Battleship

PEARL HARBOR

Like the Sampson, the John Paul Jones was an Arleigh Burke–class guided missile destroyer, docked in Pearl Harbor, a long way from her home port of San Diego. Her famed motto was “In Harm’s Way,” and she had certainly lived up to it, having endured four deployments to the Persian Gulf. Along with eleven other destroyers from an assortment of countries, right now she was taking on the last of her crew and making ready to set sail for the international war games. The weather was certainly perfect for it. Not a cloud in the sky, no prediction of rain or storms anywhere on the horizon.

Although with the mood Hopper was in, he was already seeing that as a drawback. Inclement weather could sometimes be tremendously useful and give you a leg up on your opponent if you could detect their ships before they could see yours. With a perfect sun beaming down, it meant that the playing field was level.

Fine. Bring ’em on. He was definitely in the mood to blow something up.

What he was not in the mood for was to listen to Sam tell him how monumentally he had screwed up. Worse, he was not in the weapons bay, out of sight from everyone else; instead he was on the dock, approaching the gangway that led up to the ship, and Sam was right next to him, letting him have it in no uncertain terms.

“You had one job. One simple, very specific job,” she said.

“It was not a good time to ask,” he told her, never more certain of anything in his entire life.

She kept talking as if he hadn’t spoken. “Five words: ‘May I marry your daughter?’ You ask the question. He says ‘yes,’ and we’re there. We’re good.” She gestured in frustration, “You hitting a Japanese officer was not part of the plan.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “I’m really sorry.”

There was nothing in her attitude that led Hopper to think that apologizing was going to get the job done. As it turned out, he was exactly right. “You think this is a joke? You don’t think I’m serious about this? I love my father more than anyone in the world, Hopper. You don’t have the respect…”

Her voice became so laden with emotion that she couldn’t finish the sentence.

Hopper was still having trouble believing that they were having this conversation. He’d been sure that once Sam found out how badly everything had gone, it would be the end of them right there. That he’d find a break-up email waiting for him, or perhaps a curt “Nice knowing you” on his voice mail. The fact that she was still talking to him at all was nothing short of astounding to him.

He reached out to her, tried to take her hand, but she shook it away. So he folded his arms, looking uneasy as he said, “I do have the respect. And I… I’m sorry.” It seemed a hopelessly inadequate thing for him to say, but it was all he could manage.

She took a moment to regain control of herself and then looked up at him. He could see the red rims of her eyes. She’d been crying before she ever came to see him. “Stone says there’s going to be a captain’s mast as soon as you get back.”

“Yeah.” It was all he said. There didn’t really seem much of anything else for him to say.

There was such despair on Sam’s face that Hopper was starting to feel as if he were some kind of sadist for even spending time with her. “What is wrong with you?” she said, and thumped her palm on his chest for good measure.

“I’m not sure.”

She was starting to tear up again, and she wiped them away as quickly as she could. There were others around, sailors and officers and their spouses, and the last thing she needed was for the daughter of the admiral to look weak, as if she were all choked up over the notion of her boyfriend going off to war games. Sam spoke to him low and intensely: “Something is wrong, Hopper. Really wrong, and you have to make it right. I love you very much, but something has got to change. Make it right.” She didn’t wait for him to leave her. Instead she walked away from him as quickly as she could.

Hopper stood there for a moment, wrestling with the possibility of running after her, maybe even blowing off the war games completely. Let her know where his priorities were. But what would be the result of that? Desertion charges? Dishonorable discharge? Then again, wasn’t that a foregone conclusion, with the captain’s mast? If he was going to go down, why not just go down in flames?

Because if you wait till after the mast, you might still have a whisper of a breath of a prayer. Turn your back on the Navy and it’s all over. You, Sam, all of it. You’ll never be able to make it right the way she wants you to.

These were the thoughts that hung on him as he joined his shipmates aboard the John Paul Jones.

Later, as he stood leaning on the railing of the prow while the destroyer prepared to pull out, he wondered if it was indeed too late to fix things. Sam had talked of love, but she’d walked away from him. She’d spoken of his making things right, but hadn’t suggested how he could possibly go about it.

Maybe she’s already preparing emotionally to cut me loose, and who could blame her? Is there any point in…?

Then he saw her. She was standing in the parking lot, leaning against the Jeep, her eyes clearly searching for some sign of Hopper. Then she spotted him, raised her arm, and waved.

She came back to see me off.

It was like a jolt of adrenaline to his heart. He gave her a salute and then did a double tap of his fist against his heart, followed by a V-for-Victory sign with his fingers. He was trying to tell her every way he knew that he still loved her and would try to find a way to fix things, for her. It was a great message and he was positive it was exactly what she needed to hear.

Now all he had to do was find a way to make it actually happen.