My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

15

 

“How is he?” I heard Chip ask from Sick Bay’s doorway.

“What the...Sick Bay?” I asked, finding myself bundled up in one of the bunks and sat up, overcome by a wave of dizziness.

“Easy, sir,” Doc said approaching. “I had to sedate you. You’ve been out all night.”

 Memories flooded back. “Lee?”

“Still with us. The bullet didn’t hit his heart, but it did graze his pulmonary veins, then went on through his chest cavity and out through his back, grazing two spinal nerves on the way out. The surgeons reported successful surgery to repair the veins, but there was great blood loss before the transfusion of new blood, thankfully, his own that had been stored from various Red Cross donations. And, there was irreparable to damage to the grazed nerves, though minor. Lee’s still unconscious, still intubated as a precaution.....”

“Go on,” I said, seeing his hesitation to continue.

Chip took a breath. “He’s flat lined twice so far.”

“Admiral,” Doc continued, “while the medical report is better than expected,  considering his heart could have been blown to bits, he’s  still critical and...one of the MRI’s showed a possible reduction or even loss of some brain function....”

“I have to go see him! I know, Chip, I know. I’m supposed to put duty first but this is Lee! And...and he’s dying!” “It’s not hopeless yet,” Doc began.

“It was a premonition I’d had, Will. I know now it wasn’t just a dream. I have to be with him! It’s my last chance  to tell him I love him, that I’m sorry for everything I did that I shouldn’t have, and everything I didn’t do that I should have and....”

Doc was already filling up a syringe.

“No! Don’t sedate me again! Please, I need my wits about me.”

“Admiral,” Chip said, waving Will away, and taking my arm, “even if I want to see him, God knows I’m desperate to, I can’t. Neither can you. Amendment 25 is in effect, and we’re still on active wartime service, not to mention the fact that the surgeon general has already complained that Mrs. C. and Joe are in the way. They’ve been at his side since he was taken out of surgery....”

“That shouldn’t preclude me! I’m his father, damn it!”

“The acting president,” Chip said as if I were an errant schoolboy, “has put us all on full alert and...”

“We’ve been on full alert since this whole damn war started!”

“Purple alert, sir. He has reason to believe that an imminent multi- level attack due to national chaos is already in the works. His orders to me were to see to it you get Project Anti-Radiation finished...and to lock you in the lab if need be. He knew you’d want to be at Lee’s side...but in all honesty, sir, what would Lee want you to do?”

I saw Lee’s eyes in my imagination. Sorrowful if I disobeyed, and demanding, expecting no nonsense.

“Damn,” I acquiesced.

“Yes, he’d want you to get the thing invented so we can effectively end this war without bloodshed and sickness. No doubt, if he were conscious he’d want you with him when the end comes...if it comes. Even if unconscious. You know Lee has never shirked doing his duty. I suspect he’d want you to do yours.”

“There’s no guarantee that even if I get my damn calculations and formulas to work that it will stop the PR Alliance!”

“No, but it’s the best chance we have. They’ve already deciphered our intercept software...we had a Fail Safe alert last night. The Conestoga Air Force Base had problems in diverting one of the missiles away...brought it down by a squeak into the Arctic Ocean, though. No explosion...it’s being recovered now. You may be our only hope before the alliance makes a decimating attack on the continent. Lee knows that. And if I know President Lee Beauregard Nelson-Crane, your duty is to do what he expects you to do. Even  if it hurts.”

Of course, Chip was right.

“Very well. For his sake. But I’ll never forgive myself for not being with him at his end...I’ll in the Wardroom then the lab.”

Doc was about to belabor the point that things weren’t necessarily hopeless, but Chip waved him off and he let me be. He knew there was nothing either could say to encourage me that Lee was not destined to fulfil my dream.

***

By the second seating for lunch, I trod wearily down the companionway from the lab and stopped when I heard sobbing from the crew’s quarters. Entering I saw it deserted except for one. Riley was sitting on his bunk, his head in his hands crying as though the world had come to an end. And for him, as in my case, it had.

“Lad?” I said gently as I entered and joined him on his bunk. “It’s okay to cry....my heart’s broken beyond repair too.”

“But...he does have a chance...doesn’t he?” he asked seeking an answer that no one believed in. “The TV said there’s a committee already making funeral plans! Oh God, Oh God! Stick him under all that dirt, where it’s cold and dark and....”

“It’s SOP for Washington. The nation can’t run itself without some preparation. And Doc says it’s not hopeless yet,” I said, though I believed otherwise. Truly I did.

“Ski says he doesn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell to come through this! And he should know, having had all that corpsman training. And that MRI, my God, sir...brain damage, even if by some miracle he does survive and...”

