This a test

“Holy shit.” Jab stood and saluted. “That’s fucking genius, an amazing idea. Give the man a raise. Now, how the hell do we do it?”

Lieutenant Aguascalientes smiled slyly. This was his bailiwick. He knew the crew, all 150 of them, as well—if not better than—his boss, Jab. He would not have presented the idea if he hadn’t been sure of the sailors he had in mind. “Well, we have two language experts on board. Three, counting our new Photon Smart Ass 3000 computer. The sailors are Ensign Barking Dog and Lieutenant J.G. Louder Hoarsy. They were first and second in their class at the academy. Between the two of them, they speak 45 languages.”

Jab ordered, “Make it happen, Aguascalientes. We have 30 days to give these people a chance to communicate, wherever we put them ashore in the USA. I hope your boys can teach?”

“Sir, they will teach.”

Jab leaned back. “Okay. It sounds like we’ve got a decent plan. However, I don’t want any of this to interfere with our normal operations, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they answered in unison. It rattled the room.

Captain Jab continued, “Our next problem will be how do we disembark these folks and where. Think about it carefully. I have a feeling it will be one of our tougher operations, maybe the toughest. We’ll get back together in a week.”

Ruddy, Layzee and Butty took right to the teachers. Ensign Barking Dog became the headmaster, teaching for the majority of the morning. Lieutenant J.G. Louder Hoarsy took over in the afternoons. Their plan was to keep it simple, and pertinent. The teachers stuck to a language of survival, the essentials of daily living. The Annapolis grads showed their brilliance with their innovation. The family became good students. They were quick to grasp the ABCs, and how the letters of the alphabet become sounds called words, and how the words express thoughts, and how these thoughts begin to multiply and expand daily. The old Chief Warrant Officer Krankschaftud, after observing one of the classes, scoffed under his breath, “Whatta load of bullshit.” The old chief was wrong; the students’ progress was A+. Even little Butty was amazing. He kept pace with his parents.

Lying in their bunks, nightly, Ruddy and family listened to the mysterious sounds of the USS Hoboken being run by these good people. The excitement of it all stimulated the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs to exchange thoughts in English before going to sleep: “Hoarsy like say good us puppuls.” “Englush talk way new.” (At least they were trying.) “Food is our eat,” little Butty joined in. “Eat I brake fust.” Ruddy ended the conversation: “Sleep we US go A.”

Ensign Margot Frostacelli was amazed at how squared away the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs kept their quarters, and themselves.

Ensign Margot became very attached to the family and began thinking how she could help them when it came time to put them ashore: “Where and how? We can’t just leave them like street people. They’d be eaten alive.”

One of the strange things about both the Russians and now the Americans was how no one became curious about the big burlap bag that Ruddy humped off the St. Petersburg and onto the Hoboken. Ruddy hadn’t looked in the bag since he reached in it and grabbed a wad of thousands for the bean can poopers to wipe on. Their frequent visitors, the teachers and Ensign Margot, never seemed to notice the big bag crammed under Ruddy’s bunk. However, Ensign Margot did notice they were beginning to accumulate items like the Navy clothes and even some civvies donated by the crew, so the ever-thoughtful ensign brought them two new regulation Navy seabags.

That evening Ruddy dumped the contents of his burlap bag on his bunk. He placed all the old marks in one pile and the rubles in another, and, from what he had learned from the teachers about money, he put the American dollars in another big pile. There were many bills marked with 1-0-0-0, like the bills they wiped on. He neatly stacked the thousands in ten piles, each about ten inches high. There also was a substantial amount of other denominations which he threw loosely into the seabag, on top of the marks and rubles. Then Ruddy crammed the ten stacks of thousands in and put the donated clothes on top of the whole cache. Ruddy closed the dark blue canvas bag, now bulging, and shoved it under his bunk. Ruddy placed little value on the money, but for a reason he could not explain, he thought he should keep it a secret. Ruddy had no idea just how big a secret it was. Without the butt wipes it still totaled $10,755,890 (not counting the foreign currency).

Layzee showed no interest in Ruddy’s secret stash. She emptied her beat-up satchel, but decided to keep it, even though it was empty, dirty and stinky. In her own naïve way she sensed the family history connected with the captured Nazi bag. She filled her new seabag with her Navy clothes and Butty’s tailor-made outfits, by Margot, and a pile of make-do diapers for the little poop machine, Swetty, made from cut-up Navy issue towels, thanks to Petty Officer Vernog Larvay, who ran the USS Hoboken laundry.

