Author's Notes:
First published in 1985 in LATE NIGHT #1
Revised October 2004
Many thanks to all my betas!

If it is the judgment of said officer that death is eminent and there is a chance that others will survive by his action, it is then the duty of that officer to sacrifice his life to insure that survival.
-- Division Officers Guide -- U.S. Navy

Beyond the Call

by Diane Kachmar and L.A. Carr

Admiral Harriman Nelson walked down the spiral staircase that connected the front observation deck to the main control room of Seaview. He paused on the bottom step, giving the area a once over. Everyone was at their post, running the boat. The sonar station pinged rhythmically, mingling with the quiet chatter of the navigational computer. Every piece of equipment in the control room had a distinctive sound; all together the operational equipment formed a unique medley. Harry cocked his head, listening. No trouble there.

His gaze stopped at the chart table directly in front of him. Captain Lee Crane was conferring with his XO, Chip Morton. Nelson smiled, seeing them bent over the grid map. Lee was jotting the coordinates onto his clipboard for his log, while Chip calculated how long it would take to get there. They were a team, which was unusual, since they were very different personalities. Yet, when it came to the boat, Lee and Chip were always in sync. Harry would be hard pressed to find two other people who complemented each other so well.

His quiet arrival had gone unnoticed as Harry stood on the last stair, enjoying the sight of a well-run boat.

Lee glanced up from his clipboard suddenly, saw him standing there and smiled a greeting. "Good morning, sir."

"'Morning, Lee," Harry answered, stepping down to the deck. "How's she running?"

"Green across the board. I'll know our present course as soon as Commander Morton gives me his report." Lee reached across the chart table, giving his Exec's arm a nudge. "How about it, Chip?"

"I'm working as fast as I can, Skipper." Morton took Lee's teasing good-naturedly. "Unfortunately, not all of us are as efficient as you." He made a quick calculation on the grid map. "Current bearing two-seven-oh. At two-thirds cruising that puts us about one thousand nautical miles north of the Marshall Islands. ETA--Manila, ninety-six hours." Chip grinned. "Give or take ten minutes."

"Very well," Harry nodded, smiling. "I may hold you to that."

"No problem," Lee answered confidently. He extended his clipboard. "Report from the last watch, sir."

Harry took the clipboard, scanning it briefly. All stations normal. He handed it back to Lee. "Carry on, Captain."

"Aye, sir." Lee placed his clipboard on the chart table and sat down on the stool. He began to make more notations.

Harry smiled as Crane unconsciously hooked his leg around one of the stool supports. It was highly unlikely they'd encounter any turbulence on this course, but Lee never made the same mistake twice.

Walking a few steps beyond the chart table, Harry glanced at the sonar scope absently. Clear. Like Lee said, green across the board. His eyes roved the Christmas tree monitor above the computer-navigation console. It was totally unnecessary for him to check, but the crew liked him to drop down. They made sure Crane looked good.

The sub's intercom system crackled to life. Nick Peatty, the ship's communications officer, came on. "Incoming message from our Marshall Island research station, Skipper. He wants to speak with the Admiral."

Crane raised a questioning eyebrow, as Nelson came back to the chart table. Harry nodded. Lee reached over, deftly snagging the microphone. "Put it on the main video screen, Sparks."

"Aye, sir."

The monitor shimmered gray, clearing to a half focused picture. The image sharpened as Peatty homed in on the transmission. Dr. Andrew Marlowe, the head of the sea farm, was seated at his desk, looking tired and rumpled, his gray hair disarrayed. His normally bright smile was noticeably absent.

"Hello, Andy." Harry stepped toward the periscope so Seaview's transmitter could send his image to Marlowe's receiver. "Little early for a progress report, isn't it?"

"Wish I had better news." Andy shifted the papers on his desk nervously. "I have a problem, sir."

"What is it?" Harry encouraged. Andy wasn't one to call with every little delay. He liked to accomplish his research on his own.

Marlowe licked his lips. "The purificator stopped working. Gary--" Andy cleared his throat. "Gary and I can't fix it. Our work is in jeopardy."

"What's the matter?" Nothing Harry could think of readily would cause the purificator to break down. His design should have held up.

"I'm not an engineer, sir. Could you stop on your way to Manila?"

Harry gestured at Morton. Chip began calculating again. "We'll work out something, Andy. How long has it been out?"

"About a day," Marlowe answered tiredly.

"I'll get it working again. Be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks." Andy kept looking at him, making Harry think he was going to say something else, but the screen went blank.

"End of transmission, sir," Sparks said a moment later.

"Shut it down."

"Aye, sir." The screen went black.

"Andy wasn't his usual bouncy self," Chip observed, still calculating on the grid map.

"Without the purificator running the hydroponics ..." Lee shook his head. “He’ll lose this crop and have to start all over.”

"Ouch." Chip laid down his pencil. "If we change course, coming to one-eight-oh, we could be there late tomorrow, if we pushed a little."

"Hang on a minute, Chip." Lee leaned over the table, studying the grid, then straightened, turning toward Harry. "Andy might be able to salvage some of the experiment. Wouldn’t it be quicker to take the flying sub, rather than diverting?"

"Yes, it would." Harry walked over to the table, deciding quickly. "Have a detail prepare the flying sub for takeoff. I should get Andy’s system operational again within an hour or two, once I get there."

"Aye, sir." Crane picked up his mic again, giving orders to Chief Sharkey to prep the Flying Sub as Nelson walked forward to the spiral staircase.

"Could you use another hand?" Lee's question stopped him at the foot of the stairs.

Nelson turned back, making his voice gruff with mock severity. "Exactly who is the only other person on board who's worked on my C-1 purificator?"

Crane smiled self-consciously. “That would be me.”

"All right, Lee," Harry answered, amused. "Grab the tool kit and run your baby through preflight. If you're going, you might as well drive. Tell Sharkey not to worry about a copilot."

"Thank you, sir." Crane’s sheepish smile widened into a happy grin. "You have the conn, Mr. Morton."

Chip responded smartly, laughter in his eyes. "Aye, aye, sir!"

"Don't run into anything," Lee admonished, making one last rapid notation on his clipboard before extending the pencil to Morton.

"Never." Chip looked at Lee and then waggled the pencil in Crane's face. "You know, one of these days, I'm going to tell you no when you want to go flying off. Let you hold the fort for once."

"Sure, Chip." Lee was laughing as he put his hand on Chip's shoulder for a moment. "One of these days. Tell you all about it when I get back."

"No, thanks! I've got better things to do than listen to you go on about diodes, armatures and--" Morton raised the pencil in dismissal. "Go. Have your joyride. We'll manage."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Crane replied, deadpan.

Harry chuckled softly to himself. His boys were at it again.

Lee came forward to the stairs. "Ready when you are, sir."

"Then let's go, son."

* * * * *

Harry steeled his nerves as Lee banked the flying sub in a sweeping arc, the g-forces shoving him back into the copilot's chair before they finally leveled off on their new heading. The water flashed beneath them in a blue-green blur. He could feel the twin engines vibrating through the deck plates. The rushing air blended with the howl of the jets, the noise adding to his feeling of breakneck speed. But the engines weren't straining, the instruments indicated they were only cruising at two-thirds. Even with all the flying he had done, Nelson found he still preferred a deck.

Harry glanced over at Lee. The roguish grin was still there. Clad in his old black leather Commander's jacket from before his promotion, Crane reminded Harry of the P-40 aces he had known at Pearl. Only Lee wasn't so hotshot. Most of the time.

His Captain was possessive of the small prototype craft he had helped design, managing to log more flight time than any other NIMR pilot. Nelson really didn't mind. Lee was a different person away from his control room. With the twin joysticks in his hands, he was always coaxing the flying craft to give her maximum. Harry wasn't afraid to fly with Lee; he had become an excellent pilot, but Crane had an unconscious habit of pushing himself to his limits. Lee wasn't satisfied until he knew what he could demand of a machine. Harry dreaded the day Lee would fly the craft upside down.

Crane swept in low across the north side of the island to announce their arrival. The station unfolded beneath them like a makeshift quilt. It had begun as a weather station, a few small concrete buildings for the observers, but Andy had turned it into a thriving sea farm. Several rows of tanks had been added for his hydroponics, with a line of outbuildings for his equipment.

Lee brought the sub around, heading for the lagoon on the east shore. Landing in surf wasn’t easy. If Crane cut power too soon, the crests would catch up, swamping them -- not serious, since they were a submarine -- but it was a sloppy way to land. Lee wouldn't stand for that. Crane made a perfect straight-in run, feathering the joystick, timing it so a wave lifted beneath them as their hull touched the water, then gently let them down into the sea.

They slid smoothly through the waves toward the shore. Lee pivoted the craft easily, pointing her nose back out to sea, before he cut power. She settled easily on the sandy bottom, the water halfway up her yellow hull.

Crane turned toward Nelson, unbuckling his harness. "The Marshalls, sir."

Harry glanced at his watch deliberately. "In two hours."

"She's flying well today."

"Of course, she is." Harry smiled at Lee's explanation. He shrugged out of his harness. "We’ve got a purificator to get working."

* * * * *

Andy's problem, Lee thought, was being found. The living quarters were deserted. He and Nelson were running out of places to look. Both Andy and Gary knew the capabilities of the flying sub and Seaview's itinerary. They should have been met at the lagoon. When no one showed, the Admiral had decided to split up to search. So far Lee hadn't found a trace of either Marlowe or Ensinger. He hoped Nelson was having better luck.

Crane turned down the narrow, tree-lined dirt path toward the holding tanks on the southern end of the compound. They could be harvesting samples to document the failure. As he walked along in the shadow of the trees, the vague feeling of unease Crane had been trying to ignore sent out a warning tickle. Lee stopped, glancing around, but saw only palms swaying in the breeze, their shadows weaving on the cool dirt. He shook his head, forcing the feeling down. He couldn’t let his imagination get the better of him. Andy and Gary had to be here. Somewhere.

Crane continued along the path. The palms lifted their fronds as the breeze blew against them. Beneath their sliding rustle he heard the crackling of branches being pushed aside behind him. Lee stiffened at the unexpected sound, but forced himself not to break stride. Neither Andy nor Gary had any reason to sneak around after him and Nelson wouldn't.

Lee couldn't fight his growing certainty something was wrong here at the station. Andy's calling them, then no one at the beach. It didn't make sense. There was nothing at the farm anyone would want. Andy's hydroponics were experimental. They wouldn’t know for some time if there was any commercial application. Crane heard the crackling again, several feet back. That wasn't the wind; someone was following him and not doing a good job. Lee smiled grimly. He hoped his stalker was better at answering questions than he was at trailing him.

There was a scurrying rustle in the underbrush as Crane passed by the south end of the holding tanks. He resisted looking over his shoulder when he turned at the first of the storage buildings, keeping his normal pace until he was out of sight of the path. Then Lee flattened himself against the side of the building. Crane heard stealthy footsteps, the creak of leather coming toward him on the path. Lee tensed, waiting.

The man edged around the building. Lee took only a moment to register the rifle, the green camouflage fatigues, the swarthy dark face; then he jumped him.

The soldier went down under him, surprised. Crane grabbed the rifle, trying to wrench it from the man's hands before he could bring it to bear. His adversary resisted, twisting, trying to break Lee's grip on the weapon. He couldn't keep him pinned; the man outweighed him by a good fifty pounds.

The soldier threw his leg over Crane's, rising to his knees. Pinned on either side by a burly leg, Lee tried to squirm free, but the Russian threw his newly gained leverage against the stock of the rifle, forcing it towards Lee's throat. Crane took instant advantage of the shift, shoving against the magazine and ramming the steel barrel into the soldier's gut. The man grunted, toppling to the sand. Following the arc of the rifle, Lee rolled onto his opponent's chest. He got his knees under him and straightened up, tightening his grip on the barrel. Swinging the rifle like a club, Lee struck his adversary across the head. The man cried out, startled and went limp.

Crane dropped the rifle butt to the sand, clinging to the barrel, trying to catch his breath. Another soldier burst through the underbrush, rifle held high. Lee tried to parry with his own rifle, but a single savage swing tore it from his hands. The force knocked him sideways and he rolled, coming back to his knees. The soldier was beside him, his rifle butt smashing down before Lee could even move. The left side of his head exploded in searing, blinding pain. Crane felt himself falling, then nothing.

* * * * *

Harry couldn't believe Andy was missing. Where the hell would he go? He and Gary had been there for breakfast. That much he could tell from a glance at the table. The unmade beds and dirty dishes could be normal, but the scattered clothing, the open footlockers, the papers strewn across the floor pointed to more than sloppy housekeeping. It wasn't like Andy to leave his things in such a state. Marlowe could have been spending all his time trying to get the purificator going again. Nelson had checked his device first thing and found it out of commission. They should have been waiting for us. Where are they?

The two men had no means to leave the island, so they should be here. Harry had found neither one. That bothered him. Andy had always been reliable. He'd only miss an appointment if he was held up by someone else. That might happen in Santa Barbara, but not here. There was no one else on the island.

Nelson stepped out onto the concrete porch, hoping Lee was having a more successful search down by the tanks. Harry stopped when he heard a high-powered rifle cocking. He turned very slowly. Three men stood at the west end of the small porch, their rifles trained on him. One look at their grim faces and Harry gingerly lifted his hands up.

The first man smiled coldly, advancing toward Harry. "They told me you were a very smart man, Admeeral Nelson." He was tall, dark and spoke English with an eastern European accent. Dressed in green camouflage fatigues, the only thing marking him as the leader were Russian Army Colonel's insignia on his collar. He gestured with his rifle. "You will come with us, please."

"Where are you holding Dr. Marlowe?" Harry asked quietly, not moving.

Again the wintry smile crossed the features of the leader. "I'm afraid Dr. Marlowe outlived his usefulness to us. He attempted to escape." The man shrugged. "We could not allow that."

"Of course." Harry tried to stay calm at the news, but he couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you gave him a Christian burial."

The Colonel sniffed. "We are not savages in my country, Admeeral. Let us keep this an exchange between civilized men. Now, if you have no further questions--" He brought his rifle barrel up, brushing Harry's collar. "This way, please."

Nelson stepped forward, debating making a break for it. He glanced at his captors again. Three against one ... maybe if Lee was here to even it up, but not now. If he could stall-- Harry glanced furtively toward the south side of the compound.

The Colonel abruptly prodded him with his rifle. "I wouldn't worry about your pilot, if I were you, Admeeral. I sent my two best men after him when you so fortuitously decided to separate. They should be returning with him very shortly."

"In the same condition as Marlowe?" Harry glared at the Russian.

"No, fortunately for him, I haven't determined his usefulness yet."

They stared each other down for a moment. Harry began walking in the direction the Russian had indicated. He'd wait until he had Lee back at his side.

The path led to one of the outbuildings, a cinder block storage shed for Andy's farming tools. A soldier flanked him on either side, the leader staying behind him. Before they reached their destination, a shrill whistle cut the air. After a moment it was answered from the holding tank area. A camo-dressed man appeared in front of the last building, with Lee draped over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He was followed by another man, who staggered, dazed. Harry smiled faintly. Lee had taken one of them out before they subdued him.

That little procession joined his group in front of the newly padlocked door of the storage shed. The Colonel unlocked it, shoving him inside. The soldier carrying Lee entered behind him and let Crane slide to the floor in an unmoving heap.

"I am sorry the accommodations aren't better," the Russian said. "I must detain you until you give me the Alderman process."

Nelson quickly dropped to his knees beside Lee, bending over Crane to keep the Russian from seeing his face. So that was the game! They had traced the nitrates here, and thought-- Damn Alderman. He never should have agreed to that experiment in the first place. It had been nothing but trouble.

