“I haven’t slept in days,” Commander Susan Piazza stood beside Mike on the Hangar Deck of the USS Theodore Roosevelt. They’d arrived from Alaska at sunset and she’d been in the dark ever since. Midnight had drifted by three hours ago. Other than the scattered lights of the circling carrier groups, there was nothing to see beyond the floodlights directed at the wreckage. Miranda, Andi, and Holly were reassembling the crashed F-35C one scrap at a time.
Theodore Roosevelt. “It certainly feels that way,” Mike seemed utterly complacent, glad to stand and watch the other three at work. They’d been at it for hours. She didn’t understand most of what they were doing, but neither could she tear her eyes away and go beg a few hours in a bunk.
“No,” Susan massaged the back of her neck. “I mean that
