Glory for Sea and Space (Star Watch Book 4) Page 4

  The admiral nodded then shook his head. “They were here a long long time ago. The Craing hybrids. Remember them? They look like humans, act like humans, but they most definitely are not human. They are Craing.”

  Jason mentally flashed back to his own experiences with the hybrids, and one in particular—General Peter Bickerdike, of the U.S. Air Force. He initially thought him to be a friend. Having incredible influence over military policy, he had the president’s ear. He also possessed two beating hearts—a Craing give-away through and through. Those hybrids, as it turned out, propagated into a myriad of high-ranking positions within numerous international militaries and governments. Their actual purpose here was never fully revealed, but the end result caused total disruption—nations pitted against nations. Part of their strategy was to place the world on the brink of self-destruction. Jason had never considered until that very moment that they were here long before his own first encounter with them—twenty years ago.

  “I want to hear it all … the unvarnished reality. But first, I want to hear about my mother. In addition to everything else, you need to tell me about her, Dad … it’s time.”

  “I suppose it is.” He let out a breath—his shoulders sagging even more. “Another aspect of my life I’m not completely proud of. I’ll start at the beginning, but let me tell it my own way. Hold off asking a million damn questions till I’m done … can you do that?”

  Jason turned to see Dira listening too. Leaning against the opened, sliding-glass-door frame, she nodded to him. Her unspoken message—this is what you wanted to hear.

  Jason raised his beer, signaling cheers. “Have at it, Dad.”

  The admiral took a slug of beer and repositioned himself on the lounge chair. “The year was 1971. You and Brian, of course, weren’t born yet. I was stationed at the Norfolk Naval Air Station in Virginia. I guess I was a lieutenant, way back then.”

  “How did you meet my mother?”

  His father looked annoyed at the interruption, but Jason intended to start on the right foot—different from the hundreds of other times when he’d tried to get information about Lilith Ann Reynolds—the most mysterious woman in Jason’s life.

  “You need to understand … I was away. A lot. You know yourself the demands made on a naval officer’s life—deployments to the far side of the world and often for months on end. Back then … there were no cell phones. Communications to and from home were far more limited.”

  “You’re still skirting my question, Dad.”

  “Damn it!” The admiral sat up and glared at Jason. “Are you going to let me tell—”

  Jason interrupted him, “Nope … not this time. You always do that. Omit any details having to do with my mother.”

  After another long tug on his beer the admiral, still fixing Jason with a cold stare, came right out and said it: “Your mother was someone else’s damn wife. There! You happy?”

  “What does that mean … someone else’s wife?”

  “She never was Ann Reynolds; she was Lilith Ann Thomas. And we did not live together … we were not a happy little family, living together on the base.”

  “If she wasn’t your wife, whose wife was she?”

  The admiral lay back in a fully reclined position in his chair. The momentary fury in his eyes was gone, replaced by what looked more like guilt, or perhaps embarrassment. He responded, “She was the young wife of a Navy captain.”

  Stunned, Jason digested this latest revelation, which immediately led to the next question. “Then, we’re not your …”

  “No … you’re most definitely my spawn. The young captain could not father children.”

  Jason stared at him with a questioning look.

  “From what I was told by Lilly, your mother, he was away on duty … his very first command as a skipper … when his MCMV struck a mine somewhere off the coast of Vietnam.”

  Jason knew that an MCMV was a mine countermeasure ship—a minesweeper.

  “Captain Cole Thomas lost his ship that day—along with two thirds of his crew— and most of his left leg. He nearly died. A miracle he didn’t, actually.”

  The story was getting interesting and Jason began to understand why his father wasn’t keen about providing the details to him before.

  Dira came the rest of the way out of the house—her hair still wet and a little messy. Jason accepted the cold bottle of beer she offered and the admiral did the same. “I’m going to bed … I’ll see you in the morning, Admiral. I’ll see you later,” she said, giving Jason a wink.

