My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

31

I had some difficulty sleeping last night and gave up, finding that apparently Chip had as well, finding him, attired for bed, but in one of the Observation Nose loungers, fast asleep.

“How long has he been here?” I whispered to Sparks, who had the conn.

“About an hour,” Sparks whispered back. “We’ve passed Colon, I’m about to take her down. I’ll mute the klaxon.”

“Very well. The captain and O’Brien could use some uninterrupted sleep.”

Sparks nodded with a grin and returned to the ‘Christmas Tree’ to double check that all was ready for Seaview’s descent.

He used our ‘thumbs down’ signal to the men on watch while he took to the periscope.

Ever so slowly and gently, Seaview made her way down on an even keel until he stepped off of the periscope island, and gave the men our ‘level off’ hand signal, then returned his attention to me.

“Periscope depth, sir,” he whispered.

“Good job, Sparks. If you hadn’t told me and if I hadn’t seen the bubbles I would never have known about the dive.”

“Well, like the skipper always said, ‘there’s no ‘I’ in teamwork.”

“Indeed. Carry on.”

“Aye, sir.”

And so I spent a bit of time watching the spot-lit bubbles through the view ports before deciding to return to my cabin.

***

Apparently I’d managed to get in a reasonable amount of winks as I woke up in time for the first seating of breakfast.

The Wardroom was busy, the men happy with the toaster waffles, not so much with the scrambled eggs. Even I could tell they’d been made from the powdered protein mix. Apparently we were out of the frozen liquid egg product.

Still, the eggs weren’t too bad as I used my buttered toast to scoop them up with. And of course there was always ketchup to ‘flavor’ them up a bit, something I’d learned from Lee.

“Morning, sir,” O’Brien told me as he entered. “Slept like a rock. Didn’t even hear the order to dive.”

“That’s because Sparks used our silent signals,” I said. “Yes, I was in the Observation Nose when Sparks took her down. Oh, I wasn’t checking up on him. I couldn’t sleep so I’d decided to sit on the front porch awhile...”

“FYI from the Control Room,” Sparks’ voice came over the PA, “we’ve just passed through the Windward Passage between Cuba and Haiti.”

“Sparks,” O’Brien called out through the Wardroom mike, “You have a magic touch or something? Sure didn’t feel any turbulence.”

“Well, I took her down a bit deeper than periscope depth.”

“That wouldn’t do it. Those opposing currents battle things out too much even at that depth.”

“Actually, I took her down to 350 Ft., sir, we’re back up to periscope depth now.”

“Good job, Sparks,” Chip’s voice said. “Didn’t feel us change depths at all.”

“Thank you sir, but there’s no ‘I’ in teamwork,” he repeated what he’d told me. I had to smile to myself. Lee had really ingrained his philosophy into his crew.

“Then ‘well done’, all. Continue on course.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s taking the conn for the upcoming watch?” I asked O’Brien.

“Capt. Morton, sir. We tossed for it last night. I think he just wants to surface when we get to the Bahama Islands. Great view.”

“Indeed it is,” Jiggs said from the doorway as he entered, stopping by the counter to pour himself some coffee before gathering the rest of his breakfast. “Have a good night, Harriman? Word’s out you were prowling the boat last night.”

“Only a little. Spent some time in the front porch.”

“Ah, one of ‘those’ nights. Concerned about Lee’s upcoming MRI and neurological tests?”

“A bit. When the AMA didn’t even reveal their readings of his others, well....”

“Ready for the big day?” Chip asked as he entered, also stopping by the counter to pour his coffee before all else.

“Big day?” Jiggs asked as he poured syrup over his waffles.

“Lee’s lobster bake, of course, and....”

“Battle Stations! Battle Stations!” Sparks interrupted over the PA.

“What do you have?” Chip demanded through the mike.

“Fail Safe’s been activated!”

“Damn!” Chip said and hurried out, followed by O’Brien and the diners. Even the mess specialists reported to their duty stations.

“That’s impossible,” Jiggs said. “We have no weaponry.”

“Except torpedoes and the Flying Sub’s laser. C’mon.”

***

“DOD piped us into the Situation Room,” Sparks told us Jiggs and I raced into the Control Room and joined Chip and O’Brien by the monitor.

“Captain Morton of the Seaview awaiting instructions,” Chip told the president.

“You can stand down, Seaview,” the president said. “You can hardly fire torpedoes at missiles. And one little laser left in the Flying Sub won’t do much good....”

“Now wait a minute!” we heard Lee’s voice.

“Lee?” I asked, “where are you?”

“On the phone....”

“I told you to keep Nelson-Crane out of this as well, Beaton,” the president said.

“He’s proven himself a valuable tactician, sir. We called him as soon as our satellites showed a new wave of missiles and aircraft headed into our airspace.”

“Chip,” Lee said, “get FS-1 in the air. Bogeys will be arriving in the lower southeast quadrant in about fifteen minutes. The Bahamas Navy and the US Coast Guard there have been notified. They have some firepower and a few aircraft with the anti-nuclear formulation and....”

“Did I give you or your blasted boat permission to do anything?” Siesmen demanded.

“Do you want to go down in history as the man who didn’t give a damn due to a personal grievance with me? What will your popularity be then, especially if certain details are revealed?”

“You’re turning purple, sir,” Beaton told the president. “Please let Seaview do whatever she can.to help.”

“Very well,” the president said. “But it won’t be very much help.”

“Chip, I have an idea,” Lee said. “Vertical dive up angle so she’s tail down, and fire her forward torpedoes as soon as you have a bogey in range. In the meantime have FS-1 launch to fire her laser at other bogeys.”

Several radar and satellite images on the situation room’s monitors showed a barrage of aircraft and missile signals enroute to the US airspace, including ours.

“Incoming toward Washington DC!” a situation room staffer yelled.

“We need to get you to the bunker or to Air Force One,” a general told the president.

“I’m staying. I’m no coward.”

