Free Strike Force by Robert Stanek Page B

toward its rendezvous with the battle group led by the aircraft carrier USS Harry Truman. The Kearsarge was alive with activity, like a hornet's nest that had been kicked hard.
       Scott Evers was exhausted, and only adrenalin from all that had transpired kept him on his feet. He followed Midshipman Tinsdale as she led the way from the ship's mess. Being a civilian, former NSA operative or not, he wasn't allowed anywhere aboard the Kearsarge without escort.
       Being designed for amphibious assault meant the Kearsarge was part aircraft carrier, part guided missile cruiser, and part troop transport. Not only was the Kearsarge 844 feet long and 106 feet abeam, but the ship also had an impressive displacement of about 40,500 long tons, which made her roughly half the size of the USS Harry Truman.
       The Kearsarge's armament included two short-range anti-aircraft and anti-missile weapon systems; two infrared homing surface-to-air missile systems; three radar-guided 20 mm Gatling guns designed to defend against anti-ship missiles; and eight .50 machine guns. In addition to a complement of about 4000 combat-ready sailors and marines, the Kearsarge carried 22 Ospreys, 6 Harrier IIs, and 6 Seahawks.
       As Ospreys were tiltrotor aircraft with both a vertical takeoff and landing (VTOL) and a short takeoff and landing (STOL) capability, they were essentially half conventional helicopter and half long-range turboprop aircraft. Harrier IIs also had V/STOL making them very capable ground attack and armed recon fighters. Seahawks were capable combat helicopters equipped for naval warfare missions as well as search and rescue operations.
       In the tight quarters, the crew practically had to crawl over each other at times. Midshipman Tinsdale was overly formal. She hadn't said a word as she sat across from Scott in the ship's mess. Scott's mood was such that he wasn't really hungry, but he had eaten because he knew his body needed the sustenance.
       Now the midshipman was mutely leading Scott back to infirmary, but he didn't want to go back to infirmary. He didn't want to sit beside Edie as she clung to life. What he wanted was answers. Answers he would only get if he made his way to the operations room. Serious obstacles to that though were his escort and the civilian clothes he wore.
       Scott suspected the clothes were donated by someone of a similar build, but he didn't know by whom. The black, long-sleeved t-shirt, the gray sweat pants, and the white sneakers all seemed to be someone's idea of after-hours dress. He was thankful for dry clothes after his ordeal in the water, but he really wished he was in uniform now.
       If he was wearing a uniform, he could go just about anywhere on the ship. Looking down at the shirt that he'd hastily pulled on earlier, he grinned when he saw the Kearsarge's insignia over the right breast with the "Proud – Trustworthy – Bold" motto stitched beneath in white letters.
       One good thing about the seat he had chosen in the mess was that the ship's diagram had been on the wall directly opposite him. The diagram, meant to show evacuation routes, helped him deduce the location of the operations room relative to the mess and the infirmary. If his assessment was correct, the passageway ahead ran nearly bow to stern. The midshipman would turn and follow the passageway toward the stern and to the infirmary. He'd turn the opposite direction and follow the passageway toward the bow.
       He took careful, measured steps behind the midshipman, awaited his chance. The turn came. The midshipman turned right. Scott took two steps in her direction before turning sharply on his heel and then steadily pushing his way through toward the bow as fast as he could. He expected to hear shouts at any moment. He waited, steeled himself for it, but the shouts never came. Instead, he soon found himself standing outside "Sit 1." Sit 1, he assumed, stood for Situation Room 1, which he was certain