My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

35

Seaview was finally secured at Norfolk. It was 2200 and rainy. We’d made better time than expected due to the Gulf Stream that Chip had made sure Seaview took full advantage of.

“Public transportation,” O’Brian was saying over the PA, “has limited service at night. There are printouts of times and pick up points in the Control Room along with a list of taxicabs and their phone numbers. The captain and I expect all of you taking shore leave to be on your best behavior. You are representing Seaview. Should any of you land in jail, don’t expect a quick bail out. Armament will be loaded tonight. If you have loading duty, check in with Chief Sharkey for your assignments with the base maintenance teams. That is all.”

A quick shower and shave later, I pulled on civvies and headed to the Observation Nose to meet Jiggs and Chip.

“Have we decided yet?” I asked as a torrential rainstorm splashed against the view ports.

“It says here,” Chip said handing me a ‘What to see in Norfolk’ brochure, “that there’s an all-night Waffle House just outside the gate.”

“Why not something more substantial?” Jiggs asked, “Like a steak house or something.”

“Byrd and Baldwin Brothers is still open,” I said, looking at the pamphlet.

“You sure neither of you want waffles?”

“Perhaps for breakfast tomorrow?” I asked.

“Okay. We’ll try the steak house.”

“Hmm. It says here we can get a discount if we’re in uniform.”

“We are,” Jiggs said.

“You and Chip are. I’d better go change. Oh, Chip, give them a call and ask if they take credit cards and if we need a reservation. By the way, who has the conn tonight?””

“Ski will relieve O’Brien in a few hours.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?” I asked. “I can’t help feeling he’s depressed. And not just because of the war we’ve been involved in.”

“You really have to ask? He’s been concerned about Lee...almost as much as Riley.”

“True...they’re loyalty is commendable, though, it should really be aimed toward Seaview’ current captain.”

“I don’t mind, sir. I worry about Lee too.”

Chip used his cellphone to call the steak house, and we almost gave up hope before the someone answered.

“Do you have any room for a party of three very hungry sailors?” Chip asked when he finally got through. “An hour?”

“Fine,” I said.

“That’ll be fine. Admirals Nelson and Starke, and I’m Captain Morton...yes, we’re them...yes, I think we can get Pres...er, Captain Nelson-Crane to sign a photograph for your wall of celebrities...might take a while, though...see you in an hour.”

***

I could almost hear the rain pelting Seaview while I changed into uniform, and added my industrial strength raincoat and galoshes to my ensemble along with a plastic topper for my cover.

O’Brien had umbrellas waiting for us when I reached the Control Room, with the news that the cab had to wait at the gate, which is what I’d expected since the base was probably still at level orange alert, and would be until the DOD sent the base commander official stand down orders.

It was going to be a soggy hike.

By the time we arrived at the gate, we were somewhat drenched, despite our protective gear. Good thing the temperature wasn’t cold or we’d be shivering all the way to the steak house.

***

Nobody in the noisy and packed establishment made a fuss except the manager who led us to our booth, removing the ‘Reserved’ placard on it.

Soon we were happily chowing and drinking down. I was on my second beer when a middle aged couple approached. We rose politely.

“Which of you is Admiral Nelson?”

“Guilty,” I said.

“Oh, isn’t this wonderful!” the woman told her companion, I assumed him to be her husband. “Just think, we got to meet Nelson-Crane’s former boss.”

“Adoptive father,” Jiggs huffed.

“Yes, well, I don’t suppose when you ask him for his photo and signature for us? We know you’re going to do that for the management. Just have him sign it for Sheila and John Wintergreen....we’re locals...we can pick it up here.”

“We’d be happy to,” Chip said.

“Thank you, er....”

“Chip Morton.”

“Ohhh, Chipee!” she squealed delighted. “I’ve heard about you! My friend Mabel said you were cute, but you’re even more cherubic than she said you were. So, what’s it like being one of Nelson-Crane’s colleagues? And what was he like as a submarine captain?”

“Dear,” her husband said, “I’m sure they don’t want to waste their time talking shop. Besides, their supper’s getting cold.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, but...they’re so lucky to know him personally...”

She giggled as her husband mouthed ‘sorry’ to us and led her away, allowing us to sit down and resume our meal.

But soon fellow diners had lined up to request the same thing. It took the manager’s offer of free desserts to get some of them to return to their seats, with the promise of taking down their names and address for us to get Lee to sign some pictures of himself for them.

The offer of free desserts included us, though no desserts were on the menu. Apparently they had only just begun serving desserts, and the menus hadn’t been upgraded.

Chip downed Lemon Meringue Pie, Jiggs stuffed himself with cherry topped chocolate cake, and I settled for cheesecake. Good think we were out of the Navy or we’d never pass the fit reps.

