at seeing the new CIC in <i>Nicholson</i>, and a visit to look over the Vertical Launch System as second on his list. The last time he had been on the ship, the front launcher for a Standard MR2 SAM had been mounted on the foredeck, and even that was a thrill to watch as it swung up to the near vertical and a standard was rammed up from the vertical magazine built into the deck.
<p>
Now of course, the deck was covered with some 61 vertical launch cells, with Tomahawk, Vertically Launched ASROC (VLA), or perhaps still Standard MR2 SAMs loaded in the cells. To fire, the weapons officer simply depressed the proper sequence of buttons and the cap blew open and away the rocket went. No loading, no rotation, nothing. Fire away. A very nice system indeed, one the French were hoping to get with their next ship of the line purchased from the U.S. or perhaps they would license the technology for one of their homebuilt ships.
He shook hands with Charlie Wilson, but they two hardly exchanged words, the Exec looking a little harried at the moment, and Terry certainly not anxious to give the man trouble. "Lead the way, Commander. I'll not give you any trouble." This elicted a thankful grin, and the man practically ran down the hallways. It was a good sign that the Exec was so full of energy. It meant the Captain drove him hard, but it also ensured Terry that the crew would be up for his little adventure. Or so he hoped.
In the mess, the Junior officers stood as he and the Exec entered. The "old man", the Captain, had not yet arrived, and the Exec started introducing to the men around the mess table as they sat, ready to spring up at the Captain's entrance. Terry nodded to each officer as he was told their name and made sure no change came over his face as the pretty Lt. Commander Kelly Remington was introduced, a female officer alone amongst a goodly number of males. He could tell from her demeanor that she took no shit from these guys, and the fact she held the rank of Lt. Commander meant she was at least somewhat experienced at ensuring her authority was not brooked. It was a refreshing sign for the U.S. military and he only wished the French were so liberal.
Then as the Captain entered, they all started to stand.
"Belay that. At ease, gentlemen. You especially, Commodore. Now if you aren't dieing to tell your story yet, I'd like to chow down, it has been a long week this morning..." and a few wry chuckles with accompanying faces confirmed the busy schedule the <i>Nicholson</i> had been operating under. Alone, and en route to join the battlegroup with the carrier <i>U.S.S. Ronald Reagan</i> and the submarine <i>Jimmy Carter</i>, she was going to be in excellent company in a short while.
"Please, my stomach has been growling ever since I left Leon."
"You'll be satisfied, I am sure. Cook has whipped up Boston fair, clam chowder, fried clams, and one of the Mediterannean fish, I am told. He's a good one, I stole him from Admiral Carsons just before he retired."
"Stole him, Sir?" questioned the Exec, and then answered himself, "...more like bribed the Admiral."
"That sounds like a story as well, Commander" remarked Terry when the Captain studiously ignored the remark, but with a pleasant look on his face. Getting the nod from his Captain, the Commander continued.
"Well, the Admiral was retiring, and as the Captain's boss, he had to put up with a lot of grieve. The Captain, I am sorry to say, is a practical joker, you see. And no one was immune, especially his superior officers. I won't start on the other stories I could tell. I on the other hand am a simple officer and frankly scared shitless of my superiors. I would never take the liberties that the Captain has. Now if you think I am just brown nosing hear, you can ask any of the other..." and he gestured around the mess table where heads were shaking no, "...officers, but I think you'll find general agreement that the Captain, is, well, if you excuse expression, down right nuts."
The Captain harumphed quitely at that comment as he refolded his napkin in his lap and looked up, still smiling.
"In any case, everyone knew that the cook was going to be grabbed up by another Admiral first before any of the ships could get him. But Captain Henry was a little faster on the draw. It seems the Admiral had a few Annapolis classmates that had crossed him one too many times. So the Captain traded a few dirty tricks for the cook. Pretty simple really."
Terry could tell the Commander admired the Captain for his guts, but it was also quite clear he believed the older officer was just bucking to get canned the first chance the opportunity presented itself.
