As they embraced, applause arose from
Denver’s
main deck, led by Dan and Woody.
The pair yelled in unison, “Hi-ya, Den Mother.”
Bea and Brent waved their response.
When he caught his breath, Brent said, “Can’t tell whether my mind or body is happiest to see you.”
Smiling at him, Bea asked, “How ’bout we run a contest?”
“I’m game,” and then his tone grew serious. “Bea, I didn’t know if you survived the attack. It had me worried sick. You told me you were going to the
Digs
. I figured you reached there before the attack came but I didn’t know. Commodore Danis knows how things are with us and I banked on hearing from him if anything bad had happened. That kept me going, Bea. He did a great job of letting the crew know about families when he could. Each time he learned something, he’d squeeze it into the limited radio broadcasts we received.”
“He is a dear, that man. Stuck his neck out a foot but let me know
Denver
survived. And he sent me a heads-up on your homecoming.” She could not help but smile each time she looked at Brent. “And that’s how I knew to look so beautiful today, even though you didn’t say so. First time I’ve worn a dress since you left.”
“Oh damn, Bea, you are gorgeous. Guess you’re gonna make me eat crow for not saying that right away?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “For a while.”
They boarded
Denver,
went below and joined an impromptu gathering in the wardroom. The captain had ordered up two bottles of Vodka and some cans of caviar recently
liberated from the hapless Soviet minesweeper. A similarly
supplied party, under auspices of the COB, had broken out in the crew’s mess.
Commodore Danis quipped, “It’s against Navy regulations to partake of alcoholic beverages aboard a United States warship except for medicinal purposes. Don’t know about you, Captain, but I feel sick as hell.”
Bostwick replied, “Me too, Commodore. I’ve had a headache ever since I woke up this morning. I’ll have the corpsman write us a prescription.”
“Mark of a good commanding officer. Action first, paperwork later.”
Of the caviar, Woody Parnell said, “This stuff’s not half bad once you get it past your nose.”
After Bostwick poured each glass full, Danis announced, “May I propose two toasts? The first, to victory.”
“Hear! Hear!” All replied and savored their first sip of the vodka.
Danis raised his glass again, “Goddamn Josephus Daniels,” the traditional Navy toast to the World War I Secretary of the Navy, who decreed no alcoholic beverages permitted aboard U.S. warships.
“Goddamn Josephus Daniels,” chorused fifteen voices.
Upon realizing Bea had no security clearance, Danis drew her and Brent aside. Danis wanted to be sure no word of
Denver’s
contact with the Soviet minesweeper went beyond the room. “You know, Bea, Captain Bostwick got this Vodka in Seattle before he left.”
Bea replied, “Where else, Eric? I’m a Navy junior, remember?”
Eric nodded. “Good. While I’ve got your ear, I hear some good things about this fine young man of yours. But this is not
the time to embarrass Brent.”
They responded with a smile.
Maintaining a transparent air of aloofness, Danis continued, “Look, I’m sorry Bea, but your dad will be tied up here the rest of the day so would the two of you mind running out to the
Digs
to see if Dave drank that bottle of champagne I left cooling in the fridge?”
Brent replied, “You heard what the commodore said, Bea. It’s a lousy assignment, but somebody’s gotta do it,” and the two departed.
Initially unnoticed, Jim Buchanan entered the wardroom and poured himself a glass of vodka. Suddenly Captain Bostwick’s voice boomed above the din. “Jim Buchanan. You rascal. You’ve come to take my ship from me and I refuse to give her up.”
The two shook hands. Jim served with Bostwick at two previous duty stations and knew him well. He easily saw through Bostwick’s statement and knew that nothing could please Bostwick more than his springboard assignment at OpNav.
Jim said, “I trust you had a great patrol, Hal, but not too great. You’re a big pair of shoes to fill just for openers. War hero status on top of that makes the job near impossible.”
Bostwick beamed. He took the compliment well.
Continuing Jim said, “Seriously, Hal, can’t tell you how happy I am for the opportunity to command
Denver.
I look forward to seeing the patrol data. A lot of good lessons there, I’m sure.”
“I’ll have Jack Olsen work up a schedule. Relief in a week sound okay?”
