My
Journal
By
Harriman Nelson
~In
God We Trust~
34
“I
have to tell you, Admiral,” Will scolded me this morning in Sick Bay where
Jiggs practically dragged me when he heard me upchucking in my cabin. “Keep up all your celebrating and smoking
you’re bound to aggravate that ulcer to the point of needing surgery. And while
that’s my preliminary diagnosis, there have been similar tummy trouble complaints
from more than half the crew. O’Brien had to get four men relieved during the owl
watch. I can’t help but to think we may have some food poisoning aboard. The
test results should be ready soon. Yours as well.”
Just
then Ski and the duty corpsman emerged from the back and handed Will a report.
“Negative
about food poisoning,” Will muttered, surprised then returned his attention to
me. “You look a bit haggard...something
else troubling you, sir?”
“Actually,”
I hesitated, “I had my own bad dream again....”
“That’s
weird,” Ski interrupted, “I had a bad dream too, sir. Had a hell of a time
getting back to sleep.”
“Want
to talk about it,” Will asked.
“Well,
Doc,” Ski hesitated. “You’re gonna’ really think this
is weird, but it was about the skip, sort of, maybe. I don’t know...but I was
in the capitol rotunda. It was deserted except for a coffin, draped with the
flag...but what got me scared, sir, was that there were three rings on top of
it. The skipper’s rings, at least they sure looked like his. Black onyx, a
Celtic design, and a gold signet, only he doesn’t have George Washington’s ring
any more...Admiral, you okay?”
Indeed
I wasn’t, but I managed to cover.
“Just
this damn ulcer,” I lied.
“You’re
dream, Ski?” Jiggs asked.
“Well, the rotunda was deserted and it was so
quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Was kind of like the whole country had
shut down. Well, no way I could get back to sleep. I mean, one minute I’d been
dreaming of the skip cheating death again, then there he was in a coffin, cold,
and dead, and forgotten....”
“You
saw him in the coffin?” I asked, almost trembling.
“No,
it was closed all the way under the flag. But who else could it have been? I
mean all those times the skipper’s come through things okay...then wham, he’s
dead. Them angels of his
have a lot to answer for....”
“Angels
don’t have any say about when to take someone upstairs,” Jiggs said. “that’s the Big Guy’s job.”
“But
it’s not fair! The skip, he’s entitled to more...a full life and....”
“Ski,
it was a dream,” Will said. “We have no control over them. Your mind simply
invented a worst case scenario.”
“Yeah,
but...it was so real.”
“Do
you have a dollar bill?” Jiggs asked him.
“Uh
yeah,” he pulled one out from his pant’s pocket
handing it over.
“What
it says on the back?”
“In
God We Trust, so what?”
“Well?
Don’t you? We have to believe those words. I know Lee does. He does his best,
whatever the job, knowing that nothing and nobody can keep the Big Guy from
claiming his own to join him Upstairs.”
“Never
thought of it that way.”
“You’re
a very wise man, Francis,” I told my friend.
“So,
try not to worry about your dream. I’m sure Captain Nelson-Crane wouldn’t want
you to worry. He’d simply want you to the best you can, whatever the task
assigned to you. Okay?”
“Okay,
sir. Well, I’d better get to my watch. Captain Morton wants me to take the conn
for awhile.”
“The
conn?” I asked.
“Yeah,
kinda’ surprised me too... part of the NROTC at sea
training.”
“I
suppose it is...good luck, but any questions....”
“I
know sir, any questions I ask Mr. O’Brien or Sparks. Don’t worry, it’s not like
I’ll be all alone.”
“I’ll
be interested to hear how you enjoy it,” I said as Ski departed.
“Weird that Kowalski’s dream was identical to
yours,” Jiggs said. “And that you both had them last night. What do you think,
Will?”
“I’m
beginning to think I’d better rethink premonitions.”
“They
weren’t exactly the same,” I said. “Mine had a full to overflowing rotunda,
lots of tears. Ski’s rotunda was deserted. Only the flag draped coffin and
rings were the same.”
“Still
mighty peculiar...you okay about them?”
“I
want to scream about how likely it is that we’ve both been shown the future.”
“Breaking
news,” the duty Sparks interrupted over the PA and monitor came to life.
“...My
fellow Americans,” the president said from the Oval Office. “Five minutes ago, the
People’s Republic Alliance ceased hostilities against the United States and our
allies. Their surrender is unconditional. For all intents and purposes, the war
is over.”
Just
then our klaxon rang out.
“God,
was it a hoax?” I muttered and raced out of Sick Bay to the Control Room.
By
the time I got there, the Flying Sub had launched on a heading over the Florida
Peninsula to the Gulf, where Sharkey and O’ Connell were able to fire their
lasers and bring the missile down in fragments, and the warhead disarmed and de
nuclearized.
