Girl Takes The Oath

by Jacques Antoine

  Girl Takes The Oath, copyright 2014, by Jacques Antoine

  Cover art by Suzie O’Connell at Wellman Creek Books.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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  To Miki and Jenny,

  for standing watch with me,

  and to Torii for encouraging me to write on the Academy,

  and to Safa for lending me her sharp eyes,

  and to Jason for showing me the Yard

  and explaining the gouge.

  Girl Takes The Oath

  a novel

  by Jacques Antoine

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Herndon

  Chapter 2: An Unexpected Blow

  Chapter 3: The Chrysanthemum Emissary

  Chapter 4: Spirit and Spiritedness

  Chapter 5: Theo Brings a Warning

  Chapter 6: A Mysterious Message

  Chapter 7: Violence Ensues

  Chapter 8: Secrets and Lies

  Chapter 9: Party in the Boathouse

  Chapter 10: A Wakizashi in the Dark

  Chapter 11: The Crown Princess

  Chapter 12: A Hard-won Confidence

  Chapter 13: Tending the Wounded

  Chapter 14: Camp Leatherneck

  Chapter 15: The Sweet Science

  Chapter 16: PROTRAMID

  Chapter 17: A Secure Phone

  Chapter 18: A Dead Body at the Doorstep

  Chapter 19: The Night in which All Cows are Black

  Chapter 20: A Croquet Match

  Chapter 21: A Shadow on the Wall

  Chapter 22: Spiderwebs

  Chapter 23: A Death in the Yard

  Chapter 24: AWOL

  Chapter 25: Breath on a Mirror

  Chapter 26: The End of the Trail

  Chapter 27: I am Death

  Chapter 28: One Last Sacrifice

  Chapter 29: Two Funerals

  Chapter 30: One Conspiracy Too Many

  Books, Mailing List, etc.

  Chapter One

  Herndon

  “Two years in SpecWar,” Lieutenant JG Calder observed, standing on the edge of Farragut field in dress whites. “Is it everything you expected?” The breeze flapped his trouser legs while he waited for a response, which seemed to be a long time coming.

  “There’s not much glory, Phil, if you know what I mean. But you can win the respect of some pretty fierce individuals,” Lieutenant JG Hankinson replied darkly. “I’m guessing you don’t kick in many doors on a carrier.”

  “Yeah, it’s more about procedures and paperwork.”

  “Well, it won’t be long before I’m forced into management, too.”

  “You love it, don’t you, the action, the excitement? I can see it in your eyes.”

  Hankinson frowned, until a sneaky smile curled one side of his mouth. The work could get ugly at times, but the danger brought a high it was difficult to come down from. And the aftermath, the remorse, could leave him in a place so dark as to make him think he might finally understand his girlfriend’s reserve.

  “I hope Emily can’t see it.”

  “I still don’t get why she won’t compete,” Calder huffed over a rising breeze. “She has to know it doesn’t look good.”

  Hankinson shielded his eyes to concentrate on identifying which of the YP boats cutting across the mouth of the Severn River carried Midshipman Second Class Michiko Tenno. He couldn’t quite hear what his buddy said, but he could guess. Ever since she’d humbled him in the ring a little over two years ago, the puzzle of her refusal to lead the karate team had become Calder’s central preoccupation. Maybe that’s how it always was with blustering tough guys—whoever takes them down a peg wins their undying devotion. And Emily had taken him down more than one peg.

  “Do we really have to do this again?” Hankinson asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Calder shouted, now more interested in being heard. “She doesn’t like fighting. But where does she think she is? This is the Naval Academy. It’s the Navy, man. We’re all about fighting.”

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” Hankinson muttered, shaking his head. “First of all, we’re not all about fighting.” He shuddered at the irony of what he was about to say, since his billet actually seemed to be all about fighting. “We’re about discipline and strength. Do you really think she’s not strong enough?”

  Calder cringed to hear his friend’s mocking rebuke.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. But it’s not like we’re devoted to finding inner peace either.”