"I'm not doing anything until I make sure my pilot is all right," Harry bit out stubbornly. He felt along the edge of Lee's hair where it was matted with blood. Nelson was relieved when his searching fingers found only a small scalp cut.

That relief was fleeting, displaced by worry over what his captors would do with the Alderman process. Nelson had hoped the Russians believed it had died with its creator. They would use the energy generated as a weapon. He should have destroyed the left-over nitrates, instead of giving them to Andy to fertilize his hydroponics. The Russians must have thought the explosion in Santa Barbara was a ruse and that the process had then been moved here for further development. Andy had only known that whatever Alderman had been experimenting with hadn't worked. Harry felt cold metal touch his neck.

"Your pilot will remain here until he’s awake again. You will come with us for interrogation."

"You said we were going to be civilized about this." Harry turned on the Russian. "Give me five minutes to stop the bleeding. Then I'll come. I wouldn't leave a dog in his condition."

"Yes." The Colonel looked at him appraisingly. "Your file said your men are very loyal to you and would follow you anywhere."

"You'd best attend to your own man," Nelson replied. Harry gestured at the door.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed on his swaying soldier propped against the door frame. Irritated, the Russian motioned for two of his soldiers to take the injured man away. "Your man got lucky. Very well, you shall have five minutes for first aid, but no more. At the end of that time you will come." The man's voice grew cold. "Do not attempt anything heroic, Admeeral. There will be a guard outside your door until I return." The Colonel left, followed by the last soldier, who padlocked the door behind him.

Harry rocked back on his heels and sat down on the floor. Pushing the Alderman process to the back of his mind, he focused on his unconscious Captain. Sliding his arms under Lee's shoulders, Nelson lifted him up, shifting until Crane's head lay in his lap. Reaching back for his unused handkerchief, he began to wipe the blood from Lee's temple. Crane's eyes snapped open, looking up at him. "They gone?" he whispered, wincing at his touch.

"For the moment," Harry answered softly, smiling down. "How long have you been with us?"

"A few minutes. My head's ringing something fierce. I should have known there'd be two of them."

"You can't think of everything, son." Harry continued to clean up the cut. "You're lucky they decided to sandbag you; they've killed Andy, probably Gary, too."

"Dead? Andy's only a botanist, he-- " Lee sat up in surprise, then swayed suddenly, his hand going to his forehead. Harry moved quickly, dropping the handkerchief to grab Crane's shoulders. He braced Lee for a moment, then eased Crane back down.

"Steady. I know you have a hard head, but that's a good-sized lump they've raised. Take it easy."

"Aye, sir," Lee answered softly, making no further attempt to sit up. "They're pretty sure of themselves?"

"Why not? It's merely a 'civilized' information exchange," Nelson replied sarcastically. "We give and they take."

"You're not going to tell them anything."

"Of course not." Harry paused, meeting Lee's gaze. "He has a file on me, but I don't think he has any idea who you are. I want you to play dumb, son. You're my pilot, nothing more."

"And four star Admirals don’t confide their top secrets to mere Commanders, right, sir?" Lee's hazel eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Precisely," Nelson answered lightly. "It's a break you're so fond of that old jacket. We’ll discuss whether or not your new eagles remain on your dress blues another time."

Crane looked down at the floor. "Aye, sir."

"They'll be coming back for me any minute." Harry swiftly glanced around the room. Unmarked packing crates and various pieces of farming equipment covered the floor, all useless for his needs. There were no windows in the shed, and the air vents were too high and narrow to be any help, although they did allow some sunlight to enter. He turned back to Lee. "I'll play along; stall them until we figure out some way to escape." His gaze turned stern. "You rest, you hear me? They plan to interrogate you, too."

They heard approaching voices. "Good luck, sir," Lee said very softly, going limp against him. Harry hurriedly retrieved and refolded his handkerchief. He was back cleaning Lee's scalp as the door swung open.

"I trust you are ready now, Admeeral." The Colonel spoke coldly, his rifle held ready.

"One more minute." Nelson grasped Lee's shoulders, dragging him over to the wall. He propped Crane against it awkwardly. Lee stayed slumped for a moment, then he slowly toppled sideways. Harry frowned in concern, but pushed his worry aside. Lee was conscious, but he evidently wanted the Colonel to think otherwise. It was a convincing act. At least, Harry hoped that's what it was.

"He has not regained consciousness yet?" the Colonel asked, surprised. "I must tell my men not to hit so hard."

"Do that!" Harry turned on him, making his voice ugly. "Good pilots are hard to replace."

The Colonel laughed arrogantly. "I'm sure a man of your position would not find it that difficult, Admeeral."

Harry allowed himself to be led from the small shed. It would be only a matter of time before this clown realized he had more of a job on his hands than he thought.

* * * * *

Harry sat, leaning tiredly against the shed wall, his arms resting loosely on his knees. He let his gaze wander over the equipment stored there. There had to be something useful there, but right now he couldn't think of what.

His interrogation had ended in stalemate. Nelson wasn't about to give the Colonel any useful information. Harry sensed the man wasn't ready to force him. He was waiting to see what Crane would say. Next time the Colonel wouldn't be so polite, for Lee wouldn't tell him a thing.

He was getting too old for this game. Harry wasn't going to give them the Alderman process. That mess was lost in the fiery explosion that had claimed its inventor along with two Institute lab technicians. Alderman had tried to develop a power source and he had; only he couldn't control the reaction. The energy created was highly destructive; Harry had the charred lab to prove it. The process would stay lost in the vault at the Institute until it could be controlled. Even if it cost both his and Lee's lives to keep it there. It could come down to that.

Harry was worried about how long they could safely resist. If the Russian decided to kill them, that would end the matter in a hurry. Chip and the rescue party would arrive too late, and find four graves instead of two. Surrendering the process was out of the question. That left escape. Early morning maybe. If they could catch their captors off guard.

Stonewalling was the only weapon Harry had now. He had, using carefully spaced, seemingly inadvertent inferences, been giving the Colonel the impression that he alone knew Alderman’s process. And that knowledge was locked in his brain. If the Russian followed his reasoning to the last conclusion and decided to kill him, the secret would remain safe in the vault. It was best the Russians believe it died with him. Damn Alderman, why hadn't he left it alone? Too late now.

Harry didn't mind dying, but he hated taking Lee with him. How long would it be before the Russians decided Lee was useless and killed him, like Andy and Gary? Harry dropped his head tiredly. Crane’s life was worth more than that. The evening had turned chill, now that the sun was down. Nelson pulled up the zipper of his flight jacket. They were keeping Lee a long time.

He folded his arms on his drawn-up knees, bowing his head over them, trying to rest. He'd had to while he could. The situation would get much worse before they made their escape.

Harry had only closed his eyes for a few moments when he was roused by returning footsteps. Two--no, three of them. They stopped by the door. Someone fumbled with the padlock. As the door swung open, one of the soldiers came inside, shining his light around the small shed until he found Harry.

Nelson closed his eyes against the bright beam as it flashed into his face. He squinted, trying to keep an eye on the guard behind the light. Gesturing abruptly, the guard turned toward the door.

A second soldier pushed Lee inside. Crane staggered, then caught himself on a crate, managing to regain his balance. Harry sat up, the muscles in his legs tensing, but he made himself relax back against the shed wall. Much as he wanted to help Lee, he had to remain impassive. Harry was sure whatever they did was scrupulously reported to the Colonel. He wouldn't give the Russian any clue of their friendship to use against them.

Nelson kept his eyes on the rifles, ready for action if the soldiers decided to use them. The Russian, who had shoved Lee in, laid a canteen on the crate by the door and then spoke mockingly to his companions. They laughed, slowly backing toward the door. Harry didn't understand all their words, but an insult was the same in any language. The soldiers left, after slamming and padlocking the door. Their laughter faded with their footsteps.

"Lee?" Harry asked quietly, to give Crane an idea where he was in the now dark shed.

Crane took a few hesitant steps, then there was a loud clatter.

"Lee!"

"It's all right, sir." Crane's voice came from the door. "I should have brought night goggles." Lee took more slow steps, coming toward him, until at last Harry saw his body dimly in the gloom.

Harry reached out, touching Crane's knee. "Here, son."

Lee stopped, feeling for the wall and slid down gratefully against it. Harry's eyes continued readjusting to the darkness, but with the black flight jacket blending Lee into the shed wall, he still couldn't see Crane clearly.

"Sorry," Crane said. "Can't get my eyes to adjust." He lifted something heavy, laying it in Harry's hands. "Here, sir."

It was wet. Nelson realized it was the canteen. He started to unscrew the cap, but stopped. "How's your head?"

"I'm all right."

Harry handed the canteen back. "You have some first."

Lee undid the cap slowly, lifting the canteen to his lips, drinking. Then Crane passed it back. Harry took several swallows of the warm water and then lowered the canteen to the floor beside him. "What about your headache?" he asked softly.

"It's almost gone."

"How almost?" Harry knew that unless pinned down, Lee would continue to insist he was fine, until he passed out. He heard the creak of leather beside him. Turning, he could almost make out Lee raising his hand to his left temple.

"About halfway," Lee admitted. "Those goons yelling at me didn't help. It’s working, sir. They said I was the dumbest pilot they've ever seen."

"They told you that?"

"No, that's what the big one told the fat one." Lee's weary voice was amused. "It never occurred to them I might understand Russian."

"It's not something ONI advertises," Harry replied. He reached out, closing his hand around Lee's arm, and pulled him away from the wall. "You should lie down. They'll be at us again come dawn."

"They are persistent." Lee stretched out on the floor.

Harry released his grip and began trickling water from the canteen into his handkerchief. "We'll keep them off base."

"What's the plan?"

"I don’t have one yet. Find some way to pry those door hinges loose and then dash for the flying sub in the lagoon." Harry grinned. "We can be sure they didn't sabotage that."

Lee smiled wryly. "They'll get a rude shock if they try, won’t they?"

"That security system was a good idea." Harry screwed the cap back on the canteen and laid the now damp handkerchief over it. He unzipped his jacket, pulling it off. Folding it over, he slid a hand under Lee's neck. "Here." Crane started at his touch, raising his head. "Use this. It will help with the headache." He slipped the folded jacket under his Captain's head.

"Sir--" Lee protested, trying to sit up again.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. "Go to sleep. I'm going to need you tomorrow."

Nelson caught a flash of white in the gloom as Lee smiled. "Aye, sir," he said quietly, settling himself as comfortably as possible on the makeshift pillow.

He placed the damp handkerchief over where Crane had been hit by the gun butt. Harry slumped against the wall, closing his eyes. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

* * * * *

Nick Peatty removed the contact probe from the last set of transistors, wearily switching off the meter. "That's it," he said, turning in his chair to face Chip Morton. "She checks out, all the way. There's no malfunction here."

"Then why don't they answer us?" Chip's frustration threatened to boil over again and he clamped down swiftly. It wasn't Sparks' fault.

Peatty reached up, flicking a switch. Soft hissing filled the radio room. "Their frequency is wide open. Our signals have to be reaching them." Listening to the sound, Nick adjusted the dials again, and then looked back at Morton.

Chip scowled at the glowing decibel level indicator. If Sparks turned it any higher, they'd be heard all the way to Midway. He clenched his hands around the chair back, willing himself to be patient. There was an explanation. They only had to find it.

"Try the island station again." He leaned forward as Nick switched channels. The hissing grew louder, with soft murmuring in the background.

"That's bleed-over from the weather station on Leyte." Nick twisted a dial, the murmur fading. "We wouldn't be getting that unless the Marshall station is shut down."

"Andy wouldn't shut down his station. It's his only link to the Institute."

"He's off the air."

Chip straightened, glancing at the dials again. Raking his fingers through his blond hair, he pushed it off his forehead. "Lee doesn't miss check-ins. If they needed more time to repair the purificator, they'd have let us know." He leaned on Peatty's chair, glaring at the console as if he could force the speakers to crackle to life. "They have to know Andy's radio is down."

"That makes three things. Are you going to do anything about them?"

"You're sure the radio in the flying sub is operational?"

"You heard the difference." Peatty gestured at his console. "No one is there to answer it."

Their eyes met and Chip pushed away from the chair, deciding rapidly. "We're going to the Marshalls, Nick. Lee would have checked in per schedule, if nothing was wrong."

Peatty grinned. "I agree. That may be the only way we're going to find out what happened."

Chip turned. "Quartermaster!"

"Aye, Commander."

"Bring her to one-eight-oh."

"Aye, sir."

Chip reached for the intercom, as Seaview responded. "Engineering, increase speed to flank."

* * * * *

Lee tensed for the blow he knew was coming. The soldier's hand came down again, striking him across an already bruised cheek. The force of the blow pushed him into the back of the hard chair. Lee shook his head, fighting off his pain.

The left side of his face flared as he was backhanded. Crane clenched his teeth. If Colonel Kovanovich thought his men could beat the answers out of him, the Russian would be disappointed.

A third hard blow smashed into his left temple and Lee felt blood start to flow as he went sprawling. The concrete floor came rushing up as Lee fought to stay conscious and not give in to the sudden hovering darkness.

"Stupid fool." The colonel's voice came from above him, then his footsteps retreated away toward Marlowe's desk. There was a creak as the Russian sat down in the desk chair.

"Are Americans always this stubborn?"

Lee recognized the voice of the senior sergeant, even though the question was asked in Russian. The man’s annoyance made up a little for the pain throbbing through Lee's head. He remained still, listening.

"Nelson is stubborn," Kovanovich answered. "This one is an idiot." The Colonel paused for a moment. "We are wasting our time here. Our intelligence on the process could be incorrect. Nelson knows the formula, but he'll die before he breaks under interrogation. So we will let him die. The Admiral can take his precious secret to his grave."

Lee's pain was forgotten as anger raced through him. It was all he could do to remain limp and not give away that he was still conscious. He had to know what they planned for the Admiral.

The Sergeant laughed. "How do you want me to kill him? Moscow will be most pleased you have eliminated this meddlesome American."

"Let us show Nelson how 'civilized' we are. You will feed them today. Something simple, filling ... and very deadly."

Lee's anger went cold. He couldn't waste the advantage they had given him. He stayed limp, concentrating on the words. He could not afford a mistranslation now.

"Then you let them go?" the soldier asked eagerly.

"Of course. There is no antidote for 4C. The Admiral will succeed in whatever escape plan he undoubtedly has and then will lead us straight to his submarine. By tomorrow the poison will have taken effect and his leaderless men will be no match for the Kosigyn. We will force them to chase after us and destroy them. If we report the death of Nelson and the destruction of his submarine, the Alderman process will then be considered irretrievable. If we have to, we can claim they fired first."

"What about his pilot? Does he get 4C as well?"

Kovanovich snorted derisively. "No. We’ll let him ferry his master back. His comrades’ resentment of his ill treatment will serve our purpose better."

Lee concentrated on remaining still. Kovanovich was so sure he had the upper hand; he could not do anything to jeopardize that. Nelson's plan to reinforce the Russian's belief that Americans were morons was working quite well. Only Nelson wasn't going to die. Not while he was still alive. Crane heard their footsteps approach. Lee did not react when a boot nudged him in the side.

"What if Nelson does not take the 4C?"

"How can he refuse something he knows nothing about? He'll be too busy looking for an opportunity to escape." The Colonel shrugged. "If he figures it out, you shoot him. You have to be subtle dealing with a mind like that." Kovanovich laughed.

There was another, harder, more insistent nudge into his side. Lee let out a soft moan and rolled over in the direction he was being pushed.

"Take this useless idiot back to the shed," The Colonel ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Lee was grabbed by both arms and lifted from the floor by two guards. He remained dead weight and let them carry him out.

