the converted wardroom where, among others, the Gitmo commander’s wife and daughter were housed. He went to C deck, found their room, and opened the door. The sound of snoring filled the room. Everyone was still fast asleep. He looked at his watch. Twenty-two minutes.
Shouldn’t be a problem.
He entered the darkened cabin, a wardroom where some twenty-five to thirty women and children were currently berthed and, since he had no description of who he was looking for, simply rapped his fist on the bulkhead.
“Mrs. Nettles?” Kopelman said. “Mrs. Joseph Nettles? Would you and your daughter please step out into the companionway? Sorry to disturb you.”
“They’re not here,” a woman’s sleepy voice said. “They were moved yesterday. We were too crowded.”
“Where were they moved?” Kopelman asked, trying not to let the rising panic in his voice show.
“I think one deck down. Wardroom D-7?”
“Thank you,” Kopelman said, and sprinted for the closest stairwell. He took the steps three at a time and burst into the long companionway of D deck. D-7 would be to the left, toward the bow, he thought. Had to be.
It was. He swung open a door marked D-7 and rapped his knuckles hard on the bulkhead.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Joseph Nettles and her daughter,” he said loudly. “Are they in this room?”
“Oh,” he heard a woman’s voice say. “Yes, we are.”
He saw her now, a silhouette sitting up against the far bulkhead. He heard her say, “What on earth do you want?”
“Would you please step out into the companionway? Both of you? It’s very important.”
Kopelman watched the sweeping second hand on his watch. Less than nineteen minutes now, until the ka- boom or whatever it was. In just over a minute, Mrs. Nettles and her four-year-old daughter were standing in front of him, blinking and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Both were wearing nightgowns and robes. It had taken seconds of precious time to find and put on robes.
“I’m Lieutenant Kopelman. This is your daughter Cindy?”
“Yes. How can we help you, Lieutenant?” Ginny Nettles said, wrapping her robe tightly around her.
“I’m looking, actually, for Cindy’s bear,” Kopelman said, not caring how foolish he sounded. “I’ll explain later. But if you don’t mind, ma’am, could you please just step back inside, pick the bear up very carefully, and bring it out here to me?”
“Her teddy bear? Is this a joke?”
“No joke, Mrs. Nettles. Believe me.”
“Well, I would if I could but I can’t. Her bear’s not in there, Lieutenant,” Ginny Nettles said, giving the young officer a look both quizzical and ominous. “Sorry.”
“Not in there?”
“That’s what I said.”
“This is extremely important, Mrs. Nettles. Where, uh, exactly is the bear as we speak?”
“Excuse me, Lieutenant…Kopelman, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What time is it, Lieutenant?”
“Oh-five-forty-five, ma’am. Fifteen minutes before six A.M., ma’am.”
“You know, it’s funny. I’ve been a Navy wife for over thirty years. And I have never, ever encountered anything remotely as ridiculous as this. And that, by God, Lieutenant, is truly saying something!”
“Ma’am, I totally appreciate that. But it is desperately important that I retrieve that bear. Do you understand? I said ‘desperately.’ I can’t say any more.”
“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Nettles said, her mood turning from annoyance to concern to fear in less than a second.
“We, I mean Admiral Howell needs that bear now,” Kopelman said, looking into her eyes. “That bear is… contaminated. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Nettles? Right now!”
“Sweetheart, why don’t you tell the nice man where your bear went?” Mrs. Nettles said, bending down to look in her daughter’s face.
“Oh!” Cindy said, as if suddenly remembering, “Teddy went up in an air-o-plane!”
“An airplane?” Kopelman asked, his nerves now twanging from the back of his neck down along each arm, all the way to his fingers. He looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Thirteen minutes.
“That’s right, Lieutenant, what my daughter says is true. We ran into Cindy’s Uncle Chuck, my husband’s younger brother, who is a wing leader of the Black Aces.”
“Are you saying that Captain Nettles has the bear, ma’am?” Kopelman asked. Perfect little beads of nervous perspiration had popped out all around his hairline.
“Yes, I think so,” Ginny Nettles said, wringing her hands together, worried about where this was going.
“He took the bear on his mission?”
“Yes, he said his squadron was going on a raid somewhere last night and that his niece’s bear might bring the Black Aces good luck.”
Mrs. Nettles was about to say something else, but the young lieutenant had already sprinted halfway down the companionway and into a stairwell.
“Sir!” Kopelman said, bursting onto the bridge deck.
“What have you got, Lieutenant?” Admiral Howell said, studying his face. “Tell me it’s good news, son. We’ve got about ten minutes till all hell breaks loose.”
“I spoke with Mrs. Nettles and her daughter. The bear is with Captain Charles Nettles, sir. He took it along on his mission.”
“He’s got the fucking bear in his cockpit?”
“I believe he does, yes, sir.”
“Are you dead certain about this, son?”
“Aye, aye, sir, as certain as I can be.”
Howell punched a button on the bridge console.
“This is Admiral Howell speaking. Where the fuck is Captain Charles Nettles?”
“Captain Nettles is on final, sir, about ten seconds from touch-down,” the airboss said.
“Christ! Wave him off, goddammit, wave him off!”
Howell walked outside onto the port bridge-wing and looked astern. He could see all the Black Aces were home, save one. Captain Nettles’s F-14 Tomcat was just off Big John’s stern, flared up, seconds from landing.
The orange jackets were out there, the FSO trying to wave off the fighter. It was too late.
“Lieutenant,” Howell said, his voice dead calm. “Would you just go on down to Captain Nettles’s cabin and just make sure he didn’t leave that goddamn bear there? Is that a good idea?”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Kopelman said, and left the bridge-wing at a dead run.
“He’s got his tailhook down, goddammit!” Howell screamed into the mike on the outside console.
“It’s jammed, Admiral,” the airboss said over the speaker.
“Drop the fucking wire! Have him go to full power! Now!”
“Zulu Bravo Leader go to full power! Bolter! Bolter!” they heard the airboss shout.
There was a howl of turbine whine as the F-14’s twin turbofan engines instantly spooled up, both afterburners spouting licks of red-orange and yellow flame as she roared past the bridge, accelerating.
“Go…go…go!” the airboss said as the big fighter rolled and finally lifted off the end of the deck. It immediately dropped, dipped perilously close to the wavetops, then started a climb out.
“Somebody want to tell me what the fuckin’ tarnation is going on around here?” said Captain Nettles over the speaker.
“This is Admiral Howell, Captain. How you doin’, Chuck?”
“Ah, roger that, pardon my French, Admiral.”
“Captain, at the risk of sounding like a complete goddamn moron, let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot, sir.”
“Do you happen to have a white teddy bear in that aircraft, son?”
“Uh…well, as a matter of fact, I do, Admiral.”