"Well, that story starts out alright, but the ending leaves
a little to be desired" remarked Terry.
"Well, I'll leave the Captain's exploits to the Captain. To many tender ears here" which was also met with some wry chuckle. Clearly the officers at least knew full story. Interesting.
Then as the cook and helpers brought in the lunch soup, converstation became innane as they officers heaved to the rather excellent serving.
******
After the lunch was pretty much complete, Terry gestured for Olsen to place the box at the head of the table as the Captain's plate was taken away.
"This will require standing, Sir" he said, and the officers sprung to their feet. At the Captain's puzzled glance, Terry continued.
"As you are aware, Sir, my relationship with the Nicholson goes back a few years. It is that relationship that brings me here. Not only to present this gift to the ship, but to remind you and the crew of the longevity of this fine vessel. As you know, the Nicholson was named after a number of Civil War Nicholsons, a number of brothers and their nephews or some such. The commissioning of Nicholson was to include a bell from a Civil War monitor vessel, which would bear the name of that monitor vessel, with Nicholson enscribed below it. Unfortunately, at the last minute, the museum donating the piece had second thoughts. "
"Through my relationship with Dr. Jackson, a man of incredible connection in the U.S. archeological community..." which was also true for himself, but he neglected to throw that in, his pride not withstanding, "...when informed of this particular event, asked me if I would like another Civil War relic to be gifted instead, albeit nearly 20 years later. When I agreed, Dr. Jackson presented me with this small token of his appreciation for the help the Nicholson brought to us in our time of need so many years ago, and it is, I think, a very fitting momento indeed."
Now of course everyone expected something equivalent to a brass bell, perhaps cannon shot or something of that nature. But Terry's surprise was so much more.
"It seems that a little known incident during the American Civil War occurred all the way around the world from the fields of Gettysburg or Atlanta. And this is the story I have come to tell you.
"In the months before the war had begun, a slave trader named Jessie Carlisle, had negotiated with a White African named Unther Gargist, a non-too gentle man who had a sad reputation for mistreating his cargos. But what Unther did have going for him was a very low price per head of slaves. Unther and Carlisle, both being of the same mind of the intrinsic value of these particular human lives, decided that despite the forthcoming winter seas, they would try to get in one last trip before Lincoln's embargo on slave trading could stop their ship's from landing on the East Coast of America...in this case making the trip around the Keys and setting port in Atlanta. And in fact, having reached this agreement, through a single round trip traverse of the previous slave run, Carlisle set in motion a chain of events that will lead us to this momento today. "
The bridge was utterly quiet as Terry continued his story.
"On September 5th, the Pegasus, a slaver of no uncertain heritage, set sail from Africa's Ivory Coast with the intention of arriving in America many months later, and in the midst of what as probably going to be fierce weather. However, she was to be met by a resupply ship, and while anchored, wait out any bad weather before setting ashore."
"Unfortunately, not all went well with the Pegasus. A few hours out of Port as she skimmed South, she was accosted by an American Frigate. Now the policy at the time, under a Presidential Directive of Abraham Lincoln, was that all slave vessels were to be boarded. If the living conditions for the Slaves on board were not appropriate for the journey, and they weren't, the Captain had the perrogative to turn the ship back. The African Government was not about to argue the case, since their own regulations were somewhat sketchy on the subject of slavery...it was okay, mind you, just not all that well regulated, and they were under fire for that both from several European governments as well as the newly concerned Americans."
