Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders Read online

  Praise for the novel LT. COMMANDER MOLLIE SANDERS:

  A Gripping Tale of Adventure and Intrigue

  If you’re looking for a well-written novel filled with adventure, romance, intrigue and plenty of gripping, gritty action involving the U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, bureaucratic turf wars, Russian spies, terrorists and submarining, this is definitely a novel you will want to read.

  No nonsense Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders, an exceptionally bright young officer who gets her way because she’s the most qualified, knows very well how to handle herself, and in this adventure, she has a whole lot to handle. Prickly, she has her vulnerable side, like all of us do.

  In my book, she’s the kind of officer I’d be proud to serve under. I sure as heck wouldn’t want to end up on her “S” list.

  The story is cinematic, which is not surprising, as it is an adaptation of two screenplays written by the authors. I look forward to reading their next adventure … and perhaps seeing this one on the Big Screen or TV.

  — George Polley, author of fiction FERNANDEZ’ TALE AND OTHER SHORT STORIES, THE OLD MAN AND THE MONKEY, GRANDFATHER AND THE RAVEN

  www.geogepolleyauthor.com

  Hot Action in Cold Waters

  LT. COMMANDER MOLLIE SANDERS is rapid-fire action from start to finish. It draws us into the volatile issues of current events from a unique perspective, and Mollie’s fierce determination and ambition keep the story so taut you could bounce quarters off it.

  She may be a “girl” trying to earn top place in a male-dominated venue, but she never stoops to indiscriminate male bashing, which is a refreshingly mature attitude. I can’t wait to see what her next adventure is!

  —Valley Brown (aka Terry Mominee), author of the romance novel SPEEDING TICKETS

  valleybrown.wordpress.com

  LT. COMMANDER MOLLIE SANDERS

  By Phyllis Zimbler Miller and Mitchell R. Miller

  Copyright 2011 Phyllis Zimbler Miller and Mitchell R. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entire coincidental.

  Mitch and Phyllis visit the USS Midway aircraft carrier on February 1, 2007, in San Diego after attending the U.S. Naval Institute conference.

  The novel LT. COMMANDER MOLLIE SANDERS is an adaptation of two screenplays written by Phyllis Zimbler Miller and Mitchell R. Miller.

  The screenplay “Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders” was a quarterfinalist in the 2005 Academy’s Nicholl Fellowship competition and the screenplay “Needle in a Haystack” was subsequently written as a prequel. Visit the novel’s website at www.MollieSanders.com

  Phyllis is also the author of the novel MRS. LIEUTENANT, which was a 2008 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semifinalist. Learn more at www.MrsLieutenant.com

  The book FOUR COMEDY SCREENPLAYS features screenplays by Phyllis and Mitch. More info is at www.millermosaicllc.com/four-comedy-screenplays

  Phyllis is a member of the Military Writers Society of America. Mitch is a member of the Association of Former Intelligence Officers, the National Military Intelligence Association, and the U.S. Naval Institute.

  Both Phyllis and Mitch share information online that supports U.S. troops.

  Follow Phyllis on Twitter at http://twitter.com/ZimblerMiller and Mitch on Twitter at http://twitter.com/MillerTaxLaw

  Table Of Contents

  CHAPTER I – AT SEA

  CHAPTER II – PORT OF LOS ANGELES

  CHAPTER III – LOS ANGELES COAST GUARD

  CHAPTER IV –TANGOS

  CHAPTER V – “PUSHING HANDS”

