Sword of Shiva - Страница 30

Silva looked up from the stack of paperwork on the tiny fold-down desk of her temporary stateroom. She was still plowing through a mountain of minor administrative details, in preparation for the change of command on Friday.

She had been planning to hit the hay in a few minutes, so she was dressed in her customary shipboard sleeping attire: sweatpants and tee-shirt. Tonight’s sweats were standard gray workout pants, and the tee was dark blue with a gold silkscreen image of the surface warfare officer emblem across the shoulders. At home, she preferred to sleep in socks and underwear, but aboard ship she might be called out of bed at any moment of the night. Informal as they were, her tee-shirt and sweats allowed her to respond to drills and emergencies fully clothed.

She leaned back in her chair. “Evening, Jim. Come on in.”

Bowie stepped into the stateroom, closing the door behind himself. He held out a routing folder. “I wasn’t sure if you’d seen the latest message traffic. I thought you might want to look it over before you hit the rack.”

Silva gestured toward the papers on her desk. “The one about the Chinese surveillance satellite? I’ve seen it. I’ve got a copy right here.”

Captain Bowie shook his head and held out the folder. “Not that one. A new message, from the Bureau of Personnel.”

Silva accepted the routing folder, flipped it open, and read the one-page message inside.

...

//UUUUUUUUUU//

//UNCLASSIFIED//

//PRIORITY//PRIORITY//PRIORITY//

//301355Z NOV//

FM BUPERS//

TO USS TOWERS//

INFO COMCARSTRKGRU FIVE

COMDESRON ONE FIVE//

SUBJ/USS TOWERS CHANGE OF COMMAND//

1. (UNCL) BUPERS NOTES THAT USS TOWERS IS CURRENTLY DEPLOYED TO THE BAY OF BENGAL PURSUANT TO OPERATIONAL ORDERS NOT DISCUSSED IN THIS TRAFFIC.

2. (UNCL) IN VIEW OF UNANTICIPATED DEPLOYMENT, SUBJ CHANGE OF COMMAND IS HEREBY POSTPONED UNTIL COMPLETION OF CURRENT OPERATIONS.

3. (UNCL) CAPTAIN SAMUEL HARLAND BOWIE IS DIRECTED TO REMAIN ABOARD USS TOWERS AS COMMANDING OFFICER FOR THE DURATION OF CURRENT OPERATIONS, OR UNTIL USS TOWERS IS ROTATED OUT OF THE OPERATING AREA.

4. (UNCL) COMMANDER DESTROYER SQUADRON ONE FIVE IS HEREBY NOTIFIED THAT CAPTAIN BOWIE’S DETACHMENT FROM USS TOWERS WILL BE DELAYED. NEW DATES TO FOLLOW.

5. (UNCL) COMMANDER KATHERINE ELIZABETH SILVA IS DIRECTED TO REMAIN ABOARD USS TOWERS AS PROSPECTIVE COMMANDING OFFICER FOR THE DURATION OF CURRENT OPERATIONS, OR UNTIL USS TOWERS IS ROTATED OUT OF THE OPERATING AREA. COMMANDER SILVA IS ADVISED TO UTILIZE THIS ADDITIONAL TIME TO CONTINUE PREPARING FOR ASSUMPTION OF COMMAND, SUCH PREPARATIONS NOT TO INTERFERE WITH SHIP’S MISSION REQUIREMENTS.

6. (UNCL) FURTHER DETAILS WILL BE ISSUED VIA SEPCOR.

//301355Z NOV//

//PRIORITY//PRIORITY//PRIORITY//

//UNCLASSIFIED//

//UUUUUUUUUU//

Silva closed the folder and laid it on her desk. “I’ve actually been expecting this for a while,” she said.

“So have I,” said Bowie. “But I know how frustrating this must be. I was ready to turn over the keys in five days.”

He smiled weakly. “Okay, maybe not ready. I don’t think anyone is ever ready to turn over command of a warship, but I was prepared to do it.”

Silva sighed heavily. “I know you were, Jim, and I appreciate that. And I understand why the Bureau is doing this. You don’t change jockeys in the middle of a race. But I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed.”

“I understand,” Bowie said. “If I were in your shoes right now, I’d be peeling the paint off the bulkheads.”

“I’m tempted to do that, myself,” said Silva. “But they’re not my bulkheads yet, so I guess I’d better leave the paint intact.”

Bowie patted the bulkhead next to the door. “They will be yours soon,” he said. “Before you know it.”

Silva looked back down at the closed routing folder on her desk. “Yeah,” she said. The disappointment in her voice was audible. “Soon.”

