The Ocean Between Us (32 page)

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant, can you hear me?”

The voice thundered in Josh’s ears. The glare of a blue-white light stabbed into his eyeball and he turned his head away. “Jesus,” he said, “I’m okay. I just fell asleep for a minute.” He looked up at the doctor and was almost afraid to ask. “What time is it, sir?”

The doctor tucked his penlight away and checked his watch. “It’s 0500.”

“Damn.” He’d been asleep longer than he thought.

The doctor scribbled on a chart. “I’m ordering a thorough checkup, X rays and enough blood samples to make you cry.” He clicked his pen. “How’s your neck?”

Josh swiveled his head, feeling a hot twinge but masking his reaction. “Fine. Sir.”

Josh spotted Lieutenant Martin Turnbull, who was sitting up in the bed across from him, eating a plate of scrambled eggs. They gave each other the thumbs-up sign. Hatch and Newman lay sleeping. Josh felt half dizzy with relief. Every man in his crew had survived the ejection. People would say they got lucky, but Josh knew it was more than that. It was a testament to the seat and to every minute of training and discipline they had undergone.

He’d been pleading to God a lot, too. Josh was not about to dismiss that.

“I need to use a phone,” he told the doctor.

“We’re way ahead of you. We’ve sent for one.”

Bull threw a whole-wheat roll to Josh, who gratefully took a bite. The last thing he remembered as the chopper landed on deck was the shriek of alarms, announcements over the PA, people running every which way. He’d managed to stagger to the battle-dressing station under his own steam, but he remembered nothing after that. “What happened?” he asked. “Why were we waved off?”

“There was a mishap last night.”

“I know there was a mishap, you knucklehead. I want to know what happened.” Josh could tell Bull was holding out on him. “Bull—”

“Okay.” He pushed his breakfast tray aside. “I heard there was an explosion. Aviation Ordnanceman Airman Rivera died.”

Bull shifted his gaze in a way that made Josh stop eating. “What else?”

“Captain Bennett was present during the incident. He spotted a canister of burning flares and jettisoned it. There was another explosion and…he went overboard. I’m sorry, Lamb. He’s Status Unknown.”

Josh sank back against the pillows. He felt as though someone had hit him on the head with a sledgehammer. Bull and everyone on the ship knew of his relationship to Bennett. It wasn’t a big deal. But at the moment, it felt huge. “How can he be Status Unknown? Didn’t they get him out?”

“Not that I know of. He, uh, he didn’t have a float coat.”

Josh shut his eyes. Bennett was out there without a flotation device, in the cold waters of the Pacific. Right now, he might be floating away in the dark, an invisible speck against the swells and breakers. “Why haven’t they found him?” he demanded.

“There were five of us in the water at different locations. Maybe they didn’t have enough personnel and equipment to chase everyone down.”

“That’s bullshit. They train for this every damned day.”

“Yeah, but the thing about a mishap is that every one is different. We train for fire mishaps and ejections, but both at once?” Bull shook his head. “The whole battle group’s on alert. The Japanese sent out choppers from Chitose Air Base on Hokkaido, too. Maybe they’ve already got him and we just haven’t heard.”

Josh shut his eyes hard. He tried not to think about how cold the water felt, and how big the seas were, turning a grown man into a bobbing cork.

“You want to hear something weird?” Bull said. “They got it all on film.”

“What?”

“The mishap. You know that magazine and video crew that came aboard? They were present during the mishap, and apparently they had cameras rolling, video and still photos.”

“Of a guy burning on the deck.”

“And Bennett beating out the flames and then taking the flare dispenser overboard. I bet it’s fucking amazing.”

“No, what will be amazing is when they get him out of the water,” Josh said. “That’s what I’m waiting for.”

Captain Bud Forster came to see them. He had no further information about Bennett, but he had a phone. He kept it in his hand and looked Josh in the eye. “The doctor says you’ll be up and about in a couple of days.”

“I’m looking forward to getting back to flying, sir.”

Forster’s face was stony. “There’ll be a Board of Inquiry to determine the cause of the incident. And a safety stand-down. Until then, you’re grounded.”

“Yes, sir.” Josh understood the implication. If it turned out the aircraft wasn’t malfunctioning and pilot error was to blame, there’d be hell to pay. Just like that, his dream would be snuffed out.

