It had been thirty minutes. Admiral Balloch was pushing the situation to the point of breaking, and he knew it. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Clear the deck!” the admiral ordered.
The Combat Information Center crew stiffened, turning to face the ambitious career officer who had been in charge of this ship for the last three years. The CIC was never deserted, especially during a potential action.
“Clear out,” the admiral yelled, iron in his voice. “Now!”
The crew fumbled over each other getting out the small hatch.
“You stay,” the admiral said to the XO. “And you too, Chief.”
The chief froze by the bulkhead. The XO stood at attention, bracing himself for the worst. Perhaps he had displeased the admiral and was about to be relieved of his post. Or perhaps he had inadvertently compromised the mission. The fact that the chief remained to witness his imminent ass chewing only deepened his humiliation.
The hatch of the Combat Information Center sealed shut, leaving the three of them alone.
“Commander,” the admiral said calmly, and the XO winced, waiting for his punishment. It was always worse when senior officers were calm. “Recall the helo.”
What?! “Sir?”
“I ordered you to recall the helo. And stand down the marines.”
The XO’s face twisted. On one hand, he was relieved not to be sacked. On the other, what the admiral had ordered was treasonous. A court-martial offense.
“Sir,” the XO said. “Our orders are clear. We are to intercept and search this cargo ship. Why would you recall the helo and stand down the marines? How will we search it?”
“We already have.”
“Sir?”
“Commander, you will mark in your log—as will the chief, as will I—that the Eleutheria has been searched and nothing was found.”
“What?”
“The Eleutheria is clean,” Balloch said calmly.
“A-Admiral,” the man stammered, “you’re asking me to falsify a log entry on a priority mission. I can’t do that.” The XO felt light-headed. He realized he was breathing heavily. He had never questioned his commanding officer before. “With respect, sir, why are you ordering this?”
“I have my orders, too,” the admiral said.
Captain Goncalves turned to face the oncoming frigate. The navy ship’s mass was a foreboding black silhouette against the night sky. It should never have come this close in such high seas, and especially not for so long. One rogue wave, and it could smash their hull and kill them all.
Now is the time, the mate thought, preparing to tackle the captain from behind. Now is the time to end this madness. Before the soldiers board and send us all to the brig.
“Captain, they are six hundred yards and closing,” someone said.
The mate glanced around the pilothouse, looking for some sort of club, but saw nothing of use. He would have to use his bare hands.
“Five hundred yards.” The frigate loomed out their port windows. The more experienced crew recognized its profile as an American warship, and their knees buckled.
If the mate pulled off his mutiny, he would have to deal with the Americans once they boarded. No one wanted to deal with Americans.
“Four hundred yards. Captain, should we do something?”
“No. You have your orders.”
The man is insane, the mate thought, as he slid behind the captain. The frigate was on course to come across their bow.
“Three hundred yards,” the crewman said, voice shaky.
The mate clenched his fists. Courage, he thought, as he counted down. Three, Two . . .
“Captain, they are changing course!” the helmsman yelled.
The mate looked up. He saw the American warship veering out of their way.
“The Americans are turning!” another crewman shouted.
The helicopter’s spotlight turned off.
“Holy shit!” the men shouted in a dozen different languages. “Hurraa! Zito! Ohana! Keallam!
Impossible, the mate thought, as Goncalves walked up the bridge windows, watching the frigate disappear into the storm. It seemed to take a very long time.
The mate was disgusted. Why did the warship let them go? How did the captain know? The crew would love the captain now. They would talk about this for years. The man with the iron balls. With one decision, the old man had become untouchable, and the mate’s chance of taking over the ship had become spit in the wind.
“Old friend,” the captain said, turning to his first mate. “You are not the man you thought you were, are you?”
The first mate looked down.
“Well, neither am I.”