Authors: David Poyer
“You really think you don't deserve anything nice?” she said to him. “Because what that means to me is maybe you think you don't deserve me.”
“I never said that.”
“I can read it in your expression sometimes. Something not too far from contempt.”
“It isn't contempt. If it's anything, it's intimidation.”
“Dan, these people are no different from you. Surely you realized that when you were in D.C., working for Barry Niles. They may have more money. But they're not a bit smarter, or harder-working, or more honest.”
He grinned in the dark. For some reason it struck him as funny, her trying to prove to him he didn't feel the way he felt. “OK, Doctor,” he said. “But you see, it started in my childhoodâ”
She pinched his arm, hard. “Because sometimes, when you act like you don't like me very much ⦠I start wondering.”
“About us?”
“About us, yes.” She hugged herself, looking not at him but out over the water. “I mean, it could be perfect. Together when we want to be. Apart often enough we can do what we need to do. Then every once in a while, something wonderfulâlike tonight. There are lots of navy jobs in Washington. You wouldn't have to go to sea. I mean, if you didn't want to.”
He cleared his throat, knowing what he said now counted, the very words he chose mattered. “Sometimes I wonder, too. I mean, you're there; I'm wherever the Navy sends me. You're on your way to being somebody. I'm sort ofâwell, if I make commander, that's going to be it. All the ups and downs on my record.”
“You have friends, too. People you've impressed. If you do a standout job on this assignmentâ”
“Sure, but you don't get promoted by being different. That's the kiss of death.” He pondered. “But the rest of itâI get jealous sometimes. I don't see you often enough.”
“That's up to you. It's always been up to you.”
“I thought it was up to you.”
“Then we were both delegating?” She laughed, but it wasn't amused; it was almost sardonic. And he couldn't think of anything else to say or do but back her against the low railing till there was nothing behind her but a twenty-foot fall to the cold-smelling river. Nothing to do but kiss her, amid the scent of the azaleas, and the cool taste of her lips mingled with the dead smell of the dark water rushing past below endlessly out of the hills, out of long-abandoned coal mines where, he could not help thinking, the bones of his ancestors lay.
5
HIS alarm went off at 0500 on that final day. An hour earlier than usual, but he was determined the last event under his command would go off flawlessly, professionally, and on time. Today USS
Oliver C. Gaddis
would officially become PNS
Tughril
, the newest commissioned warship of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan.
They'd taken her to sea for two days after the yard was done with her. The boiler tests had gone well, though the at-sea drills, with the Pakistanis in charge, had been less than inspiring. At one point Khashar had nearly gotten them run down by a supertanker.
Dan pushed that scary memory away, reviewing the schedule of events as he dressed. The ceremony would begin at 1000. The official guests included the base commander, the Pakistani attaché, the deputy chief of NAVOTTSA, and three of
Gaddis
's former commanding officers. It promised to be a clear day, thank God, fall-cool but tenable for a ceremony he hoped to hold to an hour.
He found Greg Juskoviac in the wardroom with Commander Irshad. Helping himself to coffee so fresh the brew light hadn't gone on yet, Dan said, “You two are up early.”
Juskoviac gave him the eager-to-please grin he dreaded. All too often, he'd learned, it masked a lack of follow-through. Dan sat them down and went over the preparations: cleaning, rigging the quarterdeck and flight deck, vans to meet dignitaries at Philadelphia International, escorts, hotel reservations. “And test the PA system again; we got too much feedback at the rehearsal. Talk to the men on the jacks and halliards. Those flags should come down slow, not
snap
,
snap
,
snap
.” The XO noted busily away. Finally Dan said, “Well, that's all I've got; I'll let you get to it.”
Juskoviac jumped up, upsetting his coffee cup, and ran off. Dan wondered what he should be doing himself, then knew. Paperwork. The final draft of the turnover letter, official thank-yous to the guests, et cetera, et cetera. Then he had to pack; he'd planned a leisurely drive back to Norfolk, a weekend in Georgetown with Blair en route. He called the ship's office and told them to bring up the morning's grist.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
HE'D designated
Gaddis
'
s
wardroom as a VIP reception area, with his own cabin reserved for the Pakistani attaché and the two-star from Washington, Admiral Sapp. At 0800 he changed into service dress blue with sword, medals, and white gloves and went down to the ship's office to get out of their way.
