some with nuclear warheads – replacing 14 of her
20 five-inch guns. Gatling guns will replace the nearly 150
anti-aircraft guns she carried during World War II, and her
electronics will be modernized with technology developed since
1953, when she last served on active duty. The Navy said, one thing
won’t change: the Missouri’s battery of nine 16-inch guns will
stay.
“ The article says she is to be
towed.” Newby hummed a gleeful tune.
“ Manna from heaven,” Trent burst
out in a big grin. “That doesn’t give the Yard much time. Labor Day
is next Monday. Any plans yet?”
“ I’ll know Tuesday: orders should
hit my in-basket right after the holiday. The schedule will be
tight. The Yard is undermanned. I expect the Admiral will order the
work out on contract.”
“ We’ll bid the job, Newby. The
turrets need to be made seaworthy.”
‘ There’s more,” Newby clipped his
words.
“ Rear-Admiral Merle F. Zahn,
announced his retirement as Commander, Puget Sound Naval Shipyard,
effective the end of August. Rear-Admiral Brian D. Burns, who will
return from duty in the Philippines, has been named his
replacement. Cmdr. Ward E. Conover, lately commanding the destroyer
Boardman, is named Officer-in-charge of the Missouri’s
readiness.”
Trent jammed his foot down hard. The Mustang
lurched. Tires squealed. His grip on the wheel tightened until his
knuckles threatened to crack his skin. The speedometer whipped high
on the dial. Buildings flashed by. Streets soon turned into
freeways. The Mustang roared on. It wasn’t until they hit the
downside of the Cascade Mountains that Trent eased off. Newby
shifted in his seat.
“ Jesus! Man. You still got it in
for Burns.”
“ He lied.”
“ And the others?” Newby
exclaimed.
“ They conspired. They set me up,
all of them.”
“ They’re not all to
blame.”
“ How the hell do you know? You
weren’t there!” Trent grunted in black bad temper.
“ Yeomen Loomis and Nicholson
were.” Trent opened his mouth then clamped it shut it. “We yeomen
stick together, like you officers,” jabbed Newby. “When they
brought the Missouri in, we partied. We drank too much. They
spilled it out that they did the paperwork charging you. Bitched
that Kindler treated them like furniture. Loomis was saying how
Denton and Farr couldn’t see charging you; but Kindler insisted.
They figured Kindler wanted Proust protected. Then, Kindler called
Burns into his office, and nobody knows for sure what happened,
only Burns got moved up to Commander right after the trial. They
never liked Burns. They said he was slime.”
Trent hesitated, and then nodded gravely.
~ * * * ~
CHAPTER 7
That afternoon, Trent patrolled the Point. Seen from
the ground, it looked different, not quite as he remembered it. He
walked north until he could go no further. The name South Passage
Point conjured up an image of quaint charm, in truth; it was a far
cry from that. The Point was a finger of land that jutted out into
the Lake Washington Ship Canal. It fell under the shadow of the I-5
Bridge where its southern tower tromped down like a giant’s foot
before leaping across the Canal. A red mid-channel buoy marked #16,
tugged and pummeled by the swift, outbound rush of water, marked
safe depth for boaters. Two hundred feet overhead, rubber tires
strummed on serrated iron gratings. Beneath the bridge, abandoned,
decrepit structures dotted the Point casting off the sweet odor of
dank decay. To the west stood old wooden docks, some long crumbled
away, their pilings sticking up like broken teeth. Along the
northern shore, across the canal, warehouses, repair yards and
working boats jostled each other for elbowroom. The Point was a
good location, Trent thought, as he enjoyed a panoramic view of the
ship Canal, the Highway 99 bridge and Lake Union.
Sidestepping puddles left by a recent rain, he
headed back to Waters Street. Madden waited in front of warehouse
Number 506, a
20 five-inch guns. Gatling guns will replace the nearly 150
anti-aircraft guns she carried during World War II, and her
electronics will be modernized with technology developed since
1953, when she last served on active duty. The Navy said, one thing
won’t change: the Missouri’s battery of nine 16-inch guns will
stay.
“ The article says she is to be
towed.” Newby hummed a gleeful tune.
“ Manna from heaven,” Trent burst
out in a big grin. “That doesn’t give the Yard much time. Labor Day
is next Monday. Any plans yet?”
“ I’ll know Tuesday: orders should
hit my in-basket right after the holiday. The schedule will be
tight. The Yard is undermanned. I expect the Admiral will order the
work out on contract.”
“ We’ll bid the job, Newby. The
turrets need to be made seaworthy.”
‘ There’s more,” Newby clipped his
words.
“ Rear-Admiral Merle F. Zahn,
announced his retirement as Commander, Puget Sound Naval Shipyard,
effective the end of August. Rear-Admiral Brian D. Burns, who will
return from duty in the Philippines, has been named his
replacement. Cmdr. Ward E. Conover, lately commanding the destroyer
Boardman, is named Officer-in-charge of the Missouri’s
readiness.”
Trent jammed his foot down hard. The Mustang
lurched. Tires squealed. His grip on the wheel tightened until his
knuckles threatened to crack his skin. The speedometer whipped high
on the dial. Buildings flashed by. Streets soon turned into
freeways. The Mustang roared on. It wasn’t until they hit the
downside of the Cascade Mountains that Trent eased off. Newby
shifted in his seat.
“ Jesus! Man. You still got it in
for Burns.”
“ He lied.”
“ And the others?” Newby
exclaimed.
“ They conspired. They set me up,
all of them.”
“ They’re not all to
blame.”
“ How the hell do you know? You
weren’t there!” Trent grunted in black bad temper.
“ Yeomen Loomis and Nicholson
were.” Trent opened his mouth then clamped it shut it. “We yeomen
stick together, like you officers,” jabbed Newby. “When they
brought the Missouri in, we partied. We drank too much. They
spilled it out that they did the paperwork charging you. Bitched
that Kindler treated them like furniture. Loomis was saying how
Denton and Farr couldn’t see charging you; but Kindler insisted.
They figured Kindler wanted Proust protected. Then, Kindler called
Burns into his office, and nobody knows for sure what happened,
only Burns got moved up to Commander right after the trial. They
never liked Burns. They said he was slime.”
Trent hesitated, and then nodded gravely.
~ * * * ~
CHAPTER 7
That afternoon, Trent patrolled the Point. Seen from
the ground, it looked different, not quite as he remembered it. He
walked north until he could go no further. The name South Passage
Point conjured up an image of quaint charm, in truth; it was a far
cry from that. The Point was a finger of land that jutted out into
the Lake Washington Ship Canal. It fell under the shadow of the I-5
Bridge where its southern tower tromped down like a giant’s foot
before leaping across the Canal. A red mid-channel buoy marked #16,
tugged and pummeled by the swift, outbound rush of water, marked
safe depth for boaters. Two hundred feet overhead, rubber tires
strummed on serrated iron gratings. Beneath the bridge, abandoned,
decrepit structures dotted the Point casting off the sweet odor of
dank decay. To the west stood old wooden docks, some long crumbled
away, their pilings sticking up like broken teeth. Along the
northern shore, across the canal, warehouses, repair yards and
working boats jostled each other for elbowroom. The Point was a
good location, Trent thought, as he enjoyed a panoramic view of the
ship Canal, the Highway 99 bridge and Lake Union.
Sidestepping puddles left by a recent rain, he
headed back to Waters Street. Madden waited in front of warehouse
Number 506, a
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