CHAPTER 1
It was an outstanding day for flying.
Beneath Athens' blue, nearly cloudless dome of sky, engines of anaging Olympic Airlines DC-3 sputtered to life. Bright sunlight sparkledon the Greek airplane's wings. Passengers holding tickets impatientlystood on a narrow strip of tarmac.
Wearing a tailored U.S. Coast Guard uniform, Ensign Tom Stierwellheld a lightweight tan coat draped over his left arm. The surroundingswere totally foreign to the young officer. Only five days before he'dbeen snugly bundled in layers of foul weather clothing on the Storis,an icebreaker underway in the Gulf of Alaska. After the rescue of astorm-tossed trawler, Stierwell and the ship's captain stood on the bridge,heading for their home port, Juneau.
A first-class radioman approached. "Here's a new radio message,Captain," the man said, handing his clipboard to Commander Aaronsenwho studied a short typed paragraph, raised an inquiring eyebrow,grinned, and then passed the clipboard to Stierwell. The words were verymuch to the point:
Your current assignment is terminated. You are ordered to immediatelyreport for duty to Commanding Officer, U.S.C.G.C. Albatross(W 414), at her present location in the Eastern Mediterranean.No delay or leave is authorized. Travel will commence immediately.s/Commandant, U. S. Coast Guard, Washington, D. C.
"Wow," was all the young officer could say.
"Did you know about this?" the captain asked, admittedly suspicious.
Twenty-two year old Stierwell was dumbfounded. "No, sir, I can'tbelieve it. This is out of the blue. They're sending me to a Coast Guardship somewhere in Europe?"
"Yes, and it's damn peculiar! You've done good here," grousedAaronsen, not pleased to unexpectedly lose a dependable officer.Commander Aaronsen turned to nearby watch standers, the quartermaster,helmsman, and messengers who were all listening. "Mister Stierwell'sbeen transferred to a Coast Guard ship in the Mideast from Alaska to theMediterranean. Must be nearly half way around the world!" he declared,knowing the information would rapidly circulate. Eight additionalofficers and a hundred sailors would soon know as much about Stierwell'stransfer as did the ensign.
"My orders only say report to a ship nobody knows anything about,"Tom later told a gathering of men in his deck division. "The ordersdon't say where this Albatross is—or what she does. And I find it hardto believe the United States Coast Guard has ships wandering aroundbetween Europe and Africa. The Navy, yes, but our Coast Guard? I don'tthink so."
"Maybe you can get to Egypt? It would be great to go see thepyramids," a seaman declared.
"I can see you riding a camel," said another.
Laughter followed.
Captain Aaronsen walked past the group. He paused only longenough to declare, "It's no joke, guys. There's no telling what MisterStierwell can expect." There was a twinkle in the skipper's eyes but hewas serious.
In the morning Tom arrived early at Juneau's Seventeenth Districtoffices. A yeoman there only accentuated the general lack of information,repeating the little anyone knew: Tom was to travel immediately and theAmerican Embassy in Athens, Greece, would most likely give him furtherinstructions—if there were any.
No passport would be issued.
Travel would be via United States Military Air Transportation(M.A.T.S.)—to Newfoundland, Canada, thence to Libya, North Africa,and eventually to Greece. What a strange feeling! To be ordered to duty onthe other side of the world and not know what was waiting, or why!
Commander Aaronsen eventually offered a clue, but only aftersearching through a stack of Coast Guard magazines gathering dustin his cabin. "The Albatross's commanding officer is named Kearse,"Aaronsen told Thomas," Roland D. D. Kearse. Nobody knows what theD. D. stands for. Could be Death and Destruction. At least that's hisnickname, behind his back, of course. He's a four-striper, Academy man,graduated from New London in the same year as your father. That putsthem in the same class, same rank, but your dad's a few numbers up theladder for promotion purposes. Kearse probably doesn't like that. He hada ship sunk under him in the Pacific. Scuttlebutt has it he didn't do toowell with that. As a result he's spent a lot of time behind a desk shufflingpapers. Eventually, after about ten years, somebody finally assigned himto the Albatross."
"What's he like?"
Aaronsen frowned. "As a commanding officer? That's a goodquestion. I honestly don't know, Thomas. You'll have to find that out foryourself."
CHAPTER 2
Packing was easy for Ensign Stierwell. The most expensive things heowned were a Smith & Wesson nickel plated .38 that had never beenfired, and a small carved ivory polar bear he bought from an Eskimo fora souvenir. They were stuffed into a duffel bag along with a Dopp kitcontaining his toothbrush, a mini-flashlight, his razor, and rubbers.
The deck crew smuggled a pint of Bacardi aboard and mixed it withCoke for Tom's going away night. "All of us wish you well," said RayBishop, raising a glass. "Good luck and Godspeed, you been a decentofficer. You're a likeable guy. Even Morty the Mouser's gonna miss you."
Morty was the Storis' cat. He had stowed away as a kitten and beenaboard for a year. Morty liked going to sea and refused to be takenashore, hissing and screaming if anybody tried. Tom fed and took care ofhim. Every time the captain saw Thomas petting Morty he would say,"Get rid of that cat!"
It never happened.
Nobody expected it would.
The Storis was a good hard working ship and the men liked eachother. Most of them had farewell comments. "May the wind always be atyour back and the best of luck to Cecilia, too," grinned a first class pettyofficer about Tom's age. Everybody laughed. The man was referring to abusty young woman the eligible ensign had been dating until her father,the chief of police in Skagway, Alaska, threatened to come looking forTom with a shotgun. "Everybody knows the Coast Guard's transferringyou twelve thousand miles to get you away from Cecilia's poppa!" thelaughing sailor declared.
There may have been truth in the statement.
A few days later, after stops in Argentia, Newfoundland, and Tripoli,North Africa, plus several sleepless nights and thousands of uncomfortableair miles, Tom finally arrived in Athens. He presented himself at theAmerican Embassy where diplomatic people responded with emptystares. At first nobody seemed to have any idea about the Albatross'swhereabouts and, as he moved from floor to floor, from desk to desk inthe diplomatic building, Tom had an empty feeling that nobody knewanything about his arrival either. When he felt totally lost, one ForeignService clerk, a slight, inconsequential looking man tucked away at asmall desk in an obscure corner, quietly voiced some knowledge.
"Last I heard," he disclosed, "the ship was operating near theDodecanese."
"What are the Dodecanese?" Tom asked.
"They're islands. Dodeca means twelve in Greek. It's a group oftwelve islands. Rhodes is the largest. That's where you'll most likely findher—the Island of Rhodes."
"Rhodes?"
"Rodos in Greek. Rodi in Italian. Beautiful place, they say. I've neverbeen there."
"Is that where I'll find the Albatross?"
"I can't swear. We don't get too much information about her. Shewas in port two...
