Sea fighter

by James H. Cobb

  Somewhere, the Fates were laughing themselves silly.

  For Amanda Garrett, making major decisions rapidly was second nature. She looked back into the video monitor. “Yes, sir, you’re right. It sounds like a challenging assignment. I’ll be pleased to take it.”

  On the far end of the link, Maclntyre’s palm slammed triumphantly down on the console top. “Ha! Rendino said you’d go for it!”

  Amanda took a deep, deliberate breath. With the commitment made, she suddenly felt better than she had in a long time. For right or wrong, she had a course to steer. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there will be one proviso.”

  “Name it, Commander.”

  “If I have to leave my ship to take this job, I want to know that I’m leaving her in the best hands possible. I want my executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Ken Hiro, to get the Cunningham. And not just to fill out my tour. He gets a full hitch of his own.”

  Macintyre scowled. “Officers generally don’t move up to fill the command slot on the same ship they’ve served aboard as an exec.”

  “I’m fully aware of that, sir. But I’m also aware that the stealths are the current glamour command within the surface warfare community. If you’ll pardon my French, every swinging dick in the fleet is pulling strings and recalling favors to get a shot at an SC-21-class hull. Now, Ken Hiro is a superb officer. However, he doesn’t have any Sea Daddies in his corner except for me. I know you must be cooking the books to get me transferred, so leave the oven on a few minutes more. Get Ken bumped to full bull and get him the command slot for the Duke. You can consider it a package deal.”

  The Admiral’s scowl deepened for a moment, then a grin broke past it. “By God. Amanda Garrett, you’re a provisional captain for less than thirty seconds and you’ve already got a handle on flag-grade politicking. Package accepted.”

  Amanda nodded into the screen. “Thank you, sir. I hope I can manage the job.”

  “I hope so too, Captain. Because if you can’t, then we’re all in a lot of trouble.”

  The Virginia Tidewater,

  Somewhere Below Eastville 1421 Hours, Zone Time;

  May 4, 2007

  As dusk started to settle, Rear Admiral Wilson Garrett, U.S.N., retired, ambled down toward the little combined pier and boat shelter on the bay shore below his gray ranch-style home. Standing on his short stretch of pebbled beach with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets, he scanned the expanse of Chesapeake Bay.

  A lifetime’s experience of gauging maritime courses and speeds told the weathered and white-haired little man that it should be soon. And sure enough, after a few minutes’ wait he spotted the familiar white hull coming around the forested headland to the south. The Seeadler was running on her auxiliary engine, and there was only a single figure in her cockpit.

  Wils Garrett found himself reflecting that it must have been an awfully long and lonely haul for that boy. As the sloop turned in toward his property, he crunched over to the dock to handle the mooring lines.

  For a brownshoe, the lad was a good boat handler, and the sloop brushed against the pier fenders with hardly a bump. “How’d it go, son?” Garrett inquired, tying her off at the bow.

  “No problem.” Vince Arkady vaulted up out of the cockpit and onto the pier with the stern line. “I just brought her up on the engine. I’ll leave the sailing to Amanda.”

  “I know what you mean,” Garrett replied. “She has the touch for that kind of thing. I never really had the patience for it myself.”

  Garrett caught the wisp of hope that drifted across the aviator’s face. “Is she here, Wils?”

  Garrett shook his head. “No, son. She didn’t get home until about ten last night, and she was gone by six. I expect the same tonight. She’s hip deep in getting ready to hand over the Duke.”

  Arkady straightened abruptly from where he knelt by the mooring head. “Give up the Duke? What are you talking about?”

  “Eddie Mac Maclntyre’s offered her a new command. There’s some trouble on the African Gold Coast and they need her out there ASAP.” Admiral Garrett let his voice soften. “She’s gone, son.”

  Garrett watched as the emotion played across Arkady’s face for a moment, then the guards of stoicism slammed down. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

  Stiff-spined, Arkady reboarded the Seeadler to collect his gear. Keeping his peace, Admiral Garrett crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the dock pilings, watching as the younger man stacked his shaving kit, duffel bag, and roll of dirty laundry on the pier deck. It was never too good to push someone that full of feelings until he’d cooled a little. Garrett waited until Arkady had disembarked again before speaking.

  “Ready for some words of wisdom yet?”

  Arkady started to snap back, then caught himself. That wry smile that Amanda had liked so much crept back across his face. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I think I could really use some just now.”

  Garrett nodded. “Okay, then here you go. There’s been a lot written about people ‘sacrificing for love.’ Well, let me clue you in—that’s a load of bullcrap. A good thing is where two people add to each other, not take away. If either individual is lessened by the relationship, then something is wrong.

  “Now, you and Amanda have been damn good for each other. You love her and she loves you. It stands out all over the two of you whenever you’re in the same room together. However, I can tell you one thing right now, and this is from personal experience. While my daughter is one hell of a good naval officer, she would make one stinkin’ navy wife.”