* * * * *

Harry quickly removed his makeshift pry bar from the top door hinge as he heard the approaching tramp of boots. He slipped it out of sight into his jacket pocket. It had taken most of the time since his interrogation that morning to fashion it from a steel band snapped off one of Andy's unopened shipping crates. Nelson had bent the metal into the desired length using his shoe heel as a hammer until it was flat and thick enough to pry with. His and Lee's escape depended on the tool. Nelson walked over to the shed wall and sat down on the floor. Hopefully now he was back in the same place they had left him, they would think he hadn't moved.

As always, one soldier came into the room first to cover him with his rifle, while the other shoved Lee inside. Crane was far from steady in his feet and plowed into a full crate before he could stop himself. Harry had to fight not to wince as Lee bounced off it and sprawled onto the floor. He landed with a sickening thump and went limp.

The soldier grinned widely, glancing at his companion for approval. The other shrugged. It was a good thing they left quickly.

The minute the door closed, Nelson was on his feet. He knelt beside Lee, gently turning him over. Crane had been badly beaten. His left eye was nearly swollen shut and large red-purple bruises covered his cheekbones.

Harry scrambled to his feet. Where was that damn canteen? He retrieved it hurriedly, unscrewing the cap. Pulling his bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket, he wet it and knelt back next to Lee. Nelson laid the cloth over the worst of the bruising.

After a moment, Lee stirred. Harry waited until his right eye fluttered open, then helped Crane sit up. He brought the canteen up as Lee placed his hand down on the floor to keep himself upright. Crane took a few painful sips, and then averted his face away. Nelson let the canteen slide to the floor.

“I’m all right, sir.” Lee reached up for the damp handkerchief that was sliding off the side of his face and pressed it gingerly against his swollen eye. “They stopped hitting me once they thought I was unconscious.”

Harry didn’t know whether to yell at him or not. He had known that the Russians would escalate their interrogation. To beat Lee nearly unconscious made no sense. How did they expect any answers that way? Unless it was a ploy to soften him up. Nelson did not want to admit how effective that could be.

“It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s Alderman’s!” Harry snapped, wishing the two of them were anyplace else than here.

Lee turned and gave him a lopsided grin, before wincing in pain. “Alderman didn’t design the alarm system for the flying sub. I did.”

Nelson looked over at him in surprise. “They beat you up for not telling them that?”

“They don’t think I know anything about Alderman. I’m your pilot. They wanted me to tell them everything about the operation of the flying sub, including how to bypass the lockout. I told them you didn’t trust me enough to give me the key code. The Sergeant lost his temper. He wasn’t at all happy that she bit back with 120 volts when he tried to break in.”

Nelson shook his head. This was getting out of hand. He had to get Lee out of here before they killed him.

“How’s the escape going?” Crane asked.

Nelson pulled the pry bar out his jacket pocket. “I made this. I’ve been working on getting the top door hinge free. It will take a while. Hopefully they will leave us alone long enough for me to get done.” Harry extended the tool toward Crane.

Lee took it in one hand, running his fingertips along the edge. “Should do the job. Want me to pry for a while?”

Harry extended his hand for the tool and Lee returned it. “I’m not tired yet. Why don’t you get rid of that headache you haven’t mentioned. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Lee turned his head, embarrassed. “How come you always know?” he asked quietly.

“I’m the Admiral,” Nelson kidded.

Crane smiled at that and leaned back tiredly against the wall.

Harry was a bit surprised Lee gave in so easily, but Crane was probably bruised in many other places he couldn’t see. Let him get some strength back for their escape.

“It will be nice to go home,” Lee said wearily, leaning the uninjured side of his head against the sealed crate next to him as he tried to get comfortable.

Nelson stood up and walked over to the door. The sooner he got those hinges loose, the better.

* * * * *

Harry had reached the point where he could slide the top hinge pin up and down. He began prying up the bottom one and glanced over his shoulder. Lee was asleep. Even though his fingers ached from manipulating the steel bar, Nelson wasn’t going to wake him up.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly removed his bar, checking that

both hinges were back in place. Harry got up and walked over to Lee. Kneeling down beside him, he shook Crane once, urgently.

“Huh?” Lee’s right eye opened.

“They’re coming,” he said softly. “Probably for me again. Here.” Harry pushed the pry bar deep into Lee’s leather jacket pocket. “I don’t want them finding that on me. If anything goes wrong, you use it.”

“I won’t leave you here.” Lee was adamant.

“You may not get that choice,” Nelson hissed back. “If you have the chance, take it. I want your word.”

Crane shook his head. “I can’t give it.”

“You have to.” Harry grasped Lee’s shoulder. “Promise me, son.”

“I promise,” Lee answered reluctantly.

Nelson let him go and flopped down next to Crane by the wall.

The door swung open. As always, the soldier with the heavy rifle came in first to cover them. The second person in was Kovanovich, who also had a rifle. The third soldier carried a tray, with a drawn pistol underneath. The tray had two open mess kits on it, part of Andy’s issue. The soldier placed his tray on the crate above Lee and stepped back. The two soldiers retreated back to the doorway, their guns at ready.

“You have three hours to make a decision, Admeeral.” Kovanovich held the rifle easily where he could pull the trigger with one hand if need be. “At that time you will tell what I want to know, or you will watch while we kill your pilot. Then we will kill you.”

“Three hours is most generous,” Harry replied sarcastically.

The Russian laughed. “You have been a worthy adversary. It is too bad we must be enemies.” The Colonel lifted one of the food bowls off the tray and handed it down to Lee. “Go ahead and eat, I know you are hungry.”

Crane regarded the man coldly, but took the aluminum bowl into his hands. He glanced over at Nelson, waiting for a cue. Harry shook his head fractionally. Lee relaxed back against the crate with the food. Any attempt now would be suicide with them unarmed and three guns trained on their every move. He’d see where the gambit with the food was going first. “So this is our last meal before the firing squad, if that’s what we decide?” Harry asked.

Kovanovich shrugged. “Whatever you want. A reward for telling me or one last bit of civility before we end this exchange.”

“I shall consider your kind offer. Come back in three hours and I will give you my answer.” Nelson mimicked the cadence of the Russian’s voice.

“Until then.” The Colonel backed toward the door and motioned his soldiers to follow him out. The padlock snicked closed, leaving them alone again.

Lee stood up suddenly. “Looks like beef stew.” Crane handed the bowl he had in his hand to Nelson, then offered him a plastic spoon from the tray.

Harry took the bowl and began eating. “Any port in a storm, son.”

Lee smiled and picked up the second bowl, the one that had been left for Nelson.

* * * * *

Harry didn’t know what to make of Kovanovich’s offer. The three hours made no sense, but if he wanted to play it that way, Harry would put the time to good use. Nelson downed the stew quickly, before Lee was even half done.

Crane caught his eye on him. He smiled self-consciously and finished off the bowl, putting his bowl back down on the tray beside Nelson’s empty one. Lee lifted the canteen from the floor and passed it to him. Harry took three good sips and handed it back. Lee drank and then put it out of sight behind the crate for later. He pulled the pry bar out his jacket pocket. “My turn to work, sir.”

Nelson extended his hand. “Let me do it, son. I want you rested as possible for when we dash out of here.”

Lee handed him back the pry bar. “At least you can see what you’re doing,” he answered quietly.

Nelson cocked his head. Lee’s left eye was swollen shut, but normally an inconvenience like that would be ignored. Harry walked over to the hinge and began prying before Crane could change his mind.

He heard Lee slid down the wall to the floor again. Harry went back to his prying. The sooner Crane was in Will Jamieson’s care, the better.

Harry had been working for quite a while when he heard the footsteps. Harry shoved the hinge down again, hiding the pry bar deep in his jacket pocket. Lee raised his head at his change in movement. Harry motioned him to stay put. Nelson moved as far away from the door as he could before it opened.

Only the Sergeant came in, although Harry could hear other voices outside. He came right for the tray above Crane. Lee looked up, but did not move. The sergeant picked up the tray and quickly exited. He stopped at the door and turned, giving Harry a triumphant knowing look right before he slammed it shut.

Nelson stared after him for a moment. Was Kovanovich going to renege on the time? Harry placed his ear against the shed door. All he heard was voices quickly receding. If their time was running out, he’d needed to get back to the hinges.

He worked a few minutes in silence, waiting for another offer to spell him. Lee was way too quiet. Harry glanced back. Crane was back staring at the wall again. At least he was off his feet.

Finally the hinge began to move. Nelson continued to pry until the hinge

finally popped out and fell to the concrete with a metallic clang.

Lee started, finally looking over at him. Harry motioned him to come to the door. Crane was steadier on his feet than when they first threw him in.

“Here, hold the bottom in place while I remove the other hinge,” he directed. Harry inserted the pry bar to move the top hinge up. “That’s good.” Nelson moved the pin one inch and then another. Finally he could grasp the head and pull it free. He tossed it aside. “Now push straight out.”

The door swung, clearing the footing until the hasp stopped it. Then it tilted sideways, hanging from the padlock as the corner buried itself at an angle in the dirt.

Undeterred, Lee scrambled over the door and took off toward the grove of palm trees that marked the edge of the lagoon. Nelson pounded after him. They were almost at the edge of the outbuildings when the first shots were fired.

Harry resisted looking behind him. Whatever slim lead they had was the only thing keeping them out of rifle range.

The palm trees went past in a grey blur as he concentrated on keeping up with Lee. It shouldn’t be much farther as Harry felt a twinge in his side. The gunshots sounded louder. Something whistled past his ear to thud into a palm tree ahead of him. He had to keep running. Nelson could hear the surf. Suddenly there was sand under his feet and the flying sub was dead ahead.

Harry winced, seeing the ruined wreck of the boarding ladder extension. Lee ran into the surf, barging through the chest deep water and leaping halfway up the side of the sub to latch onto an undamaged rung above the extension. He released the damaged section. Nelson caught it as it came free and pushed it aside. He grabbed the lowest rung, hoisting himself up onto the side of the sub.

Coming over the top, he found Crane punching in the correct key code to open the hatch. The console buzzed and the hatch slid open. Crane grabbed both edges and swung himself down onto the sub ladder. Harry quickly followed suit.

Nelson headed for the interior hatch controls as Crane took the pilot’s seat. The engines fired almost the same time as the hatch slid closed. A bullet bounced off their hull with a metallic whang. Harry grabbed the armrest of the co-pilot’s chair as the sub began to move. He quickly pulled himself into the seat and buckled his harness. They were airborne a moment later.

“We shouldn’t have removed the laser,” Lee said, between clenched teeth as he took an instrument reading and swung the craft over onto Seaview’s last heading.

“You know why we did, son. We’re outnumbered. We need to find some reinforcements.” Nelson reached over and snapped Lee’s harness closed.

“Aye, sir.”

Nelson switched on the craft’s beacon. “Let’s see if that raises anyone.”

After a few moments, the radio crackled and a familiar voice came out the grille. “SSRN Seaview calling FS1. Come in, FS1.”

Harry looped his mic around his neck and flipped it on. “This is FS1, go ahead, Seaview.”

“Commander Morton requests you change course to one-eight-oh. Prepare for rendezvous and docking in 30 minutes.”

“Roger, Seaview.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Sparks?”

“Commander Morton wants to know where the hell you’ve been.”

Lee looked over at him and grinned as there was considerable mumbling off mic.

“Tell him we will explain everything as soon as we return. Nelson out.”

“Sounds like Chip was worried. I don’t think he wanted Nick to phrase it quite that way.”

“Probably not,” Harry agreed, settling back in his chair. “Let’s go home, son.”

* * * * *

Chip finally allowed himself a sigh of relief when the flying sub was safely tucked back into her hanger. Not being able to raise anyone at the Marshalls had raised all kind of nightmare possibilities. At top speed, they were still nearly half a day away when FS1 had called in.

With a clank, the hatch wheel up from the sub hanger turned. Morton reached down over the rail, lifting the hatch up and over. Nelson came up first. He was unkempt, unshaven, and his uniform was damp and dirty. There were abrasions on his chin and along his jaw. When Lee appeared, he was in even worse condition, with the entire left side of his face bruised and his eye swollen shut. Chip extended a hand to pull Lee up out of the well. Morton was surprised when his help was accepted. He couldn’t help staring. “I hope the purificator is in better shape than you two,” Morton blurted.

Crane paused by the rail. “The message was a trap to get us there.”

“And we waltzed right into it.” Nelson shook his head in disgust.

“Andy’s dead. They killed him and Gary before we arrived.” Lee was angry. His hand clenched around the rail.

“Why?” Chip struggled to understand.

“They wanted the Alderman process. They were not happy that I told them it was lost,” the Admiral answered.

“I can see that,” Morton replied. “That’s some shiner, Lee. Shall I call Jamieson to come look at it?”

Lee flinched and released his grip on the rail. “Later. You wanted to call for reinforcements?” Crane asked Nelson as he began walking toward the nearest mic, at the chart table. The Admiral followed him and Chip went with them.

“How long before we reach the station?” Nelson asked him.

“About 20 hours.”

“They won’t be there then,” Lee said suddenly. “They had a submarine that was going to pick them up. They probably were taken off shortly after we escaped. Have Sparks query ONI for anything they know about a sub named Kosigyn.” Nelson was gazing at Crane. “While he’s doing that, go get cleaned up. Then meet me in Sick Bay. It’s a good idea to have Will look at your eye.”

Lee hesitated, his gaze traveling around the control room. “We should start an air search for the Russian sub.”

“Chip can get that going as well. Now, mister.”

Crane looked over at Nelson, saw the determination and wisely did not say anything else. Lee turned to him, instead. “Keep me posted on what you find.”

“I will,” Chip promised. “Any suggestions, Admiral?”

Nelson thought a moment. “Call CINCPAC. See what Parker will give you.”

“Aye, aye, sir.

Chip watched them leave through the starboard hatch. The watch studiously avoided staring at Crane. The crew would continue to ignore the Captain’s black eye until it healed. Back to business as usual.

* * * * *

Lee had hoped Jamieson would still be working on Nelson when he arrived, but he wasn’t that lucky. Jamie took one look at his swollen eye and scowled.

“You told me to be prepared,” the Doctor said to Nelson. “That definitely needs some attention.” He crooked his finger at Lee, indicating the exam table.

Resigned, Crane sat down on the edge of it. He had to let Jamie do something or he’d not be allowed to leave again.

“Lie down,” Jamieson ordered, moving the instrument table over him as soon as Lee complied. He heard Nelson chuckle. The yellow antiseptic the Doctor had slathered over his abrasions clashed wildly with the Admiral’s graying red hair. Lee hoped Jamie wouldn’t use it on him. He closed his good eye as pain radiated from Jamieson’s gentle probing of his bruise. After a moment Jamie took his hand away.

“There appears to be no damage to eye, despite the swelling.” The Doctor laid a warm, wet cloth over that side of his face. “What does the other guy look like? Hamburger?”

Lee grimaced at the non-joke, trying to get more comfortable on the table. His ribs protested. He flinched without meaning to.

Jamieson’s hand closed around his tie. “What else do I need to look at?”

Crane pulled his tie free. “I’m a little stiff from being used as punching bag. I’ll heal.”

“I want a look, anyway.” Jamieson reached down to undo his shirt buttons.

Lee pushed the tray aside, making the Doctor step back. He sat up, dragging the cloth off his face, as he swung his legs off the table and down. “I let you look at my eye. The rest will have to wait until we find that Russian sub.” Crane dropped the cloth onto the tray, ready to stand up.

Nelson was glaring at him. “Don’t believe him, Will. He got sandbagged

by a rifle.”

“Sir!”

Jamieson moved directly in front of him. “Where?”