  “She doesn’t do tournaments because she doesn’t want to think of fighting as if it were a game.”

  “Okay, I get that, but when she talks about stealing people’s chi and all that mystical crap, it doesn’t exactly demonstrate a talent for leadership.”

  “Well, someone must think she’s officer material, since they made her executive officer for the YP cruise. And I heard she impressed some folks on her surface cruise.”

  “Where’d they send her?”

  “She was on an Arleigh Burke out of Yokosuka.”

  “Whoa, nice cruise. And she’s got family over there, doesn’t she?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t mention it. But there was an incident and they had their hands full… no time for any family reunions.” Hankinson cupped his hand over the side of his face. “There’s her boat, that 703.”

  “Who’s she sailing with?”

  “I think it’s Van Doren’s command.”

  “Yokosuka…,” Calder said, picking over old information. “That’s a plum assignment. How’d she swing that anyway?”

  Hankinson glowered at him. Of course, she was connected every which way, but it’s not like she hadn’t earned whatever she got.

  “She was hoping for Leatherneck. I’m pretty sure she was disappointed.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Leatherneck? Does she really want to wrangle Jarheads? With her tech skills, she should be able to get lighter duty, if she wants it.”

  “You know how she is, never the easy way.”

  “Too bad she can’t do the SEAL screener,” Calder snorted. “You’re gonna be overseeing it this fall, right?”

  “Yeah, and if it wasn’t totally against regs…” Hankinson paused for a moment, bemused by the surprising turn the conversation had taken. “We better get a move on if we’re gonna meet her.”

  ~~~~~~~

  “Stow it, Gunderson. That kind of talk has no place on my boat,” Ensign Midshipman Brian Van Doren barked out upon entering the bridge. “When you’re the exec, you can give the orders. Until then, do your job and bring us in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Midshipman Second Class Gunderson mumbled and took her place at the helm, casting one last dark glance in Emily’s direction.

  “Wannabe Youngsters muster on the aft deck,” Van Doren called over the intercom. “C’mon, Tenno,” he said to Emily, using the Japanese name the Navy knew her by. “Let’s go down and make it official.”

  About two dozen would-be Third Class Midshipmen stood at ease on the aft deck of the 116 foot long YP 703, third in a line of boats returning from the YP cruise. Emily followed the chief down the back stairs, and saw a ragged line of Mids peering expectantly over the port railing, until they noticed the arrival of the two upperclassmen and snapped to attention.

  “Easy there, 4/Cs, just another minute or two,” Van Doren said. “Climbing Herndon doesn’t mean anything until you see the ch
apel dome.”

  On the port side, the Eastport Bridge slipped past, and then the fancy hotels and restaurants of the city docks, with their glittering, two-story windows. The Statehouse dome loomed over the historic houses below State Circle, huddled between Fleet and Cornhill streets. Along Spa Creek, the yacht club beckoned, antennas bobbing above the current, decks here and there making the spectators on board sway.

  “Pendergast,” Emily called out. “What was your time?”

  “One hour, thirty nine minutes, seventeen seconds, ma’am,” he replied.

  “Any injuries?”

  “Nothing serious, ma’am. A few sprains and a broken finger.”

  “And the whole class reeked of lard for a week,” Van Doren added helpfully. “Who made it to the top of the monument?”

  “Ellsworthy, sir,” Pendergast replied.

  “Tenno, what was your time?”

  “I think we did it in twenty seven minutes, sir,” Emily replied.

  “Impressive, Tenno. How’d you manage it?”

  “Human projectile, sir.”

  “And who had the privilege of soaring through the air?” Van Doren asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Me, sir.”

  “How many tries did it take?”

  “Just the one.”

  “Then what took you so long?”

  “The Delta Dogs wanted to make ropes out of shirts. We had to let them try it.”

  “Who launched you, Tenno?”

  “McDonough and Talib, sir. I got a running start and they gave me a boost.”

  “Those guys are beasts,” Van Doren observed. “Probably could’ve launched you clear out of the yard if they weren’t careful. With those two, it’s no wonder the Fightin’ 28 won the Iron Company award at Sea Trials last year. And what did the rest of your company contribute to your effort?”

  “Caught me on the way down. That’s the dangerous part, trying to get off the greasy pillar without killing yourself.”

  “So you just fell into their arms? Now that’s a real trust exercise.”

  “Yes, sir, and they had a net fashioned out of the shirt-rope,” Emily replied, trying to hide a sneaky smile. The great blue roof of the field house at the bottom of Prince George Street glowed in the sun.

  “That’s some serious bragging rights for your company, Tenno. Maybe it makes up for losing the croquet match with the Johnnies so often.”

  “I hope so, sir. Those kids may lack discipline, but they’re wily,” she said with a laugh.

  “I don’t know about wiles,” Van Doren offered. “But they sure seem to have the Fightin’ 28’s number.”

  “There’s the tip of the dome, sir,” Emily said, as the golden pinnacle glimmered down at them like the blink of an eye. The men and women assembled on the aft deck stood in a sort of trance as the copper-green dome of the Academy Chapel hove into view. Gunderson dropped the RPMs, and the 703’s engines grew quiet as they rounded Farragut Field.

  “Do you want to do the honors, Tenno?”

  “I’d rather hear you do it, sir.”

  In a quaking, authoritarian voice, Van Doren made the speech he’d obviously been rehearsing all morning, with special emphasis on the last two sentences.

  “On behalf of the upperclassmen of the United States Naval Academy, I hereby officially pronounce you to be Youngsters, one and all. Let no one call you Plebe ever again.”