"The Captain of the Pegasus, a cutthroat of a Pirate hired for the task, had been warned by this particular Frigate's Captain, and sought to escape inspection. Rather than be boarded
at the conclusion of the chase, he decided to duck into bay along the Ivory Coast and wait out the night. In the morning, having escaped his pursuer, he ventured out to the mouth of the bay only to find his pursurer ahead of him, but facing away and seemingly unaware of the slaver's presence far behind. But ill winds left him sitting at the mouth of the bay, unable to take advantage of the situation, and soon a lookout on the Frigate sounded the alarm. As the Pegasus lookouts noted the ship turning back in the distance, the Captain of the Pegasus decided surrender was out of the question and chose to flee. His crew manning the boats, he and his men went ashore and dissappeared into the landscape. "
"Here the story gets grim. As the Frigate's crew boarded the slaver, a great explosion occurred, killing the Frigate's boarding crew which included the Frigate's Exec and one other officer. The explosion tore out a huge chunk of the hull, and the boarding party, and the slaves trapped in the holds below all perished as the ship sunk at the edge of the Bay's entrance, in some 100 feet of water."
"The location was noted by the Frigate's Captain, however, as there was clearly only human cargo on board, there was never any effort to find the wreck. And this is where I come into the story."
"Dr. Jackson, in looking for remnants of his own past...he shares the same race as you, Captain...had poured over wrecks all over the southern and eastern coasts of the U.S. However few records were available from the African side of the slave trade. However, in the early 1980s, I chanced upon an old friend who was assigned as the military attache to South Africa. He in turn had a friend, a White African whose family had lived for years along the Ivory Coast, who knew of the loss of the Pegasus. This White African was part of the Nelson Mandella movement, and had in fact almost been killed by his peers for his activities. He turned over the records his family had kept, which identified him as a relative of one of the minor crew members of the Pegasus. Not a happy family tree this one, and the man felt it a moral obligation to try to correct the wrongs. When he read of Dr. Jackson's work along the U.S. coastline, he told my friend who then told me. At the time I was serving as the Attache to the Emir of Kuwait, but well acquainted with Dr. Jackson. His son was part of a training group I had been honored to serve with in North Carolina, and we were close friends, if not separated by many years of age. "
"So I knew some many details of Dr. Jackson's work, and of course, peripherally acquainted with the man himself. I faxed him copies of a few of the pertinent pages. Within a week, Dr. Jackson himself stepped off a plane, and greeted me as a long lost friend. He had a letter from the American Embassay requesting my special services, and within 48 hours, I was assigned to help Dr. Jackson to search out the ship, and if found, explore the ship and bring up anything that might be of interest."
"I of course was doubtful. A ship in only 100 feet of water was surely not going to have survived fortune hunters, despite the 'uninteresting' if not frightening cargo. But soon I was shown to be wrong. Using techniques pioneered by and used by Dr. Ballard, Jackson was able to spot the wreck. We did not have the submergibles and robotic talents that Ballard used on his famous finds, but we did have Dr. Jackson's tenacious energy. On July 18, 1984, we found the Pegasus sitting on her side in 130 feet of water, precious feet away from a sheer drop that ends at a depth so frightening, I won't even begin to imagine. By now, someone has charted this trench, but I choose to believe it is bottomless, and for all intents and purposes, it might as well be that."
The bridge crew was nodding and agreeing now, obviously a few divers in the crowd hanging on his every word.
"The ship was so well covered by silt, it was clear that tidal action at the bottom of the bay had obscured the wreck. We only found her with pretty sophisticated gear. Of course we couldn't tell how intact she really was without taking a peak. So, without much fanfare, we got permission to dive, borrowed some deep water gear from Ballard and a couple of Cousteau setups from U.S. Divers, and the Micro Bell from the Scripps institute. We did some helium diving and laid out the ship's boundaries and began to take photos of the layout as we dusted off the accumulations of nearly 200 years."
"After a two week break to reenergize and get back to our normal habitat, we dove again in the bell, and set out to probe the wreck. We had already uncovered her pretty well, and the photo team was busy setting up for a set of shots before we started playing around and possibly doing some damage. Remember we were amongst some pretty emminent archeologists here, and Cousteau was just waiting to jump in and do his thing if we weren't doing it by the book. In fact, his helicopter was buzzing the tender all the time we were there."
"Anyway, the photo crew had just finished up, and myself, Dr. Jackson and a colleague of ours, Dr. Chu Chang, were approaching the wreck. Light was pretty good down there, the water being abnormally clear. It had a tendency to wane however as the weather top side was clouding up now and then despite the wave action being calm."