“You can say that after you’ve been flown to safety,” Lee’s voice said.

“You of all people want to save my life?”

“I’m thinking of the nation! We don’t need chaos in the government. General, have the presidential survivors been notified and moved to places of safety?”

“Only three so far, sir,” an aide said as the president was hustled out of the room by some aides.

“Well, hurry them up! Joe? That plane hired yet?”

“Gassed up and waiting. We got a police escort.”

“Harry? Chip?” Lee asked, “God speed to you and Seaview! Time for this mosquito to join our defenses.”

“We’ll leave the channel open, Seaview,” a general interrupted, but it suddenly went to fuzz and we couldn’t bring it back.

“Get the Secretary of Defense!” Chip hollered to the duty Sparks.

“He’s calling us! Audio only.”

“Yes, yes, Seaview, we know. Situation Room’s military multi-communication systems, including radar and satellites have just gone down. You’ll have to do with your own radar if ours was simply hacked again. If not, the enemy may have used some kind of software against our systems. Do what you can. We’re going to maintain radio communication with you.”

“Attention all hands,” Chip spoke into the mike. “We’ll be making a vertical dive in order to fire our forward torpedoes at some bogey’s we’ve been informed that are on their way. Stay at your battle stations and hold on.”

“What can I do, Captain?” Jiggs asked.

“Pray.”

“Getting some social media and broadcast videos,” Sparks said, putting them on the monitor’s split screens.

“Sharkey? You ready to launch FS-1?”

“Ski and me are strapped in.”

“Launch.”

“The Royal Bahamian Defense Force is tied in. Says they have some aircraft in the sky and all of their Navy vessels are in attack mode.”

“Make sure they send FS-1 their signals,” Jiggs ordered, “we don’t want to fire on them by mistake.”

“Our boys know what to do,” I chided him.

“Sorry if I overstepped myself,” Jiggs told Chip as I escorted my old friend to the Observation Nose and out of the way.

My heart was aching. It looked like the US was going to be in for battle of her life.

“...The United States is under attack by the PRA again,” the BBC reporter was saying from her London anchor desk. “It’s estimated that more than twenty five PRA squadrons of jet aircraft and more than thirty missiles have been launched. All US defense systems have been activated. In spite of the anti-radiation formulation on all intercepts, it is expected that there will be massive structural damage from downed aircraft and missile fuselages.”

“...The US Dept. of Defense has reported the loss of all of its satellite systems. The president has been removed to Air Force One, in flight where it will serve as the airborne White House.

“...We’ve also been informed that Seaview’s Flying Sub, is already in the air, ready to shoot down any enemy aircraft and missiles within range.”

“...Canada, the Bahamas, and NATO nations are on alert, and it’s been reported via social media that former President Nelson-Crane has taken to the sky again, but the precise model of aircraft is as yet unknown. It has also been reported that Nelson-Crane and Joe Jackson requested and received several hand guns and rifles from the military police at Andrews Air Force Base. One has to wonder how guns will help in any aerial combat. It is unknown if Nelson-Crane’s new prosthesis has weaponry of its own.

“...We have live coverage of panic in the streets in most major cities In the US. Military bases have already launched their ground to air intercepts and all US military aircraft are on a fast track to shoot down the invading forces. All are using Admiral Nelson’s anti-nuclear formulation to help limit nuclear explosions and radiation poisoning.”

“...The president and those assigned to become acting president should he be killed or incapacitated, are reported to be areas of safety so that the nation can return to normal as soon as possible.

“...Five missiles that were headed toward Washington DC, Philadelphia, Chicago, Atlanta, and Boston have been intercepted, their nuclear warheads neutralized, but debris has impacted Boston Harbor, the Washington Monument, and Independence Hall, damaging the Liberty Bell. Some structural damage has been reported in Atlanta and Chicago with fires and power outages.”

“Urgent to Seaview, this is Travis,” a call came over from one of the split screens.

“Go ahead, Travis,” Chip told the Lt. on the screen of the Travis base ops.

“A PRA missile is repelling our intercepts like a reverse magnet. Trajectory is Los Angeles and...”

Then the screen went blank.

“Get it back!” Chip yelled.

“Lost visual and audio signal,” Sparks said, “but there’s a CNN report....”

“...People are running for cover here in Los Angeles,” the reporter in the field was saying, “as the observatory has been broadcasting its super magnification lens. A PRA missile is about 250 miles away and closing toward Los Angeles. What the hell’s wrong with our intercepts! They look like they’re bouncing off the air next to the missile. 200 miles....170 miles....oh God...honey, I love you...wait....what was that flash of light...a misfire? Looks like its losing speed and altitude.” he muttered while we still heard screams in the background.

But it hadn’t misfired. Not if the sudden blinding light and mushroom cloud meant anything. Along with what sounded like a thousand peals of thunder.

“...We’re still here! We’re still here!” the reporter’s voice was saying before CNN got their visual back. “Looks like it exploded about 150 miles offshore, and about twenty miles above the waves, which are racing toward shore now. I may be crazy, but maybe some kind of lightning got it? I’m being told none of our intercepts or fighter jets made contact. We’re in touch with the Secretary of Defense....”

“...We’re still investigating what happened to our intercepts,” the SOD was saying, “We’re thinking this missile may have some kind of anti-magnetic repellant force. So far, none of the others have managed to evade our intercepts, however new incoming missiles shown on our now functioning radar might have the same repellent feature. We’re having as many of our intercepts degaussed as quickly as possible. This would de-magnetize them in a way so if there are any more of the enemy missiles with this repellant force, they won’t work. As for the flash of light, that was possibly some kind of atmospheric friction. I’d say for the missile to explode this far away from its intended target there had to be an error in its guidance system or it was an act of Divine Providence.”

“Bogeys!” Riley shouted from radar, “two of em’. Thirty miles closing from opposite directions.”

“Vertical Dive arse first!” Chip ordered. “Ready torpedoes!”

“We’ll go after the one to the West,” Sharkey said from the Flying Sub.