“Left temple. There should be a half healed cut there.”

Lee knew better than to duck aside as Jamie’s fingers went into his damp hair. The cut was sore and it was all he could do not to wince as the Doctor’s fingers brushed against it. Lee felt his hair being parted. Then Jamieson removed his hands and wiped them on a small towel. “Any thing else you don’t want to report?” Jamie’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“If I had been the least bit dizzy, I would have told you,” Lee replied.

The Doctor looked over at Nelson.

“Not that I saw,” the Admiral responded. “I had him playing unconscious far more often than he actually was.”

The Doctor frowned. “He could still be concussed. I don’t want to take the chance. I’ll not release you until you’ve had a complete physical!”

“I don’t have time for that now!” Lee was on his feet.

“You’re not leaving.” Jamieson refused to move from in front of him.

“I don’t have a concussion, Jamie. I know what that feels like.”

“We need x-rays to be sure of that.”

Lee flopped back down on the table. “All right, x-rays. Then I’m going.”

“Billy!” The doctor called. “I want a skull series on the Captain. Stat!” Jamie glared at him. “Now lie down and let us take care of you.”

Lee settled himself and closed his eyes. There was only one other way to get out of a physical. Jamieson left his side to get the plates ready. Crane concentrated on making his breathing slow and even.

He did not respond when Jamie came back and called his name. He kept breathing in and out, being completely still.

“I’m amazed it took him this long to crash,” Nelson’s droll voice came from the other bed.

The Doctor took his pulse. “At least we got him down before his adrenaline gave out. How was Lee otherwise?”

“Alert and with me, despite the beating they gave him.”

“Painful, but not immediately life threatening. I’m going to take the x-rays, in case he is concussed. Sleep will help.”

“Lee won’t be happy when he wakes up.”

“I’ll deal with that then.”

Jamieson’s techs were very careful moving him. Lee hated doing that to the Doctor, but there was no way he could let Jamie do a physical. There were too many things that had to be done elsewhere on the boat before the 4C took him.

They wheeled him back into the main room after the scans were made. Jamie told Frank to make him comfortable.

The corpsman undid his tie and several shirt buttons. Then he removed his shoes, before tucking a blanket around him. Lee stayed still. He did need to rest, so he could get up later and take care of the last few details. If he passed out in the control room that would raise questions he didn’t want to begin to answer.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It will be all right. This time you’ll wake up. The last time. Lee rolled onto his stomach, clutching the pillow to stop the agitation he felt. It won’t hurt. I’ll go to sleep and not wake up.

Crane buried his face into the pillow. It had to be this way. He had made sure Nelson survived. He twisted his hands around the pillow, fighting down the tightness in his throat and chest. They would have to understand he had no other choice. Lee gave in to his weariness and finally slept.

* * * * *

Chip came into Sickbay almost on tiptoe. He hadn't been surprised Will had taken Lee off duty. Crane had slept through dinner and it was now time to give him his eight o'clock report.

Technically, his orders had been to report much earlier, but Chip decided to wait. Lee might give him hell for not reporting, but if he violated sick list... Jamieson didn't care who you were, if he took you off duty, you were off. Morton stopped outside the Doctor’s small office cubicle and leaned in. "Can I report to your star patient, Will?"

Jamieson consulted his watch. "It's that time, isn't it?" Will glanced at the clipboard he had and then at his watch again. "All right. Go try. He was really under the last time I checked him. If you can't rouse Lee on the first try, you'll have to report to yourself. I don't want the Admiral woken, either.

"Okay," Chip agreed. "As long as I can truthfully say I tried, he won't get too upset."

"I'll vouch you were here," Will offered.

Chip smiled. "Thanks. I doubt it will come to that."

"Go make your report."

Jamieson was right. Chip looked down at his best friend. Lee looked wiped out. Some joyride. Bunch of goons tap dancing on his head. I ought to let him sleep. Morton reached out, shaking Lee's shoulder. If Crane didn't respond to his usual wake-up, he'd leave. There was nothing dire in his report. Chip was disappointed when Lee turned over at his touch. Crane opened his one good eye, focusing on him sleepily.

"Chip? What is it?"

"Time for your evening report, Skipper," he answered, holding out his clipboard. "I'll give it to you orally, so I don't have to turn on the light."

Lee sat up suddenly, throwing off the covers. "It can’t be eight o'clock! Why the hell did you let me sleep so long?" He buttoned his shirt rapidly. "I should have been in the control room hours ago!"

"Will thought otherwise." Chip let his gaze travel over him. "You look awful."

"I don't need to look good to do my job, Chip," Lee replied, knotting his unloosened tie back into place with deft fingers. "What's up?"

"We've had several reports of sightings, but no profile fitting a Russian submarine. Nick's been in touch with the Nimitz since five o'clock."

"Good. Let's go see what he's doing."

"Better check with Will."

"Can't get out the door otherwise." Lee glanced at him, sidelong. "How'd my x-rays come out?"

"How should I know?" Chip replied innocently.

"You asked," Lee answered. "Well?"

"No evidence of concussion. You have a very hard head, or the guy didn't get a square hit." Chip shrugged. "I believe the former."

Lee grinned. "It sure didn't feel like the latter." He reached down for his oxfords. "C'mon, I've got to get out of here."

* * * * *

Chip began to plot his course calculation on the grid map. His pencil crossed through an island chain, and he stopped. Wait a minute, on a vector-- He stared again at the course and found his mistake. He tossed the pencil to the table. It was no use. Again Morton found his eyes drawn to the radio shack.

He had felt guilty, not waking Lee until it was absolutely necessary, so he'd remained quiet while Crane and Jamieson argued about Lee's leaving. Will finally admitted his x-rays hadn’t revealed anything serious. Chip believed Jamieson only let Lee go because he was going walk out anyway. Crane had done it many times before. Jamieson would let it ride a few hours, then come collect Lee. Doc always found a reason.

Something was nagging Chip. Crane appeared recovered, yet it felt wrong. Other than Lee was rarely in the control room at this hour, there was nothing Chip could put a finger on. Morton moved down to the periscope well, surreptitiously watching, trying to look beyond the obvious. He couldn't miss Crane's badly bruised eye, turning purplish-black.

Lee leaned against the radio room doorway, listening intently to Peatty's report. His features were drawn and he was pale, but that could be the dark bruising. That's right, chase yourself around in circles. The feeling wouldn't leave. Lee had told him not to ignore them; they were an integral part of command. Sometimes Chip had to do what he felt was right and what he felt was Lee shouldn't be here.

Morton had taken a single step toward the radio shack when the boat's engineering officer, Randy Miller, came through the starboard hatch. Chip glanced at his watch in surprise. Midnight, already?

Miller stopped, surprised to see Crane. Randy hesitated for a moment, before he moved toward Lee to report. Chip caught his eye, shaking his head, and gestured Randy to join him by the periscope well.

"What's the Skipper doing here?" Randy asked softly. "I thought he was in Sick Bay."

Chip snorted. "Lee wanted to help with the search. Will couldn't persuade him otherwise."

"Any luck with that?"

"Nick's been on steady with the Nimitz and CINCPAC. Relieve him, if he'll go."

"I'll put Morrow on. I take it the Skipper doesn't want to leave."

Chip shrugged. "I couldn’t stop him from doing his evening tour of the boat, either.”

Randy smiled. "Put everyone to bed, eh? If he won’t listen to you, I don't have a prayer. Go get some sleep. I'll keep things running so he can concentrate on the search."

Chip glanced toward the radio shack. "Let me see if Lee will go with me now."

"Good luck."

Morton walked aft. Behind him, C-shift began relieving the watch stations. Lee raised his head at the sounds of moving chairs and footsteps. Chip caught his eye.

"Why don't we call it a night, Lee? It's midnight."

Lee slowly shook his head. "Maybe later." He picked up the radio headphones. "You go ahead. I've had enough sleep."

"Don't you think you ought to--" Morton started, but Crane cut him off.

"Chip, I'm fine." He smiled crookedly. "Go to bed, Mother Hen."

Laughter rippled down the control room. Crane was determined to stay. He couldn't make Lee leave and Morton was tired. It had been a very long, frustrating day. "All right." He gave in with a small smile. "See you in the morning."

"Good night." Lee lifted the headset to his ear, turning to the radio.

Morton left the radio room alcove and stopped by the starboard hatch, beckoning Miller to join him there.

"Look, keep an eye on him, will you?" he asked very softly.

"You worried about him?"

"A little. If Lee gets looking really wiped, get him to sack out. If that doesn't work, threaten to call Jamieson."

"Sure. Count on it."

"Thanks. That makes me feel better."

"So will sleep."

Morton laughed softly. "Okay, I can take a hint. Good night."

"'Night, Chip."

* * * * *

An hour later, Randy Miller glanced furtively down the control room, wondering if he should ask. The Skipper never commanded during C-watch unless it was an emergency and while there had been many times Randy had been glad to have him there, tonight was different.

They had been searching for eight hours. There had been little progress. None of the reports from the carrier's search planes had panned out. Crane obviously was interested, conferring with Morrow as the newest reports came in, but that wasn't enough reason to be in the control room. He could come back once they had positive contact.

Crane's energy was surprising, given his island experience. The Skipper kept moving; from sonar to the radio shack, over to the hydrophone and back to the sonar again. Crane should be in Sick Bay. Miller wasn’t the XO; he'd have to do this tactfully. He envied Chip his ease with Lee. Randy didn't have the years of friendship they did.

Randy watched, waiting for the right moment to make his request. It would be easier if Crane would return to the chart table. As long as Lee continued to walk around the control room, Randy would not chase after him. He knew from experience his one chance to get Lee to leave was to do it quietly, without the entire watch listening.

Lee paused by the missile control system, his gaze drifting across the buttons and lights. It was the seventh station he had stopped at. His actions were making Randy uneasy. Miller swiftly glanced at the Christmas tree board in front of him for reassurance. All green.

As Randy took his eyes from the board, he realized that Lee had not brought anything to his attention. He hadn't said anything to the watch, either. Crane seemed unaware of their existence as he worked his way aft and then back forward. Randy could see the watch getting curious, their eyes following the Skipper as he moved among them.

If Lee had a reason for this inspection, it eluded Miller. Now the Skipper was finally coming forward; he would ask. Crane paused by the periscope well. He reached out, lightly brushing the polished steel with his fingers, gazing at it, his expression going soft. Randy watched, bewildered. He had never seen Crane do anything like that before. After a moment, Miller realized he was staring and quickly dropped his eyes to the grid map. He kept his gaze there as he heard Crane's footsteps approach.

"I'm going to my cabin, Randy," Lee said, stopping at the table. "Call me when you make contact."

"Sure, Skipper," he answered, relieved he wouldn't have to insist. Earlier with Chip, Lee had sounded like he planned to stay all night. It wasn't like Crane to change his mind. Miller shook off his confusion. "Have a good rest, sir."

"Good night, Randy." Crane suddenly put a light hand on his arm. "Take good care of her."

"Always, Skipper," he answered, managing a grin to cover his surprise at Crane's gesture. "You want Chip to kill me?"

Lee smiled faintly, dropping his hand. "Bobby wouldn’t like that."

Randy smiled. "I'm the Engineer, right?"

"Right."

"See you tomorrow, Skipper."

Crane stood by the table a moment, looking down the length of the control room, then nodded.

Randy followed his gaze, but could see nothing out of the ordinary, only the duty stations manned as always. He turned back, but Lee was walking slowly toward the spiral stair. Miller watched him leave, feeling a sense of something left unfinished. He resisted going after Lee. He didn't even know what he wanted explained.

Randy shook his head. He was imagining things. The important thing was that whatever had happened, both the Skipper and the Admiral had returned to them, still alive, if worse for wear.

* * * * *

Chip Morton laid down his comb, giving his tie one last tug into place. He still had enough time to swing by the wardroom for breakfast before he went to the control room. Lee had probably already eaten and gone on up, but the watch didn't officially change until oh-eight-hundred.

"Chip?"

Crane's soft voice at his open door, followed by the light knock, surprised him. Morton turned, barely keeping himself from reacting to how white Lee looked. Even going watch and watch, Lee had never been this dragged out. Knowing better than to mention it, Chip kept his tone casual. "Hi, Lee. Join me for coffee and chow before we go to the control room?"

"No thanks." Crane leaned against the doorway, the frame taking most of his weight. Under other circumstances, Chip would not have noted the casual posture, except Lee's right hand was clenched into s fist, his knuckles white and his arm rigid. "You mind getting along without me this morning?"

"Jamieson catch up with you?"

"Not yet," Lee answered. "But he'd come up and drag me off as soon as he found out I was there. I thought I'd save him the trouble. I can't use my left eye, so what sort of course could I calculate?"

"A cockeyed one."

Crane managed a slight grin. "Precisely. That's why you should have the conn." He gestured toward his face tiredly. "You'll be less distracting."

"You going to Sick Bay?" Chip asked, hoping for a confirmation, but not really expecting one.

Lee grimaced, his fist tightening further as his arm pressed against the edge of the door frame. "Not if I can help it. I have a report to finish, and then I’m going to rest." He caught Chip's gaze and held it. "I know you'll find that Russian sub."

"As long as I don't hit anything." Morton fell back on their old command joke, confused by Lee's tone and the strangely intent look in his eyes. Chip had a sudden hollow feeling that Lee was trying to tell him something he could not put into words.

Crane smiled faintly, acknowledging their joke and reached out to grip Chip's shoulder lightly. He could feel Lee's fingers trembling through his shirt. "You've always taken good care of her." The affection in Lee's soft voice was almost too much.

"That's my job." Morton forced the words past a sudden tightness in his throat and the hard knot forming in his stomach, as his mind latched onto the easiest explanation. He doesn't feel well. Chip reached out, closing his hand around Lee's extended arm, trying to dispel his unease with the contact. Lee's home. He'll be all right in a couple of days. "You want a report later?" Morton asked, making his voice steady.

"I may wander up after lunch. Your call." Crane dropped his hand from his shoulder and pulled away from the door.

Chip swallowed his sudden urge to reach out, shake Lee by both shoulders and demand to know what was going on. Something was terribly wrong and Chip wished desperately that Lee would tell him what. "Do me one favor, will you?" he asked seriously.

"What's that?"

"The next time the Admiral wants to go flying off, remember the first rule of the Navy and volunteer someone else."

"Next time you can go."

Morton rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I understand the chicks really go for black eyes."

Lee laughed softly. "You're hopeless."

Chip grinned, in spite of the cold knot in his middle. He dropped his hand. "You take it easy today. I'll handle the boat." Morton forced lightness into his tone, knowing he had to finish the exchange. It was important. "You are running the next liberty call."

"Fair enough." Gratitude came into Lee's brown eyes, along with something Chip had never seen in the green glints before. "Thanks, Chip. I'll be in my cabin."

"Right." Chip followed him out into the corridor. "Have a good long rest."

"I plan to."

Morton stood by his door, watching Lee walk slowly down the narrow corridor to his cabin. Crane glanced back before he entered, giving Chip a faint, amused smile, a gentle chiding for not trusting him. Morton smiled, shrugging, as Lee closed his door.

Instead of reassuring Morton, the exchange doubled all his uneasiness. Something was wrong. Lee should be getting better. Chip wished he could go make sure Lee was in his bunk, but then Crane would know he didn't believe what he had been told. Particularly if the detour made him late. Chip looked at his watch. The control room was where Lee wanted him.

Morton took a step down the corridor toward the hatch before he gave into his gut instinct and stopped. Lee was ill. He needed someone to take care of him. Chip couldn't; he had been given command, in a turnover that had his stomach in knots. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Crane didn't expect to get her back. Lee didn't want Jamieson. He'd made that clear. There was only one other person left who could help.

