Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

‘But why do you need so many missiles?’ Donna said. ‘What do you call it, “overkill”? Isn’t one enough? One bomb dropped on Moscow to wipe them all out?’

‘It’s because of what you said earlier,’ I said. ‘We all need to make sure that no one can win a nuclear war. That’s what our submarines are for. If the Russians launched a surprise attack on us, took out Washington and our land-based missiles, and our bombers, the Hamilton would still be there, hidden in the Atlantic, ready to take out their biggest cities.’

‘And then we all die?’

‘No. None of us dies! That’s the whole point. The Cold War has been going on thirty-five years, and we haven’t blown up the world yet.’

Donna’s blue eyes flashed at me. There was a touch of colour in her pale cheeks. But she was listening to me, I could tell she was listening. The rest of the group was watching us.

She took a swig from her beer bottle. ‘There has to be a better way,’ she said.

‘I hope they find one,’ I said. ‘I really do.’

There was silence around the table for a moment. Then Vicky broke it. ‘Why don’t we go eat? There’s a good Mexican place a couple of blocks away.’

The restaurant was indeed good and not too expensive. I noticed that Donna was careful not to sit next to me; I was at one corner of the table for six, and she was at the corner diagonally opposite. Everyone else soon forgot our conversation and even Craig seemed to forget his wife.

As the crowd laughed, I smiled almost politely. I couldn’t help glancing surreptitiously at Donna, as she teased Vicky, laughed at something Craig said or expressed horror at one of Kathleen’s stories. She was so warm, so engaged, so alive .

And so beautiful. She was really beautiful.

I felt depressed about our argument. Not about the substance: I knew many people thought the way Donna did, and I was as confident as I could be that she was wrong. I didn’t for one moment doubt the worth of what Lars and Craig and I and all the other Blue Crew on the Alexander Hamilton were doing.

It was more that I felt cut off from the rest of society, or certainly from my own generation. It wasn’t just that millions of Americans didn’t appreciate what we were doing spending four months of the year underwater protecting them from World War Three, it was that they didn’t even understand it. They thought we were the enemy.

On the submarine, everyone understood. It was like going back to your family: they might not always like you, but they understood you and they accepted you.

That didn’t seem healthy. If the only place you could be accepted was three hundred feet beneath the Atlantic, that didn’t seem healthy at all.

Donna spotted me looking at her, hesitated just for a second and then we both looked away.

Eventually, we all spilled out of the restaurant on to Broadway. The temperature had cooled a little, and a breeze threaded its way from the Hudson through the tall buildings toward us, bringing the sweet smell of New York garbage with it. The taxis roared by in waves, let loose by the synchronized traffic lights.

We walked back toward Vicky’s apartment, via the 86 thStreet Subway stop for Donna to take the subway home downtown to St Mark’s Place. Kathleen had already grabbed a taxi across the park to the East Side.

I was trailing a few feet behind the other four, when Donna slipped back to join me.

‘Can I have one of those cigarettes after all?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’ I gave her one and lit up myself.

She took a deep drag. ‘That tastes so good,’ she said. ‘I think I might have had a little too much to drink.’

‘Are you sure you shouldn’t get a cab?’ It was dark, and I knew there were no-go areas in New York. I just didn’t know exactly where they were.

‘I’ll be OK,’ Donna said. ‘I also know I’ve spent too much money already tonight. Are you all right? You seemed a little preoccupied?’

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘It was a good evening.’

‘Hey, I’m sorry I beat up on you so much back there,’ she said. ‘It was tacky. And I know you really believe what you were telling me.’

‘I do,’ I said.

‘I should know better. I’ve had non-violence training, you know. They teach you to engage respectfully with the other side. I don’t think I was very respectful.’

‘They?’

‘The people who organize the protests.’

‘Oh. I can confirm you weren’t violent.’

‘Yeah. Well, I hope you have a good mission, or whatever you call it. You know, it all goes well.’

What? You mean I don’t blow up the world? I felt like saying, but didn’t.

We walked on in silence for a block. I saw the subway sign over the other side of the street.

I had an idea. It was probably a dumb idea, but I had no time to think it through.

‘I’m going to see my parents in Pennsylvania for a few days tomorrow.’

‘Oh yeah? Where do they live?’

‘Lancaster County.’ The green railings of the subway station were getting closer. I didn’t have time to discuss Pennsylvania geography.

I stopped. She stopped. ‘Look. I can drop by New York on my way back to Groton. Do you want to come out for dinner with me next week? Thursday evening?’

She looked at me as if I was crazy. ‘You’re asking me for a date? After how mean I was to you?’

‘I seem to be,’ I said, making a brave face of it.

She blinked. She raised one side of her lip. She clearly found that pretty funny.

‘OK.’

‘OK?’ I hadn’t expected that.

The others had stopped and turned to look for us.

‘Where?’ she asked reasonably.

‘I have no idea,’ I said. ‘It never really occurred to me you would say yes.’

She laughed. ‘All right. How about da Gennaro’s in Little Italy? Seven o’clock.’

I had a knot in my stomach when I woke up the next morning on the sofa in Vicky’s living room. Her roommate, also a banker, had left the city for the weekend, leaving space for the three of us. Barely.

We took Vicky out for an early brunch, drank Bloody Marys and mimosas and ate steak because we could. The knot was still there. I didn’t tell the others that I had asked Donna out later that week.

Vicky’s plan with Kathleen and her brother hadn’t worked out, but Craig was in a much better frame of mind, despite a mild hangover, and so Vicky thought she had achieved something. Craig and Lars were returning to Groton that afternoon and I was getting the bus to Philadelphia from the Port Authority.

In Philadelphia, I caught another bus on to the small town near Lancaster where my parents lived. The knot was still there the whole time. It was definitely Donna-related. Was it nerves? Was it excitement? I wasn’t sure.

My mom and dad were pleased to see me. They were good like that: they were always pleased to see me. I realized I had been wrong in thinking that the entire world outside the Navy was against me, against the crew of the Hamilton. They were on my side. They were proud of me.

Of course they could never really understand what life on a submarine was like, but they were genuinely interested. My father had chased Japanese submarines in a destroyer during the war, and he was curious what it was like beneath the waves.

They showed just as much interest in my sister’s job as a research chemist working for a drug company in Philadelphia. If my father still felt any disappointment that neither of us had shown any interest in the family newspaper, he certainly didn’t show it.

I left for New York on Thursday morning and got into the city about three o’clock. I pushed myself through the Port Authority bus station crowd of spaced-out crazies, panhandlers and dazed and frightened out-of-towners, and walked the few blocks to Penn Station, to check the time of the last train to New London that night.