The Wrong Way Home

By R. L. Keller

(A couple of people know the story behind this little piece. Personally, I’m taking the 5^th. Or, perhaps, drinking it !!! )

Lee had his head buried in over a dozen different sheets of paper he’d spread out across the chart table and barely acknowledged Chip walking up to him. “Still no idea what’s causing the issues?” the blond asked.

Lee answered with a question of his own. “Everything ready to shove off?” He still didn’t look up.

Chip put his ‘XO on Duty’ expression firmly in place as he prepared to answer. “All supplies loaded, all but one crewman has reported in.” When Lee didn’t bite on that discrepancy Chip added, with a quirky grin, “And several small green creatures have been spotted scurrying through the air vents.”

So hard was Lee concentrating on the papers that it took him several seconds to totally register what Chip had said. With an almost growl he stood up straight, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at his XO, at which point Chip broke into a broad grin.

“Just making sure you were actually listening,” Chip teased his CO – and best friend.

“Harrumph,” Lee muttered softly, an almost exact reproduction of the two men’s boss, Admiral Harriman Nelson.

Seaview, Nelson’s futuristic research submarine, was sitting at the dock in San Diego. The whole crew had been enjoying what was supposed to be a relatively peaceful couple of weeks in port when they’d received a frantic call from Logan Sealab that their air revitalization system was having ‘issues’. No one there could diagnose the problem, and all activities and projects were immediately halted and the crew confined to one small area, to minimize the workload for the malfunctioning system. So far they were able to maintain an adequate air supply but there was no way to know for sure how long that would last.

NIMR had put out an immediate recall of all crew and made ready to sail as quickly as possible, with a first stop in San Diego to pick up equipment and supplies that were faster to acquire there than in Santa Barbara. The one crewman farthest away when the recall came in was also one of the most important to the boat – her CMO, Dr. Will Jamison. Jamie, as mostly only Lee and Chip called him, had gone to Florida to visit an old friend. He’d changed his flight before calling in, then had to change it again when he discovered that Seaview was making the stop in San Diego – he’d fly into LAX and take the shuttle down to the Navy Base.

Lee finally relaxed his shoulders and glanced at his watch. “Jamie’s flight running late?” he guessed, since that was the only crewman who still hadn’t reported in.

Chip shrugged. “Not totally sure, actually,” he admitted. “There’s been so many quick text messages between changing flights, then locations, that I lost track. The latest is, he’ll hit the base about 2200 hours.”

Lee frowned. “I thought that the Admiral said he’d somehow arranged to be here by 1700 hours.”

“That was, I think, Plan C. Apparently he’s back to Plan B.” He sent Lee a look. “But it could be Plan D by this time, considering all the texts.”

Lee sighed. “Which means we can’t leave for at least another five hours, and that means fighting the tide.”

“Or, leaving FS1 at the dock with someone to pilot her back once Jamie gets here. All of his gear was loaded by the corpsmen so he could come directly from the airport.”

“Humm,” Lee pondered that one. “Beats twiddling our thumbs while we wait for him. And the faster we get to Logan and get this,” he gestured toward the papers he’d been studying, “figured out, the faster Logan can get back to full operation.”

“I’m sure that they would appreciate that.” Lee sent Chip another glare for the flip response and reached for the mic.

* * * *

2330 hours found a few differences in Seaview’s Conn. Some personnel had changed at various stations, and the submarine was running at full speed toward Logan Sealab instead of sitting quietly in port. But Lee was still at the chart table staring at a multitude of data sheets with Chip at his side. Lt. O’Brien technically had the Conn but with so much tension concerning the problems at Logan he wasn’t going to say anything about the continued presence of both CO and XO. Even Admiral Nelson was making frequent trips up and down the spiral stairs, keeping up with current conditions.

“Skipper,” came from the Radio Shack in Sparks’ controlled tone, “FS1 sending her homing beacon.”

Lee sighed and looked at O’Brien. Never slow on the uptake, the lieutenant called out, “All stop. Prepare to receive the Flying Sub.” With a small nod to both Lee and O’Brien, Chip walked forward to open the upper hatch once the small yellow machine was snug in her berth.

Expecting the usually upbeat, if occasionally cynical, doctor to pop out the nose hatch, Chip was totally unprepared for the grunted growl Will tossed his direction before stomping through the Conn, never looking left or right, and disappearing out the aft hatch. Lee had straightened up as he passed. But totally ignored, he shared a surprised look with Chip as other crewmen very carefully kept their eyes on their respective instrumentation. There was such total silence around the Conn that Admiral Nelson’s footsteps on the stairs seemed to echo. But even he was quiet until Seaman Kowalski, who’d been left to bring Dr. Jamison back, climbed cautiously out of the hatch and dogged it behind him.

“Ski?” Nelson asked softly as the senior rating straightened.

“No clue, sir,” Kowalski correctly guessed what the OOM wanted. “He hasn’t said more than a dozen words since he hit the dock, and most of them I tried not to listen too closely to.”

At that Nelson snorted softly and a small smile briefly hit his face before he focused on his captain. “Your crew is now complete,” he said with a firm look,” so you can relax and crash.” As Lee looked like he was going to argue, Nelson’s voice became even more firm. “And that goes for your XO as well. You both need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when we finally get to Logan.” Lt. O’Brien tried to keep a straight face at that bit of flippancy as he got Seaview moving again. He wasn’t overly successful, which caused Lee to duck his head and Chip to send him a quick glare. Nelson’s smile came back. “I’ll be right behind you. Ah…” he hesitated, “right after I find out what’s got Will torqued.”