Before we left, the manager had one of his staffers take a group shot of us with him. It was going to go up on the establishment’s celebrity wall as well as Lee’s.

***

It was almost midnight by the time the cab dropped us off at the main gate and we trudged through ankle deep water to the boat, but we didn’t really care about the soaking. We were a merry, half inebriated trio when we boarded Seaview, surprised to find a large gathering of crew almost blocking our descent down the topside ladder into the Control Room.

The men were looking at something in the nose, whispering to each other.

“What the blazes is going on?” Jiggs demanded.

The men parted like the red sea to grant us a clear view which included the back side of Riley sitting on the plot table, softly banging his feet against it like a child as he studied the object of the crew’s attention.

There in two loungers were Joe and Lee, each damp and rumpled in their ‘everyday’ khakis, barefoot, their combat flight boots upside down in front of a space heater, their dripping socks draped over them, and their raincoats and covers dripping onto a towel placed beneath them from one of our rolling coat hangers. Both were sound asleep, spent mugs of hot chocolate at their feet. Lee had a marshmallow mustache.

“After their squadron’s planes were refitted with some contraptions at the hurricane center,” Ski said, “they were ordered to Langley Air Force Base.”

“Langley? Chip muttered. “That’s only about twenty miles from here.”

“Yeah, the skip was real happy about that, knowing we were here, only he and Cmdr. Jackson couldn’t get any bus service and they gave up trying to find a cab that would drive that far, so they hitch hiked. Sometimes folks gave them rides, but none all the way here so they kind of got soaked...we made sure they got some nice hot chocolate to warm up....”

“Why didn’t you offer them dry clothes?” Chip demanded.

“We did, but they just wanted to sit here and soak in the boat, that’s what the skipper said, sir....”

“We apologized for the boat being, like, well, a bit dowdy looking,” Riley said, “but you know what he said? He said she looked beautiful to him.”

“Very well.”

“Don’t you men you have anything to do but crowd around here?” Jiggs asked.

“Can’t can we just stay here and like, watch him for awhile, Capgain? All safe and sound. And happy...wonder what he’s dreaming....”

“I don’t see any REM movement in his eye,” Ski said.

“Huh?”

“He’s not dreaming,” I said. “Oh, he’s asleep but not dreaming.”

“They must be exhausted,” Jiggs said softly.

The men muttered in agreement as they all watched Lee adoringly, especially Riley.

“Fine by me for you men to hang around,” Chip said, “just don’t wake him and...what the....” Chip said as we heard a lot heavy footsteps on deck.

“You can’t go down there without permission!” one of the deck watch was complaining.”

“The hell we can’t,” was an answer, followed by four ‘men in black’, climbing down the ladder to the deck and looking around. One of the men pulled out a shiny ID then calling up.

“All clear, sir.”

Sisemen’s voice preceded his descent.

“Where’s Nelson-Crane?” he’d demanded, followed by the secretary of state. Then he saw who he was looking for.

“Wake him up! Now, damn it! Never mind, I’ll do it.”

Practically launching toward his prey he stopped short of actually grabbing Lee’s shoulder.

“Damn it man, wake up! Wake up!”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Ski said.

“What? How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Sorry, sir, but you’re still doing it wrong.”

“You gotta’ do it like this,” Riley said as he jumped off the plot table and neared Lee, “Skipper? Skipper?” he asked gently.

Lee moaned a little but just snuggled back down into the chair.

“Skipper?” Ski asked, a touch louder than Riley, “Skipper?”

Lee moaned a bit more but slowly began to open his eyes. It took a while for his surroundings to register, finally focusing on the president.

“Oh gawd, now what? Joe, wake up,” he said as he nudged his friend’s shoulder, while both remained in their chairs. “Looks like we’re in the doghouse again. I swear, Mr. President, the official paperwork terminating us from the Navy wasn’t official yet, and we were classed aboard the fat bird as cargo....”

“We’re not here about that,” the secretary of state said, and Lee furrowed his brows rising. “Here,” he handed Lee an official document. Lee squinted, trying to adjust his vision.

“I’ll do it,” the president said grabbing it out of his hands. “The AMA claims it finds no trace of brain damage in your MRI and sees no reason to delay your return to the Oval Office, neither does the Security Council despite your hallucinations, so, get your damn ass out of that chair and sign the return to office document that’s been in storage.”

He handed it to Lee.

But the man in question was more interested in looking at his crew and Seaview.

“Well? Are you going to sign the damn thing or not?”

Lee pursed his lips and leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

“Let me think about it,” he said calmly.

“Think about it? Think about it? Damn it man, I came all the way here on Marine One at the bequest of the Security Council believing you’d resume the job! Well say something!”

“Do you want me to return to the office?”

“Hell no, I think you’re the most obnoxious, opinionated, and disgusting president we’ve ever had and...and you always think you’re right!”

