Free China Sea by David Poyer Page B

minutes, and he damn near got us run down. The boiler team’s still acting like they’ve never been to A school.”
    â€œThey’ve already paid us for this material, Lenson.”
    â€œYes, sir, understand that, but—”
    â€œLet me make a further point: that the replacement crew’s state of training is not in the end your responsibility. The final responsibility is Khashar’s, as the incoming commanding officer.”
    â€œWell, sir, I understood from Commander Beard here that it was the U.S. skipper who certified them safe to sail or not—”
    Sapp smiled grimly. “I strongly doubt CNO would appreciate us having a lieutenant commander vetoing a foreign four-striper. No, the political reality is, they’re going.” He cleared his throat again. “However, I got a call today from Security Assistance Office, Islamabad. The Pakistani government’s asking us to beef up the MTT.”
    Dan knew there were normally thirty-some guys who rode the ship over; the officer in charge, usually the chief engineer, and the rest boiler techs, machinist’s mates, and various other senior ratings. “Beef it up, sir?”
    â€œEspecially the steaming watches and nav personnel. To ensure a safe delivery.”
    â€œI’d say that’s a good decision, sir. After watching these guys operate.”
    â€œI hope you’re more diplomatic with our foreign friends,” Sapp said.
    â€œI try to be, sir. But I’m down to fifty-five bodies right now, and they’ve all got orders cut, travel requests in—”
    â€œHow many engineers?” said Beard, cutting as usual to the chase.
    â€œExcuse me. Evilia, let me see what the two of you finally come up with,” said Sapp, and headed off toward the general and his wife.
    Dan and Beard went around on bodies and numbers. Finally she said, “So you’ll need roughly fifteen more snipes, three more quartermasters. I’ll hand that to the squadron, see if they can find volunteers.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry if this impacts your personal plans.”
    â€œWait a minute. My plans? Jim Armey’s heading the training team.”
    â€œWe read your reports. About Khashar and that near miss. A collision en route wouldn’t look very good for our training pipeline, would it? We’ll extend your orders and fly you back from Islamabad. Admiral Sapp will be your reporting senior, which will give you a two-star flag endorsement on your last fitrep before the board meets.” She gave it a beat. “Is that all right?”
    â€œActually, I’m not sure I’ve caught up to you yet. What would be my status?”
    â€œOfficially, head of the MTT. Unofficially, you’d be sort of co-skipper with Captain K.”
    He thought about it, swirling his drink. It meant steaming Gaddis —no, dammit, that wasn’t her name anymore—halfway around the world. Every destroyerman dreamed of independent steaming. On your own at sea, no tactical commander running you ragged, no carrier to hawkeye around the clock. The divided command didn’t sound so hot. But whoever had dreamed it up was right about one thing: Tughril ’s chances of arriving in one piece were a lot better if somebody was backing this bozo up.
    Dan had never really been her skipper. But maybe he owed her that, her and the guys who’d take her to sea; yeah, the Pakistani crew, too. It wasn’t their fault their boss was who he was.
    He lifted his glass to Beard. “To a swift and uneventful passage.”
    â€œFair winds and following seas.”
    Just then, he noticed Khashar watching them from across the room.

II
    EASTING

6
    THE NORTH ATLANTIC
    SEVEN hundred miles from land, ten-foot seas followed Tughril like wolves loping after a solitary elk. The wind was at force five, air temperature high thirties. The sun was a fluorescent tube behind white plastic. Color shifted around it in