Author's Notes:
First published in 1985 in LATE NIGHT #1
Revised October 2004
Many thanks to all my betas!
If it is the judgment of
said officer that death is eminent and there is a chance that others will
survive by his action, it is then the duty of that officer to sacrifice his
life to insure that survival.
-- Division Officers Guide -- U.S. Navy
Beyond the Call
by Diane Kachmar and
L.A. Carr
Admiral Harriman Nelson
walked down the spiral staircase that connected the front observation deck to
the main control room of Seaview. He paused on the bottom step, giving
the area a once over. Everyone was at their post, running the boat. The sonar
station pinged rhythmically, mingling with the quiet chatter of the
navigational computer. Every piece of equipment in the control room had a
distinctive sound; all together the operational equipment formed a unique
medley. Harry cocked his head, listening. No trouble there.
His gaze stopped at the
chart table directly in front of him. Captain Lee Crane was conferring with his
XO, Chip Morton. Nelson smiled, seeing them bent over the grid map. Lee was
jotting the coordinates onto his clipboard for his log, while Chip calculated
how long it would take to get there. They were a team, which was unusual, since
they were very different personalities. Yet, when it came to the boat, Lee and
Chip were always in sync. Harry would be hard pressed to find two other people
who complemented each other so well.
His quiet arrival had
gone unnoticed as Harry stood on the last stair, enjoying the sight of a
well-run boat.
Lee glanced up from his
clipboard suddenly, saw him standing there and smiled a greeting. "Good
morning, sir."
"'Morning,
Lee," Harry answered, stepping down to the deck. "How's she
running?"
"Green across the
board. I'll know our present
course as soon as Commander Morton gives me his report." Lee
reached across the chart table, giving his Exec's arm a nudge. "How about it, Chip?"
"I'm working as
fast as I can, Skipper." Morton took Lee's teasing good-naturedly.
"Unfortunately, not all of us are as efficient as you." He made a
quick calculation on the grid map. "Current bearing
two-seven-oh. At two-thirds cruising that puts us about one thousand nautical
miles north of the Marshall Islands. ETA--Manila, ninety-six
hours." Chip grinned. "Give or take ten minutes."
"Very well,"
Harry nodded, smiling. "I may hold you to that."
"No problem,"
Lee answered confidently. He extended his clipboard. "Report
from the last watch, sir."
Harry took the
clipboard, scanning it briefly. All stations normal. He handed it back to Lee.
"Carry on, Captain."
"Aye, sir." Lee placed his clipboard on the chart table and sat down on the
stool. He began to make more notations.
Harry smiled as Crane
unconsciously hooked his leg around one of the stool supports. It was highly
unlikely they'd encounter any turbulence on this course, but Lee never made the
same mistake twice.
Walking a few steps
beyond the chart table, Harry glanced at the sonar scope absently. Clear. Like
Lee said, green across the board. His eyes roved the Christmas tree monitor
above the computer-navigation console. It was totally unnecessary for him to
check, but the crew liked him to drop down. They made sure Crane looked good.
The sub's intercom
system crackled to life. Nick Peatty, the ship's
communications officer, came on. "Incoming message from
our Marshall Island research station, Skipper. He wants to speak with
the Admiral."
Crane raised a
questioning eyebrow, as Nelson came back to the chart table. Harry nodded. Lee
reached over, deftly snagging the microphone. "Put it on the main video
screen, Sparks."
"Aye, sir."
The monitor shimmered
gray, clearing to a half focused picture. The image sharpened as Peatty homed in on the transmission. Dr. Andrew Marlowe,
the head of the sea farm, was seated at his desk, looking tired and rumpled,
his gray hair disarrayed. His normally bright smile was noticeably absent.
"Hello, Andy."
Harry stepped toward the periscope so Seaview's transmitter could send
his image to Marlowe's receiver. "Little early for a progress report,
isn't it?"
"Wish I had better
news." Andy shifted the papers on his desk nervously. "I have a
problem, sir."
"What is it?"
Harry encouraged. Andy wasn't one to call with every little delay. He liked to
accomplish his research on his own.
Marlowe licked his lips.
"The purificator stopped working. Gary--"
Andy cleared his throat. "Gary and I can't fix it. Our work is in
jeopardy."
"What's the
matter?" Nothing Harry could think of readily would cause the purificator to break down. His design should have held up.
"I'm not an
engineer, sir. Could you stop on your way to Manila?"
Harry gestured at
Morton. Chip began calculating again. "We'll work out something, Andy. How
long has it been out?"
"About a day,"
Marlowe answered tiredly.
"I'll get it
working again. Be there as soon as I can."
"Thanks." Andy
kept looking at him, making Harry think he was going to say something else, but
the screen went blank.
"End of
transmission, sir," Sparks said a moment later.
"Shut it
down."
"Aye, sir." The screen went black.
"Andy wasn't his
usual bouncy self," Chip observed, still calculating on the grid map.
"Without the purificator running the hydroponics ..." Lee shook his
head. “He’ll lose this crop and have to start all over.”
"Ouch." Chip
laid down his pencil. "If we change course, coming to one-eight-oh, we
could be there late tomorrow, if we pushed a little."
"Hang on a minute,
Chip." Lee leaned over the table, studying the grid, then straightened,
turning toward Harry. "Andy might be able to salvage some of the
experiment. Wouldn’t it be quicker to take the flying sub, rather than
diverting?"
"Yes, it
would." Harry walked over to the table, deciding quickly. "Have a
detail prepare the flying sub for takeoff. I should get Andy’s system
operational again within an hour or two, once I get there."
"Aye, sir." Crane picked up his mic again, giving
orders to Chief Sharkey to prep the Flying Sub as Nelson walked forward to the
spiral staircase.
"Could you use
another hand?" Lee's question stopped him at the foot of the stairs.
Nelson turned back,
making his voice gruff with mock severity. "Exactly who is the only other
person on board who's worked on my C-1 purificator?"
Crane smiled
self-consciously. “That would be me.”
"All right,
Lee," Harry answered, amused. "Grab the tool kit and run your baby
through preflight. If you're going, you might as well drive. Tell Sharkey not
to worry about a copilot."
"Thank you,
sir." Crane’s sheepish smile widened into a happy grin.
"You have the conn, Mr. Morton."
Chip responded smartly,
laughter in his eyes. "Aye, aye, sir!"
"Don't run into
anything," Lee admonished, making one last rapid notation on his clipboard
before extending the pencil to Morton.
"Never." Chip looked at Lee and then waggled the pencil in Crane's face.
"You know, one of these days, I'm going to tell you no when you want to go
flying off. Let you hold the fort for once."
"Sure, Chip."
Lee was laughing as he put his hand on Chip's shoulder for a moment. "One of these days. Tell you all about it when I get
back."
"No, thanks! I've got better things to do than listen to you go on about
diodes, armatures and--" Morton raised the pencil in dismissal. "Go.
Have your joyride. We'll manage."
"Aye, aye,
Captain," Crane replied, deadpan.
Harry chuckled softly to
himself. His boys were at it again.
Lee came forward to the
stairs. "Ready when you are, sir."
"Then let's go,
son."
* * * * *
Harry steeled his nerves
as Lee banked the flying sub in a sweeping arc, the g-forces shoving him back
into the copilot's chair before they finally leveled off on their new heading.
The water flashed beneath them in a blue-green blur. He could feel the twin
engines vibrating through the deck plates. The rushing air blended with the
howl of the jets, the noise adding to his feeling of breakneck speed. But the
engines weren't straining, the instruments indicated they were only cruising at
two-thirds. Even with all the flying he had done, Nelson found he still
preferred a deck.
Harry glanced over at
Lee. The roguish grin was still there. Clad in his old black leather
Commander's jacket from before his promotion, Crane reminded Harry of the P-40
aces he had known at Pearl. Only Lee wasn't so hotshot.
Most of the time.
His Captain was
possessive of the small prototype craft he had helped design, managing to log
more flight time than any other NIMR pilot. Nelson really didn't mind. Lee was
a different person away from his control room. With the twin joysticks in his
hands, he was always coaxing the flying craft to give her maximum. Harry wasn't
afraid to fly with Lee; he had become an excellent pilot, but Crane had an
unconscious habit of pushing himself to his limits. Lee wasn't satisfied until
he knew what he could demand of a machine. Harry dreaded the day Lee would fly
the craft upside down.
Crane swept in low
across the north side of the island to announce their arrival. The station unfolded
beneath them like a makeshift quilt. It had begun as a weather station, a few
small concrete buildings for the observers, but Andy had turned it into a
thriving sea farm. Several rows of tanks had been added for his hydroponics,
with a line of outbuildings for his equipment.
Lee brought the sub
around, heading for the lagoon on the east shore. Landing in surf wasn’t easy.
If Crane cut power too soon, the crests would catch up, swamping them -- not
serious, since they were a submarine -- but it was a sloppy way to land. Lee
wouldn't stand for that. Crane made a perfect straight-in run, feathering the
joystick, timing it so a wave lifted beneath them as their hull touched the
water, then gently let them down into the sea.
They slid smoothly
through the waves toward the shore. Lee pivoted the craft easily, pointing her
nose back out to sea, before he cut power. She settled easily on the sandy
bottom, the water halfway up her yellow hull.
Crane turned toward
Nelson, unbuckling his harness. "The Marshalls,
sir."
Harry glanced at his
watch deliberately. "In two hours."
"She's flying well
today."
"Of course, she
is." Harry smiled at Lee's explanation. He shrugged out of his harness.
"We’ve got a purificator to get working."
* * * * *
Andy's problem, Lee thought, was being found. The living quarters were
deserted. He and Nelson were running out of places to look. Both Andy and Gary
knew the capabilities of the flying sub and Seaview's itinerary. They
should have been met at the lagoon. When no one showed, the Admiral had decided
to split up to search. So far Lee hadn't found a trace of either Marlowe or Ensinger. He hoped Nelson was having better luck.
Crane turned down the
narrow, tree-lined dirt path toward the holding tanks on the southern end of
the compound. They could be harvesting samples to document the failure. As he
walked along in the shadow of the trees, the vague feeling of unease Crane had
been trying to ignore sent out a warning tickle. Lee stopped, glancing around,
but saw only palms swaying in the breeze, their shadows weaving on the cool
dirt. He shook his head, forcing the feeling down. He couldn’t let his
imagination get the better of him. Andy and Gary had to be here. Somewhere.
Crane continued along
the path. The palms lifted their fronds as the breeze blew against them.
Beneath their sliding rustle he heard the crackling of branches being pushed
aside behind him. Lee stiffened at the unexpected sound, but forced himself not
to break stride. Neither Andy nor Gary had any reason to sneak around after him
and Nelson wouldn't.
Lee couldn't fight his
growing certainty something was wrong here at the station. Andy's calling them,
then no one at the beach. It didn't make sense. There was nothing at the farm
anyone would want. Andy's hydroponics were
experimental. They wouldn’t know for some time if there was any commercial
application. Crane heard the crackling again, several feet back. That wasn't
the wind; someone was following him and not doing a good job. Lee smiled
grimly. He hoped his stalker was better at answering questions than he was at
trailing him.
There was a scurrying
rustle in the underbrush as Crane passed by the south end of the holding tanks.
He resisted looking over his shoulder when he turned at the first of the
storage buildings, keeping his normal pace until he was out of sight of the
path. Then Lee flattened himself against the side of the building. Crane heard
stealthy footsteps, the creak of leather coming toward him on the path. Lee
tensed, waiting.
The man edged around the
building. Lee took only a moment to register the rifle, the green camouflage
fatigues, the swarthy dark face; then he jumped him.
The soldier went down
under him, surprised. Crane grabbed the rifle, trying to wrench it from the
man's hands before he could bring it to bear. His adversary resisted, twisting,
trying to break Lee's grip on the weapon. He couldn't keep him pinned; the man
outweighed him by a good fifty pounds.
The soldier threw his
leg over Crane's, rising to his knees. Pinned on either side by a burly leg,
Lee tried to squirm free, but the Russian threw his newly gained leverage
against the stock of the rifle, forcing it towards Lee's throat. Crane took
instant advantage of the shift, shoving against the magazine and ramming the
steel barrel into the soldier's gut. The man grunted, toppling to the sand.
Following the arc of the rifle, Lee rolled onto his opponent's chest. He got
his knees under him and straightened up, tightening his grip on the barrel.
Swinging the rifle like a club, Lee struck his adversary across the head. The
man cried out, startled and went limp.
Crane dropped the rifle
butt to the sand, clinging to the barrel, trying to catch his breath. Another
soldier burst through the underbrush, rifle held high. Lee tried to parry with
his own rifle, but a single savage swing tore it from his hands. The force
knocked him sideways and he rolled, coming back to his knees. The soldier was
beside him, his rifle butt smashing down before Lee could even move. The left
side of his head exploded in searing, blinding pain. Crane felt himself
falling, then nothing.
* * * * *
Harry couldn't believe
Andy was missing. Where the hell would he go? He and Gary had been there
for breakfast. That much he could tell from a glance at the table. The unmade beds
and dirty dishes could be normal, but the scattered clothing, the open
footlockers, the papers strewn across the floor pointed to more than sloppy
housekeeping. It wasn't like Andy to leave his things in such a state. Marlowe
could have been spending all his time trying to get the purificator
going again. Nelson had checked his device first thing and found it out of
commission. They should have been waiting for us. Where are they?
The two men had no means
to leave the island, so they should be here. Harry had found neither one. That
bothered him. Andy had always been reliable. He'd only miss an appointment if
he was held up by someone else. That might happen in Santa Barbara, but not
here. There was no one else on the island.
Nelson stepped out onto
the concrete porch, hoping Lee was having a more successful search down by the
tanks. Harry stopped when he heard a high-powered rifle cocking. He turned very
slowly. Three men stood at the west end of the small porch, their rifles
trained on him. One look at their grim faces and Harry gingerly lifted his
hands up.
The first man smiled
coldly, advancing toward Harry. "They told me you were a very smart man, Admeeral Nelson." He was tall, dark and spoke English
with an eastern European accent. Dressed in green camouflage fatigues, the only
thing marking him as the leader were Russian Army Colonel's insignia on his
collar. He gestured with his rifle. "You will come with us, please."
"Where are you
holding Dr. Marlowe?" Harry asked quietly, not moving.
Again the wintry smile
crossed the features of the leader. "I'm afraid Dr. Marlowe outlived his
usefulness to us. He attempted to escape." The man shrugged. "We
could not allow that."
"Of course." Harry tried to stay calm at the news, but he couldn't keep the
bitterness from his voice. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you gave
him a Christian burial."
The Colonel sniffed.
"We are not savages in my country, Admeeral. Let
us keep this an exchange between civilized men. Now, if you have no further
questions--" He brought his rifle barrel up, brushing Harry's collar.
"This way, please."
Nelson stepped forward,
debating making a break for it. He glanced at his captors again. Three against one ... maybe if Lee was here to even it up, but
not now. If he could stall-- Harry glanced furtively toward
the south side of the compound.
The Colonel abruptly
prodded him with his rifle. "I wouldn't worry about your pilot, if I were
you, Admeeral. I sent my two best men after him when
you so fortuitously decided to separate. They should be returning with him very
shortly."
"In the same
condition as Marlowe?" Harry glared at the
Russian.
"No, fortunately
for him, I haven't determined his usefulness yet."
They stared each other
down for a moment. Harry began walking in the direction the Russian had
indicated. He'd wait until he had Lee back at his side.
The path led to one of
the outbuildings, a cinder block storage shed for
Andy's farming tools. A soldier flanked him on either side, the leader staying
behind him. Before they reached their destination, a shrill whistle cut the
air. After a moment it was answered from the holding tank area. A camo-dressed man appeared in front of the last building,
with Lee draped over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He was followed by
another man, who staggered, dazed. Harry smiled faintly. Lee had taken one
of them out before they subdued him.
That little procession
joined his group in front of the newly padlocked door of the storage shed. The
Colonel unlocked it, shoving him inside. The soldier carrying Lee entered
behind him and let Crane slide to the floor in an unmoving heap.
"I am sorry the
accommodations aren't better," the Russian said. "I must detain you
until you give me the Alderman process."
Nelson quickly dropped
to his knees beside Lee, bending over Crane to keep the Russian from seeing his
face. So that was the game! They had traced the nitrates here, and thought--
Damn Alderman. He never should have agreed to that experiment in the first
place. It had been nothing but trouble.
