It was a chilly morning as Admiral Patrick McGee stood on the bridge of the USS John C. Stennis, looking out over the water. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon, flanked by tints of pink and orange. The winds bounced off the waves, splashing them against the ship. He could smell the salt of the sea and heartily breathed it in.
"Admiral," a voice called. He turned to see Captain Merle Glenn approaching. Like him, Glenn was in his mid-fifties and was showing signs of salt-and-pepper along his hairline. Their faces were etched with small wrinkles and lines.
"Captain," he replied. "Quite a nice morning, don't you agree?"
"I can't say any morning is a nice morning when you're afloat," Glenn said. "The seas never seem to calm. Still, I can't say I'd rather be anywhere else."
"Was there something you wanted to speak with me about, Captain?" Patrick asked, wanted to get right to the point.
"Petty Officer Collins, sir."
Patrick sighed. "Yes, what about him?"
"I know you're not fond of him but I do believe him to be a good, is misguided, man. He's harmless."
"Harmless as a civilian, perhaps. Not so harmless in the Navy. Don't misunderstand; I don't think the boy is evil, but discipline is necessary and I won't accept anything less. All we need is one thing to go wrong and people can get hurt.
"He's young, Admiral."
"So he is. But so are hundreds of others who have served under me and I've never had trouble with them. If he expects to have any career in the Navy he'll need to grow up and do so quickly. I could have killed him for that stunt he pulled and I may have done just that if you hadn't intervened. As I said then, it's your ship and I'll leave him to you, but I cannot allow him to continue these antics."
"I understand, Admiral."
Patrick gave a curt nod and turned back to his view. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "it's these times at sea that I appreciate my time with Margaret."
"How is your wife?"
"Fine, if her last letter is any indication." But Patrick's mind wasn't on that letter. It was on the phone call he had received a week before the carrier had been sent off.
"Is there something on your mind, Admiral?"
"Just thinking…about my son."
"Your son?" Patrick hadn't mentioned a son to him. That wasn't all too surprising, though; Patrick wasn't one to make small talk very often. He was a quiet man who stuck to the important facts and didn't muddle his job with personal information.
"Yes," he said, "my son, Timothy. We spoke not before we set sail."
"Is he a Navy man as well?"
"Not quite." Patrick's tone indicated that he didn't wish to discuss the matter further. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."
Glenn stepped aside, allowing Patrick to pass, giving a small nod as he did. "Just a reminder, Admiral, that Agent Forbes wants to speak with you after breakfast. Says he has to talk about that scuffle between Chief Officers Palmero and Juarez. He said he'll come around your quarters."
"Thank you, Captain. I'll head there now."
Patrick walked through the ship corridors toward his quarters, his mind still on his conversation with Tim. He couldn't remember exactly when their relationship had begun to sour, but he remembered clearly the day they had each drawn their respective line in the sand, causing the seven years of silence between one another. It hadn't been his proudest moment as a father and he had known even then that he could have repaired it. His pride had gotten in the way, was all. Now he didn't know if they would ever recapture what they had once had.
The climb to the top can be a lonely one, especially in the Navy. It requires much sacrifice from both you and your loved ones. Patrick had known for years that he would be a Navy Admiral, just like his father and his father's father. Perhaps he had given up too much in the process, though. Perhaps he had focused so much on his career in the Navy that he lost sight of his career as a father and husband. Despite wanting those serving under him to believe otherwise, he didn't always have the right answers to every question.
He was lost in these thoughts when he heard a gurgled groan nearby, followed by a hard thud. Quickening his pace, he rounded the corner and came to a halt. Before him was the body of a sailor, lying face-down with one arm outstretched, as though grabbing for one more breath of life. A knife stuck out of his back and both the knife and the body were surrounded by blood.
Patrick tentatively approached the body, for it was one that he recognized. "Petty Officer Collins?" he said. There was no response. "Petty Officer Collins, stop this foolishness and get up!" Again, he received no response. Feeling anger bubbling up, Patrick knelt beside the body and grabbed the shoulder, flipping the man over onto his back. He expected to be greeted with a laugh or some indication that this had been a joke. Instead, he was met with a more appalling sight: a pale white face wretched into a look of horror, with unblinking eyes looking upward. He realized that the blood on his hands wasn't imitation; it was the real thing.
As Patrick knelt there in shock Captain Glenn rounded the corner, also coming to a halt at the sight.
"Call for Agent Forbes," Patrick said in a low voice. "He's dead."