  CHAPTER VI – VALUABLE COMMODITY

  CHAPTER VII – RACE AGAINST TIME

  CHAPTER VIII – END GAME

  CHAPTER IX – ESKIMO SCOUTS

  CHAPTER X – NEW ASSIGNMENTS

  CHAPTER XI – THE SHIT HITS THE FAN

  CHAPTER XII – PREPARING FOR A SEA VOYAGE

  CHAPTER XIII – OUT TO SEA

  CHAPTER XIV – FIRST CONTACT

  CHAPTER XV – DOUBLECROSSED

  CHAPTER XVI – PARACEL ISLANDS

  CHAPTER XVII – EVASION

  CHAPTER XVIII – BACK IN PORT

  CHAPTER I – AT SEA

  Aboard the USS Nimitz, Pacific Ocean

  The KABOOM of two fighter planes catapulting into the sky filled the air as the two planes accelerated from zero to 200 mph in 300 feet. All along the flight deck barely a head turned. Navy sailors wearing different colored jackets to indicate their specific jobs did those precise jobs as the U.S. Navy aircraft carrier USS Nimitz sliced through the Pacific Ocean.

  At one side of the deck and several stories high stood the tall structure known as “the island.” Here men and women -- part of the pilot control center for the ship -- watched as their birds took flight or returned to roost.

  **

  April 16

  0800 hours

  On the hangar deck -- one deck below the flight deck -- at the far end of that deck and facing out to sea, several pilots engaged in target practice as Navy Lieutenant Commander Mollie Sanders moved among them.

  Oblivious to the looks given her by the men, she concentrated on her task. She knew that men considered her attractive, but she strove to distract from her looks by trying to be better and faster than any of the men – in any of their tasks.

  After checking the grip of one pilot, Mollie let her gaze sweep the horizon of ocean and more ocean. She inhaled the air – what a welcome smell!

  She had arrived onboard only last night in the dark. Immediately this morning she’d been asked to “help out” with target practice. No time to appreciate what she’d finally achieved – a transfer to ship duty.

  Mollie stopped alongside a guy also in his early 30s. His flight jacket said Witlow and he held the pistol like a gunfighter in a western. Maybe his call sign was gun fighter.

  “Two hands, cowboy,” Mollie said. “This isn’t the OK Corral. And use the sights. The object is to hit your target, not scare him.”

  The pilot turned blazing eyes on her. “And who the hell – “

  Mollie pointed to the strip of white tape on her ball cap that said instructor. That stopped his protest.

  She held out her hand for his pistol. He hesitated, then handed it over.

  She assumed the perfect two-handed firing position – and in a blaze of fire emptied the magazine at the silhouette target.

  Mollie hauled back the target. All her shots converged in a three-inch group – in the target’s groin!

  The pilot eyed the target but said nothing.

  “That’s the way to do it,” she said to him. She cleared the pistol and handed it back to him.

  Mollie walked to the next firing position, aware of his eyes sending death rays into her back.

  Oh, well, she wouldn’t have to deal with him again. Today’s instructor role was a favor. Tomorrow she’d be in her favorite spot in the whole world – up above the earth, free of entanglements, speeding towards a far-off horizon.

  Out of the corner of Mollie’s eye she spotted a hand clapping on the shoulder of the guy she’d just helped. The hand belonged to Air Wing Commander (CAG) Alex Kruger. Mollie remained close enough to hear the CAG talk to Witlow.

  “Two things you need to know, Surfer. One, she’s on the Navy pistol team. Two, she’s your new back-seater.”

  Oh, no, Mollie thought. His call sign was Surfer and this was who she’d be flying with!

  “Permanently?” Surfer sa
id to the CAG.

  “You have a problem with that?” the CAG asked.

  “No, sir!”

  Mollie nodded. It would be interesting to see what this guy was made of when he was flying instead of shooting. Then, again, he might be surprised by what she was made of when she was flying instead of shooting.

  **

  1130 hours

  Kevin Witlow entered the officers’ mess with its long tables and a cafeteria line. He preferred this mess to the clean shirt wardroom, where the officers sat at round tables served by waiters and were required to wear regular uniforms. Here in the dirty shirt wardroom the officers could eat in their work uniforms.

  Kevin glanced at the television hanging in one corner. The TV showed the flight deck with planes taking off and landing. Many of the pilots already seated ate with their eyes glued to the TV set.