He dictated the number to Forster, then took the handset from him and put it to his ear. Damn. His mother wasn’t home. Here he’d ditched his plane, and his mother wasn’t home to hear about it. He told her answering machine that he was all right and would
call her later. Without hesitation, he dialed another number. She picked up on the first ring. The sound of her voice brought his first smile since he’d pulled that ejection handle.

“Lauren?” he said. “Hey, honey…”

Something awakened Josh from a fitful doze. The hospital was a bad place to sleep. His first thought was of Lauren. She’d nearly blasted his ear out, screaming into the phone when she heard his voice. It turned out she had heard about the ejection from Grace Bennett and was waiting on pins and needles. His call, she told him, made the world right again.

“What’s going on with Steve Bennett?” she asked.

“Status Unknown. I swear, that’s all I can tell you at this point.”

Despite the sweetness of hearing her voice, he couldn’t stop worrying about Bennett. Now something was going on in the trauma bay. Lights glared and a team in survival suits came in, followed by medics with a stretcher.

Josh got out of bed, ignoring the twinge in his neck. In the resuscitation bay, Steve Bennett looked like a corpse. It was a shock to see his face, so like the face Josh saw in the mirror every day, sapped of color and unmoving, like a wax effigy. “Is he alive?” he asked the medics.

“Move aside, sir, and let us do our work.”

Josh watched the trauma team work, the doctor calling out a stream of orders, monitors whining, a respirator puffing like a locomotive. After ninety minutes in a raft, Josh had been half-dead. Bennett had been out there the whole night, in the water.

Josh couldn’t quite tell what was going on. The docs’ dialogue was laced with technical jargon and it didn’t sound good. As an aide went to get a satellite phone, Bennett still lay motionless on the table.

Grace bargained with God. She would give up every bit of the new life she’d built, if only Steve was all right. She would close down Grace Under Pressure, give up the new house and strap every lost pound back onto her body. She would become the best wife in the Navy, if only the phone would ring and she’d hear his voice. The offerings were too paltry, though. The miracle she needed was too vast.

Nervous energy flooded through her as the hours stretched out, and there was no word from Steve. Her cell phone was an adjunct. She kept it in her pocket and took it everywhere she went—to the garden to pick a rose, to the bathroom, to the car. She did a load of laundry, baked a batch of cookies for Patricia and washed down the deck as the sun set. Maybe the gutters needed cleaning. She was thinking of detailing the car later.

Still, her nonstop activity could not block out crippling terror and regret. Steve had left as their marriage was cracking apart. Now she might never see him again.

“Mom!” Brian yelled from the den. “Mom, come look at the TV!” He’d been parked there for hours, surfing the news channels and the Internet, desperate for information.

At the same time, the phone rang. Grace’s heart leaped, but she let one of the girls answer. It was never the call Grace wanted, the one she yearned and prayed for with every bit of her heart.

Emma spoke to someone, then ran into the den with Katie close at her heels and the phone in hand. “Darlene says to turn on CNN.”

Brian already had it on. The small TV in the kitchen was set to Fox News. “There’s going to be a report about the mishap on the
Dominion,
” he said. “Exclusive footage.”

“So much for the communications blackout,” Emma said.

The anchor attributed the visuals to a team from
Newsweek
, with someone named Francine Atwater providing voice-over commentary. Suddenly Grace was there, on the deck with nothing but blackness in the distance. “On a night of routine training missions aboard the
Dominion,
they did everything right,” the woman narrated, then paused dramatically. “But something went wrong. Terribly wrong.”

Dear God. Grace reached for the remote control. The kids didn’t need to see this.

Brian was quicker. “Leave it, Mom.”

She didn’t argue, because suddenly, like millions of other viewers, she was mesmerized by the images on the screen. An ordie in a red shirt was gesturing to someone. Even his cranial and goggles couldn’t obscure his brilliantly handsome smile.

“…Michael Rivera, who was the first to notice the burning flares,” the reporter said.

Something must have jarred the camera, because it turned cockeyed and blurred. By the time it righted itself, Rivera was rushing away with a large metal container that had smoke billowing from the top. Then there was a flash and more smoke, obscuring everything. The camera swung away, and a bleep censored the cameraman’s comment. A moment later, a man in a white shirt rushed into view.

“It’s Dad,” said Brian. “There’s Dad.”

“Daddy,” whispered Katie, then pressed her hands to her mouth.