"Dr. Chu was about thirty feet in front of me, and we were a threesome buddy team, pretty necessary with deep water gear...one to watch the time, one to watch the depth, and one to watch the others, that was me. I was wearing a nifty gift from the Navy at the time, a prototype dive computer that must have weighed a ton. It was in two pieces, one chunk along my Cousteau setup, the other in a belt around my waste. A cord ran up my wetsuit and onto my arm. I was able to keep track of depth and time...I guess this is old hat nowadays...and could figure out our worst case decomp time. We had about two minutes of no decomp left, and we had planned on several stops to extend our time. I was about to let the team know we had reached the mark, when a shadow moved across the face of the wreck, and everyone turned and looked up."
"Now I will try to describe this as best I can, and believe me, I have difficulty not because of the passage of time, but from perspective. You see, we all thought it was a whale or something. I mean the shadow was huge, you know? What I saw didn't fit. Well, actually it did, sort of. The skin was black and it had a strange look to it, almost like a rippling color. But it wasn't color it was surface effect on an all black rubberized anechoic tile hull. It was, to put it mildly, the biggest damn whale I had ever spotted, Ahab."
The bridge crew laughed now, as he broke the tension a little. He knew he needed to do this in order to set them for what came next.
"And it was close. There was a low thrumming sound, too. That's what made is so errie. This pulsing sound was suddenly all around us. I don't know why we hadn't heard it before, but there you are. We hadn't. In a moment we all realized, just about at the same time I expect, that this was not some dangerous underwater denizen about to have us for lunch. It was definitely man-made. And we could almost touch it. I noticed right away that we were being swept along with it. Here we were at about 100 feet, and this huge man made object was sucking us along in its passage. It must have only been doing a few knots. Really slow and long. About then my friend Dr. Jackson go this alarmed look and started hooting in his regulator and motioning. It only took me a few seconds to tumble on to what he was saying. I started to back pedal trying to back away from the thing. But then I remembered Dr. Chu. He was struggling against the current in front of me, and it was then I realized how close I was to the thing. If Chu had been thirty feet in front of me, the thing had to be damned close to him. But Chu had covered some distance in the few seconds of shock that I had been treated to. Perhaps he had seen what had literally come over my shoulder. "
"In any case it was no good. Chu was just inside the limit. The more he struggled the worst it got, and Jackson and I started to move towards him. That wasn't too hard to do physically, mind you. But mentally, it was a real killer. Well for me. Adam Jackson starting kicking like a Navy Seal. He go pretty close to Chu before his own survival instincts took over, and he literally stopped. Chu was suddenly gone. The stern of the object swept by, the screw idly turning. It wasn't driving, mind you, just kind of spinning in the water. Two streams of pretty violent water trailed the screw and these simply grabbed Chu, swung him face first into the giant screw and smashed him facemask first.
"When we finally got to him, he was gone. I won't describe what we saw, but I damn near puked in my mask, and at 100 feet, that would have been the end. Jackson was crying, I could see it clearly, and I wasn't in too great a shape either. We grabbed the body and headed for the surface. I wanted to take a short stop, but Jackson shook his head. I had to thump his mask to get his attention. Chu wasn't going to be helped by rushing to the surface. But Jackson was adament, gesturing and hooting. So I comprimised and we took just a few breaths at 65 feet and again at 40. We broke the surface with Chu and booked over to the tender. Just as we were climbing on board, one of our watchers pointed back out to sea. There I saw, for the first time, the U.S.S. Nicholson."
As the bridge crew heard this they broke into applause.
"Yes, this old bucket came along at just the right time. The rest of the story is in the log book. Nicholson screamed after the Alfa sub, and nearly caught her trying to sneak out of African territorial waters. But a nervous U.S. President did not want a nuclear confrontation, and the Nicholson was told to stand down. Dr. Jackson and I, watching the whole chase with Dr. Chu's body stored on board, felt like the killers of Chu Chang had been set free. To this date, Dr. Jackson has never forgiven his government for that lapse in strength. Not too much, though, that he blamed the crew of the Nicholson."
