Free The Cruiser by David Poyer

operate the prop pitch and reversing system. Annoying, but it’s not going to rust anything. Not at the levels we’re seeing.”
    â€œOkay. If you’re not worried, I’m not.” Dan looked around, up, down, at the terra-cotta-painted bilges beneath the gratings. He didn’t see any rust, nor trash, nor torn insulation, nor the other signs of neglect or cut corners. Whatever problems Savo Island might have, they didn’t seem to be in her engineering department.
    Danenhower looked up from his watch. “Leg’s almost over, Captain. We’re ready to go to the crashback phase.”
    â€œI’m going to observe that on the bridge. You be down here?”
    â€œI’ll be here, Skipper.”
    *   *   *
    THE air was icy when he let himself into the pilothouse again. “Captain’s on the bridge.”
    He nodded to the OOD—still Singhe—and eyed her again, wondering how you could escape a grounding board and an admiral’s mast when everyone around you got flushed. But maybe that was it; the process had to stop somewhere, and probably the board had considered her lack of seniority and let her go. She caught his look and smiled over one shoulder, and he immediately averted his gaze. It’s in the past, he reminded himself. You told them that. So act accordingly.
    But why had she smiled that way? And why were those dark eyes so riveting?
    â€œSir, three minutes left on this leg.”
    â€œHm. Very well, Lieutenant. Just let me look at the training package.” An hour at flank three, then a crashback to full astern. Back for fifteen minutes, then reverse from full astern to flank three again for fifteen minutes more. At that point, they’d finish with a full left and full right rudder at full power ahead, then the same rudder test, going full power astern.
    The 21MC said, “Bridge, Main Control. Standing by for crashback. ”
    Another earsplitting whistle. Dan couldn’t help it; he had to plug his ears with his fingers, though he caught amused glances. “All hands stand by for crashback,” grated the boatswain. Singhe reminded the aft lookout to retreat to the 01 level, to get off the fantail.
    Dan looked to the navigator, who held up ten fingers, then began counting down one by one.
    â€œRemember, one fluid motion,” Singhe said to the helmsman, that cryptic smile still curving her lips. “Don’t jerk it back. All the way from ahead to astern in one smooth pull. Ready? Stand by— all back full.”
    The turbines whined down the scale, then respooled up. He clung to the jamb of the starboard wing door, looking aft. The ship seemed to shudder—if ten thousand tons of metal could be said to shudder. The quivering was slow, but it ran up his legs and shook his guts under his diaphragm. Past the leveled barrel of the aft 25mm a white flood tide churned up, crashed down over the fantail, then surged forward as the stern, quaking as if in a seizure, began to back over their own wake, gathering speed as the propwash turned the sea sliding by beneath the wing to a turbulent cold chartreuse-and-cream.
    A soft, persuasive voice beside him. “Sir, I’d like to talk with you sometime. About our enlisted leadership program.”
    He blinked. Suddenly recalling where he’d seen the name Amarpeet Singhe before. “You wrote an article for Proceedings .”
    â€œ Defense Review, sir.” She glanced aft, then back up at him. “I’ve been trying to put some of those initiatives into practice. Flattening the management structure. It’s standard procedure in corporate management. But the previous CO…”
    â€œLiked things the way they were?”
    â€œPretty much. I guess so.” She glanced aft again, then ducked back inside to bend over the radar screen. He blinked after her, absently noting blue cloth stretched tight over all-too-easily imagined curves and