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 weeks ago."
"What port?'
"Rhodes."
"What if she's not there now?"
The clerk shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. He made a phonecall. After a while a woman clerk came to the desk and handed Toma voucher for an airplane ticket. "This will get you to Rhodes. Goodluck," she said, then turned away without further comment.
Until the following afternoon the ensign was on his own, a strangerin a strange city, with a language he didn't understand, with fantasticallyinflated Greek paper money (thirty thousand drachma to one Americandollar), and a handful of unfamiliar customs. No problem. There was alot Tom could do.
He watched the changing-of-the-guard ceremony at ConstitutionSquare where Greek soldiers paraded around looking like wind-up toysoldiers in white ballerina skirts. He purchased a bikini that folded assmall as a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. Putting it on, he felt a little nervousabout being so nearly naked in Athens' open-to-the-public Olympicpool. As if there wasn't enough skin showing to make him uncomfortable,when water wet the bikini it became totally transparent.
His greatest satisfaction in the sprawling city was walking from hishotel, the King George V, ignoring a mile of slums, heading up a hillto the Acropolis overlooking the city. There was a thrill in pressing hisfingertips against the magnificent ruins of the Parthenon. Touchingits fallen marble columns scattered about in dry weeds was exciting.Thomas couldn't remember much about famous Greek warriors andphilosophers but he had no doubt that Alexander the Great and Socratesprobably walked where he was standing. He searched his memory butrecalled little of what he'd learned about their lives in history classes.
The following afternoon at the airport he was ready for whateverthe unknown held. His airplane trip to Rhodes would last a little overan hour, with one stop, and the flight promised to be nice becausethe weather was perfect. Athens' tranquility, however, was about to bedisrupted. In several languages, the neatly uniformed airline stewardesshad patiently promised two dozen waiting passengers, a full plane load,that they would be boarding any minute, but nothing seemed to behappening. There was considerable complaining. As Thomas was soonto learn, Mediterranean people can cause as great a ruckus as irritatedpeople anywhere.
Among the group a young woman stood out. She had a smoothsuntan, inviting deep violet eyes, and silky black hair cut short just aboveher shoulders. She was dressed simply, with a belted skirt and a whitepeasant blouse unbuttoned at the throat. None of the men could keeptheir eyes from devouring her.
Tom wondered if she spoke English.
Then all hell broke loose.
Two horn-blaring limousines with little Greek flags flying on eachside of their front bumpers, driven by Greek army officers, sped towardthe group. They were followed closely by an old army truck with twodozen standing soldiers crowded on its flatbed. The truck stopped twentyfeet from the shiny airplane. Men in pressed khaki uniforms with riflesand bayonets hurriedly jumped off and directed civilians to move aside.They took positions near the airplane's steps and formed an aisle, six ona side, facing each other. A heavyset and forceful officer barked orders.His troops resoundingly slapped their rifles. In a well-choreographedmovement, the detail came to "present arms."
Other soldiers moved to the limousines and opened the passengerdoors. Four dark-bearded priests emerged. All were dressed in flowing blackcotton robes. Two were middle-aged and had a prosperous appearance.The other two were younger and were probably bodyguards.
The leading priest, a short robust man, flaunted a cylindrical black hatabout eight inches high. From his hat trailed a ludicrous black veil andaround his neck hung an overly large gold medallion. He used an ornatecane. As he walked past Stierwell, the American officer uncomfortablyrealized the big man's dark-lidded eyes had singled him out from thewaiting crowd. For a moment the priest sternly appraised both him andhis uniform. Then the religious entourage carefully lifted their skirts,ascended a portable step, and boarded the airplane.
Olympic's DC-3 had single seats on each side of the aisle. The fourmen in priest's garb seated themselves up front across from each other,directly behind the bulkhead separating them from the pilot's cabin.Seemingly unaware of any other persons, they immediately turned tothe business of making themselves comfortable.
The young lady with lovely violet eyes took a seat toward the backof the airplane. She had breathtaking breasts and men were inevitablyattracted. One after another she politely informed them the emptyseat across the aisle from her was saved. When Stierwell was close shemotioned him to sit.
Tom folded his jacket and stowed it in an overhead rack. "It's a niceday," he said, enunciating each word carefully, putting on his very bestsmile, and hoping she would understand.
"Oh, yes, Mister American," the young woman replied as sheefficiently clicked her seatbelt. "It is a very nice day."