  As Kevin exited the cafeteria line, he spotted his new back-seater sitting by herself at a long table, her eyes also glued to the TV set.

  Maybe he should properly introduce himself. He knew he had reacted rudely this morning. But damn it, his only experience with women was his younger sister, and she taught kindergarten, for chrissake.

  Why the hell did the CAG have to saddle him with a woman!

  Kevin inhaled a calming breath and walked over, sitting down across from her. He held his hand out. She hesitated, for chrissake, then shook. Her hand told him nothing – neither too strong nor too limp. A regular shake.

  “Surfer,” he said, giving his call sign.

  “Gearhead,” she said.

  “Mine’s cause I come from California. Fresno, actually. Never spent a day in my life surfing.”

  “Too bad for you.”

  Kevin rubbed his head, tried again. “Where’d you come from?”

  The woman smiled. “The STORC.”

  “The stork? Me, too, but I meant recently.”

  The woman’s smile enlarged. “The STORC – Special Tactics and Operations Research Center.”

  Now Kevin smiled. “I’m impressed.”

  “I missed flying.”

  Kevin laughed. “Sitting in the back seat punching buttons isn’t exactly flying.”

  The woman’s eyes flashed. “Pilots are just flying truck drivers ... who could easily be replaced by a trained chimpanzee.” She paused. “Actually, I could program my BlackBerry …”

  Kevin opened his mouth to retort at the exact moment the CAG appeared next to them.

  “Sanders, could I see you in my office at 1830?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the woman replied.

  The moment the CAG was out of hearing Kevin leaned closer to the woman.

  “A little tete-a-tete with the CAG? You work fast.”

  The woman stood.

  “Not every pilot aboard thinks with his dick. Mission first, surfer boy.”

  Kevin watched her stride away from the table. As she did, he smiled with supreme macho confidence. One preening woman wasn’t about to throw him off his game.

  **

  1830 hours

  Mollie stood peering down at a chart that Kruger had rolled open on the tiny desk at which he sat. He held an open compass over an area on the chart.

  “Missile launch will be in this area.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “You’ll have about four minutes to detect, track, and fire. If you haven’t done so in three minutes, I’ll self destruct the missile.”

  “Roger that, CAG.”

  “Have you briefed Surfer yet?”

  Mollie hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Didn’t think he had the need to know just yet, sir. I’d like to treat this as routine as possible.”

  The CAG looked up at her. “Gearhead …”

  He exhaled, then continued. “I believe in letting young officers have enough to hang themselves. Just remember this is the new ‘zero defects’ Navy, Sanders.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “One screwup and you’re through – no matter who says otherwise.”

  Here we go again, Mollie thought. For the briefest of seconds her body seemed to collapse into itself, then she straightened up. Maybe he didn’t actually mean what it sounded like – she had worked so hard ...

  “Don’t intend to make any, sir.”

  The CAG dismissed her with a hand wave.

  Outside his office Mollie shook her head. She’d forget what the CAG had just said.

  The mission would take all her concentration. That and dealing with the gun fighter who was going to be driving her ride.

  **

  April 17

  0730 hours

  Kevin chomped down his breakfast in the dirty shirt wardroom with the other pilots. These were all men except for two women who sat off in a far corner.

  Kevin nodded as his pal Banger came up to Kevin. “Heard you have a new girlfriend, Surf. Giving her a r-i-i-i-de today?”

  Usually Kevin didn’t mind Banger’s thick Southern accent or his sexual innuendos. But aware that the CAG would be watching Kevin on this pair-up, Kevin chose his words carefully.

  “She already shot me down, Banger. You feel free to try.”

  Banger laughed. “She can climb into my back seat any old time.”

  The other pilots whooped and whistled. Kevin smiled as another pilot nudged Banger and said, “Better start your approach, B-Man.”

  Kevin looked up to see the woman.

  Banger turned to face her.

  “Why, hello, Miss Scarlett. Would you care to accompany me to the cotillion this Saturday night?”

