Bone Crushing Deep

PROLOGUE

Been everywhere but the electric chair.

Seen everything but the wind.

It’s DIVE or DIE.

- Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle Team Six

Western Pacific Ocean

Two years earlier

There was no hull number on the unregistered vessel.

According to Washington, D.C., the three enlisted men aboard perished in separate at-sea accidents… their names removed from the military’s active duty personnel records long ago.

Technically, they were ghosts.

The four ship mates sat silently in the pressurized chamber of the deep submergence vessel they long ago christened the Tube. Descending from the diminishing surface light, the hull’s armor compressed and shifted as tons of seawater accumulated overhead. Persistent creaking and ghoulish mechanical wails drew no reaction from the divers. They performed this deep ocean maneuver many times before, only the long hours of boredom challenged their concentration.

Like most submariners, once their ship left port and passed beyond the imaginary one hundred nautical mile Radius of Guilt, they assumed their boys-will-be-boy’s attitude and all normally accepted rules of social behavior disappeared. On every new mission, their challenge was to find ways to amuse themselves while gradually passing through the frigid depths.

Any diversion from the mind numbing monotony became fair game.

As he did on every Tube assignment, Commander Noah Pike wore only his Naval Academy plebe year boxer shorts. The 1970s underwear had been repeatedly mended, but since he didn’t own an iron, the front flap remained open just enough to create an uncomfortable distraction for those around him. On this journey to the ocean floor, the current game was steering his never-ending streams of sweat through an imaginary obstacle course, finally gathering at his steadily dampening shorts.

A fresh bead of perspiration grew on Pike’s bare knee, tumbling down his leg as the vessel’s bow angled steeply toward the black waters below. He grinned when the droplet finally passed over the jagged scar on his right foot. All the irony in his life always made Noah smile. The deep wound was the result of a bullet fired from his weapon.

As Pike leaned left to coax another stubborn rivulet past his sternum, he caught the Tube’s chief engineer, Bernard Sully Sullivan, glancing at his shorts. The light bulb of fun lit bright in his head.

I may have found today’s entertainment.

Noah inched his butt cheeks forward on the seat and whispered across the gap between them.

What’re you thinking about, Sullivan?

Sully diverted his gaze to the floor. I wasn’t thinking anything, Skipper.

How long have you been with this team? asked Pike.

About three and a half months.

"And do you know why they assigned you to the Tube?"

Because of my successful design work on fusion reactors, and my ability to use the liquid rebreathers like the rest of the team, he responded proudly.

"Is that all they told you before you came here, Sully?"

Sullivan nodded with less conviction.

Pike turned his slowly shaking head toward his two co-conspirators.

"Do you believe this, guys? Yet another government lie told to our young shipmate here."

Colin Rusty O’Malley and Dagnar Dag Gunnarson smelled the scent of fresh blood and promptly tossed more chum into the water.

"Jeez, Sully. That’s what they told us too in the beginning," said Dag, joining in on the head wagging.

Pike stood and turned back toward Sully, puddles of perspiration cascading to the Tube’s deck.

Stand up. Pike held his arms out, palms up. Take hold of my hands.

Sully hesitated at first, but couldn’t disobey his Commanding Officer. He placed his trembling hands in Pike’s moist palms.

Sully, Sully, Sully, Pike whispered, dragging out every syllable. "They lied to you. The reason they put us together on this little boat is that we are all gay. The Navy wants to study us in close quarters, so they’ll have a better understanding of how to deal with alternative life styles in the submarine service."

Sullivan’s hands rocketed off Pike’s as he took a step back.

"I’m not gay!"

Rusty lightly placed his hand on Sully’s arm, giving it a subtle caress.

"That’s what we said too," he cooed.

Pike signaled Rusty to back away as he draped his arm over Sully’s shoulders. But over time, we realized the Navy was right. We just didn’t know it when they first told us.

I’m not gay! Sully yelled again, stepping further away from the other men.

Time to spring the trap.

Pike leaned closer and stared the youngster straight in the eyes.

"We believe you think you’re straight, Mr. Sullivan. But your negative attitude makes those of us who are gay really uncomfortable."

Then what am I supposed to do, Skipper? Sully said, with empathy in his voice.

Pike placed both hands on his engineer’s shoulders.

