“Admiral, Congressman La Blanc, distinguished guests… the Kasson family… the Honorable Blair Titus… Ladies and gentlemen.
“It gives me great pleasure to be here on this occasion: the accession to the fleet of a new warship, named after a hero I personally had the privilege to lead. Naming this ship after her is an honor to all the enlisted men and women who have made the Navy and Marine Corps what it is today: not only the largest, and the most powerful, but the most respected armed force in the world.
“You will hear a great deal today about the capabilities, armaments, and sensors of this new warship, built to survive and prevail in a hostile electronic environment. The Navy considers these new destroyers its most capable surface combatants. They incorporate advanced geometries and construction materials, to reduce the likelihood of enemy targeting. This tough, survivable ship will venture into high-threat areas to conduct antiair, antisubmarine, antisurface, and inland strike operations. Its designers and builders deserve the highest praise.
“But I will not dwell on that. Instead, I want to talk about the woman this ship is to be named after: Engineman Gas Turbine Mechanic Third Class Cobie Kasson.
“You will hear the official citation which awarded the Navy Cross to Petty Officer Kasson read later in this ceremony. To put it in perspective, she and I — we — were deployed off the coast of Egypt to intercept a suspicious trawler. Unknown to anyone, its hull was packed with explosives. When it detonated close aboard, the shock wave ruptured essential propulsion and machinery, rendering us dead in the water and with rapid progressive flooding.
“As part of the damage-control team, Petty Officer Kasson heroically fought to preserve ship and shipmates. Even after sustaining injuries, she continued to attempt to close the firemain suction valve, located under swiftly rising water. At last, she succeeded. At the cost of her own life. But she saved her shipmates. Greater love hath no man — and no woman — than she give up her life for her friends.
“The ship Cobie and I had the honor to serve on lies across the Elizabeth River, only a few miles from where we sit today. It testifies that even in times we regarded as peace, others intended war. The attack on Horn, as well as those on the Marine barracks in Beirut and on USS Cole, marked the beginning of the Global War on Terror. USS Cobie Kasson will be part of that war and, in her thirty-year life span, many other actions and operations as well. The thousands of officers, men, and women who will serve aboard her in decades to come will continue the tradition of their namesake.
“In the years I’ve served, the Navy has changed from a blue-water force, designed to prevail against the Soviet surface and undersea fleet, to a force designed to project power inland in support of national and international goals. It is evolving again now to protect us and our allies from ballistic missiles carrying weapons of mass destruction. USS Kasson will stand at the forefront of this new mission.
“I want to say, finally, again, how honored I am to be here for this ceremony. I share the pride of the Kasson family. The officers and enlisted are fortunate to serve under such an experienced, highly trained commanding officer. I wish him and all the crew good luck and good sailing.”
That was all; he’d run out of words. But still, they seemed inadequate. He looked across the sunlit, sparkling river, out over the still-expectant faces. Took a deep breath, and tried one last time.
“A commissioning ceremony accepts a ship into the operating forces of the Navy. When we break the pennant, in a few moments, and the crew boards, she’ll ‘come alive’ as a United States ship. Joining a roster that stretches back to the earliest days of our independence, in a chain that will extend for centuries into the future.
“Cobie Elizabeth Kasson is immortal now. She will always be a link in that chain as the ship bearing her name goes out into the seas of the world, to keep the peace and secure us against aggression.”
When he looked down Cobie’s mother, in the front row, had her face buried in her handkerchief. But the daughter stared straight up at him, skepticism, remoteness, in her doubtful frown.
They were booked into the flag suite at the Navy Lodge on Hampton Boulevard that night. Dinner with the commissioning party, hosted by the Navy League, at the Abbey, downtown. He begged off early, making sure to shake hands and say good night to La Blanc. Their escort dropped them back at the Lodge. After which he and Blair argued again, this time over something so inconsequential — the way he’d parked the car, so a bush had snagged her dress and almost torn it, when she got out — that even he realized that wasn’t what they were really arguing about.
He didn’t know how to respond. Was it the pressure of campaigning? His own recalcitrance and absence, like she said? In the room, he opened the little fridge, hoping for a Diet Coke, and found himself facing the ranked shining jewels of single servings. Whiskey. Brandy. Vodka. Shining like liquid platinum, liquid bronze, liquid gold. They even had his old favorite, Cutty Sark. He started to reach for it. Then redirected his hand, to the soft drink.
The book-swap shelves in the lobby had held a worn copy of Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August. He was swallowing the last of the cola, stepping out of his white trou for a shower while reading the back cover, when the phone rang. “Can you get that?” Blair murmured, looking into the mirror over a desk she’d converted to a dressing table as she stripped her bra off. She was turned away, but he could still make out the burns and scars. He sighed and picked up the phone. “Yeah?”
“Captain Lenson? Will you hold for Edward Szerenci?”
“Is that for me?” Blair murmured.
He covered the mouthpiece. “No. For me. It’s… the national security adviser.”
“Szerenci? What does he want?”
“I don’t know. You know he used to be my teacher, at George Washington.”
“And he’s now on their side. Be very careful, Dan.”
“Dan? Dan Lenson?” A sharp, rapid, accented voice. Devoid of all doubt or self-questioning.
“Yes sir. Hello, Professor.”
“Heard you were in town. Or at least, in country. Where are you now?”
“Norfolk, sir. At a commissioning ceremony.”
“You’re going to testify. House Armed Services.”
“Correct, sir. Wednesday.”
“I’d like to meet up before then. Can you stop by my office?”
He covered the mouthpiece again. “He wants me to stop by. Before I appear.”
“No. You’re busy.”
“Uh, well, sir, my time’s scheduled pretty solid before then. A murder board, and—”
“I know about the board. How about just before you go in to testify? I’ll have my people set it up. Good to talk, Dan. I remember your paper on Tomahawk in the first-strike role. It’s been too long.”
Dan started to protest, but found himself instead talking to a pleasant-voiced woman. They made the arrangements, then hung up. He stared out the window, at salmon-colored streetlights, the passing cars of a late Norfolk night. This whole area had been Fiddler’s Green. Pawnshops, tailor shops, strip joints, locker clubs. Now the base sprawled south and east until it was running up against the hospital and the university. The rowdy honky-tonks were gone, the locker clubs and used-car lots. What did it mean? Maybe just that things would always change, that you couldn’t hold on to anything.
Her voice, still with that underlying sullenness. “Did you want the shower first?”
“I guess so.” He felt sweaty and unclean, prey to a deep, sourceless unease. Taking a deep breath, he went into the bathroom and closed the door.