Forgive & Forget (Love in the Fleet)

by Ashby, Heather

  “I have a chair all picked out for you, fucking sir! Sit down!”

  Commander Haggman sat. As if he’d wiped away all emotion, his face appeared blank, but Hallie could see the fury and frustration in his eyes, and something else.

  Revulsion?

  Davis handed Hallie a roll of duct tape. “Tape him to the chair. You know. Around and around she goes.” He sneered. “Save his mouth for last. I expect an apology.”

  The CDC Officer tried to speak. “Davis, we can—”

  “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! I’ll do the talking.”

  Hallie cautiously took the tape from Davis’s hand and turned to the Combat Officer, not sure if her trembling fingers would even work. She nodded slightly to him, apologizing for what she was about to do. His eyes narrowed, his jaw stiffened, but he nodded back to her. At least the gun was gone from her head, though that was small consolation.

  “Sorry, sir,” Hallie whispered as she pulled the tape loose from the roll and began to wind it around the officer’s body and the chair.

  “His hands first. Tape his fucking hands together. And his feet. Then wrap the rest around the whole chair.”

  She pulled off a long strip for his hands, but how was she supposed to cut the tape? Maybe if she asked for scissors she could somehow use them to—

  “Tear it with your teeth, McCabe. I’m not a fool.”

  A chill ran up her spine. It was as if he’d read her mind. She wrapped the tape around the officer’s hands and then his feet, although she purposely left it as loose as she could without being detected. Then she wound the rest around him, securing him to the chair.

  “And McCabe, when you’re done, turn on the lights.”

  The phone rang. Davis answered, keeping the gun aimed at Hallie while she taped. “Combat. OS2 Davis…Yes, sir. No, sir. We haven’t picked up anything, sir. Probably just some boats watching the fireworks, sir. You’ll be the first to know. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” After hanging up, he added, “Asshole.”

  While she taped the CDC Officer, Davis addressed the men on the floor, ranting and raving about what they’d done to him. How they’d humiliated him by sleeping with his wife while he’d been here on duty. Hallie’s heart broke for those who weren’t guilty. What had James Hall ever done to this crazy man? What had she ever done?

  “And you, asshole!” He aimed the gun at Commander Haggman. “You were the worst of all of them. Did you do one fucking thing about any of it when I came to you for help? You’re a poor fucking excuse for a leader. You’re the real loser here.” He turned back to the sailors on the deck. “If you want to blame somebody for the position you’re in right now, blame this flaming asshole, Haggman.”

  Hallie’s eyes darted around, assessing the room. It was still dark but she caught a motion in her peripheral vision. She forced herself not to look, to possibly give away someone who might be able to help. Her stomach churned, her hands shook as she finished taping Commander Haggman.

  “Now is your chance to apologize for telling me that I wasn’t man enough to satisfy my wife.”

  “Davis, I never—”

  “It’s Rashid! My name is Rashid.”

  A locomotive roared through Hallie’s head. It was terrorist related. Some copycat 9/11 thing? Were they doing it early because the ship’s guard might be down until Saturday? And how many more tangos were on board? Or outside the ship? Was that why he destroyed the radar screens? The day she’d met Philip, he’d told her his biggest worry was fishing boats that just happened to be floating bombs. Like what happened to the Cole.

  Philip.

  Oh, God. Was he down in the hole right now? Or had he gone to his stateroom after the news? And then with a shudder, she realized it didn’t matter where he was. This was a nuclear carrier and it was armed to the teeth for sustained combat operations. A few well-placed explosives would trigger catastrophic results and they would all die.

  Ship, shipmate, self.

  She couldn’t think about Philip. She had to figure out what she could do right now to help save the ship. And all of her shipmates too—except for this asshole. Rashid.

  Commander Haggman tried again. “Rashid, I’m sorry if I didn’t listen to you and offer support. Maybe we can go talk about it in my office.”

  Davis slapped him across the face. “Shut up, you son of a bitch!” He turned to Hallie. “Tape up his mouth before I shoot him right now.” Davis put the gun to the man’s head. “But no. I want to see your face when the company arrives and my little surprise goes off. The company that nobody else is going to see or know about until it’s too late.” He laughed and removed the gun from his boss’s head.

  Sweat poured from Hallie’s palms. The roll of tape felt slick in her hands as she covered the commander’s mouth. Pieces of broken glass seemed to slide through her veins. Her brain whirled, trying to latch on to some kind of plan.

  Do. Something. Hallie.

  But another voice urged her to give up. She ordered that voice to take a hike, along with the white stars that floated through her vision in the darkened room. She willed herself not to faint.

  And then she remembered her weapon. But this was not the time to be ballsy. She wasn’t afraid to take a risk, but there were thousands of other lives involved here. Was this the time to gamble with everyone’s lives? She took a deep breath against the panic, straightened her shoulders, and stood at the ready.

  Hallie had no idea what she was going to do, but she was going to do something.

  As the only person allowed to move about the space, she would either talk this guy down or take this guy down.

