Read Online To Kill the Potemkin by Mark Joseph - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Joseph
Tags: General Fiction
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preparing for departure later that afternoon.
From
high up on
the superstructure of the
massive aircraft
carrier,
a sailor looked down at the tiny submarine. Compared to the manifest
might of Kitty Hawk, the sub appeared
insignificant. With a dorsal fin and a tail protruding from the water, Barracuda looked like a fish to
him, at worst a harmless little shark.
5
U-62
Jaded,
polluted Naples spilled down the mountains to the bay, home port of the
U.S.
Sixth Fleet. Over the millenia Neapolitans had seen many fleets come
and go.
When the giant Kitty Hawk and her escorts got up
steam and sailed away,
only a few young boys paid attention.
Barracuda was moored to the seaward side of Tallahatchie County. A canopy stretched from the tender over the top of the sail, veiling
her
profile from "the eye in the sky," the Soviet satellites that
frequently passed over Naples.
Springfield
left the ship to carry the recordings of the Viktor to fleet
headquarters,
leaving Pisaro to pass the word. The crew waited expectantly for
liberty call.
Pisaro
called Chief Lopez into his cabin. The XO kept a box of Havanas
exclusively for
Lopez, one of his perks as chief of the boat. Flipping open his Zippo,
Pisaro
said, "We're going to unload all your torpedos, Chief, and replace them
with dummies."
Lopez
puffed his cigar into life. "All of them. Commander? I hate dummies.
That
pulls all the teeth out of 'Cuda ."
"Nobody
likes them. Chief. Anyway, that's the good news. The bad news is that
there'll
be no liberty call."
Lopez
looked forlorn but said nothing. Naples was his
favorite liberty port. Pisaro knew how he felt. It was his favorite as
well. He
went on, "We're going to be here less than twenty-four hours, and we'll
be
gone a week at the most. When we get back everyone gets three days
ashore."
"The
crew won't
like it, sir."
"Your
job is to
listen to them bitch.
Chief. Anyone who wants can go onto Tallahatchie for
thirty
minutes."
Lopez
puffed hard
on his cigar. "Thirty
whole minutes? I'll pass the word, sir. I'm sure it will make the men
feel
better about having no liberty and all—"
"Don't
choke on
the stogie, Lopez. Get
outta here. And send Sorensen in with his beacon."
In
the sonar room
Sorensen was assembling a
waterproof, pressure-tight sonic beacon into the stainless steel box
made by
Barnes. As the other sonarmen crowded around, Sorensen tinkered with a
soldering gun, a tiny screwdriver and a pile of highly classified
miniature
parts. He carefully torqued down the pressure seals and threw the
switch. The
box began to beep, and the sonarmen cheered.
Davic said,
"The
Russians would kill for
what's in that box."
Sorensen
turned
it off. "What makes you
think so, Davic? Do you really think anyone would slaughter your fat
ass for a
bunch of transistors? In five years you'll probably be able to buy one
of these
things in a dimestore. A battery, a speaker, big fucking deal."
Lopez
looked in
from the control room.
"Sorensen, the XO wants to see you and your gizmo."
Sorensen
turned
off the box. On the way out
he handed the circuit diagram to Davic. "Here, Davic, I want you to
make
one of these. You don't need a watertight case. I'm gonna hang it
around your
neck."
----
Sorensen
knocked on Pisaro’s door.
"C'mon
in, Ace."
Spread
out on the
table was a chart of the
Bay of Naples and the adjacent Gulf of Pozzuoli, a large inlet to the
north,
separated from the bay by the point of La Gaiola.
"At
ease,
Sorensen. Sit down. Light up
if you like."
"Thank
you, sir."
"You
been topside
yet?"
"No,
sir. Too
busy."
"I
wonder if it's
a nice day. Naples can
be a nice place. My grandfather came from Naples."
Sorensen
sniffed
the air. "I smell cigar
smoke, sir. Does that mean there's no liberty?"
Pisaro
laughed
and ran his hands over his scalp.
"There's just no bullshitting you, is there? Well, you're right. No
liberty. Next time."
"Yes,
sir."
