Battleship

HARBOR-HICKAM

Hickam Airforce Base had been established in 1948 near Honolulu and served as a key launching point for operations during World War II. Eventually it had been folded into a combined base with Pearl Harbor, to become known as the Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam. A variety of surface ships and subs were homeported there, including the USS Missouri in her heyday.

Now the officers who had most recently, and most unexpectedly, pressed the Mighty Mo into service against an enemy that no one could have expected—much less expected to defeat—were lined up in their dress whites. Standing at stiff attention in the front row were Alex Hopper and Yugi Nagata. Ord, Raikes, Hiroki and others were lined up behind them, with Beast naturally towering over the lot. Even Calvin Zapata was there, dressed in a crisp, freshly pressed Hawaiian shirt.

The families of those who had survived were seated nearby, including Vera and her kids, Nagata’s wife (Hopper had been briefly introduced to her but couldn’t remember her name) and Sam, who was smiling but in a measured way. It was wise of her to show restraint, because intermingled with them on this day of both celebration and mourning were many families whose loved ones hadn’t survived. They were somber, still looking shell-shocked, many eyes red from crying. Those who had made it through knew they were damned lucky. The families who were bereft of their loved ones kept their attentions focused on Shane, trying not to look at those who hadn’t suffered a loss. Because the inevitable question—Why do we have to suffer and you don’t?—would be reflected in their eyes, and there was no possible answer available.

Shane’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker, causing some ear-splitting feedback. As he stepped away while sound technicians rushed to fix the problem, Hopper took a moment to inhale deeply and then let it out. He actually tasted the air as it passed through his lips. It was a typically gorgeous Hawaiian day, the sun bathing them in its rays, the breeze gentle. But there was something about surviving an experience such as what they’d endured—something about living to see another day when the prospects of doing so had seemed terribly unlikely—that just made the air taste better.

Once he received a thumbs-up from the technician, Shane—who had been interrupted by the shrill sounds midsentence—stepped forward and tentatively said, “That the men and women…” When no further sound mishaps occurred, he continued with renewed confidence. “That the men and women who gave their lives are heroes is not in doubt. That we owe each and every one of them an unpayable debt of gratitude is undeniable. That we remain united, stronger than ever, with all the great nations of our world, is truer today than it ever has been.”

He paused a moment, allowing that to sink in as a sop to those who had endured terrible tragedy. Then he continued, “I can’t single out each and every one of you for bravery, so I will instead single out a few for remarkable valor.

“Commander Stone Hopper, deceased, the Medal of Honor.”

He held up the framed medal and Hopper felt something catch in his throat. Shane looked right at him, a questioning eyebrow raised. The unspoken question was obvious: did Hopper want to come up there and accept it? Hopper shook his head ever so slightly and mouthed, Our father. Without missing a beat, Shane said, “It will be sent to his father, retired Captain Robert Hopper, who could not be here for this presentation.” True enough. Alex and Stone’s father had recently undergone a triple bypass and had been forbidden to travel. Hopper’s mother, taking care of him, had reportedly said, in that undeniable way of hers, that she’d be damned if she’d lose two of her men within days of each other. The ceremony was being broadcast through a naval feed, though, and Hopper had no doubt in his mind that they were watching it back home.

It had been the Navy that had delivered them the news of the loss of their eldest son. When Hopper had finally gotten them on the phone, there was his mother crying, of course, and his father being as stiff-lipped as ever. Hopper had tried to launch into mea culpas, to tell them he wished he could have done more; his father silenced him with ten words: “You did what we needed you to do. You survived.” He’d barely been able to continue the conversation after that.

Shane was now holding another medal in his hand. Next to him was the admiral of the Japanese fleet. In a formal voice, Shane said, “Captain Yugi Nagata: the Order of the Rising Sun.”

Nagata strode forward with brisk, crisp steps. He bowed stiffly at the waist and Shane returned the sign of respect. The Japanese admiral took the medal and carefully pinned it onto Nagata’s jacket. Nagata bowed once more to both of them and stepped down from the podium.

Shane shifted his gaze to Hopper and nodded, indicating that he should come forward.