“And how many times,” I interrupted, “has the skipper surprised us by defeating all the odds? And the MRI showed a possibility of brain damage. They don’t know for sure. Now, if I were you, Lad, I’d stop listening to Ski and trust that there’s more to the skipper than the doctors give him credit for.”

“You think he’ll make it? Even after you had that premonition? Yeah, Cookie let it out. By accident...feels real bad about spilling something private you told him....”

“That’s okay, Cookie’s not in trouble.”

The youngster kept looking up at me for an answer to his direct question.

“As for the future,” I began, “no one can say.” Yeah, choose a non-committal answer, but I had to say something, anything to cheer the boy up a little, if only for a little while... “I think we both know the skipper well enough to know he’ll fight tooth, nail, and claw to return to duty...and that means telling any angel of death trying to collect him to bug off.”

“Yeah, he would too, wouldn’t he,” Riley said with a relieved grin.

“When do you return to duty?”

He checked his watch. “About ten minutes.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to wash your face and comb your hair. And Riley, whatever happens, I know the skipper would be proud of you. He always has been.”

I patted his shoulder and departed, leaving him to wonder if I’d get into trouble with the acting president for breaking Naval protocol by referring to Lee as ‘skipper; and as ‘Lee’ to a crewman. Hell, I didn’t care either way. I was a broken man that no kind of official reprimand would hurt any worse than Lee’s imminent death. There had never been a truer son on the face of the planet in all of its history, no truer or finer submarine captain in the history of the silent service, and no wiser or truer president of the United States.

***

Before I grabbed a bite, I headed to my cabin and clicked the intercom.

“Kowalski, report to my cabin.”

“Aye sir.”

It wasn’t long before he arrived, knocking on the open door frame.

“Sir?” he asked, knocking on the door frame. “Chief Sharkey said to take as long as you needed.”

“Now, that wasn’t necessary for him to say...Ski,” I said rising and began to pace, “I understand you told Riley that there’s no hope for the president.”

“That’s right, sir,” he said sadly then, “Have you had some good news?” he added suddenly, his spirits lifted.

The reprimand I was going to give him flew right out the door. He was so hopeful.

“No, nothing like that, I’m afraid. But I need to advise you that if you want to become a good officer, you shouldn’t make assumptions. Especially to those under your command. Do you know you reduced Riley to tears?”

“I was crying too, sir, but he needed to be prepared. We all do.”

“Yes, but don’t repeat your assumptions to others, especially to those under you. Assumptions are not necessarily accurate. Ski, everyone is taking the attempted assassination  of the skipper very hard. You should know better than to make it worse. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all. You may return to duty. And Ski? Even Doc says things aren’t hopeless.”

“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged gratefully and departed.

 

I had to wonder if I’d been too harsh, but one of the first rules of being a leader is to lead, not to stress your men worse than they’re already stressed out. Seaview was already a hotbed of grief. And no doubt about it, it was going to get worse.

***

By the time I’d finished lunch, and was back in the lab, it was all over the boat that the president was battling the angels of death so fiercely that even the angels Gabriel and Michael were taking bets. Ski had even drawn a cartoon sketch of it.  Of course, its doubtful money is exchanged in heaven but it’s the thought that counts.

 

 “Breaking news,” Sparks voiced over the PA and the monitors came to life....

“...We’re bringing you images courtesy Walter Reed,” the CNN reporter said. “Mrs. Crane, escorted by Cdr. Jackson, President Nelson-Crane’s chief personal advisor and aide de camp, are leaving the hospital. We’re told both have been at the patient’s side since the attempted assassination.”

As the limo left, escorted by police the screen changed to the White House Press office where the broken flagpole and had vanished, but none had replaced it.

 “...Afternoon,” the press secretary said to the crowd. “The Surgeon General has informed us that the president regained consciousness about forty five minutes ago and his condition semi-stable. Instead of a long narration we’ve been granted permission by Mrs. Crane, and the acting president to  air the ICU’s security recordings. Be warned some of the recordings may be intense with some exposed nudity....”

The screen turned to the ICU where Lee lay, unconscious and intubated and hooked up to a couple of IV’s. Monitors beeped and displayed his vital signs.  He was unshaven and as usual, had a goodly amount of five O’clock shadow. His eyepatch had been removed along with the prosthesis, and all of his jewelry.

 

There were no windows in his room.

 

Mrs. C. and Joe were beside him, their clothes still stained with his blood. Both looked absolutely worn out but each took turns holding his hand, and rubbing their fingers through his.

 

Click time, click time. As a new section of digital recording played....

Suddenly the monitors began to beep.

