“We’ll be dropping you off here, sir.”
“But that’s in the middle of the damn ocean!” exclaimed Moore.
The pilot shrugged his shoulders.
“All I can tell you is that these are the exact coordinates that CINCPAC relayed to us, sir. If you can just hang on another quarter of an hour, we’ll soon enough find out what this is all about.”
Moore was in an irritable mood as he returned to the main cabin and sat down in front of a plexiglass window set into the closed hatchway. From this vantage point, he could view the sea rapidly passing five thousand feet below them. A two-masted sailboat could be seen cutting through the water, and his thoughts went back to his recently concluded nightmare.
It had been a long time since he had dreamt of Laurie. And it seemed like yesterday that they were together, sharing the best that life had to offer.
Just thinking about her again brought back a kaleidoscope of memories, some pleasant and some painful.
They had practically grown up together as neighbors, and what started out as a childhood friendship blossomed into adolescent love. There was never a doubt that they would be married, and after attending college together at the University of Virginia, they made vows of eternal love.
Laurie’s father had been in the Navy, and she knew very well what she was getting in for when her husband picked this same branch of the military for his profession.
They decided not to have children until Thomas returned from his initial sea duty, and secured a permanent shore-based position in intelligence or investigative fields.
His first assignment after getting his commission was on a sub tender in Holy Loch, Scotland. Though Laurie remained in Alexandria at this time teaching elementary school, she visited him whenever their budget and her own schedule allowed.
It had been hard being away from her at first, and he tried his best to lose himself in his work. When he got word that she was planning to spend a whole summer in Scotland, he shouted out with joy and immediately went out to rent a cottage. He found a lovely little place in the foothills overlooking Hunter’s Quay, on the outskirts of Dunoon. Though the price was a little steep, he took it anyway, and as it turned out, Laurie fell in love with it at first sight.
What followed was the most glorious time of his entire life. He managed to secure several consecutive weeks of leave, and they spent it exploring the scenic, heather-filled countryside. Together they hiked the magnificent shores of Loch Lomond, took the train up to the Highlands, and even managed to visit the magical island of lona, where Christianity first came to the British Isles. During a weekend stay in Edinburgh, they attended a musical festival at Usher Hall, and toured Edinburgh Castle, where they enjoyed a full-fledged military tattoo complete with massed pipers.
The rest of their summer together in Scotland sped by in a blur, and before he knew it, she was packing her bags for the flight back home. That final evening together, they made love long into the night. The dawn was too soon coming. And little did he ever realize that the last time that he would ever see his beloved again was from the deck of the Dunoon ferry as she sadly waved goodbye. Less than a month later, she was dead, the tragic victim of a traffic accident in downtown Washington D.C.
Thomas Moore’s life had never been the same since.
With Laurie’s death, it was almost as if a vital part of his own self had been ripped from his body. This was especially apparent in the months following her funeral.
His soulmate had been taken from him, and he would have to live out his remaining years with his only chance of love a distant memory.
It was later that year that he received his assignment at NIS, and was transferred back to Washington. He completely surrendered himself to his work. And his inner wound slowly healed. Even his nightmares ceased, only to emerge again from his subconscious when he least expected.
The monotonous chopping whine of the Seahawk’s rotors called to him with a soothing song of a duty his entire life was now dedicated to. To serve his country with honor was all that mattered. All else was irrelevant.
Ever thankful for this renewed purpose, Thomas Moore redirected his gaze out the helicopter’s plexiglass window. The sea was all but veiled by swirling tendrils of milky white fog, which extended all the way up to their current altitude, and it was like flying through a cloud bank that filled the entire sky.
“How about some hot coffee, sir?” asked the ATO.
“I’d like that,” replied Moore, who found himself suddenly chilled.
The airman handed him a plastic cup, and filled it with steaming hot coffee that he poured from a silver thermos. The dark brown liquid was brewed navy strong, and Moore contentedly sipped it.
“I’m sorry that we don’t have anything else to serve with the joe,” said Knowlton.
“This coffee’s more than enough for me,” returned Moore.
The steady roaring pitch of the Seahawk’s engines seemed to fluctuate, and the deck slightly tilted forward.
“Looks like we’re going down,” noted the ATO, as he proceeded over to Moore’s side and peered out the window.
“I sure wouldn’t want to be flying this baby. That fog out there is as thick as my mom’s pea soup.”
The cabin began to vibrate wildly, causing Moore to spill a good portion of his coffee. Somehow he managed not to burn himself, and as he precariously balanced the cup in his shaking hand, the dim outline of a ship began to appear on the sea below. This vessel’s sleek profile came into better view as they continued losing altitude, prompting an excited response from the ATO.
“That’s the USS Hewitt} We worked with her in the Philippine Sea last week.”
The Seahawk swooped in low over the warship, passing over its streamlined superstructure, and Moore noted the lack of weapons visible on the Spruance class vessel’s deck. It was outfitted with only a pair of 5-inch Mk45 lightweight gun mountings fore and aft, and an ASROC launcher forward of the bridge. Yet in reality, Moore knew that the Hewitt’s offensive capabilities were for the most part hidden within its hull. Here the ASROC launcher had no less than twenty-four Mkl6 reloads, for its mission of attacking enemy submarines. For threats from the air, the destroyer carried a NATO Sea Sparrow launcher with sixteen reloads, and two Phalanx Gatling guns for close-in defense. It also was armed with eight Harpoon missiles, and six torpedo tubes capable of firing the Mk32.
One of the ship’s other major capabilities became obvious when the Seahawk began hovering over its stern helipad. A large hangar lay forward of this sea-going landing strip, capable of handling two LAMPS helicopters, and it became apparent that this was where the Seahawk was headed.
They landed with a mild jolt, and as the engines were switched off and the rotors ground to a halt, the relief from the noise was instantaneous. The ATO slid open the hatch, and a khaki-clad lieutenant waited outside to greet them.
“Commander Moore?”
Moore gracefully peeled off his helmet and raised his hand.
“That’s me.”
“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Kelso, the Hewitfs weapons officer.
If you’ll just follow me. Captain Stanton is waiting for you out at sea.”
Not really certain what he was referring to by this last remark, Moore followed the weapons officer forward, to a position beside the rail amidships, on the port side of the after funnel uptakes. Here a launch was being readied to be lowered into the water.
“Climb aboard, sir,” instructed Kelso.
“But where’s your captain?” asked Moore, totally confused by this whole turn of events.
“We’ll be utilizing this launch to take you out to him, sir,” revealed the weapons officer.
Moore could tell that Kelso was under orders not to say any more than he had to, and Moore resigned himself to this fact and climbed aboard the launch. A crew of three, including his tight-lipped escort accompanied him.