When he went back up at 0915 the wardroom was filled with men in business suits and uniforms, women in long dresses. Jim Armey stood against the bulkhead, looking uncomfortable in blues instead of coveralls. Dan squeezed his arm, wondering how he could make the man loosen up. He wasn't married, hardly ever went ashore, and had no outside interests Dan had been able to elicit. “We enjoying ourselves yet?”
“Not yet.” The chief engineer forced a bleak smile.
“You did a great job getting her ready for sea, Jim. But you can't stay in the hole forever. Pick somebody out and start a conversation.” Dan drew a breath and plunged into the social maelstrom, forcing a smile to his face and a heartiness into his handshake that he didn't feel. At 0950 he headed back to the fantail.
The day was bright and thank God the wind off the river not as sharp as it could have been. It set the bunting flapping where it was cable-tied to the helo deck netting. He looked down and across to the pier. The tent for the guests looked crowded. A murmur of conversation swelled across the strip of water. To his surprise, applause broke out as he appeared. He smiled, uncertain how to respond, then threw them a salute and went back behind the superstructure, out of sight. He checked the flat gray Delaware, his mind formulating a vision of an out-of-command merchantman crashing into them as they lay by the pier. As long as she sank
after
the turnover.⦠He checked his watch again, startled to see it was ten already. Where the hell was Juskoviac? Dan was on the point of sending a runner after him when the exec bounded out of the quarterdeck shack and took his place on the dais. When Dan nodded, he bent to the microphone.
“Ship's company: atten-
tion
. Will the guests please rise for the arrival of the official party and remain standing through the invocation.”
The band swung into ruffles and flourishes as a U.S. admiral arrived. A pause, then more music and piping as a short man in a peaked military cap and British-style uniform overcoat bustled up the brow.
Juskoviac bent to the mike. “Parade the Colors.”
The U.S. color guard stepped high as they proceeded from the head of the pier. The Pakistani guard's marching was crisper; they swung their arms British-style and stepped out like toy soldiers. The green-and-white moon-and-star met the Stars and Stripes in front of the platform. Marching in step, they did a slow wheel and halted, left, right,
halt
, facing the guests.
“The national anthems of the United States and of Pakistan,” Juskoviac announced.
Dan stood with the rest of the official party, holding his salute till the last brassy note died away on the wind.
“Post the colors,” said Juskoviac.
Dan bent his head for the invocation, then relaxed into his chair as the crew, lining the rails, snapped to parade rest. He felt inside his blouse for the square of paper. His remarks.
“I now introduce Rear Admiral Jerry Sapp, Deputy Commander, Naval Office of Technology Transfer and Security Assistance.”
Sapp acknowledged the general, the former skippers, the family and friends present, “shipmates, and guests.” He focused his opening remarks on
Gaddis
's service career. “Designed and has performed as a mainstay and a workhorse.⦠Carried our nation's flag during the closing phase of the cold war ⦠a total of fifteen deployments literally spanning the globe, most recently during Operation Checkmate, interdicting drug traffic in the Aruba Gap and Colombia Basin.” He gave numbers and specs, horsepower, speed, weapons. He went on to congratulate the crews who had manned her and the captains who had led her, naming each, nodding to those present on the platform. Dan noticed he wasn't included, but kept his expression relaxed and benign.
“We gather today to celebrate a job well done. We say good-bye to a ship that has given much, that has been well maintained by the literally thousands of sailors who have passed over her decks.
“At the same time I sense exultation among our friends from Pakistan, a nation with which the United States has long enjoyed a special relationship.” Dan's attention wandered as Sapp praised the alliance as a force for peace in the Mideast, then returned as the admiral closed with a tribute to the crew that had worked so hard to prepare for turnover. “For you, the journey continues,” he said at last. “To new ships, new places, new challenges. Take the spirit you learned aboard
Gaddis
with you. Godspeed; fair winds and following seas. I will now call the commanding officer forward.”