“...He’s in REM!” one of the several doctors and nurses, male and female,  on 24/7 duty with him yelled out, in total shock, I thought.

Lee’s eye was checked. And even I could see it twitch back and forth and up and down.

“....What does it mean?” Mrs. Crane asked, terrified.

“...It means he’s dreaming, not comatose any more!” Joe exclaimed. “At a boy, Lee! Get your butt back to us! C’mon, wake up!”

There were quite a few raised eyebrows, but the doctors were too busy checking Lee’s vitals to reprimand the mere commander regarding his phraseology toward his commander in chief. Well, former, as technically the VP had taken over as acting president.

Suddenly Lee’s eye opened and blinked, then grunted and groaned unable to speak grabbing the base of the respirator in his mouth, trying to pull it out before anyone could stop him.

“...I’ll do it!” Joe told him and added his hands to Lee’s to help pull it out. And of course, it was painful and caused severe gagging reflexes.

“What are you doing?” the surgeon general said. “He needs the oxygen! Stop it! That’s an order, Commander!”

“So court martial me!” Joe said as he and Lee continued to pull the damn thing out. While it only took seconds to free Lee of it, it felt like eternity to me.

Once out, Lee was coughing badly and spitting up blood.  Joe grabbed Mrs. C.’s bottle of ice water and placed it inside Lee’s mouth. Lee swallowed gratefully but with a little difficulty. The Surgeon General, checking Lee’s lungs, seemed confused. By then the VP, correction, acting president arrived but stood in the background.

“...I...can...breathe fine,” Lee said then, “Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, my baby, my baby,” Mrs. C. said bending her head over Lee and kissing him all over his face.

Then he managed to croak, “Status?” toward Joe.

“...You were shot,” a nurse began, “and...”

“...He means the country!” Joe interrupted. “Still got the PR Alliance on our back. They might have figured out our intercept signals...Conestoga barely managed to push one of their missiles into the Arctic Ocean...it’s being recovered. No new terrorist attacks to report and the kid who shot you has been arrested.“

“...He...seemed...awfully young...bought by the PR?”

“...Maybe. He’s verified Down Syndrome...they tend to believe what they’re told. For all we know he was telling the truth about him not knowing it was a real gun. Said a woman gave it to him saying you really liked paint ball and shooting you with a paint pellet to match your shirt would make you happy.”

“...Good God, nobody’s that stupid!” the acting president said. “How you doing, Lee?”

“...I’m fine...sort of...maybe,” he added, looking at the IV’s  in his arms and then pulling down the sheet covering his chest to finger the antiseptic stained skin on the stitches over where his sternum had been cracked open. “Cheech! God, no wonder...it...hurts...”

“...We’ll increase the meds,” the Surgeon General said and his team got to work filling a syringe to add to one of the IV’s.

“...Wait...need to tell Harry something....”

“...You need to rest, sir. Tell him Mr. President!”

“...You got drafted, huh?” Lee asked him.

“...No thanks to you...but I really hesitate you speaking to Nelson.”

“...Just a few...minutes...pretty please?”

It might not have been a very presidential request, but it was his iconic little boy lost look that had done wonders for him to get his own way with his family and friends, and even Will Jamison.

“...I can get him on my cell,” Joe told the acting president.

“...Very well but limit it. Er...that phone have a secure setting?”

“...Not secure...just need...to give him a...message.”’

“...I’ll be sure he gets it, bro,” Joe said. “Doc’s right...I can see the pain in your eyes, er, eye.”

“...It’s his twins...they don’t like the names the Nelsons want to give them.”

“...But the Nelson twins aren’t even born yet!” the acting president said.

“...No, but they still don’t...want...the names Harry and Emily have been thinking about. She wants...to...be named Aurora, like the fairy tale princess, and he likes Jimmy. Not James. He specified that.”

“...Oh, yeah. Almost forgot...tell Chip that there’s a short in the firing system control in frame 32.”

“...Shouldn’t he already be aware of a problem?” the acting president asked.

“...No...I was aboard...when I was dead.”

Mrs. C. gasped.

“...The first time. It was the second time I saw the twins...she’s going to be a beauty, lovely green eyes and auburn hair. He’s got blond hair and freckles...I wasn’t allowed to stay long either aboard Seaview or with the twins...George told me I had to come back...”

By now the medical team were whispering to each other and shaking their heads. The cam audio picked up the phrase  ‘brain damage’.

“...George, sweetheart?” Mrs. C. asked.

“...George! George Washington. Abe wasn’t happy I had to return here...he knows what it’s like in the Oval Office. Sometimes hated having to do his duty almost as much as me...”

“...Abe?” Mrs. C. asked. “As...as in Abraham Lincoln?”