"Oh, you speak English! I'm glad. I don't know any Greek."
"You assume I'm Greek?"
"It seems reasonable."
"Well, I am half Greek."
"And the other half is what?"
"Part of me is American."
"No? Really?"
"Yes. Greek is the best part."
"You're going to Rhodes?"
"I worked at the British Embassy."
"On Rhodes?"
"In Nicosia on Cyprus."
"I don't know where that is."
"Four hundred miles east of Rhodes."
"Is it another Greek island?"
A patient smile formed on the young woman's carefully painted redlips. "Unfortunately, no! Cyprus has never been Greek although mostlyGreeks live there. Meanwhile, the English occupy the island."
"You don't like the British?"
"I think they should go home."
"Then why work for them?"
"I don't anymore. You should fasten your seat belt."
"I will."
"Do you have a name?"
"Thomas."
"Mine is Leiri."
"Leiri?"
"Leiri Yalova. In Greek leiri means lily."
"Now I've learned a word in Greek."
"Ne."
"That means no, of course, as in nay, nay, nay!"
"No. Ne means yes."
"You're kidding?"
"I'm not. Ne sounds like no in English, or nein in German, or nyetin Russian, but ne means yes in Greek. The word for no in Greek is oxivery difficult for foreigners to pronounce. It's not easy for Americans tosay no in Greece."
Tom's inclination was to reply with something suggestive. Instead heasked, "How many languages can you speak?"
"Seven, I think. Five good. English, of course, and Greek, Turkish,Russian and French. A little Arabic. Some people are good withlanguages."
Tom shook his head. "I'm not," he said, but before he could addmore he realized that Leiri, while speaking to him, was watching thereligious foursome up front. Leaning across the aisle, Tom looked fromLeiri toward the men in black robes and whispered, "Some big deal theymade coming aboard! What a fuss with soldiers and all. Who are they?"
Leiri's response, as with many things the young ensign discovered inGreece, was not what he expected. There was both familiarity and awein her face. "You don't know?" she asked.
"Oxi—no. I don't."
"The heavy man with the medallion? He's the Archbishop."
"A preacher?"
"He's the Archbishop of Cyprus!"
"Never heard of him."
"You are kidding?"
"I'm not."
"Makarios is head of the Cypriot Orthodox Church. He is the mostpowerful man in Greece."
"He looks like a fat guy in a black skirt with black veils."
Leiri showed mild displeasure. "Would you belittle the Archbishopof Canterbury?"
"I never think about him. But no, I guess not."
"You need to be serious. Don't be so American! There's no separationbetween church and state here. Politics and religion are close to the samein this part of the world, "Leiri said, leaning across the aisle and loweringher voice. "Words can be dangerous. Observe that I'm serious. Everybodyin Athens including Queen Frederika and Field Marshal Papagos bow toMakarios. And incidentally, the Archbishop's not Greek."
"He's not?"
"He's Cypriot."
"Is there a difference?"
"Oh, you have so much to learn!"
CHAPTER 3
There was no more waiting before take off. The DC3 began taxiingas soon as its door was closed, racing past ditches of red clay and dodgingpotholes on a World War II runway. The airplane quickly climbed aloftinto the clear blue sky and banked gently over a colorful coastline ofpicturesque harbors. They headed southeast in the general direction ofRhodes, the plane's final destination, a distance of a little less than threehundred miles.
Their flight path mimicked the curve of Asia Minor's southwesternshoreline. In minutes Ensign Stierwell was gazing down at hundreds ofislands, the fabled scenic jewelry of the Aegean Sea. To his left, not verydistant, was a constantly visible misty gray landmass that was Turkey.
Often leaning toward Tom, Leiri displayed a magical combination ofcharm and historical knowledge. She exuded a pleasant sweet fragrancethat gently clung to her. Her knowledge of the world was equallynotable as she readily ticked off details of Hellenic-Ottoman conflicts,not skipping any of the erotic highpoints of the Trojan War. "Helen ofTroy was what you'd call a beautiful tease, no, that's too nice. It was morethan her pretty face, it was the flagrant sexual infidelity of Helen thatlaunched the thousand ships you've heard about," she said. "Whether shewas the reason for war or an excuse for war, diplomatically or with guns,Turkey and Greece have been at each other ever since."
(Continues...)