  The woman gave Banger a look, then she said, “I surely am sorry, Ashley Wilkes. I’ve already agreed to go with the Tarleton brothers.”

  Kevin had to give it to her, her Southern Belle voice was quite convincing.

  She pointed to Kevin.

  “Let’s go, Mister Tarleton. Our carriage awaits.”

  Kevin walked beside her towards the door. “You have a sense of humor.”

  The woman flicked her eyes at him. “Is that what that was? Humor?”

  **

  0800 hours

  Kevin and the woman walked out into a beautiful morning and a quiet flight deck. The planes were lined up as if birds at rest.

  As they walked toward his plane, she handed him a plastic sleeve.

  “Mission profile change. Live fire.”

  Hell it is! And with a new back-seater!

  Kevin read the sheet, his anger mounting with every word.

  “Are you fucking crazy? You don’t change the mission two seconds before we climb into the aircraft.”

  The woman again flicked her eyes at him. “It had to be done.”

  “The hell you say. I’m going to the CAG.”

  The woman pointed to a line on the sheet. “CAG already approved it.”

  Now Kevin’s eyes shot his anger at the woman. Shit!

  He climbed up the ladder into the pilot’s cockpit – the front seat of his plane – with the stenciled name of Surfer under the canopy. The woman climbed up the other ladder into the navigator’s cockpit – the back seat.

  Kevin took a moment to calm his anger before he checked his instruments. He was good to go.

  He radioed the towers and got the signal to take off.

  The adrenaline rush he got every single time swept over him as he accelerated. His plane catapulted off the deck with its own resounding KABOOM.

  He’d give his new back-seater the ride of her life. She’d be begging for a change of assignment.

  **

  0840 hours

  In the back seat Mollie checked her weapons control and the electronic warfare instruments. She said into her speaking tube: “N-LAR operation. Commence test run.”

  Surfer answered her: “First we’ll have to check out the system’s response to simulated aerial combat.”

  The plane began a spectacular series of aerobatics – rolls, loops, dives, climbs, wingovers, slamming on the brakes, flying inverted. Mollie knew he was trying to make her puke.

  She hu
ng on -- she wouldn’t give in and ask him to stop!

  From the speaking tube came Surfer’s voice: “How’s it going back there? Are we having fun yet?”

  Mollie managed to get out: “Quite finished, Rocketman? Could we commence the test run now?”

  “If that thing’s still working” was the reply.

  “N-LAR is designed with aerial combat in mind, Surfer. The test run, if you please.”

  Mollie checked her instruments as Surfer commenced to fly the pattern described. “Missile launch in 20 …15 … 5…,” she said. “Missile launch detected! Engaging N-LAR.”

  Mollie’s hands flew over the control panel. A screen showed a blip streaking toward them.

  “N-LAR is tracking!” she said.

  Her screen showed TARGET ACQUIRED.

  Now Mollie spoke to the crew on the ship monitoring the test. “Dagger Control, I have target lock!”

  She flipped up a plastic cover over a red switch.

  From the com came Dagger Control: “Dagger 1, N-LAR free!”

  Mollie flipped the switch and there was a flash from a pod slung under a wing.

  Then a burst of light hit the missile. Split the missile in half! Pieces flew in different directions!

  “Target negated, Dagger Control!” she called, trying hard to keep the jubilation from her voice.

  From the speaking tube came Surfer’s voice: “Target negated? You just shot down a missile with a laser beam and all you can say is target negated?!”

  “No need for unjustified exuberance, Surfer. That’s just one test. In a long series of tests.”

  Surfer replied: “Yeah, like Apollo 11 was just one test in a long series of tests! Are you human? Hell, no! You’re a goddamn robot!”

  Shit! She shouldn’t let his words hurt her.

  Instead of retorting, she told Surfer to set course for Graceland – the call sign of the ship.

  As the fighter rolled into a turn for home, Mollie wrote on the BlackBerry strapped to her knee.