“It’s a bit scary, really,” Stuart says. “Must be some special training you ring knockers get at the Academy.”
Even though Stuart has said this in good humor, he’s referring to one of the nicknames for a Naval Academy graduate, born from the oversized class rings worn by many upon graduation. A small minority of those wearers tend to go a bit overboard, flaunting it as a symbol of their perceived superiority over officers who attended colleges elsewhere. And in some cases, it boils down to an authority thing. You will do this because—knock, knock of the ring on the table—I’m an Academy grad and I say so.
Eric doesn’t wear a ring and I didn’t know he was an Academy grad. But now that I do, I couldn’t imagine him wearing one. In just the little interaction I’ve had with him, he would never have to remind anyone of his authority, and he certainly doesn’t carry any airs about him.
I don’t wear mine either, but not for any stated reason. I think it’s just that I have my mom’s DNA. Down-to-earth Barbara Denning was never one for wearing jewelry.
“All right, enough,” Eric says good-naturedly. “Can we just get this done?”
Ben passes his seat to Eric, who pulls his laptop from the recesses of the desk, opens it, and pulls up the template.
“Okay, we’ll do yours first,” Eric says. “So, tell me what happened.”
“Actually, it was pretty straightforward. We had a chip light with a secondary indication of smoke and we landed.”
He gives me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
“What?” I say. “You asked what happened.”
“So I see I’m going to have to write this myself,” he says with an exaggerated exhale. “But let’s check a few things for clarity and truth of fact, shall we? How many pax were you carrying?”
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen. Good. So you were the pilot at the controls responsible for saving the lives of seventeen souls total. Good.”
“But—”
“Next question. Did you or did you not have a cockpit filled with smoke?”
“I did.”
“Did you or did you not have a visible horizon?”
“I did not.”
“So you flew an instrument approach with a zero-foot ceiling and zero feet of visibility. Good.”
“But—”
“Next question. You flew a zero/zero instrument approach to the back of a pitching and rolling ship. Guys?” He turns to Ben and Stuart. “Do you remember the pitch and roll we were sustaining during flight quarters?”
“I think it was pitch four, roll five,” Stuart says. “Hold on a sec. I’ll call and verify.”
“And how about sea state?” Eric says.
“I’ll get that here in just a second,” Stuart replies.
Eric gives me a look that says he’s going to write this whether I help him or not.
“Okay, yeah,” Stuart says, hanging up. “Pitch four, roll five, sea state seven.”
“Got it,” Eric says, typing. “By the way, and this is just out of curiosity, is there any reason Commander Claggett didn’t take the controls for that approach?”
“I don’t know. I asked him right after we got the caution light if he wanted to fly, and he said no.”
Eric shares a puzzled look with the other pilots.
“And besides, he was coughing so badly, he couldn’t have taken them if he wanted to.”
“Strange,” he mutters. “Okay, back to the award. How long would you say you sustained a no-reference hover over a flight deck at pitch four, roll five?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like forever.”
“She had to have been there close to a minute waiting for the right moment,” Stuart says.
“Actually, that was Lego waiting for the right moment,” I say. “He’s the one who called me in on the approach, kept me steady in the hover, and called me down to land. In fact, Eric, if we have to do these awards, can we put Lego in for the same one I’m getting? Really, he was my eyes. I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“I totally agree,” Eric says. “We’ll do his after yours.”
By the time Eric completes my citation, it reads more like God was flying the aircraft than Lieutenant Sara Denning, but he’s not budging on the edits. I’m pleased most of all with the write-up he creates for Lego. He deserves every word of it. I also think it’s great that Lego will be put in for an award higher than Commander Claggett’s.
And I have this sneaking suspicion that if Commander Claggett changes the award recommendation for Lego, or any of Eric’s wording on any submission, somehow Eric’s originals are going to find their way to Captain Plank.
“There,” Eric says, handing me the printouts. “And with an hour to spare.”
“Thanks … sort of.”
He rolls his eyes. “So, do you need anything? Do you want to grab a shower?”
A shower would be nice. But then I think it through. I’d be putting on the same stinky T-shirt, shorts, and flight suit that I have on now once I got out of the shower. Yuck. Oh, man. I’m going to be here for two days with no change of clothes, no toiletries, nothing.
“Eric, this is so awkward, but I don’t have anything with me. No clean clothes, not a towel, not even a toothbrush.”
“Don’t worry about anything, Sara,” Ben says. “Just sic Eric on it and he’ll get you what you need.”
“I’ve got it covered,” Eric says. “How about this? Let’s go turn in the write-ups to Commander Claggett first to get that over with. That way, you won’t have to see him anymore tonight. Then I can get you some overnight stuff.”
“Okay,” I say. “Ben, thanks for letting us use your desk. I know I’ve infringed on your time.”
“Oh, please,” Ben says.
As we leave his stateroom, Eric turns and motions for me to give him the award recommendations. I do, wondering what he’s up to, and follow him to the executive officer’s stateroom. The nameplate on the door reads COMMANDER HICKS.
