“Up yours. He’s a quartermaster third. Had the duty up on the bridge tonight.”
“Yeah? They let him drive? Shit. What a crappy hand. Gimme three.”
“Raise you ten.” Benedict studied his cards. “So what’s the gouge?” “Gouge” was Navyese for straight information, shipboard scuttlebutt that carried the ring of authenticity.
“Ah, he was standin’ by when Admiral Gone let slip what he really thinks of us.”
Gilkey laughed. *’Going, going, gone.” The rhyming play on Vaughn’s name was a popular one with the enlisted men aboard. “So? What’d he say?”
“Only that we don’t count for shit. Raise you a quarter.”
“See you and another two bits too. Shit. That’s officers for you.”
“In.”
“All officers aren’t bad,” Howard said. “See you and raise you four bits.”
“Hey, the hero’s gettin’ serious.”
“Heavy bettin’, yeah. Just remember, Tiger. Officers don’t care a rat’s ass about you or anybody else with thirteen buttons on their blues.”
ARUAGEDOON MODE
135
“What about Commander Magruder?”
“Who?” Benedict squinted over his cigar. “Oh, the other hero. Our ace of aces. What about him?”
“He seems like a good guy.”
“Yeah, an’ you notice he got canned,” Reid said. “Scuttlebutt is he shot before he got permission. Bad move for the upwardly mobile career-minded, y’know?”
“The good ‘uns always get the short end.” Gilkey sighed. ‘ ‘Crap. What kind of fuckin’ cards you handin’ out over there, Ben?”
“My own special brand. So what do the airedales say, Reid? We gonna fight the Indians or not?”
“Shit, I’m not mad at anybody,” Gilkey said. “Aw, fuck. I’m out. Anyhow, what the Indies ever do to me?”
“Shot at us, is what,” Reid replied. “Raise you a quarter, Ben. Word is, they’re gonna hit us again. Soon.”
“Ah, bull crap,” Howard said. He’d become more adept during the past months at separating fact from fancy during interminable enlisted discussions that ranged from sex to Navy life to liberty ports to sex again. ‘ ‘No one knows that. Not even the officers. Raise a quarter.”
“What I heard was the Russkies have it all planned.” Gilkey leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’ve been working undercover-like, to get close to us. Then . . . bam!”
“Shit,” Benedict said. “What for?”
“I hear they’d like a close look at one of our Aegis ships,” Reid said. “And there’s ol’ Vicksburg, just sittin’ over there.”
Howard shook his head. “You guys are full of shit. They might like a good look at how she works in action, sure, but it’s the Indies who are out to get us, not the Russkies!”
“Aw, just jerkin’ your chain, kid. Call it. What you got?”
“Two pair,” Benedict said. “A pair of queens . . . and another pair of queens.”
“Son of a bitch.” Reid dropped the cards. “Fuckin’ conspiracy, man.”
“Nah.” Benedict raked in the change. “Just teachin’ Tiger there how to make his way in the world. Watcha say. Again?”
“Do it.” Reid started shuffling. “My deal this time. Maybe it should be my cards.”
“All I can say is that this deployment is royally fucked,”
136
Keith Douglass
Gilkey observed. “I don’t think one gold stripe on this ship knows what the hell he’s doing.”
“Too long at sea,” Benedict agreed. “You can feel it, man. Every guy aboard is stretched out like a piano wire.”
“Shit,” Howard said as Reid began thumbing cards off the deck. “So what do you care? We don’t count, remember?”
Gilkey’s observation about the ship’s officers, though, was unnerving. Despite the company of the others, it left Howard feeling very much alone.
CHAPTER 13
1500 hours EST, 25 March (0130 hours, 26 March, India time) White House Press Room
Admiral Magruder stood backstage with a number of other presidential aides and advisors, as well as the ever-present Secret Service men with their wire microphones and searching, emotionless expressions. From the off-stage wings behind the curtains, he listened and watched as the President conducted his press conference. He’d already delivered his speech, announcing to the world the Indian attack on U.S. Navy ships, and now he was fielding questions from the reporters who packed the press room. Batteries of lights flooded the President and the banks of microphones on the stage lectern before him with their glare. Steadicams, each bearing a different logo of a TV networks or news service, were trained on him, and there was a steady whirr and click in the background as camera shutters were triggered.