Twenty-four hours from now, Steven Aldridge would be dressed in dark blue coveralls and be an integral component of this team. But right now he had other responsibilities. A familiar voice broke the silence around him.
“Penny for your thoughts, sailor.”
Thus brought back to dry land, Aldridge turned and set his eyes on his beloved wife. Susan was wrapped in her ski parka and carried two steaming mugs of herb tea in her gloved hands.
“My guess is that you were thinking about another woman,” added Susan as she reached her husband’s side and handed him a mug.
“And I bet her name is Cheyenne” “I confess. You’re right. Do I still get to keep my tea?”
Susan flashed a warm smile and cuddled up to him.
“You know I’m not the jealous type.”
“No, come to think of it, you never were,” reflected Steven fondly.
As they stood there silently sipping their tea, Steven’s thoughts returned in time to the day they first met. Twenty years ago, both of them had been aspiring sophomores at the University of Virginia.
As a participant in the school’s excellent Naval ROTC program, Steven knew from the beginning that his goal was a career in the Navy. He therefore made certain to take a full curriculum of mathematics and science courses, in which he excelled. It was basic English that proved to be his downfall. A tutor was therefore suggested, and into his life walked Susan Spencer, a bright-eyed, vivacious, English major from Norfolk. Steven got that peculiar feeling in his stomach from the first time he laid eyes on her. She was petite, with dark eyes, curly brown hair, and a figure kept trim with daily aerobics. She seemed cool to his ardor at first, though when Steven learned that she was a Navy brat like himself, the two found a common bond.
In an incredibly short period of time, Steven’s English grades improved to the point where the tutorial sessions were no longer needed. They had never gone out on a real date, and as their professional relationship came to its end, Steven summoned the nerve to ask her for dinner and a movie. Miraculously enough, she accepted readily.
They saw each other regularly after that, and by the time summer vacation rolled around, Susan felt comfortable enough to invite him to meet her folks.
The Spencers lived in Virginia Beach. Her father worked nearby, at the Oceana Naval Air Station. He was a Viet Nam veteran who held the rank of commander and had over 400 carrier landings under his belt. When Steven learned that he was currently involved with the P-3 Orion program, his nervousness quickly faded into a barrage of questions relating to the science of antisubmarine warfare. The two talked for hours, and Susan and her mother actually had to pry them apart just to get them to the dinner table.
One month later, Steven asked Susan to marry him, and she immediately accepted. One thing that they both agreed upon from the outset was that they would wart until Steven’s career was well online before having children. It was on the day that he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander that Sarah was conceived. And they were currently working on a brother for her.
“Finish with the packing yet?” asked Steven dreamily.
“The last trunk is nearly full,” said Susan with a sigh.
“Then how about going in and giving little Andrew one more try,” offered Steven.
Susan squeezed his hand and purred.
“I’d like that very much, sailor. I truly would.”
The dawn was all too soon in coming. With the bare light of the new day filtering into their bedroom, they once more made love, this time with an urgency that hinted at their inevitable parting. With the warm aftereffects of their shared passion still fresh on his mind, Steven reluctantly rose from their bed. As he stepped from the steaming hot shower, the aroma of strong coffee greeted him, he dressed himself in the freshly pressed set of khakis that he found hanging on the bathroom door.
Breakfast was a sad affair, with Sarah rattling on about her desire to go hiking with a flock of sheep once again, and the forlorn lovers silently staring at each other from across the kitchen table. Time seemed to fly by, and all too soon the suitcases were securely stowed inside the Rover’s boot. And the last thing Susan saw, as she left her home of the past two months, was the barely discernable, black upper hull of the USS Cheyenne, as it floated on the calm surface of the nearby loch.
“Be good to my man,” she whispered to the wind, as she ducked into the Rover, feeling almost as if she were handing Steven over to another woman.
The ferry that would take them to Gourock, the first leg of their long trip to America, was faithfully waiting at Dunoon’s main dock. Sarah was an avid sailor and couldn’t wait to board the sturdy vessel.
As she ran ahead to begin her exploration of the ship, Steven loaded their suitcases onto a trolley, which he handed over to a grizzled deckhand. He included a five pound note and strict instructions that once the ferry reached Gourock, the deckhand would make certain that both his family and their baggage found its way onto the train to Prestwick airport.
Steven Aldridge took his wife in his arms, and as sailors and their women have done from the first time that man went away to sea, they kissed, and cried, and parted, each to go their separate way until the fates willed them together again.
Steven waited on the docks until the ferry was well across the waters of the firth. He could still see images of Susan and Sarah gathered at the stern railing waving their goodbyes as he heavily turned to get on with his duty. His own sea bag lay in the Rover’s boot, and he sped through Dunoon, proceeding directly to Hunter’s Quay.
Two serious-faced Marine sentries, who most likely were participants in yesterday’s parade, thoroughly checked his I.D. before allowing him entry into the base itself. Aldridge returned their salute, and drove to the parking lot reserved for officers. He was fortunate to get down to the dock just as a launch was getting set to leave for the tender.
With thoughts of his family already slipping from his consciousness, Aldridge seated himself in the whaleboat’s bow and peered out at the massive tender that they were rapidly approaching. The USS Hunley’s distinctive squared hull was packed with equipment and dominated by a large crane. Sailors scurried over its deck, their efforts focused solely on caring for the needs of the partially submerged, black-hulled vessel that lay floating close beside it.
Several individuals could be seen gathered in the top of the Cheyenne’s relatively small sail, and Steven Aldridge felt as if he had been gone from his command for months, instead of a mere seven days.
Security concerns forced him to be dropped off on the Hunley, instead of right onto the Cheyenne’s deck.
As he climbed onto the tender, he had to pass the inspection of yet another duo of no-nonsense Marine sentries. One of these leathernecks held a German shepherd on a short steel leash. Stationed here to detect tect illegal drugs, the canine nonchalantly sniffed Steven’s seabag then backed away, signalling that he was free to continue on.
To get to the gangway leading to the Cheyenne,” he traversed a passageway that led him past a cavernous storeroom packed with spare parts, and a compartment holding one of the Hunley’s many fine machine shops. To the hiss of a welder’s torch, he climbed down a ladder, traded salutes with a trio of enlisted men, and began his way down an exterior corridor, whose ceiling was lined with snaking electrical cables.
One of the sailors who was busy working on a portion of this cable network was a young woman.
Interestingly enough, there were several hundred women on board the tender, making it one of the most integrated ships in the entire fleet.
A section of the Hunley’s railing had been removed and replaced with a covered gangway that led down toward the waterline. Alertly perched at the top of this gangway was a denim-clad sailor with a Browning combat shotgun at his side. The slightly built enlisted man had a bristly brown moustache, and Aldridge readily identified him.