"There’d be a lot less tension on board, if you’d just show us a simple gesture of your compassion and understanding for our chosen lifestyle.

Like what?

"For example, if you kissed me on the lips and hugged me… I think we’d all feel much better. Right guys?"

Pike’s henchmen energetically nodded their heads up and down. It was all they could do to not burst out laughing.

Sully looked nervously at each of his crewmates.

"So…you’re saying if I do this one little thing, we’ll never talk about it again, right?"

Absolutely. It’ll be over in seconds, Pike whispered. He gave his partners-in-crime a signal to get the camera ready.

Exhaling a soft okay, Sully began a series of body contortions and twists intended to convince himself his lips were getting closer to his captain’s face… although he looked a lot more like a Parisian mime locked in an imaginary glass box.

"Now, Sullivan," hollered Pike.

The nervous sailor flinched at the sharp sound of his commanding officer’s voice, and he advanced closer. Rusty and Dag quietly grabbed the high-resolution camera normally used to document the Tube’s submerged operations. Originally designed by DARPA for deep space exploration, it cost more to develop and build than the annual revenue of some Fortune 500 companies. It was also perfect for immortalizing their juvenile prank.

Since Sully was younger and quicker, Noah knew timing was the key. With speed honed in the Marine Corps, Pike nimbly grabbed Sully’s ears and kissed him hard on the lips. Except for Sullivan, everyone was laughing too hard to remember exactly what happened next, but the rapid trigger camera managed to obtain hundreds of detailed photos. Each shot appeared to display a very enthusiastic man, engaging in a thoroughly gay moment.

After ten hours, Sully’s swearing and complaining subsided… time to complete the assigned mission. Donning their deep dive dry suits and liquid rebreathers, the experienced team flooded the chamber with seawater and began the final descent to 16,000 feet below the ocean’s surface. Calmly and efficiently, they recovered the commercial airliner’s voice and data recorders at a depth well below the international search teams above them.

The CIA knew which international group was responsible for the Emirate Airways plane explosion that killed the Saudi Prince’s daughter, but there was no proof…until now. In exchange for the critical information on the downed flight’s black boxes, the Prince should be much more willing to disclose his personal knowledge of key terrorist leaders and their precise locations.

During the Tube’s ascent back to the surface, Pike recalled a fitting proverb his Marine mentor related to him many years before.

It’s not pretty when a dog walks on his hind legs, but you’re always impressed.

Part One

The Early Years

Chapter One

The unexamined life

is not worth living.

- Socrates

Naval Surface Warfare Center, Port Hueneme

Ventura County, California

Present Day

The busy shipyard workers ignored the fair-skinned man wearing flip-flops and a Tommy Bahama shirt. Today was Noah Pike’s birthday and he decided to dress up for the occasion.

He watched patiently as seawater slowly flooded the dry dock, the Tube finally lifting off the staging blocks. Ocean-going tugs stood by, ready to guide the submersible into a special transport that would carry it down the California coast to San Diego.

Like any officer in the Navy’s nuclear submarine service, Pike aspired to command his own boat. And for the past ten years, he was the master of a submersible with no equal in the world. This was his baby.

Happy Birthday to me!

The Tube’s actual configuration was carefully disguised to conceal its identity from the Ventura Naval Base employees. Channel Islands Deep-Sea Institute was stenciled on its artificial top structure, the hull painted with a florescent yellow found on many deep-sea research vessels. Both features would be removed later. To any interested observer, a deep-ocean exploration submersible was preparing to head to sea for scientific studies.

Pike’s ark was a previously decommissioned Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, DSRV. As captain, he always laughed whenever he pondered the boat’s original description as a rescue vehicle. In the entire history of the U.S. Navy, not a single person was ever rescued from any submarine.

On the other hand, the description did have a certain je ne sais quoi about it.

Many years ago, the CIA reactivated the DSRV to exploit his crew’s unique physical characteristics. During the last decade, they’d been working closely with deep-sea visionary, Dr. Ted Simmons, to upgrade every aspect of the platform, including the diver’s equipment.

With access to the U.S. government’s unlimited technical and funding resources, the Tube’s research teams completed exhaustive trials intended to test the capabilities of its innovative deep dive equipment and auxiliary systems, as well as the physical limits of the crew who operated it all.