“Yes, sir,” Lee finally acquiesced. Nelson did have to stop him from taking all the sheets of data with him as he finally headed up the stairs. At that it was Chip’s turn to snort softly as he followed Lee. Nelson made sure that they were both out of sight before gathering up the reports and taking them with him as he followed the CMO aft.

Nelson had no doubt where Will had headed; no matter what had ticked him off Seaview’s CMO would check Sick Bay first thing on returning to the boat. But considering the doctor’s apparent bad mood Nelson decided that a frontal approach might not be all that wise and quietly entered Sick Bay’s main door instead of the one that opened directly into Will’s office. John, the usual corpsman with night duty, was at the far end of the room ostensibly stocking a supply cabinet. He shuddered as he nodded toward Will’s office and Nelson took the couple of steps necessary to cautiously lean on the door frame. Will was seated at his desk. The bottle of brandy he kept for what Lee and Chip called ‘doctored coffee’ was open on the desktop and Will was just draining his coffee mug. Since the small coffee pot Will kept behind his desk was clean, Nelson was pretty sure that Will had just downed a straight shot of the powerful spirits.

“Who are you mad at?” Nelson asked softly.

Will threw him a quick glare. It changed fairly quickly to a wry grimace. “Me,” he admitted.

Nelson grinned softly. “More?” he nodded toward the bottle. “Or shall I go get us both some coffee?”

Will seemed to ponder, but fairly quickly capped the bottle and put it away. “I’ll walk with you to the Wardroom.”

Nothing was said as the two men walked the short distance to the Officers’ Wardroom. Seaview’s grapevine was obviously in fine form even at this late time of night because, as they entered, two off-duty lieutenants made a hasty exit. Nelson’s grin returned as Will frowned, then chuckled softly as Will muttered, “Had that coming,” and headed for the never-allowed-to-be-empty coffee urn. Will’s first mug went down in one long draw before he refilled it and sat at the closest table. Nelson tried to keep a smile off his face as he filled a mug and sat down opposite. He stayed quiet as Will took a more measured swallow and stared into the mug for a few moments longer.

“You know about all the original switching of flights,” Will started quietly. Nelson nodded. “Ended up catching a tail wind and getting to LAX over half an hour early.” Nelson nodded; that had also been relayed by text. But after that there had only been one more text, short and curt, saying that Will wouldn’t arrive early. Period.

“I was really happy that I only had my carry-on bag and could make a run for where the shuttles picked up.” Nelson thought that he heard Will growl softly but Will once more had his mug to his mouth so he carefully counseled his expression. “As I got near where I usually catch the shuttles I could see that part of the area was boarded up, like they were doing some remodeling; construction of some sort.” Nelson sent him a quick, friendly nod. “There was an airport security woman just passing me so I asked her where the shuttles were now picking up. She pointed me across the main drive to the parking garage and said that they were now using the access road there.” This time Nelson was sure that he heard Will growl ‘something’ into his coffee mug. “I glanced at my watch – I was sure that the earlier shuttle left at 1500 hours. I actually had plenty of time and was hoping that shuttle wasn’t full and I could grab a seat and not have to wait for the 1900 hours one that I did have a reservation for.” He emptied that mug of coffee and refilled it before continuing.

“I waited.” He glared at Nelson but the Admiral knew that he wasn’t the focus of Will’s anger. “And waited. And waited.” Another muttered ‘something’ escaped. “1500 came and went, and all I saw were hotel shuttles. A gazillion of them.” Nelson again sent him a nod of acknowledgment. “I waited some more and finally, about 1540, I walked over to where cabbies were picking up and asked one of the airport employees if I was in the right spot to catch the shuttle down to San Diego. He mumbled ‘all the shuttles pick up there now’ with a wave toward where I’d been standing and turned his back.” Will looked at Nelson. “I really wanted to slap him silly.”

At that Nelson let a bubble of laughter escape. Will was one of the most calm, level-headed people he’d ever met. “But of course you didn’t,” he told the doctor with assurance.

“Harrumph,” Will muttered, in exact imitation of one of Nelson’s favorite utterings, although a good deal softer than his boss usually used. “Realizing by now that I’d obviously missed the earlier shuttle, I wandered back to where I used to catch it. If nothing else I was hoping to find something to eat without having to go back into the airport and through security. When I looked closer I could see that one of the desks that I remembered were there was occupied.” He sent Nelson another glare. “If I’d had any brains I’d have noticed that earlier,” came out in a growl. Nelson wisely chose to remain silent. “When I asked him about the shuttles he confirmed that yes, the hotel shuttles were all using the other place, but the area shuttles to other destinations were still picking up at the old spot, they’d just had to move which door you used to the outside area.” This time his look was self-berating. “I had headed toward the right spot in the first place but then stupidly believed that the airport hired intelligent enough employees to actually know what they were talking about, and that ‘all shuttles’ didn’t actually mean all.” He sighed heavily. “I also learned that the one I thought left at 1500 hours actually left at 1430.” He sent Nelson a sheepish look. “But I still could have made it if I’d just been more observant.”

Nelson drained his mug. “We’re still on schedule, so no damage done,” he assured his CMO. “Well,” he amended, “other than to your blood pressure.” He sent Will a smile of friendship. “I’ve sent Lee and Chip to their bunks. Time for us both to crash as well. We’ve all had a long day.”

“Got that right,” Will muttered. But he sent Nelson a quick grin as they both headed for their cabins.