The Gray Ship

by Russell Moran

  Admiral Farragut, an experienced military man, knowledgeable in science and technical matters, saw the significance of the IPad.

  "This photograph that you just showed us which you took moments ago, can have a major impact on surveillance and reconnaissance."

  "Yes, sir," said Campbell. "Wait until you see our drones and attack helicopter. Combine them with photography, and battlefield reconnaissance takes on a whole new dimension." They didn't ask what a drone or helicopter was. They knew they'd find out soon enough.

  They read the pages and listened to Father Rick and Ivan Campbell. There, on a nuclear warship in Chesapeake Bay in 1861, they heard about wireless communication, the telephone, the light bulb, the transistor, photocopy machines, vacuum cleaners, washers and dryers, dishwashers, rocketry, missile guidance, automatic firing weapons, hand grenades, battle tanks, submarines, self propelled torpedoes, radar, sonar, radio, two-way radios, television, the personal computer, smart phones, IPads, IPods, space travel, and nuclear power.

  To wrap a little history around the technology, Father Rick then discussed the Spanish American War, World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, the Cold War, the Kennedy assassination, Ed Sullivan, the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, the moon landing, Vietnam, the Gulf War, 9/11, Iraq and Afghanistan, and the election of Barack Obama as the first black President of the United States.

  They began their tour on the bridge and ended up in the Combat Information Center (CIC). They headed to the Captain's office for a wrap-up and review. Campbell handed Secretary Wells a folder full of photographs so he could review this day at his desk. Wells' head spun with the strategic implications of what they had seen, Admiral Farragut's with the tactical possibilities.

  "Captain Patterson, we shall take our leave now," Wells said. "The human mind can only comprehend a finite amount of information."

  Ashley then said with a smile, "One hundred and fifty two years is a lot to ponder in a few hours, Mr. Secretary."

  "We shall meet again soon," said Wells. "How do you recommend that we communicate?"

  She told Campbell to give Wells a two-way radio. Campbell took one from his belt and showed them how to use it. He also gave them a supply of batteries.

  "Captain Patterson," said Wells, "a private word with you Madam?" They walked over to a corner of the room. Wells leaned close to Ashley and said, "I want you to meet with President Lincoln as soon as possible."

  Ashley came close to blowing her command presence. Every nerve ending in her body ordered her to jump up and down and squeal like a school girl. Instead, she said, with studied calmness, "Whatever you and the President deem appropriate, Sir." Abraham Lincoln – Yesssss!

  Wells, Farragut, and Roebling were lost in thought from their day on the California. But one thing they all knew without even verbalizing it.

  In the last few hours, the Civil War had changed.

  Chapter 20

  Secretary of Defense Robert Gates was on the phone with President Obama. "Mr. President, I have a simple but troublesome thing to tell you."

  "Shoot Bob," said the President. Gates came right to the point. "We seem to have lost the USS California, a nuclear cruiser, off the coast of South Carolina." The president peppered him with questions about what steps were being taken. Both men knew that the situation was out of their hands for the time being. "Keep me in the loop, Bob. Whatever I'm doing, tell them to put you through."

  "Yes, sir."

  ***

  The USS Ticonderoga steamed full speed to the last known location of the California. It would be on site within a half hour. Her forward sonar pinging freaked out every whale and dolphin in the Western Atlantic.

  Three H-65 Coast Guard rescue helicopters from Coast Guard Station Charleston were speeding toward the coordinates of the last fix. The Coast Guard Cutter Gallatin steamed toward the site as well. The Gallatin had a rescue submersible aboard. By protocol, the local Coast Guard Sector Commander, Captain Eric Buehler, had operational command of the rescue effort, but because this involved a US Navy warship, he would take orders directly from the Chief of Naval Operations.

  The lives of 630 American servicemen and women were at stake. Every man and woman on the rescue effort had that thought locked in their minds.

  The California has been missing for twelve minutes.