CHAPTER 34

...

-------------------------

From: <katherine.silva@navy.mil>

Sent: Sunday, November 30, 11:52 PM

To: <harry.silva@nauticalcomposites.com>

Subject: Change In Plans

Dear Dad,

Got a little bad news a couple of hours ago. The Bureau of Personnel has issued orders delaying my change of command until this operational deployment is over. So, Jim Bowie gets to sit in the hot seat a while longer, while your loving daughter cools her heels and waits her turn. (How’s that for mixing up the old metaphors?)

I guess I really don’t have anything to complain about. Jim is an excellent skipper, and a great guy. He couldn’t possibly be any more helpful or thoughtful, and the crew worships him. Needless to say, I’m not happy about the delay, but if I have to warm the bench for a while, it’s nice to know that the man playing in my spot is an A-list player.

Before you get started, Jim is not my type, so don’t even go there. He has a long-term girlfriend, or a fiancé, or something. I don’t know the details, and I’m not going to ask. Whenever I get serious about a relationship, it won’t be with a Navy man. Don’t get me wrong, I like men in uniform, but I figure one Captain Ahab is enough for any family. Besides, I intend to be married to this ship for a couple of years.

This situation does have an up-side. I’m getting a chance to see my new ship and crew perform under pressure before I take command. We’ve got an Indian battle group on one side of us, and a Chinese battle group on the other, and that’s a little like being between the hammer and the anvil. We’re not in combat, and (God willing) we’re not going to be, but the situation is tense. The crew is performing beautifully. I’m already proud of every man and woman on this ship, and I’ll be proud to lead them when the time comes.

Give Mom a kiss for me, and stop feeding scraps of food to Snickers under the table. Twelve years is getting up there for a pug, and they’re prone to heart problems at that age. Scratch him behind the ears instead, and tell him it’s from me.

Love,

Kat

CDR Katherine E. Silva

USS Towers (DDG-103)

-------------------------

CHAPTER 35

U STREET CAFE

WASHINGTON, DC

SUNDAY; 30 NOVEMBER

6:30 PM EST

Gregory Brenthoven found an open table near the rear of the café. He chose a seat facing away from the entrance, so he could enjoy the brightly-colored Joel Bergner mural that enlivened the entire back wall.

Brenthoven pulled the lid from his cappuccino, and emptied two packets of raw sugar onto the thick layer of steamed milk at the top. The heavy brown crystals sank quickly through the foam, leaving an irregular tunnel down to the dark liquid below. He gave the mixture a few quick turns with a wooden stir stick and replaced the cover.

The aroma rising from the cup was heavenly. There were plenty of fancier coffee shops in the District, but his long career in Washington had not revealed a single place that served up a finer cup of cappuccino.

He’d bought a sandwich too, grilled chicken and avocado on a brioche roll, but he left that untouched on the table while his eyes feasted on the mural.

Bergner’s whimsical rendering of the historic U Street corridor was framed on the left by portraits of jazz legends Billie Holiday and Duke Ellington, and on the right by a throng of revelers, celebrating in the streets on the night of the 2008 election, when the race barrier of the American Presidency had finally been shattered. Between the two ends of the painting lay a curving section of road, with a 1920s era convertible cruising past the façade of the old Roosevelt Theater.

The color pallet of the mural was weighted heavily toward oranges and yellows, giving it a false impression of antiquity, counterbalanced by the strange mingling of resignation and optimism on the faces of the people depicted.

Brenthoven lifted his cup and took a sip of cappuccino. Still a bit too hot, but damn it was good.

His eyes danced back and forth across the mural, not focusing on any particular section. He’d seen that painting at least a hundred times since Bergner had created it in 2009, and he still wasn’t quite sure why it affected him so profoundly. There was something there, below the surface, some subtly encrypted message of hope and despair. A subliminal acknowledgement that the world could be a much better place… should be a much better place… but even in the midst of oppression and injustice, there was still reason to look forward to a brighter tomorrow.

Brenthoven took another swallow of his cappuccino, and started to think about unwrapping the sandwich.

Of course, he could be completely wrong about the intended message of the mural. He had never met with Joel Bergner, and he had never bothered to research the deliberate symbolism (if any) that the artist had attempted to convey. But that was what the painting said to Brenthoven, and — from his perspective — that was the only symbolism that really mattered.

“Good evening, Mr. Brenthoven,” said a voice behind him.

Brenthoven glanced over his shoulder. He was surprised to be addressed by name, but even more surprised when he saw who had spoken. It was Gita Shankar, the Ambassador for India.