Sea of Shadows eBook - Navy Thriller.com

168 JEFF EDWARDS
resolute and powerful, and yet—at the same time—tiny and frail against
the thrashing might of the waves. Fluttering from the old ship’s starboard
yardarm were the signal flags November and Yankee: the tactical signal for
“I Stand Relieved.”
On the opposite side of the admiral’s portrait hung a painting of the
current USS Towers. Also shown slicing through a stormy sea, the new
ship flew the signal flags Charlie and Lima from the short yardarm on the
port side of her shark-fin mast, and the flags Bravo and Zulu from the
starboard yardarm. The four flags formed two tactical signals: “I Assume
the Watch,” and “Job Well Done!”—the new ship’s answer to the
message sent by her older sister.
The low, angular profile of the stealth destroyer looked more like
something out of a science fiction movie than the sister of the older ship.
But, appearances aside, sisters they were. Despite the fifty-odd years of
technological development that separated them, both ships shared the same
DNA. As guided missile destroyers in the United States Navy, both ships
had been designed with the tin can Sailor’s credo in mind: Go anywhere,
do anything, battle any foe.
With thirty years of service spanning the Vietnam War and the Cold
War, the old Adams Class DDG had more than met the challenge raised by
those words. With fewer than eighteen months of duty under her belt, the
new Towers had a long way to go before she could begin to live up to her
name.
The wardroom door opened, and the executive officer, Lieutenant
Commander Pete Tyler, filed in, followed in short order by the ship’s
Operations Officer, Lieutenant Brian Nylander; the Combat Systems
Officer, Lieutenant Terri Sikes; and the Navigator/Administrative Officer,
Lieutenant (junior grade) Karen Augustine. Each of the officers greeted
the captain and found a seat at the wardroom table.
The XO leaned over in Chief McPherson’s direction and whispered,
“Where is your boss?”
The chief glanced at the door. “On the way, sir. He won’t be late. He
never is.”
“He’d better not be,” the XO said out of the side of his mouth. “He’s
your ensign; it’s your job to train him.”
There was a hint of amusement in the XO’s eyes, but Chief McPherson
knew that the man was only half-joking. As the captain’s second-incommand,
the XO was charged with making sure that the ship operated in