  Chapter 21

  At 0930 on the morning of April 17, Bradley met Chief Ray in the weapons department. As Bradley suggested, Ray told Andrea Rubin that the XO wanted to do a routine check of the department's weapons so he could prepare a report for the captain. Rubin didn't think much about it, although normal protocol would have been for Bradley to contact her, the head of the Weapons Department, directly.

  "Why don't you show me the portable rockets, rocket propelled grenades, hand held surface to air missiles, and the other small armaments," said Bradley.

  Bradley noticed that the ordnance was not only stacked neatly but was also wrapped in small bundles for easy moving. "Looks like a couple of guys could move this stuff with ease, Chief."

  The chief got into details. "This entire bulkhead (he pointed to a wall area five feet deep, six feet high and three feet wide) can fit into one Zodiac. That's why they pack the ammo like this, so that it can be moved ashore easily."

  Bradley lowered his voice. "How often is inventory taken?"

  "Once a day Commander," the chief leaned closer to Bradley, "by yours truly," he whispered. Bradley's eyes widened.

  "I wonder how long it would take a couple of men to load that wall of ammo into a Zodiac," Bradley said in a low voice.

  "Exactly 17 minutes. Add 10 if it's a couple of older guys (Ray winked). We train our men in loading Zodiacs as a drill."

  Bradley asked, "Is the other bulkhead, the one on the starboard side, a mirror image of the one to port?"

  "Exactly the same, Sir." He anticipated Bradley's next question. "Yup, Two Zodiacs, double the bang for the ride."

  "Will that leave any room for carbines?"

  "Yes, sir. 50 carbines per Zodiac on top of the other items. But it means only one man per Zodiac if that's the amount of cargo they'll carry. But that's no big deal. A Zodiac is easier to drive than a tricycle."

  The chief warmed to his weapons moving skills. "There's a way you can increase the capacity of weapons storage by 100 percent." This was better than Bradley had expected.

  "How do you do that?" asked Bradley. The chief pointed to a survival raft capable of holding hold six people.

  "Each of those babies can hold the same as a Zodiac without a man on board." said the chief.

  "All together Chief, what do we have?"

  Chief Ray took his inventory sheet from his pocket. "Here's the list sir: 50 M4A1 automatic carbine rifles; 100 rocket propelled grenades, 25 Colt 45s; 20 surface-to-air missiles including shoulder held launchers. We also have a total of 2,000 rounds of ammo for the carbines, and 750 rounds for the 45s."

  "Looks like you could start your own gun company, Chief."

  "Commander, you're lookin' at one ass whuppin,' ammo movin,' game changin,' efficient redneck."

  The only thought that plagued Bradley was how they would off load the weapons without being seen.

  Chapter 22

  General Robert E. Lee commanded the Army of Northern Virginia, the largest army in the Confederacy. He wanted to see firsthand the result of the opening hostilities of the war. The entire Confederate military looked upon Lee as the leader. Lee also wanted to talk to General Beauregard about this mysterious Gray Ship that seemed to be the talk of the South.

  After he toured Fort Sumter he could see that the result of the battle was a lot of masonry rubble. The walls were pockmarked from cannon fire, but the structure itself was still sound, a valuable new addition to the Confederacy's defenses.

  General Beauregard invited Lee into his quarters in Charleston. He occupied a large office that had once housed an investment company. The space was 30 by 40 feet, equipped with leather furniture a
nd a Persian rug. In the middle hung a crystal chandelier. This man doesn't look ready for battle, thought Lee.

  "First, General, let me congratulate you on your successful siege of Fort Sumter," Lee said. "I understand that our Navy was also of great assistance in preventing the Yankees from being resupplied."

  "Yes General, I would say that the Navy was crucial to the outcome. If they had been successful in restocking food and ammunition, the Yankees could have held on for a much longer time." Lee appreciated it when a commander gave credit to forces not under his command.

  "I'm concerned, General, about all of the reports I've been getting about some strange Gray Ship," Lee said.

