a surrender - 3

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")

I remember a Navy lawyer sitting me down and showing me some paperwork, which listed the charges against me: absent without leave, missing ship’s movement, and disobeying a lawful order. He informed me those charges carried a maximum sentence of seven years in prison, if I was convicted. The vision of seven years in a military prison was staggering. But I couldn’t feel anything. I quietly signed the papers.

And I remember, soon after that, a conversation with a chaplain. When I had discovered that a few of my belongings, including a television, were still onboard, I’d given them away to someone I knew. Apparently, giving away your possessions is a warning sign of depression or suicidal thoughts. So that’s why a chaplain came to see me. I did my best to reassure him. And, soon after, I found out I would be flying off the ship.

Since my return, the carrier had pulled out of the harbor and was out at sea. So when it was decided that, since I wasn’t being cooperative, I shouldn’t remain onboard, I had to be flown back to shore. It was going to be on a smaller cargo plane. On an aircraft carrier, planes are launched with the help of “catapults.” These are huge, steam-driven pistons under the flight deck that attach to the planes and help them accelerate quickly enough to reach liftoff speed before they reach the end of the runway, the edge of the ship. The catapults basically throw the planes off the ship. I had been on the flight deck during launches before, but I had never been on one of the planes taking off. When I boarded the plane, I was seated facing backward. I was told to lean hard against the seat belts, because the thrust would be intense. There was a roar of engines. A moment of alarming acceleration. And then it suddenly stopped, and we were floating on air.

Continued...