"I'm not doing
anything until I make sure my pilot is all right," Harry bit out
stubbornly. He felt along the edge of Lee's hair where it was matted with
blood. Nelson was relieved when his searching fingers found only a small scalp
cut.
That relief was fleeting,
displaced by worry over what his captors would do with the Alderman process.
Nelson had hoped the Russians believed it had died with its creator. They would
use the energy generated as a weapon. He should have destroyed the left-over
nitrates, instead of giving them to Andy to fertilize his hydroponics. The
Russians must have thought the explosion in Santa Barbara was a ruse and that
the process had then been moved here for further development. Andy had only
known that whatever Alderman had been experimenting with hadn't worked. Harry
felt cold metal touch his neck.
"Your pilot will
remain here until he’s awake again. You will come with us for
interrogation."
"You said we were
going to be civilized about this." Harry turned on the Russian. "Give
me five minutes to stop the bleeding. Then I'll come. I wouldn't leave a dog in
his condition."
"Yes." The
Colonel looked at him appraisingly. "Your file said your men are very
loyal to you and would follow you anywhere."
"You'd best attend
to your own man," Nelson replied. Harry gestured at the door.
The Colonel's eyes
narrowed on his swaying soldier propped against the door frame. Irritated, the
Russian motioned for two of his soldiers to take the injured man away.
"Your man got lucky. Very well, you shall have five minutes for first aid,
but no more. At the end of that time you will come." The man's voice grew
cold. "Do not attempt anything heroic, Admeeral.
There will be a guard outside your door until I return." The Colonel left, followed by the last soldier, who padlocked the
door behind him.
Harry rocked back on his
heels and sat down on the floor. Pushing the Alderman process to the back of
his mind, he focused on his unconscious Captain. Sliding his arms under Lee's
shoulders, Nelson lifted him up, shifting until Crane's head lay in his lap.
Reaching back for his unused handkerchief, he began to wipe the blood from
Lee's temple. Crane's eyes snapped open, looking up at him. "They
gone?" he whispered, wincing at his touch.
"For the
moment," Harry answered softly, smiling down. "How long have you been
with us?"
"A few minutes. My head's ringing something fierce. I should have known there'd
be two of them."
"You can't think of
everything, son." Harry continued to clean up the cut. "You're lucky
they decided to sandbag you; they've killed Andy, probably Gary, too."
"Dead? Andy's only a botanist, he-- " Lee
sat up in surprise, then swayed suddenly, his hand going to his forehead. Harry
moved quickly, dropping the handkerchief to grab Crane's shoulders. He braced
Lee for a moment, then eased Crane back down.
"Steady. I know you
have a hard head, but that's a good-sized lump they've raised. Take it
easy."
"Aye, sir,"
Lee answered softly, making no further attempt to sit up. "They're pretty
sure of themselves?"
"Why not? It's merely a 'civilized' information exchange," Nelson
replied sarcastically. "We give and they take."
"You're not going
to tell them anything."
"Of course
not." Harry paused, meeting
Lee's gaze. "He has a file on me, but I don't think he has any idea who
you are. I want you to play dumb, son. You're my pilot, nothing more."
"And four star
Admirals don’t confide their top secrets to mere Commanders, right, sir?"
Lee's hazel eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Precisely,"
Nelson answered lightly. "It's a break you're so fond of that old jacket.
We’ll discuss whether or not your new eagles remain on your dress blues another
time."
Crane looked down at the
floor. "Aye, sir."
"They'll be coming
back for me any minute." Harry swiftly glanced around the room. Unmarked
packing crates and various pieces of farming equipment covered the floor, all
useless for his needs. There were no windows in the shed, and the air vents
were too high and narrow to be any help, although they did allow some sunlight
to enter. He turned back to Lee. "I'll play along; stall them until we
figure out some way to escape." His gaze turned stern. "You rest, you
hear me? They plan to interrogate you, too."
They heard approaching
voices. "Good luck, sir," Lee said very softly, going limp against
him. Harry hurriedly retrieved and refolded his handkerchief. He was back
cleaning Lee's scalp as the door swung open.
"I trust you are
ready now, Admeeral." The Colonel spoke coldly,
his rifle held ready.
"One more minute." Nelson grasped Lee's shoulders, dragging
him over to the wall. He propped Crane against it awkwardly. Lee stayed slumped
for a moment, then he slowly toppled sideways. Harry
frowned in concern, but pushed his worry aside. Lee was conscious, but he
evidently wanted the Colonel to think otherwise. It was a convincing act. At
least, Harry hoped that's what it was.
"He has not
regained consciousness yet?" the Colonel asked, surprised. "I must
tell my men not to hit so hard."
"Do that!"
Harry turned on him, making his voice ugly. "Good pilots are hard to
replace."
The Colonel laughed
arrogantly. "I'm sure a man of your position would not find it that
difficult, Admeeral."
Harry allowed himself to
be led from the small shed. It would be only a matter of time before this clown
realized he had more of a job on his hands than he thought.
* * * * *
Harry sat, leaning
tiredly against the shed wall, his arms resting loosely on his knees. He let
his gaze wander over the equipment stored there. There had to be something
useful there, but right now he couldn't think of what.
His interrogation had
ended in stalemate. Nelson wasn't about to give the Colonel any useful
information. Harry sensed the man wasn't ready to force him. He was waiting to
see what Crane would say. Next time the Colonel wouldn't be so polite, for Lee
wouldn't tell him a thing.
He was getting too old
for this game. Harry wasn't going to give them the Alderman process. That mess
was lost in the fiery explosion that had claimed its inventor along with two
Institute lab technicians. Alderman had tried to develop a power source and he
had; only he couldn't control the reaction. The energy created was highly
destructive; Harry had the charred lab to prove it. The process would stay lost
in the vault at the Institute until it could be controlled. Even
if it cost both his and Lee's lives to keep it there. It could
come down to that.
Harry was worried about
how long they could safely resist. If the Russian decided to kill them, that
would end the matter in a hurry. Chip and the rescue party would arrive too
late, and find four graves instead of two. Surrendering the process was out of
the question. That left escape. Early morning maybe.
If they could catch their captors off guard.
Stonewalling was the
only weapon Harry had now. He had, using carefully spaced, seemingly
inadvertent inferences, been giving the Colonel the impression that he alone
knew Alderman’s process. And that knowledge was locked in his brain. If the
Russian followed his reasoning to the last conclusion and decided to kill him,
the secret would remain safe in the vault. It was best the Russians believe it
died with him. Damn Alderman, why hadn't he left it alone? Too late now.
Harry didn't mind dying,
but he hated taking Lee with him. How long would it be before the Russians
decided Lee was useless and killed him, like Andy and Gary? Harry dropped
his head tiredly. Crane’s life was worth more than that. The evening had turned
chill, now that the sun was down. Nelson pulled up the zipper of his flight
jacket. They were keeping Lee a long time.
He folded his arms on
his drawn-up knees, bowing his head over them, trying to rest. He'd had to
while he could. The situation would get much worse before they made their
escape.
Harry had only closed
his eyes for a few moments when he was roused by returning footsteps. Two--no,
three of them. They stopped by the door. Someone fumbled with the padlock. As
the door swung open, one of the soldiers came inside, shining his light around
the small shed until he found Harry.
Nelson closed his eyes
against the bright beam as it flashed into his face. He squinted, trying to
keep an eye on the guard behind the light. Gesturing abruptly, the guard turned
toward the door.
A second soldier pushed
Lee inside. Crane staggered, then caught himself on a
crate, managing to regain his balance. Harry sat up, the muscles in his legs
tensing, but he made himself relax back against the shed wall. Much as he
wanted to help Lee, he had to remain impassive. Harry was sure whatever they
did was scrupulously reported to the Colonel. He wouldn't give the Russian any
clue of their friendship to use against them.
Nelson kept his eyes on
the rifles, ready for action if the soldiers decided to use them. The Russian,
who had shoved Lee in, laid a canteen on the crate by the door and then spoke
mockingly to his companions. They laughed, slowly backing toward the door.
Harry didn't understand all their words, but an insult was the same in any
language. The soldiers left, after slamming and padlocking the door. Their laughter
faded with their footsteps.
"Lee?" Harry
asked quietly, to give Crane an idea where he was in the now dark shed.
Crane took a few
hesitant steps, then there was a loud clatter.
"Lee!"
"It's all right,
sir." Crane's voice came from the door. "I should have brought night
goggles." Lee took more slow steps, coming toward him, until at last Harry saw his body dimly in the gloom.
Harry reached out,
touching Crane's knee. "Here, son."
Lee stopped, feeling for
the wall and slid down gratefully against it. Harry's eyes continued
readjusting to the darkness, but with the black flight jacket blending Lee into
the shed wall, he still couldn't see Crane clearly.
"Sorry," Crane
said. "Can't get my eyes to adjust." He
lifted something heavy, laying it in Harry's hands. "Here, sir."
It was wet. Nelson
realized it was the canteen. He started to unscrew the cap, but stopped.
"How's your head?"
"I'm all
right."
Harry handed the canteen
back. "You have some first."
Lee undid the cap
slowly, lifting the canteen to his lips, drinking. Then Crane passed it back.
Harry took several swallows of the warm water and then lowered the canteen to
the floor beside him. "What about your headache?" he asked softly.
"It's almost gone."
"How almost?" Harry knew that unless pinned down, Lee would continue to insist
he was fine, until he passed out. He heard the creak of leather beside him.
Turning, he could almost make out Lee raising his hand to his left temple.
"About
halfway," Lee admitted. "Those goons yelling at me didn't help. It’s working, sir. They said I was the dumbest pilot they've
ever seen."
"They told you
that?"
"No, that's what
the big one told the fat one." Lee's weary voice was amused. "It
never occurred to them I might understand Russian."
"It's not something
ONI advertises," Harry replied. He reached out, closing his hand around
Lee's arm, and pulled him away from the wall. "You should lie down.
They'll be at us again come dawn."
"They are
persistent." Lee stretched out on the floor.
Harry released his grip
and began trickling water from the canteen into his handkerchief. "We'll
keep them off base."
"What's the
plan?"
"I don’t have one
yet. Find some way to pry those door hinges loose and then dash for the flying
sub in the lagoon." Harry grinned. "We can be sure they didn't
sabotage that."
Lee smiled wryly.
"They'll get a rude shock if they try, won’t they?"
"That security
system was a good idea." Harry screwed the cap back on the canteen and
laid the now damp handkerchief over it. He unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.
Folding it over, he slid a hand under Lee's neck. "Here."
Crane started at his touch, raising his head. "Use this. It will help with
the headache." He slipped the folded jacket under his Captain's head.
"Sir--" Lee
protested, trying to sit up again.
Harry placed a hand on
his shoulder, restraining him. "Go to sleep. I'm going to need you
tomorrow."
Nelson caught a flash of
white in the gloom as Lee smiled. "Aye, sir," he said quietly,
settling himself as comfortably as possible on the
makeshift pillow.
He placed the damp
handkerchief over where Crane had been hit by the gun butt. Harry slumped
against the wall, closing his eyes. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
* * * * *
Nick Peatty
removed the contact probe from the last set of transistors, wearily switching
off the meter. "That's it," he said, turning in his chair to face
Chip Morton. "She checks out, all the way. There's no malfunction
here."
"Then why don't
they answer us?" Chip's frustration threatened to boil over again and he
clamped down swiftly. It wasn't Sparks' fault.
Peatty reached up, flicking a switch. Soft hissing filled the radio
room. "Their frequency is wide open. Our signals have to be reaching
them." Listening to the sound, Nick adjusted the dials again, and then
looked back at Morton.
Chip scowled at the
glowing decibel level indicator. If Sparks turned it any higher, they'd be
heard all the way to Midway. He clenched his hands around the chair back,
willing himself to be patient. There was an explanation. They only had to find
it.
"Try the island
station again." He leaned forward as Nick switched channels. The hissing
grew louder, with soft murmuring in the background.
"That's bleed-over
from the weather station on Leyte." Nick twisted a dial, the murmur
fading. "We wouldn't be getting that unless the Marshall station is shut
down."
"Andy wouldn't shut
down his station. It's his only link to the Institute."
"He's off the
air."
Chip straightened,
glancing at the dials again. Raking his fingers through his blond hair, he
pushed it off his forehead. "Lee doesn't miss check-ins. If they needed
more time to repair the purificator, they'd have let
us know." He leaned on Peatty's chair, glaring
at the console as if he could force the speakers to crackle to life. "They
have to know Andy's radio is down."
"That makes three
things. Are you going to do anything about them?"
"You're sure the
radio in the flying sub is operational?"
"You heard the
difference." Peatty gestured at his console.
"No one is there to answer it."
Their eyes met and Chip
pushed away from the chair, deciding rapidly. "We're going to the
Marshalls, Nick. Lee would have checked in per schedule, if nothing was
wrong."
Peatty grinned. "I agree. That may be the only way we're going to
find out what happened."
Chip turned. "Quartermaster!"
"Aye,
Commander."
"Bring her to
one-eight-oh."
"Aye, sir."
Chip reached for the
intercom, as Seaview responded. "Engineering,
increase speed to flank."
* * * * *
Lee tensed for the blow
he knew was coming. The soldier's hand came down again, striking him across an
already bruised cheek. The force of the blow pushed him into the back of the
hard chair. Lee shook his head, fighting off his pain.
The left side of his
face flared as he was backhanded. Crane clenched his teeth. If Colonel Kovanovich thought his men could beat the answers out of
him, the Russian would be disappointed.
A third hard blow
smashed into his left temple and Lee felt blood start to flow as he went
sprawling. The concrete floor came rushing up as Lee fought to stay conscious
and not give in to the sudden hovering darkness.
"Stupid fool." The colonel's voice came from above him, then
his footsteps retreated away toward Marlowe's desk. There was a creak as the
Russian sat down in the desk chair.
"Are Americans
always this stubborn?"
Lee recognized the voice
of the senior sergeant, even though the question was asked in Russian. The
man’s annoyance made up a little for the pain throbbing through Lee's head. He
remained still, listening.
"Nelson is
stubborn," Kovanovich answered. "This one
is an idiot." The Colonel paused for a moment. "We are wasting our
time here. Our intelligence on the process could be incorrect. Nelson knows the
formula, but he'll die before he breaks under interrogation. So we will let him
die. The Admiral can take his precious secret to his grave."
Lee's pain was forgotten
as anger raced through him. It was all he could do to remain limp and not give
away that he was still conscious. He had to know what they planned for the
Admiral.
The Sergeant laughed.
"How do you want me to kill him? Moscow will be most pleased you have
eliminated this meddlesome American."
"Let us show Nelson
how 'civilized' we are. You will feed them today. Something
simple, filling ... and very deadly."
Lee's anger went cold.
He couldn't waste the advantage they had given him. He stayed limp,
concentrating on the words. He could not afford a mistranslation now.
"Then you let them
go?" the soldier asked eagerly.
"Of course. There is no antidote for 4C. The Admiral will succeed in whatever
escape plan he undoubtedly has and then will lead us straight to his submarine.
By tomorrow the poison will have taken effect and his leaderless men will be no
match for the Kosigyn. We will force them to
chase after us and destroy them. If we report the death of Nelson and the
destruction of his submarine, the Alderman process will then be considered
irretrievable. If we have to, we can claim they fired first."
"What about his
pilot? Does he get 4C as well?"
Kovanovich snorted derisively. "No. We’ll let him ferry his master
back. His comrades’ resentment of his ill treatment will serve our purpose
better."
Lee concentrated on
remaining still. Kovanovich was so sure he
had the upper hand; he could not do anything to jeopardize that. Nelson's plan
to reinforce the Russian's belief that Americans were morons was working quite
well. Only Nelson wasn't going to die. Not while he was still alive. Crane
heard their footsteps approach. Lee did not react when a boot nudged him in the
side.
"What if Nelson
does not take the 4C?"
"How can he refuse
something he knows nothing about? He'll be too busy looking for an opportunity
to escape." The Colonel shrugged. "If he figures it out, you shoot
him. You have to be subtle dealing with a mind like that." Kovanovich laughed.
There was another,
harder, more insistent nudge into his side. Lee let out a soft moan and rolled
over in the direction he was being pushed.
"Take this useless
idiot back to the shed," The Colonel ordered.
"Yes, sir."
Lee was grabbed by both
arms and lifted from the floor by two guards. He remained dead weight and let
them carry him out.
