Piranha: Firing Point

The only thing I regret, the only thing, is that I’m not around to help you anymore. You’re on your own, Mikey. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but if I can help you from the great beyond, I’ll try to. I’ve got to tell you, though, I believe that this life is it. After that it’s dirt and dust and worms and blackness. Nothing more. But so what? You have to keep living, you have to keep pushing. And even if you lose this thing with the Reds, even if Warner tosses your career down the toilet and you become just some guy going to a job during the day and watching television at night, I want you to know something.” Donchez cleared his throat and then blew his nose. “I love you, Mikey. You’re my son, more my son than if you had come from me, and I know Tony, your father, would appreciate my saying that. And you’ve been a wonderful son to me, Mikey. I don’t want you having any doubts, any regrets.”

The old man’s eyes filled with water. He brushed it away with his handkerchief, annoyed.

“Just one more thing, Mikey. You’ve got to move on, move on from losing me, move on from losing Eileen.

You can’t do your job if you live in the past. And your job is being yourself. Do your job, Mikey. Be yourself, the one you once were when we were younger and you commanded the Devilfish. That’s why I renamed the SSNX program, Mikey, so you would remember.

“So remember, my son. Remember.” Donchez coughed, drying his eyes and his nose again. “Goodbye.”

His lip quivered, just for a second, and then the image vanished, the screen reading:

MESSAGE SELF-DELETED

Pacino turned off the Writepad and stared out the window.

“Operation Sealift is now into its eleventh hour, Bernard,” the reporter said.

She stood in front of a massive Sea King helicopter, the block letters reading u.s. navy above the door. The rotors were spinning above her head at idle. The reporter was pretty, dark hair and green eyes, long, elegant fingers holding her microphone. A crewman handed her a helmet, the kind that bulged at the ears with a built-in headset.

“We’re going on a trip aloft from the deck of the USS James Webb to take a look at this huge fleet, the biggest armada ever to go to sea.”

The camera view followed the reporter as she went to the far side of the helicopter where there was a large opening.

“Bernard, they’re hooking me to a safety line now so I won’t fall out this doorway, and from here we should be able to see the entire formation of the fleet.”

The noise of the helicopter grew to a roar as the chopper throttled up and took off from the deck. In the lower right side of the television was a small logo that read SNN, for Satellite News Network, a small dual panel below reading 2:10 a.m. EST, a second one reading 2:10 p.m. China Time. On the lower left side was a war logo that SNN had concocted, showing a Red Chinese flag next to a burning White Chinese flag next to an American flag. The words underneath read operation sealift.

The view from the helicopter changed to a gray patch of deck, a section of the sea, and the overcast sky. As the view rotated, the island of the carrier came into view.

The tall structure was a naval architect’s dream, a sort of slender pyramid, but with layers on it, each layer bristling with equipment — slanting large, flat panels of phased-array Aegis radars, spheres holding radars, and on top a gigantic flat radar that rotated slowly, majestically above the structure. Flags flew from the island’s tall aft mast, the biggest an American flag two stories tall. Painted on each face of the island was the number 80. The chopper continued to rise until the entire carrier came into view. The vessel was streamlined and impressive, the deck one huge expanse of flat gray, angled off to the side. The forward deck rose slightly in a ski-jump arrangement, the bow sharp, a razor cutting into the sea.

The wake behind the mighty ship was violent and foaming on a dark blue sea. It could be seen extending far behind the ship, still white and churning in the sea. From afar the carrier seemed to be plowing the sea with purpose and determination.

As surrounding ships came into view, the reporter continued. “Bernard, as you can see, the USS James Webb is a huge aircraft carrier, with a displacement of 110,000 tons fully loaded, the biggest ship in the U.S. Navy’s arsenal. The number 80 is the hull number. They call this CVN-80, for carrier vessel nuclear. The ship has two nuclear reactors, four turbines, and four screws, and has a crew of five thousand men.

“Coming into view next to the Webb are the other two aircraft carriers of the fleet, and as you can see, they are forming a triangle, the lead ships in this mighty armada. On the top of your screen is the USS Kinnaird McKee, CVN-81, and at the bottom you should be seeing the third carrier, the USS Franklin Roosevelt, CVN-82.

Behind the three aircraft carriers, in two rows of five, are the ten Aegis cruisers assigned to the task force.