Free First Salvo by Charles D. Taylor

divorced him to divorce them. At that stage of his life, career and success had seemed so much more important in this white navy. He wondered now.
    They landed the next morning under the blazing Mediterranean sun in the humidity of Naples. Pratt would spend most of the day in briefings at Sixth Fleet Headquarters, then fly out to the carrier Kennedy ,on station off Malta with her battle group. John Hancock and Yorktown were part of that group. Nelson and Carleton had already found a plane that would shortly ferry the mail out to the carrier. From there it was just a hop by helo to their ships.
    Pratt was not surprised to learn that Henry Cobb would not be waiting for him. Instead, Cobb disappeared into another building which Pratt later learned was inhabited by ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence. And when they found a bit of shade for a last handshake, Cobb announced that he had to run to make a flight out to Saratoga. That carrier, normally part of their battle group, was in the eastern Mediterranean, south of Cyprus.
    “I promise I’ll be back aboard Kennedy in two days, Admiral. I gotta get in the habit of calling you that again. There’re some loose ends I have to wrap up out there, and then back to business as usual.”
    Pratt smiled as he grasped Cobb’s hand. “Take care, Hank. Always keep your back to the bulkhead.”
    “Yeah, my friend.” Nelson gave him a pat on the butt. “I’ll be waiting for Dave to flash me that you’re back on board—intact,” he added.
    With a wave over his shoulder, Cobb was gone, going off by himself as usual.

HENRY COBB
    O nce aboard Saratoga ,Cobb slept most of the afternoon. When he was awakened, he ate a full meal, knowing he might not have another for a day or two. Back in his quarters, he donned a jet flight suit. There was no one to bid him farewell as the red sun disappeared into the Mediterranean. He simply climbed in the back seat of a jet after waving a greeting to the pilot, and waited calmly for the carrier and her escorts to settle on a new course into the wind. It was unusual for an entire battle group to go through such an evolution for just one flight, but this was a special mission.
    The pilot set course just a few points east of north. It was not long before they passed over the southern coast of Turkey. The pilot never touched his radio, even though they were overflying a country at war. All that was required was a steady identification signal for military ground stations on a pre-established frequency. The flight had been cleared the day before from Washington. They landed at a small port on the southern coast of the Black Sea. The pilot refueled quickly and disappeared back to Saratoga.
    A jeep took Cobb to a darkened pier. At the end, a small hydrofoil bobbed in the calm waters of the Black Sea. He was greeted by a man wearing the dark uniform of the Turkish navy, though he was American and spoke perfect English. Extending his hand in greeting, he said, “Welcome, Henry. Somehow, someone picked the weather perfectly.”
    “All the way across?” Cobb asked Lassiter, shaking hands. “As far as we can tell. When you get out in the middle, you’ll find the normal swells but no chop. Just sweet summer zephyrs.”
    “Let’s go then.”
    Lassiter gave a signal. Instantly the powerful diesel engines grumbled into life. At full speed on the calm waters, foils extended, they would be on the other side of the Black Sea, the Russian side, in three-and-a-half hours, just before sunrise. Then Lassiter would be on his own in that boat. He didn’t expect any problem, but one never knew. The odds were that the Russians didn’t know that he’d taken their hydrofoil the night before. Everything on board was intact. His men were trained to respond to the Soviet radio codes every four hours. So, as far as Soviet Black Sea Fleet headquarters knew, this boat was still following its normal independent patrol assignment. But it couldn’t last forever. Lassiter wanted