Danis interjected, “How about two days, Skipper? This time next week, you’ll be head down and butt up in the Pentagon. War has a way of making things happen quicker.”
A tone of mock surrender in his voice, Bostwick replied, “Guess we heard what the boss said.”
Later, after the festivities on
Denver
, Eric Danis and Dave Zane sat in the commodore’s office. Eric and Dave had grown up together in a different time and the thought of arranging for young Maddock to go off and make love to his friend’s daughter gnawed at Eric’s conscience a little.
Dave reminisced, “These homecomings are great, Eric. I remember how Dale and Bea would drive to the boat to greet us. Soon as we got home, I threw a handful of dimes onto the lawn and told Bea she could keep all she found. Said I tossed out ten but it was actually nine. After that, the second thing I did was to
take off my shoes.”
In his own inimitable way, Dave let Eric off the hook.
The interpreter immediately contacted the zampolit upon his return from the
Bolivar
boarding. Poplavich then went
to Sherensky and demanded, “Comrade Baknov must be relieved of all duties. This is necessary to deter others who might be similarly
disposed.”
Sherensky thought,
Winning a war is challenge enough for field commanders without the second-guessing of political twits.
Zhukov
needed the talents of Vasiliy to perform her mission so the captain attempted to reason with the obstinate zampolit saying, “Ah yes, Comrade Zampolit. Lieutenant Baknov is clearly out of line. I shall require him to support the sound Party guidance. I shall discipline him immediately but must prevent the loss of his valuable role in the success of our mission.”
Poplavich did not like Sherensky’s tone but neither did he wish to be identified as one who deprived
Zhukov
of needed services. “Go on, Comrade,” he said.
“First, we make it known to him he will no longer serve as a boarding officer. Then his indiscretion will be made known to all in
Zhukov
.”
The captain figured the crew would probably
applaud the news of Lieutenant Baknov’s action but did not share this with Poplavich.
The zampolit asked, “And then?”
“We let Vasiliy know the Party is not without compassion then permit him to make amends through demonstration of his loyalty. Require him to assist you in preparation and delivery of political lectures to the crew. And fine him twenty percent of pay for twelve months.” Sherensky looked for expression on the zampolit’s poker face but found none. “We’ll set the time as one year before amnesty. In the meantime, we keep the advantage of his weapons and combat training. Believe me, Comrade, this could be very important to us before the mission is over.”
Make the zampolit realize Vasiliy may be key to getting Poplavich’s abundant ass safely home.
Poplavich considered the proposal a moment.
Though not making it known, the zampolit had no true wish to die for the Communist Party despite the fact it would earn a plaque in his memory to hang in the Kremlin.
Having the arrogant Baknov under his thumb had a certain appeal and he saw logic in the balance of Sherensky’s plan.
“Yes, Comrade, Captain, we shall do as you wish but I insist on confinement after his next indiscretion. Is that understood?”
“Clearly, Comrade Zampolit.”
A knock on the captain’s stateroom door interrupted their meeting. A messenger reported that a
zampolit and commanding officer eyes-only
message had been received and they personally must complete the decryption.
While Sherensky typed in the plain language text, the decrypted message rolled out on a tape from the crypto machine and read:
ZAMPOLIT/COMMANDING OFFICER EYES ONLY. TO ALL UNITS. MOVEMENT OF NORTHERN FLEET SUBMARINES TO PACIFIC VIA BERING STRAIT TO SUPPORT ANTI-MERCHANTSHIP CAMPAIGN WILL COMMENCE LATE JUNE. PACIFIC FLOTILLA REACTOR POWERED SUBMARINE UNITS CURRENTLY DEPLOYED PROCEED TO STATION DESIGNATED IN WAR PLAN. THERE, SCREEN BERING SEA TO INSURE SAFE PASSAGE OF NORTHERN FLEET UNITS. DEPART IMMEDIATELY
TO VICINITY LATITUDE FORTY-FIVE NORTH, LONGITUDE ONE SIX FIVE EAST AT BEST SPEED. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.
So,
thought Sherensky, so
meone near the top is finally
convinced the Pacific Ocean is far too large for the plan we have been embarked upon.