Morton turned around, striding for Nelson's cabin. He'd lay this whole thing out for the Admiral. Nelson would order Crane to Sick Bay if necessary. Lee might have a blind spot about his health, but Chip wasn't affected by it. He would see that Crane was taken care of. Morton rapped on Nelson's cabin door.

"Come in," the Admiral called out.

He opened the door, entering the cabin.

"Chip?" Nelson's back was to him, but he caught Morton's reflection in the mirror. He laid his belt on the dresser, turning toward him. "Need something?"

Now that he was face to face with Nelson, Chip hesitated. Was he imagining the whole thing, making more out of an off day than there was? He could still feel Lee's trembling grip on his shoulder, hear the tone of his voice that gave him Seaview. "Lee asked me to take the conn this morning."

"Jamieson's orders?" Nelson asked, half smiling.

"No, that's what bothers me. Lee implied he wasn't up to being in the control room."

Nelson frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. "He said that?"

"Not exactly. Lee didn't really say anything. He was white and shaky, even though he was trying to hide it." Chip searched for the right words. "It was how he said it. Something's wrong. Could those Russians have done something he didn't tell you or Jamieson about?"

"It's possible. I wasn’t with him all the time."

"When he asked me to take command--” Chip forced his voice to remain steady. “--he said, I would take good care of her."

Nelson started. Chip knew then he hadn't imagined the implication in Crane's words. It took the Admiral a moment to recover.

"Lee in his cabin?"

"Yes. He had a report to finish. Then he was going to lie down."

"That report will wait. You were right in coming to me. I'll find out what happened."

"Thank you, sir." Relief swept through Morton. It hadn't taken as much convincing as Chip thought and that realization overlaid his relief with fear.

* * * * *

The ready answer to Harry's knock was reassuring. As he opened the door, he half expected to find Lee sacked out. Nelson stopped a few steps into the room. He had never seen Lee like this.

Crane sat cross-legged, Indian fashion on the narrow bunk. His hands were resting on his drawn-up knees, his back straight against the bulkhead at the rear of his bunk. Lee appeared to be contemplating the opposite wall. That made no sense. If Crane had decided he was too ill to command, from experience Harry knew Lee should be too sick to sit up. Harry looked closely at his Captain. Lee was pale and drawn under the dark, puffy bruises, more so than his island experience should have left him.

"Hello, Lee." Harry spoke casually, as if he was merely dropping by. He wasn't leaving without an explanation.

"Sir," Lee acknowledged him, his voice steady, his hazel eyes coming up. Crane wasn't trying to hide anything. Lee's actions weren't always clear to him, but he always found an answer in his eyes. Right now they were calm. A sense of waiting hung in the small cabin. Waiting for what?

"Chip told me you gave him command this morning."

Lee shrugged, his gaze returning to the wall. "Seaview needs a CO that's a hundred percent right now. That Russian sub intends to destroy us, if they can."

Harry waited for Crane to go on, but he continued to stare at the cabin wall. Something in Lee's serene expression brought back the chill Harry had experienced earlier.

"What's the matter, Lee?" Nelson asked quietly.

"Nothing. At least, nothing anyone can do anything about." Lee regarded Nelson silently for almost a full minute, before he spoke again. "I guess you should know while I’m still able to tell you."

"Know what?" Nelson crossed the cabin, stopping only when the top of his leg jammed against the edge of the mattress. He didn't like the conversation or the way Lee was acting. He reached out, lightly placing his hand over Crane's. They'd both made it back. Lee's right hand trembled under his, but he didn't protest or pull away in embarrassment.

"You're going to yell at me." Lee's shy smile appeared. His hand moved, grasping Harry's. "It'll be a good way to remember you. We wouldn't have this lovely lady without that famous Irish temper of yours." The pressure on Nelson’s hand increased. "Thank you for letting me share her."

"Lee--" Harry did not want to acknowledge the fear that was building in him. Crane’s answer was a farewell, but Lee would never say goodbye to him, to Chip, to Seaview unless he... Harry sank heavily onto the bunk, gripping Crane's hand hard. "Son, what did they do to you?"

Lee smiled, trying to reassure him. "They didn't do anything to me. I did. They tried to kill you. I stopped them."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, his mind working furiously. He couldn't recall any overt attempt on their lives, only a lot of ugly threats. They'd been interrogated in separate sessions and he'd been afraid for Lee whenever they had taken him from the shed. They had always thrown him back in. Never in better condition, but still alive. Then they escaped. He hadn't questioned their luck; there had been too many other things to think about then. Now as he held Lee's cold hand in his own, Nelson realized their escape had been too easy. Too damn easy.

"They got careless. I heard their plans when they thought I was unconscious. They were convinced you wouldn't talk, even if they killed me." Lee smiled deprecatingly. "They decided if they couldn't have the Alderman process, we shouldn't have you. There was poison in your meal. I gave you mine."

Harry pulled his hand free and grabbed Lee's shoulders tightly, staggered by Crane's sacrifice. "You what!"

Lee forced a short laugh. "The Colonel said he would let us escape once he was convinced you’d eaten it. I knew they would come and check. I had to make them believe you-- " Harry saw a plea for understanding come to Lee's eyes. "Any other choice would have gotten us both killed. This way we got home."

"I’m calling Jamieson." He reached above Lee for the intercom switch on the bulkhead. Crane grabbed his hand again, pulling it away.

"Don't, sir. There's nothing he can do. There's no antidote. I won’t have Jamie blame himself --"

"We have to try, damn it! I can't sit here and let you--” Harry couldn't say it. He was losing control. Nelson swiftly clamped down on his fear and his anger. No.

"It's all right. I don’t regret my decision." Lee gazed up into his eyes. "Judging from the numbness in my legs, I don't have much time left."

"Damn it, Lee. We'll find something. Slow it down. Anything!" Harry belatedly realized he was shouting. He tried to tug his hand free to punch the intercom switch.

Lee wouldn't let go. "Please. I won't distract the crew’s attention from defending themselves against that Russian sub, since there's no hope for me. You call Jamieson, five minutes later the whole boat will know." Harry saw the need in his eyes that Lee could not verbalize. "I can take you being here. It helps a lot. But no one else." Lee's grip was getting steadily weaker. He paused, half apologetic, half embarrassed. "Forgive me?"

"Of course, son," Nelson answered gently. "If I ever catch you pulling a fool stunt like this again...” He didn't need to go on and Harry wasn't sure he could.

Crane looked up at him, his shy, sheepish smile reminding him of all he had first seen in the plebe at Annapolis. "Thank you, sir. That's more than I could ask for.”

Nelson returned the smile, gently disengaging his hand and putting his arm around Lee's shoulder. They would face it together. Lee reached out weakly for his shoulder. He missed. Harry tightened his hold as Crane slumped against him. Lee tried to push himself back upright and only managed to hold on to Harry's arm for a moment before losing his grip. Nelson gently lifted Crane, bracing him so he could remain sitting up.

With an effort, Lee looked over at Harry, gratitude in his dark eyes. “Keep an eye on Chip for me?" Crane tried to smile again and then rubbed an unsteady hand across his forehead. "I'm losing it. Help me lie down."

He gently eased Lee's unresisting body flat on the bunk. His legs flopped awkwardly, like a rag doll’s. He could sense Lee trying to help, but his limbs would not respond. Only Crane's eyes moved, showing his disgust.

Harry reached for the blanket, fighting the sudden turning of his stomach, the burning sensation behind his eyes. This can't be happening. Lee can't be dying--

Behind him Crane jerked, a sudden arching shudder. Then his body began twitching, shaking in growing convulsive spasms.

Harry lost control, his gut knotting in fear. He lunged for the intercom, punching the switch before he even realized what he was doing. "Sick Bay! Emergency in the Captain's cabin!" he yelled into the grille. He wouldn't let Lee die like this.

* * * * *

Jamieson couldn't have taken more than a few moments to answer his summons, but it seemed like hours. Harry knew he should immobilize Lee, but he was half afraid to touch his writhing body. He grabbed the blanket before it slid off the bunk and threw it on top of Crane, trying to capture his twitching legs in it. Where the hell was Jamieson?

"C'mon, son, don't fight me." Nelson got one leg pinned. He almost corralled the other, but Lee twisted free, throwing him into the bulkhead. The mattress springs squeaked disjointedly. "Take it easy." He recaptured Crane's left leg, holding it to the mattress with his own. He needed something to keep Lee's shoulders down and stop his head from rolling.

Finally the cabin door flew open. Jamieson took only a moment to take in the situation, then grabbed Harry's arm, tugging him off the mattress. Will pushed him toward the closet. "I need sheets, towels, anything long enough to wrap around him."

Harry's relief at the Doctor's arrival heightened when he returned to the bed with some towels and found his haphazard wrapping job deftly refashioned. Crane wouldn't squirm out of that. Will had Lee's head back, a cloth between his teeth. Jamieson took the towels, quickly knotted them together, and passing them under Lee, locked his arms to his sides by tying the ends around his wrists. His limbs immobilized, Crane's wild motion stopped, although he continued to shudder violently with each new spasm.

"When did this start?" Jamieson demanded his fingers hard against Lee's neck.

"About five minutes ago." Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. "When I called you."

"You find him like this?" Jamieson bent over, trying to check his pupils.

"No. We were talking." He forced the words past his worry. "Then Lee started--" Harry leaned forward, grabbing Jamieson's shoulder. "Will, he's been poisoned."

"Poisoned!" Jamieson turned to him, his eyes wide with shock. "When?"

"I don't know. On the island. In the food. We escaped about two hours after that..." Nelson trailed off, realizing Jamieson was no longer listening.

"Two hours plus--" Harry heard him mutter. "Delayed release. Five minutes--convulsions."

Nelson jumped as Jamieson suddenly tugged on his arm. "We have to get him to Sick Bay. Now!"

Lee gave a shuddering sigh, going completely still. Jamieson's fingers quickly probed beneath Lee's jaw. "Will, he's not--" The words caught in Nelson's throat as he stared at Crane's limp body.

"No, he's lapsed into unconsciousness. The seizure's run its course. I need your help!"

Harry was lifting Lee's wrapped legs almost before the words were out.

Luckily, they didn't have far to carry him. Harry was momentarily confused when Jamieson headed into the decompression chamber, then remembered that the life support equipment was in there. Jesus, he must think Lee's bad. The next moment Nelson was chiding himself. Lee would die unless Jamieson did something. If there was anything that could be done. Why didn't you tell us, Lee?

Harry lifted Crane's legs up onto the bunk. Lee was so quiet now, his chest barely rising. Jamieson hurriedly snapped a syringe together, drawing blood from Lee's right arm. He didn't have time to be gentle, but the prick of the needle did not rouse Crane from unconsciousness.

Jimmy, the pharmacist's mate, came running at Will’s shout and was given the blood to analyze. Harry could see he was confused by Lee's condition. Jamieson sent him flying to the lab. Nelson moved to the head of the bed. He needed to get out the way.

Will threw off the towels, rapidly unbuttoning Crane's shirt. He attached the monitoring electrodes with careful speed. The faint peep, peep of the EKG monitor soon filled the room.

Harry laid his hand lightly on the dark curls. C'mon son, keep fighting.

Jamieson donned his stethoscope, listening intently to Crane's breathing. He straightened abruptly, reaching out to touch Lee's fingertips. Harry watched as Will tested the nerve responses. They were sluggish, with no response in his legs at all. Finishing his examination, Jamieson draped a blanket over Lee's lower body.

"You have no idea what this is?" he asked Nelson suddenly.

"No. Lee didn't tell me anything, except there is no antidote."

"Damn." Will's hand clenched into a fist. "I can't give him anything until I know. It acts like curare, but I can't be sure. If only he'd come to me sooner."

"Lee said it wouldn't do any good. If you couldn't help him, you'd think it was your fault."

"That could cost him his life!" Jamieson snapped, turning toward the door. "Keep an eye on him. I'll see if Jimmy has anything. The paralysis is moving. When it reaches his respiratory system--" The Doctor stopped, frowning. It was clear he did not like that possibility. "I need epinephrine," he muttered, then strode from the chamber into the dispensary.

Epinephrine. The last time Will used that was when a diver had suffered a heart attack as a complication of the bends. The young seaman didn’t survive. Harry shook his head, withdrawing his hand from Lee's hair. Crane felt cold. Like touching a corpse. Harry refused to think that. Not while Lee was still alive. Cold. Wait a minute. Nelson cocked his head to see if Crane's chest rose with his breathing. It didn't.

"Will!" he yelled toward the other room. Fool. His lips are turning blue. Harry bent, tilting Lee's head back forcefully, snatching the cloth from his mouth.

"No!" Jamieson was beside him, pulling him away. "There's no time for that."

"But he's not breathing!"

"It's the paralysis." Will yanked open the cabinet on the respirator. He removed a long sheath-shaped object, rapidly smearing a clear jelly over it. "Get under his shoulders and lift," Jamieson directed. As Harry obeyed, Will fed the object down Crane's unresisting throat, giving it a peculiar twist, and sliding it into place. Within seconds he had attached the respirator cables to it. Lee's chest rose suddenly as he threw the power switch. A steady click-pump-pause started, as the compressor in the machine began to rise and fall. The sound joined with that of the peeping monitor, which had slowed, but now was resuming a steady rhythm. Jamieson adjusted several dials on the respirator.

"Doc?" Jimmy's excited voice came from the doorway. "I got it. It wasn't pure, so it kept throwing the sample."

"Curare?"

"Looks that way, but it’s synthesized. Man, it acts weird."

"Get Billy in here. Lee's in respiratory collapse. I need him to monitor his rate."

"Aye, sir. I'll get you a kit."

Jamieson gave Lee a quick injection of epinephrine and had an IV started by the time Billy arrived.

"Will?" Harry spoke up softly; wanting to make sure his continued presence was not a distraction.

"All right. You know to stay out of the way."

Nelson looked down at Crane. He was nearly as white as the sheets he lay on. Harry fought down his fear again.

Jamieson finished securing the IV, and their eyes met. Will gestured toward Lee. "It'll take a long time to counteract the paralysis. If we can't, he won't make it, but we'll give it everything we have."

* * * * *

Nelson stayed with Jamieson for nearly an hour before he realized Chip deserved, in fact needed, to know what had happened. The men already knew that Lee was seriously ill, but Chip should confirm the grapevine. They were a good crew; they deserved that.

Morton was in control room, itching to know about Lee, but having the sense not to disturb the Doctor. Harry glanced at Lee once more and then signaled Jamieson he was leaving.

Nelson went up to the control room. Chip was leaning inside the radio room, headphones slung around his neck, talking to Peatty. Harry smiled to himself. Chip always came through. Getting the Nimitz called in to search for the Russian sub wasn't exactly what he had expected when Harry told him to call Parker. Usually CINCPAC wasn't that generous, but he was glad for the help. Those Russians wouldn’t get away with murder. Nick adjusted the gain, trying to pull in the Nimrod transmissions. Nelson walked down to join them.

As he approached, Chip shook his head. Then he pulled off his headphones, hooking them on their stand. He clapped Nick on the shoulder. "Keep monitoring. They may get lucky."

"Aye, sir."

"Ask for relief, when you need it."

"I will."

Chip turned, his gaze falling on Nelson. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear you come up."

Harry waved the apology aside. "You were busy. I see you've made progress."

"The search planes are up but we still have to find the Russian sub," Chip answered. "Craig's prepping the reactor. When Randy comes on back on, we'll be ready for flank. As soon as we get a position, we'll be after them.”

"I need to talk to you. Let's go upstairs.""

Morton nodded. "Bobby."

The Diving Officer left his station and joined them, glancing curiously at Nelson.

