Crossbones by John L. Campbell Page B

as well. An orange-and-white Coast Guard C-130 buzzed low over the sound, flying north to south.
    As she watched, a local news helicopter appeared from the rearand paced the cutter less than fifty yards out, a cameraman sticking his lens out through an open side door. Amy had a frightening moment as she imagined the bird being cut apart by fifty-caliber gunfire, but no weapons went off, and after a minute the news chopper banked away in search of something more interesting.
    â€œMy intention is to close on Bainbridge Island, then come north,” the quartermaster said. “The captain wanted to stay clear of that destroyer on Seattle’s waterfront.”
    Amy looked at the man for a moment, but he added no speculation as to his commanding officer’s order or meaning.
    On the overhead speakers, the military-only Guard channel was choked with traffic, units talking over one another, giving situation reports, commanders giving orders and calling for immediate support. The Navy destroyer from Everett reported that it had moved slightly north and was now just off the Port of Seattle, its guns providing cover fire as civilian evacuees streamed in, trying to get aboard anything that could float. A National Guard unit on shore providing security for that evacuation first called for medevacs, then began demanding an airstrike, and finally went off the air. There were no transmissions directed at
Joshua James
.
    â€œKeep that destroyer on your scope, Mr. Waite,” Amy said, “and report immediately if it changes position.” She hadn’t allowed herself to think much about what the captain had been accused of, and she tried very hard to block out the thought of a DEA helicopter and its crew being destroyed. The way she knew how to do that was to immerse herself in her work, and follow orders.
    But it was impossible to completely still the worries and questions racing through her mind. Disobeying orders from Base Seattle and killing federal officers was criminal, there was no getting around it. But they were a warship now, and wasn’t a captain’s first priority keeping that vessel and crew safe until it could be properly deployed? That was what she had learned in New London.Permitting hostile boarders from any nation didn’t fit well with that responsibility. She imagined what would happen if a U.S. Navy ship tried to board an American nuclear submarine without permission. The sub commander would slam a torpedo into it and send it to the bottom, regardless of what colors it was flying, because his first mission was to keep his boat secure.
    The captain’s actions had been justified. Of course they had.
As for keeping away from the destroyer? Hell, that was just common sense. Right now there was a hot-shit warship commander out there, already weapons-free, raging with adrenaline and testosterone and just itching for a little surface combat.
Joshua James
wouldn’t last thirty seconds against a destroyer and wouldn’t have time to make its case. No, the captain knew what she was doing, and Amy would follow her as a good officer should. That decision made the young woman feel better.
    â€œPlotted and tracking, ma’am,” Waite said, pointing to a contact indicated in red on his screen. “It’s USS
Momsen
, a guided missile destroyer.” He scowled for a moment, looked out the bridge windows, and called to the helmsman. “Come left twenty degrees.”
    The helm acknowledged and the ship leaned slightly left. Amy looked out to where the quartermaster was pointing. Ahead and to their right, less than a mile off, was the
Wenatchee
: four decks high and 460 feet long, a Jumbo Mark II class ferryboat a full forty feet longer than
Joshua James
. The white monster was capable of carrying 2,500 passengers and over two hundred automobiles as it made its thirty-five-minute trips back and forth between Bainbridge Island and downtown Seattle each day.
    Wenatchee
was off