Battleship

PEARL HARBOR

It was unusual for a Navy band to preform a full version of “To the Colors,” the haunting bugle piece that was typically played at times such as the flag being lowered at the end of the day on a base. However, it was occasionally played in circumstances where there were going to be honors to the nation more than once. At least Hopper supposed that would be the case here as the Jeep Hopper was driving hurtled into the parking lot adjacent to the USS Missouri. The Jeep screeched to a halt and Sam and Hopper clambered out. One would never have guessed that, barely two hours ago, they’d been two disheveled people on a beach. Yet now here they were, one hasty plane ride from Honolulu to Oahu later, after changing and primping en route while squished into the island jumper, much to the amusement and entertainment of the pilot.

Hopper was looking every inch the Navy officer, attired in his crisp white uniform. As for Sam, she was exquisitely attired in a black Chanel dress, her hair as coifed as she could make it under the circumstances.

The Missouri, sometimes referred to as “Mighty Mo” or “Big Mo,” was a proud Iowa-class battleship with an impressive history stretching back to the Second World War. She had been involved in such naval endeavors as the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa before eventually being decommissioned in the 1990s and transformed into a museum ship. She overlooked the remains of a vessel that hadn’t been fortunate enough to serve in the Allied efforts—the Arizona, a Pennsylvania-class battleship that had performed ably during World War I, but was sunk years later during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. When the vessel went down, she took eleven hundred lives with her. Her remains were still at the bottom of the harbor, but a memorial had been built in her stead, straddling her hulls.

As Hopper and Sam moved as quickly as her high heels would let her, they passed a cheesy gift shop outside the entryway to the Missouri, selling every battleship-themed souvenir that anyone could imagine. Hopper considered the fact that before joining up—even with the Navy background of both his father and brother—he wouldn’t have given a crap about the relentless merchandising of a proud vessel. Now it bugged the hell out of him, but there wasn’t much of anything he could do about it.

There was a skinny, bespectacled tour guide lecturing a group of tourists who were studying the various gifts, some of them expressing annoyance that they weren’t being allowed to take the usual tour on the vessel, arguing that—after all—that’s what it had been built for. The tour guide, who was wearing an unspeakably tacky hat in the shape of a foam battleship (available for $5.99 in the gift shop), was busy explaining that, first of all, the Mighty Mo was reserved today for a special ceremony, and second, yes, the ship was now a museum, but that wasn’t what it had been built for. Hopper rolled his eyes at the stupidity of some people. He started to slow and, as if she were reading his mind, Sam pulled on his hand to make sure he didn’t get dragged into the middle of something.

“The USS Missouri was the final battleship to be completed by the United States,” the guide was telling them, “before being decommissioned and replaced by a more modern fleet of vessels, known as destroyers.”

“What’s the difference between the two?” asked a kid.

“Well, destroyers are lighter and faster and fire different weapons.”

Whoa, what—?!

Hopper stopped short, jerking Sam to a halt as well. Before she could do anything such as, for instance, talk sense into him, Hopper pulled away from her and turned to the guide. “That’s what you’re telling ’em? That’s bullshit!”

Sam visibly blanched, as did a couple of old women. The men looked surprised, and a grin split the face of the kid, probably because he liked hearing grown-ups curse.

“Hopper—!” said Sam warningly.

“I’m coming,” he said, but it was perfunctory, his attention entirely on the boy. “Battleships: dinosaurs. Destroyers: awesome!”

Sam put her hands on her hips in a manner that indicated he wasn’t going to be getting any anytime soon… if ever. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m coming.” He didn’t mean it any more the second time than he had the first, and he continued addressing the kid, grabbing tiny gray plastic models of the two types of boats from the souvenir stand. He held up a little battleship in his left hand. “Battleships: designed to take hits like a floating punching bag.” Then he held up the right. “Destroyers: designed to dish it out like a freakin’ Terminator!” He thrust the small destroyer toward the kid, whose eyes were round and goggled. “We’ve got Tomahawk cruise missiles, sea-skimming Harpoons, torpedoes like there’s no tomorrow…”

“Awe-some…!” said the kid.

“Yeah,” said Hopper, nodding, feeling much like a kid himself. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Hopper!”

The kid glanced toward the annoyed Sam. “Your girlfriend’s hot.”

“Get your own,” said Hopper. “Gotta go.”

He hurried over to Sam, who glared at him as they started running. “Everyone’s waiting and you’re talking about boats?”

“We were also talking about how hot you were.”

“You were not!”