Butty’s toys were growing in number. Seaman Kolcoky had decided to give the little guy one toy a day, after every English lesson. Butty was learning at an amazing clip. The teachers, Barking Dog and Louder Hoarsy, compared notes at chow every evening and came to the conclusion that they had some brilliant pupils, and possibly a genius in little Butty.

Captain Jab hadn’t overlooked exercise. Once a day the family hit the treadmills and did some light lifting under the close supervision of Ensign Chinnup Pek, the officer in charge of the crew’s physical fitness. While doing his 20 minutes on the treadmill, Ruddy was thinking how lucky they were that everything seemed to be happening so perfectly—or was it luck? He kept thinking of Butty’s miracle recovery in the horrible dead forest, then Butty’s insisting that they take the other path that led them out of the dead forest, his leading them to the train, his wanting them to get off the train the night before the beasts attacked, and of course their incredible entry into the Russian “big thing.” “And he’s learning as fast as Layzee and me. Maybe faster?”

Day 15 of the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs’ ride aboard the Hoboken was a day like the rest, except in the control room. Orders had been received to change course, head west to the Indian Ocean, then north to the Arabian Sea and proceed through the Gulf of Oman into the Persian Gulf. The orders went on to give exact times and positions for the Hoboken. The orders plainly stated, “This is not a drill. Be prepared to support ground action with your full arsenal of non-nuclear weaponry.” Much logistical detail began to be traded back and forth with command headquarters.

After all the orders were digested and put into the Photon 3000 Smart Ass computer, Captain Jab Nads called the officers to a meeting in his quarters. “Our course is being nailed down now, but it looks like another 30 days, so make sure of our food supplies.”

The mess officer, Lieutenant Fryar Buffulo, replied, “We’ve already calculated. Photon agrees with the mess staff. We’re good for 50 days, sir.”

While the crew of the Hoboken prepared for war, the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs wondered why their teachers and Margot hadn’t shown up for several days.

They did show finally and tried to explain that they had some very important submarine business to attend to.

Since the family had no idea how long they would be on board in the first place, it didn’t make any sense to try and explain to them their submarine ride had been extended by at least a month.

Their teachers showed up only three times a week, and a busy Ensign Margot peeked in on them every three or four days. They studied diligently on their own: the Navy Guide Book, The History of the United States of America, and about their submarine, Hoboken Is Our Hoboken.

Captain Jab Nads sat bolt upright in the middle of the night. “Jesus, I forgot about the Wormwormkoffdofcoskees…whatever the hell…. We’re going to war and dragging them along.”

The Hoboken turned northwest into the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean en route to the “hot” destination. The crew had put on their game face. The captain cautioned, “Loosen up, we don’t want to waste any adrenalin.” The captain himself had a cool ripple of excitement daily that was sublimated by business, going over and over situations, preparing for the unexpected. The responsibility was unfathomable.

The USS Hoboken was right on schedule. The captain, crew and boat were ready.

And the family kept right on learning. In 40 days, they learned their ABCs well. They were now conversing at a primary level with a very limited vocabulary. They had been able to recount in a very basic manner where they’d come from, their trip experiences, and why they’d come.

Ruddy finally put it out there: “I love Rock and Roll USA in. We are go to there.” Barking Dog and Hoarsy were dumbfounded listening to the family tell how far they’d come and how the hell they got on board the St. Petersburg. The day after Ruddy and Layzee had opened up in their pidgin English and told their story to Barking Dog and Hoarsy, the two young Annapolis grads met with their captain and told him as much as they could decipher of the family’s story. “Holy shit,” Captain Jab exclaimed in disbelief.

Hoarsy said, “It’s got to be true. They could never make up a story like that.”

The captain, shaking his head in astonishment, trying hard to swallow the lump in his throat, paused a bit before speaking. “Gentlemen, we’ve got some extraordinary—to say the least—passengers on our boat. We’re going to deliver them intact, healthy, happy and literate to the good old USA.”

“ Aye, aye, sir.” Hoarsy and Barking Dog leapt to attention.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Ahhh tens hut!”

