True Valor (14 page)

Okay, I’ve whined. Only when I’m really tired . . .

I think Jill and Wolf are heading to a decision point sooner versus later. They have a good relationship, and the emotions cut both ways and run deep. Wolf has grown up since Ecuador. He’s ready for something permanent. Jill’s a wise lady. She’s thinking about what it means to sign up, for the first time to voluntarily accept the implications of what it means to be the wife of a military man. She’ll make the right decision.

God bless, Grace

2 Samuel 22:1–4, 32–33

And David spoke to the Lord the words of this song on the day when the Lord delivered him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul. He said, “The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge, my savior; thou savest me from violence. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies . . . . For who is God, but the Lord? And who is a rock, except our God? This God is my strong refuge, and has made my way safe.”

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling an overwhelming surge of emotions at the words she wrote. And he finally understood the entrance to that deep reservoir that made up Grace. Jill thought in emotions. Until now he’d missed seeing what fit Grace. She thought in questions. The key to that reservoir was the questions.

She was a pilot—trained as a pilot and she thought like a pilot. Anticipating events, staying ahead of the curve, that was where she felt comfortable. He understood the emotions she felt about her past with Ben. In a way he was pleased she had that burden, for it showed the depth she let relationships touch her life. They mattered and a tragedy tore deep.

He thought about it and tugged out his notebook. He wrote back only one question.

Grace, did you love him?

Fourteen

* * *

MAY 19

USS
GEORGE WASHINGTON
(CVN 73)

M
EDITERRANEAN
S
EA
S
OUTH
OF
C
RETE

“Did you get my birthday present?” Grace asked, pressing the phone tight and covering her other ear in order to hear Jill. The bank of satellite phones on the third deck near the post office was a recent addition. They were popular and it was necessary to sign up for ten-minute blocks or else queue up in line and hope someone missed his or her slot.

“It’s gorgeous! Thank you.” Jill’s voice sounded hollow, and there was an echo because it was storming out and it was distorting the transmissions from the ship. “I’ve already got my figurines moved into the display case. They look great under the lights.”

“What did Wolf get you?”

“A gorgeous jewelry box. And he and Bruce stunned me—they went together to get me a new dining room table.”

“Yes! I hoped they would be able to get it arranged.”

“Terri from the office was in on it. I got home and I had a new table waiting with a huge sheet cake on it and forty people crowding the living room. There was a huge card with hundreds of signatures. Was that your doing at the deployment party?”

“Yes. It was a good day?”

“Excellent,” Jill reassured.

“Are either Bruce or Wolf going to be able to call?”

“They just did,” Jill said, sounding more excited about that than the gift. “They tag teamed on a satellite phone borrowed from some British unit. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like something they would arrange.”

“Yes, it does.” Grace leaned against the metal passageway wall, pleased to hear the guys had been able to call. “Have you sent Wolf that mushy greeting card yet?” She’d been reading between the lines of Wolf’s letters and Jill’s. Something good was brewing. It was about time.

“Grace, I can’t. What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Come on; it’s got Wolf written all over it.”

“What if someone reads over his shoulder? He’ll kill me.”

“Making guys blush is good for them.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Her time was running out but she didn’t want to let Jill go. Grace missed her. She was looking forward to a girls’ night catching up on news while they shared nail polish and hair curlers and clothes catalogs. “My time is up; I’m going to have to go. Happy birthday, Jill. And many more.”

“Thank you; your birthday present was stupendous. It’s great to hear your voice. Fly safe!”

“I’ll write,” Grace promised, saying good-bye. She hung up and turned the phone over to the next sailor waiting. Everyone on this ship was missing someone at home.

The ship didn’t take weekends off but there was a sense of it being Friday. Duty shifts were entering the weekend recovery phase where time was allocated to completing paperwork from the week’s training, maintenance teams could catch up on the inevitable list of needed repairs, and supply ships could replenish the stores. The mess was doing a special meal of barbecued ribs tonight, and the morale and welfare officers had arranged new movies.

They were south of Crete, sailing toward the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf. The storm had limited flight operations, a defensive air protection blanket for the carrier battle group being the only planes sent up. If Operation Northern Watch had been tense, they were heading into trouble. Covering Kuwait meant heavy flight schedules.

Grace began the long trek back to her stateroom. This far down in the bowels of the ship was the home of the sailors who kept the ship running, and there were very few familiar landmarks. She started stepping over the watertight hatches that interrupted every corridor at regular intervals.

Off corridors on this third deck were the ship’s laundry, machine shops, the ship’s store, and a mess that could seat five hundred sailors for a meal. Another deck below were the nuclear reactors and the turbines. She was very willing to leave this side of the Navy to the men who had sailor in generations of their blood.

The first thing she taught a nugget: find the squadron ready room, find your stateroom, and find the dirty-shirt wardroom where you could get a meal while still wearing your flight suit. It was possible to work, sleep, and eat for weeks without ever venturing this deep into the bowels of the ship.

There was a huge air-conditioning plant aboard, but it existed first to cool the electronic warfare equipment that was jammed into the heart of the aircraft carrier nerve center, and second to cool the ship for comfort. When they reached the warm waters of the Gulf, these lower levels of the ship would turn into a sauna.

