Hunter Sniper

Oatmire knew that he couldn’t stay there forever, feet planted in the bucking launch and wet hands grasping the ladder. He forced himself to start to climb.

Below him, the launch pulled away.

“Good luck, sir!” the boatswain shouted, and then the small boat headed back across the sea.

Fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline, Oatmire managed to climb the ladder. The ladder was not secured at the bottom, which meant that from time to time it swung out over the water like a pendulum when the ship rode a large swell. “Dear God,” Oatmire muttered, holding on for dear life until the pendulum swung back and smacked him against the steel skin of the ship. At the top, hands reached down and helped him over the side. Oatmire flopped onto the deck and lay there gasping like a freshly caught fish.

As he caught his breath, Oatmire began the first of his naval observations.

First of all, he noted that there was no fanfare. Apparently the ship’s captain hadn’t even taken the time to be there to greet him — that was how far down the pecking order Oatmire was in the scheme of things.

The ship was apparently already at anchor and had not stopped expressly for him. The business of the ship was going on around them, sailors busy coiling lines and mopping up oil spills from the flight deck. Other sailors were busy doing jobs and working on equipment that Oatmire couldn’t even identify. He felt more like a landlubber than ever.

The arrival of a junior army officer did not warrant any sort of ceremony and was scarcely noticed, even if he was coming from General MacArthur. If it had actually been MacArthur arriving on the ship, it would have been a different story. The ship’s officers would have all been on hand to greet him, and most of the ship’s crew would have been gathered in formation, all wearing their best uniforms. Of course MacArthur wouldn’t have bothered to go aboard a Jeep carrier, no more than a chef would have stopped to eat at a roadside diner.

“That last step is a doozy,” said a voice that clearly sounded amused, and Oatmire looked up to see a naval officer reaching down to assist him with getting upright again.

“Let me help you with that, sir,” a sailor announced, and Oatmire felt himself being relieved of the weighty seabag. He lurched sideways as he adjusted to not being weighed down.

Oatmire regained his balance and found himself looking into the smiling face of a lieutenant commander. The man was about average height and build, with what seemed to be a friendly disposition.

“I’m Tom O’Connell,” the lieutenant commander announced, extending a hand that Oatmire shook. Oatmire understood that it was a rank equivalent to an army major, which meant that O’Connell technically outranked him. “Welcome aboard.”

Oatmire couldn’t help but grin back. “So you’re going to be my babysitter, sir?”

O’Connell laughed. “If you want to call it that. Officially, I’ve been assigned to be your liaison, mainly because they don’t know what else to do with me. The ship I was on got sunk by the Japanese back at Ironbottom Sound, and they put me aboard this carrier. They already have a full complement of officers, so I end up with a lot of ‘and other duties as assigned’ by the captain. No need to call me ‘sir,’ by the way — I’m just here as your tour guide.”

It was an honest and straightforward introduction. Oatmire couldn’t help but smile again. “I’ve got to say, that sounds a lot like my job back at HQ, which is probably why I got sent out here.”

“Why exactly are you here?” O’Connell was friendly enough, but Oatmire noticed that the naval officer had quick, intelligent eyes. Maybe his lack of other duties wasn’t the only reason he had been assigned to chaperone an army officer. Like most career officers, he was probably an Annapolis graduate. Not much would get past him.

At any rate, it was a fair question to ask why he was on board. “I’m a liaison. General MacArthur wanted to promote interservice—”

O’Connell cut him off, looking amused. “Liaison, huh? You mean you were sent here to spy on us. In that case, let me show you around. We’re not as big as the Indianapolis or even the Nashville that you just came from, but there’s still plenty to see.”

Oatmire didn’t bother to argue about being called a spy. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he was there or what he was looking for, but he thought that he would know it when he saw it.

“I’d appreciate a tour,” Oatmire agreed. “As long as it doesn’t involve climbing any other ladders.”

“Don’t worry. Coming up the side of that ship was the most excitement you’re likely to see. The Seventh Fleet is strictly supply and logistics. If you wanted to see some action, you should have gotten yourself sent out to Halsey’s Third Fleet.” O’Connell waved a hand to indicate the ocean beyond. “They’re at least sixty miles out. They’re the ones who are tangling with the Japanese right about now.”