CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lieutenant Thomas Cohen hadn’t slept much in the brief span since the USS Constitution had demolished the IRGC ship. He’d been given a four-hour shift rotation, which was usually a welcome reprieve for him to stretch his legs, nap, enjoy some sunshine, or send a few emails back home. But all he could see in his mind’s eye was the explosion, seventy-six lives extinguished as quickly as the small green blip had vanished from radar.
He spent the four hours in his bunk, staring up at white-painted metal of the ceiling, and wondering about everything.
That was the worst part, the not knowing. The crew of the Constitution was only aware of what they were told, and they weren’t being told much. Mere minutes after the destruction of the IRGC vessel, the crew’s Wi-Fi went dark.