“...You don’t believe me,” Lee sighed. “Yes, George Washington! Yes, Abe Lincoln! I wasn’t dreaming! And it wasn’t the first time I’ve died...what’s it going to take to convince any of you, the Good Lord from On High to come down here himself and tell you? He’s got too much going on and to do right now for that!”

“...Easy, Lee,” Joe said. “I remember Mr. Glad and Mr. Bliss...did you see them?”

“...Not this time...guess I wasn’t on their list of appointments.”

“...Who the hell are Mr. Glad and Mr. Bliss?” the surgeon general asked.

“...They’re angels of death,” Joe said. “Nelson talked them into rescheduling their appointments to take Lee and me. It was way back and...no, I’m not making this up!”

“...I think we’ll have a little talk later, Commander,” the surgeon general said.

“...Hey! You can’t talk to him like that!” Lee yelled, furious, his voice slightly less strained. “We were scheduled to die! And I died this time. I flat lined and found myself  aboard Seaview where she told me she was hurting! I saw Riley then I found myself back here but couldn’t move or speak. Later I flat lined again and found myself  Upstairs with the twins! And with George! And Abe! And...”he began to cough. “Damn, ..I think.. that... factory debris is.. really... a... cold.”

Some purple liquid was forced into his mouth at the direction of the surgeon general,  and Lee’s Adam’s apple was pressed to help him swallow.

“...An oral anesthetic,” the surgeon general explained to Mrs. C.  “And a sedative.”

“...Shit,” Lee muttered, then, “sorry, Mom. I sure have learned how to be profane while president...better warn your wife,” he added to the acting president. “Drop the charges against the kid. A pardon won’t clear him. It’ll just say he was guilty in the first place. But I don’t buy it. I think he believed whoever approached him and couldn’t tell he was firing a real bullet from a real gun...”

“..I’ll do nothing of the sort until there’s more than hearsay. And I’m the president now, not you. My decision, Mr. Nelson-Crane. You’re in no fit mind to make any decisions. Keep him secure so he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. And no visitors.”

“...Now, wait a minute,” Mrs. C. said.

“...It’s for his own good.”

“...He may be a little confused but he’s bound to be with all those meds you gave him to stop the bleeding and perform surgery on him...”

“...I’ll allow a daily supervised visit of about ten minutes until he’s released from ICU to the psychiatric wing. In the meantime, there will of course, be further MRI’s. Once you’ve escorted Mrs. Crane back to the White House, commander, you will clean yourself up and report back here to the surgeon general. Understood?”

“...Aye, aye, sir.”

Then the screen went blank and the press secretary took the mike.

“...As you’ve seen, President Nelson-Crane may be under medical care for some time. Experts in the field of brain disease and dysfunction will be assisting in further examinations and tests. Meanwhile the acting president had the nation’s matters well in hand. There’s not much more I can say, but will take your questions....”

The room erupted. Gawd, it was awful. Those agreeing that Lee had had near death experience, those who thought it all hogwash and his brain was clearly compromised. And the press secretary only able to answer with “The US government cannot agree or disagree on the truth as to near death experiences.’ And so it went. Not a word was mentioned about Joe, nor what would happen now with Mrs. Crane, and the First Pets.

As for me, I had NIMR pull some classified info from when Lee and Joe had first met Mr. Glad and Mr. Bliss and the dickens of a time I had convincing them alter the boys scheduled appointments. But officially stating what I’d experienced? Would I too, be on my way to a brain scan and psychoanalysis? Right now I had a job to finish. To complete my calculations in order to disperse lead atoms in such a way as to neutralize the radiation in a nuclear bomb.

 

I also knew better than discuss the hospital security tapes with anyone as my present state of mind could no more concentrate on my calculations nor the fact (as I knew it to be) of Lee’s side trip to Seaview and Heaven, or wherever the Heaven is that unborn children live.

Aurora and Jimmy Nelson. No doubt Emmie is going to have a conniption.

And so I’m taking a break in my cabin, knowing full well, she’s going to call. And I have to remain calm. And what about my premonition? It was so real...could it have been someone else’s fate I saw? But what about Lee’s rings on the casket? Was Lee’s death still imminent?

Then I remembered what I’d told Riley, that none of us knows the future. In effect, we simply have to rely on ‘Upstairs’ to make those kinds of decisions that affect our lives and our deaths.

In God We Trust, is the logo on our currency. It’s there for a reason. It’s what our nation is about...or was...we live in troubled times and have long since the founding fathers. But I’m glad the logo is still there, as it reminds us, in the end, In God We Trust, is all we  can really do.

~***~

Chapter Sixteen