Hopper took a deep breath even as he walked toward Shane. His legs felt numb; he was worried he was going to collapse. Brace yourself. You know what’s coming now. Now Shane is going to say, “As for you, Mr. Hopper, you have a court-martial waiting for you. Take him away, men.” And they’ll escort you away to your court-martial, where they will, of course, find you guilty and drum you out of the Navy. And they’ll have a closed-circuit TV so your folks can be watching and your dad’s heart will just stop and your mom will blame you for dad’s death for the rest of your life…

He stood in front of Shane, waiting, his back stiff, his eyes not meeting Shane’s but instead gazing just over his left shoulder. “Commander Alex Hopper…” Shane began, and when Hopper heard the title with his name spoken after it, he actually looked Shane in the eye. Theoretically he’d known this was what was in the offing, but he didn’t quite believe it until he heard it spoken aloud. And even now he was braced for Shane suddenly saying, “Psych! Fooled you! Take him away, men!”

As if he could read Hopper’s mind—a talent that Hopper wouldn’t have put past him—Shane reaffirmed, with a slight smile, “That’s right… Commander—the Navy Cross.” He pinned it onto Hopper’s jacket. It felt heavy, like the weight of the world was now on his chest.

No. It was the weight of responsibility, something that—to various degrees—he’d been dodging his entire life. It felt…

…good.

“And your own command,” said Shane. “You’ll take the USS Benfold out to sea.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Hopper could hear him. “Don’t screw it up.”

“No, sir.” Hopper saluted and Shane returned it briskly. Then they shook hands. It felt odd and Hopper realized he’d never actually shaken the man’s hand before. When Sam had first introduced them, Shane had been seated at his desk, going through paperwork. He’d looked Hopper up and down—seemingly dissecting him with his mind as he did so, judging him and finding him wanting—and then said curtly, “I’m busy. This is a bad time.” He had gone back to work. Sam had escorted a shaken Hopper out the door and assured him in a low voice, “Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you. Everything will work out.”

It had only taken an alien invasion to do it. Hopper reasoned that he’d better not get back on the admiral’s bad side; otherwise he might have to save the entire galaxy in order to find his way back to the man’s good graces.

He returned to his spot and his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He extracted it and saw a text message from Sam: No better time to ask him. He glanced toward her and saw her nodding encouragingly and giving him a thumbs-up.

Suddenly facing shredders and alien invasions didn’t seem so bad.

Hopper had waited on the parade grounds until Admiral Shane was finally not surrounded by various officials and well-wishers. He’d approached him tentatively, thanked him once again for this incredible opportunity and then hemmed and hawed about things that didn’t matter all that much until Shane finally got fed up and said, “What’s your point, Hopper?”

Now or never. Wait: let’s consider the many advantages of “never” in the—

“Sir,” and he pushed the words out of himself with about the same amount of force a woman used to push out a child, “I want you to know that I love Sam…”

Words failed him for an instant. It was the moment when he would normally cut and run, but then he took a deep breath, looked Shane dead in the eye and spoke from his heart.

“… and I want to ask for your permission to marry her.”

He exhaled then. He’d gotten the words out, and that had been the challenge, hadn’t it? That had been the toughest part of all this.

“No,” said Shane.

“Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll…” His voice trailed off as Shane’s answer sank in. “What?”

As if there was simply no further need for discussion—question asked, question answered, on to the next thing—Shane turned and started to stride away.

“But… but I just saved the world!” Hopper called after him.

“The world is one thing, Hopper. My daughter is quite another.”

Hopper was in utter shock. “But… but…”

Shane paused just long enough to say, “No means no, Hopper. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for lunch.” And as he walked off, he tossed over his shoulder, “Think I’ll get a chicken burrito.”

Hopper stopped in his tracks as if he’d been hit in the face with a frying pan as the last two words registered. “Wait,” he said, slowly realizing, “Are you—are you messing with me?”

Shane glanced back at him, and there was a twinkle in his eye that might have been delightful if it wasn’t tinged with pure sadism.

“Don’t do that!” Hopper cried out. “Why would you do that? Did Sam put you up to this? Oh my God, she did, didn’t she!”

Gesturing that he should follow him, Shane said, “Come along, Hopper. Let’s discuss the terms of your surrender over lunch.” As Hopper ran after him, Shane continued, “And if I’m a little light on cash, I’m sure you could just knock over a convenience store by climbing on the roof, right?” He draped an arm around Hopper’s shoulder as they left the parade ground.