CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

normal. Everyone left Bird Dog alone.

1045 Local (+5 GMT) USS Arsenal “We’re still afloat, if that’s what you

mean.” Captain Heather’s voice sounded infinitely weary. “Damage

control is still de-smoking and dewatering the ship, but I don’t think

we’re in any imminent danger of sinking. At least I hope we’re not.”

He ran one hand over his face, rubbing wearily at the skin that seemed

to sag on his cheeKbones. his leg had been hastily splinted, and he

held it out in front of him as he squirmed in his command chair. If

the corpsman had had his way, the captain would be down on the mess

decks with the other casualties right now.

The voice over the speaker was in marked contrast to the way the

captain felt. Two days ago, it could have been him.

There was a cool, calm note of command in it, the very choice of words

and expressions denoting absolute confidence in the ability of the

battle group to take this war to the enemy’s homeland. “And your

operational capabilities?”

Captain Heather forced down a small spike of anger.

Admiral Magruder knew that there were dead sailors on his ship, men

still waiting on the mess decks for medical attention. The admiral was

just asking what he had to know, needed to know and had a right to

know: How capable was the Arsenal ship of being a part of the battle

plan?

“Most of the electronics are fine,” he answered, striving for

professionalism. God, it was hard, when he’d just come back from

visiting the wounded and dead on the decks below. “What was damaged we

can bypass. The structural integrity of the launch tubes is another

matter. I think we have some damage we won’t really know until we try

to op-test them.”

“I don’t have to tell you we don’t have time for you to return to port

and do that,” Magruder said slowly. The captain stared at the speaker

as the admiral paused. “Give me your best guess. We’ll plan around

it.”

The captain sucked in a sharp breath. “Admiral, the missile-launching

capabilities of this ship are honeycombed together in the forward and

aft parts of the ship even along the gangplanks, in some cases. If one

cell is defective, it could pose a major fire hazard for us. Without

shipyard-level testing, I can’t be sure.”

“It you’re looking for certainties, you’re in the wrong business. And

I don’t think you are. There was a reason the Navy put you in command

of Arsenal, and I suspect it’s because you’re superbly qualified for

the position. This is why you get paid the big bucks. Captain. Or

are you going to take the easy way out and declare your ship a total

casualty?”

“I need to get back to you. Admiral,” the captain said, his voice

frostily neutral. “Give me two hours. I’ll have a complete

operational damage assessment for you then. And my decision as to

whether there’s any chance at all we can still launch safely.”

“That will have to do,” the admiral said. “Make it sooner if you

can.”

The circuit dissolved into a smooth hiss of static, the connection

broken. The captain slammed the receiver down and jolted upright in

his seat, slamming his hand into his open palm. After a few minutes,

his anger became determination.

As much as he hated to admit it, the admiral was right.

The USS Arsenal was out here for one purpose to demonstrate the

operational capabilities of a platform so far advanced over anything

else the Navy had ever designed that it would change the shape of

battles to come. And if it couldn’t survive a hit from the most

primitive of naval weapons, an underwater mine, and continue fighting,

then it might not be worth all the money that had been sunk into the

program. It was up to him to demonstrate that now, one way or the

other. He owed that to the men who’d died, to the men who’d lived, and

to his country.

He could do it. He was convinced of that now. It was just a matter of

making his crew believe that their ship could do it, too.

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