* * * * *
Harry quickly removed
his makeshift pry bar from the top door hinge as he heard the approaching tramp
of boots. He slipped it out of sight into his jacket pocket. It had taken most
of the time since his interrogation that morning to fashion it from a steel
band snapped off one of Andy's unopened shipping crates. Nelson had bent the
metal into the desired length using his shoe heel as a hammer until it was flat
and thick enough to pry with. His and Lee's escape depended on the tool. Nelson
walked over to the shed wall and sat down on the floor. Hopefully now he was
back in the same place they had left him, they would think he hadn't moved.
As always, one soldier
came into the room first to cover him with his rifle, while the other shoved
Lee inside. Crane was far from steady in his feet and plowed into a full crate
before he could stop himself. Harry had to fight not to wince as Lee bounced
off it and sprawled onto the floor. He landed with a sickening thump and went
limp.
The soldier grinned widely,
glancing at his companion for approval. The other shrugged. It was a good thing
they left quickly.
The minute the door
closed, Nelson was on his feet. He knelt beside Lee, gently turning him over.
Crane had been badly beaten. His left eye was nearly swollen shut and large
red-purple bruises covered his cheekbones.
Harry scrambled to his
feet. Where was that damn canteen? He retrieved it hurriedly, unscrewing
the cap. Pulling his bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket, he wet it and
knelt back next to Lee. Nelson laid the cloth over the worst of the bruising.
After a moment, Lee
stirred. Harry waited until his right eye fluttered open, then
helped Crane sit up. He brought the canteen up as Lee placed his hand down on
the floor to keep himself upright. Crane took a few painful sips, and then
averted his face away. Nelson let the canteen slide to the floor.
“I’m all right, sir.”
Lee reached up for the damp handkerchief that was sliding off the side of his
face and pressed it gingerly against his swollen eye. “They stopped hitting me
once they thought I was unconscious.”
Harry didn’t know
whether to yell at him or not. He had known that the Russians would escalate
their interrogation. To beat Lee nearly unconscious made no sense. How did they
expect any answers that way? Unless it was a ploy to soften him up. Nelson did
not want to admit how effective that could be.
“It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s Alderman’s!”
Harry snapped, wishing the two of them were anyplace else than here.
Lee turned and gave him
a lopsided grin, before wincing in pain. “Alderman didn’t design the alarm
system for the flying sub. I did.”
Nelson looked over at
him in surprise. “They beat you up for not telling them that?”
“They don’t think I know
anything about Alderman. I’m your pilot. They wanted me to tell them everything
about the operation of the flying sub, including how to bypass the lockout. I
told them you didn’t trust me enough to give me the key code. The Sergeant lost
his temper. He wasn’t at all happy that she bit back with 120 volts when he
tried to break in.”
Nelson shook his head.
This was getting out of hand. He had to get Lee out of here before they killed
him.
“How’s the escape
going?” Crane asked.
Nelson pulled the pry
bar out his jacket pocket. “I made this. I’ve been working on getting the top
door hinge free. It will take a while. Hopefully they will leave us alone long
enough for me to get done.” Harry extended the tool toward Crane.
Lee took it in one hand,
running his fingertips along the edge. “Should do the job.
Want me to pry for a while?”
Harry extended his hand
for the tool and Lee returned it. “I’m not tired yet. Why don’t you get rid of
that headache you haven’t mentioned. I’ll call you
when I need you.”
Lee turned his head,
embarrassed. “How come you always know?” he asked quietly.
“I’m the Admiral,”
Nelson kidded.
Crane smiled at that and
leaned back tiredly against the wall.
Harry was a bit
surprised Lee gave in so easily, but Crane was probably bruised in many other
places he couldn’t see. Let him get some strength back for their escape.
“It will be nice to go
home,” Lee said wearily, leaning the uninjured side of his head against the
sealed crate next to him as he tried to get comfortable.
Nelson stood up and
walked over to the door. The sooner he got those hinges loose, the better.
* * * * *
Harry had reached the
point where he could slide the top hinge pin up and down. He began prying up
the bottom one and glanced over his shoulder. Lee was asleep. Even though his
fingers ached from manipulating the steel bar, Nelson wasn’t going to wake him
up.
He heard footsteps
approaching and quickly removed his bar, checking that
both hinges were back in place. Harry got up and walked over to Lee.
Kneeling down beside him, he shook Crane once, urgently.
“Huh?” Lee’s right eye
opened.
“They’re coming,” he
said softly. “Probably for me again. Here.” Harry pushed the pry bar deep into Lee’s leather
jacket pocket. “I don’t want them finding that on me. If anything goes wrong,
you use it.”
“I won’t leave you
here.” Lee was adamant.
“You may not get that
choice,” Nelson hissed back. “If you have the chance, take it. I want your
word.”
Crane shook his head. “I
can’t give it.”
“You have to.” Harry
grasped Lee’s shoulder. “Promise me, son.”
“I promise,” Lee
answered reluctantly.
Nelson let him go and
flopped down next to Crane by the wall.
The door swung open. As
always, the soldier with the heavy rifle came in first to cover them. The
second person in was Kovanovich, who also had a
rifle. The third soldier carried a tray, with a drawn pistol underneath. The
tray had two open mess kits on it, part of Andy’s issue. The soldier placed his
tray on the crate above Lee and stepped back. The two soldiers retreated back
to the doorway, their guns at ready.
“You have three hours to
make a decision, Admeeral.” Kovanovich
held the rifle easily where he could pull the trigger with one hand if need be.
“At that time you will tell what I want to know, or you will watch while we
kill your pilot. Then we will kill you.”
“Three hours is most
generous,” Harry replied sarcastically.
The Russian laughed.
“You have been a worthy adversary. It is too bad we must be enemies.” The
Colonel lifted one of the food bowls off the tray and handed it down to Lee.
“Go ahead and eat, I know you are hungry.”
Crane regarded the man
coldly, but took the aluminum bowl into his hands. He glanced over at Nelson,
waiting for a cue. Harry shook his head fractionally. Lee relaxed back against
the crate with the food. Any attempt now would be suicide with them unarmed and
three guns trained on their every move. He’d see where the gambit with the food
was going first. “So this is our last meal before the firing squad, if that’s
what we decide?” Harry asked.
Kovanovich shrugged. “Whatever you want. A reward for telling me or one last bit of civility before we end
this exchange.”
“I shall consider your
kind offer. Come back in three hours and I will give you my answer.” Nelson
mimicked the cadence of the Russian’s voice.
“Until then.” The Colonel backed toward the door and motioned his soldiers to
follow him out. The padlock snicked closed, leaving
them alone again.
Lee stood up suddenly.
“Looks like beef stew.” Crane handed the bowl he had in his hand to Nelson, then offered him a plastic spoon from the tray.
Harry took the bowl and
began eating. “Any port in a storm, son.”
Lee smiled and picked up
the second bowl, the one that had been left for Nelson.
* * * * *
Harry didn’t know what
to make of Kovanovich’s offer. The three hours made
no sense, but if he wanted to play it that way, Harry would put the time to
good use. Nelson downed the stew quickly, before Lee was even half done.
Crane caught his eye on
him. He smiled self-consciously and finished off the bowl, putting his bowl
back down on the tray beside Nelson’s empty one. Lee lifted the canteen from
the floor and passed it to him. Harry took three good sips and handed it back.
Lee drank and then put it out of sight behind the crate for later. He pulled the
pry bar out his jacket pocket. “My turn to work, sir.”
Nelson extended his
hand. “Let me do it, son. I want you rested as possible for when we dash out of
here.”
Lee handed him back the
pry bar. “At least you can see what you’re doing,” he answered quietly.
Nelson cocked his head.
Lee’s left eye was swollen shut, but normally an inconvenience like that would
be ignored. Harry walked over to the hinge and began prying before Crane could
change his mind.
He heard Lee slid down
the wall to the floor again. Harry went back to his prying. The sooner Crane
was in Will Jamieson’s care, the better.
Harry had been working
for quite a while when he heard the footsteps. Harry shoved the hinge down
again, hiding the pry bar deep in his jacket pocket. Lee raised his head at his
change in movement. Harry motioned him to stay put. Nelson moved as far away
from the door as he could before it opened.
Only the Sergeant came
in, although Harry could hear other voices outside. He came right for the tray
above Crane. Lee looked up, but did not move. The sergeant picked up the tray
and quickly exited. He stopped at the door and turned, giving Harry a
triumphant knowing look right before he slammed it shut.
Nelson stared after him
for a moment. Was Kovanovich going to renege on the
time? Harry placed his ear against the shed door. All he heard was voices
quickly receding. If their time was running out, he’d needed to get back to the
hinges.
He worked a few minutes
in silence, waiting for another offer to spell him. Lee was way too quiet.
Harry glanced back. Crane was back staring at the wall again. At least he was
off his feet.
Finally the hinge began
to move. Nelson continued to pry until the hinge
finally popped out and fell to the concrete with a metallic clang.
Lee started, finally
looking over at him. Harry motioned him to come to the door. Crane was steadier
on his feet than when they first threw him in.
“Here, hold the bottom
in place while I remove the other hinge,” he directed. Harry inserted the pry
bar to move the top hinge up. “That’s good.” Nelson moved the pin one inch and
then another. Finally he could grasp the head and pull it free. He tossed it
aside. “Now push straight out.”
The door swung, clearing
the footing until the hasp stopped it. Then it tilted sideways, hanging from
the padlock as the corner buried itself at an angle in the dirt.
Undeterred, Lee
scrambled over the door and took off toward the grove of palm trees that marked
the edge of the lagoon. Nelson pounded after him. They were almost at the edge
of the outbuildings when the first shots were fired.
Harry resisted looking
behind him. Whatever slim lead they had was the only thing keeping them out of
rifle range.
The palm trees went past
in a grey blur as he concentrated on keeping up with Lee. It shouldn’t be much
farther as Harry felt a twinge in his side. The gunshots sounded louder.
Something whistled past his ear to thud into a palm tree ahead of him. He had
to keep running. Nelson could hear the surf. Suddenly there was sand under his
feet and the flying sub was dead ahead.
Harry winced, seeing the
ruined wreck of the boarding ladder extension. Lee ran into the surf, barging
through the chest deep water and leaping halfway up the side of the sub to
latch onto an undamaged rung above the extension. He released the damaged
section. Nelson caught it as it came free and pushed it aside. He grabbed the
lowest rung, hoisting himself up onto the side of the sub.
Coming over the top, he
found Crane punching in the correct key code to open the hatch. The console
buzzed and the hatch slid open. Crane grabbed both edges and swung himself down
onto the sub ladder. Harry quickly followed suit.
Nelson headed for the
interior hatch controls as Crane took the pilot’s seat. The engines fired
almost the same time as the hatch slid closed. A bullet bounced off their hull
with a metallic whang. Harry grabbed the armrest of
the co-pilot’s chair as the sub began to move. He quickly pulled himself into
the seat and buckled his harness. They were airborne a moment later.
“We shouldn’t have
removed the laser,” Lee said, between clenched teeth as he took an instrument
reading and swung the craft over onto Seaview’s last heading.
“You know why we did,
son. We’re outnumbered. We need to find some reinforcements.” Nelson reached
over and snapped Lee’s harness closed.
“Aye, sir.”
Nelson switched on the
craft’s beacon. “Let’s see if that raises anyone.”
After a few moments, the
radio crackled and a familiar voice came out the grille. “SSRN Seaview
calling FS1. Come in, FS1.”
Harry looped his mic around his neck and flipped it on. “This is FS1,
go ahead, Seaview.”
“Commander Morton
requests you change course to one-eight-oh. Prepare for rendezvous and docking
in 30 minutes.”
“Roger, Seaview.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Sparks?”
“Commander Morton wants
to know where the hell you’ve been.”
Lee looked over at him
and grinned as there was considerable mumbling off mic.
“Tell him we will
explain everything as soon as we return. Nelson out.”
“Sounds like Chip was worried. I don’t think he wanted Nick to phrase it quite
that way.”
“Probably not,” Harry
agreed, settling back in his chair. “Let’s go home, son.”
* * * * *
Chip finally allowed
himself a sigh of relief when the flying sub was safely tucked back into her
hanger. Not being able to raise anyone at the Marshalls had raised all kind of
nightmare possibilities. At top speed, they were still nearly half a day away
when FS1 had called in.
With a clank, the hatch
wheel up from the sub hanger turned. Morton reached down over the rail, lifting
the hatch up and over. Nelson came up first. He was unkempt, unshaven, and his
uniform was damp and dirty. There were abrasions on his chin and along his jaw.
When Lee appeared, he was in even worse condition, with the entire left side of
his face bruised and his eye swollen shut. Chip extended a hand to pull Lee up
out of the well. Morton was surprised when his help was accepted. He couldn’t
help staring. “I hope the purificator is in better
shape than you two,” Morton blurted.
Crane paused by the rail.
“The message was a trap to get us there.”
“And we waltzed right
into it.” Nelson shook his head in disgust.
“Andy’s dead. They
killed him and Gary before we arrived.” Lee was angry. His hand clenched around
the rail.
“Why?” Chip struggled to
understand.
“They wanted the
Alderman process. They were not happy that I told them it was lost,” the
Admiral answered.
“I can see that,” Morton
replied. “That’s some shiner, Lee. Shall I call Jamieson to come look at it?”
Lee flinched and
released his grip on the rail. “Later. You wanted to call for reinforcements?”
Crane asked Nelson as he began walking toward the nearest mic,
at the chart table. The Admiral followed him and Chip went with them.
“How long before we
reach the station?” Nelson asked him.
“About 20 hours.”
“They won’t be there
then,” Lee said suddenly. “They had a submarine that was going to pick them up.
They probably were taken off shortly after we escaped. Have Sparks query ONI
for anything they know about a sub named Kosigyn.”
Nelson was gazing at Crane. “While he’s doing that, go get cleaned up. Then
meet me in Sick Bay. It’s a good idea to have Will look at your eye.”
Lee hesitated, his gaze
traveling around the control room. “We should start an air search for the
Russian sub.”
“Chip can get that going
as well. Now, mister.”
Crane looked over at
Nelson, saw the determination and wisely did not say anything else. Lee turned
to him, instead. “Keep me posted on what you find.”
“I will,” Chip promised.
“Any suggestions, Admiral?”
Nelson thought a moment.
“Call CINCPAC. See what Parker will give you.”
“Aye, aye, sir.
Chip watched them leave
through the starboard hatch. The watch studiously avoided staring at Crane. The
crew would continue to ignore the Captain’s black eye until it healed. Back to business as usual.
* * * * *
Lee had hoped Jamieson
would still be working on Nelson when he arrived, but he wasn’t that lucky.
Jamie took one look at his swollen eye and scowled.
“You told me to be
prepared,” the Doctor said to Nelson. “That definitely needs some attention.”
He crooked his finger at Lee, indicating the exam table.
Resigned, Crane sat down
on the edge of it. He had to let Jamie do something or he’d not be allowed to
leave again.
“Lie down,” Jamieson
ordered, moving the instrument table over him as soon as Lee complied. He heard
Nelson chuckle. The yellow antiseptic the Doctor had slathered over his
abrasions clashed wildly with the Admiral’s graying red hair. Lee hoped Jamie
wouldn’t use it on him. He closed his good eye as pain radiated from Jamieson’s
gentle probing of his bruise. After a moment Jamie took his hand away.
“There appears to be no
damage to eye, despite the swelling.” The Doctor laid a warm, wet cloth over
that side of his face. “What does the other guy look like? Hamburger?”
Lee grimaced at the
non-joke, trying to get more comfortable on the table. His ribs protested. He
flinched without meaning to.
Jamieson’s hand closed
around his tie. “What else do I need to look at?”
Crane pulled his tie
free. “I’m a little stiff from being used as punching bag. I’ll heal.”
“I want a look, anyway.”
Jamieson reached down to undo his shirt buttons.
Lee pushed the tray
aside, making the Doctor step back. He sat up, dragging the cloth off his face,
as he swung his legs off the table and down. “I let you look at my eye. The
rest will have to wait until we find that Russian sub.” Crane dropped the cloth
onto the tray, ready to stand up.
Nelson was glaring at
him. “Don’t believe him, Will. He got sandbagged
by a rifle.”
“Sir!”
Jamieson moved directly
in front of him. “Where?”
“Left temple. There should be a half healed cut there.”
Lee knew better than to
duck aside as Jamie’s fingers went into his damp hair. The cut was sore and it
was all he could do not to wince as the Doctor’s fingers brushed against it.
