Dean kept staring at the bulkhead.
“The Eng was riding me hard, Captain, after that last ORSE. He rode me real hard. Everything I did was wrong to him. Everything I said was wrong. To him, I was wrong. He blamed me for everything. He was riding me, sir, and I guess I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to get back at him somehow, to try to defend myself, but what could I do? I’m a lowly petty officer and he’s a lieutenant commander. Crapping out the main engine was the only thing I could think of, sir. I knew Naval Reactors would blame him for it, and it’d wreck his career. I didn’t want to hurt the ship, sir. You gotta believe that. I didn’t know it was going to be so important. I’m just glad nobody died because of it.”
Edwards bit back his temper. He thought about reminding Dean about Chief Michaelson’s death because the Mendar didn’t make the rendezvous on time, but he quickly decided this was neither the time nor the place.
“How can he do that, Captain?” Dean continued, this time facing him. “Commander Van Peenan’s a crazy son of a bitch! How the hell can he get away with treating people like he did me?”
Edwards made to speak, but was surprised when Bloomfield answered first.
“I guess that’s just the nature of the beast, Dean,” Bloomfield said distantly. “The men above us sometimes make us do crazy things — things we wouldn’t normally do. They turn us into the kind of people that we really aren’t, deep down inside. Each of us reacts to such situations in different ways. Some of us go insane, some of us do stupid things, and some of us … just stop caring.” Out of the corner of his eye, Edwards saw Bloomfield wipe his nose, or was it his eyes, before continuing in a more authoritative tone, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Petty Officer Dean, but you’re under arrest.”
Chapter 22
The warm Pearl Harbor sunlight shone through the open weapons shipping hatch and cast long shadows on the deck outside the stateroom, as Edwards took the report from a spry-looking Lieutenant Lake, who was wearing an insignia-ornamented, summer-dress khaki uniform. The ship was quiet outside in the passage and throughout all her compartments as she rode the gentle swell beside the pier at the submarine base across from Ford Island. She had pulled in earlier that day, and what was once a vibrant living vessel teeming with life now seemed completely deserted. With the exception of a small skeleton crew, most of Providence’s sailors had departed hours ago, their families or girlfriends whisking them away the moment the ship touched the pier, as if Providence might put to sea again if they lingered one moment longer.
Edwards realized just how empty the ship was when he dropped down to the wardroom and ended up having to make his own pot of coffee. But who could blame them for leaving? They’d been at sea for seven months. They deserved some leave and liberty. And so did he.
“That pretty much says it all, Captain,” Lake said, handing Edwards his written report on the shore party’s activities. The report would go into the much thicker mission report that Edwards was preparing.
“I trust you saw Miss Whitehead off okay?” Edwards said, trying not to appear overly curious as he filed the report in a drawer beside his desk.
“Yes, sir. I just got back from driving her to the airport. She’s probably already in the air by now, on her way to take care of her father’s funeral arrangements in Raleigh. I guess the Indonesian government’s going to send his body back there. Apparently they recovered the doctor’s body as a part of the U.N.-negotiated cease-fire.”
Edwards nodded grimly, but also with a small amount of personal satisfaction. The doctor’s body had been recovered as part of a cease-fire that was now in effect all across Indonesia. A cease-fire attributed in no small part to the efforts of the U.N. envoy Descartes, who was quickly becoming a celebrity in the world-wide media for his selfless devotion to achieving peace in the troubled islands. Neither the Providence nor any of her lost crewmen would ever be mentioned in the media, and Dr. Gregory Whitehead would be remembered at home and abroad as a peace-loving humanitarian who cared for the Indonesian people more than he did his own life.
Teresa Whitehead seemed to be handling her father’s death as well as could be expected. Of course, she had a devoted confidant in Lake, and that had certainly helped. Obviously, the two had grown close during their ordeal ashore, and Edwards scarcely saw them apart during the week-long transit back to Pearl. She seemed nice enough from the few chances he had to speak with her. The secretive Ahmad was another matter. Ahmad had uttered no more than two words the whole trip back.
And, true to form, the moment Providence touched the pier, two men in dark brown suits whisked the unfriendly agent away in an unmarked sedan before the ship could even shift its colors. Somehow, Edwards knew that he’d never hear another word about the man named Ahmad ever again.
“Now I suspect you’ll be leaving us too, Mr. Lake?” Edwards asked hesitantly.
“Actually, Captain.” Lake paused and seemed to blush. “I was wondering, sir, if you might authorize an extension for me, sir.”
“An extension?”
“Yes, sir. I’d like to pull my resignation letter. I’ve looked into it, sir, and if you authorize it, they might even let me into department-head school. I know I’m already behind my class, but I know I can catch up.”
“Yes, Mr. Lake,” Edwards said, smiling. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to. I’ll gladly endorse your request, as I’m sure ComSubPac will, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lake said, now grinning from ear to ear. He made to leave but stopped short at the door. “Oh, sir, I almost forgot.”
Lake removed a folder from the stack of files under his arm and placed it on Edwards’ desk.
“What’s this?” Edwards asked.
“Promotion package, Captain, for Petty Officer Pasternak, my leading petty officer in radio division. He’s a good guy, sir, and he ought to be wearing first-class stripes.” Lake paused before adding solemnly, “He comes with a good recommendation, Captain.”
Edwards nodded, knowing all too well the meaning.
“I’m sure it’ll be approved, no problem, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lake said, donning his khaki garrison cap and heading for the hatch. As he scaled the ladder Edwards heard him call back, “Have a good leave, Captain!”
“You too, Mr. Lake!”
Edwards smiled. His predecessor had been all wrong about Lake. Edwards was glad that Lake would be staying in the navy. He even hoped the young officer would consider coming back to the Providence after he completed department-head school. Officers like Lake were hard to find.
As Edwards tried to get back into the right mindset to finish his report, he heard the door to the CO/XO washroom slide open behind him. He turned to see Bloomfield’s big form enter his stateroom wearing civilian attire, his packed bags hanging from shoulder straps and loosely tucked under his chubby arms.
“I was waiting until you were finished with Mr. Lake, Captain,” he said, his face beet red and perspiring from the Hawaiian humidity.
“Come on in, XO. You’re shoving off, I presume?”
“Yes, Captain,” Bloomfield said, dropping one bag on the deck. “I wanted to say goodbye, sir. ComSubPac should approve my early retirement request before my leave runs out, so I probably won’t be coming back.”
Edwards stood up and shook his hand. He’d had his problems with Bloomfield, but the man had certainly changed in the past couple weeks. Perhaps he’d been too impatient with him in the beginning. In the seven months they had spent together, Edwards had uttered some harsh words to the bumbling executive officer, and he felt that he owed him some kind of apology. At least now, anyway, since Bloomfield was leaving the navy.