He blew out. “I’m honestly not sure what to do about this, Fahad. Is something like this why Captain Imerson didn’t allow you on his bridge?”
“No sir.”
He waited, but the guy didn’t elaborate. “Right now, I’m pretty angry. Right this second, I’d rather have Cheryl Staurulakis as my stand-in than you.”
Almarshadi nodded but, again, said nothing, his gaze aimed somewhere in the area of Dan’s belt buckle. Despite himself, he glanced down to see if his fly was open. It wasn’t.
Savo rolled and plunged around them. Metal protested, yielding and rebounding against the strain. In the closed space, the dim light, Dan felt nauseated. He took a deep breath. “But I need you. I need every man, and woman, right now. Mission accomplishment, Fahad. ‘Hard blows.’ I’m going to give you one more chance. But also, a warning. If this happens again, you won’t be standing any more watches aboard Savo. And I’ll put you ashore at the first opportunity.”
“… happen again,” Almarshadi murmured.
“What’s that?”
“It won’t.”
“Once again. So I can hear you.”
“I said, it won’t happen again!” the man blazed out suddenly. His head snapped up, and his cheeks flushed. His fists rose too. Dan would have stepped back, but there wasn’t any room in a passageway so crammed with equipment enclosures that two men going in different directions would’ve had to slide past each other sideways.
But there it was, a reaction, at last. Did you have to insult him, to rouse his pride? It wasn’t how Dan liked to operate, but if that was the only way to get the son of a bitch on the stick, fine. He’d press any buttons he had to, to get his XO up on step. But it was time to back it off a notch. He gripped the smaller man’s arm, extended a hand. “Fahad … I can’t do this alone. The consequences … I’ve seen what happens at sea when somebody looks the other way. That’s not going to happen on my watch.”
The thin shoulders straightened; the chin came up. Deep brown eyes met his at last, and Almarshadi returned the handshake. “I understand, Skipper.”
“Okay then. Review those new ROEs. Let me know how they bounce against the theater Conops in the morning.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Dan eyed him a moment longer, then nodded curtly and turned away toward the ladder.
Climbing it, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. If his exec was a failure node, they were in trouble. But a Zero Defects Navy wasn’t his Navy. Daniel V. Lenson had looked less than stellar now and then himself.
He did need to control his temper, though. Did he really have what it took to be a good CO? He’d thought so, once. Now he wasn’t sure.
Not for the first time, he closed his eyes and silently asked for help.
Back in his cabin, he couldn’t get back to sleep. But he didn’t want to go down to CIC, or up to the bridge. That would signal distrust. Plus, he was probably getting some rest just lying here, even though his brain seemed to be on some kind of naturally secreted speed. He kept replaying those looming lights like a preview of coming attractions.
If he did fall asleep, he knew exactly what he’d dream, and what he’d hear. The screaming in the dark, from when the first ship he’d ever served on had gone down in the Irish Sea.
He picked up the Freya Stark book again, found where he’d bent down a page, and read a few more paragraphs. About the Parthian Empire. How Rome had tried again and again to outflank and break it, and finally succeeded. But the ship rolled again, and he clutched the bunk frame until his fingers cramped. This high in the superstructure, you really felt the motion.
Enough. He got up and shaved, wedged into the narrow space in front of the sink, shoulders braced. Rinsed his mouth, shook out a fresh set of coveralls, and pinned on the eagles and rather tarnished surface line insignia and name tag. And last, the circled dull-gold star of command at sea. He pressed it gently into the blue cloth, feeling like the Cowardly Lion again.
He peered into the mirror once more. Not looking so alert yourself there, Lenson. Red-rimmed eyes. Those crow’s-feet were getting deeper. And was that more gray on the sides?
He remembered what he’d called his skippers. Not to their faces, but what everyone else had called them too.
Now he was the Old Man.
The mess decks were bustling. He slid his tray along the stainless rails, grabbed French toast with greasy aluminum tongs and added a sloppy spoonful of eggs. When he zigzagged out into the dining area DC3 Benyamin stood. He pointed to his table and Dan wobbled over. “Gonna get rougher, I hear, Skipper,” he said as Dan climbed into the bench seat. The other men and women shoved over, making room.
“Yeah, we could be in for a blow.” Dan blinked at the damage controlman’s scarred pale arms. Wondering what his tattoos had been, and why he’d had them lasered out.
“Sir, hear anything back yet about Smack? What happened to him?”
“I’m sorry — Smack?”
A silence, broken only by the roar of engines from the big screen up front. Dan glanced that way; Pierce Brosnan was piloting a hovercraft in a chase scene. The men at the front tables stared at the screen, hardly eating. “That was Seaman Goodroe, sir,” another man supplied. “You know, the guy who—”
“Right, right. Sorry, the chief corpsman wasn’t able to make a determination. As to cause of death. And we haven’t heard anything back yet from Bethesda.”
An acned young woman said softly, “Somebody said it might be those anthrax shots they gave us.”
“I don’t think so, but I haven’t totally ruled it out as a possibility.”
“You’d let us know if there was … like … a plague aboard,” a palely mustached young sailor said hesitantly.
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Dan told him, trying to sound kind but firm. “But for the record, yeah, I would tell you. But there’s no plague. No curse, either.” He grinned, sorry he’d even repeated the words. “Look, we’ve been pushing you guys pretty hard. But you know why now. Right?”
They nodded, more or less together. “So you realize, we could very well take a hit out here? Our radar’s focused inland. Somebody could kick us in the ass and we wouldn’t see him coming. So we need to be ready to fight fires and flooding. That’s why Mr. Danenhower and the DCA, Mr. Jiminiz, and Chief McMottie are working your tails to the bone right now. Is that the word you’re getting? I want to make sure everybody knows why we’ve got our balls … our hair on fire about this.”
On the screen Halle Berry undulated out of the ocean in an orange-and-white bikini. The sailors hooted and hammered the deck with their boots.
“I think we get the picture, sir,” Benyamin said. “You’re takin’ us into harm’s way, like they say in The Bluejacket’s Manual. And we gotta be ready to take a licking and keep on ticking.”
Dan looked at the sobered young faces, most sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed. Some still acned with youth. Some with hair too long, or buzz-cut violently short. Black and white and brown and Asian. “I know it’s a lot of work, a lot of stress, but this is what we’re out here for,” he told them. “What the country expects of us. And any problems your chief or div-O can’t help you with, my door’s open. I mean … right now, I couldn’t give you an uninterrupted hour, but I’m there if you need me. Okay?”
“Hoo-ah, Skipper.”
“Yes sir.”
When he turned his tray in the same kid took it who’d been there the first time. “What, you got permanent crank duty?” Dan asked him. But the kid just squinted at him, scraping the remains off into a garbage pail, as if he had no idea who Dan was.