Lee felt his hair being parted. Then Jamieson removed his hands and wiped them
on a small towel. “Any thing else you don’t want to
report?” Jamie’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“If I had been the least
bit dizzy, I would have told you,” Lee replied.
The Doctor looked over
at Nelson.
“Not that I saw,” the
Admiral responded. “I had him playing unconscious far more often than he
actually was.”
The Doctor frowned. “He
could still be concussed. I don’t want to take the chance. I’ll not release you
until you’ve had a complete physical!”
“I don’t have time for
that now!” Lee was on his feet.
“You’re not leaving.”
Jamieson refused to move from in front of him.
“I don’t have a
concussion, Jamie. I know what that feels like.”
“We need x-rays to be
sure of that.”
Lee flopped back down on
the table. “All right, x-rays. Then I’m going.”
“Billy!” The doctor
called. “I want a skull series on the Captain. Stat!”
Jamie glared at him. “Now lie down and let us take care of you.”
Lee settled himself and
closed his eyes. There was only one other way to get out of a physical.
Jamieson left his side to get the plates ready. Crane concentrated on making
his breathing slow and even.
He did not respond when
Jamie came back and called his name. He kept breathing in and out, being
completely still.
“I’m amazed it took him
this long to crash,” Nelson’s droll voice came from the other bed.
The Doctor took his
pulse. “At least we got him down before his adrenaline gave out. How was Lee
otherwise?”
“Alert and with me,
despite the beating they gave him.”
“Painful, but not
immediately life threatening. I’m going to take the x-rays, in case he is
concussed. Sleep will help.”
“Lee won’t be happy when
he wakes up.”
“I’ll deal with that
then.”
Jamieson’s techs were
very careful moving him. Lee hated doing that to the Doctor, but there was no
way he could let Jamie do a physical. There were too many things that had to be
done elsewhere on the boat before the 4C took him.
They wheeled him back
into the main room after the scans were made. Jamie told Frank to make him
comfortable.
The corpsman undid his
tie and several shirt buttons. Then he removed his shoes, before tucking a
blanket around him. Lee stayed still. He did need to rest, so he could get up
later and take care of the last few details. If he passed out in the control
room that would raise questions he didn’t want to begin to answer.
Sleep wouldn’t come. It
will be all right. This time you’ll wake up. The last time.
Lee rolled onto his stomach, clutching the pillow to stop the agitation he
felt. It won’t hurt. I’ll go to sleep and not wake up.
Crane buried his face
into the pillow. It had to be this way. He had made sure Nelson survived.
He twisted his hands around the pillow, fighting down the tightness in his
throat and chest. They would have to understand he had no other choice.
Lee gave in to his weariness and finally slept.
* * * * *
Chip came into Sickbay
almost on tiptoe. He hadn't been surprised Will had taken Lee off duty. Crane
had slept through dinner and it was now time to give him his eight o'clock
report.
Technically, his orders
had been to report much earlier, but Chip decided to wait. Lee might give him
hell for not reporting, but if he violated sick list... Jamieson didn't
care who you were, if he took you off duty, you were off. Morton stopped
outside the Doctor’s small office cubicle and leaned in. "Can I report to
your star patient, Will?"
Jamieson consulted his
watch. "It's that time, isn't it?" Will glanced
at the clipboard he had and then at his watch again. "All
right. Go try. He was really under the last time I checked him. If you
can't rouse Lee on the first try, you'll have to report to yourself. I don't
want the Admiral woken, either.
"Okay," Chip
agreed. "As long as I can truthfully say I tried, he won't get too
upset."
"I'll vouch you
were here," Will offered.
Chip smiled.
"Thanks. I doubt it will come to that."
"Go make your
report."
Jamieson was right. Chip
looked down at his best friend. Lee looked wiped out. Some
joyride. Bunch of goons tap dancing on
his head. I ought to let him sleep. Morton reached out, shaking Lee's
shoulder. If Crane didn't respond to his usual wake-up, he'd leave. There was
nothing dire in his report. Chip was disappointed when Lee turned over at his
touch. Crane opened his one good eye, focusing on him sleepily.
"Chip? What is it?"
"Time for your
evening report, Skipper," he answered, holding out his clipboard.
"I'll give it to you orally, so I don't have to turn on the light."
Lee sat up suddenly,
throwing off the covers. "It can’t be eight o'clock! Why the hell did you
let me sleep so long?" He buttoned his shirt rapidly. "I should have
been in the control room hours ago!"
"Will thought
otherwise." Chip let his gaze travel over him. "You look awful."
"I don't need to
look good to do my job, Chip," Lee replied, knotting his unloosened tie
back into place with deft fingers. "What's up?"
"We've had several
reports of sightings, but no profile fitting a Russian submarine. Nick's been
in touch with the Nimitz since five o'clock."
"Good. Let's go see
what he's doing."
"Better check with
Will."
"Can't get out the
door otherwise." Lee glanced at him,
sidelong. "How'd my x-rays come out?"
"How should I
know?" Chip replied innocently.
"You asked,"
Lee answered. "Well?"
"No evidence of
concussion. You have a very hard head, or the guy didn't get a square
hit." Chip shrugged. "I believe the former."
Lee grinned. "It
sure didn't feel like the latter." He reached down for his oxfords.
"C'mon, I've got to get out of here."
* * * * *
Chip began to plot his
course calculation on the grid map. His pencil crossed through an island chain,
and he stopped. Wait a minute, on a vector-- He stared again at the course and
found his mistake. He tossed the pencil to the table. It was no use. Again
Morton found his eyes drawn to the radio shack.
He had felt guilty, not
waking Lee until it was absolutely necessary, so he'd remained quiet while
Crane and Jamieson argued about Lee's leaving. Will finally admitted his x-rays
hadn’t revealed anything serious. Chip believed Jamieson only let Lee go
because he was going walk out anyway. Crane had done it many times before.
Jamieson would let it ride a few hours, then come collect Lee. Doc always found
a reason.
Something was nagging
Chip. Crane appeared recovered, yet it felt wrong. Other than Lee was rarely in
the control room at this hour, there was nothing Chip could put a finger on.
Morton moved down to the periscope well, surreptitiously watching, trying to look
beyond the obvious. He couldn't miss Crane's badly bruised eye, turning
purplish-black.
Lee leaned against the
radio room doorway, listening intently to Peatty's
report. His features were drawn and he was pale, but that could be the dark
bruising. That's right, chase yourself around in circles. The feeling
wouldn't leave. Lee had told him not to ignore them; they were an integral part
of command. Sometimes Chip had to do what he felt was right and what he felt
was Lee shouldn't be here.
Morton had taken a
single step toward the radio shack when the boat's engineering officer, Randy
Miller, came through the starboard hatch. Chip glanced at his watch in
surprise. Midnight, already?
Miller stopped,
surprised to see Crane. Randy hesitated for a moment, before he moved toward
Lee to report. Chip caught his eye, shaking his head, and gestured Randy to
join him by the periscope well.
"What's the Skipper
doing here?" Randy asked softly. "I thought he was in Sick Bay."
Chip snorted. "Lee
wanted to help with the search. Will couldn't persuade
him otherwise."
"Any luck with
that?"
"Nick's been on
steady with the Nimitz and CINCPAC. Relieve him, if he'll
go."
"I'll put Morrow
on. I take it the Skipper doesn't want to leave."
Chip shrugged. "I
couldn’t stop him from doing his evening tour of the boat, either.”
Randy smiled. "Put
everyone to bed, eh? If he won’t listen to you, I don't have a prayer. Go get
some sleep. I'll keep things running so he can concentrate on the search."
Chip glanced toward the
radio shack. "Let me see if Lee will go with me now."
"Good luck."
Morton walked aft.
Behind him, C-shift began relieving the watch stations. Lee raised his head at
the sounds of moving chairs and footsteps. Chip caught his eye.
"Why don't we call
it a night, Lee? It's midnight."
Lee slowly shook his
head. "Maybe later." He picked up the radio
headphones. "You go ahead. I've had enough sleep."
"Don't you think
you ought to--" Morton started, but Crane cut him off.
"Chip, I'm fine."
He smiled crookedly. "Go to bed, Mother Hen."
Laughter rippled down
the control room. Crane was determined to stay. He couldn't make Lee leave and
Morton was tired. It had been a very long, frustrating day. "All
right." He gave in with a small smile. "See you in the
morning."
"Good night."
Lee lifted the headset to his ear, turning to the radio.
Morton left the radio
room alcove and stopped by the starboard hatch, beckoning Miller to join him
there.
"Look, keep an eye
on him, will you?" he asked very softly.
"You worried about
him?"
"A little. If Lee gets looking really wiped, get him to sack out. If that
doesn't work, threaten to call Jamieson."
"Sure. Count on
it."
"Thanks. That makes
me feel better."
"So will
sleep."
Morton laughed softly.
"Okay, I can take a hint. Good night."
"'Night,
Chip."
* * * * *
An hour later, Randy
Miller glanced furtively down the control room, wondering if he should ask. The
Skipper never commanded during C-watch unless it was an emergency and while
there had been many times Randy had been glad to have him there, tonight was
different.
They had been searching
for eight hours. There had been little progress. None of the reports from the
carrier's search planes had panned out. Crane obviously was interested,
conferring with Morrow as the newest reports came in, but that wasn't enough
reason to be in the control room. He could come back once they had positive
contact.
Crane's energy was
surprising, given his island experience. The Skipper kept moving; from sonar to
the radio shack, over to the hydrophone and back to the sonar again. Crane
should be in Sick Bay. Miller wasn’t the XO; he'd have to do this tactfully. He
envied Chip his ease with Lee. Randy didn't have the years of friendship they
did.
Randy watched, waiting
for the right moment to make his request. It would be easier if Crane would
return to the chart table. As long as Lee continued to walk around the control
room, Randy would not chase after him. He knew from experience his one chance
to get Lee to leave was to do it quietly, without the entire watch listening.
Lee paused by the
missile control system, his gaze drifting across the buttons and lights. It was
the seventh station he had stopped at. His actions were making Randy uneasy.
Miller swiftly glanced at the Christmas tree board in front of him for
reassurance. All green.
As Randy took his eyes
from the board, he realized that Lee had not brought anything to his attention.
He hadn't said anything to the watch, either. Crane seemed unaware of their
existence as he worked his way aft and then back forward. Randy could see the
watch getting curious, their eyes following the Skipper as he moved among them.
If Lee had a reason for
this inspection, it eluded Miller. Now the Skipper was finally coming forward;
he would ask. Crane paused by the periscope well. He reached out, lightly
brushing the polished steel with his fingers, gazing at it, his expression
going soft. Randy watched, bewildered. He had never seen Crane do anything like
that before. After a moment, Miller realized he was staring and quickly dropped
his eyes to the grid map. He kept his gaze there as he heard Crane's footsteps
approach.
"I'm going to my
cabin, Randy," Lee said, stopping at the table. "Call me when you
make contact."
"Sure,
Skipper," he answered, relieved he wouldn't have to insist. Earlier with
Chip, Lee had sounded like he planned to stay all night. It wasn't like Crane
to change his mind. Miller shook off his confusion. "Have a good rest,
sir."
"Good night,
Randy." Crane suddenly put a light hand on his arm. "Take good care
of her."
"Always,
Skipper," he answered, managing a grin to cover his surprise at Crane's
gesture. "You want Chip to kill me?"
Lee smiled faintly,
dropping his hand. "Bobby wouldn’t like that."
Randy smiled. "I'm
the Engineer, right?"
"Right."
"See you tomorrow,
Skipper."
Crane stood by the table
a moment, looking down the length of the control room, then nodded.
Randy followed his gaze,
but could see nothing out of the ordinary, only the duty stations manned as
always. He turned back, but Lee was walking slowly toward the spiral stair.
Miller watched him leave, feeling a sense of something left unfinished. He
resisted going after Lee. He didn't even know what he wanted explained.
Randy shook his head. He
was imagining things. The important thing was that whatever had happened, both
the Skipper and the Admiral had returned to them, still alive, if worse for
wear.
* * * * *
Chip Morton laid down
his comb, giving his tie one last tug into place. He still had enough time to swing
by the wardroom for breakfast before he went to the control room. Lee had
probably already eaten and gone on up, but the watch didn't officially change
until oh-eight-hundred.
"Chip?"
Crane's soft voice at
his open door, followed by the light knock, surprised him. Morton turned,
barely keeping himself from reacting to how white Lee looked. Even going watch
and watch, Lee had never been this dragged out. Knowing
better than to mention it, Chip kept his tone casual. "Hi,
Lee. Join me for coffee and chow before we go to the control room?"
"No thanks."
Crane leaned against the doorway, the frame taking most of his weight. Under
other circumstances, Chip would not have noted the casual posture, except Lee's
right hand was clenched into s fist, his knuckles
white and his arm rigid. "You mind getting along without me this
morning?"
"Jamieson catch up
with you?"
"Not yet," Lee
answered. "But he'd come up and drag me off as soon as he found out I was
there. I thought I'd save him the trouble. I can't use my left eye, so what
sort of course could I calculate?"
"A cockeyed
one."
Crane managed a slight
grin. "Precisely. That's why you should have the
conn." He gestured toward his face tiredly. "You'll be less
distracting."
"You
going to Sick Bay?" Chip asked, hoping for a confirmation, but not
really expecting one.
Lee grimaced, his fist
tightening further as his arm pressed against the edge of the door frame.
"Not if I can help it. I have a report to finish, and then I’m going to
rest." He caught Chip's gaze and held it. "I know you'll find that
Russian sub."
"As long as I don't
hit anything." Morton fell back on
their old command joke, confused by Lee's tone and the strangely intent look in
his eyes. Chip had a sudden hollow feeling that Lee was trying to tell him
something he could not put into words.
Crane smiled faintly,
acknowledging their joke and reached out to grip Chip's shoulder lightly. He
could feel Lee's fingers trembling through his shirt. "You've always taken
good care of her." The affection in Lee's soft voice was almost too much.
"That's my
job." Morton forced the words past a sudden tightness in his throat and
the hard knot forming in his stomach, as his mind latched onto the easiest
explanation. He doesn't feel well. Chip reached out, closing his hand
around Lee's extended arm, trying to dispel his unease with the contact. Lee's home. He'll be all right in a couple of
days. "You want a report later?" Morton asked, making his voice
steady.
"I may wander up
after lunch. Your call." Crane dropped his hand
from his shoulder and pulled away from the door.
Chip swallowed his
sudden urge to reach out, shake Lee by both shoulders and demand to know what
was going on. Something was terribly wrong and Chip wished desperately that Lee
would tell him what. "Do me one favor, will you?" he asked seriously.
"What's that?"
"The next time the
Admiral wants to go flying off, remember the first rule of the Navy and
volunteer someone else."
"Next time you can
go."
Morton rolled his eyes.
"Thanks. I understand the chicks really go for black eyes."
Lee laughed softly.
"You're hopeless."
Chip grinned, in spite
of the cold knot in his middle. He dropped his hand. "You take it easy
today. I'll handle the boat." Morton forced lightness into his tone,
knowing he had to finish the exchange. It was important. "You are running
the next liberty call."
"Fair enough." Gratitude came into Lee's brown eyes, along with something Chip
had never seen in the green glints before. "Thanks,
Chip. I'll be in my cabin."
"Right." Chip followed him out into the corridor. "Have a good long
rest."
"I plan to."
Morton stood by his
door, watching Lee walk slowly down the narrow corridor to his cabin. Crane
glanced back before he entered, giving Chip a faint, amused smile, a gentle
chiding for not trusting him. Morton smiled, shrugging, as Lee closed his door.
Instead of reassuring
Morton, the exchange doubled all his uneasiness. Something was wrong. Lee
should be getting better. Chip wished he could go make sure Lee was in his
bunk, but then Crane would know he didn't believe what he had been told. Particularly if the detour made him late. Chip looked at his
watch. The control room was where Lee wanted him.
Morton took a step down
the corridor toward the hatch before he gave into his gut instinct and stopped.
Lee was ill. He needed someone to take care of him. Chip couldn't; he had been
given command, in a turnover that had his stomach in knots. If he didn't know
better, he'd swear Crane didn't expect to get her back. Lee didn't want
Jamieson. He'd made that clear. There was only one other person left who could
help.
Morton turned around,
striding for Nelson's cabin. He'd lay this whole thing out for the Admiral.
Nelson would order Crane to Sick Bay if necessary. Lee might have a blind spot
about his health, but Chip wasn't affected by it. He would see that Crane was
taken care of. Morton rapped on Nelson's cabin door.