He was so real to Grace in that moment, so strong and vital as
he stripped off his vest to put out the flames. The voice-over narration had stopped; there was no need to explain what anyone with eyes could see. The boom and hiss of the flight deck roared from the speakers, and alarms shrieked as Steve picked up the big steel object.

The camera showed him racing toward darkness. And then the cameraman must have laid it on its side, for it showed only blackness.

“In an act of selfless heroism, Captain Bennett jettisoned the burning flares—”

The phone rang, and Grace’s chest lurched in anticipation.

Katie pounced on the receiver like a cat on a grasshopper. “Bennett residence.”

Her back was turned, but her posture stiffened as though someone had poked her. Oh, no, thought Grace. Brian and Emma moved to their sister’s side, pressing close.

The reporter on TV now stood in daylight. “Only moments ago…”

Grace shut her eyes.
No. Oh, please, no.

Katie gave a loud gasp and then shrieked, “Daddeee!”

Steve had only a few minutes to talk to his family, but the sound of their voices flooded him with strength. He knew how to get better without all the high-tech medical interventions. That phone call was all he needed. Grace had always been his home port. She never bailed out on him.

He shut his eyes, a smile lingering on his face.
Grace.
Her years of constant devotion held him fast; he was convinced that she was the reason he’d survived so long in the water. While the rest of the world might swirl in confusion, she held him steady. He wanted to tell her so, to fix the things that were wrong, but that would have to wait. In that first call, he had time only for the crucial information: I’m okay. I love you. I’m coming home.

The trauma took its toll. He fell dead asleep for a time, even with medics still swarming around him. Hours later, he awakened and ate three meals in succession, clumsily, with his left hand. His right hand was severely burned, covered with a Teflon dressing and immobilized. Then he voluntarily dictated a statement for the press. He gave a narrative of the mishap from his perspective. To beat out the flames engulfing Rivera, he had removed his float coat with its transmitter, air bladders, survival kit, fluorescent dye
and navigation devices. He took it upon himself to avert disaster and in so doing, went overboard. Through the skill of the battle group’s search-and-rescue operations, he was found, hoisted into a helicopter and transported safely home to the
Dominion.

The worst moments of Steve’s ordeal would remain private—the burning of his hand through his glove, the bone-jarring impact when he hit water, the endless hours of cold and half-consciousness. The deadly cylinder almost dragged him underwater, but he wrenched his hand free, then took off his boots, praying through clenched teeth the whole time. But strangely, not for himself. For Grace and the children, who were so much more important. He prayed they would be all right, that their lives would be filled with love, that they wouldn’t be miserable with missing him.

He remembered seeing the ice-white glare of search-and-rescue lights crisscrossing over the churning water. He knew they were working hard to find him. But without any survival equipment, he couldn’t help. He used his shirt to create an air bubble, which kept him barely afloat. Waves broke over him, choked him until his nose and throat stung. Out of nowhere came a memory of Emma the night she had saved a girl from drowning and been caught with beer. He wished he’d praised her more for the rescue, rather than yelling at her about the beer. “Rescue Me…” The song stuck in his head.

In survival training, he had studied every aspect of hypothermia and drowning, and he kept himself conscious by tracking his own inexorable deterioration.

It happened swiftly. The water was cold, the waves brutal and the current strong. He slipped under more and more frequently, expecting each plunge to be his last. Then his nemesis—the flare dispenser—popped to the surface and bobbed like a cork. Steve managed to throw his arm over it, and he lay there, half-dead of exhaustion, listening to the rhythm of chopper blades beating the water and hearing the far-off whine of engines. They would not stop looking for him, but at some point, search and rescue would turn to search and recovery. They’d be looking for remains.

He thought he remembered daybreak, but that might have been a flash caused by his brain shutting down. He knew he was getting close to the end when the only image he could conjure in his mind was Grace, his beautiful Grace who had given him the very best of herself for two decades. The only warmth he knew in that moment came from the tears on his face. She had never seen him cry. He’d hidden so much from her.

Then his brain woke up just enough to puzzle over a new sensation of heat emanating from the flare dispenser.

