“I don’t have time for this s**t!” Lieutenant Commander Penny Brightman glared at the returning C-2 cargo plane.
The Theodore Roosevelt was still held together with no more than duct tape and spit. She hadn’t woken for the accident itself—that she’d only been asleep an hour after a double twelve-hour training shift was the only excuse she had—but the alarms had taken care of that. First the seven short and one long of the General Alarm, followed by the continuous ring of the fire alarm, followed by a too-abrupt silence.
Theodore Roosevelt It wasn’t in her training to question whether or not it was an aborted drill. She dressed quickly and attempted to climb the ladders into the base of the Island.
But she couldn’t. It hadn’t been a drill.
Stairwells were blocked with fallen steel. Seal