Like so many U.S. military veterans, Pike knew political pressures often tied his government’s hands, preventing America from taking action against deadly enemies who didn’t play fair. His ship’s charter was not bound by such restrictions and the crew routinely performed CIA black ops that would never be associated with America.

Whenever Noah’s family asked about his job, he’d always respond, "I’m a Wish Fulfillment Coordinator for the U.S. government".

Oh, like the Make-a-Wish charity? his sisters would ask.

Yeah. Just like that, Noah replied.

Except I do it for the CIA.

For some Agency objectives, reaching other country’s remote shorelines undetected was more important than operating on the bottom of the ocean floor. Earlier in the year, the U.S. government grew tired of Kim Jong-un’s constant sabre rattling and the CIA dispatched Pike’s outfit to sink two North Korean frigates preparing to conduct long-range missile firings.

Noah always enjoyed taking liberties with the Agency’s specific orders, sinking both ships while still moored to the pier. North Korea provided no details to the international press regarding the subsequent postponement of their missile trials, nor the rumored execution of two admirals.

Although constantly frustrated by Pike’s maverick behavior and independent actions, the CIA was nevertheless pleased with his team’s successful results.

Classified naval facilities at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard integrated the world’s only operational fusion reactor power plant, and following the successful completion of sea trials, the Tube was covertly transferred to Port Hueneme, California. The Ventura base’s Naval Surface Warfare Center technical team subsequently added all new command and control computers, networking them with the ship’s complimentary weapon and sonar systems.

With extensive upgrades and testing finally complete, the Tube was ready to go back to sea. The Agency was eager to begin using Pike’s new and improved machine to conduct more significant and far-reaching campaigns to protect America.

Its ballast tanks flooded with seawater, most of the transport’s hull was well below the water’s surface. Tugs carefully piloted the much smaller vessel into the floating carriage, where it would rest on a cradle designed to prevent damage to the hull during transit. The small boat’s specialized bottom equipment could not be so easily cloaked from prying eyes. The transport closed its rear ramp and pumped the interior completely dry before departing the harbor for open sea. Pike’s three crewmembers would accompany the boat down to San Diego, familiarizing themselves with the ship’s new equipment during the transit.

I can’t wait to start kicking some bad guy’s ass again.

Glancing across the pier, Noah spied the CIA’s ever-present black suburban. As always, the Agency was there to ensure their billion-dollar-baby was safely loaded onto the carrier. Pike had worked with the CIA long enough to know the dockworkers, the transport ship and its well-armed crew all belonged to the Agency.

The front doors of the Suburban opened and two men in black suits and dark sunglasses exited to face him.

Agent K and Agent J must be looking for aliens on Earth again.

During CIA briefings, he always referred to their agents as ‘programs’ from The Matrix. It never failed to piss them off… and always made Noah smile.

The rear passenger door swung open and a third man stepped out. He glanced up at the bright California sun for a few seconds before walking toward Pike. Oh, great. Time for my annual lecture on personal responsibility and mission security. Twenty feet from Pike, the man removed his sunglasses.

No hello for an old friend? asked the stranger.

"Holy shit! Mary Rhodes," yelled Pike. They’d been roommates at the Naval Academy and hadn’t seen each other in many years. The old friends shook hands and hugged each other.

"For the love of Christ… will you please not call me that? My name is Jonathan Marion Rhodes and you are the only person who has ever called me Mary Rhodes. Its Jon Rhodes! Write it down if you have to!"

Still the sensitive schoolgirl, I see. What the hell are you doing hanging out with the B Team?

I’m a card carrying member of the B Team now, so try to be nice.

The last time I saw you, you were COMSUBPAC’s intelligence officer. Did you sell your soul to the devil in exchange for eternal life with morons?

They headed toward the pier railing to watch the transport ship maneuver out of the harbor. Rhodes turned to face his old classmate.

I did my thirty years and made O-6. There was nowhere to go but sideways, when the CIA made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Pike slapped him on the back. Don’t tell me they found those pictures of us with those Swarthmore College girls?

God, no! I burned those as soon as we got back to Bancroft Hall. I’m going to be your CIA liaison from now on.

Pike laughed hard. "You’re my babysitter?"

I see you still have a big bug up your butt about having to work with others in a teaming environment, said Jon. You and I both know you’re completely unmanageable, but the CIA thought maybe you wouldn’t kick my ass like the last liaison they assigned to you.