  “I met Lilly at the Naval Medical Center, in Portsmouth. I was the ripe old age of twenty-three … green, and not long out of the academy. I was checking up on a fellow crewmember, a seaman, who’d suffered a broken jaw. Obviously the result of a fist fight, apparently no one pressed him on it … just went with his lame story that he’d slipped off a metal ladder.”

  “That’s where you met my mother?”

  The admiral nodded. “She was sitting alone in the medical center café. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen … or have since. I’d guessed she was a little older than me … maybe twenty-four or five. There was not an open seat to be found so I asked her if she would mind if I joined her. She shrugged, rather unenthusiastically. We began talking and soon were laughing about something or other … I don’t remember what. I learned her husband was still convalescing, for nearly a week by then. I also learned her young husband had lost more than his leg on that fateful day off the coast of Vietnam.”

  It took a moment for Jason to figure out exactly what his father meant, and grimaced.

  “Family jewels?”

  The admiral continued, “I began to visit the young seaman fairly often; to the point it was becoming noticed. Especially, since the son of a bitch couldn’t speak yet … his jaw all wired shut like it was. But I had to see her. Tried to schedule my visits to coincide with her visits to her husband. We became friends. Then … more so.”

  “Surely her husband must have gotten out of the hospital …”

  His father slowly shook his head. “Her husband’s stay in the hospital lasted close to three years. Infections … gangrene. Poor guy was continually sitting at death’s door. She never moved onto the base. Lilly lived in a small, two-bedroom apartment.”

  “And you lived with her?”

  “Not officially, and I was away … deployed for months on end. But when I was back, I’d stay with her. Jason, you have to understand, we loved each other deeply. She was my wife, in every aspect, except … well … legally. Before we knew it, within weeks of our meeting, she became pregnant with Brian and things got serious fast. I wanted her to leave her husband, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him. Not with his life already so terribly shattered. Pregnant suddenly with Brian … the timing was a stretch for her husband to be the father, but nevertheless, he, and others there too, seemed ready to accept it as fact.”

  “And then she became pregnant with me,” Jason added.

  The admiral pursed his lips and a sobering look of regret crossed his features. “And, unfortunately, that was the beginning of the end for Lilly and me.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I guess it was my fault.”

  “No … it was mine. But then it got ugly. She came clean with her husband, once she began to show. Although I was prepared to take full responsibility, Lilly told her husband, and everyone else, that she’d become involved with her high school sweetheart. She didn’t want my career to be over and ruined; she was insistent about that.”

  Jason saw the sadness on his father’s face and felt a tug on his own heart.

  “But the amazing part of all this, her husband didn’t want a divorce. I guess, at some inner level, he understood. She had a decision to make—one I hoped would go favorably in my direction. But then something terrible happened.” His father looked at Jason, moisture brimming in his eyes. “She was struck by an ambulance, in the street right outside the hospital. Killed instantly, from what I understood.”
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  Tears were now flowing freely down his father’s cheeks. “I never saw her body. At the time I was at sea, on deployment … over three thousand miles away. I was informed, via a private message from the states; strangely enough, from her husband. Apparently, he knew the truth … who I was. That I was actually her secret lover … the father, by this time, of her two children.”

  “I’m so sorry … Dad. I didn’t know. It must have been terrible for you. Awful.”

  The admiral didn’t answer—his eyes remained unfocused—as if mentally reliving that time, now decades in the past.

  “So how did Brian and I end up living with your father?”

  “I worked it out with Lilly’s husband. Understandably, he didn’t want the two of you in his life, and I did. I loved you and Brian … although I only had limited periods of being around you both since constantly away at sea. It took a bit of finagling, but we did find a way to alter my personnel records. Keep in mind, Jason, records were on paper; not digitalized back then. There were a few hiccups, but in the end, I legally had two sons and was a widower. Ol’ Gus, your grandfather, was ecstatic to have you boys come live with him. Your grandmother had recently died so it all seemed to work out.”

  “You could have told me all this before, Dad.”

  “As I said, I’m not proud of some of my earlier decisions … my actions. But I am glad you know about it now, son.”

  “Me too.”

