Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

The strain was starting to show on Weaver. “They had better hurry up or we’ll be landing without their help.”

Tom put his hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “Hang in there, mate. We’re almost down.”

“Bravo one, steer two zero zero, and reduce forward speed on my command.”

“Roger.” Weaver moved onto the new heading.

The crash crew stood on the pitching flight deck in silver, flame resistant suits, every man’s face hidden and his speech muffled by a bulky fireproof helmet. The pelting rain ran off their suit folds in rivers. All of them had been through numerous safety drills, an annoying and necessary part of shipboard life, but this time it was real. Two of their own were struggling to get down, down to the safety of their ship, the only port in this storm. Each man said a silent prayer, crossed fingers or rubbed his lucky charm for the safety of the helo crew and their own, should something happen to turn the Sea Lynx from a helicopter into tons of falling destruction.

“Tom, I can see the lights.”

“Yeah, I’ve got her.”

“Bravo one, reduce forward speed now.”

“Roger.”

The landing pad pitched and rolled thirty feet beneath them. It was going to be a hook, line, and sinker landing. “Get the landing hook ready, Tom.”

Tom put his hand over the cable release lever. He hoped the crash crew was using a wooden pole. In this air, the rotor blades would be building a substantial static charge into the airframe. “Hook away.”

Weaver let the air controller know. “Fox-trot Oscar, hook is down and ready.”

“Roger, Bravo one, do you have visual reference?”

“Roger, I can see the landing pad clearly.” Weaver moved the helicopter over the center of the landing pad. The extreme low fuel light went on and a warning beeper filled the cockpit with an annoying warble. Weaver had less than one minute flight time left.

“Bravo one, you are over the center. Drop the hook.”

“Drop the hook, Tom. I hope to God they get it first time.” Weaver fought to keep the Sea Lynx centered on the pad.

“Hook away.” Two crash crew broke from their line and rushed forward with a wooden-handled grab. The winch cable was snagged as it dragged across the heaving deck. With the end of the grab, one of the men thrust it into the bear trap. In a mad scramble, they both got clear and waved to the air controller booth on the side of the hanger.

“Hook is in the trap, Bravo one. You are clear to land.”

Weaver slapped the winch down lever to full pull. They slammed down onto the pitching flight deck. Weaver’s hands moved quickly, locking the winch in position and shutting off engine power. The flight crew could worry about getting the thing in the hanger. He looked at Tom, his face pale and drained in the weak light. “Next time you say we go home, we go.”

Tom, struggling with his flight helmet, smiled. “And come back empty handed? Not bloody likely.”

Henniker held the phone to his ear.

“Flight Ops, sir. The Sea Lynx and her crew are safely down. No casualties.”

“Good, tell Weaver and Blackthorn I want to see them in my ready room as soon as they get cleaned up and changed into a decent uniform.” He punched up the ship’s Combat Information Center.

“CIC.”

“Captain Henniker. Resume EMCON and get those damn lights off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henniker watched as the lights outside his bridge windows blinked out. Once again, his ship was just a shadow in the darkness. He turned to his second officer. “The bridge is yours, Victor. I shall be in my ready room if anything should come up. Get the galley to bring up some sandwiches for the bridge and CIC.”

The ready room two levels below was small by cruiser standards. The usual issue Admiralty prints were secured on the bulkhead walls. It’s only furnishing was a large bottom-weighted oak table on gimbals surrounded by ten chairs. One for each of the section officers. Any visitors would have to stand. A tea pot and hot plate sat just behind Henniker’s chair at the head of the table. Normally the tea would be served by a steward during briefing, but it was the evening, “White” watch and they had not anticipated the ready rooms use. Henniker would have to brew his own tea for a change.

The minor pampering one grew used to as a Knight and Captain could be somewhat of a burden, but only when it was not there. He turned on the kettle and spooned the dried tea leaves into a silver sieve as the water heated to a boil. The simple act of making tea was relaxing after the incident with his helicopter.

He really would have to talk to Weaver. The trouble with all young men, pilots especially, was they seemed convinced of their own immortality. Henniker knew from experience that cheating death more than once in one’s lifetime was just asking death to keep trying harder.

The water started to boil. He poured it into the teapot painted in royal blue and gold, with the ship’s crest displayed on both sides. He had just put the sieve in to steep when there was a knock at the door.

“Come.”

The door opened. It was Weaver and Blackthorn. The two had changed into clean flight suits and did not look the worse for their close brush with eternity. “You wanted to see us, sir? I am sorry, but we haven’t had time to finish debriefing or our report.”

Henniker waved his free hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about that. You did cut it a bit fine that time though, Mister Weaver, don’t you think?”

Weaver looked at his feet. “Yes, well, the head winds were a bit stronger than we were prepared for.”

The Captain looked at the two men. “It came very close to me having to write your families a letter tonight. In the future, I would appreciate that you avoid that from occurring.”

Both men looked sheepish. Weaver spoke. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

“See that you do.” Henniker pulled the sieve out of the teapot and lifted the pot to eye level. “Care for a cup?”

Both men nodded.

Henniker poured the cups himself and doled out the appropriate portions of sugar and milk. “Now tell me what you found out there.”

Weaver let Tom handle the debrief, because he was the systems man. It took the navigator about ten minutes to go over the mission details and the location of the freighter they suspected was the Nung.

Henniker sat at the head chair of the table and sipped on his tea between questions. “So you are almost positive this is, was, the freighter?”

Tom nodded. “As positive as we can be. Most cans don’t have a habit of blowing up the minute we find them. It was where the freighter would have been. Intelligence will have to check what ships were in this area within the last two days. Who has reported in and who has not.”

“Quite, but what puzzles me is our mysterious submarine.”

“Well, to be honest, sir, it puzzles the hell out of me as well.” Tom took a gulp of tea. A frown crossed his face. “But one thing is for certain, that ship was torpedoed … twice.”

For the first time, Weaver spoke up. “The way I see it, they were transporting more than just your run-of-the-mill weapons, sir.”

Henniker looked over his teacup at the young man. “You do like to tread on dangerous ground, don’t you Weaver?”

Weaver smiled. “If you say so, sir.”

Henniker looked into his tea cup. His grandmother used to read tea leaves, sometimes with an eerily accurate account of the future. At times like this, he wished he had her gift. The two fliers gulped down the last of their tea and waited. The Captain looked up. “Very well, gentlemen. You deserve at least a partial explanation. MI6 fears the North Koreans may have stolen three nuclear warheads from Russia. You most likely interrupted them during the transfer of the warheads to a submarine. I will consider what you have told me. If you could, finish your reports before you sack out. And, I trust you to discuss this with nobody. That will be all.”