A wild hope brought him back to life. If he could manage to find a live flare, he would either burn himself to ash or alert the searchers. The flares were no good, but some emitted smoke, which would be visible to the rescuers just as dawn touched the sky. Minutes later, a UH-60J helicopter swooped overhead, creating a well of wind in the water. A pair of rescuers jumped from the helicopter and swam to Steve. He thought he remembered the transport, but a long blankness blotted out the rest until he became aware of glaring lights, the smell of antiseptic, the clink of instruments and a doctor giving orders. Warm saline slipped through his veins.

They said it was a miracle that he’d survived so long. It would surely be discussed at length at the safety stand-down. But Steve knew better now. It was no miracle. He had unfinished business with Grace, and nothing could keep him from seeing her again.

“Captain Bennett.” Lieutenant Lamont stood beside Steve’s bed. He was in uniform, freshly shaven, every hair in place, a cervical collar around his neck, his cap in his hand. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

Steve had slept again. He didn’t know whether it was day or night. “Lieutenant.” He held up his good hand, reached for a plastic bottle with a straw and took a long drink of water. “What is it?”

“I wanted to thank you, sir. I know you’ll get a medal for this, but I wanted to thank you personally. Sir.”

Steve’s heart ached. He wished he’d known this young man, wished he could have watched him grow up. “I appreciate that, Lieutenant.”

“I have to go now, sir. I just wanted to stop in before— I just wanted to stop in.”

“What happened to your neck?” Steve asked.

“Sir,” said Lamont, “we had to eject.”

“Jesus. Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, sir. One of the ECMOs broke an arm, and I have a minor neck injury. I’m on my way to a preliminary board of inquiry.”

He had a vague memory of some trouble with Lamont’s Prowler. Lamont looked scared. Steve could tell, because he had seen that look before. In the mirror.

“I ditched a plane,” Lamont said incredulously. “Jesus.”

“Planes are replaceable. People are not.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve could see Lamont’s frustration, even though he tried to hide it. And he understood it—both as a pilot, and perhaps even as a father. Flying out here on the edge forced a man to look at himself with new eyes. Maybe Lamont had finally caught a glimpse of the man he wanted to be, and maybe he liked what he saw. And now, if he was found to be in error, that might be taken away from him.

Steve thought about what the Navy meant to him back when he was that age. Losing it then would have been the end of the world. “What caused the ejection, Lamont?” he asked.

“Equipment failure, sir. When I was waved off, the Stability Augmentation System went haywire during the climb. I believe it kept sensing yaw and pitch that weren’t there and overcorrecting. The Air Navigation Computer kept overriding me.”

“The system’s not to be turned on prior to a thousand feet,” Steve said.

“I’m aware of that, sir, but in this case, I believe a blown fuse caused it to engage with weight-off wheels. Lieutenant Hatch started pulling fuses to see which one was bad.” Lamont nearly crushed the frame of his cap in his hand. “Sir, this squadron has the best air crew coordination in the Navy. I did the preflight with
the plane captain, signed off on everything. I looked the preflight documentation and checklists over and over. Can’t see where we missed a thing.”

Steve focused on Lamont’s grip on the cap. “If you’re that confident, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Except a ruling of pilot error.” He took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Lamont left the sick bay, moving with a measured, ceremonial gait. Steve recognized that walk. It was the posture of a man who was in pain and scared shitless.

Steve sent for Killigrew immediately. “Tell Francine Atwater I need to review the video of the Prowler preflight. And for Chrissakes, get me out of here.”

Over the objections of his doctor, he was dressed and waiting outside the conference room when the preliminary inquiry concluded. His hand felt like it was still on fire, and he wobbled on his feet, but he refused to send Killigrew for a chair. The door opened and people streamed out. Josh Lamont spotted Steve and hurried over to him. “It was the equipment, sir,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. “The video showed the error. During preflight, someone installed the wrong fuse. It belonged in an EC-2, not a Prowler. That’s why it kept shorting out.” Josh visibly tried to contain himself.

Steve grinned. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Josh.

“It was all on the video.” In ordering every frame to be studied, Steve had felt the dedication of an officer to another in his command. But he’d also felt something else, something surprising—the fierce protectiveness of a father for his flesh-and-blood son. He smiled, filled with the happiness of simply knowing Lamont was here in this world, that he was a fellow officer and a good man.

Finally he said it, putting his heart out there as much as he was able for this young man. “I’m proud of you, sailor.”

Josh held out his hand. In his open, honest expression, Steve recognized things he wouldn’t say, might never say. But his joy spilled over into a jubilant grin as he said, “I’m glad I found you.”