Dan cleared his throat and rose, but Juskoviac was there before him.
“Ship's company: atten-hut. General Saqlain will present a letter of appreciation to Lieutenant Commander Daniel V. Lenson, United States Navy.”
Dan stood at attention as the little man handed over the scroll and shook his hand. He saluted him, then glanced at the exec.
“Captain Daniel Lenson, Commanding Officer, USS
Oliver C. Gaddis.
Ship's company: Parade
rest
.”
His turn at last. Snapping open the paper, Dan looked out over the pier, the green cold-looking water beyond, the bright sky. A freighter was coming around Windy Point, windows flashing golden in the sun.
“General, Admiral, sponsors, honored guests, plankowners and former skippers, relatives and friends. Welcome to the official transformation of USS
Gaddis
into PNS
Tughril
.
“Any decommissioning is a bittersweet occasion. I myself have only had a few weeks to know her as a ship. But even in that short time I have come to understood what she means to her former crew members. It is hard to say farewell. But in this case we all know the ship we loved will sail on, under a new name and a new flag, but still in the defense of freedom and the maintenance of peace.
“As you see her now, poised to make the transition from U.S. to Pakistani man-of-war, I will say for all the crew: the best of luck to her new owners. What has made these last few weeks special has been the close bonds of friendship that have grown up between the two crews as they worked together, side by side, to pass the skills of one seafaring nation to the seamen of another. And between myself and Captain Khashar. It is a tribute to him, his officers, chiefs, and men, that the process has gone so smoothly and that I can hand
Gaddis
over knowing she will be well taken care of.”
Hoping he would be forgiven for that, he lowered his eyes to the second page. “I will now read my orders. âFrom: The Chief of Naval Operations. To: Commander in Chief, U.S. Atlantic Fleet. Subject: Decommissioning of USS
Oliver C. Gaddis.
“âYou are hereby directed to decommission USS
Gaddis
no later than 30 September 1990. The ship will be transferred to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Upon completion, report same to Chief of Naval Operations. Signed, Frank B. Kelso the Second, Admiral, United States Navy.'”
The guests were silent. He gave it a second or two, for the old salts, the plankowners, those who'd put their youth and dreams into a piece of metal. Then said, “Executive officer: Haul down the colors.”
The guests came to their feet, too, as Juskoviac read from a card concealed in his glove: “âThe commissioning pennant, when hoisted to the mast, symbolizes the moment when the service of a ship begins. Therefore, when the pennant is finally lowered from the mast and handed to the commanding officer, the ship is officially retired.'”
The guests looked upward, shading their eyes as the whiptail crept down, cracking and writhing as if fighting to stay aloft. The jack and the ensign sank with it. Chief Mellows came back aft and handed Dan the pennant.
“Debark the crew,” Dan said.
The passed-on command echoed away into the depths of the ship as the division officers called their men to attention, faced them right or left, and marched them down ladders and over the brow to the pier. They fell into ranks again there, guiding onto duct-tape markers on the concrete, and snapped to parade rest opposite the patient Pakistanis.
“Sir, the watch has been secured.”
“Very well.” Dan turned to Sapp. “Sir, the watch aboard USS
Gaddis
has been secured.”
“The transfer of exâUSS
Oliver C. Gaddis
to the custody of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan will now take place. Ladies and gentlemen, Commander Lenson.”
Dan took his place at the mike again. “The document transferring exâUSS
Oliver C. Gaddis
to the government of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan has already been signed by representatives of both nations in Washington. Admiral Jerry Sapp, USN, will now officially transfer the ship to General Saqlain, for subsequent turnover to her new commanding officer. Ladies and gentlemen, Admiral Sapp, General Saqlain, and Captain Khashar.”
Sapp took Dan's place. Without a cheat sheet, he bent his height toward the mike and said, “Sir, I present to you the exâUSS
Gaddis
, the best warship in the United States and Pakistani Navies. I will now introduce the Honorable General Muhammad Saqlain, defense attaché of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan to the United States of America.”