"Continue the search. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Aye, sir," O’Brien answered.

Nelson silently led the way to the front windows. He didn't like pulling Chip that way, but he couldn't say it in front of the entire watch. The crew would know soon enough.

Chip seemed to sense his reluctance. Morton waited until they were well inside the bow. "This have anything to do with you calling Will to Lee's cabin?"

"I'm afraid so." Harry dropped wearily into one of the conference table chairs, gesturing Chip to join him. Morton slid into a chair at his right, his apprehension now evident.

"What happened?" Chip searched his face.

"Jamieson said he'd try to save him." Nelson ran a hand through his hair, hesitating. He didn't know how to tell Chip, so he said it straight out. "Lee was poisoned. There's no antidote."

Morton stared at him, shocked, before he found his voice. "How?"

"It was meant for me. And Lee decided--" Harry forced the words past a sudden lump in his throat as he clenched his hands tightly together. "I didn't know a thing about it until I went to see him."

"That's why he gave me the conn today! Because he knew... " Chip's voice trailed off as he shook his head. "He should have said something! Surely Jamieson could have--"

"With no antidote?"

"There are other things Jamieson can do!"

"And he's doing them. Our problem now is how to tell the crew," Nelson replied, keeping his own overwhelming worry at bay by keeping his voice even. "They will have to know."

Anger flashed in his eyes, then Morton drew a deep breath. "Tell them the truth. They can handle it."

"Do you want me to, or will you take care of it?"

"I'll do it," Chip answered firmly. "It's my job."

Nelson smiled wearily. "You sound like Lee."

"He... he has a habit of rubbing off on people," Morton replied softly.

"He sure does." Harry bowed his head into his hands, feeling his stomach knot again as memories welled up. The trust. The loyalty. The bond that grown between them. He had been blind to what had been there. The Russian's knowing smile. Lee's quietness. All he could think of was escape. For what? Lee was dying, when it should have been him. "Why did I ever agree to take him with me in the first place?"

"Because it made perfect sense." Chip rose from his chair, stepping beside him. Morton laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Lee wouldn't want you blaming yourself. I know he had his reasons for doing what he did."

"And if he dies, Chip?" Harry raised his head.

"Have faith in Jamieson."

"I trust Will. I wish--" Nelson gazed up at Morton earnestly. "If only Lee had said something!"

"He never does." Chip smiled faintly.

"I know." Harry leaned back into his chair. "You have a prayer handy?"

"One, maybe. Chapel service is the responsibility of the Captain, not the Exec."

"You're the Captain, now.”

Morton stiffened, withdrawing his hand. "No, I'm only acting in his place. I'll never be the Skipper."

Harry raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "You're not terribly efficient, are you?"

"Only moderately, sir." Chip managed a half grin. "I'll go make the announcement. I'd like to be kept posted on Lee."

"Of course. I should have told you sooner. It happened so fast and I--"

"I understand, sir. Lee would be worried about you." Morton smiled shyly. "I worry about both of you."

Harry reached out, holding Chip's arm for a moment. "I sometimes forget how much we depend on you."

"That's my job," Chip answered softly. Then he stepped back. "I'll be in the control room if you need me."

"I'll call you," Nelson answered. The dismissal sounded shallow in his ears, Chip looking much more in command than Nelson felt at that moment. As he watched Morton walk to the spiral staircase, the too-straight set of Chip's shoulders, the white-knuckled grip his Exec closed on the banister betrayed him. Despite Chip's encouraging words, he was much more upset by Harry's news than he wanted Nelson to know. Harry pushed himself out of the chair. It was time to go back to Sick Bay.

* * * * *

Randy Miller lifted his coffee cup from the tray on the chart table. It was only lukewarm now, but it still tasted good. He only had two more hours. Then he'd be off until midnight. He took another sip of coffee, wondering if he should have Cookie send the wardroom steward up with sandwiches. The watches were so mixed with all the extra personnel on, he doubted any formal supper being served.

He knew for a fact the wardroom was deserted. Most of the officers were at their stations. Those that weren't were probably sleeping. Randy raised his shoulders, stretching his tired muscles, wishing he could join them. Not yet. His eyes roved to the reactor board. All the telltales were green. Atta girl. Bet you can smell that Russian sub, can't you?

Randy placed his now empty cup on the table, resisting his urge to move the tray. If the Captain returned from rounds and found it lying smack in the middle of his work area, he wouldn't like it. Only Crane wasn't on rounds. The Skipper was--

Miller quickly squashed that thought. Chip said Will was doing everything possible. Jamieson would do his job, and they would do theirs. That Russian sub wouldn't know what hit her. She wouldn't outrun Seaview. Not now.

"Commander Morton," Nick called from the radio shack.

Randy watched Chip replace the mic on its hook by the periscope, returning the system to general intercom. Evidently there wasn't any bad news from Sick Bay, but he could tell by Chip's expression there wasn't any good news either. He left his stool and followed Morton down to the radio shack.

Nick handed a headset over and Chip plugged into the comm, holding it to one ear.

"I've been monitoring the air to ground. It looks like one of the Nimrods has a hot blip. He's trying to verify it. Then he'll send us the coordinates."

"How long before we can catch up to them?" Chip extended the headphones to Randy.

"We should be in range sometime early this morning," Miller replied. "If we stay on him."

"We'll stay on him," Chip said grimly.

The chatter in Randy's headphones grew more excited. Nick made a few quick adjustments. "Are you are sure it's not a decoy?" he said quickly into his microphone.

Chip gestured for the headphones and Randy handed them over. Miller turned as someone came up behind him. Chief Sharkey. Randy nodded in greeting. Sharkey returned it.

"Ask him if it profiles as an Alfa class," Chip said hurriedly.

Nick relayed the question and Randy saw both Chip and Nick nod.

"All right!" Chip said. He leaned out of the radio shack alcove. "Quartermaster, half left rudder! Helmsman, come to bearing two-nine-four."

The watch scrambled to comply. Nick thanked the pilot and signed off. He leaned back in his chair, stretching, then glanced at Chip. "How much longer before the computer spits out the analysis?"

"Mike has been feeding it numbers most of the afternoon. We should have something soon.

"Everything's set up like you ordered in the missile room, Mr. Morton," Sharkey broke in. "We'll fire whenever you give the word."

"Well done, Chief."

"I had plenty of help, sir."

Chip almost smiled. Randy felt the same grim satisfaction himself. The Kosigyn's hours were numbered now.

"Very well, Chief," Morton answered. "Carry on."

"Aye, sir." Sharkey paused for a moment. "Has there been any word on the Skipper?"

Chip stopped in mid-action of removing his headphones and turned, giving Sharkey an irritated look. For a moment Randy tensed, expecting Morton to snap at the Chief’s innocent question. Then his expression softened. He pulled the headphones off and hooked them on their stand. "He's doing as well as can be expected."

"Yeah. The guys are worried about him."

"We all are, Chief. I'll see you're kept posted, all right?"

"I'd appreciate that, sir," Sharkey answered.

Randy breathed a sigh of relief. They were all on edge. Finding the Russian sub would take care of that.

Almost as if Sharkey were anticipating his thoughts, the Chief Petty Officer spoke again. "Do you want me to tell the Admiral we got a definite? He asked me to let him know when I had completed the detail in the missile room."

Chip waved his hand in dismissal. "No, that's all right. I'll tell him myself. Carry on, Chief."

"Aye, sir." Sharkey left the small alcove. Randy watched Chip, who stood looking after the Chief. Pain flashed briefly across Morton's face, and then he squared his shoulders, shaking it off. Randy knew what he was feeling. The searching and waiting was hard.

"Keep with them, Nick." Chip dropped his hand to Peatty's shoulder. "We'll get him."

Nick looked up. "Believe it."

"Hey, I think there's still some coffee left." Randy nudged Chip's arm, dredging up an encouraging smile.

Chip turned to him, a shadow of his normal infectious grin crossing his face but not quite reaching his eyes. "That's an excellent suggestion, Mr. Miller. C'mon."

"Aye, Commander."

* * * * *

Chip Morton turned restlessly over in his bunk, glancing at his watch for the thousandth time. The glowing hands read three o'clock, but he still couldn’t sleep. He hadn't wanted Randy to come on at midnight, but if he had refused to go, the rest of the crew would have followed suit.

Morton needed sleep. He'd been back to the control room twice since zero hundred, hoping to wear himself out. That hadn't helped. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Lee, lying in the decom chamber, hooked up to every life support machine they had.

Chip rolled onto his side in his narrow bunk, jamming his hand under the pillow. Light from the corridor came under the door, dimly illuminating his bookshelves, glinting off the glass of his framed pictures. Every one of those pictures was Lee and him together. Santa Barbara, Madrid, a bar in Saigon. He'd never forget that leave. Finding Lee so unexpectedly in the middle of a war had led to a wild, infectiously fun afternoon, the only one he'd had during his tour of 'Nam. They had left that bar a wreck, but it had been worth it. Venice, New London.

Even his family picture, taken at his Annapolis graduation, had Lee in it. Crane was family. From their very first meeting at Annapolis, Chip had felt drawn to Lee. He found a fun-loving friend, who quickly became his brother in every sense of the word. Morton sat up suddenly. If Lee died, that sub was going to the bottom, no matter what it cost him. He'd make sure of that.

Chip threw the covers off, swinging his legs out of the bunk. He'd find no sleep here. If Will couldn't save Lee, he didn't want to be abruptly awakened, or worse yet, be told in the morning. Let Jamieson try to kick him out. He needed to be there. His place was at his brother’s side.

Chip reached for his khaki trousers. Once he knew Lee would pull through, he'd sleep. Morton slid his feet into his oxfords, quickly lacing them. Snagging his shirt, he opened the door, thrusting his arms into the sleeves as he left.

He reached Sick Bay quickly, but hesitated at the door before stepping silently over the hatch sill into the main room. The lights were low, only enough to illuminate the way through the exam tables. The decom chamber door was wide open, which wasn’t normal.

As Morton neared the door, he heard a rhythmic pumping. He stepped quietly through into the chamber, stopping behind the pharmacists mate's stool. "Jimmy?"

Talbot turned on his stool, looking up at him. "Yes, sir?" he asked, laying his clipboard on his knees.

"How is he?" Chip forced himself to look at Lee, unmoving on the machine-surrounded bed. He fought his urge to shove them all away. Steady. Those machines are keeping Lee alive.

"No better." The pharmacist's mate rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "His vitals are too low."

"You look like you could use some shut-eye." He placed his hand lightly on Talbot's shoulder, giving him a smile of encouragement.

Jimmy shook his head. "Doc says one of us has to watch the Skipper at all times."

Morton gazed around the chamber. Jamieson and Nelson were asleep, stretched out on the other two beds. They looked exhausted. At least they could sleep. "I'll stay with him," he offered quietly.

Jimmy raised weary eyes to him. "Sir, aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

Chip smiled reassuringly. "I've been in bed since midnight." In, but not asleep. "You go ahead."

"If you're sure you don't mind." Talbot rolled his shoulders, shifting, and lifted the clipboard, making a notation. "I need a cup of coffee from the galley."

He reached for the clipboard in Talbot's hand. "What does Doc want watched?"

"B.P., pulse rate and respiration." Talbot indicated the figures on the sheet. "If any one of them falls below these levels, or anything starts acting weird, you're to wake him immediately." Jimmy stood, stretching wearily.

"I will," Morton answered, claiming the still-warm stool. "Take as much time as you need."

Jimmy nodded, walking slowly from the chamber. Chip studied the clipboard. Lee's blood pressure had been a yo-yo all night but during the last two hours it had settled into a smaller range. If Will had gone to sleep, Lee must be as stable as Jamieson could get him. Pulse was steady, same with the respiration. Regulated by machines, he could hardly expect them to be otherwise. Chip looked at Lee, his fear tightening his chest. You can't die. We need you too much.

Morton remembered when they lost Captain Phillips. If Lee hadn't been available for reassignment at the time, Chip could have gotten her, but it was never his wish to command. He was satisfied with the way things had worked out. He preferred being part of a team effort, doing his share.

Crane had always been Seaview's rightful skipper and Chip sure as hell wasn't going to take her from him. Not now, not ever. Lee belonged in command of this boat.

Morton sighed. Under the respirator mask, Lee was pale, his features slack. Chip's eyes fell on the respirator, watching the ceaseless up and down motion. Click-pump-pause. Cold, unfeeling machines. He pushed off the stool, going around the respirator. He reached in front of the trailing IV lines to take up Lee's limp hand. Don't die. We've shared too much together to have it end like this.

Crane's hand was cold. Chip gripped it tighter. But there was no response. The machine continued. Click-pump-pause. He released Lee's hand slowly. Get with it. Jimmy will be back soon. Morton started to turn back toward the stool and hesitated, looking down. There had to be something he could do. Crane's dark hair was hanging down over his forehead.

Chip smiled faintly, remembering how Lee was always pushing it aside, particularly when he got engrossed in something. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of Crane’s hairline, lightly combing the wayward hair back.

Morton heard someone walking around in the other room. He hoped it wasn't Jimmy, not yet. He wanted to stay as long as possible, knowing he shouldn't be here, but unable to stay away. He had other responsibilities. Lee had left Seaview to him and if he expected to be in the control room tomorrow, he had to sleep. The last thing Chip wanted was to ask for relief because he couldn't stay awake.

He sat back on the stool and glanced at his watch. There was a block to fill in on the clipboard. Morton read the digital number from the respirator. Respiration fourteen. Still. Chip put his pen to paper and the peeping sound went suddenly berserk. He jerked his head up. The blue line bouncing rhythmically not a moment before was all over the scope, erratically flashing, the peep fast, disjointed.

He leaped from the chair, grabbing the Doctor roughly by the shoulder. "Will, wake up!" He shook Jamieson hard. "It's Lee!"

Will’s eyes flew open. He scrambled off the bunk, beside Crane in two steps. Nelson shot up in the other bed, looking confused. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Where's Jimmy?"

"I let him go to the galley for coffee."

Nelson tossed his covers aside, sliding off the bunk. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"I don't know. I was watching him. It went haywire," Chip answered, his eyes still fixed on the wildly flashing monitor. The blue line continued to jump all over the scope.

"C'mon, settle down!" Chip heard Nelson mutter tightly beside him, his eyes drawn to the monitor as well. Chip could see their reflections in the glass of the monitor. The Admiral was worried, his eyes haunted, shadowed with fear. Nelson turned toward Jamieson. Chip followed his movement, his eyes widening as he saw the Doctor sink a long needle into Lee's chest.

"Will?" Nelson asked uncertainly.

Jamieson's gaze remained on the EKG monitor.

"Will, he's going to be all right, isn't he?" the Admiral persisted, an edge building in his voice.

"Not if he doesn't stop throwing PVC's!" Jamieson finally answered. "The epinephrine isn't helping." His eyes went to the doorway. "Jimmy! Get me the crash cart. Stat!"

Talbot ran from the doorway, his coffee cup splashing to the floor.

Jamieson met the cart at the chamber doorway. He snatched up the round paddles, smearing cream on them, while Jimmy positioned the cart next to the bed. Then he nodded, and Talbot switched on the machine. Jimmy began reading the voltage. "One hundred--Two hundred--Three hundred--Four hundred."

"Clear!" Will answered. Chip took an involuntary step backward, bumping into the other bunk. Jamieson placed one paddle slightly right of center on Lee's chest, the other on his lower left side. He pressed the buttons on the paddles and Crane galvanized. The EKG pattern cleared for a moment, then returned, still violently erratic.

"Damn," Will muttered.

Jimmy hit the reset button swiftly. "One hundred, two, three, four hundred!"