“Swear to God.”

“Oh. Well… okay, then,” she said, slightly mollified.

The deck of the Missouri was filled with naval officers from an assortment of countries. The United States, Japan, Great Britain, Australia, South Korea, India and more were all represented, and flags from each of the nations were fluttering in the morning breeze. Having left Sam to find a spot in the audience with the families and other guests, he threaded his way through the assemblage of naval officers, looking to find his friends while trying to make sure he didn’t draw any attention to himself.

He finally located Stone and slid in next to him. His brother kept his attention focused on the podium up front, but said out the side of his mouth, “Nice of you to show up, lieutenant commander.” He was big on invoking Hopper’s rank and getting formal when he was pissed off with him. It was Stone’s way of letting Hopper know that he was annoyed, not to mention underscore their difference in rank and reminding him who was in charge. “You ready for this? Or would you like to sleep in and we’ll just do the war games without you?”

“Hey, at least I’m here. I made pretty good time considering I woke up on the wrong island this morning,” he whispered back.

“The wrong island? Which one? Gilligan’s?”

“Ha-ha. Think the Jedi Master noticed?” It was the nickname that the officers had for Admiral Terrance Shane behind his back, because of his knack for saying things that his subordinates somehow felt compelled to repeat word for word, as if he were controlling their minds.

“Considering he’s glaring right at you, I’d say yeah.”

Hopper turned his attention to the podium and felt his heart sink to somewhere around his shoes. Sure enough, the admiral was staring down at him with clear disapproval. He was a towering presence, well over six feet, with aquiline features that made him appear like a cross between a hawk and a Roman senator. He spoke with a gravelly voice that had a lyrical Irish lilt to it.

“First off, I’d like to welcome all of you to the RIMPAC International Naval War Games,” said Shane. The way he was looking at Hopper, Alex had a feeling he personally wasn’t all that welcome. Shane then turned his attention back to the rest of the assemblage. “And I’d like to welcome you on board the greatest fighting ship in American naval history. The Mighty Mo. The USS Missouri, where, in Tokyo Bay, on September 2, 1945, Japan surrendered to General Douglas McArthur.”

There was applause throughout, although Hopper couldn’t help but notice that the response from the Japanese officers was, to put it mildly, muted. Either Admiral Shane didn’t notice or else he simply didn’t care. More likely the latter. He was going to say what he had to say, and obviously he didn’t give a damn who he pissed off.

Which pretty much guaranteed that he would have no difficulty whatsoever—when Hopper asked for Sam’s hand—of providing a detailed list of every single one of Hopper’s shortcomings, verbally making mincemeat out of him before showing him the door and telling him never to utter Sam’s name in his presence again.

We should just elope. It would run contrary to Sam’s fantasy of having her father perform the ceremony at sea, standing on the bridge of a ship in his capacity as captain. But hell, at least they’d be married and there wouldn’t be a damned thing the admiral would be able to do about it. What am I saying? Of course he could. He could have me court-martialed for… for any reason at all. Or just throw me overboard late one night. Hell, he could probably order Stone to do it, and depending on Stone’s mood that day, he just might be happy to obey. Oh God… I think my chest is tightening up. Is this what a heart attack feels like—?

Stone reached over and straightened Hopper’s ribbon bar, looking at him with genuine concern. “Jesus, man, you look like death warmed over,” he said softly. “You’re a mess.”

“Can’t breathe.”

“Relax.”

That was easy for Stone to say. He wasn’t the one who was preparing to walk into the lion’s den, hand the lion a knife and fork, expose his chest to him and say “Chow down.” Still, Hopper tried to do as Stone said and get his breathing under control.

“He hates me,” said Hopper.

“It’s gonna be fine. Just keep your distance from him today.”

Which was, of course, exactly what Hopper wanted to hear. Stone didn’t know about Hopper’s plan to approach his potential father-in-law today. Still: Stone ordered me to stay away from the admiral. He’s the ranking officer. I can’t disobey a direct order. Sorry, babe, it’ll have to wait. Sounds like a plan. A crap plan, but a plan.

Oblivious, or perhaps simply indifferent, to the turmoil that Hopper was going through, Shane said, “We have with us today veterans, some going back to World War II. Examples of the finest men to have ever served in any Navy.” Shane gestured to the vets, and applause rippled through the audience. Hopper clapped his hands purely as a response to everyone else; he wasn’t consciously thinking about it. Instead he was turning around to see if Sam had maybe, perhaps, been making out with some other officer, having completely forgotten about Hopper and deciding that she could do better. That would get him off the hook. But no, there she was, off to the side, looking at him with that same mixture of confidence and adoration. It was the way he’d dreamed of her looking at him when he’d first seen her at the bar.

