“This is Lima Juliette, go ahead Tango Xray.”
“Please advise the Captain that we’re returning to the ship, ETA 20 minutes”
“Roger, Tango Xray, Lima Juliette out.”
They knew they were heading for a debriefing. A debriefing that may change history, Conroy thought.
Chapter 7
When they returned to the ship, Conroy and his fellow SEALs were ordered to report to the Captain’s office. Besides the SEALs and Captain Patterson, the others present were Executive Officer Phil Bradley and all department heads. Captain Patterson also invited Commander Rick Sampson, the ship’s chaplain. Ashley and Chaplain Sampson were long-time friends. He was a history buff, like her, and she wanted his input into the bizarre events of the last few hours.
“Lieutenant Conroy, please proceed and tell us about your findings ashore.”
“Captain, I’ve assembled my notes and will write out a more detailed report, but we can give you a good idea of what happened now while it’s fresh in our minds. I’m going to ask my men to jump in and add anything that I may have missed.”
Conroy reviewed their few hours ashore. He discussed the period costumes, the lack of anything electrical or electronic, the absence of motor vehicles, and the architecture, which was nothing like modern photos of Charleston. He reported the burglary of the clothing which he deemed a mission necessity. He also discussed Chief Petty Officer Jackson’s encounter with the attackers and his need to dispatch them. Chief Jackson answered a few questions about the incident. Conroy then handed Captain Patterson the newspaper that Juarez found, with the headline, “War Talks Grow Louder.”
“Petty Officer Smith was here in Charleston five months ago to visit his cousin,” Conroy said. “I believe I mentioned that before we left. I’ll ask Smitty to fill you in on what he saw today and what he saw five months ago.”
Smith recounted his futile search for his cousin’s apartment, telling them about the familiar building that was a condo complex five months ago and is now a warehouse. He also discussed the Cooper River Bridge, the most prominent structure in Charleston, which has simply disappeared.
“Lieutenant Conroy, please give us a one sentence conclusion of your findings,” Captain Patterson said.
Conroy took a deep breath and came right to the point. “Captain, today is not April 11, 2013, but April 11, 1861.” Every SEAL in the room nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Frank,” the Captain said to Conroy, “I’m sure that you and your guys realize that what you just said is absurd. Science fiction is just that, fiction. We live in a real world that wants real explanations. Please defend your conclusion.”
“Captain, we talked about this on our way back to the ship. We all agreed that the people we saw and met are either the greatest actors in the world, or they’re for real. We wondered if we just witnessed a big conspiracy or practical joke, with everyone in on the joke except us. But one thing is beyond a doubt and has nothing to do with our opinions: those buildings that we saw in the photos of modern Charleston, which I can verify from my previous visits here, and which Petty Officer Smith confirmed from his visit five months ago, did not tear themselves down and somehow get rebuilt as nineteenth-century structures. That beautiful new bridge is nowhere to be seen. We have plenty of photos and video clips from our phones. It’s simply unbelievable that the ‘reenactors’ could have hidden all evidence of electrical outlets and electric gear. Also, when Petty Officer Giordano and I were talking to that guy I mentioned, he had never heard of President Barack Obama. He wasn’t acting; he never heard of our president.”
Giordano chimed in and said that the expression on the man’s face was simple honesty, not an act. Others talked about the chatter they heard referring to Abraham Lincoln.
“Captain,” Conroy concluded, “tomorrow is April 12, 1861. Fort Sumter will be bombarded, and the Civil War will begin.”
Ashley knew that she had to communicate to the entire crew. Scuttlebutt is the Navy term for gossip. The word is derived from the cask of drinking water on old ships, around which sailors gathered to sip water and exchange information. Unless she talked directly to the crew there would soon be scuttlebutt that the ship went through a nuclear event or worse. She would address the crew at 0800.
The salty shrill tweet of the boatswain’s pipe rang through every compartment on the ship. “Attention all hands, attention all hands, stand by for Captain Ashley Patterson.”
Ashley leaned into the microphone. “Good morning. By now every crew member of the California has heard about the strange event that occurred early yesterday morning. You are aware that we have no Internet access or cell phone service. We’ve also lost satellite navigation, ship-to-ship as well as ship-to-shore communications, except for two-way radio. All other shipboard systems are operational, including radar and sonar. A few hours ago I sent a SEAL reconnaissance team ashore to investigate and report their findings. They have reported back. Based on their report, including photographic evidence, I have come to a conclusion and the heads of all departments agree: In some way that we don’t understand, we find ourselves in April 11, 1861. We have gone back in time 152 years. If our conclusion is correct, tomorrow Fort Sumter will be fired on, and the Civil War will begin. I will update you as we learn more. That is all.”
The ship was silent, as if in prayer.
Chapter 8
The Chaplain of the USS California, Father Rick Sampson, graduated from The University of Michigan in 1983, and received a doctorate from Yale Divinity School. As an Episcopal priest he had looked forward to a parish assignment where he would enjoy a career tending to a flock in his home state of Iowa. A friend from Yale suggested that a flock that always needs tending is the one aboard a Navy ship. Father Rick decided to give it a try and first reported for duty aboard the USS Independence in July of 1984. He loved the Navy from the start, and agreed with his friend that sailors were a flock in need of spiritual care. Like many a Navy chaplain, Father Rick was a hit with the crew. Most of them call him Padre when addressing him, the traditional Navy term for chaplain. Among his many talents he plays a great guitar, and loves nothing more than jamming with the crew. Besides his friendliness, what crewmembers especially like about Father Rick is that he’s a man they can confide in when they need help, that special kind of help that’s needed on long tours of sea duty. He’s tall, broad shouldered, burly, and has a galvanic laugh. The normal expression on his face is a smile. His rank is commander, but his personality is that of a friendly neighbor, one you can turn to. According to people who know him, Father Rick is also a student of almost everything. He doesn’t so much read as devour books. His special love is history, specifically the American Civil War. He wrote two books on religious observances during the Civil War, and he’s appeared as a consultant in the credits of dozens of history books.
Father Rick is also good friends with his commanding officer, Ashley Patterson. Both Episcopalians, the two officers hit it off since they first met at the Pensacola Naval Air Station in 1989. Ashley and her late husband Felix dined often with Father Rick and his wife Janet. They all shared a love of history. When Ashley Patterson took command of the California, she was happy to find that her long-time friend was the ship’s chaplain.