At 1400 hours, 2 p.m., on a bright afternoon, everyone aboard felt it, a soft but distinct bumping below the hull. There wasn’t a sudden cheer. It was like watching a basketball game when the guy for your side just threw what could be the game winning shot. You hold your breath, not wanting to distract him.
Ashley was on the bridge.
“How’s our depth, Jim?” she asked the OOD.
“Perfect, Captain,” said the OOD, smiling, “300 feet. No Ma’am, we’re not going aground!”
Suddenly it was pitch dark. Yes, yes, yes could be heard throughout the ship.
After two minutes, the darkness returned to daylight.
The reaction on the California was not a crowd reaction. It was 630 individual reactions. Some screamed. Some prayed. Some cried. Some laughed. Some danced. All reached for their cell phones.
Medical Officer Perino stood next to Jordan’s body writing a Death Certificate for his friend. Jordan sat up and shouted, “What was that, did we go aground?”
“Are you okay, Bill?” asked Perino, as he dropped his clip board to the deck, his eyes like saucers.
“I feel great. What am I doing here?”
Any crew member of the Coast Guard Cutter Gallatin who was standing on the starboard side of the ship yelled, in unison, “Holy shit!” as if it were an official greeting.
There, not 200 yards off the Gallatin’s starboard beam, was the USS California. Hester, the Gallatin’s Captain, laughed. Then he cried. Then he laughed again. He grabbed his phone and made a call to Naval Operations at the Pentagon, a call he thought he would never make.
“Frank,” he shouted to the NavOps Duty Officer, with whom he had become friends in the last few hours, “the USS California, I say again, the USS fucking California, is steaming 200 yards off our starboard beam!” Orzo ran to Fran Talierco’s screen. There was that lovely blip they’d been looking for over the last seven hours.
Chapter 95
A story in the world of 24-hour news cycles takes on a life of its own. With live TV newsfeeds available as apps on various computers, smart phones, and tablets, word gets out fast. The debris of the first plane to hit the World Trade Center had not yet hit the ground when the event became THE STORY.
News stories, like the stories in novels, can break different ways. There can be tragedy, as in a natural disaster or a plane crash. There can be heroism, where an individual or group saves the day. There are courtroom dramas, which, like sporting events, are riveting because we don’t know the outcome. The same can be said of political elections. There are scandals, which we love because they’re so shocking. Of course, there are war stories. Vietnam, the first “TV war,” was a story that was with us for five years, Afghanistan and Iraq for over 10.
But there is one kind of story that the world loves, a story of someone or some group that’s lost and in peril. When stories like that have happy endings, it’s as if the world has been given a treat. It’s a report that makes you want to clasp your hands, call a friend, fist pump the air, or shed a tear.
The safe return of the USS California was a story like that, a story like the lost baby who is found safe, or the injured hero who makes it home. It gave the world a break from the daily yada yada of life, and let everyone, if only for a short while, be happy.
TV news producers, writers and anchors had a special reason to be happy. They were happy because the BIG STORY had now broken down into a zillion small ones to talk about, angles to look at, people to interview, experts to book. The big story of the California was no longer one of finding creative ways to say, “nothing new to report.” It had now become, in a matter of hours, a story that could be its own TV series.
There was an even bigger reason for the news industry to be happy about the California incident. An 11,000 ton warship disappears for seven hours, and nobody knows why, or if they do, they’re not saying.
Now, that’s a story.
Chapter 96
Ashley realized that there was a detail she forgot to think about. Her last orders were to proceed to Charleston Harbor, South Carolina and participate in the Fort Sumter reenactment ceremonies on April 12, two days from now, now being the year 2013.
Ashley called Naval Operations at the Pentagon. Duty Officer Orzo answered the phone. “Naval Operations, Lieutenant Commander Orzo speaking.”
“This is Captain Patterson of the California. How are you this afternoon, Commander?”
Orzo’s last few stressful hours were taking their toll on his nerves.
“Holy shit!” said Orzo. “Excuse me, Captain, I mean Wow, I mean fuckin’ A, I mean I think I better patch you in to the Chief of Naval Operations.”
Admiral Roughead answered the call.
“I suppose, Captain, if I ask you where you’ve been, you’re going to tell me it’s a long story,” said Roughead.
Ashley bit her hand, and managed to let out a respectful chuckle. What she was inclined to do was collapse on the floor in hysterical laughter.
“Yes, Admiral, it is a long story, and I’m sure I’m going to be telling it to you very soon.”
Roughead said that he wanted her to give him a short explanation for now.
Ashley knew that if she said they went through a time portal, arrived at the beginning of the Civil War, hung around with Abraham Lincoln, kicked Confederate butt at Bull Run, and all that, he would think she was an insubordinate wise ass.
“We encountered a very strange sea anomaly off Charleston Harbor, Admiral, which affected our navigation and communications ability,” Ashley said.
“But just tell me how you could have disappeared from our communications, radar and satellite systems,” said Roughead.
“Sir,” said Ashley, “I don’t have an answer for that. We will need to do a lot more investigating.” Ashley knew that she had just told the Admiral the absolute truth. She did not have the foggiest idea how a wormhole works. He seemed mollified by her answer, if only temporarily.
“Admiral, as you know we’re scheduled to be in Charleston Harbor the day after tomorrow, after which we are to deploy to the Persian Gulf for six months. If I may, Sir, I recommend that we return to the California’s homeport in Norfolk.”
“Captain,” said Roughead, “the thought of deploying a ship that disappeared for no reason is just not on my radar screen. Yes, set your course for Norfolk. Future deployments are on hold.”
Chapter 97
As soon as Ashley got off the phone with Admiral Roughead, she walked quickly to her office to meet with Father Rick and Jack. The three of them huddled around Ashley’s computer screen.
“Destination, Wikipedia,” said Father Rick.
They were nervous, armpit moistening nervous. They had just spent four months in another century and actively intervened in the Civil War. They all had a list of items they wanted to look up.
Father Rick typed in “USS California.” There was the standard Wikipedia history of the California. Date of launch, gross tonnage, length, weapons. The article mentioned that Ashley is the current captain. Nothing about disappearing on April 10, 2013. “They probably haven’t updated the article yet,” Said Father Rick.