“Good luck,” Chip said.

“You too, sir.”

It was the most unusual situation I’d ever experienced, Seaview making an emergency vertical dive, backwards. Though Lee’s idea had seemed feasible, it had never, at least to my knowledge, ever been done before.

It felt weird diving backward. Jiggs and I us used the spiral ladder as handholds. Chip and O’Brien were holding the periscope island’s railing while the crew were safely in their seats.

Once Seaview was steady, and in range, Chip fires the torpedoes. From our deck cam we saw them go up, breaking surface, and headed into the sky like arrows.

“Resume attitude,” Chip ordered.

“We got our bogey!” Sharkey reported.

“Contact!” O’Brien said as two of Seaview’s torpedoes exploded the missile from the east, which fell into the sea, along with our other two torpedoes.

“My god, it worked,” Jiggs muttered.

“Well done, Captain,” the SOD’s voice exclaimed.

“It was the skipper’s idea,” Chip told him.

“Aren’t you the skipper?”

“We still like to call Nelson-Crane the skipper, sir.”

“I see...speaking of Nelson-Crane. I’ll get Base Ops at Andrews....”

“On screen, sir,” Sparks said as a new split screen opened.

“Is Nelson-Crane available?” the SOD asked the clerk.

“Not exactly, sir. You’ll have to use UHF if you want to get in touch with him, but he’s kind of busy with Squadron Echo right now. You can use military frequency to speak with the squadron commander though.”

“Status of the squadron?”

“Shot down four bogey aircraft out of eighteen so far. Eight chutes verified. Bogey’s crashed into an ancient cemetery about four hundred miles from here, some at Logan Airport in Boston, one into the Charles River. Some more into the Potomac...Echo’s working on the remaining eleven.”

“Good job.”

“Do you know how Nelson-Crane is doing?” I asked.

“This is Blue Leader, I’m the squadron commander,” a voice said. “Aside from giving us all heart attacks with him and Jackson leaning out their cockpit windows and firing hand guns and rifles at which ever bogey they could, pretty darn well. Nelson-Crane’s done most of the BFM’s....”

“The what?” Jiggs asked.

“Basic Flight Maneuvers, you know, ‘yo yo’s, ‘barrel rolls’, ‘spiral’s...basic dog fight maneuvers. In any case, three bogeys ejected after our mosquito’s gunfire smashed their tailfins, fuel tanks, firing control systems, cockpit glass, etc. The enemy pilots are being escorted to base by the cops we notified on the ground. Seems they’re requesting asylum.”

“Can you get us a visual of Lee?” Chip asked, forgetting the informality.

“Well, they broke off and headed toward a new squadron of bogeys we have on radar. They want to distract them long enough for us to finish up here before we go after the new squad. Looks double the number of aircraft. I told Mosquito Omega, that’s their handle now, that they don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of surviving in that number of bogey’s. Even if Nelson-Cane has X-ray vision and laser beams. I don’t know if he and Jackson are both crazy or the bravest men I’ve ever known, though I haven’t actually met either of them out of the cockpit yet. They simply flew into our formation and asked permission to help out. Could hardly say no.”

“Pipe me through to their UHF signal,” the SOD said.

“Blue Leader to Mosquito Omega, the SOD’s on the line.”

“Oh hell,” Joe said. “Blue Boy went and got reinforcements to order us back to flight or to base, I bet.”

“We have the new group in our sights,” Lee’s voice said, “ and they’re closing fast.”

“You have a death wish or something?” the SOD shouted. “I’m ordering you back to base!”

“Can’t,” Lee said. “We’re not in the service, remember? And to quote one of our founding fathers, but can’t recall his name, ‘I have not yet begun to fight...C’mon...c’mon, baby...move your ass.”

“This ain’t your precious Flying Sub,” Joe complained.

“That’s it, Joe. Hold on!”

“Oh damn, not the ‘rolling scissors’ again?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Yeah, do what the SOD wants.”

“You’re no coward, Joe....”

“No, but I’m not stupid either.”

“You can bail if you want. I’m staying the course.”

“And leave you without a babysitter? Besides, who’s going to fly this excuse for an airplane when you stick your head out the window with your guns?”

“Put her on auto?”

We could hear strafing rockets from the bogies.

My heart stopped.

“Got Mosquito Omega on telephoto lens!” Blue Leader said. “Making all sorts of evasive movements.”

“Damn it, Lee!” I yelled as I saw the dark head leaning out of the cockpit window firing a rifle from the feed the squadron commander was sending.

“Shit!” we heard Lee saying, “Missed. That you, Harry? How’s Seaview doing?”

“Never mind Seaview right now,” Joe complained. “We’re upside down in a loop! You’re lucky you didn’t fall out the window! I still think you should try your laser beams again.”

“Told you I couldn’t get them to work before we rented this heap. Too bad X-ray’s aren’t weapons....”

“Mosquito Omega!” the SOD demanded.

“Keep your pants on!” Lee’s voice said, as we heard strafing fire from the bogeys while we watched in abject horror.

“That was way too close,” Joe told Lee.

“Yeah, good thing these bogeys don’t seem to have heat seeking rockets.”

“Not a barrel roll now! Gawd I’m going to throw up.”

“Well try not to aim all over the controls! I’m taking the stick.”

We heard the sounds of their sputtering prop and Joe upchucking.

“Done yet?” Lee asked, irritated.

“Give me a fucking chance...okay.”
“Take the stick and hold on to my belt. Almost fell out last time. Take that you SOB!” Lee yelled as he fired.

“Why didn’t your bullets damage more than his flaps?” Joe demanded.

“Your guess is as good as mine...we’ll go for its underbelly when we climb back up...that’s it Joe! One more target then I have to remove my eyeball, see if I can reboot it manually...”

“Target on approach....”

Bammm.

“Right in the kisser!” Joe said cheerfully.

“Don’t get cocky...put her into a downward spiral.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You’ve done it before.”

