Scorpion in the Sea

TWENTY-NINE

Mike walked rapidly down the waterfront towards the Group Twelve headquarters building. The piers were darkened by the bulk of gray warships tied alongside as he passed from the light of one amber halogen streetlight to the next. The Squadron duty officer had met Goldsborough when she tied up and relayed the message that Group wanted a final debrief from the Captain upon Goldsborough’s arrival. He had said that the Group public affairs officer had been told to wait around until he had seen Goldsborough’s Commanding Officer. Mike had wanted to talk to the Commodore before seeing anyone at the Group, but the Commodore was at sea grading an engineering trial on another ship, and would not be in until tomorrow afternoon. Mike had asked the duty officer if the public affairs officer could come over to the ship, but the duty officer had recommended Mike go over there.

“He said he couldn’t come over to the ship,” the young Lieutenant had said. “There might be something else going on, because he said the Admiral and the Chief of Staff were still in the office.”

That changed everything. Mike had done a quick shift into a fresh uniform and headed for the white headquarters building as soon as the brow was over. If the heavies were staying late because of Goldsborough, Mike did not want to be the cause of any further night hours.

But when he arrived at the headquarters he was surprised to find a great deal of activity. Most of the offices were still open, and a number of staff officers were coming and going. The Group staff yeoman at the front desk gave him the news that there had been a collision between one of the carriers and a replenishment ship, and that there had been considerable damage and a number of personnel casualties. Mike acknowledged this news with a grimace; a collision at sea was always nasty business. He did feel a momentary and almost guilty sense of relief that all the commotion was not about Goldy.

The yeoman pointed him in the direction of the PAO’s office. He walked down the hall, acknowledging the greetings of two staff officers who were headed into the Admiral’s office. Mike knew that Captain Martinson’s office was right next to the Admiral’s office. As he walked past the two executive suites he hoped that he could just make his report to the PAO and get out of there without having to see Martinson or the Admiral.

He found the PAO’s office at the end of the hall. The PAO, a tall, thin Lieutenant Commander who needed a haircut, was on the phone. He waved to Mike and indicated a chair. From the conversation Mike deduced that the PAO was talking to his counterpart at the Navy headquarters staff in Norfolk. He waited patiently for the conversation to end.

“There,” said Lieutenant Commander Fishburne, banging the phone down onto its receiver. “Norfolk is just about as much of a pain in the neck as the so-called working press. You heard about the Coral Sea?”

“Just now,” replied Mike. “How bad is it?”

“Well, first reports aren’t terrific. They were alongside the Susquehanna, and the oiler lost power. They drifted apart initially but then came back together, side to side, with the oiler scraping her way down Coral Sea’s starboard side. Some fuel hoses parted and started a fire, and some guys were knocked over the side from the oiler, and a helo on the number one elevator was also knocked overboard with a flight deck crew inside. So we’re gonna be here awhile; the press already has it, and the families are starting in on us now.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. My phantom submarine seems like pretty tame stuff compared to all that.”

The PAO gave him a twisted grin. “Only as long as you didn’t find one.”

“You got my last sitrep — this morning?”

“Yes, Sir. We put out a final statement to the local press at noon, and hopefully terminated the whole thing. Unless you’ve got something to add to that—”

“Nope,” said Mike quickly, getting up. “And you’ve got your hands full here, it looks like. I’ll just get back to my ship.”

The PAO stood up also.

“Thanks for coming over, Cap’n; normally I would have come to you, but—”

He stopped as the phone began to ring again. Mike waved goodbye and left the office. He went down the long hallway and out the side exit in order to avoid going past the executive suites again. He was walking through the darkened Group Twelve parking lot when a voice called to him out of the darkness.

“Hello, Stranger.”

Mike turned to see Diane Martinson smiling at him from the front left window of the Volvo. He made a quick course change and walked over to the car.

“I see you’ve got this hummer dried out and running again,” he said.

She was sitting behind the wheel, her features only dimly visible in reflected light from the office building.

“That’s literally what they did,” she replied. “They took it to a paintshop and put it in the oven for several hours, and it runs fine. I’m waiting for J.W. — there’s some sort of flap on.”

“Right; I’ve just heard about it. The Coral Sea and the Susquehanna have managed to lock horns. It may be a late night for the Staff.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a sigh.

She knew full well the import of a collision at sea, especially one involving an aircraft carrier. There was a moment of silence between them. Mike felt an urge to fill it, before the silence gave his real feelings a chance to escape.

“So, the Volvo runs and now you’re no longer guilty,” he offered.

He wanted to bend down to see her better, but felt exposed in the nearly empty parking lot. She smiled up at him, a cool if somewhat mischievous expression on her face.

“Not for the car, anyway.”

He laughed nervously at this.

“Story time went OK?” he asked.

His voice unintentionally revealed his discomfort. He was suddenly angry with himself: he had thought about her at sea, and now that she was right here, all he wanted to do was bolt before someone looked out an office window and saw them together. Her face became neutral.

“Story time went just fine. I felt bad about the lie, but it didn’t change the fact that I want to see you again.”

She reached out a hand and covered his resting on the window sill of the door.

“And I would very much like to arrange that before you get any more spooked and go loping out of this parking lot.”

He felt his face flush at her accurate intuition. Her hand was warm on his, and despite himself he covered hers with his other hand. Her eyes were large and luminous in the shadow. His desire welled up and he suddenly wanted to make love to her right there. She saw his expression change, read it accurately. They stared at each other for a long moment, mutual doubts evaporating in the presence of a suddenly urgent need. She put a finger to her lips.

“Don’t say it, don’t say anything — just when.”

“Tomorrow night? At the boat?” he said softly.

“Yes. I’ll be there. I don’t know when, but I’ll be there.” Her voice was husky.

Suddenly there were voices coming from the headquarters building doors, and a flare of white light from the hallway inside. Mike straightened up, squeezed her hand, and walked away into the darkness between the buildings, his mind awhirl. What was it about this woman? He had come within a few seconds of climbing in the car with her and damning the consequences. His desire struggled with his fear: had anyone been watching from the office? Had Martinson looked out his window to see if his wife was waiting for him, and seen them together? How much of her allure was due to the illicit nature of their attraction? And, if so, what of it? He knew that some people carried on affairs precisely because it was illicit and therefore more exciting than the routine of marriage.

But Diane was different, he told himself. That long look they had exchanged had changed everything. Their sincere discussion of her needs for a friend, for someone to confide in and to provide comfort, had been shoved into the background. At this moment, it was all much simpler. He wanted her. She wanted him, and the look they had exchanged through the car window had transmitted and acknowledged a message that transcended any mere words. He felt a thrill of anticipation.

Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, he strode rapidly back down the piers to the ship, trying to refocus on the business of settling the ship in for the next week. At least he had some control over that; his personal life seemed to be slipping swiftly out of control.