  "I too am concerned about the Gray Ship, Sir. I haven't seen it myself, but from the descriptions I've received, it sounds like it could be 600 feet long, although some reports have it as long as 2,000 feet. Its deck, according to reports, is covered with strange looking weapons. It has incredible speed and maneuvering ability, according to one of our captains who saw the ship up close."

  "And we only know her as The Gray Ship?" asked Lee.

  "I almost forgot to tell you, Sir. She is the USS California. She bears the number '36' prominently on either side of her bow. One of our boats got close enough to read the lettering on her stern."

  "Since we have a name and a number, do we not know anything about her?" asked Lee.

  "That's the most puzzling thing of all, General. I contacted the local office of our Navy Department. They keep a list of all ships of the Union Navy. Neither the name USS California nor the number 36 appears on the list. We have a very effective spy in the Union Navy Department who keeps the list up to date."

  "Has anyone seen any evidence of hostile intent from the California?" asked Lee.

  "No sir, but she flies the Union flag, and we're at war. Hostile actions from that monstrous ship cannot be a long way off. We can't identify many of the weapons that have been described, but we can assume they're armaments because of their projectile shapes."

  "From what you've heard, General, do you think one or more of our new ironclad ships could stand a chance against the California?" Lee asked.

  "From what I have heard, Sir, I'm not sure our entire Navy could stand up against her."

  "General," said Lee, "I recommend posting lookouts at shore batteries along the coast. Have them make drawings of the ship. The ship probably moves too fast for a photograph. Once we have enough we can distribute the information to all of our naval forces."

  "I shall see to that at once, General Lee."

  So the North has a secret weapon, thought Lee.

  Chapter 23

  After his 45-minute morning workout, Jack Thurber holed himself up in the ship's library with his laptop and portable hard drive. Like most writers, he was a pack rat. Technology makes it easy to be a packrat, and even encourages it. His portable hard drive holds two terabytes of data and set him back less than a hundred bucks. All of the research for every book he wrote is on that hard drive, with a backup on his office computer back home. His good friend, a techie, poked fun at Jack about his habit of carrying all his data on a portable drive.

  "The cloud," his friend said "is the only way to go." All of his information could be carried on some remote server farm, backed up by dedicated computer dweebs.

  Jack pondered that, on April 10, 2013 (or was it 1861?), the cloud disappeared. He patted his portable hard drive.

  On orders from Captain Patterson he was reviewing all of the information he ever jotted down about time travel, specifically information on how to go back to the time you travelled from. In other words, how to get back to the wormhole.

  Jack enjoyed himself. Work, whether mental or physical is what drives him. It's his life, a life that he had considered ending a few short years ago.

  Jack's personnel file mentions that his wife Nancy had died in a car accident. What the file doesn't say is that Jack witnessed the accident. Nor does it mention how much he loved her, cherished his every moment with her, and hated to be away from her. Nancy had taken her car to run an errand a half hour before Jack left the house to drive to a book interview. As he drove down the highway his eyes caught something in the air in front of him. In the opposite lane of travel, approximately 300 feet ahead, he saw a silver Lexus sedan, twisting and spinning crazily in the air. The car struck pavement and became airborne again, propelled by its momentum. After three bounces it came to a rest on its roof. He had one thought. It was more than a thought, more like a vice that gripped every square inch of his body and squeezed.

  That looks like Nancy's car.

  The traffic came to a standstill. He flung open his door and ran to the scene of the wreck. He ran with abandon, not watching what was in front of his feet. He tripped over some debris on the shoulder of the road, pitching him forward. He broke his fall with his forearms. When he lifted his face and looked forward, he saw what would consume his life for years. Yes, it was Nancy's car. And there was Nancy, lying in the roadway, her body in two pieces.

