Chapter 16 - Crossing the Meridian
The Atlantic Ocean welcomed the USS Vicksburg with a three-day gale that churned the gray swells into churning walls of white foam. For most junior sailors, heavy seas meant green faces and sleepless hours clinging to pipe berths. For me, it felt like home.
As the logistics coordinator, my office was a cramped, brightly lit compartment lined with tactical displays, supply manifests, and satellite comm terminals. While the destroyer pitched and rolled through the troughs of the mid-Atlantic, I stood balanced on the non-skid deck, cross-referencing fuel consumption metrics with port authorities in Rota, Spain.
My phone—locked securely in my personal locker down in the berthing compartment—was completely out of range, miles away from the digital noise of suburban dramas and unpaid invoices.
Midway through the watch rotation, Chief Petty Officer Vance leaned over my shoulder, pointing at a manifest for upcoming provisions in the Mediterranean.
“You’ve got a steady hand, Bennett,” Vance muttered over the low hum of the ventilation fans. “Most folks get rattled when the sea state hits force six. You look like you’re sitting in a coffee shop.”
“When you spend years navigating domestic squalls, Chief, a little rough water on the ocean feels like a vacation,” I replied, not breaking eye contact with the screen.
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Vance let out a low whistle of amusement, patting my shoulder before moving down the passageway. He didn't know the half of it. Out here, every hazard was visible on radar, every storm could be tracked, and every person on board pulled their weight. There were no hidden equity lines, no manipulative family members, and no unearned debts waiting in the dark.
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