I told him not to touch the Tube.

Well, I can certainly understand your reasons for putting someone in the hospital.

Rhodes decided to move the conversation in a more constructive direction.

By the way, how’s that girlfriend of yours? What’s her name?

Pike leaned his back against the railing and stared straight ahead.

Look Jon. We’re friends and I respect you. If we’re going to work together, I need complete honesty. The Agency knows everything about me, right down to my shoe size. So don’t jerk me off.

Understood. Then how’s Emily?

We see each other as often as possible, but the Navy’s Nurse Corps keeps her extremely busy and the Tube has been my life for the last ten years. How’s your family?

Let’s see. My wife left me for a plastic surgeon. My son disappeared after his meth lab exploded and the DEA is staking out my home in case he returns. He won’t. Oh, and my daughter is living in a Thai vegan commune with her girlfriend. I think it’s fair to say I’ve got lots of free time on my hands right now.

Pike turned around in time to see the transport’s stern disappear behind the Channel Islands.

Well, Jon. We’re all orphans on the Tube, so you’ll fit right in.

Listen. I drove my old Triumph TR6 up here. How about you take the wheel and we catch up on old times while driving to San Diego?

Pike put his arm around Rhodes while they headed for the parking lot.

Sounds good. By the way, did I ever tell you I had sex with your girlfriend in the TR6 our First Class year?

Rhodes stopped in his tracks and cringed.

"Whadda ya say we don’t catch up on all the old times this trip?" he responded.

Fair enough. Let’s hit the road.

I’ll tell him the truth later, thought Pike.

Chapter Two

The future for me is already a thing of the past.

- Bob Dylan

Southern California

Present Day

Pike accelerated Rhodes’s sportster up the ramp onto US 101 South.

This baby can really move. Did you do the restoration yourself?

His eyes closed hard, Rhodes hands gripped the center console and door armrest. He’d been a passenger with Pike too many times during their Academy days.

This car is the only thing my wife didn’t take in the divorce wars. Any chance you could drive it like we weren’t trying to take the checkered flag at Indy?

Pike grinned. Sure. Why don’t you open that thick folder in your lap and catch up on my CIA profile while I drive. It should take your mind off the flashing red and blue lights behind us.

Rhodes instinctively turned around—nothing. Very funny. I stopped reading the report after it confirmed you are still an egotistical, thoughtless renegade, who endangers others, and the Tube, with your reckless actions. Nothing different there. I already knew that, of course.

"Thoughtless? It said I was thoughtless. I have thoughts all the time. That really hurts."

Rhodes opened the folder to a section he’d marked with a sticky note.

There’s a whole passage in here about your tour in Vietnam, but most of it has been redacted, said Rhodes, fanning through the first two inches of the folder.

Good. Because I’d like to forget all of it.

Rhodes realized he’d struck a nerve.

"Anyway, I’ll never forget when you showed up at the Academy on Induction Day with your Marine uniform and all those medals. The Firsties were afraid to ask you to do that stupid Plebe shit, but you did it all with us anyway.

By the way, you still owe me for saving your butt from that Academy Disciplinary Board held in your honor just before our graduation. With 575 demerits over four years, you still hold the school record. McCain was a rank amateur compared to you.

"Owe you? I believe my impassioned oratory on social justice and innocence would’ve made Clarence Darrow proud. I dazzled ‘em with my brilliance and baffled ‘em with my bullshit that day. They had to let me go," boasted Pike.

"Maybe you don’t remember I was the company sub-commander that semester. There were twenty, unsigned demerit forms under my desk blotter that the disciplinary board members never saw."

"Then, I do owe you. I believe thanks are in order, roomie."

Rhodes pretended to continue scanning the thick folder he’d read twice already.

Listen, I’m more than a little bit embarrassed to admit this, but after living with you for four years at the Boat School, I really don’t know how the hell you ended up in the Marines in the first place. Care to fill in that tiny gap in your CIA profile?

Pike hadn’t thought about his teenage years in a very long time.

I was an arrogant, little prick when I was growing up, he began.

Oh. So nothing much has changed, I see.

Do you want to hear the story or not?

Sorry. Please continue.

By the eighth grade, I already had a parole officer. When I reached my senior year of high school, the San Diego police and the family court system exhausted every possible means of trying to course correct my life.