“Only once! If you’ve forgotten we never learned this stuff in submarine school! ”

“Will you calm down and just do it! I need to get my eyeball out.”

“Okay, okay. There, happy now? Oh gawd, what if you drop it while we’re falling to earth upside down!”

“Okay, got it...putting in the codes....”

“Gross, Lee, watching you pull it out of the socket...”

“Pick, pick, pick...okay, now or never.”

“Worse when you shove it back in...permission to pull out of this damn spiral?” “Okay, okay...get us closer to this bogey...”

“You’re a real glutton for punishment, you know that?”

Lee put his head out the window.

“C’mon eyeball, do your stuff!” Lee yelled.

It did.

“Yeehaww!” Lee said gleefully after the lasers hit the target and the enemy plane exploded just after its pilot ejected.

“Let’s get the next one right up it’s after burner!”

“Now, may I please speak with the idiots flying Mosquito Omega?” the SOD asked.

“Sorry, Mr. Secretary, I forgot all about you, but you’ll have to make it fast...we’re kind of busy. Only have enough fuel for a couple more runs.”

“then we’ll have to fly like the birdies do,” Joe said.

“This is Blue Leader. We’ve got your tail and will take over this group. Now, get to base or find a soft spot to land....”

“But my lasers are working now,” Lee almost whined.

“You’re only with my squadron with permission. You’re making us nervous. Now, scram.”

“Gee whiz, Blue Leader. Just when we were beginning to have a little fun.”

“Not me, bro. I need the pink stuff...uh, Lee?”

“Yeah?”

“Dial’s on empty. And I don’t see any airports down there.”

“Yeah...how about an interstate?”

“Oh gawd, Lee!”

“Show a little backbone!”

“Oh gawd, oh gawd,” Riley whined.

“Mosquito Omega” the SOD said, “we’ve contacted the highway patrol serving Interstate 90. Closest one to you. Three lanes are still pretty jammed with folks leaving Boston, only one is open into the city...not too many vehicles on it...the cars on it are being directed to pull over to the shoulder and stop. Emergency vehicles are on the way, but they can’t get any foaming trucks there in time....”

“Tell the Highway Patrol thanks. You too....Harry, sorry I used the institute credit line to rent this plane. Included insurance....looks like it was a good idea.”

“Never mind that, son. Tell my, why add Omega to your handle this flight?”

“Hoped it would be the last in service to the country...you know, Alpha and Omega...”

“We’ll have you on visual all the way down, courtesy a lot of cellphone camera coverage now, Mr. President,” the SOD said, “I know, I know, ‘Just Call Me Lee’, well, sir, I sure as hell hope not for long.”

“Thanks...we have the interstate in our sights. Don’t suppose you can ask the Highway Patrol not to give us a ticket for an unregistered vehicle?”

“I think we might be able to talk them into it.”

“Harry? Just have to warn you, it might be a bumpy landing. Our instruments show us that one of our tires got blown out from one of the bogey’s firing at us.”

“I’m sure you can manage without it, God willing,” Blue Leader said.

“He’s with us this whole trip, doubt he’ll leave us in the lurch now.”

“Good luck Mr. President.”

“Roger that,” Lee said, too busy to correct him.

“Okay, here we go, Joe,” Lee said.

“Breaking news,” Sparks said, a new split came to life on the monitor.

“...We have footage shared by several people in several cities braving the out of doors to record the dog fights above the sky between our brave aviators and the enemy aircraft and missiles being intercepted by them and our ground and naval forces. One of the most electrifying battles we’ve just received footage from is the battle for Boston. With one of our squadrons of fighter jets is a lone one prop Cessna, referred to as Mosquito Omega, piloted by you know who. That’s right, former President Nelson-Crane is back in the cockpit to do his bit for our country. What’s most unbelievable is this footage of Nelson-Crane, leaning out of his cockpit’s window and firing guns at the enemy planes, followed by laser beams from his prosthesis. One must question why neither he nor Jackson have been returned to active reserve service...oversight of the president or some kind of vendetta...

“...We’ve been informed that the plane is out of gas now and headed to Interstate 10 for an emergency landing....there it is!”

“Oh God, oh God,” Riley whined again.

“He’s a good pilot, Stu,” Ski said, patting his shoulder. “He and Cdmr. Jackson will land her okay.”

But I could tell Ski was just as scared as Riley and all of us. And so we watched with the rest of America and elsewhere as the Cessna made its descent.

Then she bounced on the semi freed up lane a few times, but suddenly around.
“Oops,” Lee said.

In the middle of a second spin the craft finally stopped.

Are we there yet?” Joe asked.

Riley was sobbing in sheer relief. And he wasn’t the only one.

As patrol vehicles raced to the plane, we heard several cars honk their horns and emerge from their cars to run toward the conquering heroes jumping out of their plane to check her out.

He noise in the Control Room was overwhelming as everyone cheered, applauded, and banged on their consoles.

“This is the Secretary of Defense, requesting a report on the pilots.”

“Well, they seem to be okay but we can’t get them to allow us a wellness check.”

“Put them on.”

“Damn it, Lee, that was too close. Wait till your mother hears about spinning us in circles.”

“Well, at least she can’t tell me to wait until my father gets home.”

“Want to bet?” I said into a connected mike.

“Harry?” Lee asked, incredulous. “Did we leave the radio on?”

“Highway Patrol...how are you, son? Joseph?”

“He’s fine,” Joe said. “I was the one upchucking my guts whenever he did those BFM’s.

“We’ll have to talk later, Harry, I think the officer wants to give us a ticket for a traffic violation.”

“I asked them not to,” the secretary said.

“Doesn’t appear to have worked,” Lee said as he waved the ticket toward the folks beginning to surround him. “Might need to use that credit line again. I um, don’t suppose you can spring for another rental so we can get back to work?”

“Must you insist on turning me gray?” Chip asked, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Chipee?”