"Come in," the
Admiral called out.
He opened the door,
entering the cabin.
"Chip?" Nelson's back was to him, but he caught Morton's reflection in
the mirror. He laid his belt on the dresser, turning toward him. "Need
something?"
Now that he was face to
face with Nelson, Chip hesitated. Was he imagining the whole thing, making more
out of an off day than there was? He could still feel Lee's trembling grip on
his shoulder, hear the tone of his voice that gave him Seaview.
"Lee asked me to take the conn this morning."
"Jamieson's
orders?" Nelson asked, half
smiling.
"No, that's what
bothers me. Lee implied he wasn't up to being in the control room."
Nelson frowned, his
eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. "He said that?"
"Not exactly. Lee didn't really say anything. He was white and shaky, even
though he was trying to hide it." Chip searched for the right words.
"It was how he said it. Something's wrong. Could those Russians
have done something he didn't tell you or Jamieson about?"
"It's possible. I
wasn’t with him all the time."
"When he asked me
to take command--” Chip forced his voice to remain steady. “--he said, I would
take good care of her."
Nelson started. Chip
knew then he hadn't imagined the implication in Crane's words. It took the
Admiral a moment to recover.
"Lee in his
cabin?"
"Yes. He had a
report to finish. Then he was going to lie down."
"That report will
wait. You were right in coming to me. I'll find out what happened."
"Thank you,
sir." Relief swept through Morton. It hadn't taken as much convincing as
Chip thought and that realization overlaid his relief with fear.
* * * * *
The ready answer to
Harry's knock was reassuring. As he opened the door, he half expected to find
Lee sacked out. Nelson stopped a few steps into the room. He had never seen Lee
like this.
Crane sat cross-legged,
Indian fashion on the narrow bunk. His hands were resting on his drawn-up
knees, his back straight against the bulkhead at the rear of his bunk. Lee
appeared to be contemplating the opposite wall. That made no sense. If Crane
had decided he was too ill to command, from experience Harry knew Lee should be
too sick to sit up. Harry looked closely at his Captain. Lee was pale and drawn
under the dark, puffy bruises, more so than his island experience should have
left him.
"Hello, Lee."
Harry spoke casually, as if he was merely dropping by. He wasn't leaving
without an explanation.
"Sir," Lee
acknowledged him, his voice steady, his hazel eyes
coming up. Crane wasn't trying to hide anything. Lee's actions weren't always
clear to him, but he always found an answer in his eyes. Right now they were
calm. A sense of waiting hung in the small cabin. Waiting for what?
"Chip told me you
gave him command this morning."
Lee shrugged, his gaze
returning to the wall. "Seaview needs a CO that's a hundred percent
right now. That Russian sub intends to destroy us, if they can."
Harry waited for Crane
to go on, but he continued to stare at the cabin wall. Something in Lee's
serene expression brought back the chill Harry had experienced earlier.
"What's the matter,
Lee?" Nelson asked quietly.
"Nothing. At least, nothing anyone can do anything about." Lee
regarded Nelson silently for almost a full minute, before he spoke again.
"I guess you should know while I’m still able to tell you."
"Know what?"
Nelson crossed the cabin, stopping only when the top of his leg jammed against
the edge of the mattress. He didn't like the conversation or the way Lee was
acting. He reached out, lightly placing his hand over Crane's. They'd both made
it back. Lee's right hand trembled under his, but he didn't protest or pull
away in embarrassment.
"You're going to
yell at me." Lee's shy smile appeared. His hand moved, grasping Harry's.
"It'll be a good way to remember you. We wouldn't have this lovely lady
without that famous Irish temper of yours." The pressure on Nelson’s hand
increased. "Thank you for letting me share
her."
"Lee--" Harry
did not want to acknowledge the fear that was building in him. Crane’s answer
was a farewell, but Lee would never say goodbye to him, to Chip, to Seaview
unless he... Harry sank heavily onto the bunk, gripping Crane's hand hard.
"Son, what did they do to you?"
Lee smiled, trying to
reassure him. "They didn't do anything to me. I did. They tried to kill
you. I stopped them."
"What are you
talking about?" Harry demanded, his mind working furiously. He couldn't
recall any overt attempt on their lives, only a lot of ugly threats. They'd
been interrogated in separate sessions and he'd been afraid for Lee whenever
they had taken him from the shed. They had always thrown him back in. Never in
better condition, but still alive. Then they escaped. He hadn't questioned
their luck; there had been too many other things to think about then. Now as he
held Lee's cold hand in his own, Nelson realized their escape had been too easy.
Too damn easy.
"They got careless.
I heard their plans when they thought I was unconscious. They were convinced
you wouldn't talk, even if they killed me." Lee smiled deprecatingly.
"They decided if they couldn't have the Alderman process, we shouldn't
have you. There was poison in your meal. I gave you mine."
Harry pulled his hand
free and grabbed Lee's shoulders tightly, staggered by Crane's sacrifice. "You what!"
Lee forced a short
laugh. "The Colonel said he would let us escape once he was convinced
you’d eaten it. I knew they would come and check. I had to make them believe
you-- " Harry saw a plea for understanding come
to Lee's eyes. "Any other choice would have gotten us both killed. This
way we got home."
"I’m calling
Jamieson." He reached above Lee for the intercom switch on the bulkhead.
Crane grabbed his hand again, pulling it away.
"Don't, sir.
There's nothing he can do. There's no antidote. I won’t have Jamie blame
himself --"
"We have to try,
damn it! I can't sit here and let you--” Harry couldn't say it. He was losing
control. Nelson swiftly clamped down on his fear and his anger. No.
"It's all right. I
don’t regret my decision." Lee gazed up into his eyes. "Judging from
the numbness in my legs, I don't have much time left."
"Damn it, Lee.
We'll find something. Slow it down. Anything!"
Harry belatedly realized he was shouting. He tried to tug his hand free to
punch the intercom switch.
Lee wouldn't let go.
"Please. I won't distract the crew’s attention from defending themselves
against that Russian sub, since there's no hope for me. You call Jamieson, five
minutes later the whole boat will know." Harry saw the need in his eyes
that Lee could not verbalize. "I can take you being here. It helps a lot. But no one else." Lee's grip was getting steadily
weaker. He paused, half apologetic, half embarrassed. "Forgive me?"
"Of course,
son," Nelson answered gently. "If I ever catch you pulling a
fool stunt like this again...” He didn't need to go on and Harry wasn't sure he
could.
Crane looked up at him,
his shy, sheepish smile reminding him of all he had first seen in the plebe at
Annapolis. "Thank you, sir. That's more than I could ask for.”
Nelson returned the
smile, gently disengaging his hand and putting his arm around Lee's shoulder.
They would face it together. Lee reached out weakly for his shoulder. He
missed. Harry tightened his hold as Crane slumped against him. Lee tried to
push himself back upright and only managed to hold on to Harry's arm for a
moment before losing his grip. Nelson gently lifted Crane, bracing him so he
could remain sitting up.
With an effort, Lee
looked over at Harry, gratitude in his dark eyes. “Keep an eye on Chip for
me?" Crane tried to smile again and then rubbed an unsteady hand across
his forehead. "I'm losing it. Help me lie down."
He gently eased Lee's
unresisting body flat on the bunk. His legs flopped awkwardly, like a rag doll’s. He could sense Lee trying
to help, but his limbs would not respond. Only Crane's eyes moved, showing his
disgust.
Harry reached for the
blanket, fighting the sudden turning of his stomach, the burning sensation
behind his eyes. This can't be happening. Lee can't be dying--
Behind him Crane jerked,
a sudden arching shudder. Then his body began twitching, shaking in growing convulsive
spasms.
Harry lost control, his
gut knotting in fear. He lunged for the intercom, punching the switch before he
even realized what he was doing. "Sick Bay!
Emergency in the Captain's cabin!" he yelled into the grille. He
wouldn't let Lee die like this.
* * * * *
Jamieson couldn't have
taken more than a few moments to answer his summons, but it seemed like hours.
Harry knew he should immobilize Lee, but he was half afraid to touch his
writhing body. He grabbed the blanket before it slid off the bunk and threw it
on top of Crane, trying to capture his twitching legs in it. Where the hell
was Jamieson?
"C'mon, son, don't
fight me." Nelson got one leg pinned. He almost corralled the other, but
Lee twisted free, throwing him into the bulkhead. The mattress springs squeaked
disjointedly. "Take it easy." He recaptured Crane's left leg, holding
it to the mattress with his own. He needed something to keep Lee's shoulders
down and stop his head from rolling.
Finally the cabin door
flew open. Jamieson took only a moment to take in the situation, then grabbed
Harry's arm, tugging him off the mattress. Will pushed him toward the closet.
"I need sheets, towels, anything long enough to wrap around him."
Harry's relief at the
Doctor's arrival heightened when he returned to the bed with some towels and
found his haphazard wrapping job deftly refashioned. Crane wouldn't squirm out
of that. Will had Lee's head back, a cloth between his teeth. Jamieson took the
towels, quickly knotted them together, and passing them under Lee, locked his
arms to his sides by tying the ends around his wrists. His limbs immobilized,
Crane's wild motion stopped, although he continued to shudder violently with
each new spasm.
"When did this
start?" Jamieson demanded his fingers hard against Lee's neck.
"About five minutes
ago." Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. "When I called you."
"You find him like
this?" Jamieson bent over, trying to check his pupils.
"No. We were
talking." He forced the words past his worry. "Then Lee started--"
Harry leaned forward, grabbing Jamieson's shoulder. "Will, he's been
poisoned."
"Poisoned!" Jamieson turned to him, his eyes wide with shock. "When?"
"I don't know. On the island. In the food. We
escaped about two hours after that..." Nelson trailed off, realizing
Jamieson was no longer listening.
"Two hours
plus--" Harry heard him mutter. "Delayed release.
Five minutes--convulsions."
Nelson jumped as
Jamieson suddenly tugged on his arm. "We have to get him to Sick Bay. Now!"
Lee gave a shuddering
sigh, going completely still. Jamieson's fingers quickly probed beneath Lee's
jaw. "Will, he's not--" The words caught in Nelson's throat as he
stared at Crane's limp body.
"No, he's lapsed
into unconsciousness. The seizure's run its course. I need your help!"
Harry was lifting Lee's
wrapped legs almost before the words were out.
Luckily, they didn't
have far to carry him. Harry was momentarily confused when Jamieson headed into
the decompression chamber, then remembered that the life support equipment was
in there. Jesus, he must think Lee's bad. The next moment Nelson was
chiding himself. Lee would die unless Jamieson did something. If there was anything that could be done. Why didn't you
tell us, Lee?
Harry lifted Crane's
legs up onto the bunk. Lee was so quiet now, his chest barely rising. Jamieson
hurriedly snapped a syringe together, drawing blood from Lee's right arm. He
didn't have time to be gentle, but the prick of the needle did not rouse Crane
from unconsciousness.
Jimmy, the pharmacist's
mate, came running at Will’s shout and was given the blood to analyze. Harry
could see he was confused by Lee's condition. Jamieson sent him flying to the
lab. Nelson moved to the head of the bed. He needed to get out the way.
Will threw off the
towels, rapidly unbuttoning Crane's shirt. He attached the monitoring
electrodes with careful speed. The faint peep, peep of the EKG monitor soon
filled the room.
Harry laid his hand
lightly on the dark curls. C'mon son, keep fighting.
Jamieson donned his
stethoscope, listening intently to Crane's breathing. He straightened abruptly,
reaching out to touch Lee's fingertips. Harry watched as Will tested the nerve
responses. They were sluggish, with no response in his legs at all. Finishing
his examination, Jamieson draped a blanket over Lee's lower body.
"You have no idea
what this is?" he asked Nelson suddenly.
"No. Lee didn't
tell me anything, except there is no antidote."
"Damn." Will's hand clenched into a fist. "I can't give him
anything until I know. It acts like curare, but I can't be sure. If only he'd
come to me sooner."
"Lee said it
wouldn't do any good. If you couldn't help him, you'd think it was your
fault."
"That could cost
him his life!" Jamieson snapped, turning toward the door. "Keep an eye
on him. I'll see if Jimmy has anything. The paralysis is moving. When it
reaches his respiratory system--" The Doctor stopped, frowning. It was
clear he did not like that possibility. "I need epinephrine," he
muttered, then strode from the chamber into the dispensary.
Epinephrine. The last time Will used that was when a diver had suffered a
heart attack as a complication of the bends. The young seaman didn’t survive.
Harry shook his head, withdrawing his hand from Lee's hair. Crane felt cold. Like touching a corpse. Harry refused to think that.
Not while Lee was still alive. Cold. Wait a
minute. Nelson cocked his head to see if Crane's chest rose with his
breathing. It didn't.
"Will!" he yelled toward the other room. Fool. His lips are turning
blue. Harry bent, tilting Lee's head back forcefully, snatching the
cloth from his mouth.
"No!" Jamieson
was beside him, pulling him away. "There's no time for that."
"But he's not
breathing!"
"It's the
paralysis." Will yanked open the cabinet on the respirator. He removed a
long sheath-shaped object, rapidly smearing a clear jelly over it. "Get
under his shoulders and lift," Jamieson directed. As Harry obeyed, Will
fed the object down Crane's unresisting throat, giving it a peculiar twist, and
sliding it into place. Within seconds he had attached the respirator cables to
it. Lee's chest rose suddenly as he threw the power switch. A steady
click-pump-pause started, as the compressor in the machine began to rise and
fall. The sound joined with that of the peeping monitor, which had slowed, but
now was resuming a steady rhythm. Jamieson adjusted several dials on the
respirator.
"Doc?" Jimmy's excited voice came from the doorway. "I got it. It
wasn't pure, so it kept throwing the sample."
"Curare?"
"Looks that way,
but it’s synthesized. Man, it acts weird."
"Get Billy in here.
Lee's in respiratory collapse. I need him to monitor his rate."
"Aye, sir. I'll get you a kit."
Jamieson gave Lee a
quick injection of epinephrine and had an IV started by the time Billy arrived.
"Will?" Harry
spoke up softly; wanting to make sure his continued presence was not a
distraction.
"All right. You know to stay out of the way."
Nelson looked down at
Crane. He was nearly as white as the sheets he lay on. Harry fought down his
fear again.
Jamieson finished
securing the IV, and their eyes met. Will gestured
toward Lee. "It'll take a long time to counteract the paralysis. If we
can't, he won't make it, but we'll give it everything we have."
* * * * *
Nelson stayed with
Jamieson for nearly an hour before he realized Chip deserved, in fact needed,
to know what had happened. The men already knew that Lee was seriously ill, but
Chip should confirm the grapevine. They were a good crew; they deserved that.
Morton was in control
room, itching to know about Lee, but having the sense not to disturb the
Doctor. Harry glanced at Lee once more and then signaled Jamieson he was
leaving.
Nelson went up to the
control room. Chip was leaning inside the radio room, headphones slung around
his neck, talking to Peatty. Harry smiled to himself.
Chip always came through. Getting the Nimitz called in to search for the
Russian sub wasn't exactly what he had expected when Harry told him to call
Parker. Usually CINCPAC wasn't that generous, but he was glad for the
help. Those Russians wouldn’t get away with murder. Nick adjusted the gain,
trying to pull in the Nimrod transmissions. Nelson walked down to join
them.
As he approached, Chip
shook his head. Then he pulled off his headphones, hooking them on their stand.
He clapped Nick on the shoulder. "Keep monitoring. They may get
lucky."
"Aye, sir."
"Ask for relief,
when you need it."
"I will."
Chip turned, his gaze
falling on Nelson. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear you come up."
Harry waved the apology
aside. "You were busy. I see you've made progress."
"The search planes
are up but we still have to find the Russian sub," Chip answered.
"Craig's prepping the reactor. When Randy comes on back on, we'll be ready
for flank. As soon as we get a position, we'll be after them.”
"I need to talk to
you. Let's go upstairs.""
Morton nodded.
"Bobby."
The Diving Officer left
his station and joined them, glancing curiously at Nelson.
"Continue the
search. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Aye, sir,"
O’Brien answered.
Nelson silently led the
way to the front windows. He didn't like pulling Chip that way, but he couldn't
say it in front of the entire watch. The crew would know soon enough.
Chip seemed to sense his
reluctance. Morton waited until they were well inside the bow. "This have anything to do with you calling Will to Lee's
cabin?"
"I'm afraid
so." Harry dropped wearily into one of the conference table chairs,
gesturing Chip to join him. Morton slid into a chair at his right, his
apprehension now evident.