I guess your extracurricular activities didn’t go over so well with your father? Rhodes inquired.

"You could say that. He’d been a police officer for nineteen years and I wasn’t exactly the apple-of-his-eye. It was my dad’s idea to take me to the local magistrate for a final resolution. Since I was still seventeen back then, he was required to come with me and sign the court documents.

"I thought I was smarter than everyone else in those days and considered the legal system as one more thing to be endlessly manipulated. However, that unscheduled pit stop to San Diego’s Family Court managed to catch me off guard for the first time in my life. I don’t blame my dad though. My mother wasn’t around to raise me, so he did the best he could.

"Anyway, the judge that afternoon was the Very Honorable Harold Bahls. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop laughing every time the bailiff announced, ‘Judge Harry Bahls’. The magistrate was not very amused, to say the least.

"At the end of the proceedings, Judge Bahls looked me square in the eye and gratuitously pronounced, ‘Noah Bradford Pike, since you have ignored every attempt to get you to conform to society’s rules, this court is offering you a final choice. Before departing my courtroom today, you will decide whether you’ll be handcuffed by one of these nice county bailiffs and transferred directly to the nearest California juvenile detention center for a minimum period of two years. Or…you can pick what’s behind Door Number Two…and proceed immediately to the closest recruiting center, where you will enlist in the United States Navy and enjoy exotic cruises to faraway lands. Young man, you have exactly one minute to choose your future.’

Of course, I knew I was completely hosed by the judge’s offer, but made my decision on the spot. I stood and said, ‘Your Honor, a minute won’t be necessary. I am first and foremost a patriot and it’ll be my honor to serve my country in the United States Navy.’

"Okay, then. How the hell did you end up in the Marine Corps?" Rhodes inquired.

"I’m coming to that part. Of course, I never intended to meet my courtroom commitment. Unfortunately, I had no idea how this impetuous choice would forever alter my life. I’d already been driving for fifteen minutes from the courthouse before my dad noticed we were not headed toward a Navy Recruiting center.

"He turned in his seat and asked me, ‘Where’re you going, Noah?’ At the time, I’m sure he was afraid of the answer.

I said, ‘The Marine Corp Recruit Depot, Dad. I’m gonna make you proud.’ I’d given him plenty of evidence to the contrary over the years, so I’m sure he didn’t believe me.

I explained to him, ‘You know I’d look silly in a sailor’s Dixie cup. So I’m gonna be a United States Marine!’ I’ll never forget the dumbfounded look on his face.

Rhodes shifted in his leather seat so he could look directly at Pike.

"Let me get this straight. You decided to join the Marine Corps at the height of the Vietnam War?"

"Yep. I guess my penchant for jumping before I looked bit me in the ass from time-to-time when I was growing up. This trophy decision left teeth marks on my rear end, permanently.

Wanna see?

No thanks, I’m good.

Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, CA

1970

With the Vietnam War in full swing, Marine recruit basic training periods had been significantly reduced. Soldiers were dying too fast in the rice paddies of Vietnam and America’s need to fill empty boots with fresh soldiers became urgent.

Pike was on a fast track to the war in Southeast Asia.

In high school, he read China was the puppet master for the Viet Cong militia, so it mystified him his Chinese Drill Instructor found his way into the U.S. military’s infantry strike force. During his basic training, Pike made it his personal duty to watch Marine Corps Master Gunny Sergeant Chung very, very closely.

He must be up to something.

In high school, his friends and coaches knew Noah was a gifted athlete, but no one ever noticed he’d hardly tapped into his full range of hidden talents. Pike’s other unique physical attributes hadn’t yet revealed themselves to those around him. The Marine Corps was transforming his body from that of a boy into a hardened military weapon, and Noah thought boot camp was a good place to show the world what he could really do.

He earned his Marine Corps Martial Arts Black Belt in record time, and set the base record for both pistol, and rifle accuracy. Inevitably, Pike’s number one class ranking resulted in a rapid transfer to the Marine’s Force Recon training team.

The gifted, young Marine’s significant achievements of weren’t lost on the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base commander, Major General Halbertson. He promoted Pike to Corporal and regularly monitored his progress, ensuring Noah was funneled into specific Marine combat training programs.

The general had big plans for Pike and knew exactly who would mentor him in Vietnam.