And now, as the Captain moved the box over to in front of Terry,
the bridge crew was completely silent.
"Our dig, of course, had to go on. And in fact we not only confirmed the Pegasus' identity but found a number of rare and exciting treasures. One of which I used to get my own Doctorate in Archeology a few years later, and with, I might add, the help of both Dr. Jackson and that former skipper of the Nicholson."
"So you see, I am as invariably tied to this ship as Dr. Jackson, and I suppose Dr. Chu's wife..." Terry knew that the crew enjoyed a family fund that helped out Nicholson crew family while the ship was at sea, the Chu fund had also made it possible for many Nicholson families to send their children to college.
"One of the artifacts we found..." and he pulled out a small ledger encased in plastic. "...was the log of the Pegasus, a not too well kept document, but the log never-the-less. And with this log, Dr. Jackson was able to complete a very special phase of his research. You see, the villages have always been the problem. White African's raided the smaller villages, and these usually had no record keeping, only verbal histories. So it was, that a young black man, his name is not important, was taken from his village while unconcious, and woke up in the hold of a slaver. His brother had been taken a year earlier, and he had thought his village had figured out how to prevent any more such losses. But he was wrong. Imagine how he must have felt when the explosion ripped through the hull, and the water poured in. Frightened wouldn't begin to describe the feelings. His only hope, his only solice would be that despite being a slave in America, his brother was at least alive. And that thought was probably his last as the Pegasus settled to the bottom of bay entrance."
And now the Captain was looking at him, a suspicion growing, the thought clearly beginning to show on his face. The Exec had got it, and perhaps the sharp Kelly Remington.
"And that young man's brother, did live in slavery for little over two years, at least until he escaped through the underground railroad. But escape he did, and joined the Union Army. He began a long line of black military men and women, one of which is the assistant to the Surgeon General of the United States, and another is the current Captain of the U.S.S. Nicholson, Captain Benjamin Lincoln Taylor, graduate of Norwich Military Academy and the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis. And to you, Sir, I am proud to present this token of appreciation from Dr. Jackson, Mrs. Chu, and myself for the Nichoson's help so many years ago, and for the pride we all feel at the significance of your leadership aboard this ship."
And with that the Exec stood and they all joined into a long round of applause for this very private moment for their Captain. Taylor, his eyes brimming accepted the plastic encased log book, a framed certificate summarizing the story, and a personal copy of both the certificate and a complete text of the log.
Terry watched as emotions played on the man's face, and it took some time for the now, not-so Jovial Captain to regain his composure.
Then the Captain cleared his throat, paused a moment and then said, "How can I ever thank you folks. This is such an honor and so meaningful. You have no idea..." and the man stopped speaking for a moment. "You have to understand..." and he addressed his bridge crew now, taking in each smiling face one by one as he spoke.
"You have to understand that I have taken great pride in my ancestor's struggle to escape slavery and what my family has done with their lifes since that time. Some military families continue their history in the military by a sense of duty. In mine, it was a sense of destiny. We have always believed and wanted to continue the tradition for the sake of our family and our country. Race has little to do with it. Race has always been a problem for my family despite our lack of concern, and I would be liar if I told you I had never grown angry over a bigots impact on my life. To know that this ancestor is so tied to this ship and its actions...well it is humbling to say the least. An uncle of centuries ago. It is amazing. Thank you Commodore...Terry. This is...well folks, I've run out of words. Number one, see that this is set on the bridge with the framed certificate next to it. Also, I'd like a copy of the text published on our web site, and make sure the crew hears the whole story. If you'll excuse me..."
The Captain turned away and left the mess, grasping his copy of the text and certificate like they were made of gold.
"Wow!" said Kelly Remington, her quiet voice booming through the silent mess.
"Yeah that about sums it up" replied the Exec as he dismissed the mess and set the quartermaster to his duties with the logbook.