The Hoboken moved through the Gulf of Oman into the claustrophobic Persian Gulf to their assigned area at precisely their appointed time. One hour after they were in position, messages started coming in, and the battle to retake Kuwait had begun. The Hoboken went into action immediately. The boat rocked with each salvo of cruise missiles, which were on target. The overall firepower on land, from the air and from the sea, was devastating. The operation was over quickly. Kuwait was cleared of the enemy, who were cut to ribbons as they retreated.

The Hoboken was relieved after four days and nights of flawless action. The captain and crew were congratulated on a job well done by fleet command.

During the battle, the distant roar and thumps frightened the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs. They clung together in their room, tightly—tighter with each rock of the Hoboken. Of course, they were confined to their quarters those four days. They were puzzled by the mysterious goings on, but didn’t ask any questions of Seaman Kolcoky, who delivered their meals and Butty’s “toy ration” those four days.

The USS Hoboken’s position during the action had been somewhere in the far northwest end of the Persian Gulf. Captain Nads now set sail southeast toward the exit of the inhospitable waters of the Persian Gulf.

Things were back to normal, very quiet and business-like. The captain invited the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs for a look-see in the control room. It was their first time out of their area. Margot stayed with little Swetty while Ruddy, Layzee and Butty took the tour with Lieutenant J.G. Malcolon Knuclideo, who very efficiently described what things were and how they worked. He politely introduced the crew members who were on duty, and they explained what they did. Butty had strayed a little and seemed to be hypnotized by the geometrics of the radar screen. The radar man was Lieutenant Ira Rheumy. “Ya see, Butty, there’s nothing on the screen right now. That means there’s no one around us, so we don’t have to worry about—”

Butty anxiously interrupted Ira. “Coming sumtin.”

Some of the crew giggled in the background. Ira said, “No, see, we’re all clear.”

Butty persisted: “Coming sumtin, sumtin, sumtin coming.” Then a little louder: “Coming, three sumtins.”

The captain, kind of perturbed, from the periscope area, said, “What’s going on over there, lieutenant?”

Ira replied, with a strained smile, “No problem, sir. Butty’s just a little confused.” Butty frantically turned his attention to the backup radar right next to the live one. The backup screen was off—blank. Butty smacked the blank radar with his open hand. “Sumtin, sumtin.” Butty almost choked when he yelled and smacked the blank screen again, only harder. “SUMTIN COMING TO.”

Captain Jabs was pissed. “What the hell’s the matter? Don’t tease him, Ira.”

Ira stayed cool. “Sir, I’m not teasing him. He wants the backup radar turned on.”

Captain Jab, with a gentle tone, smiled. “Well, hell, Ira, turn it on. Make the little guy happy, and put a cartoon on it for him.” Some of the crew laughed a little nervously. Ruddy and Layzee were silent; they had an ominous feeling. Ira moved over to the backup radar and punched a couple of buttons. The screen blinked and came to life. At the top left edge of the screen, about 10 o’clock, three menacing images appeared headed toward the Hoboken. Ira recoiled. “Holy shit. Oh, fuck. Sir, we’ve got company. Three medium class. They’re nuclear turbo powered, most likely nuclear armed, speed 30 knots, headed right at us 6,000 yards dead ahead.”

Butty had climbed up on a chair next to the very busy Lieutenant Ira. Captain Jab shouted a dozen orders to a dozen different people, preparing for the worst. Then he was over Ira’s shoulder. “Who the hell are they?”

Ira’s voice rose: “Sir, I can’t ID yet, but they’re spreading out, they look real nasty, and they’re still coming right at us, 5,000 yards and closing.”

The captain yelled, “Lieutenant Aguascalientes, see if you can get these bastards on the phone. Hoarsy, make sure you record.”

Butty, from his chair beside Ira, said, “Bastards shoot come.”

The captain was stunned by the little voice. “Oh, Jesus, get these folks—”

Butty’s shout interrupted Jab. “Bastards shoot coming.” Lieutenant Aguascalientes handed the phone to Jab. “I got the bastards on the phone, sir.”

Captain Jab grabbed the phone. “What are your intentions?—”

The enemy interrupted: “Goodbye, Hoboken devils.”

Jab heard laughter in the background, then silence. “The dirty bastards hung up on me.”

Butty was unrelenting: “Oh, fuck bastards coming shoot come fuck.”

Captain Jab, like he was ordering a hamburger, said, “Ready with the decoy 140s, one through twenty port, one through twenty starboard. Load the big tunas one through ten and ready ten more.”