  Garrett straightened and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops. “I can tell you something else too, son. You have places to go and things to do yourself, for yourself. You would not be happy being a camp follower.”

  It went quiet on the pier, with only the slosh of the waves and the creak on the pier dolphins. “So what the hell do we do, Admiral?” Arkady asked eventually.

  “Son, I don’t know. That’s something the two of you have to work out. And I do not envy you the job.”

  Arkady looked down at the pier decking, the evening breeze ruffling his hair. “It really stands out around us that much, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, if you know what to look for. To tell you God’s honest, I was halfways figuring and halfways afraid I’d have a son-in-law when the two of you got back from this cruise.”

  Arkady managed another wry smile and dig into the pocket of his jeans. His hand emerged with a small black velvet ring box. Thumbing it open, he studied the bright gleam of gold in the fading daylight. Then he turned deliberately and threw ring and box both as far off the end of the pier as he could. There was a final glint, and then they disappeared in a small splash.

  “You know,” Garrett said mildly, “Amanda is a very practical young woman. She wouldn’t have minded you taking it back.”

  “I know it,” Arkady replied. “But it’s like the reason they break the champagne glasses at the end of the toast. So they can never be used again for a lesser purpose.”

  Admiral Garrett gave an agreeing nod. “I see your point. She is worth it, isn’t she?”

  “Damn straight, sir.” Arkady began collecting his gear from the dock. “Well, I guess I’d better be getting out of here.”

  “Don’t you want to wait and see her again before you go?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. It’ll be … simpler if I don’t.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Garrett slung Arkady’s duffel bag over his own shoulder and they started up the path to the house. “But come on in for a drink first, anyway. She’s not going to be back that soon.”

  Bridge of the USS Cunningham

  Norfolk, Virginia 1354 Hours, Zone Time;

  May 6, 2007

  All that lay before the big destroyer were the gray steel cliffs of the closed dry-dock doors, and the only vista t
hat could be seen from her bridge were the waters of the Elizabeth River, sullen and murky beneath an overcast sky.

  Not to Amanda Garrett, however. Sitting in the plastic shrouded captain’s chair, she could see many other things and times and places. There were the steel-colored rollers of the southern Pacific thundering eternally eastward through the gap of Drake’s Passage, the soul-piercingly beautiful flame of an East China Sea sunset, and the limpid blue of Mamala Bay with the snowy whiteness of the foam peeling back from the dagger-sharp bow of her ship as they headed out from Pearl.

  “It’s time, Skipper.”

  Ken Hiro’s voice returned her to reality. The bridge was a gutted skeleton of itself. The console chassis stood empty, stripped of its electronics. Bunched and coiled cable ends were taped to the bulkheads, and the air stank of fresh paint and arc welding.

  Amanda slid down from the elevated chair and cast a last professional look at how the rebuild was coming.

  The long foredeck of the warship gaped open. All three of the Duke’s Vertical Launch Systems had been unshipped. One would be replaced with the angled twin barrels of a l55mm VGAS bombardment system, the other two with augmented launcher arrays that would add to the Duke’s arsenal both the navalized variant of the Army’s ATACMS land attack missile and the Block IV Standard theater ABM.

  Immediately below the bridge, the old 76mm Oto Melara mount was gone as well, one of the new five-inch 65 ERGM mounts to be installed in its place. Amanda still wasn’t convinced that the ultra-long-range “smart shells” of the new gun systems could possibly be as dead accurate as the tech reps claimed they’d be.

  But then, that would be for Ken to discover.

  Her exec stood in the curtainless bridge entryway, clad as she was in full Dress Blues, white hatted, white gloved, and razor creased. The sturdy Japanese-American’s demeanor was somber, even for him.

  “Skipper …” Amanda mused. “I guess that’s the last time I get called that on these decks.”

  “You’re always going to be the skipper of the Duke, ma’am,” Hiro replied. “Until they scrap her and melt down her plates.”

  Amanda shook her head. “That’s not the way to think, Ken. I’ve had my time with her. She belongs to you now. Make her name shine, but make it shine your way.”

  It felt right to put her arms around him for one brief, fierce warrior’s embrace. “Thanks for always backing me up, Ken.”

  Awkwardly he returned the hug, a choke coming to his voice. “Thanks for bringing me along, Captain.”

  The change-of-command ceremony was a simple one. There hadn’t been time to organize elaboration. The Cunningham’s new cadre of officers stood to on the helicopter deck, along with an honor guard of the ship’s company.

  There were a few special guests as well. Lieutenant Dix Beltrain had come down from the Conner. The Duke’s old tactical officer was still as handsome as ever, but the boyishness was starting to wear off a little. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be ready for his own first command. Carl Thomson, Amanda’s old chief engineer, was also present, still not quite comfortable in a civilian business suit.

  And her father, of course, standing in the back and giving her that half-smile and nod that had seen her through many graduations and award ceremonies. He had so often been gone from her life, and yet he always managed to be there when it really mattered.

  One individual that she’d hoped for there was missing. He had gone and there was no word left for her. Amanda could only conclude that it was for the best.

