As he fell, grabbing at his stomach, Carrie charged at the other soldier. He struggled with his concealed holster while trying to wipe away the blood from his partner that had sprayed into his eyes. He’d just barely drawn his pistol when she slashed across his wrist; the gun clattered to the floor, and she went at the other hand. He countered with a karate chop, but weak, as if he’d already given up. The box-cutter blade met his hand in the air and sliced off his left pinkie and ring finger. And then, in a frenzy, she was upon him, slashing again and again.

She lost herself in the moment, hearing nothing at all, just the ringing in her ears and the beckoning peace.

And then she rose to the surface with a gasp.

Carrie looked down. The soldier’s face was gone, just a patchwork of red lines. She couldn’t remember what it had looked like. Her father’s face was all she could recall.

Captain Jamie Simmons kicked the soccer ball one last time down the rolling hill, marveling at how sure-footed his son was now. Jamie wore a Giants jersey over his uniform, as if he were trying to shield his kids from the morning’s uncomfortable truth.

The sun soaked the grassy field behind their house in Fort Mason. It was great weather for playing with his kids, but a part of him that was always tethered to the Zumwalt couldn’t help but wish for the concealment of a thick fog. In truth, the Directorate satellite that covered Northern California could see through any weather, but there was something comforting in feeling hidden.

He sprinted after Martin, whooping as he picked up speed running downhill toward the boy, past the Marines at the air-defense battery. By the time he caught up, Jamie found Martin sitting on the orange-and-yellow ball looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge.

“If you go out past the bridge, how can I see you?” asked Martin.

Before Jamie could respond, a pair of Marine Corps AH-1Z Viper attack helicopters thundered past the waterfront, raced out into the Bay, and then disappeared from view under the bridge.

“The whole ship is going with me,” said Jamie. “It’s my job. We have to go scare the bad guys away so they won’t try any bad stuff here.”

“Grandpa going too?” asked Martin.

Jamie paused.

“He’s coming too,” said Jamie. “He loves you, but he has to go.”

“How come you’re the captain, but he’s older?” said Martin.

“He got to choose his job a long time ago,” said Jamie. “Besides, there can be only one captain. Isn’t it good that it’s your daddy’s job?”

“Make sure to be nice to him, then. Grandpa doesn’t come over as much anymore,” said Martin. “I miss him. Is he mad at me?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Jamie. “He’s just been really busy with work.”

The knot in his stomach wound itself tighter as Jamie leaned over and kissed the stubble on Martin’s shaved head.

“I thought he left already, and you didn’t want to tell me. Who’s going to take care of us if you’re gone and he’s gone?” said Martin.

Jamie felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. But he tried to show no change.

“How about you?” Jamie asked. “Can you take care of your mom and your sister for me?”

Martin picked at a piece of grass.

“Okay,” said Martin. “I think I can do it. Because Mom needs somebody to help her out, you know. It’s actually hard when you’re gone.”

“I know it is,” said Jamie. “Let’s go see Mom and Claire now.”

Jamie put his son on his shoulders and walked back up to the house. Jamie noticed the other houses had people in the backyards, all of them engaging in the uncomfortable rituals of goodbye. The next few hours were going to be his last with his family before he left. He had to make them count.

Those few hours passed quickly amid a flurry of well-wishing visitors and their children, giving the day a rhythm of alternating moments of laughter and tears. Before Jamie knew it, he was standing on the porch with his wife, holding Martin in one arm and Claire in the other.

Lindsey reached out and wiped a tear from Jamie’s eye.

“Kids, up in your rooms I left something for you,” said Jamie. “Do you think you can wait until I get back to open it?”

They started squirming immediately, and he set them down.

“Okay, okay, go!” said Jamie.

From the front porch, he watched them scamper up the stairs.

He turned to Lindsey and pulled her close in a hug whose pressure built with each second. The only words that came to Jamie’s mind were I’m sorry. Before he realized he had spoken them, Lindsey said, “I’m sorry too.”

A hoot of joy upstairs punctuated their apologies.

“Not the best goodbye we’ve had,” said Jamie.

“Not the best war we’ve had,” said Lindsey, trying to smile. “Just make sure to see the end of it with me. Do everything you can out there to make sure this never happens again.”

“I promise. There won’t be a next time. I lost myself in the ship, and I know I had to, but it wasn’t something I meant to do.”

“Your dad never knew how to say goodbye, did he?” said Lindsey. “You do. Be safe.”

“I’ll send a letter as soon as I can,” said Jamie.

A thunder of eager footsteps came down the stairs.

Martin wore a baseball cap with the Zumwalt’s silhouette on it and gold braid on its bill. On the back it read Captain Martin Simmons. Claire clutched a stuffed gray dolphin wearing a gold-and-blue U.S. Navy T-shirt.

A steady horn blew from down on the pier.

“Captain can’t be late,” said Lindsey. “Say goodbye to Daddy.”

Jamie crushed his kids with one last hug, inhaling the smell of shampoo and grass. He stood and kissed Lindsey hard, then pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you. Forever,” he said.

“Forever,” she said.

He turned and started to walk with unsteady steps across the front yard to the waiting launch.

“Wait!” said Lindsey.

She ran toward him and tugged on his shirt. He looked down. He was still wearing the baseball jersey. She pulled it off him as he held his arms up to the sky.

Admiral Agathe Abelsen didn’t know what else to do, so she squared her broad shoulders and sharply saluted the first American she saw.

It was all disorienting. First the helicopter ride and then landing on an airfield that was as large as the town she’d grown up in. The airfield’s control tower, which the Americans called an island, loomed above, taller than almost every building in her country. And the ship was too large to think of as an actual boat; it didn’t even seem to sway with the sea.

The American sailor Abelsen had just saluted gave her a quizzical look. The seaman second class tying down the helicopter’s wheels was now just as confused as the admiral; he had no idea why the senior naval officer from the Republic of Kalaallit Nunaat, formerly known as Greenland, had just saluted him.

“Admiral Abelsen, welcome aboard,” said Rear Admiral Norman Durant, striding forward to salvage the situation. “We’re honored to host you onboard the USS Nimitz for the first joint operation between the United States and Kalaallit.”

Instead of saluting him, the admiral squeezed Durant with a powerful bear hug.

Once she let him go, the carrier strike group commander stepped back and threw her a crisp salute, trying to ignore the rest of the deck crew staring in astonishment. The admiral stood at least six inches taller than Durant’s five foot ten, and she must have outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. She had delicate features, thick eyebrows, and the kind of pale skin that made her green eyes seem luminescent. Her uniform coat was a sort of down parka, the standardized kind that fishing companies issued their crews, but with a patch sewn on the right shoulder. The patch displayed a flag, a rectangle with a half-red, half-white circle in the middle. Durant had read up on Kalaallit before the admiral arrived, so he knew that the white half of the circle in the flag, the lower part, signified something about icebergs and pack ice, and the red half above signified the sun setting in the ocean.