It seems the Gridley was named after the famous "You may fire when ready Gridley"
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Today I come bearing an olive branch in one hand, and the freedom fighter's gun in the other. Do not let the olive branch fall from my hand. I repeat, do not let the olive branch fall from my hand. - Yasser Arafat Speech to UN General Assembly
Just try to avoid getting into a shootout match between Gridley and Hibiki, please! [:'(][:D]
If those two ships end up squaring off against each other my head may get sucked into an existential vortex and implode. I think Onime is right, though. If that did happen the smart money would be on Hibiki, at least early in the war.
Radioman William Raymond Bonderman stretched out in his bunk and wiggled his feet as they stuck out from the end. He was a tall, slender man and the standard six foot Navy bunk did not quite fit his frame. That was okay, he was used to it.
Back home in Lubbock, Texas, he was known, almost inevitably, as Billy Ray. Aboard West Virginia his friends called him Bill and that suited him just fine. Bill was a quiet, hardworking man who was a wizard with radio gear and who was liked and respected by his shipmates. Billy Ray had been a bit of a mess. He had joined the Navy mostly because he had been in and out of trouble and had ended up too poor to rub two sticks together.
That was more than two years ago and it had all worked out fine. Bill now sent money home to his folks to help them in raising his sisters. He still liked a beer now and again but kept it at that. In fact he had declined an invitation to go ashore tonight so he could write a letter home and catch up on his sleep. Besides, his section had duty in the morning.
Tomorrow would be nice, Bill thought. He'd get up a bit early and help the chaplain set up folding wooden chairs on deck for morning services. After that he'd be kept busy in the radio room and that was okay too. He liked the work. There had been more message traffic than usual lately, though. The fleet was getting ready for war if it came. Bill hoped it wouldn't but it wasn't his job to decide. That's what all the admirals and all those smart folks in Washington were for.
Bill put these and other thoughts out of his mind and fell quickly asleep. Outside the moon rose, just three nights past full, and shone brightly down through intermittent clouds on Wai Momi, the "water of pearl." In Honolulu the clubs were full of sailors and pretty girls and the bright dance music played.
They were dancing on the edge of a precipice, though no one knew it and few would have believed it had they been told.
Now my wife will roll her eyes even more as she glances at what I'm reading on the laptop. I always tell her that it could be worse...
Full speed ahead!
T Rav
Joe Beaumont, age nineteen, stepped out of the barn and into the iron-cold northern Michigan night. He made sure the door was latched behind him and then stood for a moment before heading back to the farmhouse. The half a foot of snow already on the ground glowed in the moonlight and gave enough light that Joe could have read a book if he had wanted to.
Joe liked to read, though he could not read very quickly. Right now he was working his way through "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." It was a good book, even though there were a lot of words in it that Joe didn't know. He planned to read a bit more of it tonight before he went to sleep.
At the moment, though, he just wanted to stand out here in the cold and the quiet and think. He did a lot of thinking. Most people thought that Joe was a little bit on the stupid side. He moved slow and talked slower and ideas didn't always come to him quickly. His size added to the impression. He was big, just under six feet tall and stocky, with muscles hardened by the backbreaking effort of trying to keep the farm going.
His mother, though, had a different view of things. "Joe ain't dumb," she would say. "He has to worry over a thing a bit before he gets the shape of it, but he gets there in the end all right."
Right now Joe could see her through the kitchen window, rolling out some dough for tomorrow. She worked hard. They all did, Joe and his two younger brothers too. It had been easier when his father was alive. Not easy, no, but easier. Here in Michigan's Upper Peninsula the growing season was short and the winters were cruel.
Joe looked away from the farmhouse and out at the moonlit fields. Fence posts stood sentry in neat rows, each with its own little cap of snow. Beyond the fields and circling back around behind the house were the thick dark woods. It was beautiful, Joe thought. He always liked this time of year, with winter just starting. It would be different a month from now, when winter really had its teeth into the farm and every day would be a struggle to keep the animals fed and watered.
He'd deal with that when it happened. Time to go inside, he told himself, and get warm. He trudged towards the house, his boots crunching a bit on the packed trail of snow between house and barn.