“Ah, well, you got me there,” Lee said.

“What do you think, Joe? Ready to resume the grind?”

“Ready to follow you into hell if that’s what you want.”

“Not particularly, but,” he sighed, “duty calls. Sure would have been nice to spend a bit more time aboard.”

And so Lee rose, barefoot, grabbed a pen from the plot table, and signed the document which was witnessed and signed by Sisemen and the secretary of state.

“Congratulations on your return, Mr. President,” the secretary said. “Marine One is waiting.”

“I’ll use another mode of transportation, Mr. Secretary. I’ll see you in Washington shortly.”

Sisemen was about to climb the ladder topside when Ski waylaid him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, sir?” Ski asked.

“My good sense letting him retake office, yes.”

“I mean the GW ring...the president’s ring.”

The new ex-president removed it from his finger and tossed it to the deck.

“Despite popular opinion, it has no special powers.”

With that he continued to climb up and out of sight.

Ski reverently picked up the ring, and pulled out an alcohol wipe from one of the plot table’s drawers, wiping all around inside and out, then handing it to Lee.

“Here you go, Skipper.”

“You know,” Lee told the secretary as he put on the ring, “it does have special powers...belongs to the nation, just as a president does. Good thing to remember when my ego gets too big.”

“Never happen, son,” I said proudly embracing him.

“How will you get back to Washington?” the secretary asked.

“Sparks?” Lee asked, “Get in touch with Langley. See if anyone from the two fat bird squadron’s is still sober to ferry Cdr. Jackson and me to Washington.”

“Why not use the Flying Sub?” Riley asked.

“Oh, I would, but...kind of owe the guys...and maybe they’ll me do a JETO take off again...it was great...don’t look scared. I was in the co-pilot’s seat in case I did anything wrong and the pilot could take over...”

“Patterson?” I asked, “Get out some of those photos you took of Lee, er, the president, in the nose and at the periscope, etc. I promised a few folks at supper that I’d get you to sign some, Lee. Even for Byrd and Baldwin’s celebrity wall.”

“I told you they’d go there!” Joe complained to Lee. “Gawd, I could sure use a steak. But no, you had to get here to give your best girl some soppy love pats.”

“Pick, pick, pick.”

“Excuse me, Skip...er. Mr. President,” Sparks said coming over, “The squadron’s guys are tossing for which bird and crew to use. They’ll land at Chambers Field in about fifteen minutes.”

“Here you go, Skipper,” Patterson said returning with a stack of assorted photos. I pulled out the manager’s handwritten list of names for Lee to emboss with his signature on the photos.

While Lee signed the pictures he asked Ski over.

“Ski, I need to ask you something...something that’s been bugging me.”

“Anything, Skipper.”

“Do you want to be an officer? I know you’re doing well with NROTC, and I know I wanted you to become an officer, but,” Lee hesitated and ran a hand through his hair, “but I’d rather you be happy...I’m not sure you are...so, I want you to think about it. If you decide to leave NROTC, it won’t be held against you...if you continue with it, if you become an officer that’s great, but if you’d rather return to the way things were when you were a seaman, that’s great too...just think about it, okay? When you’ve decided let Capt. Morton know.”

“Aye sir.”

“And Ski, I want the decision to be yours. Not because you think one way or another would make me happy. This is your life, not mine.”

“I’ll think about it good and hard, Skipper.”

“Very well,” Lee said with his sunshine smile and resumed signing the pictures.

Soon the task was done and the pictures collected by Pat. Then we were informed that the fat bird, temporarily deemed as Air Force One had landed and Base Security was sending a car for the restored president and his aide to take them to it. The secretary of state and the two Secret Service agents would accompany them.

Joe was anxious to get going, but I could tell that Lee wasn’t.

“You could bunk here tonight,” I told him.

“I’d like that...but,” he sighed shrugging his shoulders and began to shake everyone’s hands and give them a few words, with a few extra for Chip and me.”

“Lee,” Joe said, “don’t you think you should put on your boots and socks?”

“Already on the job?” Lee smirked. “And shouldn’t it be socks, then boots?”

“Very funny,” Joe answered as Lee headed aft to ‘tour’ the boat and say goodbye to her and every man he could.

After about an hour, he returned, and made a slight detour to the view ports and tapped them gently. I tried not to listen in, but his lips weren’t moving. I supposed it was a silent message just between him and his beloved boat.

Then, as his crew surrounded him, he pulled on his still moist socks and boots, while his crew continued to wish him well.

I wished he could stay aboard and never return to Washington, but the Man Upstairs had other ideas as I’d known He would.

All too soon, Lee and Joe climbed topside, followed by the secretary, the Secret Service agents, a river of crewmen, Jiggs, Chip and I following.