"What
happened?" Chip searched his face.
"Jamieson said he'd
try to save him." Nelson ran a hand through his hair, hesitating. He
didn't know how to tell Chip, so he said it straight out. "Lee was
poisoned. There's no antidote."
Morton stared at him,
shocked, before he found his voice. "How?"
"It was meant for
me. And Lee decided--" Harry forced the words past a sudden lump in his
throat as he clenched his hands tightly together. "I didn't know a thing
about it until I went to see him."
"That's why he gave
me the conn today! Because he knew... " Chip's voice trailed off as he shook his head.
"He should have said something! Surely Jamieson could have--"
"With no
antidote?"
"There are other
things Jamieson can do!"
"And he's doing
them. Our problem now is how to tell the crew," Nelson replied, keeping
his own overwhelming worry at bay by keeping his voice even. "They will
have to know."
Anger flashed in his
eyes, then Morton drew a deep breath. "Tell them
the truth. They can handle it."
"Do you want me to,
or will you take care of it?"
"I'll do it,"
Chip answered firmly. "It's my job."
Nelson smiled wearily.
"You sound like Lee."
"He... he has a
habit of rubbing off on people," Morton replied softly.
"He sure
does." Harry bowed his head into his hands, feeling his stomach knot again
as memories welled up. The trust. The
loyalty. The bond that grown between them. He
had been blind to what had been there. The Russian's knowing
smile. Lee's quietness. All he could think of was
escape. For what? Lee was dying, when it should have
been him. "Why did I ever agree to take him with me in the first
place?"
"Because it made
perfect sense." Chip rose from his
chair, stepping beside him. Morton laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Lee
wouldn't want you blaming yourself. I know he had his reasons for doing what he
did."
"And if he dies,
Chip?" Harry raised his head.
"Have faith in
Jamieson."
"I trust Will. I
wish--" Nelson gazed up at Morton earnestly. "If only Lee had said
something!"
"He never
does." Chip smiled faintly.
"I know."
Harry leaned back into his chair. "You have a prayer handy?"
"One, maybe. Chapel service is the responsibility of the Captain, not the
Exec."
"You're the
Captain, now.”
Morton stiffened,
withdrawing his hand. "No, I'm only acting in his place. I'll never be the
Skipper."
Harry raised an eyebrow,
smiling slightly. "You're not terribly efficient, are you?"
"Only moderately,
sir." Chip managed a half
grin. "I'll go make the announcement. I'd like to be kept posted on
Lee."
"Of course. I should have told you sooner. It happened so fast and I--"
"I understand, sir.
Lee would be worried about you." Morton smiled shyly. "I worry about
both of you."
Harry reached out,
holding Chip's arm for a moment. "I sometimes forget how much we depend on
you."
"That's my
job," Chip answered softly. Then he stepped back. "I'll be in the
control room if you need me."
"I'll call
you," Nelson answered. The dismissal sounded shallow in his ears, Chip
looking much more in command than Nelson felt at that moment. As he watched
Morton walk to the spiral staircase, the too-straight set of Chip's shoulders,
the white-knuckled grip his Exec closed on the banister betrayed him. Despite
Chip's encouraging words, he was much more upset by Harry's news than he wanted
Nelson to know. Harry pushed himself out of the chair. It was time to go back
to Sick Bay.
* * * * *
Randy Miller lifted his
coffee cup from the tray on the chart table. It was only lukewarm now, but it
still tasted good. He only had two more hours. Then he'd be off until midnight.
He took another sip of coffee, wondering if he should have Cookie send the
wardroom steward up with sandwiches. The watches were so mixed with all the
extra personnel on, he doubted any formal supper being served.
He knew for a fact the
wardroom was deserted. Most of the officers were at their stations. Those that
weren't were probably sleeping. Randy raised his shoulders, stretching his
tired muscles, wishing he could join them. Not yet. His eyes roved to
the reactor board. All the telltales were green. Atta
girl. Bet you can smell that Russian sub, can't you?
Randy placed his now
empty cup on the table, resisting his urge to move the tray. If the Captain
returned from rounds and found it lying smack in the middle of his work area,
he wouldn't like it. Only Crane wasn't on rounds. The Skipper was--
Miller quickly squashed
that thought. Chip said Will was doing everything possible. Jamieson would do
his job, and they would do theirs. That Russian sub wouldn't know what hit
her. She wouldn't outrun Seaview. Not now.
"Commander
Morton," Nick called from the radio shack.
Randy watched Chip
replace the mic on its hook by the periscope,
returning the system to general intercom. Evidently there wasn't any bad news
from Sick Bay, but he could tell by Chip's expression there wasn't any good
news either. He left his stool and followed Morton down to the radio shack.
Nick handed a headset
over and Chip plugged into the comm, holding it to
one ear.
"I've been
monitoring the air to ground. It looks like one of the Nimrods has a hot
blip. He's trying to verify it. Then he'll send us the coordinates."
"How long before we
can catch up to them?" Chip extended the headphones to Randy.
"We should be in
range sometime early this morning," Miller replied. "If
we stay on him."
"We'll stay on
him," Chip said grimly.
The chatter in Randy's
headphones grew more excited. Nick made a few quick adjustments. "Are you
are sure it's not a decoy?" he said quickly into his microphone.
Chip gestured for the
headphones and Randy handed them over. Miller turned as someone came up behind
him. Chief Sharkey. Randy nodded in greeting. Sharkey returned it.
"Ask him if it
profiles as an Alfa class," Chip said hurriedly.
Nick relayed the
question and Randy saw both Chip and Nick nod.
"All right!" Chip said. He leaned out of the radio shack alcove. "Quartermaster, half left rudder! Helmsman, come to
bearing two-nine-four."
The watch scrambled to
comply. Nick thanked the pilot and signed off. He leaned back in his chair,
stretching, then glanced at Chip. "How much longer
before the computer spits out the analysis?"
"Mike has been
feeding it numbers most of the afternoon. We should have something soon.
"Everything's set
up like you ordered in the missile room, Mr. Morton," Sharkey broke in.
"We'll fire whenever you give the word."
"Well done,
Chief."
"I had plenty of
help, sir."
Chip almost smiled.
Randy felt the same grim satisfaction himself. The Kosigyn's
hours were numbered now.
"Very well, Chief," Morton answered. "Carry on."
"Aye, sir." Sharkey paused for a moment. "Has there been any word on the
Skipper?"
Chip stopped in
mid-action of removing his headphones and turned, giving Sharkey an irritated
look. For a moment Randy tensed, expecting Morton to snap at the Chief’s
innocent question. Then his expression softened. He pulled the headphones off
and hooked them on their stand. "He's doing as well as can be
expected."
"Yeah. The guys are worried about him."
"We all are, Chief.
I'll see you're kept posted, all right?"
"I'd appreciate
that, sir," Sharkey answered.
Randy breathed a sigh of
relief. They were all on edge. Finding the Russian sub would take care of that.
Almost as if Sharkey
were anticipating his thoughts, the Chief Petty Officer spoke again. "Do
you want me to tell the Admiral we got a definite? He asked me to let him know
when I had completed the detail in the missile room."
Chip waved his hand in
dismissal. "No, that's all right. I'll tell him myself. Carry on,
Chief."
"Aye, sir." Sharkey left the small alcove. Randy watched Chip, who stood
looking after the Chief. Pain flashed briefly across Morton's face, and then he
squared his shoulders, shaking it off. Randy knew what he was feeling. The
searching and waiting was hard.
"Keep with them,
Nick." Chip dropped his hand to Peatty's
shoulder. "We'll get him."
Nick looked up.
"Believe it."
"Hey, I think
there's still some coffee left." Randy nudged Chip's arm, dredging up an
encouraging smile.
Chip turned to him, a
shadow of his normal infectious grin crossing his face but not quite reaching
his eyes. "That's an excellent suggestion, Mr. Miller. C'mon."
"Aye,
Commander."
* * * * *
Chip Morton turned
restlessly over in his bunk, glancing at his watch for the thousandth time. The
glowing hands read three o'clock, but he still couldn’t sleep. He hadn't wanted
Randy to come on at midnight, but if he had refused to go, the rest of the crew
would have followed suit.
Morton needed sleep.
He'd been back to the control room twice since zero hundred, hoping to wear
himself out. That hadn't helped. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was
Lee, lying in the decom chamber, hooked up to every
life support machine they had.
Chip rolled onto his
side in his narrow bunk, jamming his hand under the pillow. Light from the
corridor came under the door, dimly illuminating his bookshelves, glinting off
the glass of his framed pictures. Every one of those pictures was Lee and him together.
Santa Barbara, Madrid, a bar in Saigon. He'd never forget that leave. Finding
Lee so unexpectedly in the middle of a war had led to a wild, infectiously fun
afternoon, the only one he'd had during his tour of 'Nam. They had left that
bar a wreck, but it had been worth it. Venice, New London.
Even his family picture,
taken at his Annapolis graduation, had Lee in it. Crane was family. From their
very first meeting at Annapolis, Chip had felt drawn to Lee. He found a
fun-loving friend, who quickly became his brother in every sense of the word.
Morton sat up suddenly. If Lee died, that sub was going to the bottom, no
matter what it cost him. He'd make sure of that.
Chip threw the covers
off, swinging his legs out of the bunk. He'd find no sleep here. If Will
couldn't save Lee, he didn't want to be abruptly awakened, or worse yet, be
told in the morning. Let Jamieson try to kick him out. He needed to be there.
His place was at his brother’s side.
Chip reached for his
khaki trousers. Once he knew Lee would pull through, he'd sleep. Morton slid
his feet into his oxfords, quickly lacing them. Snagging his shirt, he opened
the door, thrusting his arms into the sleeves as he left.
He reached Sick Bay
quickly, but hesitated at the door before stepping silently over the hatch sill
into the main room. The lights were low, only enough to illuminate the way
through the exam tables. The decom
chamber door was wide open, which wasn’t normal.
As Morton neared the
door, he heard a rhythmic pumping. He stepped quietly through into the chamber,
stopping behind the pharmacists mate's stool. "Jimmy?"
Talbot turned on his
stool, looking up at him. "Yes, sir?" he asked, laying his clipboard
on his knees.
"How is he?"
Chip forced himself to look at Lee, unmoving on the machine-surrounded bed. He
fought his urge to shove them all away. Steady. Those machines are keeping
Lee alive.
"No better."
The pharmacist's mate rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "His vitals
are too low."
"You look like you
could use some shut-eye." He placed his hand lightly on Talbot's shoulder,
giving him a smile of encouragement.
Jimmy shook his head.
"Doc says one of us has to watch the Skipper at all times."
Morton gazed around the
chamber. Jamieson and Nelson were asleep, stretched out on the other two beds.
They looked exhausted. At least they could sleep. "I'll stay with
him," he offered quietly.
Jimmy raised weary eyes
to him. "Sir, aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
Chip smiled
reassuringly. "I've been in bed since midnight." In,
but not asleep. "You go ahead."
"If you're sure you
don't mind." Talbot rolled his shoulders, shifting, and lifted the
clipboard, making a notation. "I need a cup of coffee from the
galley."
He reached for the
clipboard in Talbot's hand. "What does Doc want watched?"
"B.P., pulse rate
and respiration." Talbot indicated the
figures on the sheet. "If any one of them falls below these levels, or
anything starts acting weird, you're to wake him immediately." Jimmy
stood, stretching wearily.
"I will,"
Morton answered, claiming the still-warm stool. "Take as much time as you
need."
Jimmy nodded, walking
slowly from the chamber. Chip studied the clipboard. Lee's blood pressure had
been a yo-yo all night but during the last two hours it had settled into a
smaller range. If Will had gone to sleep, Lee must be as stable as Jamieson
could get him. Pulse was steady, same with the respiration. Regulated by
machines, he could hardly expect them to be otherwise. Chip looked at Lee, his
fear tightening his chest. You can't die. We need you too much.
Morton remembered when
they lost Captain Phillips. If Lee hadn't been available for reassignment at
the time, Chip could have gotten her, but it was never his wish to command. He
was satisfied with the way things had worked out. He preferred being part of a
team effort, doing his share.
Crane had always been Seaview's
rightful skipper and Chip sure as hell wasn't going to take her from him. Not
now, not ever. Lee belonged in command of this boat.
Morton sighed. Under the
respirator mask, Lee was pale, his features slack. Chip's eyes fell on the
respirator, watching the ceaseless up and down motion. Click-pump-pause.
Cold, unfeeling machines. He pushed off the
stool, going around the respirator. He reached in front of the trailing IV
lines to take up Lee's limp hand. Don't die. We've shared too much together
to have it end like this.
Crane's hand was cold.
Chip gripped it tighter. But there was no response. The machine continued. Click-pump-pause. He released Lee's hand slowly. Get with
it. Jimmy will be back soon. Morton started to turn back toward the stool
and hesitated, looking down. There had to be something he could do. Crane's
dark hair was hanging down over his forehead.
Chip smiled faintly, remembering
how Lee was always pushing it aside, particularly when he got engrossed in
something. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of Crane’s
hairline, lightly combing the wayward hair back.
Morton heard someone
walking around in the other room. He hoped it wasn't Jimmy, not yet. He wanted
to stay as long as possible, knowing he shouldn't be here, but unable to stay
away. He had other responsibilities. Lee had left Seaview to him and if
he expected to be in the control room tomorrow, he had to sleep. The last thing
Chip wanted was to ask for relief because he couldn't stay awake.
He sat back on the stool
and glanced at his watch. There was a block to fill in on the clipboard. Morton
read the digital number from the respirator. Respiration
fourteen. Still. Chip put his pen to paper and the peeping
sound went suddenly berserk. He jerked his head up. The blue line bouncing
rhythmically not a moment before was all over the scope, erratically flashing,
the peep fast, disjointed.
He leaped from the
chair, grabbing the Doctor roughly by the shoulder. "Will, wake up!"
He shook Jamieson hard. "It's Lee!"
Will’s eyes flew open.
He scrambled off the bunk, beside Crane in two steps. Nelson shot up in the
other bed, looking confused. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Where's Jimmy?"
"I let him go to
the galley for coffee."
Nelson tossed his covers
aside, sliding off the bunk. "What's wrong? What is it?"
"I don't know. I
was watching him. It went haywire," Chip answered, his eyes still fixed on
the wildly flashing monitor. The blue line continued to jump all over the
scope.
"C'mon, settle
down!" Chip heard Nelson mutter tightly beside him, his eyes drawn to the
monitor as well. Chip could see their reflections in the glass of the monitor.
The Admiral was worried, his eyes haunted, shadowed with fear. Nelson turned
toward Jamieson. Chip followed his movement, his eyes widening as he saw the
Doctor sink a long needle into Lee's chest.
"Will?" Nelson
asked uncertainly.
Jamieson's gaze remained
on the EKG monitor.
"Will, he's going
to be all right, isn't he?" the Admiral persisted, an edge building in his
voice.
"Not if he doesn't
stop throwing PVC's!" Jamieson finally answered. "The epinephrine
isn't helping." His eyes went to the doorway. "Jimmy! Get me the
crash cart. Stat!"
Talbot ran from the
doorway, his coffee cup splashing to the floor.
Jamieson met the cart at
the chamber doorway. He snatched up the round paddles, smearing cream on them,
while Jimmy positioned the cart next to the bed. Then he nodded, and Talbot
switched on the machine. Jimmy began reading the voltage. "One
hundred--Two hundred--Three hundred--Four hundred."
"Clear!" Will
answered. Chip took an involuntary step backward, bumping into the other bunk.
Jamieson placed one paddle slightly right of center on Lee's chest, the other
on his lower left side. He pressed the buttons on the paddles and Crane
galvanized. The EKG pattern cleared for a moment, then returned, still
violently erratic.
"Damn," Will muttered.
Jimmy hit the reset
button swiftly. "One hundred, two, three, four
hundred!"
"Clear!"
Jamieson again placed the paddles on Crane's chest, the electric shock jerking
Lee once more. Chip held his breath as the pattern arced wildly on the scope,
then abruptly synced back into normal rhythm. Morton’s gaze remained frozen on
the monitor until the pattern steadied. His legs suddenly refused to hold him
up any more, and Chip dropped onto the bunk, weak with relief.
"Thank God,"
Will sighed heavily, his eyes still glued to the monitor. "I didn't think
his heart could take much more of that."
Chip gazed at Lee, so
still and white. "Will?" Morton turned toward Jamieson, but he never
got a chance to ask his question.