Butty was still in Ira’s ear. “They bastards shoot.”

Ira tried to calm Butty. “Easy, Butty. Nobody’s gonna shoot.” Ira called out, with a little shiver, “Four thousand yards and closing…. Oh, oh. They’ve just launched 12 torpedoes.”

“What kind and what’s their speed?” the captain asked.

“They’re locked on. We’ve got three minutes, and they’re nuke-tipped.”

“Fire decoys.”

There was an immediate thump-thump as 40 torpedo killers sprayed in the direction of the 12 oncoming nuke-nosed torpedoes. A reassuring voice from the missile console announced, “Forty decoys are launched, and a second forty are ready to go.”

The captain talked to the torpedo room. “Are you ready, tubes one through ten?”

The torpedo room affirmed, “We are ready. We are locked on all three targets and tracking. We’ve got 12 big tunas in the tubes itching to go and 12 more at the ready.”

Ira yelled, “Hang on. The decoys should be working. Yes, the torpedoes are chasing the decoys.” There was a series of heavy thumps as the errant torpedoes made contact with the decoys and blew up. Ira shouted, “We still got three coming.”

Captain Jab ordered, “Fire all decoys.” Immediately a second volley of decoys were launched. The Hoboken rocked as the decoys pushed off.

Ruddy and Layzee were frozen with fear. “Are about we die?” Ruddy asked the air with his new language.

Captain Jab remained cool. “Keep me posted, Ira. Be ready with that third round of decoys. We may need them.” Ira jumped out of his chair. “There they go. The bastards are chasing our decoys.” Whump-whumps were felt as the enemy torpedoes were blown to bits a mile short of the intrepid Hoboken.

Before the “bastards” could figure out their failure and get another batch off, Captain Jab Nads brought down the hammer. “Fire all tubes.” The Hoboken shivered and rocked a bit.

Ira reported, “They’ve turned tail.”

Jab snorted, “I don’t think they’ll outswim our big tunas.”

Butty put in his two cents: “Bye-bye go bastards fuck.” Butty, of course, didn’t know the meaning of or even the concept of curse words. Nor did Ruddy or Layzee.

The ten nuclear-tipped big tuna torpedoes simultaneously arrived at their targets, and the three enemy subs were instantaneously vaporized. The Hoboken shuddered for a good ten seconds. The three dots disappeared from “Butty’s” backup radar screen.

Silence.

The captain smiled down at little Butty, and with great esteem, Jab saluted and said, “Bye-bye go bastards.” A huge cheer roared from bow to stern—a victory cheer from the crew.

Captain Jab glanced at Ruddy and Layzee, and smiled. Then he looked back to Butty and said loud and clear, despite the lump in his throat, “Jesus Keeeeeryst, who is this kid?”

The Hoboken cautiously exited the Persian Gulf and headed south to make the turn around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope. From there they would head northwest across the Atlantic to the USA and to their (to be determined) port of call.

Captain Nads addressed his crew on the intercom three days after the incident. “We don’t know who they were. We can only make an educated guess. We do know they knew us and they were trying to obliterate us. There is absolutely no doubt about that. I congratulate all of you on our successful self-defense. We blew those cocksuckers to kingdom come. It’s an action the Hoboken will get no recognition for, nor will we get any medals. However, I personally award each and every one of you The Captain Jab Nads Navy Cross. You can’t wear it, you can’t even see it, and please keep it our secret—but you all stand a little taller today.”

That evening at dinnertime, Captain Nads paid a surprise visit to the crew’s mess. He was accompanied by Lieutenants Aguascalientes and Ira Rheumy and Ensign Margot, holding baby Swetty.

“Ahhh tens hut!” shouted the first crew member to see the captain enter. Silverware rattled and chairs slid out with a screech as the room rose as one.

“At ease, folks,” the captain quickly broke the formality. The family had remained seated and was a little puzzled by the situation. Little Butty, however, had jumped up along with the crew. The crew sat back down. Butty remained standing on his chair. The captain moved among the crew, shaking hands and joking, inquiring about families, and finally moved to Butty, who was still standing on his chair. Captain Nads addressed the room. “And now, the reason for my visit. It is to award The Captain Jab Nads Navy Cross for the first time to a civilian. For actions above and beyond the call of duty, actions that were vital in saving the USS Hoboken and the lives of its crew, I hereby award this medal,” he placed the navy blue ribbon, with a jerry-rigged medal, around the scrawny little neck, “to Butty Whormkovdovskivichykchev.” (Jab pronounced the name perfectly, according to the teachers Hoarsy and Barking Dog.) Word had gotten around the Hoboken what the little guy had done at the radar that fateful day. The crew spontaneously rose in unison, cheering loudly and applauding for a solid five minutes, and then the supreme honor: the crew broke into a rousing “Anchors Aweigh.”

