by Paul Lally
Clark Bar says, “I knew she’d fold.”
Admiral Lewis turns on General Richardson and spouts, “You knew about this?”
“Cool your jets, Mainiac. All I knew was that Mr. Riley, here, had a plan to save the ship that would dovetail perfectly with what the Joint Chiefs have done regarding her staying on active duty.”
“And?”
“And that I was to keep my big mouth shut until he let the cat out of the bag—which I have done as ordered, correct, Mr. Riley?”
“Correct, sir. Like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz, ‘There’s no place like home.’ And for the Rock, it’s going to be Portsmouth after all.”
“Same as before?” JJ says. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“With one exception. admiral. Because the Navy’s picking up the tab to maintain the Rock in a state of readiness, we’ll only charge them a dollar a year for berthing fees at our old anchorage.”
“Does your dad know about this?”
“Not yet.”
“Let me be the one to tell him.”
“You bet.” Jack turns to General Richardson. “So... let me make sure I got all this straight; The navy’s going to operate the Rock like it does ‘Old Ironsides’ down in Boston.”
“Affirmative. The USS Constitution—and now the USS New Hampshire. They’ll be the only two museum vessels carried on BUSHIP’s roster as commissioned warships. And as such, they’ll have a full complement of active-duty officers and enlisted as a full-time crew.”
“What about our guys—the volunteers, I mean.”
Clark Bar looks around. “I gotta’ admit they did a great job preserving this hunk of steel that you insist on calling ‘her’.”
JJ pipes up. “I don’t expect you to understand. Once an army grunt always a grunt.”
Clark Bar’s face softens. “Relax, I’m just ragging you. We’re aboard this ship because guys like you and Jack and the other volunteers weren’t afraid to put your money where your mouth was, and your heart on your sleeve when it came to the Rock. I get it. I really do.”
He leans forward.
“I want the folks who visit this ship in the future to get it, too. To understand why inanimate objects like hatches and winches and anchors and shit like that can become almost a living thing—because men like you and that old guy Stanley, and the rest of the sailors on this ship who walked these decks as young men, pulled watches, fired guns, ate chow, dreamed of home, and served our country by protecting us from enemies both foreign and domestic.
“And by doing so, transformed welded steel and guns into a fighting machine that lived and breathed and still does, and what’s more—” he pats the couch—“you even have historic leather couches upon which Cher herself planted her outstanding derriere.”
Jack says, “We’ll put up a bronze plaque acknowledging that fact.”
JJ pats the bulkhead. “Right about...here.”
“Then you accept the Joint Chiefs offer, Admiral Lewis? You’ll keep your rank and make me proud?”
JJ looks at Jack, then at his friend. “Aye, aye, you son-of-bitch.”
Not since the Tea Party has the City of Boston seen such excitement as when, two days later, the USS New Hampshire ties up at the Cruise Terminal.
What a difference a few days can make, especially when the Rock spent them spearheading a successful rescue mission that included firing her massive Mark 7 16-inch gun in righteous anger.
And now, thanks to Bob Martin’s video circulating on every social media platform imaginable, all of America—and the world, for that matter—has seen:
Colonel Williston’s Delta Force team weasel its way through the twisting tunnels beneath the cathedral to snatch the hostages.
The Battleship Boys commandeering a swarm of taxis to rescue the stranded Delta Force team.
Cigarette boats surrounding the high-speed ferry like hungry wolves.
JJ’s 40mm Bofors turning one of those boats into mincemeat.
Another boat vaporized by a missile sent from on high by a Navy drone.
Stanley’s 16-incher blasting its projectile 18.5 miles through the air to land on Garcia’s fat, frightened head.
The Rock has proven herself to be a true heroine, as have the men serving on her.
What began as a joyride has become a heroes’ saga.
As the tired-but-happy vets stream down the boarding ramp to a cheering crowd, the strains of “Anchors Aweigh” waft over the gathering, thanks to the United States Navy Band, flown up from Washington, D.C. at the last minute to officially welcome the happy crew.
The night before, while still at sea, just abreast of Norfolk, Virginia, two USAF Osprey tiltrotors landed one by one to whisk away Colonel Williston, his Delta Force team, Commander Goldstein’s team, and the hostages.
Their happy ending was short and sweet.
CW led his men on board the first Osprey. Once inside, he darted out and trotted back to Admiral Lewis. After an exchange of salutes, he said, “A hell of a ride, sir. But as my mother used to say, ‘Willie, when you’ve finished telling a story, stop.’”
JJ shook his hand. “Fair winds and following seas, colonel.”
And just like that, they were gone.
And just like that, a half-hour later, here in Boston, the cruise pier is almost completely deserted, save for a Montana-class battleship waiting for Captain Koga and his crew to take her home to Portsmouth.
Increasingly weak, Tommy Riley’s been staying in his cabin on board the ship, sleeping more and waking up less.
“Still can’t believe it,” he says to Jack, who’s sitting by his bunk.
“Portsmouth, you mean?”
Tommy rises up on one elbow. and pats the mattress, “Approach the bench, son.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“JJ told me, but I want you to tell me again.... Munroe Devillar kicked us out, but you kicked her out and got us back in.”
“Money talked. She wisely listened.”
Jack stands and checks his watch. “Captain Koga’s taking us north for the trip home. After that, it’s anchors aweigh with a navy crew standing watch and the volunteers doing their thing, like the good old days.”