Lee’s crew formed an impromptu honor guard on deck and on the dock while I gave Lee another paternal embrace. Then, being saluted by his men, Lee returned it, said his goodbyes again to Chip, Jiggs, and me, and strode down the gangplank, saluting the colors on the way.

When he reached the dock and the waiting car, he turned to give Seaview, and all of us a last longing look, then taking a breath, got into the back seat of the sedan, while Joe and the secretary, the two agents squished into the sedan and the spare behind.

The cars revved up and drove off.

And so the country had her rightful president back and most everyone, as soon as they’d find out on the late-late news, that was, would be better able to sleep tonight.

I wasn’t going to be able to, of course. Because I knew my boy would be facing a gazillion ‘what if’s’ that he’d be faced with running the country. Beginning again right now. So he might not get any sleep tonight either.

It was soon quiet aboard Seaview, as the men dispersed, saddened that their beloved skipper couldn’t have spent more time with them, but relieved that he was back in office, where even they knew he truly belonged.

It wasn’t long before the news was being broadcast on just about every channel in the nation.

“....We’re here at Andrews Air Force Base where Air Force One is about to land. And yes, that Hercules C-130 is Air Force One right now as it’s bringing President Nelson-Crane back to Washington. A short time ago he signed Amendment 25’s Resumption of Office witnessed by the secretary of state and now former President Sisemen as the AMA certified Nelson-Crane cleared of any brain damage and able to resume the presidency.

“...And Air Force One has landed.”

First we saw the flight crew descend to form a double line at the bottom of the steps with the uniformed base commander and several airmen.

Joe was first of my boys to deplane. He was greeted with salutes, returned them, and stood with the base commander, waiting for Lee.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s patting her insides and giving her a fond farewell,” Jiggs said.

Four limos, a mini-van, and a cab drove up

“...The presidential limousine and its motorcade has arrived. The the secretary of state is emerging. Secret Service agents are getting out of their vehicles to take up their assigned security positions. Nobody’s gotten out of the cab yet, but it does have a visitor’s pass hanging from the visor...And there he is, President Nelson-Crane...as rumpled as Cmdr. Jackson...what are those boots their wearing, anyway, steel tipped combat boots?”

Lee patted the hull behind the open hatch before making his descent. A short walk down the steps, and saluted by the men on the tarmac. He returned the salute and shook all their hands before the cab door opened and Mrs. C. emerged, trying very hard to hold on to Winston’s leash, hurrying to her son.

He lifted her off her feet and twirled her around as she kissed him on the cheek, Winston, his leash dragging, running around them.

He took a last look at his flight crew, and then the plane, saluting it.

Joe led Lee and Mrs. C. to the presidential limo, where a Secret Service agent opened the rear passenger door for them.

Lee gave his flight crew and the plane a last look and disappeared inside after Joe, his mother and Winston got into the other side.

And then the motorcade drove away, their lights flashing and sirens blaring.

“...No doubt,” the reporter said, “there will be a crowd at the White House gates to welcome Nelson-Crane back. We’ll bring you live coverage.”

“Well,” Jiggs said, as he leaned back in the Observation Nose lounger that Joe had napped in, “I wonder how the history books will handle this chapter in Lee’s life.”

“Return of the prodigal?” Chip asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the sideboard.

“No,” Jiggs said. “the Bible’s prodigal had boozed and wasted his life...our boy was kicked out and returned triumphant. Hey, aren’t those some of Kowalski’s sketches?” he asked of the two sketches on the table.

“Yes,” Chip said, “faxed them to social media.”

“They’re quite good.”

One was of Lee brooding at the Oval Office’s desk, the ghost of Abe Lincoln with him. The other was a nice study of Lee, his hair tousled, wearing a black eyepatch, and a Seaview insignia on his collar, and American flag on his jacket. Each fitting reminders for Lee’s latest chapter of his life at the White House.

“Weird thing, fate,” Chip sighed.

I was about to let it slide, but took out a rumpled bill from my wallet and turned it over to the back side.

“No, wasn’t fate,” I said, handing it to him.

“You really think God had a hand in watching over Lee?” Chip asked. “And the nation?”

“Lee believed it...perhaps we should too.”

I took the bill back and reverently folded it, saving it to be framed and placed on my cabin’s desk. The words ‘In God We Trust’ to remind me that despite my nightmares, dreams or premonitions, I needed to do so. The words were our official motto of the nation most everyone never noticed or had forgotten. I swore to myself that I’d never forget them.

I already knew Lee wouldn’t.

Harriman Horatio Nelson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

People, Places, and Things:

All characters are fictional. Any similarity to real persons is coincidental.

Most places are real.

There are species of mushrooms that really do eat radiation.

While the F-22 Raptor jet fighter is real, the B model in this story is invented.

***

CITATION M-2

CESSNA

F-22

C-130 AKA FAT ALBERT