“Yeah, the SOD and lot of news coverage showed us your exploits in the blue yonder, now do me a favor, let the cops give you a wellness check!”

“We’re fine!”

“Is that why I see Joe guzzling down some pink stuff?”

“Oh.”

One old lady was ruffling Lee’s hair, and kissing him on the cheek and found himself embraced by the crowd and signing autographs on everything from scraps of paper to grocery bags, and backpacks. Joe wasn’t immune to the adoration either.

As a tow truck arrived and hooked up the plane, the cops escorted the boys into one of their patrol cars. Lee looked up into the sky and the now far off explosives from the dog fights still going on. He saluted with a thumbs up, smiled at his new friends, and got into the car with Joe.

Soon they were being driven toward Boston, the patrol car’s lights flashing and sirens blaring.

“...We’ll try to bring you more news as it happens,” the reporter continued. “We have learned that our local squadron of aviators has managed to damage and shoot down several enemy aircraft over Boston. Some of the enemy has surrendered, but most are trying to retreat from the area, our brave aviators after them.

“...We take you now we take you to Billings, Montana, where a missile made impact at a railway yard. Several petroleum laden rail cars exploded with massive fires as you can imagine, but there was no nuclear mushroom cloud, as degaussed intercepts had been able to defuse the nuclear warhead and any resulting radiation and limit the missile’s impact....”

“Admiral Nelson?” Sparks interrupted, “Call for you! It’s the skipper! From his cellphone...audio visual....”

“Secure?”

“Didn’t say...”

“Pipe it through to the monitor.”

As Sparks made the adjustment for the monitors, we saw Lee, still in the rear of the squad car as it was speeding into town.

“Harry? Chip? The SOD just spoke to me...good job on that vertical torpedo shot, Chip. And a well done to Sharkey and Ski with the Flying Sub....”

“No ‘I’ in teamwork, Skipper, your words if I remember,” Chip said.

I swear Lee’s sunshine smile returned, at least temporarily, from the dire circumstances the country was still in.

“Intelligence says we’re making a few inroads but expects a new, maybe last ditch effort by the PRA. Oh, and guess what? We just got a call from the SecNav that Joe and I are back in the Navy. Presidential order. Will wonders never cease.Thing is, all of the Navy, Air Force and Coast Guard squadrons on the east coast are sky-bound, but the Massachusetts Air National Guard in Westfield has one F-22-Raptor-B that just finished undergoing repairs. Unlike the A series, this one’s a two seater. They have her all gassed up waiting for us...Look, Harry, Chip,” he hesitated, “despite all of our best efforts, and I know we’ll win in the end, I’m not sure when or if we’ll see each other again...I just...wanted to say I love you both, and everyone aboard Seaview, and at the institute and...well, everyone. I couldn’t get through to Mom. Tell her to try not to worry. We’re supposed to have the angels on our side, at least Angus McDonald still says so...God bless and God speed. Out.”

Damn, he didn’t even give me a chance to say the same to him.

“How could they give him an F-22, whatever the model?” Jiggs asked me. “In spite of his Flying Sub experience, FS-1 doesn’t fly like a plane, at least that’s what you all keep telling me.”

“True,” I said, “but he got adequate jet fighter training in his early days. Between the Nautilus and the Cassiopeia....”

“Old school. Too basic for this kind of aircraft.”

“All right, men,” Chip told the Control Room crew, “Let’s get our attention to the job at hand.”

“Aye, sir,” all hands replied.

“Sparks,” I called out, “print out what you can find about the F-22 Raptor, models A and B. In the meantime, we’re sitting ducks without weaponry. Contact the Bahamian Navy to see if we can borrow anything they can spare.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Doubt if anything of theirs is compatible,” Jiggs said. “The Bahamas used to be British, remember...probably still using the same stats.”

“We can still ask,” I said. “And if need be, perhaps we can jury rig something to make their weaponry compatible.”

And so we continued to sail through the islands on our route north as we waited for the Bahamian Navy to get back to us.

“Breaking news,” Sparks soon called out, pulling up a newscast from WGBH in Boston....

“...We’re outside one of our Air National Guard stations,” the reporter said, “where former President Nelson-Crane, now returned to the Navy as Captain Nelson-Crane, and Cmdr. Jackson have just arrived from a ride with the Highway Patrol after a heart stopping emergency landing of their rented Cessna on Interstate 10. The two have been temporarily assigned to the Air National Guard station at Westfield, where there is only one military jet aircraft left in America that’s not engaged in some way against the PRA right now.

“...We’re told it’s an F-22 Raptor model B normally stationed at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage, Alaska, forced here for an emergency landing a few weeks ago.

“...We’ve been granted access to one of the base’s security cameras from the Base Operation’s roof-top. That was a quick change, Pres..er...Captain Nelson-Crane and Cmdr. Jackson.”

Both had pulled on official flight suits, and were carrying their helmets walking on the tarmac toward the plane.

“ Despite Nelson-Crane’s experience piloting the supersonic Flying Sub, one still has to wonder if that experience is compatible for the F-22, deemed the deadliest jet fighter in our arsenal, deadly to the enemy, that is, God willing, not to our heroes.

“...The moniker ‘Mosquito Buzz saw’ has been given to this borrowed aircraft, and Capt. Nelson-Crane’s name Cmdr. Jackson’s name have been stenciled underneath the front and rear cockpit windows. We’ve been informed by the wing’s Public Relations Office that the men have been given the freedom to break away from their assigned squadron of F-15’s and F-18’s as they or the wing commander deem advantageous or necessary for the mission, which of course, is to prevent incoming aircraft and missiles from lobbing fire of any against our country.

“...Our national heroes are engaging in a few last minute words with a general and colonel, and saluting them. On the other hand, the ground crew is saluting the pilots, standard procedure, who return it, and begin to climb up the narrow ladders into the cockpit.”

“Sparks?” I called out, “Contact Base Ops. I’d like to speak with the base commander.”

“Plan on spying again?” Jiggs asked.

