The Shenandoah had found a tropical squall to conceal her air operations and she was loitering deep within a solid front of gray, misting rain. Going into helo mode, the two SPEED Cobras nosed slowly through the wall of blood temperature precipitation, riding the ground effect a mere ten feet above the low wave crests.
Peering ahead through their water-streaked canopies, the two aviators watched for the trail that would lead them home. After a few minutes of nuzzling into the wind, they picked it up, orange sparks of light glowing and flickering in the haze, a string of small float flares bobbing on the surface of the sea. The two compound helos swung parallel to this flare train and began to follow it through the haze.
The flares were being dropped off the stern of the Shenandoah. It was a simple and reliable approach and landing technique pioneered by the Royal Navy’s Harrier and helicopter squadrons in the fog-haunted North Sea.
Easing alongside their mothership, the SPEED Cobras matched course and speed. Lifting above deck level, they popped their landing gear and sidled over the helipads waiting for them. A few moments later, they were aboard and down with the MacGregor hatches shutting out the rain.
*
“Well done, Arkady, and congratulations.”
“Congratulations? For what?” Arkady dropped into a chair across the table from Amanda. For the moment, they were alone in the main saloon with the rattle of the gusting rain on the windows contesting with the rumble of the engines.
“For making history. Karen, a drink for Mr. Arkady, please.”
A smiling stewardess emerged from the saloon pantry, bearing a tray with a pair of tall, frosted glasses and a pair of opened bottles of Tsingtao beer.
“Congratulations, Commander,” she echoed softly, deftly filling each glass.
“Thank you,” Arkady replied, bemused as the stewardess vanished back through the pantry
door. “But I say again, for what?”
“For becoming the first navy ace since Randy Cunningham and Willie Driscoll and
the first helicopter ace in history.”
“Son of a bitch!” The realization caught up with him with a jolt. “Two kills today and the three over Drake’s Passage … Five down and glory! Son of a bitch!”
Amanda nodded. “You missed the opportunity to claim the first kill on a nuclear sub by giving
the credit to your teammate that day off Shanghai. This will be your page in
the book.”
“Just a footnote in your chapter, babe.”
She smiled and shrugged, lifting her glass. Arkady followed suit and the glasses sang as their rims touched.
“That goes down very easily,” Arkady sighed, setting his half-emptied glass down again. “You know, serving aboard this beast does have certain amenities above and beyond
what you get aboard a conventional navy bird.”
“Indeed,” Amanda agreed. “If I’d known that merchant skippers had it this good, I’d have crossed over long ago.”
The aviator only lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me another one, Admiral.”
“I’m not an Admiral yet, Arkady.” She mused over the thought for a moment. “In fact, at the moment, I’m not exactly sure what I am. I’m not a naval officer commanding a ship that isn’t a naval vessel – but I am captaining one of the most powerful men-of-war in existence. What does that make
me?”
“Indispensable?”
Amanda chuckled and took a sip of her own beer. “Thank you, good sir, but indispensability is a myth. Seriously though, I wonder
just where I do stand in the convoluted rules of warfare.”
“Last time I looked, the only actual honest to God rule of warfare was ‘win’ – and you’re good at that, so who cares?”
“Thank you again. But it’s still an interesting question.”
Arkady pondered, scowling at empty air for a moment. “How does ‘privateer’ sit?”
“Privateer,” Amanda mused, rolling the word over in her mind. “I haven’t heard that one for a while. A pirate with a license to commit piracy on behalf
of a government.”
“Nowadays they’d call you a private naval warfare contractor.”
Amanda laughed out loud. “Privateer it is then. I like it.”
She realized that she felt good with the relaxed comfort of an old friendship. She and Arkady had shared moments like this many times before, beyond their times of passion. It was interesting to learn that the one didn’t depend on the other.
Arkady cut a quirky sideways glance at her. ‘Hey, babe, you ever think about the old days?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “They make good thinking.”
“That they do. Do you ever think …”
“What do you think?” she asked back levelly.
He paused for a long moment, maybe giving a long-considered thought one last
examination. “I dunno,” he said finally, “I guess it might be kind of a step backwards at that.”
She lifted her beer once more. “Here’s to steps forward, my very dear and special friend.”
Again the glass rims touched and sang.
The Joint Intelligence Center, USS Shenandoah
0939 Hours; Zone Time, November 19, 2008
“What’s the world like on the outside?”
Startled, Amanda looked up from the central chart table. She had been alone in the briefing room, involved in a private pondering session. Now Makara Harconan loitered in the doorway. “Are they still doing sunlight, rain, stars, that sort of thing?”