Chip,
of course updated the DOD, which assured him the war was indeed over but the
PRA had probably been unable to give the last assault of missiles they’d fired a
cease code. The Flying Sub’s ‘kill’ had, they believed, been the last.
A
few minutes later Chip received an audio visual call from the SOD.
“Captain.
Admiral. Good job on that missile. I’m informing you as Seaview’s captain that
due to the change in circumstances, you, Seaview’s compliment and the boat
herself have been removed from active Reserve Status to Reserve status as of
now. You may still continue on to Norfolk to receive your torpedoes and missiles
as your boat is still a Reserve weapons carrier, but the timetable is up to you
if you want to stop someplace to give your crew shore leave or something.
Everyone’s celebrating everywhere. Just give Norfolk a few hours
notice of your arrival so they can have your weaponry waiting for you.
“By
the way, Admiral? The squadron your boys were assigned to brought down two
missiles and fourteen enemy aircraft by dawn this morning. Using regular
weaponry, not Lee’s famous eyeball.”
“Any
word on Lee’s MRI?” I dared to ask, not really expecting an answer.
“If
there was, didn’t come my way. Well, I suppose you’re anxious to get back to
doing what Seaview normally does.”
“Yes,
thank you...we noticed some especially high concentrations of pollutants and
waste....”
“Yes,
yes...” he interrupted. “Duty calls,” he added and ended the call.
“Chip,
estimate as to when we reach Norfolk?” I asked.
“If
we keep running at this speed, about fourteen to twenty six hours...I can put
her on intermittent flank to boost that.”
“Very
well.”
“How are you feeling, sir? I understand from
the grapevine that your ulcer was acting up again this morning.”
“Afraid
so.”
“I’m
surprised we all haven’t developed them,” Jiggs said.
“Admiral
Nelson?” Sparks called out, “Mrs. Nelson has a videophone call for you.”
“I’ll
take it in my cabin.”
***
“Sweetheart?”
she asked nervously, “Is it over? Really over?”
“Yes, dear, it’s over.”
“Thank
God...when will you be home?”
“We still need to get to Norfolk for some
supplies, maybe get a paint job, then we’ll be on our way home to hearth and
home...we’ll probably take the polar route.”
“Why
not go back through the Panama Canal? Or just take the Flying Sub?”
“Frankly,
until there are signed and witnessed documents, I’m not taking the cease fire
at the PRA’s word for any cease fire or surrender.”
“Oh.”
“I’m
sorry, sweetheart, really, about not coming home sooner.”
“To change the subject, did you really chew out Lee? It’s been all over the
news....””
“Technically?
Just a little. He takes far too many risks for my liking, duty or not.”
“But
is he okay? I mean getting himself burnt and pierced with shrapnel and....”
“He
was well enough to have been authorized to join a squadron of fat birds, and
they managed to bring down some missiles and several aircraft, without the
benefit of his eyeball.”
“Our
boy, Superman,” she chuckled. “Any word about his MRI?”
“Not
yet.”
“Poor
Lee, all this waiting.”
“He
doesn’t actually like the presidency, you know.”
“He...he...
wouldn‘t turn it down, would he?” she asked, aghast at the idea. “If the AMA
clears him?”
“We
both know Lee better than that. Of course he’d return to the Oval Office. No
one has a higher sense of duty than him, not even George Washington or Abe
Lincoln, in my humble opinion.”
“Can
I quote you on that? I had a gazillion voice mails from reporters on the phone
when I took it off block.”
“Of
course dear.”
“Oh,
I almost forgot. Edith called. She’s coming out to visit...said she had some
news...wouldn’t say anything more, but she was giggling. I have a feeling she
and that Sgt. are an item. Might be serious.”
Her
doorbell rang.
“Door’s
open!” she called out cheerfully.
Angie
and Lola entered with a box of doughnuts and Starbucks coffee, both girls
surprised to see me on the videophone.
“Admiral,
when will Seaview arrive?” Angie asked.
“Any
new word on Lee since yesterday?” Lola interrupted.
“Not
really, but Seaview’s been removed from active service.”
“Well,
dear,” Emmie said, “I think it’s time we left you to get back to sailing your
precious boat...love you.”
“Love
you too, sweetheart,” I said before she clicked off.
“Breaking
news,” Sparks relayed yet again over the PA, the wall monitor coming back to
life...
“...We’re
speaking with General Gerber,” the reporter was saying, “at the base where
Captain Nelson-Crane was given a repaired F-22 B to fly. As you know, nearly all of the aircraft’s systems
malfunctioned and Nelson-Crane and co-pilot Cmdr. Jackson had to crash land. General,
what about the rumors that the plane may have been sabotaged?”
“...Too
early to tell. The plane is being taken to a police forensics lab for
evaluation, and everyone who even touched the plane during the past six months
are being interrogated. I do have to say Nelson-Crane and Jackson did a great
job flying the bird, especially for bubbleheads.”
The scene changed to the news anchor desk.