“And now,” Shane was saying, “as we prepare to embark on this outstanding exercise of global cooperation and competition, I would like the commanding officers of every surface warfare ship involved in this year’s game to come to the stage.”

Stone stood up in response to the summons, patting his brother on the shoulder as he did so. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” he said. It had become a running joke, one of those things that wasn’t funny to anyone outside of the family. It provided comfort and continuity to Hopper, or it irritated the hell out of him, depending on how he felt at any given moment. This was one of those occasions when he didn’t think about it at all, since he was so distracted by the emotions roiling within him.

Stone and the other commanding officers lined up behind the admiral. As they did so, a huge cake in the shape of the Missouri was wheeled up in front of them. Hopper saw it being brought forward and didn’t feel the least bit interested in eating any of it. That alone was more than enough to tell him he was off his game, if he hadn’t known already.

Admiral Shane turned and offered a rare smile to Hopper’s brother. “A special acknowledgment to American Stone Hopper, who—along with his outstanding crew and ship, the USS Sampson—had the highest overall rating last year and will be looking to repeat that terrific performance this year.”

Hopper felt momentary chagrin, as he frequently did whenever he heard the name of Stone’s ship. He remembered as if it were yesterday the first time he’d seen the name emblazoned on the side of the Arleigh Burke–class destroyer and airily informed his brother that some idiot had misspelled the name “Samson.” Stone had then patiently, and with an air of condescension that put Hopper’s teeth on edge, informed him that the vessel was named after Rear Admiral William T. Sampson and not the biblical judge and strong man.

Admiral Shane handed Stone a saber. Tragically it was a regular sword rather than a Jedi light sabre. It was a bit more weather-beaten than Navy swords typically were since it was reserved for ceremonies such as this, and cutting cakes weren’t exactly good for the blade. Yet Stone displayed great care as he took it from the admiral with a small bow, and then turned to face the audience.

“Welcome everybody,” said Stone. “It’s great to see you here. Your ships look outstanding and your men look ready. Good luck to you all, be safe, fight hard.”

He nodded once more as if affirming everything he’d just said and then sliced into the cake. The moment he did, the band launched into a stirring rendition of “Anchors Aweigh.” This disappointed Hopper, who was of the firm opinion that once, just once, the band should play the Village People’s “In the Navy.” Yeah. Opinions like that are why Stone’s up there and you’re down here.

“Hopper. What’s wrong?”

Raikes had come up beside him and was looking at him with genuine concern. “Seriously, Hopps. You look terrible. What’s on your mind?”

His mouth moved before he could stop it and the words all came out in a rush. “I was going to ask the admiral for permission to marry Sam except he totally hates me and you can’t tell anyone, okay. Please?”

She was clearly startled by the confession spilling from him. “Wow,” was all she could say.

“Seriously. Don’t tell anyone. None of the guys, and definitely not Stone.”

“Absolutely. Not a soul.”

“I had to hear it from Ord? Ord? From freaking Ord?” Stone said in disbelief. Then he paused and turned to Ord. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” said Ord. “I’m right there with you. Who wants to hear something like that from me? Hell, I couldn’t believe it when Beast told me.”

“Color me shocked,” said Beast.

His closest friends and his astounded brother were grouped around Hopper at the far end of the deck. Hopper was glaring at Raikes, who was standing there shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and trying to look at anyone except Hopper. She was eating a slice of cake with great concentration. “ ‘Absolutely not a soul,’ Raikes?” said Hopper. “Really?”

Her response was a shrug.

“I have no soul, if that helps, so technically she kept her word,” Beast said helpfully. “I’m actually a robot sent back in time to kill John Connor.”

“Shut up,” said Hopper.

“Roger, I copy that.”

Stone circled the group, but his attention never left his brother. Clearly he didn’t give a damn about Raikes breaking her word; he was more focused on other aspects of the news. “Why did you keep it from me? From your own brother?”

Hopper was inclined to spend some more time being pissed off with Raikes, but that pretty much seemed to be a dead-end path. So he said in frustration, “Because there’s only so much humiliation I want to handle, okay?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you think I’d humiliate you?” Stone was clearly astounded at Hopper’s attitude. “I want nothing but the best for you and Sam! You guys are a great couple. Right?” He addressed the question to the others.

