Free Sentinels of Fire by P. T. Deutermann Page B

and it’s embedded just aft of the flag bags and the base of the foremast.”
    â€œGot any good news?” the captain asked.
    â€œYes, sir, it didn’t go off while I was tickling its fuze.”
    â€œAnd how are we going to get it out of there and over the side?”
    â€œSea anchor,” a gruff voice responded as Chief Dougherty came onto the bridge. He was a large, loud man and a force to be reckoned with both in the chief’s mess and about the decks.
    â€œTell me more, Boats,” the captain said.
    â€œWe take a mooring line and wrap that bastard six ways from Sunday. Then we pass the mooring line outboard of all superstructure down the port side, and make the bitter end to a big-ass sea anchor. Pitch that over the side, put the helm down to port, and kick her in the ass. The sea anchor will fill and grab and pull that pogue right off the ship.”
    The captain looked at me. I shrugged. Sounded like it would work.
    â€œHow will you rig the sea anchor?” the captain asked.
    â€œTake a twenty-man life raft, weigh down one long side with five-inch rounds, sew some canvas across the net bottom, and set a yoke which we can shackle to the bitter end of the mooring line.”
    The captain nodded his approval. “I concur,” he said. “Make it so. Marty, go see which side will be better, and whether or not we can remove any interference before we try this. I’d prefer not to pull the mast over if we can help it.”
    â€œShould we clear this with the boss?” I asked. “Maybe get some explosive ordnance disposal advice before we go yanking that thing around?”
    â€œIf we were sitting down there in the AOA next to a flattop, I’d say yes, call the EOD. But right now we’re up here all by ourselves in Injun Country, deaf, dumb, and blind, with too many hours of daylight left for the Japs to pay us another visit. Besides, the last time I conversed with CTF 58, he hurt my feelings. Get on with it. I mean, what could go wrong, hunh?”
    There were wary grins all around. Everybody standing there, right down to the captain’s phone-talker, knew exactly what could go wrong. Dougherty, however, waved away the danger. “Piece’a cake. We’ll be set in forty-five minutes.”
    â€œThirty would be wonderful, Boats. I have one suggestion. That bomb should have two hangar fittings on it somewhere, where they hang it on the plane’s belly? Instead of cocooning it in six-inch manila, find those points, rig a wire bridle, and make your line to the bridle, not the bomb.”
    â€œAye, sir. I’ll get on it, then.”
    â€œWhere are we in the great scheme of the Okinawa invasion?” the captain asked after the gun boss and the chief bosun’s mate left the bridge. We could both hear director fifty-one training slowly in a circle above us under the control of operators down in Main Battery Plot. The gunfire-control radar was the only radar left operational on the ship right now, and I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t much of a search radar, but it was better than nothing. I hoped. I told the skipper what we had cobbled together.
    â€œWe’re up on the HF raid-reporting circuit, and we’re guarding the air-control VHF circuits via some creative patching from Radio Central to the messdecks, but basically, we’re out of the game until we get radars back up and Combat remanned. Marty’s got the director going in radar search on the horizon, but that’s…” I shrugged again. It wasn’t much, as we both knew, but at least they might detect a low-flier.
    â€œStill nothing from Waltham ?”
    â€œNo, sir.” Once the midday haze set in, we couldn’t even see that smoke column anymore. “She may be talking to aircraft on VHF, but she’s not up on the main raid-reporting circuit.”
    The captain yawned, covered his mouth, and then yawned again. “Right,” he