“Well, I would appreciate being a fly on the wall again.”

“...The area is now cleared for Mosquito Buzz Saw to start up her engines and taxi to the main runway....”

“Oh God, keep them safe,” Riley muttered.

The crew started to bang on their consoles with the same sentiment.

“...The jet has stopped, waiting for the tower’s all clear to take off as they rev up the engines as you can see the blue flames from the twin after burners...and there they go down the runway gathering speed. We have lift off...up and away. Was that a farewell waggle or are they adjusting to the unfamiliar aircraft...higher...higher...almost out of sight...contrails are all we can see now as Mosquito Buzz Saw heads toward the last known position of the squadron...to do battle alongside them against the enemy.

“.. We take you now to Sandy Crab Lane in Cape Cod, where Mrs. Crane has been watching our broadcast with her friends and some of our reporters invited into her home...”

“...What do you think, Mrs. Crane? Did you ever think your son would be a jet fighter pilot?”

“...Well,” Mrs. C. said from her over-stuffed chair facing the TV, Sweetie on her lap and Winston at her feet, “He did have jet flight training, a long time ago. An experimental program I believe it was, in between two of his submarines. In fact, he almost decided to transfer out of subs, he enjoyed it so much...speed and doing all those acrobats...but I guess he liked being ‘under’ more. God, I haven’t a clue why he loves subs, all cramped and blind in a tin can...don’t let him know I said that. It’s a bubblehead thing...that’s what they call submariners. I was just glad when he was eventually assigned to Seaview, what with it having windows...it was supposed to be temporary, did you know that? But it lead to his signing on to Seaview. The Flying Sub got launched about a year later and oh did he ever enjoy that, even when he had to take it down into the depths....”

“...To change the subject, is it safe to assume the lobster bake’s been postponed?”

“...Well, unless there’s a miracle and the war ends today, afraid so, though the potatoes and corn will have to be cooked now. Thank goodness for freezers. The lobsters, clams, and mussels can wait as long as they’re happy living in bathtubs and kiddie pools. As for the beer, well, I rather doubt there’ll be any left for whenever we do hold the bake....”

“Admiral?” Sparks interrupted as the monitor switched from the interview with Mrs. C. to the Base Ops Control Center. “I have General Gerber on the monitor for you.”

“What can I do for you Admiral?” Gerber asked.

“Well,” I began, rubbing a hand through my hair, “I was hoping you’d give me a audio visual link to Lee’s cockpit.”

“You have to be kidding! It’s bad enough I was ordered to have your boys take the B, but I don’t want them distracted by you hovering over their shoulders especially as they’re reckless. Absolutely reckless.”

“Hey!” Riley sputtered, “They’re not reckless! You can’t talk about the skipper and Jackson like that!”

“Shut up, kid,” Ski hissed.

“Who said that?” Gerber asked.

“One of my crew,” Chip said moving into the general’s focus. “I’m Captain Morton. Seaman Riley spoke out of turn, sir.”

“You’ll discipline him of course, I hope. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to turn my attention back to flight.” With that he clicked off and our monitor returned to the DOD.

“The Prime Minister of the Bahamas for Captain Morton,” Sparks said and a new screen came up.

“This is Captain Morton, of the Seaview,” Chip told him. “We’re hoping you might be able to spare us some weaponry, and some formulation if you have it for our Flying Sub. We’re totally out.”

“Well, we do have a few ship to air intercepts left. Some formulation as well. However, I’m not sure the intercept specs are compatible.

“We’ll make them compatible,” I said. “Send us the specs and we’ll be ready to install them when we arrive.”

“Fine. I wish we had more than two intercepts to loan you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. As they say, any port in a storm.”

“I understand President Nelson-Crane’s back in the Navy...flying that F-22 B. Nerves of steel that boy. Too many confounded computer systems packed into those models. The more advanced, the higher chance of breakdowns. Rumor has it the B models aren’t worth the cost to manufacture them....”

“I’m sure he and Cmdr. Jackson can handle it.”

“By the way, I’m hoping Nelson-Crane will be back in the White House soon.”

“Same here. And thank you again for your help.”

“My pleasure, Admiral,” he said, “perhaps you’ll join me for tea while your men install the intercepts?”

“Delighted, sir,” I said.

“Any preference?”

“Er, well...I can’t say I’m all that familiar....”

“Yes, of course. You Yanks tend to prefer coffee...I’ll be sure there’s some freshly brewed for you.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble,” I said, “tea is fine. Your choice.”

“Very well, sir. Looking forward to meeting you.”

“Same here, Mr. Prime Minister. Nelson out.”

“I like him,” Riley said.

“I feel sick,” I muttered to Chip and hurried over to the wastepaper basket by the plot table, but they were only dry heaves.

“Sick Bay,” Chip ordered and before I could complain Kowalski took my arm and escorted me aft, Jiggs following.

***

“Well,” Doc said as he studied the barium X-ray, “it appears that your ulcer’s acting up again.”

“Just what I need,” I said,“as if I didn’t have enough to worry about right now.”

“Here you go, sir,” Will said handing me a cup with a chalky white fluid in it.

“Gahhh,” I muttered after I swallowed it down. “Now I need something to rinse out the taste....”

“Not for thirty minutes. And don’t drink any booze or orange juice for twenty-four hours...if even. And try to limit the smoking. As I’ve told you before smoking aggravates things.”

“Yes, yes, are you through now?”

“You’re free to go...if it makes you feel any better, we’re all stressed out right now. That’s part of your problem.”

“Lee’s stressed me out before without me getting sick. Go ahead back to the Control Room, Ski. I’m fine now.”

“I need to call Emmie, Jiggs. See you later in the Wardroom.”

***

My camera call caught her at a bad time as she was in a crowded grocery store and trying to grab the last can of tuna fish on the shelf.

“I wasn’t aware there was a tuna shortage,” I told her as she let an old lady have it.

“God bless you dearie,” the old lady said and pushed her cart away.