Unfortunately, Pike’s individual achievements did not always endear him to his fellow trainees. After leaving evening chow on a couple of occasions, he’d turn a corner and find himself face-to-face with a cluster of grunts who didn’t fully appreciate his quick wit and sarcasm.

Pike would always warn the group first.

Okay…here’s the deal. You get one good cut at me and then I take my turn. Most of the time, the words, ‘Who wants to dance first’ would barely get passed his lips before the gang rush began. It was never really a fair fight and Noah would help carry some of the injured Marines to the base’s infirmary. After all, it was his mess to clean up.

Following a bloody brawl one night, they all headed to the Emergency Room for much needed medical attention. The newly assigned Naval Regional Medical Center ER nurse approached the bruised and bloodied group, concealing the smirk on her face.

What happened here, gentlemen? she asked.

Mesmerized by the angel in white, Pike absentmindedly dumped the man he was carrying on his shoulder to the floor, mumbling something about him…‘falling down the barracks stairs.’

The Navy ensign switched her clipboard to the other hand and took a step closer to Noah.

How many times, Corporal?

Her scent was subtle, but very distinctive to Noah. She smelled just like the honeysuckle flowers that grew on his family’s backyard fence.

Pike coughed and stammered, looking for the right combination of words to knock the nurse off her feet.

My name is Noah.

Way to go, Casanova!

Ensign Emily Bloom. Follow me.

The nurse spun on her heels and headed toward the check-in desk, her auburn ponytail swaying as she walked. Noah hoisted the unconscious man back on his shoulders and jumped into cadence with the girl of his dreams.

I’ve died and gone to heaven, he whispered to no one in particular.

I’ve got to get in fights more often.

As Pike approached the end of basic training, he earned two of the Corps Military Occupation Specialties; 8026, Ground Operations Specialist and 8711, Parachutist/Combatant Diver Marine. The MOS descriptions should have been a dead giveaway he was being molded for a specific combat role in Vietnam. Only after Pike was in country, did it become abundantly clear the Marines were trying to kill him. Moreover, he was sure Master Gunny Sergeant Chung was behind it all.

Damn you, Chung!

On his last day of Marine training, Pike graduated and was promoted to Lance Corporal on Camp Pendleton’s parade field. At 2300 hours that same day, Pike found himself on a C-141 Starlifter bound for Vietnam.

It was his 18th birthday. Ooohhraa, Sir!

Pike slept little during the Air Force flight to Vietnam. The aircraft’s loadmaster placed him in bulkhead web seating, next to several pallets of high explosive mortar rounds. After several turbulent hours in flight, Pike noticed any jolt from the tiniest bit of air turbulence caused the ammunition boxes to jump, triggering his eyes to pop wide open. Making matters worse, a burly airman constantly repeated his worst impression of a flight attendant every time he passed.

"Coffee, tea… or me?"

Through his tiny aircraft window, Noah could see the C-141 pilot was beginning a high altitude-to-low level water approach into Da Nang Air Base.

The U.S. Air Force still feared and respected the numerous SAM sites surrounding the largest air base in South Vietnam, always landing all aircraft as expeditiously as possible. America’s Agent Orange defoliation program efficiently cleared most of the vegetation for hundreds of yards in any direction from the air traffic control tower. However, the long runways remained well within the lethal range of Soviet supplied SA-2 surface-to-air missiles.

A sweaty crewmember leaned in close as Pike stared out the portal, forcing their cheeks together like ballroom dancers.

Working to win the hearts and minds of the local population, he whispered to Pike. But still willing to kill them, if necessary. I think President Johnson said that.

He gave Pike a wink and an elbow to the ribs. Good luck, kid. You’ll need it. Laughter followed the airman as he disappeared behind the tall rows of volatile cargo.

Pike’s sole travelling companions for the entire flight was a Marine colonel and his terrified wife. Several rows of multi-colored ribbons sat below the officer’s gold jump wings. Pike recognized the Navy Cross, a Silver Star and purple hearts, with several gold and silver stars sprinkled across the top row.

I hope that I don’t meet this guy in a dark ally.

While the officer’s stoic expression never flickered, his hysterical wife exhaled a whimper with every bump the aircraft offered. Noah was sure the woman’s white-knuckled grip on the seat’s aluminum piping would leave permanent grooves where her fingers strangled the metal.

