The Cruiser Read Online Free PDF Page B

beside the watertight door that, if the layout here was the same as it had been aboard Horn, led to Officers’ Country and the wardroom. Moisture sparkled on his forehead. He murmured, “Captain, welcome aboard, sir. I’m Fahad Almarshadi. Your exec.”
    Dan eyed the tentatively extended palm, but didn’t take it. “I understand there’s a temporary OIC. From the DesRon staff.”
    â€œYessir. He sent his respects, but said he had to stay on the bridge.” Almarshadi retracted his palm, smoothed slicked-back hair with it, and swallowed. “Shall I—shall I take you up there now?”
    â€œThat’d be best.” Dan took the lead to show he knew his way. Outside the wardroom the decks were torn up; their footsteps crunched on rusting metal. “What’s all this?”
    â€œSir, Captain Imerson didn’t like this old blue terrazzo. He wanted it chipped up and replaced. I’ve got the—”
    â€œHow many man-hours have you wasted on that?”
    Almarshadi sucked air but didn’t answer, falling in behind Dan as they reached a ladder up. The climb seemed longer than on Horn, and he remembered the two additional decks an Aegis cruiser had. Decks crammed with radar equipment, transmitter rooms, and a much larger combat information center. Sailors gaped as they hove into view, then faded into side passages.
    A watertight door thunked open, and they emerged onto a wide-windowed bridge filled with sunlight and thronged with uniforms. Conversations stopped. The faces turned to him were appallingly young, unlined, apprehensive. He pushed through a nearly tangible web of quickly dropped glances to the centerline of the pilothouse. Shading his gaze against the glare, he swept the harbor. Peered down at the anchoring detail, who were standing about in yellow hard hats down on the forecastle. Then paced out onto the wing to check aft. He didn’t much like leaving port stern-first, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it at the moment, since the tugs had her in hand.
    The officer in charge introduced himself and offered a few terse sentences. Savo Island was in a lightened condition. The barges alongside held her fuel. All potable water had been pumped into the harbor. The six hundred five-inch rounds forward had been walked aft to raise the bow. Dan asked about damage. The OIC said the ship’s damage-control teams had found no leaks or sagging bulkheads. A port engineer from Norfolk and a combat systems engineer from Surflant were aboard. Savo was proceeding to anchorage Bravo 4, where divers would inspect the shafts, screws, and hull. “You might actually get off without a dry-docking,” he finished.
    Dan said, “That’d be nice. How do you want to handle the turnover?”
    â€œReady when you are. Here and now, if you want.”
    â€œGot the keys?”
    â€œFiring keys? Right here.” He lifted them off over his head, on a glinting steel-bead neckchain, and handed them over.
    When Dan settled them around his own neck they still felt warm. He searched around the harbor again, glanced astern. “Thanks, I’ve got it.—Who has the conn?”
    â€œI do, sir.” A woman’s voice. A lieutenant. Raven hair, black arched eyebrows, the profile of a Hindu goddess. “The pilot’s on the starboard wing.”
    He went out and introduced himself. The pilot, a cigarette stuck to his lip, looked him up and down, grimaced, then went back to instructing the tugs in rapid Italian on his handheld. Dan studied the distant double hump of Vesuvius, a powdery purple against the glorious gold morning light.
    Usually there was a ceremony. The crew was mustered with traditional pomp to witness the turnover of command. But he didn’t have an outgoing skipper present; there would be no briefings by the man he was relieving, and by now every man and woman aboard knew he was here. Probably his official bio