  “So let’s talk about The Lilly. I’ll get around to the Caldurians eventually, but you need to hear the whole story … the Craing hybrids and why I was forced to leave so suddenly. I’ll start with my time aboard the Montana … right before we were deployed.”

  Chapter 6

  The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

  Office of the Chief of Naval Operations

  __________________________

  Summer, 1995 …

  Captain Perry Reynolds entered the east entrance to the Pentagon and, noting other naval officers scurrying around, immediately felt underdressed. This was his first visit to the defense department’s monstrously-overlarge, hexagonal-shaped headquarters, built in 1941. He’d opted to leave his coat hanging in his car, now parked close to a hundred yards away. He checked his watch—no time. In fact, he needed to double-time it just to make his briefing on time.

  At an intersection, he looked left, then right, and then straight ahead, seeing only a maze of identical-looking corridors. He quickly felt overwhelmed. Perry didn’t like bureaucratic bullshit, of any kind. He preferred the slight but perpetual movement of the deck beneath his feet—the easy familiarity of his bridge.

  Perry noticed a middle-aged woman, with dark curly hair and a prominent widow’s peak, one that pointed down towards her nose from the top of her forehead. He looked for some indication of her rank, then gave up. “Excuse me …”

  She scrutinized him with hawk-like eyes. “Yes, Captain Reynolds, you are expected and in the right place.”

  Over her left shoulder, Perry spotted the gold nameplate, centered on the wooden door behind her.

  Chief of Naval Operations

  Admiral Paul Sands

  He was pretty accustomed to what had just taken place. He’d first noticed it happening when he was a young boy—what his father had called the luck of the Irish. Inexplicably, he’d catch a lucky break, just like this one—almost as if he had a guardian angel watching out for him—showing up on a near-daily basis. Like someone pulling on his arm as he was about to step in front of an oncoming bus; or, miraculously knowing obscure answers to test questions, back in grade school, that he had neither studied for, nor remembered discussing in class. The trick was in letting such situations pass without paying them undue attention. Almost, it seemed, as if there was an unwritten law angels had to follow … I’ll help you, but don’t make too much of a fuss about it. In his mind, Perry was one hundred percent certain that this particular guardian angel was none other than Lilith Thomas … his beautiful Lilly.

  “I said you could go on in, the admiral’s waiting for you, Captain.”

  Perry opened the door and found it was actually a suite of several offices, with a large, wood-paneled conference room off to the right. Three admirals, standing together at the farthest end of the table, were speaking in low tones. In their fifties or early sixties, they each wore two stars on their shoulders and Perry knew who each of them were. A fourth officer, this one a four-star admiral, was on the telephone off to the left and was the first to notice Perry’s arrival. Perry stood at attention.

  The admiral covered the phone’s mouthpiece, gesturing for him to come in and take a seat. Perry had recognized him as Admiral Sands, the Chief of Naval Operations. As far as the Navy was concerned, Sands was about as high up the chain of command as one could get. Being in the same room with the officer, any of them for that matter, was both an honor and a privilege. So why the hell am I here? he thought.

  Admiral Sands extracted himself from the phone and took a seat at the head of the table. Perry, seated a few chairs away, was joined by the other admirals—one to his left and two directly across from him.

  “Captain Reynolds, thank you for using due haste to come here on such short notice.” Sands didn’t look up from his study of an open folder—its papers neatly spread out before him. Perry, letting his eyes shift toward the three officers, found them looking back at him, their expressions serious to the point he had to fight the urge to wiggle in his seat. He waited for an introduction to them but none came.

  For the tenth time, Perry silently reviewed the last few weeks of his life. What the hell had he done … or said … to warrant this high level of attention? He could not remember the last time a captain, while actively on duty skippering a vessel, was pulled back to the mainland like this. He’d left the frigate, the Gallant, patrolling off the west coast of Australia, in the hands of his second in command—Commander Geffen—with no explanation. He didn’t have one.

