Terminal Run

The submarine turned gently and opened the distance. Pacino took the helm and turned up into the wind, the sails spilling their wind and flapping noisily. He dropped the jib first, the halyard cranking the sail down as he leaped to the foredeck and pulled the sail down to the deck. He turned and eased the halyard for the mainsail, bringing it to the boom where he lashed it down. Colleen slowed and bobbed on the waves, the boom waving dangerously over the cockpit until Pacino cinched down the boom vang By the time he had Colleen stable, an inflatable Zodiac boat had appeared on the sub’s starboard side, the crew able to work on it now that the ship had come to a halt in the sea. no longer battling the bow wave. The five-horsepower outboard started up, a tall, slim woman in a wet suit the boat’s only occupant. The boat made the crossing from the submarine to the sailboat in a few minutes, rising up on the wave crests and crashing back down in the troughs. When the woman was within hailing distance, she called out to him, “Request permission to heave to!”

“Permission granted, come alongside,” he called, taking the painter line as she tossed it to him. He fed it down the railing to a deck cleat and held out his hand to her. She climbed up to the deck and came over the railing, shaking the spray out of her long brunette hair and smiling at him. Pacino smiled back, suddenly reminded that he had been at sea for a week without Colleen, and reminded also that he had not made love to a woman since before Princess Dragon sank. Why this woman made that thought come to mind was obvious as he took her in without trying to gawk.

“Welcome aboard the Colleen,” Pacino said, trying not to sound ridiculous. “I’m Michael Pacino.” He held out his hand to her, her hand coming into his, her hand soft and warm. Pacino felt his face flush.

“I’m Dayne Valker, lieutenant, U.S. Navy,” she said.

“Are you ship’s company? And what sub is that?”

“No, Admiral,” she said.

So, he thought, she knew who he was.

“The sub is the USS Hammerhead, Virginia-class. I’ma SEAL under temporary orders.”

Hammerhead, Pacino thought. The ship that had avenged the Princess Dragon, except that she didn’t kill the men onboard who had executed the foul mission that had killed his comrades and ruined his life.

“Forgive me please, Lieutenant. May I offer you something to drink? Tea or coffee?” He doubted she would want anything stronger, an official bearing surrounding her, perhaps even a wariness of him.

“No. thank you. Admiral. I’mon official business, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.” She shot a look at the hull of the Hammerhead, drifting a few hundred yards east of Colleen.

“And what would that business be. Lieutenant? And is it so urgent that we can’t sit here in the cockpit?” He waved her to a seat. She sat down, her body coiled in tension.

“Admiral Patton is calling for you. sir. He sent you this.”

She pulled something from a waterproof pocket belted to her thigh. It was a shiny envelope. She handed it to him, and he stared at it for a moment, then opened it, finding a folded page of expensive bond paper with the seal of the United States Navy on the letterhead. The sloping handwriting of John “Blood and Guts” Patton filled the page. He and Patton went back ten years and two wars. If there was one man who could call Pacino back from this trip, it was John Patton. Pacino read the note, looking up occasionally at the Hammerhead, once at the lieutenant.

Dear Patch,

The president of Cyclops Systems told me you have been turning down an important job for the last year. We can no longer afford your absence from two programs that are foundering, and without them our submarine force is stalled at the present level of technology, which is unacceptable. I need you to come to the Pentagon and either take the program director job and forge the fleet of tomorrow, or tell me to my face the reason why you won’t. The lives of hundreds of Americans depend on \our next decision, Patch, and you’ve never yet turned y our back on the needs of your Navy or your country. I’ll expect to see you in my office tonight, old friend.

Best regards, John Patton.