"Clear!" Jamieson again placed the paddles on Crane's chest, the electric shock jerking Lee once more. Chip held his breath as the pattern arced wildly on the scope, then abruptly synced back into normal rhythm. Morton’s gaze remained frozen on the monitor until the pattern steadied. His legs suddenly refused to hold him up any more, and Chip dropped onto the bunk, weak with relief.

"Thank God," Will sighed heavily, his eyes still glued to the monitor. "I didn't think his heart could take much more of that."

Chip gazed at Lee, so still and white. "Will?" Morton turned toward Jamieson, but he never got a chance to ask his question.

Nelson moved beside him, his expression troubled. "He's getting worse, isn't he?" he asked, his voice tight.

Will moved away from the bedside, sitting down on his bunk, his eyes still on the EKG monitor. "This didn't help!" he snapped.

Nelson drew back, his expression falling. He reached out, taking Chip's arm. "Then you don't need us in the way. C'mon, Chip, you look ready to fall asleep on your feet. Maybe some coffee--"

Morton didn't want to leave, the crisis had driven any thought of sleep away, but he let Nelson pull him off the bunk toward the door.

"Harry, wait." Jamieson shook his head, then gestured the Admiral toward the bunk. "I need to talk to both of you."

Chip followed Nelson back to the bunks, his gaze drawn once more to Lee. Part of him lay there, a part he did not want to lose. Morton turned away, steadfastly focusing his attention on Will. Lee wasn't dead yet.

Nelson ran a hand through his hair. "What is it, Will?"

"I had hoped we wouldn't go through that." Jamieson rubbed his forehead tiredly. "If it happens again--" He paused. "We need to make a decision."

"About what?"

"We have two choices. We can keep Lee in here on life support, giving him epinephrine and hope for the best when the paralysis finally wears off. But if we do that, there's a possible complication. As long as the curare remains in his body, he’s paralyzed. It could paralyze him permanently." Will looked at both of them squarely. "I think you both know how he'd feel about that."

Chip nodded. "Yes."

Nelson was on the verge of speaking, but then he glanced at Chip and nodded in agreement.

"Our other option is a complete blood transfusion to purge the poison. I doubt we'll have any trouble getting donors. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?" Nelson asked.

"It could kill him," Jamieson answered. "There are as many risk factors involved with a transfusion as there are in leaving the curare to wear off. Lee's been through severe trauma already. I'm not sure he can take the added strain the transfusion will put on his system." Will stopped, fixing them with a level gaze. "I want to do the purge. I think it's his best chance to survive this. I'd like your permission to proceed."

Nelson turned toward Chip. Morton caught the barest glimmer of a smile, despite the worry in the Admiral's eyes. Will's interpretation of next-of-kin wasn't that far off. He met Nelson's gaze and nodded, feeling relief in the decision. Lee deserved Jamieson's best shot. He would do the same for either of them. Nelson turned back to the Doctor.

"Go ahead, Will."

Jamieson stood up, nodding, and then motioned Jimmy to follow him out the hatch. Chip started after him. "I'll go see who’s qualified to be a donor, sir."

"Mr. Morton." The Admiral's voice was gruff. Chip turned back. Their eyes locked for a moment as Morton prepared for the order he did not want to hear, to sleep. Unexpectedly Nelson’s features softened into a tired smile. "Very well, carry on."

Chip looked at him a moment, startled, realizing he had been given the kind of concession the Admiral reserved for Lee. Finally there was something he and Nelson could do together. "Aye, aye," he answered briskly, turned on his heel and left.

* * * * *

Will Jamieson watched the EKG scope, timing Lee's heartbeats. They were steady, and as strong as they would probably get without further action. Lee hadn't thrown any more PVC's, but the danger wasn't over, especially when the epinephrine wore off. There was too much poison in Lee's system. When those Russians had decided to kill the Admiral, they wanted to make sure he was dead. Ten cc's would have done it, but they'd found a level closer to twenty. If Nelson had taken it, he would have died before anything could have been done. Lee's youth had helped. He hadn't collapsed right away, barely giving them enough time to get him on life support. It was time to start the transfusion. After the poison was removed, the paralysis would end. He only had to keep Lee alive that long.

He felt right doing something. Will moved away from the bed, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off his tiredness. He'd had little time for sleep all night. Harry had left to help Chip gather the blood donors. He wished Nelson hadn't volunteered, but the Admiral would not lie back down after Lee's crisis had wrenched them both awake in the middle of the night. Nelson had spent the early morning watching from the other bunk, unable to hide his worry.

Will knew their friendship went deeper than either man would admit, much as they kept it secondary to their positions. Nelson allowed no favoritism aboard and Crane refused any. Their caring still came through. They tended to forget about their ranks when the other was in danger.

Jamieson smiled as he heard Chip's calm voice come on the intercom calling the special medical detail to assemble in crew's quarters aft. Probably all forty-five crew members who were eligible would volunteer. They only needed sixteen, and Harry would figure out a way to choose which ones to bring down. They would do this right.

* * * * *

Jamieson had finished a quick breakfast right before Nelson returned, with his donors in tow. Will looked out the chamber door, not surprised to see Kowalski in the lead as the men crowded into the room. When his name had appeared on the list, he figured the sonar operator would automatically volunteer. Patterson was right behind him. Some things on board never changed.

Will smiled to himself as he saw several of the seamen casting furtive looks toward the chamber. Some one would get up their nerve to ask him about Crane very shortly.

"Doc?" Nick Peatty stood by the door. "The men would like to know how the Skipper's doing."

"Tell them he's stable. You in charge?"

"Sort of." Peatty shrugged. "You asked for off-duty volunteers."

"I'll bet you were just relieved, too."

Peatty smiled. "Everybody on duty has the wrong blood type. 'Sides, they're busy with the search." Nick turned as Jimmy called him from the other room. "Thanks, Will."

Jamieson went to the chamber door, watching the preparations with one ear cocked for the steady peep of the EKG monitor. Kowalski lay on the exam table, and Jimmy already had him hooked into an IV and was drawing blood. Billy had Chief Sharkey helping him get the others in order. Nick was on the intercom, reporting to the control room, no doubt. Nelson stood on the other side of Kowalski's bed, discussing with the sonar man his attempts to track the Russians. The entire main room, totally transformed from the silence of last night, buzzed with conversation, most of it about the elusive enemy sub.

Will turned back into the chamber. One last check of the IV lines and they would be ready to start. Lee would improve once the poison was flushed from his body. Will felt optimistic, more than he had in some time and finally in control. If Crane could hold on through the transfusion, he was sure he could pull him through. The sooner they started the better.

* * * * *

Nelson eased himself onto the bunk inside the decom chamber. He wondered how the Doctor was managing; Jamieson should be more tired than he was. Will moved confidently amid the life support machines, hooking in the blood pack and taking readings, with no sign of weariness. Harry had forgotten about his fatigue while he had something to do, but the last donor had left half an hour ago. Jamieson was administering the final pint to Lee. All they could do now was wait.

Harry gazed at the machines surrounding Lee on both sides, the IV lines hanging above the bed. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but he could not rest. Not until Lee was out of danger and they had dealt with the Russian sub.

Jamieson glanced in his direction. Harry tried an encouraging smile. Will returned it as he hung the blood pack from the IV stand. Then he motioned for him to come over.

Nelson pushed off the bunk and gingerly stepped around the respirator.

"It's starting to help," Will told him. "Look."

He extended a clipboard. Harry saw neat columns of figures covering the paper, but he couldn't get his weary eyes to focus. He pushed the clipboard back to Jamieson. "Mind explaining to a tired layman?"

Will grinned and indicated the middle column. "That's his blood pressure. Before the transfusion we had him stable at about sixty. It's risen ten points since we started giving him blood. It fluctuated at first, but now it's a gradual but steady rise. His respiration improved and his heart rate is picking up too."

"What about the paralysis?"

"It's going away. Slowly." Jamieson smiled again. "It should be completely gone by supper time."

"Then--" Harry looked at the clipboard again as the figures clicked with the implications in Will's words. He could barely contain his relief. "Lee's going to make it?"

"Unless he has a reaction."

"How long --" His words tumbled over each other. "I mean -- is that likely?

"You mean how long before you can tell the crew?" Jamieson asked, amused.

"Damn it, yes!"

"I want you to wait another hour, to be sure."

After all they'd been through he needed to make that announcement. The crew needed to hear it! Then Harry realized Will was right. They had survived the worst of it last night. The extra hour seemed so little for Jamieson to ask. He glanced back at Lee and suddenly the mechanical maze of machines that surrounded him didn't seem as ominous as they were moments ago.

"All right, Will, it's your show." Nelson rubbed a hand across his neck, giving attention to the persistent ache that had settled in his shoulders. He started to go back to his bunk, but stopped as he felt Will's hand on his shoulder. Nelson turned around.

"Do me another favor?" Jamieson asked quietly.

"Sure, Will." Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Lie down. You make me tired looking at you." Jamieson raised a hand. "You don't have to sleep, but close your eyes for a few minutes. You'll be surprised how much better it will make you feel."

Harry couldn't help grinning. "You've already done that."

* * * * *

When Harry opened his eyes several hours later, Will greeted him with the news that Lee's blood pressure had risen further and the paralysis was almost gone. Lee was still unconscious, but had lost most of his pasty white pallor. Jamieson didn't appear worried as he sat on the other bunk, writing on his clipboard.

Nelson tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. He was still tired. The long hours were all jumbled in his mind. He glanced at his bunk longingly for a moment and then consulted his watch. If he left now, he could catch Chip before he went to supper. The news was long overdue. Coffee wasn't a bad idea either.

He caught Will's eye, indicating he was leaving. The Doctor nodded as Harry carefully tiptoed past Jimmy, sacked out in a rack in the main room.

Both Chip and Randy were in the control room. They looked like sleep wouldn't hurt them, either. Randy managed a wan smile for Harry as he came up to the chart table. Chip held a steaming cup of coffee cradled in both hands, sipping it slowly. He gestured toward the tray on the chart table. "Cookie's been putting in overtime. Help yourself."

Harry reached for a cup. A quick glance around showed nearly everyone in the room had one. His eyes narrowed as he saw more than the usual watch on duty. Several stations had both A and B-watch personnel present. Evidently some of A-watch didn't want relief. They considered themselves The Skipper's Watch. It was wise of Chip not to force them.

Morton could use every hand until they cornered the Russian sub. The crew had a personal stake in getting the man responsible for poisoning Lee. Every man on board was itching to show that Seaview was not to be trifled with.

"Anything new on the search?" he asked between sips of coffee.

"We're working on a solid fix now. We've been within range for about an hour." Chip smiled at Randy. "Our Engineering wizard's been busy."

"She's has a good reactor," Randy answered modestly.

Nelson glanced at the sonar console. Both Kowalski and Patterson had headsets on as Kowalski keyed in the sweeps. As he watched, Patterson nudged Kowalski.

"Hit that phase again. You bounced off him."

Kowalski nodded. "Yeah." He quickly reset the scope, and a green blip appeared at the very bottom of the screen. He leaned back in his chair, grinning widely. "Mr. Morton! We got him! Target, bearing two-oh-two."

Chip turned to Nelson. "That's it, sir. He's locked into the tracking system. We shouldn't have any more trouble staying on him."

Randy grinned. "Bet he's sweating."

"Now we can track him, what's our next move?" Chip asked.

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You're prepared if he launches an attack?"

Chip nodded. "I had Rod deploy the full defense screen as soon as we came into range."

"Good." Harry paused, considering their options. He looked at his two commanders, a sly smile tugging at his mouth. "Let's treat him to his own game for a while. Stay in range, so he knows we're here, but don't do anything."

"That will drive him nuts," Randy said, nodding his approval.

"I think it's time we reciprocated," Nelson replied.

"How long do we play cat and mouse?"

"As long as necessary, Chip. I want to wait until Lee can be with us. It’s four days to the nearest port. There's no place they can go where we can't follow them."

"Wait--" Chip's blue eyes went wide with hope. "For Lee?"

Harry couldn't stop his grin. "Will gave me the good news a little while ago. The transfusion worked."

Morton banged his fist on the chart table and began to laugh. Kowalski grabbed Patterson, a wide grin on his face and they smacked hands in their special handshake. A loud whoop, quickly muffled, came from the radio room as the word traveled like lightning down the length of the control room.

Chip punched Randy affectionately on the shoulder. "Of course we'll wait, right?"

"Right!"

"Then it's settled." Harry cocked an eyebrow at both of them, enjoying the crew's reaction. "Maybe now you two can get some sleep."

Chip raised an eyebrow at Randy, chuckling. "What's that?"

Randy grinned. "Can I have first dibs?"

Harry laughed at their banter. "You’d better pass the word to the rest of the crew or the grapevine will beat you to it."

"I'm probably too late already," Chip answered wryly.

Harry shook his head. "Let me know if the Russian tries anything. I'll be in Sick Bay."

"Aye, sir!" Morton answered, the snap back in his voice.

Harry smiled to himself as he walked the length of the control room to the starboard hatch. Things were definitely starting to look up.

* * * * *

Jamieson glanced up from disconnecting Crane from the respirator as Nelson came through the chamber door. He nodded a greeting and returned his attention to Lee, letting Harry resume his usual post on the bunk.

As he worked, Will heard Chip's voice come on the intercom and announce Lee's recovery. The loud cheer that echoed through the boat made him smile. He wished Lee was awake to hear it.

When he had stowed the last of the equipment in the respirator cabinet, he turned to Nelson. "I don't suppose there's any way I can persuade you to lie down again." Will came over to the bunk. "At least not until I give you a status report."

Harry returned his smile. "He's better. I can see that."

"Yes. The paralysis is gone. He should be able to resume light duty in a few days.”

"If Lee's awake and able to walk, he'll want his command back."

Will smiled wickedly. "Who says he'll be awake?"

"Lee won't like that."

"Well, we won’t have to worry about that showdown until at least tomorrow."

Nelson looked at Lee and another smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He reached out, gripping Will's arm. "Thank you."

"To steal the Captain's excuse," Will replied quietly, "that's my job, sir."

"Just because Lee--" Harry began exasperatedly as he dropped his hand.

"You shouldn't have a reputation for accomplishing the impossible. Then we all wouldn't emulate you." Jamieson chuckled. "C'mon, let's go to the wardroom and eat some supper. Then I intend to sleep all night. I hope you have the same plan."

Nelson hesitated, glancing at Crane again. Will laid his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"He won't even know you're here. I promise as soon as Lee comes around, I'll wake you."

"All right." Harry pushed off the bunk. "After you, Doctor."

* * * * *

Harry was brought awake by someone's gentle shaking. He hardly remembered crawling into the rack last night. "What's the matter?" Nelson asked, sitting up abruptly as he realized he was in the main room of the sick bay and Jamieson was beside him.

"Nothing's the matter," Will hastily reassured him. "I promised you could be there when Lee wakes up."

"He's conscious?" Harry swung his feet off the bunk.

"Not yet." Jamieson held up a cautionary hand. "It won't be much longer."

Harry followed him into the chamber. The machines were back in their places, no longer ringing the bed. Looking at Lee now, it was hard to believe he'd been through so much. Crane looked sacked out from a double or triple watch, except for his bruised face.

As he watched, Lee shifted on the mattress, a small smile coming to his mouth. Wonder what he's dreaming. Probably swimming after a mermaid. With everything Jamieson had given Lee, he probably felt no pain at all.

Jamieson moved to Crane's side. "Lee. Time to wake up."

Crane responded sluggishly, moving once again.

Jamieson persisted. "Lee, I know you hear me."

Lee twitched, his head rolling slightly to the left.

At Will's glance, Harry added his encouragement. "Open your eyes, son."