  Sure enough, he’d screwed the pooch before. Perry was a no-nonsense captain. And yeah, he knew he was well-liked by his crew—respected—perhaps even admired. But he didn’t tolerate idiots or disobedience. In a momentary flash, he could verbally disembowel a subordinate—to a point beyond mere humiliation. He was well aware his quick temper could be his undoing. Perhaps he’d gone too far? He searched his memory.

  “You’re not here to be reprimanded, Captain. Nothing like that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Sands said, looking up for the first time.

  Perry took in the Chief of Naval Operations and was instantly taken off guard. There was something odd about him. He couldn’t explain what, only that he had the feeling he was in the presence of danger.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “There are two important events taking place simultaneously. You are aware, of course, of the latest developments in the Taiwan Strait?”

  Of course he was aware of that international hot spot; he’d been expecting orders for the Gallant to join Carrier Group Five and its flagship the USS Independence in conducting joint naval exercises in the region. He’d been closely following the activity of the ROC, commonly known as Taiwan. China—or the PLA—was fully intent on bringing the far-too-independent Taiwan further under its heavy-handed control. The tense situation there was bringing saber-rattling to new heights. War exercises, on both sides, had commenced and the convergence of opposing super-powers, including the U.S., China, and even Russia, had made the area a potential powder keg that could quickly escalate into World War III.

  Perry was suddenly unsure. They certainly didn’t need to drag him before the Chief of Naval Operations just to issue him new orders. Something was askew.

  “Am I to join the Fifth … for the joint exercises?”

  One of the admirals, sitting across from Perry, shook his head. “I’m Admiral Garry. Rest assured, you’ve left the Gallant in good hands. No … we have another, more urgent, command for you. Captain.” The four admirals exchanged joint glances before he continued: “The infor
mation we’re about to share with you has been, up until the last few weeks, of the highest level of secrecy. Let’s talk about battleships … specifically the Iowa class warships.”

  Perry inwardly groaned. Those four old dreadnaughts, mostly built in the early 1940s, were gargantuan, powerful, warships: The Iowa, New Jersey, Missouri, and Wisconsin. But their day had come and gone. Too often they’d been brought back out of mothballs—re-commissioned into active naval duty—only to perform less than adequately in today’s modern age of warfare. They could carry twenty-seven hundred officers and enlisted men. With their thick, torpedo-proof reinforced hulls and nine sixteen-inch guns, the ships were built to impress—to be the brawny neighborhood bullies that could go up against virtually any warship on the planet, or easily bombard a coastal target into rubble. The Iowa-class battleships, in their time, were the pride of the U.S. Navy. To serve on one of those vessels was an honor; to be skipper on one, a career maker.

  Perry quickly tried to recall the present disposition of each ship. Were any still active? Please … God, please … don’t saddle me with one of those slow, out of date, beasts.

  Admiral Garry continued, “In 1945, a fifth Iowa-class battleship was put to sea under stealth—a military program called Operation America Thunder. The program was funded outside the normal government war chest. Discretionary funds were allocated in secret, thus the upgraded, and greatly enhanced, warship was known to exist to only a very select few—the president, of course, certain members of Congress, and a need-to-know section of the Navy.”

  Perry looked skeptical. “Excuse me, sir, but a warship rated at 45,000 long tons is hard to keep under wraps … to keep hidden.”

  “You’d think so, Captain. But apparently our predecessors were quite adept at doing just that. The Montana has been privately moored in allied waters, maintained beneath a shelter, and protected from the elements for close to fifty years. I’ve seen her myself. She looks showroom new. It’s time now to bring this fine ship home, since there’s no need for continued secrecy. Captain Reynolds, we have selected you to perform this honor. En route, you’ll skipper the Montana through the Taiwan Strait. She will be an inspiration to our forces, there conducting exercises in the region. A bright beacon of the United States—extolling to others both our past and present might at sea. From there, you’ll bring the old girl home to her final resting place. A new berth is being readied as we speak—her arrival eagerly anticipated in Norfolk. There’s even talk of making her a floating museum. So expect much pomp and circumstance, Captain. Our nation needs this kind of celebration now … a dramatic tribute to our past and current greatness at sea.”