Peter David - Battleship

The Missouri , sometimes referred to as “Mighty Mo” or “Big Mo,” was a proud Iowa-class battleship with an impressive history stretching back to the Second World War. She had been involved in such naval endeavors as the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa before eventually being decommissioned in the 1990s and transformed into a museum ship. She overlooked the remains of a vessel that hadn’t been fortunate enough to serve in the Allied efforts—the Arizona , a Pennsylvania-class battleship that had performed ably during World War I, but was sunk years later during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. When the vessel went down, she took eleven hundred lives with her. Her remains were still at the bottom of the harbor, but a memorial had been built in her stead, straddling her hulls.

As Hopper and Sam moved as quickly as her high heels would let her, they passed a cheesy gift shop outside the entryway to the Missouri , selling every battleship-themed souvenir that anyone could imagine. Hopper considered the fact that before joining up—even with the Navy background of both his father and brother—he wouldn’t have given a crap about the relentless merchandising of a proud vessel. Now it bugged the hell out of him, but there wasn’t much of anything he could do about it.

There was a skinny, bespectacled tour guide lecturing a group of tourists who were studying the various gifts, some of them expressing annoyance that they weren’t being allowed to take the usual tour on the vessel, arguing that—after all—that’s what it had been built for. The tour guide, who was wearing an unspeakably tacky hat in the shape of a foam battleship (available for $5.99 in the gift shop), was busy explaining that, first of all, the Mighty Mo was reserved today for a special ceremony, and second, yes, the ship was now a museum, but that wasn’t what it had been built for. Hopper rolled his eyes at the stupidity of some people. He started to slow and, as if she were reading his mind, Sam pulled on his hand to make sure he didn’t get dragged into the middle of something.

“The USS Missouri was the final battleship to be completed by the United States,” the guide was telling them, “before being decommissioned and replaced by a more modern fleet of vessels, known as destroyers .”

“What’s the difference between the two?” asked a kid.

“Well, destroyers are lighter and faster and fire different weapons.”

Whoa, what—?!

Hopper stopped short, jerking Sam to a halt as well. Before she could do anything such as, for instance, talk sense into him, Hopper pulled away from her and turned to the guide. “That’s what you’re telling ’em? That’s bullshit!”

Sam visibly blanched, as did a couple of old women. The men looked surprised, and a grin split the face of the kid, probably because he liked hearing grown-ups curse.

“Hopper—!” said Sam warningly.

“I’m coming,” he said, but it was perfunctory, his attention entirely on the boy. “Battleships: dinosaurs. Destroyers: awesome! ”

Sam put her hands on her hips in a manner that indicated he wasn’t going to be getting any anytime soon… if ever. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m coming.” He didn’t mean it any more the second time than he had the first, and he continued addressing the kid, grabbing tiny gray plastic models of the two types of boats from the souvenir stand. He held up a little battleship in his left hand. “Battleships: designed to take hits like a floating punching bag.” Then he held up the right. “Destroyers: designed to dish it out like a freakin’ Terminator!” He thrust the small destroyer toward the kid, whose eyes were round and goggled. “We’ve got Tomahawk cruise missiles, sea-skimming Harpoons, torpedoes like there’s no tomorrow…”

“Awe -some …!” said the kid.

“Yeah,” said Hopper, nodding, feeling much like a kid himself. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Hopper!”

The kid glanced toward the annoyed Sam. “Your girlfriend’s hot.”

“Get your own,” said Hopper. “Gotta go.”

He hurried over to Sam, who glared at him as they started running. “Everyone’s waiting and you’re talking about boats?”

“We were also talking about how hot you were.”

“You were not!”

“Swear to God.”

“Oh. Well… okay, then,” she said, slightly mollified.

The deck of the Missouri was filled with naval officers from an assortment of countries. The United States, Japan, Great Britain, Australia, South Korea, India and more were all represented, and flags from each of the nations were fluttering in the morning breeze. Having left Sam to find a spot in the audience with the families and other guests, he threaded his way through the assemblage of naval officers, looking to find his friends while trying to make sure he didn’t draw any attention to himself.

He finally located Stone and slid in next to him. His brother kept his attention focused on the podium up front, but said out the side of his mouth, “Nice of you to show up, lieutenant commander.” He was big on invoking Hopper’s rank and getting formal when he was pissed off with him. It was Stone’s way of letting Hopper know that he was annoyed, not to mention underscore their difference in rank and reminding him who was in charge. “You ready for this? Or would you like to sleep in and we’ll just do the war games without you?”

“Hey, at least I’m here. I made pretty good time considering I woke up on the wrong island this morning,” he whispered back.

“The wrong island? Which one? Gilligan’s?”

“Ha-ha. Think the Jedi Master noticed?” It was the nickname that the officers had for Admiral Terrance Shane behind his back, because of his knack for saying things that his subordinates somehow felt compelled to repeat word for word, as if he were controlling their minds.

“Considering he’s glaring right at you, I’d say yeah.”

Hopper turned his attention to the podium and felt his heart sink to somewhere around his shoes. Sure enough, the admiral was staring down at him with clear disapproval. He was a towering presence, well over six feet, with aquiline features that made him appear like a cross between a hawk and a Roman senator. He spoke with a gravelly voice that had a lyrical Irish lilt to it.

“First off, I’d like to welcome all of you to the RIMPAC International Naval War Games,” said Shane. The way he was looking at Hopper, Alex had a feeling he personally wasn’t all that welcome. Shane then turned his attention back to the rest of the assemblage. “And I’d like to welcome you on board the greatest fighting ship in American naval history. The Mighty Mo. The USS Missouri , where, in Tokyo Bay, on September 2, 1945, Japan surrendered to General Douglas McArthur.”

There was applause throughout, although Hopper couldn’t help but notice that the response from the Japanese officers was, to put it mildly, muted. Either Admiral Shane didn’t notice or else he simply didn’t care. More likely the latter. He was going to say what he had to say, and obviously he didn’t give a damn who he pissed off.

Which pretty much guaranteed that he would have no difficulty whatsoever—when Hopper asked for Sam’s hand—of providing a detailed list of every single one of Hopper’s shortcomings, verbally making mincemeat out of him before showing him the door and telling him never to utter Sam’s name in his presence again.

We should just elope . It would run contrary to Sam’s fantasy of having her father perform the ceremony at sea, standing on the bridge of a ship in his capacity as captain. But hell, at least they’d be married and there wouldn’t be a damned thing the admiral would be able to do about it. What am I saying? Of course he could. He could have me court-martialed for… for any reason at all. Or just throw me overboard late one night. Hell, he could probably order Stone to do it, and depending on Stone’s mood that day, he just might be happy to obey. Oh God… I think my chest is tightening up. Is this what a heart attack feels like—?