Page 14 of Cry Havoc

The SO-1 had adjusted its aim and fired again, sending a shell through the pilothouse window. They followed it with an additional barrage of artillery.

ThePueblowent dead in the water.

What’s happening?

Why did we stop?

I didn’t give that order, did I?

Keep your head!

If we keep going, we will be torn to shreds.

My crew will die.

Thick smoke from the fires fueled by classified documents obscured Commander Bucher’s view of the North Korean torpedo boat not 40 yards off his starboard bow, but it was clear enough for him to see the men in helmets behind machine guns trained directly at him.

How do I buy more time?

He directed the crew to continue burning documents and destroying top-secret code machines.

Think, damn it, think!

Will U.S. aircraft or ships intervene?

Doubtful.

How would I even know they were inbound?

Buy time.

The crew needs more time to destroy documents.

He ordered “all ahead one-third” in response to the signal flags that were run up a mast on the Soviet-built submarine chaser that tormented them. The flags translated as: FOLLOW ME.

Maybe we can destroy our classified before they board us?

We can’t hold them off forever.

Remembering he had sensitive material in his stateroom, Bucherrushed belowdecks. The shrapnel he had taken in the first barrage had punctured his intestines and made movement difficult. He gritted his teeth, fighting off the pain, and pushed his way through the smoke-clogged passageways, grabbing a sailor en route.

“Come with me.”

He threw open the door to his cramped quarters, his home since taking command of the USSPuebloalmost two years earlier, and rummaged through drawers for the classified manuals that concerned him. He found them and passed them to the young sailor.

“Burn these,” he said.

He looked at his Shakespeare collection on a shelf and wondered if he would ever see it again.

He then located his two personal pistols, a .22 and a .38.

What the hell would these do against six armed ships and two MiGs?

He gave them to the sailor as well.

“Toss them over the side,” he said. Bucher could not stand the thought of his personal pistols ending up in the hands of the enemy.

The skipper then returned to the pilothouse, ignoring the excruciating pain from his wounds, and took stock of their situation.