  The ship’s bell of the Cunningham pealed out its piercingly clear tone. The 2nd Fleet chaplain gave a brief prayer for the ship and for her captains, coming and leaving, and Amanda spoke a few words that she could never afterward remember. Then came the reading of the orders that freed her from her treasured bondage and placed the burden of the Duke’s destiny on another’s shoulders.

  His white-gloved fingers touched his brow with machine like precision. “I relieve you, Captain Garrett.”

  Her answering salute was equally precise. “I stand relieved, Captain Hiro.”

  For her, the word now meant only a rank. For Ken, it became a way of life.

  Amanda was pleased with the way she maintained herself throughout the remainder of the ceremony. She didn’t start to crack until she was rung over the side for the last time. The sweet purity of the Cunningham’s bell sounding the four strokes and the quartermaster’s voice over the MC-1 circuit passing the word, “Captain … departing,” finally pierced her shields.

  The tears started to come as she crossed the aluminum gangway that extended from the Duke’s helideck to the dry dock apron. Her father would be waiting for her there. With her gear already loaded in the stretch cab of his pickup, he’d be driving her to Dulles International to catch the evening flight to England, the first leg of her long journey to Guinea.

  As planned, Admiral Garrett and the Ford were parked near the end of the gangway, but a second figure in Levi’s and a civilian Windcheater leaned back against the front fender beside her father.

  “Arkady!”

  Forgetting decorum and the press of her blues, she dove into his arms, returning the embrace that closed around her. “Why didn’t you come to the ceremony?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “I didn’t think it would be such a good idea, babe. I remember you telling me how we had to be discreet about things.”

  “Oh, to hell with that. Let ’em all watch.” She tilted her face up to accept the kiss, fully as prolonged and intense as the embrace.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” she said finally as they paused for breath. “I wanted a chance to explain. To tell you why I took this new assignment.”

  “There’s nothing to explain, babe.” Arkady gently reached up, tugging the lapels of her jacket straight. He was smiling at her, not with his grad school grin, but a man’s sober smile of acceptance. “We both have things we need to do. For you, it’s Africa. For me, maybe it’s Jacksonville. I’ve put in my application for the Joint Strike Fighter program.”

  “You’re going to make it this time, Arkady. I know you will.”

  “Maybe. I’ve been hanging around with someone who’s helped me get strong enough to at least try again. We’ll see how it goes. And that’s how it’ll be with you and me, babe. We’ll just see how it goes. Maybe someday we’ll get to finish that talk we started.”

  “Someday.” The damned tears were coming again, and she hid them against his chest. She felt the firm, warm pressure of Arkady’s hand travel down her spine in a farewell caress.

  “Get going, babe. The Captain is needed on the bridge.”

  There wasn’t a great deal said in the cab of the pickup for a time, and Wilson Garrett knew that to be the best. They had traversed the Hampton Roads bridge-tunnel and were north bound on Interstate 64 before he noted Amanda repairing the damage with her compact and squaring herself away.

  “He’s a hell of a good man, angel.”

  “One of the very best, Dad,” she replied soberly, snapping the compact shut and returning it to her shoulder bag. “He deserves a lot better than what I gave him back there.”

  Garrett glanced over at his beautiful and once again reserved daughter. It bothered him sometimes that she was always so quick and so willing to assume responsibility for whatever came along. What was worse, he knew from whom she’d inherited the trait.

  No man alive could be prouder of his offspring, or of what she had become. However, there were times that Wils Garrett wished Amanda could have enjoyed just a couple more years of girlhood.

  “Yeah,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “Definitely, that Arkady is a step up from some of those specimens you used to drag back to the house when you were in high school.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a smile tug at Amanda’s lips. His daug
hter recognized the old game. “Dad, I only went with nice boys back when I was in school.”

  “Does that include that Marty Johnson yahoo as well?”

  Amanda replied with a faint snort. “Marty was sweet! And don’t tell me you still hold a grudge over what happened at my senior prom.”

  “Damn right I still hold a grudge! And the little coward knows it! To this day, every time I happen to drop by the Ford Agency, he goes and hides in the back office. I think he’s afraid I still might carry out some of those threats I made on his life, limb, and masculinity. And there are times when I’m tempted.”

  “Oh, Dad! None of what happened was actually Marty’s fault!” For one precious second, Amanda was his little girl again, with all the happiness and defiance and frustration and joy that entailed.

  “I don’t know about fault, young lady! All I know is that he took my daughter out of my house at eight P.M. in a blue taffeta evening formal and brought her back at six A.M. in a stolen beach towel!”

  “Father! For the past eighteen years, I have been telling you there was a perfectly logical and reasonable explanation for everything that happened that night!”

  “Yeah, and for the past eighteen years I haven’t believed a word of it!”

  For a second he glanced away from the traffic flow to glare at her. Amanda glared back, then the laughter exploded out of them both.

  Wilson Garrett encircled his daughter with his arm, gathering her in. They drove on, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.