MacIntyre broke the circuit and tilted his chair back, making himself a mental note. At tomorrow’s briefing, he’d give Frank a message to relay to Judy. It couldn’t be much, just an acknowledgement that he was alive and well, but hopefully it would be enough for his daughter. Phantom Force’s draconian security restrictions would apply to him for as long as he was aboard the Shenandoah.
To make up for it, the Shenandoah was certainly the most comfortable vessel he’d ever flown his flag from. He looked appreciatively around his airy, cruise ship quality cabin. Apparently, the shipping line owners of this world were expected to do pretty well by themselves.
There was a hesitant knock at the door. “Enter.”
Christine Rendino entered the cabin. She had an elastic bandage snugged around a sprained wrist and a couple of Band-aids apparent, but she appeared otherwise recovered from her recent helicopter crash.
The Intel was also looking unusually somber and somewhat nervous.
She came to attention before his desk, saluting crisply. “Begging the Admiral’s pardon, but may I have a word with him?”
MacIntyre straightened and answered the salute. He too had learned that, when
Christine Rendino started acting like a military officer, it inevitably meant
trouble. “Of course, Chris. At ease and have a seat. What can I do for you?”
“It’s a … personal matter sir,” she replied unhappily, sinking into the offered chair beyond the desktop. “Something kind of off the record.”
A personal matter? He leaned forward. “How can I help?” Over the past couple of years, he had come to both appreciate the insights of
this eccentric little character and to grow fond of her in a fatherly fashion.
If she was in some difficulty …
She read his mind as she had the uncanny knack of doing. “Uh, no sir. It’s not me with the personal problem. It’s you.”
Eddie Mac’s brows came together. “Me? What do you mean?”
Christine took a deep breath. “You see, Admiral sir, it’s kind of like this. Back when Captain Garrett seemed to be in a lot of trouble
with that Board of Enquiry – you know, before I was brought into the loop on Phantom Force – I sort of made an erroneous assessment of the situation …”
Two minutes later, MacIntyre’s swivel chair crashed back against the wall as he launched out of it. “YOU TOLD HER WHAT?”
Christine Rendino cringed down in her seat, her words escaping in a rapid fire
squeak. “Like I said, Admiral sir, it was an erroneous assessment of the situation – and, if you’ll give me a choice between fifty lashes and being keel-hauled, I’ll take the lashes because I have really poor breath control.”
Elliot Macintyre couldn’t think of anything adequate to say, so he said nothing. He sank back into his chair. Bracing his elbows on his desk, he cradled his face in his hands.
“When the truth of the situation became clear, I realized that I’d made a hideous mistake talking with Captain Garrett about you like that,” Christine continued miserably. “I figured I owed it to you to tell you what I’d done. I’m sorry, sir. I’m really, really, really sorry.”
MacIntyre looked up to see tears glistening in her eyes. “Oh, Good God Almighty, don’t cry on top of everything else,” he said, pushing a box of Kleenex across the desk. “Things are bad enough as it is. Besides, you were only doing what you thought
best. Damned if I can condemn you for standing by your captain. The fault here
is entirely mine.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of fault, sir,” Christine replied, dabbing at her eyes. “I mean, Amanda is a very neat lady. It just shows that you’ve got great taste to fall in love with her.”
“I’ve never said I was in love with her, commander! I’ve just maybe indicated that … I’ve been greatly concerned about her at times.”
“Sir, you’re fudging.” Christine helped herself to a second tissue. “If I may be so bold, I’ve seen you around Amanda. The signature is unmistakable.”
MacIntyre winced and heeled his forehead with his palm. “I believe I’ve had this conversation with another young woman in the not-too-distant past.
Tell me, Comm … Christine. Am I really that transparent?”
“It depends, sir. Around most men, you’re probably safe. Around another women, you’re cellophane.”
“We should never have let women into this man’s navy,” MacIntyre muttered in a deadly monotone.
“It was pretty much inevitable we’d bust in sooner or later, sir,” Christine observed. “And it was pretty much inevitable that, once we were in, that men and women in
the navy would get together and manage their interpersonal relationships in
pretty much the same way men and women have been managing their relationships
for centuries. Poorly.”
“Thank you very much, Commander. I appreciate that insight. Now, how about
telling me what I’m supposed to do now?”
The Intel looked uncomfortable once more. “Sir, that’s not for me to say.”
“Commander, you instituted this crisis. The least you can do is help me get out
of it.”
Christine Rendino hesitated before replying, as if weighing her words carefully.
“Sir, I believe the real core question here is: do you want out of it?”
MacIntyre frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you want to give this whole thing a pass, it won’t be a problem. To put it bluntly, Amanda is the kind of female who is used to
having men act just a little bit peculiar around her on occasion. If you just
let it go and don’t say anything to her about it, she probably won’t either and that will be it. She’s that kind of straight edge.”
“I see,” MacIntyre said slowly. Then he had to ask the next question. “What happens if I do choose to say something?”
Christine studied him for a moment more before continuing, a shrewd and
distinctly feminine consideration that made MacIntyre somewhat uncomfortable. “I couldn’t say for certain, sir,” she said finally. “But, if you’d want a good sitguess, you’ll probably find it real interesting.”
The MV Galaxy Shenandoah
2155 Hours; Zone Time, December 1, 2008
Even with the successful operations off Bali and the battle of Jakarta to their credit, Amanda still knew she had a long way to go to hammer the diverse elements of Phantom Force into the coherent whole she wanted. Tonight’s formal dining in the main salon had been another step down this path.
Theoretically, the dinner was to welcome aboard the Marine officers commanding the FAST Platoon and the Jakarta Embassy security force. Their units were being absorbed by the Sea Demons for the remainder of the cruise, their skills and numbers a welcome reinforcement to the number of boots the commando carrier could put on the ground.
It was also an excellent opportunity to bring the ship’s diverse officer cadre together “outside of the box” – to get them to know each other on a personal level and to erode the
interservice rivalries that might linger. What she desired was a crew that did
not think “I am Navy, Air Force or Army” but “I am Shenandoah.”
Accordingly, the best the officers’ mess could provide was served on sparkling white tablecloths and the ship’s formal crystal and table wear was used for the first time. All shop talk and references to the current mission had been absolutely forbidden as topics of conversation.
There was another advantage to the Shenandoah’s unique status. From the cargo bulkheads aft, she was a civilian vessel, equipped and accounted for as such. Accordingly, Amanda had deigned that the ‘dry ship’ policy inflicted upon the United States Navy by Josephus Daniels did not apply. Thus, a cocktail was acceptable before dinner, wine could be served and toasts proposed and properly delivered afterwards.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Amanda began, “I believe we have successfully integrated the Lieutenants Trennan and Bergstrom into our band of brothers. May you find the remainder of your cruise with us an interesting one.”
