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  “There’s a butterfly in this story somewhere, yes?” Ashley chided the chaplain.

  “There certainly is Captain. A guy falls off a carriage in 1865, and in so doing sets up a series of events. Ninety-eight years later, those events lead directly to my parents meeting on May 19, 1963, and on November 9, 1967, to the birth of your humble priest. Compare that guy falling off his cart to a butterfly flapping its wings.”

  Father Rick continued. “Now suppose we slipped through a wormhole and wound up at Appomattox in 1865. Suppose a strong young sailor named Jack Thurber was there at the scene. He sees the horse rear, runs up to the carriage, and prevents the man from falling and spraining his ankle. Grandpa Randolph would be a bystander, looking on. He would later return to his small farm in western Pennsylvania, and would never even visit Iowa. In 1963, there would be no Peter Sampson to save the damsel with the flat tire. And of all the things that happened in Dubuque, Iowa on November 9, 1967, the birth of Richard Sampson would not be one of them.”

  Oh shit, thought Ashley, I can see where this is going.

  “That,” said Father Rick “is why I wanted to talk about butterflies today.”

  “Lieutenant Jack,” said Ashley, “any thoughts on this?”

  Jack looked at Ashley and said, “The uncomfortable thing about logic, Captain, is that you can’t resist it. You don’t have to understand the Butterfly Effect to get the point that Father Rick makes. When I had those two incidents of slipping through a time portal, I did nothing to change what was going on when I got there. I just slipped into the past and slipped back. But Father Rick paints a picture that’s pretty clear. A small change in the past can revoke history as we know it.”

  “Here’s my serious concern,” said Father Rick. “In the story I just told, I changed everything by just inserting a hypothetical correction – the guy never sprained his ankle. What we’re talking

  about in our present circumstances goes much further than changing a fact or two. We intervene in the Civil War, and in so doing we change history. If everyone on this ship tracked their ancestry like I did, would they be able to predict with certainty that they are really here. Each of the little serendipities of life point us in different directions as well as our ancestors. Can we say that the lineage of everyone on this ship will remain exactly the same, even though we change the entire course of history?”

  Father Rick continued. “So we intercede in the Civil War, after which we try to find our way back to 2013 by locating the wormhole. It’s been six generations from 1861 to 2013. Every generation begins with the same simple story: boy meets girl. We’ll feel the bumping and the night will turn to day. Will any of us exist after it happens?”

  Ashley stood up and walked over to a porthole. She loved the ocean and never tired of looking at it. The ocean was her home, and when she looked at her home, it calmed her. She didn’t have to think or analyze anything. The sea gave her answers. If ever she needed some answers it was now.

  “I’m not a philosopher or a theologian,” Ashley said, “I’m just a grunt line officer serving her country. But I do have faith in God.” She looked at her friend Father Rick, who just closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. “I’ve heard more Rick Sampson sermons than I can remember when you talked about God’s plan for us, how the joy of life comes from surrendering to His loving grace. Something inside me, and I can’t explain it, says that God’s plan goes beyond a sprained ankle or a flat tire. Something inside me says that our existence isn’t as haphazard as a butterfly flapping its wings. I believe that God put us here. It’s our job not to blow it.”

  Ashley continued, her voice rising slightly. “We’re going to intervene in the Civil War, probably at the Battle of Bull Run. We’re going to kick ass, scare the living shit out of the Confederacy, bring an early end to the horror, and save a few hundred thousand lives. Not just Northern or Southern lives. American lives. Then we’re going to find a way home, and we’ll all be there when it happens. If I’m wrong, Father, you won’t be around to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

  “The meeting’s over gentlemen. Thank you both for your thoughtful input. God bless you.”

  God bless all of us, she thought.

  Chapter 28

  Gideon Wells’ carriage rattled along the oval drive to the front entrance of the White House, as the President’s residence was commonly known. It would be decades before the White House became the official name of the building. The circular drive leading up to the front entrance provided little security. As the years went by, presidential safety concerns would rearrange the entrance, replacing the long drive with a large and defensible lawn. There had been heavy rain recently and the path to the front door was its usual mess of potholes and ruts. One of the White House staff ran to the carriage and opened the door for Wells. His assistant climbed out the opposite door. Wells strode through the entrance, his shoes making a loud clapping sound on the stone floor. His assistant carried two large suitcases laden with items that Wells had been given on the California.

  An aide escorted Wells into the President’s office. He had suggested that Admiral Farragut be part of the meeting, but Lincoln let it be known that he wanted to meet with Wells alone. Lincoln stood to greet his old friend. Lincoln, as many a biographer would later note, did not try to be imposing, preferring instead to let a man be his own and speak freely. But at 6 feet 4 inches tall, Abraham Lincoln simply was imposing, whether he intended to be or not.

  “So Mr. Secretary, people have been telling me that you’ve taken to strong drink,” Lincoln joked.

  Wells laughed. “Mr. President, after I tell you my story you may want to indulge yourself as well.” Lincoln was intensely curious about the contents of the large suitcases, but he decided to let Wells tell the story in his own fashion.

