Wink glanced at him skeptically. “Are you kidding?”
Big leaned against the bulkhead behind him while he watched his triple cheese slider sizzle on the large flat grill. “Wink, you’re amazing. If I weighed three hundred pounds I wouldn’t even fit through the door. I am a svelte two-forty.”
“Wow,” Woods said. “Athlete.”
“You going to start on me?” Big said.
One of the EA-6B Prowler pilots joined them in line. “Hey, Wink, was that you on button seventeen in marshall this last recovery?”
“Yep.”
“Did you have that cloud layer right at marshall?”
“We were below it. Darker than a witch’s heart.”
“We were in the goo the whole time. Unbelievable.”
Pritch appeared in the room, moving to the end of the line.
Three plates magically appeared on the counter. The men grabbed their food and sat down at a table.
After taking a large bite from his burger, Big looked across at Woods. “How you doing? About Boomer and all.”
Pritch sat down on the other side of Big. Woods looked at her, slightly annoyed she was there, and annoyed at himself for being annoyed. “I don’t know,” Woods replied. “I was really bent. Nothing seems to be happening. I try to act normal, do my job, be myself, but it’s like it’s all in slow motion, or something. Then the XO…”
“I know what you mean,” Big replied.
“Mind if I join you?” asked Father Maloney, standing next to Woods, a cup of tea in his hand.
Woods rolled his eyes as he looked at Big and Wink across the table. “No, please,” he said, motioning to the chair next to Wink.
“I gotta go,” said Big, getting up as the chaplain sat down. “Gotta go debrief.”
“What?” asked Pritch. “I debriefed you an hour ago.”
“Maintenance. I’ve got to talk to maintenance about the FM radio.”
“You’ve got FM in your airplane?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, Pritch,” Big said as he bounced quickly on the balls of his feet to get his flight suit to unrumple and straighten down his legs over his flight boots.
“Me, too,” said Wink, standing.
Woods was stuck. He wanted to catch the movie in the ready room, but it was obvious that the chaplain had sat down to talk to him. He didn’t know the other officers at all, and he’d met Woods at Vialli’s funeral service.
The chaplain sipped his cup of tea. His round, kind face was slightly red, as it usually was, as if life on the carrier was too much of an effort. He seemed very out of place in a uniform. He had a Lieutenant Commander’s gold oak leaf on one collar and a cross on the other — the insignia worn by a chaplain.
Woods had always thought crosses looked incongruous on uniforms. He found the whole chaplain thing almost offensive. They tried so hard to be everyone’s friend it was as if their lives didn’t have any content. He was sure his opinions were stereotypical, especially since he had never had a conversation of any length with any chaplain, but he wasn’t in any hurry to change that.
Woods finished his burger without knowing what to say. To talk shop, or ridicule Pritch — the thing he wanted to do most — just didn’t seem right with the chaplain sitting there.
“How have you been, Lieutenant Woods?” Father Maloney finally asked.
“Pretty good, thanks, just trying to figure out where to spend all the money I make.”
Maloney smiled at Pritch. “Hello. I’m Father Maloney, the Catholic chaplain aboard. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“No, sir, I’m Ensign Charlene Pritchard.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
“Does Lieutenant Woods always joke with others the way he does with me?” he asked Pritch.
“He doesn’t take much very seriously.”
Maloney looked at Woods. “Is that true?”
Woods shrugged, waiting for the right time to make his exit.
“Have I made you angry somehow?”
“No, sir,” Woods replied.
“It seems like my presence makes you uncomfortable,” Maloney said.
Pritch sneaked a glance at Woods.
“Not really. Seeing you just reminds me of Vialli, and that aggravates me.”
“Why does it aggravate you?”
Woods stared at Maloney. “Is there something about being a chaplain that makes you ask such dumb questions?” he said, his face reddening. He hesitated for a minute, then went on. “Sorry. He was my roommate, and my friend. He was murdered. Here we sit on the most lethal weapon ever designed, his murderers are a couple of hundred miles away, and we’re eating hamburgers. The whole thing just pisses me off.”
Maloney nodded his head understandingly. “I know what you mean. But we don’t know that nothing is being done about it.”
“You know something I don’t know?”
“No, I certainly wouldn’t know. I just meant that the government might be doing things we don’t know about.”
“Like what? Sending the crack CIA to find some terrorist and put a stick in his eye? Come on.”
“All I was saying is we shouldn’t assume we know everything when we don’t.”
“What’s probably happening is that we know more about it than anyone, and nothing is being done at all. That’s the most likely.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But we can’t do much about it.”
“The hell we can’t. Sorry. Yes we can.”
“What would you suggest?” Maloney asked, sipping his tea.
Woods’s words were direct. “I think we should announce to the world that we’re going after the terrorists. Launch an attack on their headquarters. They’ve already claimed responsibility for it. Let’s take them at their word.”
“We can’t do that, can we?”
“Why not?”
“That would be an act of war.”
“So what?” Woods replied. “What are we here for, Father? Why are we in the Mediterranean?”
“To defend NATO,” said Pritch.
“From what?” said Woods.
“Whatever threat develops.”
“Isn’t attacking a Navy officer a threat?”
“Not to peace, not really,” the chaplain said.
“It’s a threat to every American. Terrorism is intended to make us afraid. To make us change our plans, our attitudes, and live in fear. That is a threat to peace. I think we should go after them. Quit waiting around for the politicos to test the wind. Let’s go now.”
“That would be vengeance,” said Maloney.
“What’s wrong with a little vengeance now and then?” asked Woods, angry.
“ ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord,’ “ said Maloney. “It’s not up to us to exact revenge against an enemy, it’s God’s decision.”
Woods frowned. “What does that mean?” he asked. “Was it wrong to take vengeance on Japan for attacking us at Pearl Harbor? Should we have left that up to God? Should we wait for a storm or an earthquake or something? I remember a lot of attacks directly ordered by God in the Old Testament. Maybe we should just be listening for his order.”
Maloney realized he was in much deeper than he’d intended to get in the conversation. He also realized he had to answer. “Of course the country can respond. That’s legitimate warfare. But the ship, or the Captain of the ship, can’t do it on his own — that’s revenge.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Woods said. “The country acts through us. Through people. That’s all we can do.”
Maloney considered his words. “It is a question of authority. The country can act, individuals cannot.”
“Doesn’t it matter what they’re doing or why? If the U.S. can attack, why can’t we? We are the U.S.”
“We can, if instructed to by the government. Even you would agree that we can’t act on our own.”
“I don’t care who does it, as long as someone does!” Woods said, his voice loud, drawing looks from other pilots on the wardroom. “It’s only the police that can stop the guy who breaks in to rape your wife? You have to stand there and watch. Call 911. ‘Hello, police, there’s a guy here in my bedroom. He’s raping my wife, but I know I can’t act on my own. Only the state has the authority to protect me… I think he’s almost done… Do hurry… ‘ That’s how it’s supposed to go? That’s your idea of authority?”