Nelson moved beside him,
his expression troubled. "He's getting worse, isn't he?" he asked,
his voice tight.
Will moved away from the
bedside, sitting down on his bunk, his eyes still on the EKG monitor.
"This didn't help!" he snapped.
Nelson drew back, his
expression falling. He reached out, taking Chip's arm. "Then you don't
need us in the way. C'mon, Chip, you look ready to fall asleep on your feet.
Maybe some coffee--"
Morton didn't want to
leave, the crisis had driven any thought of sleep away, but he let Nelson pull
him off the bunk toward the door.
"Harry, wait."
Jamieson shook his head, then gestured the Admiral toward the bunk. "I
need to talk to both of you."
Chip followed Nelson
back to the bunks, his gaze drawn once more to Lee. Part of him lay there, a part he did not want to lose. Morton turned
away, steadfastly focusing his attention on Will. Lee wasn't dead yet.
Nelson ran a hand
through his hair. "What is it, Will?"
"I had hoped we
wouldn't go through that." Jamieson rubbed his forehead tiredly. "If
it happens again--" He paused. "We need to make a decision."
"About what?"
"We have two
choices. We can keep Lee in here on life support, giving him epinephrine and
hope for the best when the paralysis finally wears off. But if we do that,
there's a possible complication. As long as the curare remains in his body, he’s
paralyzed. It could paralyze him permanently." Will looked at both of them
squarely. "I think you both know how he'd feel about that."
Chip nodded.
"Yes."
Nelson was on the verge
of speaking, but then he glanced at Chip and nodded in agreement.
"Our other option
is a complete blood transfusion to purge the poison. I doubt we'll have any
trouble getting donors. That's not the problem."
"Then what
is?" Nelson asked.
"It could kill
him," Jamieson answered. "There are as many risk factors involved
with a transfusion as there are in leaving the curare to wear off. Lee's been
through severe trauma already. I'm not sure he can take the added strain the
transfusion will put on his system." Will stopped, fixing them with a
level gaze. "I want to do the purge. I think it's his best chance to
survive this. I'd like your permission to proceed."
Nelson turned toward
Chip. Morton caught the barest glimmer of a smile, despite the worry in the
Admiral's eyes. Will's interpretation of next-of-kin wasn't that far off. He met
Nelson's gaze and nodded, feeling relief in the decision. Lee deserved
Jamieson's best shot. He would do the same for either of them. Nelson turned
back to the Doctor.
"Go ahead,
Will."
Jamieson stood up,
nodding, and then motioned Jimmy to follow him out the hatch. Chip started
after him. "I'll go see who’s qualified to be a donor, sir."
"Mr. Morton."
The Admiral's voice was gruff. Chip turned back. Their eyes locked for a moment
as Morton prepared for the order he did not want to hear, to sleep. Unexpectedly
Nelson’s features softened into a tired smile. "Very well, carry on."
Chip looked at him a
moment, startled, realizing he had been given the kind of concession the
Admiral reserved for Lee. Finally there was something he and Nelson could do
together. "Aye, aye," he answered briskly, turned on his heel and
left.
* * * * *
Will Jamieson watched the EKG scope, timing Lee's heartbeats. They were
steady, and as strong as they would probably get without further action. Lee
hadn't thrown any more PVC's, but the danger wasn't over, especially when the
epinephrine wore off. There was too much poison in Lee's system. When those
Russians had decided to kill the Admiral, they wanted to make sure he was dead.
Ten cc's would have done it, but they'd found a level closer to twenty. If
Nelson had taken it, he would have died before anything could have been done.
Lee's youth had helped. He hadn't collapsed right away, barely giving them
enough time to get him on life support. It was time to start the transfusion.
After the poison was removed, the paralysis would end. He only had to keep Lee
alive that long.
He felt right doing
something. Will moved away from the bed, rolling his
shoulders, trying to shake off his tiredness. He'd had little time for sleep
all night. Harry had left to help Chip gather the blood donors. He wished
Nelson hadn't volunteered, but the Admiral would not lie back down after Lee's
crisis had wrenched them both awake in the middle of the night. Nelson had
spent the early morning watching from the other bunk, unable to hide his worry.
Will knew
their friendship went deeper than either man would admit, much as they kept it
secondary to their positions. Nelson allowed no favoritism aboard and Crane
refused any. Their caring still came through. They tended to forget about their
ranks when the other was in danger.
Jamieson smiled as he
heard Chip's calm voice come on the intercom calling the special medical detail
to assemble in crew's quarters aft. Probably all forty-five crew members who
were eligible would volunteer. They only needed sixteen, and Harry would figure
out a way to choose which ones to bring down. They would do this right.
* * * * *
Jamieson had finished a
quick breakfast right before Nelson returned, with his donors in tow. Will
looked out the chamber door, not surprised to see Kowalski in the lead as the
men crowded into the room. When his name had appeared on the list, he figured
the sonar operator would automatically volunteer. Patterson was right behind
him. Some things on board never changed.
Will smiled to himself
as he saw several of the seamen casting furtive looks toward the chamber. Some one would get up their nerve to ask him about Crane
very shortly.
"Doc?" Nick Peatty stood by the door.
"The men would like to know how the Skipper's doing."
"Tell them he's
stable. You in charge?"
"Sort of." Peatty shrugged. "You asked for
off-duty volunteers."
"I'll bet you were
just relieved, too."
Peatty smiled. "Everybody on duty has the wrong blood type. 'Sides, they're busy with the search." Nick turned as
Jimmy called him from the other room. "Thanks,
Will."
Jamieson went to the
chamber door, watching the preparations with one ear cocked for the steady peep
of the EKG monitor. Kowalski lay on the exam table, and Jimmy already had him
hooked into an IV and was drawing blood. Billy had Chief Sharkey helping him
get the others in order. Nick was on the intercom, reporting to the control
room, no doubt. Nelson stood on the other side of Kowalski's bed, discussing
with the sonar man his attempts to track the Russians. The entire main room,
totally transformed from the silence of last night, buzzed with conversation,
most of it about the elusive enemy sub.
Will turned back into
the chamber. One last check of the IV lines and they would be ready to start.
Lee would improve once the poison was flushed from his body. Will
felt optimistic, more than he had in some time and finally in control.
If Crane could hold on through the transfusion, he was sure he could pull him
through. The sooner they started the better.
* * * * *
Nelson eased himself
onto the bunk inside the decom chamber. He wondered
how the Doctor was managing; Jamieson should be more tired than he was. Will
moved confidently amid the life support machines, hooking in the blood pack and
taking readings, with no sign of weariness. Harry had forgotten about his
fatigue while he had something to do, but the last donor had left half an hour
ago. Jamieson was administering the final pint to Lee. All they could do now
was wait.
Harry gazed at the
machines surrounding Lee on both sides, the IV lines hanging above the bed. He
scrubbed a hand across his forehead. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but he
could not rest. Not until Lee was out of danger and they had dealt with the Russian
sub.
Jamieson glanced in his
direction. Harry tried an encouraging smile. Will returned it as he hung the
blood pack from the IV stand. Then he motioned for him to come over.
Nelson pushed off the
bunk and gingerly stepped around the respirator.
"It's starting to
help," Will told him. "Look."
He extended a clipboard.
Harry saw neat columns of figures covering the paper, but he couldn't get his
weary eyes to focus. He pushed the clipboard back to Jamieson. "Mind
explaining to a tired layman?"
Will grinned and
indicated the middle column. "That's his blood pressure. Before the
transfusion we had him stable at about sixty. It's risen ten points since we
started giving him blood. It fluctuated at first, but now it's a gradual but
steady rise. His respiration improved and his heart rate is picking up
too."
"What about the
paralysis?"
"It's going away. Slowly." Jamieson smiled again. "It should be
completely gone by supper time."
"Then--" Harry
looked at the clipboard again as the figures clicked with the implications in
Will's words. He could barely contain his relief. "Lee's going to make
it?"
"Unless he has a
reaction."
"How long --"
His words tumbled over each other. "I mean -- is that likely?
"You mean how long
before you can tell the crew?" Jamieson asked, amused.
"Damn it,
yes!"
"I want you to wait
another hour, to be sure."
After all they'd been
through he needed to make that announcement. The crew needed to hear it! Then
Harry realized Will was right. They had survived the worst of it last night. The
extra hour seemed so little for Jamieson to ask. He glanced back at Lee and
suddenly the mechanical maze of machines that surrounded him didn't seem as
ominous as they were moments ago.
"All right, Will,
it's your show." Nelson rubbed a hand across his neck, giving attention to
the persistent ache that had settled in his shoulders. He started to go back to
his bunk, but stopped as he felt Will's hand on his shoulder. Nelson turned
around.
"Do me another favor?" Jamieson asked quietly.
"Sure, Will."
Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"Lie down. You make
me tired looking at you." Jamieson raised a hand. "You don't have to
sleep, but close your eyes for a few minutes. You'll be surprised how much
better it will make you feel."
Harry couldn't help
grinning. "You've already done that."
* * * * *
When Harry opened his
eyes several hours later, Will greeted him with the news that Lee's blood
pressure had risen further and the paralysis was almost gone. Lee was still
unconscious, but had lost most of his pasty white pallor. Jamieson didn't
appear worried as he sat on the other bunk, writing on his clipboard.
Nelson tried
unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. He was still tired. The long hours were all
jumbled in his mind. He glanced at his bunk longingly for a moment and then
consulted his watch. If he left now, he could catch Chip before he went to
supper. The news was long overdue. Coffee wasn't a bad idea either.
He caught Will's eye,
indicating he was leaving. The Doctor nodded as Harry carefully tiptoed past
Jimmy, sacked out in a rack in the main room.
Both Chip and Randy were
in the control room. They looked like sleep wouldn't hurt them, either. Randy
managed a wan smile for Harry as he came up to the chart table. Chip held a
steaming cup of coffee cradled in both hands, sipping it slowly. He gestured
toward the tray on the chart table. "Cookie's been putting in overtime.
Help yourself."
Harry reached for a cup.
A quick glance around showed nearly everyone in the room had one. His eyes
narrowed as he saw more than the usual watch on duty. Several stations had both
A and B-watch personnel present. Evidently some of A-watch didn't want relief.
They considered themselves The Skipper's Watch. It was wise of Chip not to
force them.
Morton could use every
hand until they cornered the Russian sub. The crew had a personal stake in
getting the man responsible for poisoning Lee. Every man on board was itching
to show that Seaview was not to be trifled with.
"Anything new on
the search?" he asked between sips of coffee.
"We're working on a
solid fix now. We've been within range for about an hour." Chip smiled at
Randy. "Our Engineering wizard's been busy."
"She's has a good
reactor," Randy answered modestly.
Nelson glanced at the
sonar console. Both Kowalski and Patterson had headsets on as Kowalski keyed in
the sweeps. As he watched, Patterson nudged Kowalski.
"Hit that phase
again. You bounced off him."
Kowalski nodded. "Yeah." He quickly reset the scope, and a green
blip appeared at the very bottom of the screen. He leaned back in his chair,
grinning widely. "Mr. Morton! We got him! Target,
bearing two-oh-two."
Chip turned to Nelson.
"That's it, sir. He's locked into the tracking system. We shouldn't have
any more trouble staying on him."
Randy grinned. "Bet
he's sweating."
"Now we can track
him, what's our next move?" Chip asked.
Harry rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. "You're prepared if he launches an attack?"
Chip nodded. "I had
Rod deploy the full defense screen as soon as we came into range."
"Good." Harry
paused, considering their options. He looked at his two commanders, a sly smile
tugging at his mouth. "Let's treat him to his own game for a while. Stay
in range, so he knows we're here, but don't do anything."
"That will drive
him nuts," Randy said, nodding his approval.
"I think it's time
we reciprocated," Nelson replied.
"How long do we
play cat and mouse?"
"As long as
necessary, Chip. I want to wait until Lee can be with us. It’s
four days to the nearest port. There's no place they can go where we can't
follow them."
"Wait--"
Chip's blue eyes went wide with hope. "For Lee?"
Harry couldn't stop his
grin. "Will gave me the good news a little while
ago. The transfusion worked."
Morton banged his fist
on the chart table and began to laugh. Kowalski grabbed Patterson, a wide grin
on his face and they smacked hands in their special handshake. A loud whoop,
quickly muffled, came from the radio room as the word traveled like lightning
down the length of the control room.
Chip punched Randy
affectionately on the shoulder. "Of course we'll wait, right?"
"Right!"
"Then it's
settled." Harry cocked an eyebrow at both of them, enjoying the crew's
reaction. "Maybe now you two can get some sleep."
Chip raised an eyebrow
at Randy, chuckling. "What's that?"
Randy grinned. "Can
I have first dibs?"
Harry laughed at their
banter. "You’d better pass the word to the rest of the crew or the
grapevine will beat you to it."
"I'm probably too
late already," Chip answered wryly.
Harry shook his head.
"Let me know if the Russian tries anything. I'll be in Sick Bay."
"Aye, sir!" Morton answered, the snap back in his
voice.
Harry smiled to himself
as he walked the length of the control room to the starboard hatch. Things were
definitely starting to look up.
* * * * *
Jamieson glanced up from
disconnecting Crane from the respirator as Nelson came through the chamber
door. He nodded a greeting and returned his attention to Lee, letting Harry
resume his usual post on the bunk.
As he worked, Will heard
Chip's voice come on the intercom and announce Lee's recovery. The loud cheer
that echoed through the boat made him smile. He wished Lee was awake to hear
it.
When he had stowed the
last of the equipment in the respirator cabinet, he turned to Nelson. "I
don't suppose there's any way I can persuade you to lie down again." Will
came over to the bunk. "At least not until I give you a status
report."
Harry returned his
smile. "He's better. I can see that."
"Yes. The paralysis
is gone. He should be able to resume light duty in a few days.”
"If Lee's awake and
able to walk, he'll want his command back."
Will smiled
wickedly. "Who says he'll be awake?"
"Lee won't like
that."
"Well, we won’t
have to worry about that showdown until at least tomorrow."
Nelson looked at Lee and
another smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He reached out, gripping Will's
arm. "Thank you."
"To steal the
Captain's excuse," Will replied quietly, "that's my job, sir."
"Just because Lee--"
Harry began exasperatedly as he dropped his hand.
"You shouldn't have
a reputation for accomplishing the impossible. Then we all wouldn't emulate
you." Jamieson chuckled. "C'mon, let's go to the wardroom and eat
some supper. Then I intend to sleep all night. I hope you have the same
plan."
Nelson hesitated,
glancing at Crane again. Will laid his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"He won't even know
you're here. I promise as soon as Lee comes around, I'll wake you."
"All right." Harry pushed off the bunk. "After you,
Doctor."
* * * * *
Harry was brought awake
by someone's gentle shaking. He hardly remembered crawling into the rack last
night. "What's the matter?" Nelson asked, sitting up abruptly as he
realized he was in the main room of the sick bay and Jamieson was beside him.
"Nothing's the
matter," Will hastily reassured him. "I
promised you could be there when Lee wakes up."
"He's
conscious?" Harry swung his feet off the bunk.
"Not yet."
Jamieson held up a cautionary hand. "It won't be much longer."
Harry followed him into
the chamber. The machines were back in their places, no longer ringing the bed.
Looking at Lee now, it was hard to believe he'd been through so much. Crane
looked sacked out from a double or triple watch, except for his bruised face.
As he watched, Lee
shifted on the mattress, a small smile coming to his mouth. Wonder what he's
dreaming. Probably swimming after a mermaid. With
everything Jamieson had given Lee, he probably felt no pain at all.
Jamieson moved to
Crane's side. "Lee. Time to wake up."
Crane responded
sluggishly, moving once again.
Jamieson persisted.
"Lee, I know you hear me."
Lee twitched, his head
rolling slightly to the left.
At Will's glance, Harry
added his encouragement. "Open your eyes, son."
Crane's eyelids
fluttered apart. He blinked several times, until finally his eyes remained
open.
"Welcome back,
stranger." Will smiled down at his patient.
Lee shook his head
slightly as his eyes closed again. A moment later, he had them open again, smiling
faintly as Jamieson placed his stethoscope on Crane's wrist.
"Gone... long...
time, Jamie?" Lee asked, barely audible, visibly surprised at the effort
it took him to talk.
"Long enough,"
Will answered gruffly. "We almost didn't pull you
through."
Lee looked confused,
then his brow unfurrowed. "Found...
antidote?"