“Sir, it’s Lieutenant Marxen,” he says after knocking.
“Come on in, Eric.”
Eric opens the door and looks in. “Sirs, Sara is here with me. May we come in?”
He said “sirs” plural, so I guess Commander Claggett is here, too. I so don’t want to see him.
Eric holds the door open wider to let me walk through and actually that I do want Commander Claggett to see.
“Sir,” Eric says, addressing Commander Hicks. “I helped Sara with these award write-ups. She’s a little too modest for her own good.” He turns and gives me a look. “Anyhow, I thought you could read them first before I give them to Commander Claggett. I want to be sure that the Lake Champlain thinks they’re up to snuff before handing them over.”
Commander Claggett fumes as Commander Hicks takes the write-ups from Eric and looks them over. He does a thorough job, reading each one carefully.
“Well, you’ve outdone yourself once again, Eric. This is outstanding work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Nick, you’re not going to need long with these,” Commander Hicks says, handing the award recommendations to Commander Claggett. “Eric’s work is always first-rate. And you know, we could sign these right now and pass them up to Captain Plank. He’d be quite impressed if you had these to him only two hours after his request.”
“Sir, I could wait here while you both give your signatures and then hand-deliver them to Captain Plank just to make sure it gets done in a timely way as you suggest,” Eric says.
“Great idea,” Commander Hicks says. “This shouldn’t take but a minute.” Commander Hicks looks at Commander Claggett with an expression that says, Just sign the paperwork. He can, because he outranks him. Commander Claggett’s rank when written out fully is actually lieutenant commander, one step below commander—the XO’s rank.
As Commander Claggett scrawls his signature four times and hands the paperwork to Commander Hicks, who adds his, I realize that Eric has done it again. Had I given
these to Commander Claggett, who knows what would have happened to them? Delayed perhaps, for oh, two days? Now we’re off the Lake Champlain, out of sight, out of mind, award problem solved.
But Eric has put Commander Claggett exactly where he wants him once again—and there’s nothing he can do or say to get out of it.
Ben and Stuart are right. I’m not sure how he does it. And I’m not sure if I’m happy or irritated all the more.
“Thank you, sirs,” Eric says. “Have a good evening.”
We leave and now it’s my turn to give Eric the look.
He grins, a little too proud of himself. “Here, let me show you to Brian’s room and then I’ll get these delivered.”
Stepping into Brian’s room is like stepping into a broom closet. Yes, it’s a single-man room, but geez. No couch and extra furniture in here like Commander Claggett enjoys on the Kansas City.
“I’ll be back,” he says. “If you need anything in the meantime, you know where the guys are.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I squeeze into the small chair that’s wedged between the micro desk and bunk, put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. I think I’ve had more stimuli today than my twenty-six-year-old brain can handle. Commander Claggett. Eric. The in-flight emergency. The restless water …
I decide to close it out for a moment. I fold my arms on the desk, rest my head there, and close my eyes.
7
Ian is whooping with delight and I’m hovering in that magical realm between sheer terror and unchecked exhilaration, running Big Smokey Falls with a scary fast flow.
The thunderous roar of water and Ian’s laughing fill my ears. He’s thrilled with his new electric-red kayak.
Too late, I realize we’ve drifted too far left. A torrent of white water crashes around me.
The world flips.
Pummeled by the river, my upside-down kayak crashes into boulders, twisting and jerking, pinning me underwater. The current rips the paddle from my hand.
And then, the violent thrashing abruptly halts.
I’ve stopped and I don’t know why.
I can’t move. My brain is blank. I flail wildly. The kayak isn’t budging.
I’m out of air! Oh god! Involuntarily, I start to breathe in. My chest tightens like a vise around my lungs.
A far-distant voice tells me I know what to do, that I know the procedures to extricate myself from the kayak skirt that holds me in place. But I’m deaf with panic. My mouth opens and my body convulses.
My head snaps up, my heart thrumming against my chest. I wipe my face, wet with perspiration, trying to register where I am. I look blankly at the door.
“Sara?” Eric calls. I hear the knock on the door again. “Sara?”
It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re all right.
I take a deep breath. Okay.
“Come in.”
Eric moves through the door, but stops when he takes in my expression. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah … yes. I just nodded off for a moment.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, placing a neatly stacked pile on the desk. “I got you some things.”
I lift a gray zippered pouch from the top and open it to find an entire stash of toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, soap, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, and a brush.
“How did you…?”
“Ship’s store.”
“But it’s almost twenty-one hundred. Surely it’s not open now.”
He grins.
Next on the pile, a T-shirt, a pair of gym shorts, and some flip-flops. And towels underneath those.
I lift up the T-shirt on top, plain maroon in color, size large. I raise my eyebrows.
“The store doesn’t carry clothing, so I hope you don’t mind. That’s mine. So are the shorts. I figure you can roll them up at the waist or something. They do sell the flip-flops and I bought the smallest size they had.”
“You bought all this? Eric, I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll pay you back. I feel terrible. I didn’t think you were going to buy stuff.”
“Sara, it’s nothing.”