She climbed her first ladder, ascending to the second deck. She took a short corridor jog and climbed again. Now she was starting to see familiar sites. She reached the hangar deck. An expanse over two football fields’ long cut into the heart of the ship; it was an area that could hold as many as sixty aircraft inside. About thirty were below at the moment, the rest riding out the rainstorm tied down by chains on the deck.

Murky storm-darkened daylight filtered in from the stern of the ship where the hangar bay was open to the elements. The storm was not severe enough to close the massive blast doors. Crews were busy, planes opened up and showing their guts. This ship sailed with the machinery to fix anything that broke aboard the ship or a plane. The platforms on the fantail even allowed the maintenance crews to test a rebuilt engine at full power.

Thunder ripped the air and rolled through the open hangar, echoing and adding to the noise. Grace looked one last time at the open air and turned to continue to work her way back to her stateroom.

The rain was a mixed blessing. She’d been praying for it, but it was falling at the wrong place. The rain was at sea and was not reaching shore. This storm would actually result in making the drought inland worse as it would exhaust what built-up energy there was in the atmosphere.

She reached her stateroom an hour after she had left to make her phone call to Jill. Since two people being on their feet at the same time was crowded and three was the limit without slowing each other down, Grace skirted the hanging ironed shirts and slid onto her bunk. She had another thirty minutes before she would begin her six-hour shift standing as the squadron duty officer.

She reached for the book she’d tucked in the corner of the bunk. The paperback was beat up and dog-eared, a copy of Mark Twain’s
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
. It had arrived in a care package from Bruce over the weekend. There was a library on board ship, but it was a long trek and she rarely went that direction except for Sunday services at the chapel. And nothing in the library could compare to this gift. Bruce had drawn little smiley faces in the margins and laughter notes and underlined sections. It was a fascinating, if unusual, way to say hello. Bruce had found a way into her deployment and was occupying more and more of her thoughts.

“Did you love him?”

She hadn’t answered his last letter yet, was still struggling to find the right words. She was glad Bruce wasn’t always that intense. She was learning not to open his letters until she had time to sit down and really read them. The man told stories about Wolf to keep her abreast of what was going on, told stories about his own days with a dry sense of humor, and probed into her emotions all in the same letter.

Loneliness on this tour was proving to be a very relative thing. His letters kept arriving to fill what free moments she had. She’d finish her letter to him later tonight.

Lord, this is a fascinating relationship and I wish I knew where it was heading. It’s going to be so strange seeing him and talking in person after this deployment. Letters have a way of going into topics and adding details I normally would not mention. You surprised me with this friendship. Thanks.

Bruce ~

Your last letter and package arrived and have filled my days with many enjoyable hours. I read in snatches of twenty and thirty minutes. I find myself spending my downtime relaxing with your words. You’re good company.

I haven’t answered your question before this, not because I don’t know the answer but because I do. Yes, I loved Ben. I knew him, understood him, and trusted him. I’m disappointed in myself that I made an assumption that I couldn’t handle the complexity of marrying him. A few years ago I quaked at the thought of trying to land aboard the carrier, and now I’m comfortable guiding other pilots to a safe landing. I grew into the role. I should have approached the challenge of marrying Ben in the same way.

Is there anything that God cannot handle? anything He cannot teach? anything He cannot inspire? I took my eye off the larger goal and let a short-term obstacle loom larger than it should have.

I have to admit you have pushed me back into studying the Word while on deployment. Normally those intense periods come during the stateside breaks. It is enjoyable and refreshing to be so deep inside God’s Word. I’ve been loving the nuggets of gold I’m finding. Time’s tight. I’ve got to go.

All God’s best, Gracie

2 Chronicles 20

Then Jehoshaphat feared, and set himself to seek the Lord. . . . “O Lord, God of our Fathers, art thou not God in heaven? Dost thou not rule over all the kingdoms of the nations? In thy hand are power and might, so that none is able to withstand thee. . . . O our God, wilt thou not execute judgment upon them? For we are powerless against this great multitude that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon thee.” . . .

“Hearken, all Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem, and King Jehoshaphat: Thus says the Lord to you, ‘Fear not, and be not dismayed at this great multitude; for the battle is not yours but God’s. . . . You will not need to fight in this battle; take your position, stand still, and see the victory of the Lord on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem.’ . . .”

When Judah came to the watchtower of the wilderness, they looked toward the multitude; and behold, they were dead bodies lying on the ground; none had escaped. . . .

So the realm of Jehoshaphat was quiet, for his God gave him rest round about.

Fifteen

* * *

JUNE 3

T
URKEY
/S
YRIAN
B
ORDER

“What do you think that defector had to say?”

“I don’t think we’re watching the Syrian/Turkey border for our good health,” Bruce replied, wondering how Wolf could recline on rocks for so long without ever shifting. He was doing his best to match the man’s stillness even while stones dug into his belly. They had the high ground, and to their east the Euphrates ran from Turkey into Syria. Through the night-vision-equipped binoculars, the river had a glow to it as the heat absorbed during the day reflected back into the air. It was the only water in a region where the drought had taken a firm hold.

“Terrorist attacks?”