This was the first time he’d seen the silver service laid out. The old metal glowed with a soft light. The dishes were finer china than the heavy, thick wardroom settings. The food, though, would be straight from the crew’s mess — jerk chicken, steamed green beans, brown rice, butterscotch ice cream — laid out by CSSN Longley. Dan’s culinary specialist stood half at attention by the galley door, in a white jacket for once without food stains. The evening’s guests were Blair, in a green sequined one-shoulder sheath that sparkled as she moved; Cheryl Staurulakis; Commodore Roald; and Dr. William Noblos, the acerbic, nay-saying rider from the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab. Also, the commanding officer of Naval Station Souda Bay, Captain Nichols Blomqvist, and his opposite number on the Greek side, Captain Photios Stergiou, Hellenic Navy. They were in service dress blue. Stergiou handed over a bottle of wine with a smirk. Knowing, no doubt, that U.S. ships were dry. Dan thanked him and set it aside.
Circulating, he got involved in a discussion of the cracks in the superstructure with Blomqvist and Roald. Ticonderogas were aluminum from the main deck up, for lightness, but the whole class had been subject to cracks. His inspection had located two. “My welders tell me you’ll be ready to go in a day or two, Commodore, Captain,” the shipyard commander assured them. “Do you have sailing orders yet?”
Dan deferred to Roald, who murmured, “Expecting them any day.”
“Back to the protection-of-Israel mission?”
She glanced at Dan, who cleared his throat. “Um, actually, the Israelis seem to have a pretty good handle on the ABM role now. Iron Dome. Patriot, for the terminal phase. And their new Arrow system, for midcourse intercept.” He swirled his glass of alcohol-free pineapple-and-Sprite punch.
“So you might deploy elsewhere?”
The commodore sidestepped the question. Dan understood why; Blomqvist should’ve known better than to ask. Stationing of the Navy’s sole antiballistic missile asset was decided at the National Command level, Pentagon or West Wing. As his wife had pointed out that morning, it wasn’t just a military question anymore.
When he glanced around, Blair, on the settee, had crossed those long legs she was famous for. The Greek couldn’t look away. “And this lovely lady, she is spoken for?… Oh, the captain’s wife. How unfortunate. I mean, for me.” He bent to kiss her hand. Blair shot Dan a mischievous smile over Stergiou’s bent back. He took a seat next to her, but spoke to Dan. “I understand you have a Greek exec.”
“That’s her over there, speaking to Dr. Noblos. Tall guy with white hair. Actually Staurulakis is her married name. She’s not Greek by birth.”
They were starting on the salad when someone tapped at the door. A face showed at the circular view port. Longley hesitated, glancing at Dan, who nodded.
It was the duty radioman — the rate was IT now, information technician, but everybody still called them radiomen — cradling a clipboard. Routine messages came over e-mail via the ship’s network. Important or time-sensitive ones got walked directly to the CO. Dan rose. “Excuse me, please.”
“Sir? There’s also a message for the commodore.”
“Both of us?” Roald got up too, smooth forehead furrowing.
In the passageway, door closed, the radioman handed each of them a clipboard. The same message, apparently, addressed to Roald as squadron commander, Dan as commanding officer.
After a moment Roald murmured, “Dan… I’m sorry.”
He sighed, finishing the terse sentences. Captain Daniel V. Lenson, United States Navy, was to turn over command of USS Savo Island and report as soon as possible to the CNO’s office in Washington. A flight would be scheduled from Akrotiri in a separate message.
The door cracked, eased open, and a shining blond head emerged. “Something important?”
“Blair. I’ve been, uh, ordered back to Washington.”
“Oh, no, Dan. No.”
Roald put her hand on his forearm, but didn’t say anything. He took a deep breath, fighting for control. “Guess I thought… but it’s not something I didn’t expect. Just figured it would happen faster. And when it didn’t… well, never mind.”
“I’ll get your… placeholder aboard tomorrow morning. We can helo him in,” Roald said. “But this doesn’t sound like a relief for cause, Dan.”
“It’s hard to tell,” Blair put in. She took Dan’s clipboard and squinted at it. “It doesn’t say, temporary or permanent?”
Roald shook her head. Dan took the clipboard back and read it again. The words didn’t change. Bitterness seeped in, but he quelled it, lifting his chin. “Anyway, it’s been a good command. A good ship.”
“You’re leaving her better than you found her,” Roald murmured. “And as far as I can see, you fought her beautifully. Maybe they just want to pick your brain about tactics.”
“They’d send somebody out to interview the Aegis team, or recall Bill Noblos, for that. I’m afraid… Oh well.” He jotted jerky initials and handed the clipboard back.
“Want me to help you pack?” Blair said.
“Not that much to get ready, actually.” Her dress threw green smears of light in the darkened passageway. He drew her close, then remembered where he was and let her go.
“I’ll get back to our guests,” Roald said. She handed her clipboard to the messenger, and opened the stateroom door. Murmured over one shoulder, “Let me know if you need anything. Just for the record… whatever happens in DC, your detachment fitness report from me will be two-blocked, Dan.”
“Thanks, Commodore.”
“Jenn. Make it Jenn.”
He nodded, something in his throat hinting he’d better not trust his voice. It was the first time he’d ever heard her say anything not strictly objective. Blair was still clinging to his arm. He cleared his throat. “Well… we can fly home together, I guess.”
“Actually, I think I’ll stay with my original reservation. Keep the room tonight, and fly back commercial Tuesday. It’s always a hassle, trying to deal with the military flights as a dependent.”
No, probably not that appealing, after being the equivalent of a three-star in the Department of Defense leadership. “Yeah,” he said unwillingly. “Okay. Whatever.”
“Do you want a moment?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
Alone in the passageway, he braced his arms against the bulkhead, feeling through his bones the faint hum of a live ship. He’d barely gotten to know her. Her foibles, her capabilities, the little things that made her different from all the rest. Now someone else would sit on her bridge. It didn’t seem fair. As far as he could see, he’d made the only decision possible.
“Good-bye,” he told her, lips barely moving. Knowing it was sentimental, silly, talking to a mindless thing of metal and fuel and electronics as if it were alive.
Ridiculous, really.
But to a Navyman, it felt right.
I
THE DOCTRINE
2
He took the Metro in. It was all right at first, but he had a bad moment coming off the subway up into the Mall. He’d expected security barriers, and there were more, but the gift shop and florist and candy store were still there, though the bookstore was gone. The bright lights were the same, and the wide, brightly lit, thronged corridors, filled with uniforms, nearly all hurrying, except for the civilian employees. Three men and a woman stood holding signs by the Taco Belclass="underline" the janitorial staff was on strike. Behind them trash was piled high, and shattered glass lay scattered across scuffed tiles.…