As a steady stream of damage reports from Norfolk continues over the radio, Captain Hensley reads through his own damage report. He has been relieved of command, however, he hasn’t been banished to his quarters. The upper superstructure of the ship sustained heavy damage and they’re damn lucky no one was killed. Many of the injuries were superficial and most of the crew are back at work after being treated and released by the ship’s medical personnel. Hensley lays the report aside and stands, making his way across the room to where Malloy is seated. He pulls up a chair and sits.
“We should have canceled the entire Zumwalt program,” Malloy says.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Money. The navy had to have something to show for those billions spent over the years.”
“What happens to the ship now?”
Malloy shrugs. “I doubt any of the three will see the open sea again.” Malloy sighs. “Maybe we tried to do too much, too soon.”
“How so, sir?” Hensley asks. Talking helps him not think about his dismal future.
Malloy looks around the mission center. “The ship’s computers. No matter how hard you try, someone is always waiting to exploit a weakness. Maybe we would have been better off if we’d compartmentalized more and not tried to create this total ship computing environment.” He turns to look at Hensley. “Hell, I grew up watching three television channels. What the hell do I know about computers? But, I will say, we had some of the brightest people in the business working on this project and we still didn’t get it right.” Malloy looks away, staring at something in the distance. “What a mess.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, watching the crew work in what was supposed to be a state-of-the-art Ship’s Mission Center. Most of the debris from the helicopter explosion has been cleaned up, but there are still several shattered video screens hanging from the ceiling at odd angles. Hensley thinks how lucky the helicopter pilots were to have come inside for chow only moments before their chopper was obliterated. Then his thoughts turn to the damage Norfolk sustained. The deaths haven’t been tallied yet and, according to the radio, search and rescue operations are ongoing. Hensley looks at Malloy. “Admiral, have you served as a member of the court during a general court-martial?”
Malloy blows out a long, shaky breath. “Many times. It comes with the job.”
“What do you foresee happening?”
Malloy glances at the captain. “To you and me?”
Hensley nods.
“I don’t know.” He thinks about it for a moment then says, “I believe my punishment will be much harsher for not listening to you or your crew.” Malloy looks down at the floor. “But you wouldn’t believe the tremendous pressure we were under from the higher-ups to prove the viability of this ship.”
“I felt the pressure, too, Admiral.”
“I know you did, Bruce, but it was my name attached to this project.” He looks up at Hensley. “So to answer your original question, I’ll probably be stripped of rank and drummed out of the navy. I don’t believe you will be facing the same type of punishment. You didn’t know the computer systems were compromised. Oh, they’ll raise a stink, but I think you’ll be okay in the end.”
“Does ‘okay’ mean I retain my current rank?”
“If I have anything to do with it, you will. I’ve been in the navy for a long time, Bruce. I’ve made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies along the way. Fortunately, most of my enemies have retired or they’re pushing up daisies. I’ll do everything for you that I can.”
Hensley takes a deep, calming breath. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.” The admiral slowly pushes to his feet, looking as if he’s aged ten years in a single day. “How much longer until we dock?”
Hensley looks at his watch and quickly calculates speed and distance. “An hour and a half or somewhere thereabouts.”
“Mind if I use the officers’ wardroom for a bit to make some calls?”
“It’s all yours, sir.”
“Thank you.” Malloy shuffles out of the mission center and disappears down the corridor.
CHAPTER 67
Todd Thornton found a few candles buried at the bottom of a drawer, lit them, and placed them around the living room. Now he’s standing at the front door, waiting for the flare of headlights that will announce the homecare provider’s arrival. He glances at his watch — again. Doris is late. With no electricity and no cell service, he has no way to contact her to find out if she’s on her way or, if she is, how long before her arrival. He hears something beeping and he turns to look for the source. It’s coming from Grace’s wheelchair.
He hurries across the room and kneels down next to Grace’s chair. As he feared, the beeping is the low-battery alarm for Grace’s ventilator. He’s read the ventilator directions a dozen times, but he can’t recall how much time is left once the alarm sounds. It’s not something he’s ever had to worry about.
He silences the alarm and stands.
Grace looks up from her iPad. “What… is it?”
Grace may not be able to move her limbs, but her mind is as sharp as ever. And Todd has never lied to her and doesn’t plan to start now. “Your vent, Gracie. I’m going to run outside and start the generator.”
“Okay… I’ll be… fine, Dad,” Grace says.
Todd leans down and kisses Grace on the forehead. “I’ll be back in just a second.”
Gracie nods. Todd grabs the flashlight, takes one more look around the room to make sure the candles are safely placed, and hurries for the door. Having second thoughts, he stops, turns, and says, “Gracie, come sit by the front door so that I can talk to you.” He can’t see her face, but he knows his request probably earned him an eye-roll from his daughter. With her dark hair and big, beautiful, blue eyes, Grace is the spitting image of her mother.
Grace rolls over by the door and Todd props it open with one of his boots. “Shout if you need something, okay?”
“Jeez, Dad… you’re just going… around to the side… of the house.”
Todd sidesteps the ramp and walks down the porch stairs and cuts around the side of the house. After popping the lid on the generator enclosure, he puts the flashlight in his mouth and checks the wiring first. None of the wiring looks frayed and he moves on to the gas connection. Tied into the natural gas line that runs into the house, the generator allegedly has an infinite supply of fuel, but Todd knows the gas company could also have a problem. He pushes the manual start button and nothing happens. He mutters a string of curse words as he pulls off the front panel to check the battery connections. There’s a clock ticking in his head and he hurries around the front to check on Grace. He nearly blinds her with the flashlight. “Everything okay? Still getting a good supply of air?”
“Yes, Dad,” Grace replies. “What’s wrong… with the… generator?”
“Battery, I think. I need to get some tools out of the garage and pull the battery out of my truck.” Todd opens his truck door and hits the garage door opener then remembers the power’s out. “Can anything ever be easy?” he mutters as he jogs back in the house. He ducks into the garage, pops the latch on the opener that will free the door, and groans when he lifts it overhead.
He grabs some wrenches from his toolbox, hurries back to his truck, and pops the hood, one ear listening for the low-battery alarm again. He climbs up on the bumper to loosen the battery cables and lifts the battery out and carries it around to the generator. “Gracie,” he shouts, “how ya doing?” He kneels down and starts loosening the bolts on the dead battery, waiting to hear from his daughter. When she doesn’t respond, he shouts, “Gracie!” and waits for her response. The low-battery alarm hasn’t sounded again or he would have heard it.