Bea’s dress, a puddle of blue, blended with the bright afternoon sun on her bedroom floor. Brent watched her as she slept. Her rich brown hair lovely even in disarray, she lay on her back uncovered from the waist up. The late spring afternoon warmed them and he savored this view of his ladylove. They’d yet to seek out Eric Danis’s bottle of champagne; but after Brent lighted Dave Zane’s inventive wood fired hot tub would be a good time for that. Their initial physical reunion completed they settled down to the mental one.
Marriage had never been broached but this did not preclude Brent from thinking of
Bea decorating their apartment, shopping together, long motor trips into the mountains for skiing in winter, entertaining friends at home and raising a family.
They’d have children and fill the void left by his estranged but beloved son. War cannot defer such things. Life goes on, for there are always wars and those who survive them.
Brent fully intended to be involved in raising his children, even if it caused him to leave the service. This reality put his problems with Bostwick into a different perspective. Should he be
fortunate enough to secure her promise, Brent would not let this marriage fail like his last one. Bearing such pain once in a lifetime is quite enough and he would not let it happen again.
At Annapolis, the student prince-like backdrops for Brent’s courtship of his first wife kept them from discerning the true substance of lasting relationships. The robust Pacific Northwest setting of his time with Bea bristled with reality and gave him confidence his deep feeling for her did not impair his judgment. His mental reunion with Bea proved more voracious than their physical one.
Bea stirred then awakened. They embraced warmly.
He whispered, “Hi lover. You’re so beautiful.”
She recovered from her sleep and said, “Can this be really
happening? The world turned upside down and here we are, like nothing else matters.”
He regarded her tenderly. “It doesn’t.”
Again, they held each other tightly.
Brent said, “At risk of shattering the mood, I haven’t had a thing to eat for twelve hours.”
“So that’s how it is. Ravage my body, raid my refrigerator and then away for new worlds to conquer.”
“No. I’m not done ravaging your body just yet. Just a little hungry, that’s all.”
They shared a laugh then arose to replenish their inner persons. Seated on the deck and looking out onto the Pacific, they watched the blue sky yield slowly to gold as the sun approached the horizon. Bea prepared a supper of cheese, French bread and smoked salmon. Eric’s champagne, a Piper-Heidsieck
Brut, vintage 1979, proved the pièce de résistance.
Brent asked, “How much better does life get?”
“If I’ve ever been happier, it’s completely
escaped my memory.”
He looked at her with affection and said, “Good. That’s how I want it for you.”
“Well tell me lover boy. What happened out there?”
“You know Bea, if I told ya, I’d have to kill ya afterwards.”
“I’m a Navy brat, remember? Who are you trying to kid?”
“Actually, my big problem is the captain.” Brent summarized the main events of the patrol as they related to the deteriorating relationship between Bostwick and him. “Jack Olsen gave me some assurances but I wouldn’t give a fig for my Navy future if the captain has a final say.”
Bea said in a comforting voice, “Dad always says nothing happens in a vacuum. I know Eric Danis thinks highly of you.”
“Let’s hope everything goes well. Look, Bea, can we talk about something else?”
She responded with, “Did you find the actual fighting very scary? I mean, if you feel like talking about that.”
Brent set his jaw. “Damn scary. Anyone who says he’s not scared in combat is either an idiot or a liar. It’s hard to summarize. When the bell rings, you go at it and the only
thing on your mind is get the son of a bitch before he gets you. But when it’s over, like after we got the
Tango
, it gets rough. We sent a bunch of guys to the bottom of the ocean, who were probably
a lot like us. Only
difference is
our ancestors caught the boat and theirs didn’t. I had to force myself not to think about it. But the bell would ring again and we’re right back at it. Man is the only truly
mad species on this earth.”
Indicating she understood, Bea took Brent’s hand and smiled. She had known Brent for eight months and she learned more of his private feelings in this talk than in all the others combined. Brent arose and walked to the hot tub on the edge of the deck. He thrust in his hand and tested the water. He removed the robe he had borrowed from Dave Zane and climbed in. The warm water instantly relaxed him.
“Ever make it in a hot tub?” he asked.
Brent feasted his eyes an instant on Bea’s nakedness before her body slipped beneath the water and she came to him.