Tommy leans back against the pillow and closes his eyes. Then he takes a deep breath, sits up, and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress.
“Hand me my pants, Jackie-boy. I’m not staying in the rack for the trip home. I’m going topside to the bridge. I’ll not miss it for the world.”
“Can you handle it?”
“Just you watch.”
It takes a while for Jack to navigate the clothing, what with Tommy fussing and fuming and being in a hurry. But the two of them manage.
A knock on the door.
A feminine, husky voice, very brisk and very familiar. “Papa, you decent?”
Jack’s too surprised to speak, but Tommy isn’t. “C’mon in!”
Bianca steps into the room and back into Jack’s life.
“So happy to see you!” she shouts as she darts over and kisses Tommy on both cheeks. Then she spins around to face Jack. “Happy to see you too, caro mio.—Hey, how’d you get so skinny?” She pats her hips. “Tell me your secret.”
“Lots of Lean Cuisine, I guess.”
“Ugh!” She makes a face. “You wouldn’t live long in Rome eating that stuff. You need real food.”
Tommy says, “Am I in a dream? How’d you get here? How’d you—”
“Jack told me everything—I mean everything..” She caresses Tommy’s pale, care-worn face. “I had to come and be with you. And so I did—Roscoe too—he’s up on the deck.”
“You brought your dog?”
“I couldn’t leave him behind. Besides, Jack has plenty of room, don’t you, caro?”
Jack feels like a vice has loosened up around his head and smiles. “Room after empty room.”
Bianca smooths Tommy’s shirt and buttons the top button. “Which one will you be staying in, Papa?”
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He frowns. “I’m heading back to my apartment. It’s where—”
“Sta zit.” She touches his lips. “I didn’t come all the way from Alaska to end up driving across the city of Portsmouth every time I want to see you. I want you in our house—Jack’s house, I mean—where I can keep an eye on you.”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“Because I love you. And people I love get loved.” She glances over at Jack. “Whether they like it or not.”
The faraway OOOOOOOOM of the Rock’s deep-throated whistle makes its way into the stateroom.
Jack opens the compartment door. “Anchors aweigh, Pop.”
Bob Martin’s hard work is complete. Thanks to the power of viral videos and for the galvanizing effect they can create, the story of “The Battleship Boys” now resides in the collective consciousness of millions of people around the world, including you.
As for Bob, he’s already down in Central America, delivering another batch of donated eyeglasses, when the USS New Hampshire passes the Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse on her way back up the Piscataqua River to her Portsmouth home.
The last time she left here, only three people witnessed her ignominious departure north to Bath Iron Works for the refit: Jack, Bob and Mayor Maggie Foley.
This time around, you can’t find room to breathe for the thousands of folks who’ve braved the wintry morning and descended on the Fort Constitution Historic Site to catch a glimpse of the slowly moving mountain of steel gliding up the inlet waters at a stately five knots.
Chubby little tugboats cluster around her, their towing lines secured to the various bollards on her deck, but with plenty of slack. Why? Because Captain Koga’s knowledge of his Azipods’ agile maneuvering abilities and the harbor pilot’s knowledge of the twists and turns of the ever-narrowing waters leading to her home berth are making this an almost effortless three-mile trip.
Not only do thousands of spectators crowd the grounds of the fort and wave and cheer the Rock’s welcome, but it’s also happening all the way up-river, from Clarks Island, to Kittery Point Yacht Club, to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, where once again long lines of sailors stand at parade rest, ready to snap to attention and raise their hands in sharp salute to render honors when she passes by.
Seen from above, via buzzing drones and news helicopters’ live feeds, there’s not a place where people aren’t gathered. And not just on land. A swarming flotilla of small craft dots the water, keeping pace with the giant battleship, but maintaining their distance, too, mostly from common sense, but also from the busybody efforts of the Coast Guard Port Security boats darting back and forth to make sure the curious mariners stay away from the grey battleship’s towering steel hull.
The fireboats help too, of course. Nothing like a high-curving arc of water glistening in the winter sun to add just the right touch to the Rock’s righteous return not only to a safe harbor, but to happy, grateful people who want her there forever and ever, her duty done, her rest deserved, her honor bright.
And with the comforting image of water sparkling in the air and triumph dancing in the wind, let’s end our story here.
Sure, it keeps on going; tying up the ship a half-hour later, Stanley meeting up with his granddaughter, Mayor Foley practically doing an Irish jig on the main deck, JJ shaking Captain Koga’s hand and smiling so hard you’d think his face will fall apart.
Pick a happy moment and imagine it.
There are hundreds of them to choose from, because like leaves on a tree every single one of these joyful moments is connected to the other.
In nature, you can see this sort of thing plain as day. But in the case of human beings, connectedness is not easily observed. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
It’s there.
It’s love.
And because of that, does everybody in this story “live happily-ever-after?”
Of course not.
But they come damned close.
Paul Lally is a novelist and Emmy award-winning
television and film producer/director/writer.
He lives in Winslow, Arizona.
His previous novels:
AMERIKA
AMERIKA: Call to Arms
AMERIKA: Strikes Back!
RISE AGAIN
RISE AGAIN: To the Colors
RISE AGAIN: To Victory
BAR HARBOR GOLD
RIDE THE TITANIC
SILK
Find out what’s coming next at:
www.paul-lally.com
or
E-mail him at:
[email protected]