"All
right, let's
see your
handiwork." He reached for the beacon and switched it on, listened
From
high up on
the superstructure of the
massive aircraft
carrier,
a sailor looked down at the tiny submarine. Compared to the manifest
might of Kitty Hawk, the sub appeared
insignificant. With a dorsal fin and a tail protruding from the water, Barracuda looked like a fish to
him, at worst a harmless little shark.
5
U-62
Jaded,
polluted Naples spilled down the mountains to the bay, home port of the
U.S.
Sixth Fleet. Over the millenia Neapolitans had seen many fleets come
and go.
When the giant Kitty Hawk and her escorts got up
steam and sailed away,
only a few young boys paid attention.
Barracuda was moored to the seaward side of Tallahatchie County. A canopy stretched from the tender over the top of the sail, veiling
her
profile from "the eye in the sky," the Soviet satellites that
frequently passed over Naples.
Springfield
left the ship to carry the recordings of the Viktor to fleet
headquarters,
leaving Pisaro to pass the word. The crew waited expectantly for
liberty call.
Pisaro
called Chief Lopez into his cabin. The XO kept a box of Havanas
exclusively for
Lopez, one of his perks as chief of the boat. Flipping open his Zippo,
Pisaro
said, "We're going to unload all your torpedos, Chief, and replace them
with dummies."
Lopez
puffed his cigar into life. "All of them. Commander? I hate dummies.
That
pulls all the teeth out of 'Cuda ."
"Nobody
likes them. Chief. Anyway, that's the good news. The bad news is that
there'll
be no liberty call."
Lopez
looked forlorn but said nothing. Naples was his
favorite liberty port. Pisaro knew how he felt. It was his favorite as
well. He
went on, "We're going to be here less than twenty-four hours, and we'll
be
gone a week at the most. When we get back everyone gets three days
ashore."
"The
crew won't
like it, sir."
"Your
job is to
listen to them bitch.
Chief. Anyone who wants can go onto Tallahatchie for
thirty
minutes."
Lopez
puffed hard
on his cigar. "Thirty
whole minutes? I'll pass the word, sir. I'm sure it will make the men
feel
better about having no liberty and all—"
"Don't
choke on
the stogie, Lopez. Get
outta here. And send Sorensen in with his beacon."
In
the sonar room
Sorensen was assembling a
waterproof, pressure-tight sonic beacon into the stainless steel box
made by
Barnes. As the other sonarmen crowded around, Sorensen tinkered with a
soldering gun, a tiny screwdriver and a pile of highly classified
miniature
parts. He carefully torqued down the pressure seals and threw the
switch. The
box began to beep, and the sonarmen cheered.
Davic said,
"The
Russians would kill for
what's in that box."
Sorensen
turned
it off. "What makes you
think so, Davic? Do you really think anyone would slaughter your fat
ass for a
bunch of transistors? In five years you'll probably be able to buy one
of these
things in a dimestore. A battery, a speaker, big fucking deal."
Lopez
looked in
from the control room.
"Sorensen, the XO wants to see you and your gizmo."
Sorensen
turned
off the box. On the way out
he handed the circuit diagram to Davic. "Here, Davic, I want you to
make
one of these. You don't need a watertight case. I'm gonna hang it
around your
neck."
----
Sorensen
knocked on Pisaro’s door.
"C'mon
in, Ace."
Spread
out on the
table was a chart of the
Bay of Naples and the adjacent Gulf of Pozzuoli, a large inlet to the
north,
separated from the bay by the point of La Gaiola.
"At
ease,
Sorensen. Sit down. Light up
if you like."
"Thank
you, sir."
"You
been topside
yet?"
"No,
sir. Too
busy."
"I
wonder if it's
a nice day. Naples can
be a nice place. My grandfather came from Naples."
Sorensen
sniffed
the air. "I smell cigar
smoke, sir. Does that mean there's no liberty?"
Pisaro
laughed
and ran his hands over his scalp.
"There's just no bullshitting you, is there? Well, you're right. No
liberty. Next time."
"Yes,
sir."
"All
right, let's
see your
handiwork." He reached for the beacon and switched it on, listened
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