  “Hallie” was Teutonic for “strong in war.” Well, damn it, she was going to be strong in this war. The war right there in the Combat Direction Center. The war for survival. Flashes of her mom and John Paul Jones helping her in the Captain’s cabin came to her.

  But this man had weapons.

  Well, so did she.

  Remembering how her mother had given her the strength to deal with the CO, Hallie opened her heart and her mind and reached for her mother’s presence.

  And heard words spoken directly into her soul.

  Camera, Hallie. Use the camera.

  The camera?

  The Blanchard was one of the first ships to be designed from the keel up to support wireless systems. She knew the camera was networked into the master computer in the Media section of Public Affairs, but she couldn’t turn it on. Davis would know it was running by the red light in the front.

  But what about the red light in the back?

  The audio only connection?

  Her heartbeat sped up. She prayed James had left the audio on when he’d switched off the video portion, but help would have arrived by now. Public Affairs would have heard what was happening.

  Gulping in a breath and attempting to keep her voice light, she waited for a break in Davis’s rant. “I’m finished taping him, Petty Officer Davis. I’ll just—”

  “It’s Rashid, bitch! You will call me Rashid!”

  A wave of dizziness hit her. Her knees felt weak. She had to pay attention with every fiber of her being and think of him by that name.

  “Rashid, I’m going to walk over to the light switch now. Is that okay?” Her voice shook and she made herself slow down.

  “Do it.”

  Her legs had turned to Jell-O, making Hallie’s stumble near the tripod not a total act. She grabbed onto the camera to right herself. Thank God it was too dark for Davis to notice what she was doing.

  As she steadied herself, she reached around and clicked the audio only button.

  A tiny red light came on, not bright enough for Rashid to see, especially with the rest of the room bathed in red. She hoped.

  Her eyes flickered down to James on the deck. His look reflected both fear
and approval for what she’d just done. He nodded his head slightly once.

  Hallie crossed the room, stepping around the bodies on the deck, turned on the lights, then walked back toward Davis. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man on the floor, separated from the rest. He’d worked his way behind the center consoles. She thought it was Dixon, but she couldn’t be sure. Obviously his plan had been to come up behind Davis and overtake him, but now that the lights were on, surely Davis would spot him. She must keep his gaze away from that part of CDC or he would know. When she returned to Rashid she stood on the other side of him. In order to talk to her, or put a gun to her head, he would have his back to the man under the consoles.

  The man who was crawling on his belly, inch by painful inch, behind him.

  “Just so you know. No matter what we do or say in here, you’re all going to die. And so is everyone else on this ship. There are five dhows headed this way. Each loaded with thousands of pounds of explosives.”

  Chapter 28

  Hallie’s heart thudded as she absorbed the news. There are five dhows headed this way. Each loaded with thousands of pounds of explosives?

  Think, Hallie, think.

  The pen is more powerful than the sword.

  Not the pen. Words. The only weapon at her disposal.

  She’d once interviewed a police negotiator. The most important thing to do in a hostage situation was to keep the perpetrator talking.

  She wasn’t certain how much time they had, but she knew she had to keep Davis talking. She hoped and prayed the master computer in Public Affairs was up and running, and that somebody was listening to the information she was relaying. If they were listening.

  “It’s really not necessary to keep that gun to my head, Rashid. I’m not going anywhere. I know you’d detonate the bomb strapped to your body if I tried anything. Because you’re a very smart man.” He actually lowered the weapon, which allowed her to breathe, and now Public Affairs would know of the danger within the ship in addition to what was floating their way.

  “I’m impressed with your plans, Rashid. But tell me how you’re going to get five fishing boats loaded with explosives close enough to attack the Blanchard.”

  “After you assholes had your fun with my wife, I contacted al-Qaeda.” He turned to the sailors on the deck. “That’s right, al-Qaeda’s on their way for a little visit. They chose this date because it’s the last day of Ramadan. A celebration day.” Davis smiled. “They’ll celebrate their strike on a U.S. warship and I’ll celebrate taking out every one of you mother-fuckers. There’s a new moon tonight too, so it’s the perfect night for the attack. And since I’m the duty OS, it was very easy for me to interfere with the internal and external reporting of the approaching dhows.”

  “The five dhows that are heading to attack the Blanchard right now?”

  Hallie prayed he didn’t notice her repeating information for the benefit of the Public Affairs office. And whoever could hear them—please, God, let them be listening—she prayed they understood this was a life and death situation.

  “The lookouts won’t be able to get a visual on the fishing boats for a little while yet. Even their night vision capabilities won’t pick up anything until it’s too late. And by the time they run though all the fucking Rules of Engagement—especially the part about whether or not there’s hostile intent, without any clues from Combat…” He paused to smile broadly. “Well, by then it’ll be too late. But still plenty of time for the dhows to get into position to blow this ship all the way to hell and back.”

  Every nerve in Hallie’s body was on edge waiting for the Klaxon to blare and the call to General Quarters, but it didn’t come. She refused to give up her last sliver of hope that somebody was listening, and worked overtime to slow down her speech, her breathing, her heart rate. To focus.

  “And you planned to blow yourself up along with CDC, so the distraction would keep the rest of the ship from knowing that the five suicide dhows are approaching? You’re brilliant.”