  That scene became the focus of his every waking hour. What he had seen was unthinkable. God how he hated that word. If any manuscript came across his editorial desk he would take it out with a vicious stroke of his red pencil. Unthinkable. How do you unthink an image, an image as stark as any that the human eye can behold. Yes, the image of Nancy's torn body was unthinkable, but how could he stop thinking about it endlessly. He not only contemplated suicide, he started to jot down plans for how he would do it. He considered finding the wormhole at Pearl Harbor and launching himself into war, an easy way to get killed.

  His friend and book collaborator, the psychiatrist Benny Weinberg, took Jack on as if he were his most important case, because he was. As a psychiatrist for the New York City Police Department, Benny was no stranger to traumatic depression. Jack, normally an outgoing man at ease in any company, had become withdrawn and sullen.

  Benny Weinberg and Jack had become close friends over the years. After Nancy's death Benny tried to reach out to him, but his efforts got nowhere. Jack didn't return phone calls. One day, after finally reaching him, Benny invited Jack over for lunch.

  "Talk to me, Jack. You look like shit. What's going on?"

  "The image Ben. That image of Nancy has become my life. I've tried everything to get it out of my face, but it's always there. Always. It's there right now as we're sitting here."

  "Asshole."

  Jack couldn't help laughing. Benny could go from psychiatrist to tough cop in an instant.

  "It may be true, Benny, but why do you call me an asshole?"

  "You're an asshole because you think your brilliant mind can reverse everything we know about the human brain. You think you can take a horrible image and force it out of your mind. Remember the old parlor game where the game master would tell everybody not to think about green elephants. Of course that's the point of the game, the joke. The people playing the game couldn't think about anything but green elephants. The psychology is simple. The more we resist something the more it persists. Okay, so let me ask you a question. What are you thinking about right now."

  "Green elephants."

  "That's because you were trying not to think about it, just like you try not to think about Nancy's torn lifeless body. Jack, work with me on something. I want you to close your eyes and imagine yourself sitting in your car right after you saw Nancy's car crash to a stop."

  "Benny, are you trying to fuck with my brain?"

  "You've been doing a great job of fucking with your own brain, so how about giving me a crack at it. Okay, now I want you to reach into your glove compartment and take out a tape measure. Now I want you to open the door and walk slowly, don't run, walk slowly toward Nancy's body. Be careful, the road is slick with blood, gas, and oil. Now I want you to take the tape and measure the exact distance between Nancy's upper torso and her lower body."

  "Ben, you've got to be joking."

  "What the fuck do I look like, a standup comedian? Just follow my instructio
ns. Now tell me exactly how far Nancy's upper torso is from her lower body." Jack said nothing.

  "This isn't rocket science, shithead, what's the distance?"

  "Six feet."

  "Exactly six feet?"

  "Well, six feet, four and a half inches."

  Jack began to sob. "I'm sorry Benny, I'm sorry." He kept on sobbing.

  Benny waited for the tears to stop. "Only an asshole like you could apologize for acting like a human being." Benny softened his voice and looked into Jack's eyes. "Jack, when I heard about Nancy's death and how you actually witnessed it, you know what I did? I cried. I cried like a baby. I cried for that beautiful woman who's young life was snuffed out, but mainly I cried for my friend. That would be you, Jack. You've experienced a trauma like few other human beings will ever face. But you've been handling it by trying to force it out of your mind. That won't work, Jack. That's a green fucking elephant. That's what the tape measure is all about. I want you to intentionally recreate that scene and allow it into your head. I want you to smell the smells, remember the sounds, listen to the sirens, hear the cops shouting. If you want me to be with you or on the phone when you do this, just let me know. That's the only way you're going to rob it of its power over you."

  Now, five years after he lost Nancy, Jack was emerging from his cave of despair, thanks in no small part to his friend Benny. He seldom thought of women, only a woman, Nancy. But he recognized that he was having a strange feeling, not an unpleasant one. Here, on a warship at sea in a strange time, he was becoming interested in a beautiful woman, his commanding officer. It was more than an interest, more like an infatuation. He liked the feeling.