The Navy's change-of-command ceremony, little changed since the time of John Paul Jones, concluded on schedule at 11:24. It had been held two weeks earlier than expected, so that the departing skipper could more quickly assume the Pentagon duty that he would just as happily have avoided. Captain Jim Rosselli had brought USS Maine through the final eighteen months of her construction at General Dynamics' Electric Boat Division at Groton, Connecticut, through the launching and final outfitting, through builder's trials and acceptance trials, through commissioning, through shakedown and post-shakedown availability, through a day of practice missile shoots out of Port Canaveral, and through the Panama Canal for her trip to the missile-submarine base at Bangor, Washington. His last job had been to take the boat - Maine was huge, but in U.S. Navy parlance still a 'boat' - on her first deterrence patrol into the Gulf of Alaska. That was over now, and, four days after returning his boat to port, he ended his association with the boat by turning her over to his relief, Captain Harry Ricks. It was slightly more complicated than that, of course. Missile submarines since the first, USS George Washington - long since converted to razor blades and other useful consumer items - had two complete crews, called 'Blue' and 'Gold.' The idea was simply that the missile boats could spend more time at sea if the crews switched off duty. Though expensive, it worked very effectively. The 'Ohio' class of fleet ballistic missile submarines was averaging over two-thirds of their time at sea, with continuing 70-day patrols divided by 25-day refit periods.

Rosselli had, therefore, really given Ricks half of the command of the massive submarine, and full command of the 'Gold' crew, which was now vacating the ship for the 'Blue' crew, which would conduct the next patrol.

The ceremony concluded, Rosselli retired one last time to his stateroom. As the 'plankowner' commanding officer, certain special souvenirs were his for the asking. A piece of teak decking material drilled for cribbage pegs was part of the tradition. That the skipper had never played cribbage in his life, after a single failed attempt, was beside the point. These traditions were not quite as old as Captain John Paul Jones, but were just as firm. His ball-cap, with 'CO.' and 'TANKOWNER' emblazoned in gold on the back, would form part of his permanent collection, as would a ship's plaque, a photo signed by the entire crew, and various gifts from Electric Boat.

"God, I've wanted one of these!" Ricks said.

"They are pretty nice, Captain," Rosselli replied with a wistful smile. It really wasn't fair. Only the best of officers got to do what he'd done, of course. He'd had command of a fast-attack, USS Honolulu, whose reputation as a hot and lucky boat he had continued for his two-and-a-half-year tour as CO. Then he'd been given the Gold crew of USS Tecumseh, where he'd excelled yet again. This third - and most unusual - command tour had been necessarily abbreviated. His job had been to oversee the shipwrights at Groton, then get the boat 'dialed in' for her first real team of COs. He'd only had the boat underway for - what? A hundred days, something like that. Just enough to get to know the girl.