As the jet descended through the thick cloud cover, swirling winds made the plane’s ride noticeably more erratic. Just as the Starlifter began to make wide swings from side-to-side, the aircraft’s loadmaster burst through the cockpit door and darted between the crowded cargo containers, reaching a floor panel between the small band of passengers. Placing a communications headset over his ears, he threw a coiled cable connection assembly at Noah.

"Plug that into the comms panel behind you…now!" he growled.

"Say again, yelled the airman into his mouthpiece, followed by an even louder, Roger".

Shouts into his headset, coupled with furious pumping of handles in the floor access, quickly revealed the pilot had limited control of the wing’s ailerons. The airman on the floor continued manually operating the wing hydraulics to help stabilize the aircraft’s lateral motions during their approach. The pumping continued to lag the pilot’s verbal directions and the plane’s oscillations increased with each order from the cockpit. His hands began turning red from pressing so hard on both ear cuffs to drown out the aircraft noise.

Fighting sturdy head winds the entire journey, the C-141’s fuel tank reserve light flashed red…it was quickly becoming a land-or-die situation. Pike thought it was ironic he might perish in a plane crash on his very first day, while landing in Vietnam.

During the crew’s flurry of activity to save the aircraft, the Marine colonel never stopped staring at Noah, his facial expression never changing. However, with each high-pitched shriek from his wife, one of the colonel’s eyes twitched at an ever increasing rate.

The loadmaster pressed harder again on his headset ear cuffs, as the woman’s screams grew in intensity. Her wailing continued making it difficult for the crewman to hear the pilot’s persistent pleas for increased pump action.

Finally, the frustrated airman threw his headset to the deck, his palms folded in prayer. He looked at the colonel with a desperate gaze and jerked his head toward the hysterical female passenger.

"Sir. Some help here. Please!" he begged.

The colonel’s left arm was a blur as his fist shot straight from his lap into the soft flesh of his wife’s right cheek, rendering her unconscious in the split second after impact. The shoulder belts held her body up, but her limp head hung down like a Raggedy Ann doll.

The colonel looked back at the aircrew chief.

Carry on, Staff Sergeant, he ordered firmly."

Now fearing for his crew’s well-being if they didn’t get the insane Marine colonel on the ground safely, the loadmaster replaced his headset and returned to the frantic hand pumping.

By now, the pilots also knew failure was not an option. The big C-141 Starlifter efficiently executed a perfect touchdown on Runway Number Five at Da Nang Air Base.

During the cargo jet’s taxi toward the hangars, the loadmaster discretely turned his head away from the Marine colonel, but Noah heard him whisper, I think I wet my flight suit.

As the plane rolled to a stop, Pike recalled the only advice Master Gunny Sergeant Chung gave him upon graduation from USMC Basic Training.

"Once in your life, you’ll come across somebody you should never fuck with….Don’t."

Although it didn’t make any sense at the time…Pike was now sure he just met that someone.

Chapter Three

If you are in the problem,

You are part of the problem.

- Alcoholics Anonymous

Da Nang Air Base

Republic of Vietnam

1970

Stationary Air Force C-141’s presented enormous target silhouettes to Viet Cong SA-7 shoulder-fired missiles, so jets remained on the Da Nang tarmac for as little time as necessary. When cargo off-loading and refueling was complete, the big jets sprinted to the relative safety of Clark AFB in the nearby Philippines. Pike was shuttled out of the Starlifter as fast as the cargo, the ground crew pointing him toward the base command center, which appeared more like a half-buried, World War II German machine gun bunker found on Normandy Beach.

Before he left the cargo staging area, the Starlifter’s pilot stopped him briefly.

"Don’t listen to those guys, kid. The command center is the most important building on the base to avoid. The North Vietnamese Army shells the base every other night and the command bunker is always the primary target for their artillery. Tonight was the second night without an attack, so I am strongly recommending you skip the command center and spend the evening in one of the distant enlisted tents.

And, oh yeah… the recommended sleep wear in Vietnam is skivvies, a flak jacket, combat boots and most importantly, a steel helmet, the pilot yelled above the jet engine’s constant droning.

Pike wasn’t about to take directions from an Air Force bus driver. He passed the command bunker entrance, descending on a dirt path into the building’s gut. Following the check-in arrows on the wall, Noah found his way to a cramped room full of fresh faced soldiers waiting fearfully to hear the names