Chapter 62

Her Majesty's Nevis & St. Kitts Brig Pretty Penny motored out from Key West. Too tall for the short cut she sailed out to Fort Jefferson.

As soon as the boat was out of sight of land, there came a troupe of tiny Balinese Cuban Americans in even tinier bikinis, carrying pitchers of iced tea and large towels. The towels were spread, the tea was poured, brown skin was exposed and the tanning began. Mrs. Sanchez stripped down along with her flock and laid in the sun.

As soon as the suits came off and the girls were nude, David rearranged his arrangement, and turned to the Chief.

"How do you stand it?"

"She's really something, ain't she?" said the Chief.

"Which one?" asked David.

Sanchez laughed, "Nyoman ... my wife."

"How did you meet?"

"Like India, Bali is very caste oriented. There are the priests, the warriors, the merchants and the rice growers. The rice growers are the lowest caste. It is unheard of for a woman to marry out of her cast."

"Ok ... and"

"Nyoman was one of the Balinese Temple Dancers ... they are chosen for their beauty and suppleness. I'll tell you right now, the christians nearly ruined Bali. Traditionally, the dancers perform bare chested and wearing a very thin silk skirt ... a wraparound and heavy necklaces. The dances are not sexy or immoral ... immorality is in the mind of the watcher. I saw her...

"I better tell you why I was there ... in 1963 we had a small base on Lombok that we were closing down ... by invitation, I might add. The base had been there since 1945. I was in the Marines then. I got leave and I'd always wanted to see Bali ... South Pacific ... the movie, I guess. It's a nice ferry ride.

"I saw her, she was of the warrior caste ... very untouchable for a white ... and Cuban Americans are Americans and all Americans are white ... regardless of color. Very confusing. I kidnapped her. Yeah ... kidnapped her. She was 12 but looked like all the dancers and some of them were in their thirties.

"She's magic ... mesmerizing ... totally feminine but so ... agile ... Shit ... I was 17 ... lied my way into the Marines ... just five years older.

"As soon as she was off Bali she threw her arms around my neck and thanked me for saving her from an arranged marriage. Lombok is nearly as bad as Bali with their caste system, but Americans ... like all Americans ... are blind to tradition and history ... some of the Lombok women married Americans ... Remember ... all Americans are white.

"We were still cleaning up when the Islanders told us to leave ... yesterday if we could. They weren't polite about it all. The Marines didn't want to take her ... the Balinese wouldn't let her come back. I boxed her up in a crate and a bottle of oxygen ... stuffed the crate with straw ... labeled it personal possessions and loaded it on the C-123 Provider the Navy sent to pick us up.

"I was never so glad to see that aircraft. By now the Indonesian army had taken the base and all we had was a paved road to use as a runway.

"Australia ... transferred our belongings to a pressurized C-133 Cargomaster and headed for Hawaii. Landed there, she popped up out of that crate and claimed political asylum. She was pregnant. The Marine Corps was not happy with me but let me go without prejudice because of my age. The Navy seemed to be the safest service at the moment. Because of my prior service we stayed in Hawaii. Twins ... they fit right in ... right color, right size ... and then the girls ... pretty soon ... too soon according to the Doctors, she was back at it.

"I have to tell you, she practiced Temple Dancing all the way through all six sets for twins and she still does ... just as flexible as she was at 12 and before you know it she tightened up all over and we did it again. My Navy two year hitch was up ... they tried to extend me ... Vietnam was getting exciting but I had less than 89 days left.

"I already knew what would happen if I extended ... riverine forces ... I had a Marine certification for reciprocating engines while the schools were churning out jet mechanics right left and center. The Air Force couldn't wait. I cut a two year deal for Italy, she was already twinned up and hatching before we were there three months. She said, "No More Señor," and I got cut. That lasted a whole year when something grew back together and voilà ... Angela and Angel.

"The Coast Guard said they had a home for me ... and they did. I'm shooting for thirty.

"I still lust after her," he shrugged, " But, Hey... 16 years and no cigar."

"I can see why..." agreed David, looking out the pilothouse ports.

They sailed along in companionable silence heading west south west. There were two things David wanted to see ... the grounded Liberty ship and the Fort. Fort Jefferson is only a couple of hours by power but sail is so much more calming.

The last few months had been hectic (understatement) to say the least. The midnight forays into forgotten warehouses with Myron Jones, Marine scrounger of the first water, might not have been fraught with danger but there was a certain adventure involved ... and the possibility that a new set of orders or a gung-ho lieutenant could insist on examining Every building in his new brief.

"God and the Saints preserve us from competent officers," was the prayer Jonesy offered up on the dark nights when Sanchez said this and that is located there ... go get it.

Jake came running out of the chart room, "STOP! ... oh gods, stop. Go back. You have to see this."

It's not easy to stop the forward motion of a rowboat ... a hundred and seventy-five foot sail boat? In the first place, there's all that weight, second there's this stick loaded with heavy sail and held upright with string. When the hull stops the mast has a tendency to keep going. You don't just stop ... you glide.

Everything on a really big sailboat takes time.

"Show me what you got, Jake," said the Chief. The pair went back to the chart room.

The 1988 first class sonar technology not only shows what's happening NOW ... it shows what happened THEN ... if someone know how it works. Chief Petty Officer Sanchez knows how it works. Instant replay. Chief pushed a couple of buttons and, while the boat is still gliding forward as the sails are furling, the sonar is not only recording where the boat is going, the screen is playing back where she'd been. In minute detail.

Sanchez popped his head out and said, "Yeah, Captain ... I suggest we turn around ... fire up the puttputt and I'll hook up the navigation gear to the sonar."

"Huh?"

"I'll connect the sonar tracking to the helm, that'll take us back to where what Jake saw is."

"You can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"When did I become Sir?"

"When the pleasure cruiser became the warship, sir."

"I don't think I like that," said Captain Austin.

"Too bad for you, sir." Sanchez chuckled.

David walked back to the chart room.

"Show me what you got, Chief."

"Yes, sir. This is the playback of 15 minutes ago."

"What is that?"

"That, sir, is a submarine ... and it's too small to be one of ours."

"What do I do about it, Chief?"

"I suggest, sir, we call the Coast Guard and advise them of this."

"Ok ... out of my depth. Chief? You just got yourself a pupil. I can Captain just fine ... I don't officer worth a rat. You're going to have to teach me."