“Yes, absolutely,” said Beast.

Raikes nodded, her mouth still full of cake, and she gave a thumbs-up.

“I’d totally do her,” said Ord. Then, when he saw that everyone was glaring at him, he said defensively, “Hey, I’m new here. Gimme a break.”

Raikes swallowed the piece of cake. “I’ll give you a broken nose is what I’ll give you.”

Hopper shifted his attention to Sam. She was standing next to her father, the admiral. She was holding a glass of champagne and laughing in that marvelous way she had. That laugh that, no matter what manner of gloom had settled on Hopper at any given moment, always made things right somehow. Officers from Japan, England, and South Korea were grouped around her, hanging on every word she said, every movement, every toss of her head. They adored her. Everyone adored her. Especially her father, who had an arm around her shoulders and was clearly bristling with pride over the splendid young woman he’d raised.

And he couldn’t stand Hopper.

“It doesn’t matter what a great couple we are,” Hopper said. “There’s no way the admiral’s gonna approve. And when that happens—or doesn’t, I should say—at least none of you would have had to know about it. There wouldn’t be a whole ‘So how’d it go?’ thing. I could keep my humiliation hidden and my guts would tear themselves apart in private instead of you guys knowing what was going on.”

The others exchanged looks. “Are you serious?” said Stone. “C’mon, Hopps. You’re selling yourself short.”

“You absolutely are,” said Beast. Raikes, having shoveled another forkful of cake into her mouth, nodded.

“I’d totally do you,” said Ord. The others stared at him. He looked defensive. “Boy, try to lighten things up around here…”

Hopper stared forlornly at Sam. She might as well have been standing on the other side of the Pacific for all that he could see of their life together. “Her father’s gonna smash me.”

“He’s not,” said Stone. His earlier irritation with his brother had subsided, replaced by sympathy for Hopper’s obvious turmoil.

“I really think he is.”

Stone shook his head. “He loves his daughter. She loves you. He’s gonna respect that. Stop worrying about what hasn’t happened and get it done.” He paused and then said, “You want me to come with? Would that help?”

“There’s no need I can absolutely do it myself yeah would’ja, please?”

Releasing a brotherly chuckle, Stone clapped Hopper on the shoulder and with an inclination of his head indicated Hopper should follow him.

“Want us to come, too?” said Ord cheerfully.

“Actually, I’d like you, Ord, to jump overboard,” said Stone. “Raikes, Beast—you two go fish him out once he’s splashed around for a while.”

As Stone and Hopper walked away, Ord looked nervously at Beast and Raikes. “He was kidding, right? That… wasn’t an actual order, was it?”

“Sounded pretty official to me,” Beast said sternly. Raikes, wiping cake from her mouth with the back of her hand, shrugged.

Stone and Hopper walked toward the admiral’s group. As they did so, Hopper was busy running through all the possible scenarios he could employ to casually get Shane away from the other officers. Perhaps Sam and Stone could somehow pitch in. Offer to take the others around the ship, leaving Hopper with the admiral for a few minutes.

That could work. Maybe this whole thing could work. All I need is for things to go my way…

“Nagata,” said Stone in a tone of formal greeting.

The name snapped Hopper from his musings and he looked dead ahead of them. Sure enough, there was Nagata—along with one of his men—having approached from the side and come up to them just before they arrived within range of Admiral Shane’s group.

Instantly Sam, her father and proposals were forgotten. His world was now filled with nothing but Nagata, standing there in his crisp uniform, oozing smug superiority. Nagata was regarding Hopper with his usual cool contempt even as he said to Hopper’s brother, “Stone. Good weather for our exercise.”

“Yes, it is, and good luck to you.”

“And to you,” said Nagata. He tilted his head toward Hopper. “Your brother could use a lesson in tactics from you.” He threw Hopper a cold smile.

Hopper shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to look casual even as he fought to resist the impulse of smashing in Nagata’s smug face. “We were doing fine last go around,” said Hopper, “till you tried to ram me in open water.”

“Ships never touched,” said Nagata. “Accident.”

“Says who?”

“The independent naval inquiry.”

Working quickly to avert catastrophe, Stone said, “Hopper, back out of this. Don’t you have something much more interesting to be doing right now?”

Hopper took a deep breath to steady himself, and then looked over to the admiral and Sam. “Roger that,” he said.

He quickly hurried away, as Stone turned back to Nagata and said, with as much charm as he could muster, “Beautiful day for sailing, isn’t it, gentlemen?”