  “Mr. President,” said Wells, “I hate to ruin a good story by telling the ending first, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The people on the USS California, which we’ve been calling the Gray Ship, are of fine character and intelligence. Farragut and my aide Commander Roebling both agree. The officers and crew that I met makes one proud to have them in our Navy. During our tour of the vessel we saw or heard nothing that would even hint at prevarication of any sort.”

  “My dear Gideon,” said Lincoln, “I thought you were getting to the end first.”

  “Mr. President, the people on the USS California are convinced that they came here through some strange portal from another time, April 2013, to be exact, 152 years into the future.”

  Lincoln said nothing. He sat down and stared out the window. He looked at Wells and massaged his tall forehead. He then scratched his beard and the back of his head. He folded his arms, unfolded them and stood up again. He then spread his arms to each side of his desk and stared at Wells.

  “Gideon, "Lincoln said, "did you or Farragut or Roebling think that those people may be insane, suffering from delusional thoughts?”

  “Sir,” said Wells, “if they are insane then I am too, and I know I speak for Farragut and Roebling as well. I am convinced, Mr. President, that the USS California and her entire crew have come here from the year 2013. They have travelled through time. Of that I am certain.”

  From his days as a country lawyer and his many years as a politician, Lincoln always prided himself on staying ahead of a conversation. He had a skill for listening to a person and then thinking five sentences ahead. He could draw conclusions from what a man said, and then question the man on his conclusions, as well as those of the man speaking. But Abraham Lincoln did not feel he was ahead in this conversation. Lincoln was baffled, and he told Wells as much. “Please go on Mr. Secretary,” said Lincoln, “Please convince me that you, or I, have not lost our minds.”

  He handed Lincoln a copy of the 35-page report that Campbell had prepared, one for Wells and one for Lincoln. “This report, Mr. President, has perfectly clear lettering as you can see. They prepared the report for us on a machine called a computer. A sailor sat before the inst
rument and tapped with his fingers on buttons. The letters appeared on the machine right in front of him. When he finished, he pressed another button and these pages that you see came out of yet a second machine called a printer.”

  Wells told Lincoln in detail about every aspect of their tour, including the weapons and propulsion devices. He explained, as best he could, this amazing thing called nuclear energy. “They said they can sail for over ten years without refueling. The technology and science is amazing.” He told Lincoln about the guided missiles, the rocket propelled grenades, the fully automatic rifles, and the startling instrument called an iPad. “They communicate long distances without laying cable,” Wells said. “They call it wireless. May I demonstrate, sir?”

  “Please go ahead, Gideon.”

  Wells picked a two-way radio out of the suitcase and told Lincoln he was going to call the California by her code name, Lima Juliette. Wells was giddy with excitement, his great white beard swinging in the air with his movements. He pressed a button and said: “Lima Juliette, Lima Juliette, this is Alpha Foxtrot, radio check over.” Within a couple of seconds a voice came out of the instrument. It said, “This is Lima Juliette, read you loud and clear Alpha Foxtrot.”

  “Alpha Foxtrot?” Lincoln asked. Wells beamed. “Sir, that is my new radio code name.”

  “Well,” said Lincoln, “I believe congratulations are in order Mr. Foxtrot, or may I call you Alpha?” Lincoln sat down again.

  Wells then told Lincoln that for all of the marvels that they saw aboard the California, the most shocking part of the tour was a talk prepared by a Commander Richard Sampson, the ship’s chaplain and historian.

  “Because they come from the future, Mr. President, they know the past, and their past is our future.” At that, Lincoln held up his right hand, palm out. He stared at the ceiling, making sure he understood what he just heard.

  “Please continue, Gideon.”

  Wells then told Lincoln about the casualty figures of the four years to come, summing them up with the most shocking number of all: 620,000 casualties or more, a number that’s easy to write on a page, but almost impossible to hold in one’s mind. Lincoln stared at Wells. Wells stared at the floor.

  “Dear God,” said Lincoln, “Dear God Almighty.”

  Wells opened one of the suitcases and withdrew folder after folder of crisp color photographs. The pictures were not just of the California but were a photographic montage of the United States Navy in the year 2013. He first showed Lincoln the California itself and her amazing machines. He then laid out pictures of some of the Navy’s other ships, including aircraft carriers and nuclear ballistic missile submarines. Lincoln stared at the picture of an aircraft carrier, a photo of the USS Ronald Reagan. One photo showed an F-14 Tomcat fighter jet being launched off the deck by catapult.

  “How many of these flying machines did you say the California has?” Lincoln asked.

  “Just three Mr. President. One is a machine called a helicopter. Here it is in this picture. It lands and flies straight up and down. They call this machine an Apache Attack Helicopter. It can remain in the air in one position while it fires rockets, bullets, and bombs at an enemy. They also have these strange things they call helicopter drones that are flown without men aboard using that wireless business I mentioned a few minutes ago. They can use the drones to spy on the enemy, to fire rockets, and also to take photographs.” Lincoln’s eyes fixed on the drones.

