Nika tried to remember the last time she’d enjoyed a meal so much. None came readily to mind as she dropped down the ladderways to the LCAC. She was technically off shift for the day, but she always felt better if she checked in on their craft before heading to her bunk. There was a peace and quiet to the empty Well Deck that she’d come to appreciate.
Yet another advantage to the Peleliu—she had a vast quiet about her. She’d grown up in noise because Lower Manhattan was never silent. The George H. W. Bush and the Firebolt had been so crowded that there was never any privacy aboard either vessel.
The bowels of the three-quarters empty Peleliu had become her haven. She lay back on the steel ramp at the head of the Well Deck, crossed her boots, and stared up at the ceiling.
The peace wrapp