“We
had a chance to speak with Mrs. Crane at her beach front home in Cape Cod,” the
anchor said, “where she and her neighbors are busy setting up for the highly
anticipated and only slightly delayed community lobster bake....”
“...Oh,” Mrs. C. was saying, “Lee wanted to be
here today but he might not be able to make it. In fact, he’s still on active
reserve status and his squadron’s been sent to the base where the hurricane
hunters live, not part of their fleet, but for whatever reason, they’re there.
“...At
least here, we can finally get all of our lobsters, clams, mussels and seaweed
out of everyone’s kiddie pools and bathtubs. We’re going to have fireworks
tonight, you know sparklers and things. I really hope Lee can get home in time
for that. But, alas, duty always has a way of keeping him away from home.”
“...Any
word on the MRI?”
“...Afraid
not,” she sighed. “But I have to be honest with you. I’m almost hoping Lee’s not cleared...it’s a
terrible strain, the presidency. Very wearing. I’m probably the only person in
America who’s more concerned about him personally, not what he can or can’t do
for the country. Mother’s prerogative. Oh, here’s a picture...”
It
was a group photo of the airmen, pilots, flight crew, maintenance, etc. in
front of one of the C-130’s.
“He’s
hard to pick out, all of them in flight suits and such...right there...Joseph’s
next to him.”
The
men were dwarfed by the massive size of the aircraft.
“...Do
you think he may join one of the hurricane hunters for the next hurricane
season?”
“...Over
my dead body,” she said as I muttered the exact same sentiment.
“...But,”
she sighed, “I don’t think a herd of elephants could stop him if were asked.
Has this duty first mentality...always looking out for others...ever since he
first came to live with Edward and me...a really good boy, though he was a bit
of a rascal at times. Did I ever tell you about when he put laundry soap in the
YMCA’s pool? Said it was a fun way to take a bath.”
A
knock at the door interrupted my musings.
“In,”
I called out as the news went on to the celebrations all over the land.
“Everything
okay in here?” Jiggs asked me as he entered.
“Er, yes. Fine, just fine.”
“Want
breakfast in the nose? Morton’s got the conn again and is taking us upstairs
for a while. Says we need some fresh air...not really, just think some of the
men are stir crazy...won’t delay us too much....”
And
so I tagged along to the nose, where soon Jiggs and I watched the water splashing
against the view ports as Chip allowed groups of men to go topside for ten
minute intervals while he and Kowalski shot the sun in the Conning Tower.
“Excuse
me, sir,” Riley asked, approaching just prior to his watch, “but, er, you don’t think the skipper’s really going to go out to
check the hurricanes, when they happen? I mean, that’s awful risky, isn’t it?”
“What’s
brought this on?” I asked.
“That
newscast....”
“You’d
talk him out of it, though, if he wanted to, wouldn’t you, sir?”
“And
just how long would my life expectancy be if I did? Besides, the Hurricane
Hunters have an outstanding safety record.”
“And,”
Jiggs said, “it’s none of our business, what he decides to do, is it.”
“Easy,
Jiggs...I’ll mention our concerns to him the next chance I get. But keep in
mind, he’s still in the service. Has to do what he’s ordered. As for
volunteering, well, sometimes even I can’t stop him.”
“Yes,
sir. Thank you, sir,” Riley said as he took over radar for his watch.
“Would
you even try to stop him, if he volunteered for it?” Jiggs asked me.
“Damn
right I would. Now, how about a few card and board games while we wait the next
several hours until we reach Norfolk. Patterson?” I called out as he was about
to leave the Control Room, “bring us some games from stores, will you?”
“Right
away, sir.”
We
didn’t have long to wait before he returned carrying a box of well used decks
of playing cards secured with rubber bands, and board games that had seen
better days.
“Go
Fish?” Jiggs asked, picking out the kids game.
“It’s
popular with the crew, sir,” Pat said, “When you can’t get more than two
players. ‘Sea-opoly’ is popular,” he added of the
heavily altered Monopoly game, markers having obliterated the original game
with topics related to submarines, fierce sea monsters, buxom mermaids, and the like.
I
undid the rubber band from ‘Go Fish’, the 1964 Edition, poured myself another
cup of coffee and let Jiggs shuffle the gaily decorated cards.
“You
know,” I said, “as juvenile as this game is, I bet you can’t give these fish
their technical names.”
“Unfair
advantage, Harriman...still...all right...I’ll bet you $5.00 for every fish you
can’t identify. For example, by way of demonstration. What’s this fish?”
“Familiar...but...damn,
I don’t know.”
“Mr.
Limpet,” Jiggs read the back of the card using the neon plastic glasses, “from
the movie of the same name. A guy gets
turned into a fish and helps end WW2.”
“Heavens.”
Soon
I’d lost fifty
dollars, and Jiggs thirty. Then we had
to decide the odds on ‘Sea-opoly’ as we set it up.
It
was going to be a long cruise.
~***~