  “These drones, Gideon,” said Lincoln, “can they take photographs while flying rapidly over an area?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. The drones can take photographs or even a moving image that they call a video. The person on the ship who operates the drone can see the images in what they call ‘real time,' as if you were looking at the object while it was being photographed. Until they went through that amazing Daylight Event, they used things they call satellites, metallic objects in the sky that actually circle the earth. They could somehow send a wireless message from the drone to the satellite or from the ship to the satellite and then to the drone. Until they lost the satellites they could operate a drone from, say, the State of Oregon while operating the machine here in Washington. They also used these satellites to navigate. They call it a Global Positioning System. Since they went through the time portal, they no longer have that ability. But the drones can still take photographs and send them back to the ship using radio waves, just as I did when I called the California on my radio.”

  Lincoln just massaged his temples. Wells understood the confusion Lincoln experienced, just as he had two days before.

  “So these drones can fly over an area and photograph troop movements and artillery positions?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, these machines can have an enormous military impact. And the drone machine itself can also fire rockets. They have a way for troops on the ground to point a thing they call a laser, which is a device of some sort that I simply don’t understand. A soldier would point this laser machine at a target such as an artillery battery, and the drone would fire its rocket directly at the battery. It’s amazing, Mr. President.”

  “That it is my friend, that it is.”

  ***

  “How many ships like the California are sailing the oceans, Mr. Secretary?” Lincoln asked.

  Lincoln’s question confused Wells. He thought he had made it clear that the California took a solitary trip through time. “Only one, Mr. President. The California took her strange journey all alone.”

  “So you’re certain that there are no other ships like the California at sea at this very moment, Gideon?”

  “Yes, sir, there are no others.”

  “And do you base your conclusion on personal observation?”

  Wells realized that he was being cross examined by an expert lawyer. “No sir. I did not personally look for any other ships.”

  “Did you ask the officers on the California if they knew of any others?”

  “No sir, I did not,” said Wells.

  “Now, Gideon, these gigantic ships in the photos that are called aircraft carriers, have you determined that there are none at sea?”

  “No sir, I have not personally determined that.”

  “It seems to me,” said Lincoln, “that in the vastness of the oceans it is impossible to say with certainty that there are no other Gray Ships afloat. Do you not agree, Gideon?”

  Wells had to admit, “Well, no, Mr. President, I cannot say so with certainty.”

  Lincoln walked over to a window and stood silently, looking out at the grounds. The flowers were starting to bloom as spring opened its wings. Lincoln always saw spring as a time of new beginnings, a time of renewal.

  He then turned to Wells and said, “Let me ask you a question, my friend. If you were Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederacy, would you not be concerned about a whole fleet of these amazing vessels, maneuvering and ready to strike at your forces? And would not this worrisome possibility, if you were Davis, consume your thoughts and guide your decisions?”

  Wells paused and stroked his beard. “If you put it that way Mr. President, I suppose Jeff Davis would be concerned. But, sir, he has no reason for worry, except for the one ship that he knows about, the USS California.”

  Lincoln walked over to his Navy Secretary and sat in a chair across from him, his long legs jutting forward as if pinning Wells to his chair. He peered into Wells’ eyes and said, “Gideon, what if we give Davis something to worry about?” Wells eyes grew wide. He suddenly slapped his knee and laughed uproariously.

  “Of course,” said Wells. “We’ll make them think that there’s a fleet of Gray Ships!”

  Lincoln smiled broadly. He then stood and walked over to the table that was covered with the photographs of ships.

  “You have told me about the fearsome weapons aboard the California, Gideon. But these,” Lincoln waved his hands over the array of photos, “these are our most potent weapons.”

  The phrase PsyOps or psychological operations did not exist
in 1861, but the idea of using tricks to fool an enemy has been around since ancient times. Lincoln realized that they had an opportunity to prevent the slaughter that Wells told him about.

  The Gray Ship fleet would soon put to sea.

  Chapter 29

  The Coast Guard Cutter Gallatin arrived in the vicinity of the California’s last known position. It was 0327 and still pitch dark. Fortunately the sea was calm, always a good condition for an ocean search and rescue operation.

  Commander Donald Hester, the CO of the Gallatin, contacted the Office of Naval Operations at the Pentagon to advise them that he had arrived on station and was commencing search and rescue operations.

  The Gallatin was equipped with the US Navy’s latest in underwater rescue technology. Known by the catchy phrase Submarine Rescue Diving and Recompression System’s (SRDRS), it was designed for rescuing submarine crews. This SRDRS was nicknamed “Bubbles.” It is a manned submersible and can dive to a depth of 2,000 feet.

  The depth below the Gallatin was only 300 feet, making Bubbles’ mission relatively easy. There was one problem. As the Gallatin approached the area, it had been pinging with its forward directional sonar to pick up a “target.” The sonar waves returned no hits, meaning the California had not yet been located.

  Hester decided to wait before he launched Bubbles. First they would try to locate the California by dragging a sonar array just beneath the surface in a plotted grid pattern.

  Combined with sonar buoys dropped from the helicopters, they should be able to locate something as large as the California in a short time.

  All sonar operators peered at their screens and listened for the telltale return sound of a metallic “hit.” They heard silence.