at the landscape spotted with fog and pollution, at the distant white
figures of the various memorials scattered around Washington, D.C.
There was truth to what the senator said but it wasn’t the whole
story.
And if it were, then what did that say about the twenty-five years he’d
spent in the military?
Duty, honor, country. Those were things that mattered, not the
pork-barrel electioneering that Williams was engaged in. Not even his
own career mattered more than duty.
He wondered why he hadn’t seen that before, what should have been so
obvious to a man raised, educated, and tempered in the service of his
country.
In the beginning, he’d seen the Arsenal ship project as something good
for the Navy, an added capability that would give his country more
options in coping with shattered nations and turmoil around the
world.
He’d been proud to be one of the prime backers of the project, eager
even to show the political powers why this was the right project to
back.
When had that changed? He stared at the slimy senator opposite him and
wondered at what point and how he’d let himself be drawn away from the
honorable path and into a pattern of careerism and
self-aggrandizement.
What had happened to his honor?
It might be too late for him personally, but it wasn’t too late for the
Navy. To do the right thing, the honorable thing he felt a heavy
burden lift as he reached his decision.
He straightened his shoulders and turned to glare at the senator. “No
more private conversations. I’ve had it with you. And if it ruins my
career, so be it. Three stars ought to be enough for any man and they
will be for me if that’s what it takes.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you agree,” Williams snarled.
The admiral pushed a button located under the ledge of his desk. “Oh
yes you are.” He moved around the desk quickly and slipped a half
nelson on the senator before he could even react. Loggins shoved the
man’s head down until he was half bent over, then wrenched the
senator’s arm up behind him. With the senator completely under his
control, the admiral goose-stepped him across the deep blue carpet to
the door, opened it with his free hand, and shoved him into his
anteroom. “Come back when you can get a civil tongue in your head.
And when you understand what your job for this nation really is.”
The crowd of visitors, petitioners, and those with appointments waiting
in the anteroom gaped dumbfounded as Loggins slammed the door to his
office. One of them, a short, sandy-haired man carrying a large manila
envelope, stood up slowly. His boss expected him to use his best
judgment, and if ever it had been called for, the aide mused, it was
this situation. The budget information, the requests for information
on sailors, and the rest of the weekly packets the aide was bringing
over for the admiral’s attention could wait. He was certain that his
boss. Senator Dailey, would be much more interested in what he had
just witnessed in the anteroom.
1330 Local (+5 GMT) USS Arsenal Captain Heather leaned awkwardly
against the missile tube, supporting his weight on his one good leg.
Getting down here with the help of the boatswain’s mate had been a
bitch, but he’d done it; with this much on the line, there was no
substitute for firsthand knowledge. He knelt down on the dirty deck,
heedless of the damage- it was doing to his sharply pressed khaki
pants. He stared at the launch tube, only vaguely aware of the
engineering and weapons technicians around him. He ran one hand over
the smooth metal, feeling for damage. It was as though he could feel
straight through the metal, ascertain the delicate condition and
structural integrity of each tube without really seeing it.
“This one’s fine,” he said finally. He looked up at the chief engineer
and the weapons officer.
The engineer nodded. “I think so, too. That makes the figure about
eighty percent. Captain, maybe a bit more.”
The captain straightened, winced as his splinted leg complained
loudly.
The pain was getting worse sooner or later, he’d have to take the