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24
The crossingof the busy flightline of the USSTheodore Rooseveltfrom the C-2 Greyhound hadn’t been long enough for Susan to process the damage.
US aircraft carriers were supposed to be inviolable. No fleet carrier had been sunk since 1942. And the worst damage in modern times had been a couple of aircraft accidents. The carriers themselves had been almost untouched.
But the Island!
The front half of the upper three of seven stories was mostly missing. The back half a burned-out wreck—the fire must have been intense as she could see warping in the remaining steel. The hundred-foot-tall main radar mast mounted atop the superstructure tilted at an unnerving angle, thankfully to outboard rather than overhead, making the ship appear drunk. Wreckage was everywhere, shoved out of the way but everywhere except the flightlines.
The safety officer had given them all heavy earmuffs on landing and then escorted them to a rag-tag group of card tables close by the Island’s base.
“Commander Susan Piazza, requesting permission to come aboard.” She saluted the group as well as she could, but the shock was still too great. Her voice stumbled.
“Permission granted.”
There were no flights at the moment, so everyone’s earmuffs were shifted aside, but the noise was still horrendous. Broken planes, damaged with debris from above, were having fuel and ordnance removed. Others, already stripped, were being dragged toward an elevator to be shifted down to the Hangar Deck. Everything was in a barely controlled state of orchestrated chaos. And this was fourteen hoursafterthe incident. What had it been like half a day ago?
Susan hadn’t really focused on the group she’d been led to. The woman who had responded to her salute had brunette hair to her jaw, wore camo khakis and a Navy-blue t-shirt with no insignia.
“Aren’t we already aboard?” Miranda asked. “Should we have asked permission before stepping on the deck? I don’t like to be rude.”
“It’s how we do it in the Navy, Miranda. You’re fine.”
The woman at the table glanced at Sadie in her usual cross-shoulder pouch so that Susan could have her hands free. Dogs were strictly against regulations on ships, without special permission by the captain, but no one argued with Susan for long about her Shih Tzu. A dog on board didn’t appear to bother the woman.
“Would you like a briefing before or after I relinquish command?” the woman asked her.
“Relinquish command? Why would you do that?” Susan was missing something.
“You’re now senior officer on the boat.”
Susan brushed at the silver oakleaf on her collar points. “I am?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m only a commander, Captain.” Susan again looked at the Island and wondered quite how many had died up there to make this woman the ranking officer.
“I’m only alieutenantcommander, Commander. I’m LC Penny Brightman.”
“I work in communications,ActingCaptain Brightman.”
“Shit! Sorry, Commander Piazza. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“I’ve heard worse. Where are the rest of the command crew?” Then Susan glanced up and behind Brightman, but turned away quickly. So wrong! Is that where the captain had been? Perhaps still was?
Acting Captain Brightman’s deadpan look answered that question.
“No one?” There should be twenty or more officers above a lieutenant commander.
“Not that we’ve found.”
Susan looked down at the array of tables. Actual missiles and sections of steel weighting them in place against the wind blasts of jets maneuvering about the deck. Rough drawings of the ship covered with ammunition and popsicle sticks. Another table of radios. And the one in front of the captain had pages of scrawled notes and sketches, bearing numerous cross-outs for changing situations. Amazing.
“Are you operational?”
In response, one of the radiomen shouted, “Guard your ears.”
Susan turned to make sure that everyone had their earmuffs in place. They did.
