Aleo turned back to Christine, touching her shoulder to get her attention. “The SUPPO will be here shortly with a change of clothes.”
Christine didn’t reply, but she looked down at her thin, soaked nightgown; it clung to her body and was practically see-through now that it was wet. On cue, Michigan’s Supply Officer, Lieutenant Commander Kelly Haas, entered Medical with a stack of clothes in her hand.
“I borrowed some of Lieutenant Stucker’s underwear,” Kelly said. “Pretty close to your size. Maybe we should stock some of yours for future deployments.” Kelly smiled.
Christine accepted the clothing without a response, holding it as she sat on Doc’s bed.
“Well, then,” Doc said. “We’ll let you change in private.”
Doc ushered Harrison and the SUPPO from Medical, and as he closed the door, Christine was still sitting on the edge of the bed staring straight ahead, the stack of clothes in her hands.
98
WASHINGTON, D.C.
After descending to the ground floor of the executive residence and heading down the west colonnade, the president entered the Oval Office in the West Wing. Waiting outside his office and following him inside were McVeigh, Hardison, and DuBose, who settled into the three chairs opposite the president’s desk. The president leaned back in his chair as McVeigh delivered an update.
“Russia’s withdrawal from Lithuania and Ukraine is complete. They’ve also provided the locations where they attached explosives to oil and natural gas pipelines, and we’ve removed them. Regarding the Arabian Sea battle, every Russian surface combatant was either sunk or heavily damaged, while only six of our cruisers and destroyers were damaged. The more significant news is that we lost another eight submarines. Not bad considering we were outnumbered two to one, but the loss is significant considering our present force structure.
“We’re taking a look at the water depth to determine whether the intact compartments would have imploded before they grounded, to see if we can raise the submarines like we did in the Taiwan Strait, but it doesn’t look good. Fortunately, the submarines damaged in our war with China should begin exiting the repair yards in a few months.
“On a different topic,” McVeigh said, “Christine is safely aboard Michigan. Her SEALs pulled her from the Black Sea after she killed Chernov.”
“Thanks, Bob,” the president said. “What’s the plan forward?”
“Three carriers are heading to Hawaii and Washington State for repair. Of the two carrier strike groups remaining, we’re leaving one in the Arabian Sea and routing one back toward China. Regarding the Russian facilities we’ve wired with explosives, we’ll remove them whenever you give the word.”
“Keep the explosives attached for now,” the president said, “while we work the diplomatic front. I want to get a resolution through the Alliance, guaranteeing NATO will come to the aid of Ukraine or any other country Russia chooses to invade next.”
The president surveyed the three men before him, then his features hardened as he said, “We have one last item to address. Give me a few options.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” McVeigh replied. “We’re already working on it.”
99
USS MICHIGAN
In the Wardroom of the guided missile submarine, Lieutenant Harrison stood behind his chair, as did the other nine officers and the one civilian present, waiting for Captain Wilson to enter and take his seat for dinner. On the Captain’s end of the table stood Christine O’Connor, and across from her was Commander John McNeil, flanked by the submarine’s Executive Officer. Due to being seated by seniority, with the higher-ranking officers toward the Captain’s end of the table, Harrison was closer to the far end with the other junior officers.
Since he pulled her from the water the previous night, Christine had been withdrawn, barely speaking. The SUPPO had berthed Christine in the Executive Officer’s stateroom, giving her the lower bunk while the XO moved to the top. With Michigan patrolling the Black Sea, the crew was focused and busy, but the SEALs had little to do at the moment and Harrison had found several reasons to cruise by the XO’s stateroom. The door remained shut until just before lunch, when Christine emerged, wearing the blue coverall worn by the submarine’s crew. He happened to be passing by as she stepped from her stateroom, and although she greeted him, there was no smile and her voice was monotone.
Captain Wilson entered the Wardroom and took his seat, and Christine and the officers settled into theirs. With Harrison at the opposite end, it was difficult to participate in conversations with the senior officers, but he glanced frequently in Christine’s direction. She picked at her food, nodding and smiling politely on occasion, participating in the conversation only when engaged, her responses succinct. On more than one occasion, he caught her staring at her plate, her thoughts elsewhere until a mention of her name broke her reverie.
When the main course was finished, the culinary specialist serving dinner brought out the desserts, but Christine excused herself. Harrison stared at her empty chair for a moment, then obtained the Captain’s permission to depart.
Guessing that Christine had returned to her stateroom, Harrison stopped by the XO’s door and knocked. There was no answer, so he knocked harder. The door opened partway, revealing Christine inside the dimly lit stateroom, the only illumination coming from a small light above the XO’s desk. Harrison didn’t say anything, and after Christine searched his eyes, she opened the door fully, then retreated to her bed, where she sat on the edge, facing him.
“Request permission to close the door,” he said.
Christine nodded and Harrison closed the door, then grabbed the chair by the XO’s desk and sat across from her. There remained an unnatural stillness to her body as she sat there, her hands folded in her lap, staring at him.
“What happened?”
Christine didn’t reply, and although there was no visible reaction on her face, her breathing quickened. Harrison reached toward her cheek and gently touched the sutures covering the cut. Christine leaned into his hand, and Harrison held her face before she pulled away suddenly, with an awareness in her eyes that she had lacked before.
“What happened?” Harrison repeated, this time glancing at the white gauze bandages on her wrists.
There was still no reply, but this time Christine stood. As he wondered why, she sat in his lap, her legs straddling his waist. She wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing tight, and pressed the side of her face against his. It wasn’t long before he felt wetness against his cheek; then she whispered in his ear, told him what she’d done.
Harrison wasn’t surprised. He’d dated her for eight years and witnessed it many times — her tendency to turn vicious in the heat of the moment, remorseful for her actions the next morning. She’d gone too far in Beijing, and again on the shore of the Black Sea.
After Christine revealed what she’d done, emotion racked her body. He did his best to comfort her, caressing her back until the tears eased, then stopped. She remained in his lap, arms tight around him, and her breathing gradually slowed. Her muscles relaxed and a calm settled over her.
She pulled back, resting her forearms on his shoulders.
“How’s home?” she asked softly.
It took a moment for Harrison to respond. In Christine’s condition, she was emotionally vulnerable, and he knew the answer she was hoping for. After a moment of indecision, he replied truthfully.