Ruddy and Layzee, now standing, shivered with pride, an emotion they had not experienced before. Ruddy thought to himself, “Cries, who cheeses is this kid?” echoing captain Jab’s question after the amazing incident at the radar.

The room grew quiet, with little Butty still standing before an appreciative captain and crew. He was looking down at his medal hanging from his neck. He looked up around the room and into Captain Jab’s eyes, and said, “Blew we those kingcome cucksockers.” The roar of laughter shook the boat.

The journey across the Atlantic continued. The family had now been USS Hoboken submariners for 57 days. Their English had reached an acceptable level. They spoke the basics. Layzee and Butty had pretty much lost their Gubxermn accents. Ruddy was doing well, except he still had a thick accent and he continued to misplace words; but he made himself understood, eventually. Their vocabulary was limited, but growing. The “Professors” Barking Dog and Hoarsy kept them interested with American history, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, George Washington, Abe Lincoln and everything good about the USA. Hoarsy and Barking Dog did not teach them how to diagram sentences or conjugate verbs, but they found shortcuts to enable them to converse, to express themselves, and importantly, not just to talk, but to read and write.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Captain Margot

No one but the radio operator and the captain knew that they were just nine days out from their port of call, the Norfolk Naval Base. Jab called a meeting in his quarters to address the Whormkovdovskivichykchevs' situation. Lieutenant Aguascalientes, the teachers Barking Dog and Hoarsy, Chief Krankshaftud and Ensign Margot Frostacelli were in attendance.

“How do we get our precious cargo on shore safe and sound?” Jab’s question commanded an answer. They sat silently for 10 long seconds.

Finally Ensign Margot spoke up. “Sir, I have an uncle who has a business a stone’s throw from the Hudson River. If we could raft them to shore at night, this man, Uncle Zip Frostacelli, could meet me with our special cargo. He’s real patriotic. He’d find a place for them to live and—”

The captain interrupted. “What about employment? They’re going to need money.”

Margot didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure the crew will chip in to give them a start. And there’s Uncle Zip’s business. He owns a steel mill. Well, Ruddy looks up to some hard work.”

Lieutenant Aguascalientes popped up. “That all sounds good, but where on the Hudson?”

Margot blushed a little. “Now, before you all jump on my ass, hear me out. There’s an area just north of Hoboken.” “HOBOKEN?” Chief Krankschaftud scoffed. The rest of those present repressed their shock.

Margot, ignoring the reaction, continued, “Yes, there’s a lot of piers. I know the area well, being a New Jersey girl. And because of my Unk’s business, he has security clearance. He could find an area he feels is good for a raft to safely deliver the goods.”

Captain Jab was enthused. “What would be the first step?”

“Sir, a secure phone call to Unk Zip to see if he’s game.” Margot had thought it out. The Whormkovdovskivichychevs had become family to Ensign Margot. She had assumed the duty of giving their amazing journey a happy ending.

“Ensign, it’s a hell of an idea. Now, let’s make it a plan, if Unk’s game.” Jab gave the thumbs up, with two fingers crossed.

Margot, boldly, but with a smile, asked, “Sir, can I assume I will be captain on the raft?” The room looked at Captain Jab.

“Well, since I can’t abandon my boat, and if there’s no objections from the room, it’s your command, Ensign Margot Frostacelli.”

Lieutenant Aguascalientes added, “We should have a crewman on board beside the captain. I volunteer.” Hoarsy and Barking Dog joined with the usually unsentimental Chief Krankschaftud as volunteers.

Jab laughed and cautioned, “That’s a crowded raft. I want Lieutenant Aguascalientes to stay with the boat because he’s my backup, and Chief Krankschaftud will stay and handle rescue, which hopefully we won’t need. We don’t want to screw this up with a swamped raft. I believe it’s apropos that the two professors join Captain Margot’s crew.”