weapon to detonate at a set time. There would be no fail-safe. Once set, it would explode. These circuits here,” added Abtin pointing, “these are good. But placing the new circuit in, there is a chance that it will accidentally initiate the explosion.”
“If you tell me what to do, then I will take the chance myself. You won’t have to. You can be far away.”
“With this device, General, it would take many hours to reach safety.” Abtin rose. “I’ll make a list for you. The items we need are easily obtained.”
“We’re on station.”
Storm turned toward Eyes and nodded. The executive officer blinked and looked around the bridge apprehensively. He seemed out of place, as if he were a gopher who’d popped up from underground and arrived in the middle of a wedding.
“Say, Captain, do you have a minute?” Eyes asked.
Storm pointed in the direction of his cabin, which was reached through a door at the back of the bridge.
“You’re treating me like I’m the enemy,” Eyes told him after they reached Storm’s quarters. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“The order to stop trailing the
“You’re on his side.”
“I don’t take sides, Storm. I follow orders.”
“Damn it.” Storm pounded his desk. Since his “talk” with Admiral Woods, he’d kept his emotions bottled up and stayed mostly to himself. He’d said no more than was absolutely necessary, and to some extent managed to push his disappointment and anger away. Now it raged free in his chest, surging through his whole being. “I was so damn close,” he told Eyes.
“Close to what?”
“To sinking the damn
“Storm, we crippled it. We sank the
“It’s not enough!”
Eyes stared at him.
“It’s not enough,” repeated Storm, his voice closer to normal.
“Sure it is.”
Both men were silent for a moment.
“No destroyer has ever engaged an aircraft carrier in a one-on-one battle before,” said Eyes finally, his voice now almost a whisper. “This is what Pearl Harbor was for battleships. It’s a revolution.”
“It’s not enough, though,” said Storm.
“It should be, Captain. It should be.”
Storm stared at his executive officer. Eyes was a good man, an excellent first officer. But he didn’t understand — he didn’t have the ambition a truly great captain needed. He just didn’t understand.
But he was loyal. And Storm felt he owed him an explanation, or at least an attempt to explain.
“I can’t put into words what I feel,” Storm told him. “It’s just — I can’t.”
“Your men need you,” said Eyes. “They see you quiet, brooding, barely talking to them. Not leading them. They don’t know what’s going on. They need their captain.”
Storm frowned. He wanted to sink the
But those victories were not necessarily who he was, just expressions of what he might achieve. Who he was went deeper than that. It was more important than a medal or a line in a history book that he’d never read. He wasn’t the snap in a sailor’s salute when he came on board, he was the look in the scared kid’s eyes when the bullets were flying and the young man needed something, someone, to believe in.
As Eyes was telling him.
“Dismissed,” Storm said sharply.
The executive officer frowned, then began to leave.
“Eyes?”
He turned back around.
“Thank you very much, my friend. I appreciate it.”
“Mr. Barclay, do you ever go home? It’s Sunday!”
Startled, Jed spun around to face his boss, National Security Advisor Philip Freeman.
“Um, but—”
“Just joking, Jed. How are we doing?”
Jed gave him a quick update, starting with the newly located warheads and ending with the fact that the two Dreamland pilots — his cousin and cousin-in-law, though he didn’t mention this — were still missing.
“That’s too bad,” said Freeman. “I hope we find them.”
Jed nodded.
“Now that Samson is taking direct control of Dreamland,” said Freeman, “are you worried about your role with the staff?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be. There are going to be a lot of changes at Dreamland due to the restructuring. It’s going to be a real command. The President—” Freeman caught himself. “Well, it’s the President’s decision. Things will work out. As for you, you’re still an important part of my team. Frankly, I think we’ve been wasting some of your talents. Dreamland has eaten up a lot of your time.”
“Um, yes, sir. Uh, th-th-thank you.”
Freeman reached into his jacket pocket and took out a business card. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he said, handing it to Jed.
“Um, OK.”
“This is a speech therapist. She’s the best. She helped my daughter. I want you to see her.”
Jed took the card. He tried to smile. He’d been to several professionals over the years. Some had helped for a brief time, most hadn’t.
“Um, thanks.”
“I’m going to make sure you keep your appointments,” added Freeman. “And don’t worry about paying.”
“Uh—”
“A friend of yours who wishes to remain anonymous is footing the bill, not me. And I’m going to make sure you have time. The stutter is going to hold you back, Jed,” added Freeman. “It gives people the wrong impression. All right?”
“Um, y-y-yeah. OK. Thanks.”
“This is Bastian,” Dog said when he reached the communications station in the Dreamland trailer. “What’s up, Danny?”
“Bad news, Colonel. The last warhead is missing. And Jennifer’s been hit, along with three of our Marines.”
Dog felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
“Tell me about the warhead,” he said. He struggled to keep his voice even.
“There were guerrillas nearby when we arrived,” Danny began. He explained what they’d found — that the tapes made it seem as if the guerrillas hadn’t been there long enough to get the weapon, and that they’d also taken a prisoner, though so far he hadn’t said much.
Dog questioned Danny about the warhead and what might have happened to it, even though it was obvious Danny didn’t know. Finally, he couldn’t think of any other questions, except the one he wished he didn’t have to