“Just some panic buying. When will this damn war will end? I wish Lee had never started it.”

“We responded to the PRA’s aggression defensively and....”
“Well, what would really have been so bad, accepting their terms, I mean really?”

“You can’t mean that. Give up your freedom to speak? To worship or not as you please...to....”

“No, no, Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just been so aggravating here...would you believe there’s a run on toilet paper, too? I don’t even think the government cares about our suffering and....”

“Stop it! Will you listen to yourself?”

“That your hubby?” a frazzled woman with one baby and toddler asked, her cart overflowing with formula, diapers and baby wipes.

“Yes. He’s at sea,” she said showing the lady her camera’s screen.

“Oh, look at all those stars! He somebody important?”

“He’s the creator and owner of the Seaview.”

“Seaview? The submarine with the glass windows?”

“That’s right,” I said, “only they’re actually a high tensile plastic and....”

“Never mind that now, Harry,” Emmie said, turning the phone back toward herself, “You must have called for a reason....”

“Just wanted to touch base...seems my ulcer’s started to give me hell again. Doc put me on some heavy duty antacid and ordered me to quit smoking again.”

“You’d better. I don’t want the twins’ daddy all doubled over unable to play with them....”

A crowd was gathering.

“Ask him how the war’s going,” someone asked. “We get more news on social media than on TV and you know the government has them in their pocket.”

“That’s not true,” I began.

“Yeah, well...”

“Is it true then that Seaview’s out of ammo?” an elderly man asked.

“For the moment, however, we’re being loaned some from the Bahamas. Then we’ll be headed to Norfolk for more...if needed. After all, our US defenses are doing a great job.”

“What do you think about President Nelson-Crane taking up a questionable aircraft? I mean I heard it had to be repaired, not once but several times and it was waiting for the scrap heap.”

“There’s no question in my mind that he and Cmdr. Jackson will do just fine. And currently, the correct term for Lee is ‘Captain’. He’s on active duty with the Navy Reserve again, after all.”

“Will he be using his eyeball’s laser beams?” a middle aged woman asked. “What happened to the president’s stipulation about no gadgets?” someone else asked. “Wasn’t it only supposed to be paid for by the government if it didn’t have any?”

“You’d have to ask the Dept. of Defense about that. Now, I’d really like to speak with my wife again before we reach the Navy base in the Bahamas.”

“We’d really like some more privacy now,” Emmie said. “Can’t you see Harry’s sick? Aggravated ulcer.”

The crowd drew back as she moved off, but not far enough for me.

“What’s the latest on the twins?” I asked.

“So far so good, but they may arrive early depending on my stress levels. I almost wish you hadn’t told me about the ulcer.”

“Sorry.”

“You did the right thing, of course. As you always do. I’m just so damn emotional right now I don’t know what I’ve been saying...Oh Harry, I wish you were here.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you too. You won’t let Seaview do anything stupid, will you? Like sinking or something?”

“I’ll only allow Seaview to sink when it’s part of her job description to sail underwater.”

“You know what I meant.”

“We’ll take all precautions in order to return home, safe and sound, the sooner the better. My God, it’s good to see you...reminds me what we’re fighting for....”

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

“Is it safe to assume you’re still going to name the twins after Lee?”
“Won’t that be confusing?” someone, I couldn’t see who, asked from a little distance.

“Aurora Leigh, and Jimmy Lee Nelson,” Emmie said, “are not confusing. I’m just hoping they won’t be born until after Harry and Lee are both safely home.”

“I’m counting the days, dear,” I said. “I’m sure Lee is too, and...”

A knock at my door interrupted.

“Have to go, sweetheart.”

“Kind of figured. Love you,” she ended the call.

“In,” I called out.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sharkey said, handing me the faxed intercept specs.

“I think we can jury rig it, just like you said.”

Soon my calculations and measurements were finished, and I handed the scribbled fax back to Sharkey.

“I’m not sure this will work, Francis, but we’ll give it the old college try.”

“Yes sir.”

“Admiral?” Chip’s voice came over the PA, “we’re approaching the base and have permission to dock.”

“Great. I’ll be right there.”

“Sir?” Sharkey asked, at my side, as I groaned, holding my stomach,

“Damn,” I muttered as Sharkey called Sick Bay. Swell...this was just not my day.

***

“There’s no guarantee you’ll feel better by the planned tea with the Prime Minister,” Will said, “why not invite him aboard for it. I’m sure he’ll understand about your ulcer. And the galley does have a few teabags....”

“Sacrilege,” Jiggs said, “lots of the Brits, or ex-Brits if you want to get technical, are rather picky about their tea, how to prepare it, etc. It may offend them to use teabags.”

“You’re thinking old movies. Tea is tea,” I said.

“How about Lemonade or something,” Will suggested.

“Our lemonade is a powdered mix and not very good.”

“Sir?” Chip interrupted from the doorway, “The weaponry is being loaded and being installed now. How are you feeling? I took the liberty of offering the Prime Minister a tour of Seaview and having his tea party. And I told him about your ulcer. He’ll be here soon.”

“You read our minds,” Will said.

“Jiggs thinks our teabags would be insulting,” I said.”

“Nonsense,” Chip said. “he offered us coffee remember. I’m sure he won’t complain about tea bags.”

“How about offering hot chocolate?” Jiggs suggested. “Hardly anyone takes offense at that.”

“Coffee, tea, and hot chocolate...I’m sold,” I said and headed to my cabin to spruce up and brush my teeth.

***

“I appreciate your understanding, Mr. Prime Minister,” I said as I joined him, Jiggs, and Chip by the laid out silver tea service on the pristine white tablecloth laying on the Observation Nose table. I couldn’t remember the last time it was used.

“My ulcer has chosen some very inopportune moment to strike me down.”

“My great aunt had the same problem,” the prime minister said. “I must thank your captain for the tour of Seaview. I’m glad you were able to figure out how to make our intercepts compatible with ours.”