“And you’re lending me your clothes. Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’m just worried you’ll be freaked out about wearing my gym stuff. They’re clean. I mean they’re washed and everything.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I just hate that I’m putting you out. You’re giving me your clothes. Spending your money. You gave up your evening to write stupid award nominations.”
“They weren’t stupid and I haven’t given up anything tonight.”
His gaze doesn’t waver and I’m held there, stunned by the current that just shot through my body.
“I … well, thanks … for all this.”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
I pry my eyes away. “So, where are the showers?”
“I’ll show you. I’ll have to stand guard, though. There’s only one place to take showers in Officer Country.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll be quick about it.”
I take my pile and follow him down the passageway. When he checks the shower room, it’s being used, so we stand outside and wait. Two guys walk out, towels around their waists, but I don’t dwell on it. Eric then gives the okay.
I’m in, shampooed, conditioned, soaped, and washed in about three minutes. And I am so glad he brought me some flip-flops. The shower floor was just … well, I’m not going to dwell on that either.
I look at my rumpled, sweaty flight suit on the floor. Along with it lie sweaty shorts, a sweaty T-shirt, sweaty underwear, a sweaty bra, and sweaty socks. I wonder if they have the ability to do their laundry individually on this ship like we do on the Kansas City.
Well, there’s no way I’m putting on my gross underwear. I know Eric probably won’t appreciate it, but then again, he’ll never know. I put on his shorts without underwear. But the bra, shoot. I’m going to have to endure that one. Yuck. It’s still damp. His maroon shirt goes on after that. I do a super-quick brush of the hair and I’m done. If I were timing, I’d bet six minutes, tops.
I thought I was pretty fast. I mean, I was really fast. But when I emerge from the shower room, there’s a line of three guys waiting to go in. I hate that I’ve made them wait.
“I feel a thousand times better,” I say as we duck back into Brian’s room. “Thank you.”
I busy myself putting things away, but then, I realize he hasn’t responded. I turn and find him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.
I grab my hair and self-consciously twist it up, securing it into a ponytail with the rubber band he gave me earlier.
“It’s longer than I thought,” he says, inclining his head slightly, indicating my hair.
“Oh, I, um … yeah,” I say.
When it’s wet, I guess my hair is pretty long, falling mid-back.
“So, uh … how about your dirty stuff?” he says. “Did you want to throw that in the laundry?”
“You have one?”
“Yeah. It’s down two decks.”
“Oh.” I’m imagining myself running belowdecks in flip-flops.
“I’ll take it for you. That’s not a problem. I have detergent, too.”
I so desperately want to wash my bra and underwear, but oh man. This guy is entirely too good-looking to wash my underwear.
“Really, I’m okay with it.”
“Okay, just a second.” Before I’ve really thought it through, I’m taking off my bra the clandestine way. It’s easy in a big, draped shirt like I’m wearing now. Hands behind back to unhook clasp, pull arm toward body and out of sleeve, pull strap off shoulder and slide down arm while under shirt, reinsert arm in sleeve, repeat on other side, pull out from below. All with the shirt on and nothing showing. It’s off in about ten seconds.
“Is that something all girls know?” he says. “My sisters used to do that.”
“I cannot believe I just did that in front of you. What the hell was I think
ing?”
“Hey, you’ve had a long day.”
I try unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as I hand him my disgusting pile. “I’m not quite sure how I’m going to repay you for this, but I owe you big time.”
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “Will you be okay? Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
When he leaves, I sit back in the desk chair and pull my knees to my chest. His shirt slides easily over my legs, so I’m covered completely in a blanket of maroon.
I cannot believe I just did that. Did I really just take off my bra in front of him? Oh my god. I can never tell Emily. I’d never hear the end of it.
I stretch my arms above my head, allowing the yawn in force, this time. But as my arms settle back to the chair, my lungs expelling a rush of air, I’m left with a distinct heaviness as the emergency landing materializes into conscious thought.
I stand, flicking off the overhead light, and crawl into the rack. I pull the covers over my head, close my eyes, and wait for the smoke, the ocean, and the nightmares to take me.
8
I stand in a tiny structure, sunken into the flight deck itself, designed for the pilots who remain on the ship to communicate with their counterparts in the air. The space is topped with slanted windows that protrude just above the steel surface of the deck. It’s crowded with four people—Commander Claggett, Brian, Eric, and me. I rise on my tiptoes, watching Sabercat 54 hovering over the flight deck and lowering parts by hoist.
The ship continues to toss and dip in the heavy seas, the water muted to a predictable ashen gray under a stormy sunrise. The flight deck remains unsteady, as it was yesterday, and Zack is having a rough go of it. I can see him clearly, wrestling with the controls to keep it steady. But then, it does take some time for a pilot to settle into a groove in a situation like this.
I’m glad I have two other pilots—neutral observers—watching, so I don’t have to question my sanity when Commander Claggett begins to speak.
“Now that’s some aggressive flying,” he says, leaning over to Brian. “Zack’s an animal in the cockpit. Goes after it! Love it!”
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