  ~~~~~~~

  After all the formalities had been run through dockside for the returning Youngsters, Calder and Hankinson began to wonder why Emily had yet to emerge from her 703. Other than a few scattered clumps of midshipmen here and there, they were the only people waiting by the Yard Patrol boats.

  “Are you sure this is the right boat?” Calder asked.

  “This is it, I’m pretty sure. You saw Van Doren, too.”

  Calder grunted his assent. “You think she’s still on board?”

  “Well, I don’t think she gave us the slip, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, I meant she might not have expected to see us. I was planning to surprise her. Did you send word you were coming?”

  Only the tiniest shred of resistance to the notion of boarding a ship without permission restrained Hankinson from simply going on board to look for her.

  “Em,” Calder shouted.

  “Quiet, you big oaf. You’ll embarrass her.”

  The sound of a male voice shouting something they couldn’t quite make out rumbled down from the bridge. A hatch slammed and feet rushed down the aft staircase. A moment later, Midshipmen 2/C Kathy Gunderson stepped off the 703 and brushed past them with only the most perfunctory of salutes, face red and eyes burning. As she stalked off down Santee Road, the hatch slammed a second time, and Van Doren emerged on the quay a few seconds later. Caught a little by surprise at the sight of two superior officers, he snapped to and saluted, at which Hankinson grumbled and returned the salute, not wishing to be deflected from his quest by formalities.

  “Trouble on the bridge?” Calder asked.

  “No, sir. Just a crash course on respect for the chain of command.”

  “Where’s the OIC,” Hankinson asked.

  “The last leg from Halifax was firsties only, sir.”

  Hankinson grunted his approval of giving the 1/Cs a taste of command responsibility. He looked Van Doren up and down, a stony expression on his face, but said nothing. The younger man shifted his feet nervously.

  “Tenno will be down in a moment, sir, if that’s who you’re waiting for,” he offered.

  Hankinson nodded, and Calder tipped his head to one side to indicate that his company was no longer needed.

  “You two have to be the strangest pair I’ve ever seen,” Calder said, once Van Doren was out of earshot. “I mean, you act like spies around each other, but with that sad-puppy look on your face… well, it’s not hard to tell how you feel about her, at least.”

  A sheepish smile reddened Hankinson’s face, and he punched Calder in the chest.

