Immediately below the bridge, the old 76mm Oto Melara mount was gone as well, one of the new five-inch 65 ERGM mounts to be installed in its place. Amanda still wasn’t convinced that the ultra-long-range “smart shells” of the new gun systems could possibly be as dead accurate as the tech reps claimed they’d be.
But then, that would be for Ken to discover.
Her exec stood in the curtainless bridge entryway, clad as she was in full Dress Blues, white hatted, white gloved, and razor creased. The sturdy Japanese-American’s demeanor was somber, even for him.
“Skipper…” Amanda mused. “I guess that’s the last time I get called that on these decks.”
“You’re always going to be the skipper of the Duke, ma’am,” Hiro replied. “Until they scrap her and melt down her plates.”
Amanda shook her head. “That’s not the way to think, Ken. I’ve had my time with her. She belongs to you now. Make her name shine, but make it shine your way.”
It felt right to put her arms around him for one brief, fierce warrior’s embrace. “Thanks for always backing me up, Ken.”
Awkwardly he returned the hug, a choke coming to his voice. “Thanks for bringing me along, Captain.”
The change-of-command ceremony was a simple one. There hadn’t been time to organize elaboration. The Cunningham’s new cadre of officers stood to on the helicopter deck, along with an honor guard of the ship’s company.
There were a few special guests as well. Lieutenant Dix Beltrain had come down from the Conner. The Duke’s old tactical officer was still as handsome as ever, but the boyishness was starting to wear off a little. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be ready for his own first command. Carl Thomson, Amanda’s old chief engineer, was also present, still not quite comfortable in a civilian business suit.
And her father, of course, standing in the back and giving her that half-smile and nod that had seen her through many graduations and award ceremonies. He had so often been gone from her life, and yet he always managed to be there when it really mattered.
One individual that she’d hoped for there was missing. He had gone and there was no word left for her. Amanda could only conclude that it was for the best.
The ship’s bell of the Cunningham pealed out its piercingly clear tone. The 2nd Fleet chaplain gave a brief prayer for the ship and for her captains, coming and leaving, and Amanda spoke a few words that she could never afterward remember. Then came the reading of the orders that freed her from her treasured bondage and placed the burden of the Duke’s destiny on another’s shoulders.
His white-gloved fingers touched his brow with machine like precision. “I relieve you, Captain Garrett.”
Her answering salute was equally precise. “I stand relieved, Captain Hiro.”
For her, the word now meant only a rank. For Ken, it became a way of life.
Amanda was pleased with the way she maintained herself throughout the remainder of the ceremony. She didn’t start to crack until she was rung over the side for the last time. The sweet purity of the Cunningham’s bell sounding the four strokes and the quartermaster’s voice over the MC-1 circuit passing the word, “Captain… departing,” finally pierced her shields.
The tears started to come as she crossed the aluminum gangway that extended from the Duke’s helideck to the dry dock apron. Her father would be waiting for her there. With her gear already loaded in the stretch cab of his pickup, he’d be driving her to Dulles International to catch the evening flight to England, the first leg of her long journey to Guinea.
As planned, Admiral Garrett and the Ford were parked near the end of the gangway, but a second figure in Levi’s and a civilian Windcheater leaned back against the front fender beside her father.
“Arkady!”
Forgetting decorum and the press of her blues, she dove into his arms, returning the embrace that closed around her. “Why didn’t you come to the ceremony?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
“I didn’t think it would be such a good idea, babe. I remember you telling me how we had to be discreet about things.”
“Oh, to hell with that. Let ’em all watch.” She tilted her face up to accept the kiss, fully as prolonged and intense as the embrace.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said finally as they paused for breath. “I wanted a chance to explain. To tell you why I took this new assignment.”
“There’s nothing to explain, babe.” Arkady gently reached up, tugging the lapels of her jacket straight. He was smiling at her, not with his grad school grin, but a man’s sober smile of acceptance. “We both have things we need to do. For you, it’s Africa. For me, maybe it’s Jacksonville. I’ve put in my application for the Joint Strike Fighter program.”
“You’re going to make it this time, Arkady. I know you will.”
“Maybe. I’ve been hanging around with someone who’s helped me get strong enough to at least try again. We’ll see how it goes. And that’s how it’ll be with you and me, babe. We’ll just see how it goes. Maybe someday we’ll get to finish that talk we started.”
“Someday.” The damned tears were coming again, and she hid them against his chest. She felt the firm, warm pressure of Arkady’s hand travel down her spine in a farewell caress.
“Get going, babe. The Captain is needed on the bridge.”
There wasn’t a great deal said in the cab of the pickup for a time, and Wilson Garrett knew that to be the best. They had traversed the Hampton Roads bridge-tunnel and were north bound on Interstate 64 before he noted Amanda repairing the damage with her compact and squaring herself away.
“He’s a hell of a good man, angel.”
“One of the very best, Dad,” she replied soberly, snapping the compact shut and returning it to her shoulder bag. “He deserves a lot better than what I gave him back there.”
Garrett glanced over at his beautiful and once again reserved daughter. It bothered him sometimes that she was always so quick and so willing to assume responsibility for whatever came along. What was worse, he knew from whom she’d inherited the trait.
No man alive could be prouder of his offspring, or of what she had become. However, there were times that Wils Garrett wished Amanda could have enjoyed just a couple more years of girlhood.
“Yeah,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “Definitely, that Arkady is a step up from some of those specimens you used to drag back to the house when you were in high school.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a smile tug at Amanda’s lips. His daughter recognized the old game. “Dad, I only went with nice boys back when I was in school.”
“Does that include that Marty Johnson yahoo as well?”
Amanda replied with a faint snort. “Marty was sweet! And don’t tell me you still hold a grudge over what happened at my senior prom.”
“Damn right I still hold a grudge! And the little coward knows it! To this day, every time I happen to drop by the Ford Agency, he goes and hides in the back office. I think he’s afraid I still might carry out some of those threats I made on his life, limb, and masculinity. And there are times when I’m tempted.”
“Oh, Dad! None of what happened was actually Marty’s fault!” For one precious second, Amanda was his little girl again, with all the happiness and defiance and frustration and joy that entailed.
“I don’t know about fault, young lady! All I know is that he took my daughter out of my house at eight P.M. in a blue taffeta evening formal and brought her back at six A.M. in a stolen beach towel!”