"No," Jamieson
replied. "There is no antidote for curare. It can be treated, however. With the proper facilities. You're damn lucky our decom chamber is so complete."
The Doctor's irony was
lost on Lee as he struggled to stay awake, searching groggily for his IV line.
"Wh--what... feeding
me?"
"Nothing." Will spread his hands innocently.
"You can't fight off curare and not feel it. Your whole body was paralyzed
for hours."
"Why... in decom--" Lee's voice began to slur.
"That's more than
enough questions." Will cut him off. "Go to
sleep."
"Aye... sir." Lee barely got the words out before he drifted off.
Harry pulled the blanket
up over Crane's shoulders, exchanging an amused glance with Jamieson.
"He never changes,
does he?" the Doctor remarked, grinning wryly.
"He'll give us both
gray hair."
"I thought he
already did," Jamieson answered, laughing. "Except I'm afraid that's
going to affect you more than me." Will ruefully passed a hand over his thinning
hair. "I don't have enough to worry about."
Harry joined in the
Doctor's laughter with relief. When Lee was well enough, they were going to
have a talk about his expendability. A very long talk.
* * * * *
Chip came into Sick Bay
quietly. He had Will’s permission to visit, but if Lee was asleep, he wasn’t
going to wake him. To see his friend would be enough. Lee had been moved out of
the decom chamber and was in a bottom rack in the
semi-darkened main room.
Even in the dim light,
Morton could see improvement. Chip looked around for a tray table to put his
steaming mug down on. There was one by the exam table that would do. He put the
mug on it and rolled it over by Lee’s rack, next to the chair at the foot of
it.
He had left Nelson in
the wardroom with Will. Morton wouldn’t stay long. He looked down at his
sleeping brother to find half open hazel eyes gazing back at him. Chip smiled.
“Ah, so you are awake. Will said you might be.”
Lee shifted slightly on
the bed. “Heard something.”
“That was me.”
“Lummox,” Crane
muttered.
Morton raised a hand.
“Hey, if you’d rather sleep, I’ll take my report and...”
Lee’s eyes opened wider
at that. “Report?”
“It is eight
o’clock, Lee.”
Crane was immediately
much more alert. “Report, mister.”
“We found that Russian
sub. I don’t think he’s happy we did. So far he hasn’t engaged us and keeps
trying to run, but there is no suitable place around here to ditch us.”
“Good.” Crane tried to
scoot himself higher onto the pillow, but didn’t have the strength.
“Do you want to sit up?”
Chip asked quietly.
Lee shook his head.
“Keep talking. That helps.”
“We’re waiting for the
Russian to either make a hostile move or surrender.”
“Defenses up?”
Chip nodded. “He can’t
do anything we don’t know about, but he’s too stubborn to admit the game is
over. If he won’t surrender, we may have to destroy him. The Admiral’s aware of
the situation.”
“Keep the boat safe.”
“I will.” Chip reached
down and curled his hand around Lee’s shoulder. “I definitely plan to give her
back to you in one piece.”
Lee sighed. “Jamie said
don’t even ask when, so you’ll still have to handle it.” Crane peered up at
him. “I’m sorry about the last couple days.”
“I’ll wait until you are
strong enough. Then I will kick your ass from bridge to keel,” Morton
answered.
Lee dropped his gaze.
“Chip, I—
“I know and so does he,
but that won’t save you.”
A sheepish smile came to
Lee’s lips. “I deserve that. Do I get any slack for not dying?”
Morton pretended to
think. “I’ll consider it.”
Crane’s smile widened
into a grin as he sagged back into the pillow.
Chip lifted his hand
free, reaching over for the mug. “I brought you a nightcap with Will’s
compliments.”
“Jamie changed his mind
about the coffee?” Lee asked hopefully.
“No. Don’t press your
luck. There’s more milk than chocolate, but at least it’s hot.”
“It will put me to
sleep,” Crane groused.
“And when you wake up,
you’ll be another day closer to getting out of here.”
“That I’ll drink to.” Lee pushed himself higher in the bed. “Hand it over.”
* * * * *
Chip Morton was
expecting trouble. Brinkmanship was a tricky game, one he didn’t normally
enjoy, but the Russians had asked for it. Murder, attempted
murder, kidnapping, assault. Chip believed a little high seas justice
was definitely called for.
They had to get a target
lock on the Russians first. The Alfa had gone through every maneuver there was,
trying to shake loose from them, but everyone on board was determined they
would not escape. The crew stayed at their stations, relieving each other in
turn, so there was always a fresh pair of eyes keeping watch on the green blip.
Eventually, with him and
Randy setting the example, everyone caught up on lost sleep. Of course, Lee was
still noticeable absent, but Chip knew Crane would correct that as soon as
possible.
Chip was glad he was not
the one who would decide the fate of the Russians. It would be very satisfying
to sit back, hear the roaring whoosh and imagine the Russians disappearing in
an implosion. The Russians had weapons equal to their own, so the Seaview
crew had to be extremely careful they did not end up as a target. Maybe he
could fire a few fish, as a surprise, right up their—
Chip grinned wolfishly. That would be very nice.
Any action they took
here had the potential to start something they might not be able to stop. Now matter how justified they were in going after the
Russians, if their revenge was interpreted as an act of war, the safety of the
whole planet was at risk. Chip walked over to the Weapons console.
Rod glanced up as Morton
leaned over his shoulder. “No activity, Commander. I bet he’s chicken. Probably
afraid we’ll blow him out of the water.”
“Wouldn’t you be careful
if we were after you?”
“Sure.” Rod shrugged. “I
know what we have. He doesn’t.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Chip
cautioned.
“I hate waiting. The
only good thing is that has to be worse for him.”
“He should have thought
of the consequences of attacking our research station,” Morton replied. “It’s
the Admiral’s decision. Right now, all we do is defend
ourselves.”
“That’s covered,
Commander.”
“I know.” Chip laid his
hand on the officer’s shoulder. They were ready for whatever the Russian had
planned.
Morton reseated himself
at the chart table and pulled his clipboard in front of him to make some notes
for his log entry. He had only managed a brief paragraph when the general
quarters alarm began howling. Chip shot to his feet. “Two fish! Hot! 90 thousand feet and closing!” Rod read from his console as
fast as the tracking computer flashed the information.”
The sonar report came a
moment later. “Contact. Bearing
one-twelve. Mark!”
“Evasive action!” Chip snapped. “Left full rudder. Ten degree down bubble.” Craig was on the mic, giving his order to the engine room as the helmsman
and planesman complied. The last station reported
manned and ready as the alarm cut off.
Chip reached for the
edge of the table as the nose of the sub tilted downward. There was a clatter
of footsteps on the spiral stairs behind him. That would be Nelson. Morton was
not expecting the person who came through the starboard hatch.
Clad in sick bay greens,
Lee was trying to walk toward him, but the angle of the deck made staying on
his feet a major effort. Crane lurched to a halt by the chart table.
“Status report, Mr.
Morton,” Lee demanded, his voice nowhere near command strength as he gripped
the table to stay upright. Whether or not Crane was up to it, there was no
doubt he was taking command.
Chip straightened. “All stations manned and ready. Two
targets, closing. Range!”
“Fifty thousand yards!” Rod supplied promptly.
Crane exchanged a look
with Nelson, who nodded.
“Nail those fish, Mr.
Morton!” Crane ordered.
“Aye, sir.” Chip turned to the weapons console. “Fire when ready,
Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.” Rod punched the combination of buttons on his console that would
activate the torpedo defense system. The computer hummed, coordinates flashed
across Rod’s monitor and the boat lurched slightly as their defense screen was
launched. The homing devices would lock on the Russian torpedoes and take them
out long before they ever reached Seaview.
Chip began counting. Five. Six. Ski and
Pat hurriedly removed their headsets. Fourteen.
Fifteen. A muffled boom came from starboard,
followed by a second explosion.
Sparks’ voice came over
the intercom. “Stand by for shock wave.”
Chip turned back to the
chart table and grabbed Lee by the arm, pulling Crane toward the stool. Nelson
came around the table to help. Crane did not have the strength to resist as
they sat him down on the stool and moved in on either side of him. Lee’s
'I’ll-settle-with-you-later' look would have wilted one of the crew as Crane
reached out to take hold of the table, but Chip only smiled and wedged himself
in tighter. Jamieson had worked too hard to let Lee go flying into the stairs.
The shock wave struck,
heeling them over and then back again. Chip watched his clipboard go skidding
off the table onto the deck as he concentrated on keeping his feet and his hold
on Lee. Morton leaned into the stool, thankful for the solid welds that kept it
attached to the deck.
There was barely time to
rebrace before the second wave hit. Chip bent his
knees, going with the motion until Seaview righted herself, each rock
back and forth diminishing until the boat was back in trim.
Morton felt something
tugging on his hand. Glancing down, he found Lee trying to disengage his grip.
“I’m all right, Chip,”
Crane insisted softly, impatiently.
“You should see what you
look like,” Morton replied, grinning down at him as he let go.
Lee glanced down and
chagrin crossed his features as he took in his baggy sick bay greens, but that
didn’t stop him from reaching for the microphone. Amplified, his voice sounded
stronger than it was. “Damage control, all sections, report status!”
“I have a firing
solution,” Chip stated as they waited for the reports to come back.
Lee looked over at
Nelson. The Admiral started to say something, but was interrupted by the
reports coming in over the comm. No serious damage. Nelson’s brow furrowed as
he gazed back at Lee. Crane’s bruised face was far from healed and as Chip
watched, he could see Nelson’s jaw tighten.
The Russians needed to
pay. For Andy and Gary. And for what they had done to
Lee.
Something unspoken
passed between Lee and Nelson as they stood looking at each other. Lee shook
his head once. The Admiral frowned. Then they both turned and looked at him.
Chip knew what he was
being asked. It would be so easy to answer the Russians with a similar barrage,
but it wasn’t the right answer for this particular problem. Chip lifted his
hands, shrugging, indicating he would support whatever they decided.
Nelson nodded as Lee
picked up the mic again. “Sparks, hail that boat.
Find me someone to talk to.”
Chip accepted the
clipboard that a crew member handed him. Let the Russians try to talk their way
out of this one.
A few moments later, the
comm crackled to life. “This is Commander Dansky. Continue to pursue us and next time we will not
miss.”
Nelson motioned for Lee
to hand him the mic, an evil grin on his face. “This
is Admiral Harriman Nelson,” he said and waited.
There was dead silence
on the channel. Lee started grinning as well. Nelson clicked the mic once for effect. “You have a murderer on board. Release
him to me under the Geneva rules and I will permit your vessel to leave this
area, unmolested. Continue to protect him and I cannot answer for what will
happen to your boat.”
“I do not know what you
are talking about.”
“And here I was, trying
to be civilized about this.” Nelson’s voice went cold. “Let us not play games.
You know who I want and why. If you don’t give him to me, I will destroy all of
you. There’s no need to put your crew at risk for him.”
After a very long pause,
Dansky came back. “I must speak to my government. May
I have some time?”
“Three hours. Don’t try
anything. My crew is extremely trigger happy at the
moment. I won’t be able to stop them.”
“I will relay your
request.”
The transmission ended.
“They aren’t going to
give him to you,” Chip said. “They’d rather send him to Siberia.”
“That would be fine with
me.” Nelson hooked the mic back onto the table. “Now
the Colonel knows I’m not dead and all his plans have failed. Siberia may be
too good for him.”
There was movement down
by the radio shack as the crew stepped aside to let Will Jamieson through the
hatch. The Doctor was not happy as he came down to where the three of them
were.
“You’re AWOL.” Will came
to a stop in front of Lee’s stool. “I did not take you off sick list. You have
one minute to relinquish your command before I do it for you. The emergency is
over!”
“Not until we stand down
from battle stations,” Lee replied.
Jamieson reached out to
take Crane’s arm. “You’re in no condition to be here. I don’t care if the
entire Soviet Navy is shooting at us!”
“I feel fine.” Lee tried
to shake loose.
“That’s adrenaline and
it won’t last.”
“He got here, didn’t
he?” Nelson interjected.
Jamieson turned his
glower on the Admiral. “He’s not up to it!”
“I want him here.”
Lee looked over at
Nelson, startled. Chip was surprised as well. Nelson nearly always backed the
Doctor.
Will shook his head.
“No. I won’t be suckered again. Let me do my job, sir!”
“Any chance of a
compromise?” Chip broke in, trying
to diffuse the situation before all three of them started shouting at each
other.
Nelson moved closer to
Crane, but remained silent. Jamieson looked at both of them flanking Lee and
shook his head. “Why do you want him here, Harry?”
Nelson shrugged. “Lee
has to tell the president how we are going to handle this mess. It’s his right
after what they did to him.”
Crane dropped his eyes
to the chart table.
Will shifted his grip
down to Lee’s wrist and quickly took his pulse. “Look at me,” he requested
quietly.
Crane raised his head
defiantly.
Jamieson suddenly
smiled. “You will come back when you get tired? I promise you, you will get
tired.”
“Yes, Jamie,” Lee
answered. “You have my word.”
“He’s all yours,
gentleman. I’d better not get a call he’s passed out and needs a ride
back to Sick Bay or I’ll keep him an entire week.”
Jamieson sounded
serious. Chip nodded. “We’ll watch out for him.”
Lee swiveled on the
stool, looking up at Morton. “Are you sure I’m in charge here?”
Chip shrugged. “Give me
an order. Do you want Sparks to call the President?”
Jamieson laughed. “You
three figure it out. I’ll see you soon, Skipper.”
“Thanks, Jamie.”
They watched the Doctor
exit the starboard hatch.
Lee turned to Nelson.
“So I’m to call the President?”
The Admiral grinned.
“I’ll make the call. They’d never put you through. Once I get him, then you can
talk to him.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * * * *
“Washington on the line,
sir.” Nick Peatty finally had the call back they had been waiting for.
Lee had remained on the stool, making notes for his log while they waited and
was holding his own. Nelson strode down to the radio room.
Chip watched him
listening for almost two minutes and knew Lee was watching as intently.
“Very well, sir,” Nelson
said at last. “If that’s the way it has to be. You make sure the State
Department handles it!” He signaled Nick to end the transmission.
“What’s the decision?”
Crane asked, as the Admiral returned to the chart table.
“The assistant secretary
of state has an appointment with the Russian undersecretary to discuss our
extreme displeasure over what happened at our Marshall’s research station. The
Russians are saying he was a rogue operation. They promised the Colonel will be
tried for what he did. Moscow will contact the Kosigyn
and order them home. When they move out we are to let them go.”
“Typical.” Chip
grimaced.
Lee put down his pencil.
“The lives of two men aren’t worth a war, Chip.”
“If it had been the
lives of three men, they might have had their war,” the Admiral replied,
cocking his head to see what Crane had written.
Lee passed the clipboard
to Nelson. “No, they wouldn’t. You would have done the right thing, even if I
wasn’t here.”
“Which
makes me very glad you are here, son.” The Admiral handed back
the
clipboard.
“Still want to go to
Manila?”
Nelson thought a moment.
“We’d better stop in at the Marshalls and set things right there before we
leave the area.”
“Can you get us back on
course, Chip?”
“Half a minute.” Morton began the calculation. He looked over at both men. “Not
even one fish up the stern as good riddance?” he asked.
Nelson smirked, while
Lee shook his head.
“No, Chip,” the Admiral
answered. “I promised we’d behave.”
“Very well, sir.” Morton
finished the calculation. “New course one eight oh. On my
mark. Three. Two. One. Mark.” The deck shifted slightly under them as the crew
put the sub on her new heading.
The Admiral placed his
hand on Crane’s shoulder. “Come forward with me, Lee. I want to talk to you
before you go back to Sick Bay.”
Crane’s face fell at the
mention that his time up was about to end. He glanced over at Chip.
“I have the conn,
Skipper,” Morton replied.
Lee stood up from the
stool. “Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there,” Chip
promised.
He watched them exit the
control room up the spiral stairs. He had a pretty good idea what the Admiral
wanted to discuss. Chip grinned to himself. He doubted it would make any
difference, but let Nelson try. It would make the old man feel better.
Chip could feel things
settling back to normal. Lee would hold Jamieson to his promise of light duty.
Day after tomorrow they would be in Manila. He knew where he needed to take Lee
to speed his recovery. After Crane finished running the
liberty call. Considering what could have happened, they were lucky they
were still going to Manila. With Lee at his side, it was going to be the best
damn leave since that one in Saigon.
The End
©Diane Kachmar and
L.A. Carr, 1985-2004. All rights reserved.