  “You’re a quick study, McCabe,” he said facetiously.

  “Rashid, I’m sorry you were hurt, but many of these people are not responsible for what happened to you. What have I done to hurt you? I’ve always been kind to you.”

  “You’re a whore. Just like she was.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  “I see you with the men on the ship. I saw you at the steel beach party watching some guy the whole time. That same geek you cozied up to, reading greeting cards in the store. Probably plotting your next fuck-fest in some fan room. You, who are supposed to be engaged. You’re a whore. Just like the rest of them.”

  Hallie’s skin crawled. This creep had been watching her? More like stalking her. “It’s not true, Rashid. I’m not engaged. This…” She held up her hand with the ring. “This is fake. I got tired of men coming on to me. I don’t go to them. They bother me, so I had my sister send this zirconium, so the men would stay away. She got it at the mall or something. It’s not even—”

  “Anchorage Mall?”

  “Yes.” If you want it to be.

  He laughed. “So somebody actually buys that shit. I wondered about that.”

  Stall him, Hallie. Stall him any way you can.

  “I’m not a whore, Rashid. I don’t like the attention I get here. I’m waiting for a real man, like you.”

  His head jerked back in disbelief. Eyes wide.

  “A man who believes in a cause. Who has a mission. Who is powerful enough to pull off something like this. Don’t kill yourself, Rashid. I can get you away from here. And I’ll go with you. Before the five fishing boats with bombs on them get here. I have a friend who is a helo pilot. He’ll take us off. We can stay here in the Middle East. With your friends.”

  No way would he fall for this crap, but it was worth a try. You never know with a crazy guy. And if he did believe her, if she could get him off the ship, even if she had to go with him, she might save the ship and her shipmates. But first things first, she had to keep him talking.

  If only the rest of the ship knew what was going on. If they would take care of the fishing boats, she and the man on the floor would take care of Davis. Wasn’t there a SEAL team embarked with them? Maybe they were crawling through the ductwork right now. Her eyes automatically scanned the overhead, looking for vents.

  Suddenly Hallie knew they were underway. Felt it in her bones. Not always easy to tell when moving over calm water, and the Persian Gulf was smooth as glass today. So she knew the motion she was feeling was because they had accelerated, meaning the turbines had kicked into high gear and they were traveling at max speed.

  Davis’s eyes darted around. “What the fuck? Are we moving?”

  Hallie felt the ship turn and instinctively knew they were preparing to launch planes. Once the planes were in the air, they’d be able to see the big picture. Please, God, don’t let them need to get permission to take out the dhows. Please let Davis’s words be enough, and please let somebody be listening to every word he was saying.

  What had the Safety Officer said? The ship had to be steaming at thirty knots in order to launch aircraft? But wait. He’d told them something else. Something about the helicopters.

  “We always keep a couple of helos on the flight deck, so they’re ready at a moment’s notice.” So maybe Sky was already airborne.

  Surely the Blanchard had turned to alternate sources for radar, and Air Ops had taken over surveillance and reconnaissance by now. The helicopters and gunners on the roof could get a visual with night vision capability and search lights. And while the lookouts would be outfitted with fifty caliber machine guns, the helos could also carry laser targeted Hellfire missiles capable of shredding the dhows and every living thing on board.

  Oh, please, Sky. Please get to the dhows before they get to us.


  Hallie’s feet, shins, and knees registered vibrations in the deck just before she heard the roar of jet engine exhaust against a blast deflector. The rumble was followed by the distinct thunder of a catapult launching an aircraft.

  Davis’s eyes flew to the overhead. “Goddamn it, are those planes taking off?”

  Hallie lied. “Maybe one of your boats got through and it’s an explosion. Come on, Rashid. You’re a good man. I don’t want to see you die. I can get a helo for us, but we have to leave now!” Hallie felt another slight lurch. Please let that be aircraft launching and not an explosion. Surely the ship had gone to General Quarters by now and the rest of the crew had been alerted.

  He shoved her away with his free hand. “Shut up, bitch! No way am I falling for your whore bullshit. A good man. Right.”

  Philip had died a thousand deaths when the Chief Engineer passed the word they were at General Quarters because “Petty Officer McCabe was being held hostage in CDC by a shipmate with a bomb strapped to his chest.”

  While Philip was secretly proud she was broadcasting live, he also knew she’d likely be the first to die if the hostage-taker found out. Once the Combat Systems Officer had shut off all 1MC announcements in the vicinity of CDC, the Commanding Officer on the Bridge was able to inform the crew of the situation, using bricks, phones, and email to pass more detailed information to key personnel.

  Thank God for technology. This battle was being fought with handheld radios, sound powered phones, and computers—along with a few F/A -18 Super Hornets and Seahawk helicopters with Hellfire missiles thrown in for good measure. While executing the emergency launch induced a bit of panic on the roof, getting the ship up to speed down in Engineering was fairly routine.

  But not for Philip Johnston. The announcement that Petty Officer McCabe was being held hostage in CDC kept echoing through his soul. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to get to her, as he did his part in assisting the Chief Engineer.