“So am I. You’ve enabled us to get back into the game, so to speak, before we reach Norfolk.”

“I believe I have some good news for you from our Navy. Two of our ships were able to launch intercepts at a missile headed to Miami that some of your fighters and land based intercepts couldn’t quite catch. We managed to bring it down in the Everglades. We are sorry for the impact in a protected ecosystem and wildlife. And apparently the swamp gas caught fire, making the damage more widespread. But at least there was no cost to human lives. I do believe your anti-nuclear formulation and degaussing of the intercepts is really proving to be a Godsend against their missile’s radioactive explosive capabilities and fallout. In fact, I do believe it will win this war. And soon. Now, off topic, I do have to wonder, did Captain Nelson-Crane name his dog after the great Winston Churchill?”

“You’d have to ask him. I believe a great number of bulldogs are named Winston.”

“It’s not important, but it could be interesting. Many Bahamians still have a great loyalty to the ‘mother’ country and Churchill was vital to our winning WW 2. As was His Majesty George VI. And you Yanks, of course,” he added.

“I am ashamed to admit, we should have gotten involved sooner...but FDR was ill advised by his security council.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prime Minister,” Cookie, in his chef’s whites and toque said, arriving with a plate of freshly baked cookies, “how is the tea, sir? We only had plain teabags....”

“Frankly, chef, I can’t tell the difference. And I must say the powdered creamer was a nice touch. Vanilla caramel, I believe?”

“Er, yes, sir. Belongs to Miss Edith. The teabags too...she’s the admiral’s sister...visits sometimes. Here’s some oatmeal raisin cookies. The skip’s favorite. Likes to dunk them in milk or coffee. I figure they’d be good in tea.”

“Thank you, I quite like biscuits...er, that’s we call them here. Amazing the difference between the spoken and written English around the globe.”
He took a cookie from the plate and dunked it into his tea then took a bite.

“Delightful. Thank you, chef.”

“Uh, they call me Cookie...kind of a naval tradition.”

“Well, Cookie, thank you for the tea and cookies,” he chuckled.

“Sirs,” Cookie said and headed aft.

“Ah yes,” the Prime Minister continued, “I remember seeing Edith Nelson on the news recently. I do hope she came to no harm in the Boston fires.”

“Well,” I said, “no news is good news...and I believe Sgt. Caderwaller is looking after her.”

“Do I hear wedding bells in the not too distant future?”

“If there are, I’m afraid they haven’t taken me into their confidence....”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Ski said as he strode down the spiral ladder, “the intercepts are installed, firing mechanism A-OK. Oh, and the base commander sent a crate of great big ruffled seashells. Some big worms living in them....”

“I beg your pardon?” Chip asked.

“Ruffled seashells? No doubt, Conch,” the Prime Minister said. “A popular and major source of protein here.”

“Yes,” I said, “those ‘worms’, Ski, are actually mollusks. They can be consumed raw or cooked. I’d say they have a unique flavor, somewhat similar to clams and crab. Thank the base commander for us, Kowalski. We’ll add them to tonight’s supper.”

“Yes, sir...er...will Cookie know how to cook the things?”

“I can give him a quick demo if you like, Admiral,” the prime minister said. “I know you’re anxious to shove off.”

“Please. Your help will be most appreciated. Come along, Jiggs, let’s lend a hand.”

***

It had been a quick demo, and after saying goodbye to the Prime Minister and reporting our fighting status to the DOD, as soon as we’d passed through the Bahamian waters, Chip dove the boat for our sailing along the Florida coast.

Watches came and went as did the hours of waiting and watching our country in what we hoped were the last throes of the PRA’s attacks.

The monitor in the Wardroom and Crew’s Mess had ten split screens now, rigged to allow diners to choose which television and internet broadcast to watch and listen to.

As the most senior officer, plus being the ‘boss’, I had dibs and decided to enlarge the CNN broadcast.

There was a montage of news scenes behind the anchor.

“...While more of the cities, airports, and power plants across the country have reported damage from enemy attacks, our ground to air and jet fighter intercepts continue to mitigate major and nuclear damage.

“...In fact, not one of the eleven nuclear power plants affected have reported melt downs, explosions, or shut downs, though there has been structural damage to some.

“...It seems as though the hostilities are starting to abate, as more PRA squadrons have surrendered, several pilots requesting political asylum. Some cited the superior aviation of US forces, including the fear of being fired on by the former President and his laser beam eyeball. However, if he uses it in the Raptor aircraft, it could cause sudden and dangerous depressurization. He and his co-pilot Cmdr. Jackson will just have to use the aircraft’s heat seeking weaponry.”

“SOD for you and the captain, ” the duty Sparks interrupted as the monitor switched to full mode.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Captain, Admiral, but...there’s no news about Mosquito Buzz Saw.”

“What are you talking about?” Chip asked.
“You don’t know? I’m surprised Base Ops hasn’t kept you informed....Mosquito Buzz Saw is missing.”

I had a sudden vision of my dream’s flag draped coffin.

“About twenty minutes ago flight reported that at first they thought Nelson-Crane might have picked up a bogey on his own. That maybe he has some kind of advance radar in his eyeball and headed after it. But not a word from him to flight. The plane simply flew away with no response to flight’s request to what the hell he was doing. Now, that model B has been known to suffer computer glitches and it may have prevented communication...thing is, no ground control radar, or flight radar picked up Mosquito Buzz Saw after it headed away....no visual either from satellite. Flight was too busy to send out a plane to scout for them...we have to assume that she may have gone down.”

“Where was Lee’s last reported position?” Chip asked as I hyperventilated.

“I’m transferring you to base ops with orders for Gerber to cooperate with you fully for information deemed necessary.”

“Oh God, oh God oh God,” Riley was whining.

“Easy, kid,” Ski told him, “The skipper’s been in worse straights.”

Calming words, but I couldn’t get the vision of Lee’s coffin out of my mind.

~***~

Chapter Thirty Two