  “Oh, shut up. What do you know about anything?”

  “I know she’s sweet on you, whatever she lets on in front of the rest of the world.”

  Except for one last knot of midshipmen a few yards away, the docks looked to be empty, pretty much everyone having begun to make their way over to Bancroft Hall for yet another formality neither of these two had any interest in. One last hatch squealed on its hinges, and there she was, staring down at them from the fore deck. She snapped a salute at them and waited for the return. Calder gaped at her, once again surprised, like every other time since their first encounter in the ring. After a moment, Hankinson tapped his shoulder to bring him out of his reverie.

  “She won’t come down until you return the salute,” he whispered, and Calder snapped to.

  Before he quite knew how to respond, she’d stepped onto the dock and run over to greet them, throwing her arms around his neck, as Hankinson looked on.

  “Phil,” she cooed in his ear, after planting a kiss on his cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here. That’s so sweet.”

  Now it was his turn to blush, which he did quite vividly, until Hankinson nudged him.

  “Could you do us a favor, Phil, and introduce those mids down there to the architectural intricacies of the Rt. 450 Bridge?”

  After Calder had obediently directed his new charges to turn their gazes to an otherwise uninspiring two-lane bridge visible a half mile or so to the northwest of the yard, Emily pulled Perry between two 703s, leaned against his chest, with her hands on his cheeks, and let him hold her by the waist.

  “You’ve been on my mind,” she said, and kissed his face—his nose, his eyes, and finally his lips.

  “Yeah, well your eyes haunt my goddamn dreams.”

  “You’ve been careful, I take it? No foolish risks?”

  “You know the SEALs,” he said. “Everything is preparation… and more firepower than anyone we might meet.”

  “If you come back in a bag, mist
er, I will hunt you down, whatever inferno you end up in. And you know I can do it.”

  “I hear you ran into some, uh, turbulence on your surface cruise,” he retorted.

  “It was nothing, really,” she said. “A shore-leave fracas. Your buddies, Cho and Kuragin, it seems they irritated some toughs in a bar outside Chinhae, and before they knew it we were outnumbered four to one.”

  “Kuragin’s such an ass,” Perry snorted. “He can get in a fight in a church.”

  “Well, Cho’s no diplomat either, you know. I mean, the whole cruise he’s rattling on about showing us the sights, how he’s got family in Busan, and what does he do but get in a brawl on his first day there.”

  “You saved their bacon though, right?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, I’m sure having to be rescued by a middie on a summer cruise humbled those two.”

  “I don’t know, maybe. But I kinda like ’em as is, you know, with a bit of bluster and bravado.”

  Perry smiled and said, “Me, too.” He paused to look into her eyes, black as coal and deep as the abyss. The fire that occasionally flared at the bottom—he’d seen that too, once, and didn’t really care to see it again. “What was all the yelling about on the bridge just now?”

  “Nothing, really. More of Gunderson’s schemes, that’s all. Van Doren finally saw through her.”

  “She really has it in for you, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah, her and her boyfriend, Bauer.”

  “I remember him,” Perry said. “He joined the karate team my last year, right? He’s a 1/C now, I suppose.”

  “That’s him.”

  “He had some good skills, as I recall.”

  “Not bad,” Emily conceded. “But not nearly good enough for being such an ass.”

  Back to top

  Chapter Two

  An Unexpected Blow

  “They can’t be serious, right?” Theo Leone asked.

  The idea that Emily could be responsible for the cold-blooded murder of three Chinese security agents in Kathmandu made no sense to Andie Cardano’s big brother. He knew there had been some trouble when she visited Nepal in the summer after high school, but he also knew her too well. Her skill in hand to hand combat gave him pause, since he’d never seen a fighter quite like her—and coming from a SEAL, that was saying something. But murder? He didn’t know how to reconcile that with everything else he knew about Emily. After all, a little more than two years ago, the girl had risked everything to rescue his nephew from a North Korean hit squad.