From a short distance away, Hopper’s crewmates were watching with growing interest the altercation that appeared to be shaping up. “This is going to be sweet,” said Raikes, who had finished the cake and was stuffing the crumpled napkin into her pocket.

“He walked away, though,” Beast pointed out.

“Come on, Beast. You should know better than that. That was just round one. Round two’ll come up before you know it.”

“What’s going on?” said Ord, relieved that the conversation had shifted away from the notion that tossing him off the ship was somehow a good idea.

“Last year Hopper’s and Nagata’s ships nearly rubbed paint. Nagata blamed it on ‘wind shear,’” she said, putting air quotes around the latter two words to underscore just how seriously she took that excuse. “Hopper blames Nagata. Hates the man.”

“Why?”

She smiled. “Hopper likes to find people to hate. It’s how he motivates himself.”

“Really.” Ord was unimpressed by that. “Sounds a bit juvenile.”

That was exactly the wrong thing to say. “Go mess with him,” Raikes said challengingly. “See what happens.”

Ord might have been new to his surroundings, but he’d been around long enough to know when he was being set up. “No.”

“Do it,” she dared him.

“No.”

“Do it,” said Raikes. She nudged him between the shoulder blades.

“Leave me alone,” he said, and quickly backed away. This prompted a hearty laugh from Raikes and a low rumble of amused approval from Beast.

Initially Hopper had been heading straight toward the admiral. That worked right up until the admiral happened to glance in his direction and give him one of those patented scowls of his. This promptly sent Hopper off on a sharp left turn and his feet brought him, almost of their own accord, to the nearest head. Or, as civilians termed it, the bathroom.

He stood in there for a time, staring at himself in the mirror. You look like a scared little girl. Pull it together, for God’s sake.

He turned the spigot and watched the cold water splash and swirl in the sink for a few moments, trying to avoid thinking of himself as swirling down the drain along with the water. He cupped some of it in his hands and splashed it on his face. He looked back up into the mirror and tried to ignore that water was dripping from his eyebrows. He forced what he imagined was an expression that exuded confidence onto his face. “Sir, it would be my great honor… my great privilege, for your daughter’s hand…” Honor? Privilege? You sound like you’re getting a bump up in rank. Let him know how you feel, dammit. “My joy…”

The creaking of the door was so unexpected that Hopper nearly jumped two feet in the air. He turned and saw, to his anger and dismay, Nagata standing there. Nagata was studying him with open curiosity. “Talking to yourself?”

Not now. Don’t do this now. “Just leaving.”

He started to head for the door. Nagata had stepped through and now he allowed it to swing shut, making no move to get out of Hopper’s way. “Practicing all the things you wish you’d said to me?” said Nagata.

Hopper felt the familiar rage starting to surge through him, and he did everything he could to contain it. “I don’t know how things work in Nagata land, where you’re utterly blameless in all things, but in the real world, not everything is about you.”

“You have something to say, why not say it to my face?”

Hopper took a step toward him, his fists trembling. “If I’m going to do something to your face, Sparky, it isn’t going to involve words.”

“Big talk. Big talk from a little m—”

He didn’t manage to finish the sentence because Hopper chose that moment to drive a fist squarely into Nagata’s gut. It caught Nagata completely by surprise, doubling him over and bringing his face close enough to Hopper that the American was able to punch Nagata in the eye. Probably thought I didn’t have the nerve.

Nagata staggered and Hopper closed in for the kill. But he was too slow. Even in the confined area, Nagata was able to sidestep him and he brought the base of his hand slamming up into Hopper’s mouth. Hopper’s head snapped back and he tasted his own blood in his mouth. Nagata’s hand thrust forward once more. Hopper was able to block it, just barely. He grabbed Nagata’s wrist and slammed him back up against the wall, which shuddered under the impact. They grappled for a few moments and then Nagata—bigger and stronger than Hopper—shoved him back. But Hopper didn’t let go and together the two of them crashed into the nearest stall, the wall collapsing under their combined weight.

Hopper lost track of time after that, the world transforming into a vast haze of red. All he knew was that one minute he was snarling in Nagata’s face—the two of them slamming each other around and rolling on the bathroom floor—and the next they were being separated by masters-at-arms. As the MAs pulled the two of them apart, Hopper had a brief glimpse of a tall figure standing in the corridor, looking on in disgust. It was Admiral Shane.

Terrific, he thought, as he came to the realization that trying to distinguish between the subtleties of words like “honor” and “joy” had suddenly become woefully, painfully moot.