Crane's eyelids fluttered apart. He blinked several times, until finally his eyes remained open.

"Welcome back, stranger." Will smiled down at his patient.

Lee shook his head slightly as his eyes closed again. A moment later, he had them open again, smiling faintly as Jamieson placed his stethoscope on Crane's wrist.

"Gone... long... time, Jamie?" Lee asked, barely audible, visibly surprised at the effort it took him to talk.

"Long enough," Will answered gruffly. "We almost didn't pull you through."

Lee looked confused, then his brow unfurrowed. "Found... antidote?"

"No," Jamieson replied. "There is no antidote for curare. It can be treated, however. With the proper facilities. You're damn lucky our decom chamber is so complete."

The Doctor's irony was lost on Lee as he struggled to stay awake, searching groggily for his IV line. "Wh--what... feeding me?"

"Nothing." Will spread his hands innocently. "You can't fight off curare and not feel it. Your whole body was paralyzed for hours."

"Why... in decom--" Lee's voice began to slur.

"That's more than enough questions." Will cut him off. "Go to sleep."

"Aye... sir." Lee barely got the words out before he drifted off.

Harry pulled the blanket up over Crane's shoulders, exchanging an amused glance with Jamieson.

"He never changes, does he?" the Doctor remarked, grinning wryly.

"He'll give us both gray hair."

"I thought he already did," Jamieson answered, laughing. "Except I'm afraid that's going to affect you more than me." Will ruefully passed a hand over his thinning hair. "I don't have enough to worry about."

Harry joined in the Doctor's laughter with relief. When Lee was well enough, they were going to have a talk about his expendability. A very long talk.

* * * * *

Chip came into Sick Bay quietly. He had Will’s permission to visit, but if Lee was asleep, he wasn’t going to wake him. To see his friend would be enough. Lee had been moved out of the decom chamber and was in a bottom rack in the semi-darkened main room.

Even in the dim light, Morton could see improvement. Chip looked around for a tray table to put his steaming mug down on. There was one by the exam table that would do. He put the mug on it and rolled it over by Lee’s rack, next to the chair at the foot of it.

He had left Nelson in the wardroom with Will. Morton wouldn’t stay long. He looked down at his sleeping brother to find half open hazel eyes gazing back at him. Chip smiled. “Ah, so you are awake. Will said you might be.”

Lee shifted slightly on the bed. “Heard something.”

“That was me.”

“Lummox,” Crane muttered.

Morton raised a hand. “Hey, if you’d rather sleep, I’ll take my report and...”

Lee’s eyes opened wider at that. “Report?”

“It is eight o’clock, Lee.”

Crane was immediately much more alert. “Report, mister.”

“We found that Russian sub. I don’t think he’s happy we did. So far he hasn’t engaged us and keeps trying to run, but there is no suitable place around here to ditch us.”

“Good.” Crane tried to scoot himself higher onto the pillow, but didn’t have the strength.

“Do you want to sit up?” Chip asked quietly.

Lee shook his head. “Keep talking. That helps.”

“We’re waiting for the Russian to either make a hostile move or surrender.”

“Defenses up?”

Chip nodded. “He can’t do anything we don’t know about, but he’s too stubborn to admit the game is over. If he won’t surrender, we may have to destroy him. The Admiral’s aware of the situation.”

“Keep the boat safe.”

“I will.” Chip reached down and curled his hand around Lee’s shoulder. “I definitely plan to give her back to you in one piece.”

Lee sighed. “Jamie said don’t even ask when, so you’ll still have to handle it.” Crane peered up at him. “I’m sorry about the last couple days.”

“I’ll wait until you are strong enough. Then I will kick your ass from bridge to keel,” Morton answered.

Lee dropped his gaze. “Chip, I—

“I know and so does he, but that won’t save you.”

A sheepish smile came to Lee’s lips. “I deserve that. Do I get any slack for not dying?”

Morton pretended to think. “I’ll consider it.”

Crane’s smile widened into a grin as he sagged back into the pillow.

Chip lifted his hand free, reaching over for the mug. “I brought you a nightcap with Will’s compliments.”

“Jamie changed his mind about the coffee?” Lee asked hopefully.

“No. Don’t press your luck. There’s more milk than chocolate, but at least it’s hot.”

“It will put me to sleep,” Crane groused.

“And when you wake up, you’ll be another day closer to getting out of here.”

“That I’ll drink to.” Lee pushed himself higher in the bed. “Hand it over.”

* * * * *

Chip Morton was expecting trouble. Brinkmanship was a tricky game, one he didn’t normally enjoy, but the Russians had asked for it. Murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, assault. Chip believed a little high seas justice was definitely called for.

They had to get a target lock on the Russians first. The Alfa had gone through every maneuver there was, trying to shake loose from them, but everyone on board was determined they would not escape. The crew stayed at their stations, relieving each other in turn, so there was always a fresh pair of eyes keeping watch on the green blip.

Eventually, with him and Randy setting the example, everyone caught up on lost sleep. Of course, Lee was still noticeable absent, but Chip knew Crane would correct that as soon as possible.

Chip was glad he was not the one who would decide the fate of the Russians. It would be very satisfying to sit back, hear the roaring whoosh and imagine the Russians disappearing in an implosion. The Russians had weapons equal to their own, so the Seaview crew had to be extremely careful they did not end up as a target. Maybe he could fire a few fish, as a surprise, right up their— Chip grinned wolfishly. That would be very nice.

Any action they took here had the potential to start something they might not be able to stop. Now matter how justified they were in going after the Russians, if their revenge was interpreted as an act of war, the safety of the whole planet was at risk. Chip walked over to the Weapons console.

Rod glanced up as Morton leaned over his shoulder. “No activity, Commander. I bet he’s chicken. Probably afraid we’ll blow him out of the water.”

“Wouldn’t you be careful if we were after you?”

“Sure.” Rod shrugged. “I know what we have. He doesn’t.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Chip cautioned.

“I hate waiting. The only good thing is that has to be worse for him.”

“He should have thought of the consequences of attacking our research station,” Morton replied. “It’s the Admiral’s decision. Right now, all we do is defend ourselves.”

“That’s covered, Commander.”

“I know.” Chip laid his hand on the officer’s shoulder. They were ready for whatever the Russian had planned.

Morton reseated himself at the chart table and pulled his clipboard in front of him to make some notes for his log entry. He had only managed a brief paragraph when the general quarters alarm began howling. Chip shot to his feet. “Two fish! Hot! 90 thousand feet and closing!” Rod read from his console as fast as the tracking computer flashed the information.”

The sonar report came a moment later. “Contact. Bearing one-twelve. Mark!”

“Evasive action!” Chip snapped. “Left full rudder. Ten degree down bubble.” Craig was on the mic, giving his order to the engine room as the helmsman and planesman complied. The last station reported manned and ready as the alarm cut off.

Chip reached for the edge of the table as the nose of the sub tilted downward. There was a clatter of footsteps on the spiral stairs behind him. That would be Nelson. Morton was not expecting the person who came through the starboard hatch.

Clad in sick bay greens, Lee was trying to walk toward him, but the angle of the deck made staying on his feet a major effort. Crane lurched to a halt by the chart table.

“Status report, Mr. Morton,” Lee demanded, his voice nowhere near command strength as he gripped the table to stay upright. Whether or not Crane was up to it, there was no doubt he was taking command.

Chip straightened. “All stations manned and ready. Two targets, closing. Range!”

“Fifty thousand yards!” Rod supplied promptly.

Crane exchanged a look with Nelson, who nodded.

“Nail those fish, Mr. Morton!” Crane ordered.

“Aye, sir.” Chip turned to the weapons console. “Fire when ready, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir.” Rod punched the combination of buttons on his console that would activate the torpedo defense system. The computer hummed, coordinates flashed across Rod’s monitor and the boat lurched slightly as their defense screen was launched. The homing devices would lock on the Russian torpedoes and take them out long before they ever reached Seaview.

Chip began counting. Five. Six. Ski and Pat hurriedly removed their headsets. Fourteen. Fifteen. A muffled boom came from starboard, followed by a second explosion.

Sparks’ voice came over the intercom. “Stand by for shock wave.”

Chip turned back to the chart table and grabbed Lee by the arm, pulling Crane toward the stool. Nelson came around the table to help. Crane did not have the strength to resist as they sat him down on the stool and moved in on either side of him. Lee’s 'I’ll-settle-with-you-later' look would have wilted one of the crew as Crane reached out to take hold of the table, but Chip only smiled and wedged himself in tighter. Jamieson had worked too hard to let Lee go flying into the stairs.

The shock wave struck, heeling them over and then back again. Chip watched his clipboard go skidding off the table onto the deck as he concentrated on keeping his feet and his hold on Lee. Morton leaned into the stool, thankful for the solid welds that kept it attached to the deck.

There was barely time to rebrace before the second wave hit. Chip bent his knees, going with the motion until Seaview righted herself, each rock back and forth diminishing until the boat was back in trim.

Morton felt something tugging on his hand. Glancing down, he found Lee trying to disengage his grip.

“I’m all right, Chip,” Crane insisted softly, impatiently.

“You should see what you look like,” Morton replied, grinning down at him as he let go.

Lee glanced down and chagrin crossed his features as he took in his baggy sick bay greens, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the microphone. Amplified, his voice sounded stronger than it was. “Damage control, all sections, report status!”

“I have a firing solution,” Chip stated as they waited for the reports to come back.

Lee looked over at Nelson. The Admiral started to say something, but was interrupted by the reports coming in over the comm. No serious damage. Nelson’s brow furrowed as he gazed back at Lee. Crane’s bruised face was far from healed and as Chip watched, he could see Nelson’s jaw tighten.

The Russians needed to pay. For Andy and Gary. And for what they had done to Lee.

Something unspoken passed between Lee and Nelson as they stood looking at each other. Lee shook his head once. The Admiral frowned. Then they both turned and looked at him.

Chip knew what he was being asked. It would be so easy to answer the Russians with a similar barrage, but it wasn’t the right answer for this particular problem. Chip lifted his hands, shrugging, indicating he would support whatever they decided.

Nelson nodded as Lee picked up the mic again. “Sparks, hail that boat. Find me someone to talk to.”

Chip accepted the clipboard that a crew member handed him. Let the Russians try to talk their way out of this one.

A few moments later, the comm crackled to life. “This is Commander Dansky. Continue to pursue us and next time we will not miss.”

Nelson motioned for Lee to hand him the mic, an evil grin on his face. “This is Admiral Harriman Nelson,” he said and waited.

There was dead silence on the channel. Lee started grinning as well. Nelson clicked the mic once for effect. “You have a murderer on board. Release him to me under the Geneva rules and I will permit your vessel to leave this area, unmolested. Continue to protect him and I cannot answer for what will happen to your boat.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“And here I was, trying to be civilized about this.” Nelson’s voice went cold. “Let us not play games. You know who I want and why. If you don’t give him to me, I will destroy all of you. There’s no need to put your crew at risk for him.”

After a very long pause, Dansky came back. “I must speak to my government. May I have some time?”

“Three hours. Don’t try anything. My crew is extremely trigger happy at the moment. I won’t be able to stop them.”

“I will relay your request.”

The transmission ended.

“They aren’t going to give him to you,” Chip said. “They’d rather send him to Siberia.”

“That would be fine with me.” Nelson hooked the mic back onto the table. “Now the Colonel knows I’m not dead and all his plans have failed. Siberia may be too good for him.”

There was movement down by the radio shack as the crew stepped aside to let Will Jamieson through the hatch. The Doctor was not happy as he came down to where the three of them were.

“You’re AWOL.” Will came to a stop in front of Lee’s stool. “I did not take you off sick list. You have one minute to relinquish your command before I do it for you. The emergency is over!”

“Not until we stand down from battle stations,” Lee replied.

Jamieson reached out to take Crane’s arm. “You’re in no condition to be here. I don’t care if the entire Soviet Navy is shooting at us!”

“I feel fine.” Lee tried to shake loose.

“That’s adrenaline and it won’t last.”

“He got here, didn’t he?” Nelson interjected.

Jamieson turned his glower on the Admiral. “He’s not up to it!”

“I want him here.”

Lee looked over at Nelson, startled. Chip was surprised as well. Nelson nearly always backed the Doctor.

Will shook his head. “No. I won’t be suckered again. Let me do my job, sir!”

“Any chance of a compromise?” Chip broke in, trying to diffuse the situation before all three of them started shouting at each other.

Nelson moved closer to Crane, but remained silent. Jamieson looked at both of them flanking Lee and shook his head. “Why do you want him here, Harry?”

Nelson shrugged. “Lee has to tell the president how we are going to handle this mess. It’s his right after what they did to him.”

Crane dropped his eyes to the chart table.

Will shifted his grip down to Lee’s wrist and quickly took his pulse. “Look at me,” he requested quietly.

Crane raised his head defiantly.

Jamieson suddenly smiled. “You will come back when you get tired? I promise you, you will get tired.”

“Yes, Jamie,” Lee answered. “You have my word.”

“He’s all yours, gentleman. I’d better not get a call he’s passed out and needs a ride back to Sick Bay or I’ll keep him an entire week.”

Jamieson sounded serious. Chip nodded. “We’ll watch out for him.”

Lee swiveled on the stool, looking up at Morton. “Are you sure I’m in charge here?”

Chip shrugged. “Give me an order. Do you want Sparks to call the President?”

Jamieson laughed. “You three figure it out. I’ll see you soon, Skipper.”

“Thanks, Jamie.”

They watched the Doctor exit the starboard hatch.

Lee turned to Nelson. “So I’m to call the President?”

The Admiral grinned. “I’ll make the call. They’d never put you through. Once I get him, then you can talk to him.”

“Aye, sir.”

* * * * *

“Washington on the line, sir.” Nick Peatty finally had the call back they had been waiting for. Lee had remained on the stool, making notes for his log while they waited and was holding his own. Nelson strode down to the radio room.

Chip watched him listening for almost two minutes and knew Lee was watching as intently.

“Very well, sir,” Nelson said at last. “If that’s the way it has to be. You make sure the State Department handles it!” He signaled Nick to end the transmission.

“What’s the decision?” Crane asked, as the Admiral returned to the chart table.

“The assistant secretary of state has an appointment with the Russian undersecretary to discuss our extreme displeasure over what happened at our Marshall’s research station. The Russians are saying he was a rogue operation. They promised the Colonel will be tried for what he did. Moscow will contact the Kosigyn and order them home. When they move out we are to let them go.”

“Typical.” Chip grimaced.

Lee put down his pencil. “The lives of two men aren’t worth a war, Chip.”

“If it had been the lives of three men, they might have had their war,” the Admiral replied, cocking his head to see what Crane had written.

Lee passed the clipboard to Nelson. “No, they wouldn’t. You would have done the right thing, even if I wasn’t here.”

“Which makes me very glad you are here, son.” The Admiral handed back the

clipboard.

“Still want to go to Manila?”

Nelson thought a moment. “We’d better stop in at the Marshalls and set things right there before we leave the area.”

“Can you get us back on course, Chip?”

“Half a minute.” Morton began the calculation. He looked over at both men. “Not even one fish up the stern as good riddance?” he asked.

Nelson smirked, while Lee shook his head.

“No, Chip,” the Admiral answered. “I promised we’d behave.”

“Very well, sir.” Morton finished the calculation. “New course one eight oh. On my mark. Three. Two. One. Mark.” The deck shifted slightly under them as the crew put the sub on her new heading.

The Admiral placed his hand on Crane’s shoulder. “Come forward with me, Lee. I want to talk to you before you go back to Sick Bay.”

Crane’s face fell at the mention that his time up was about to end. He glanced over at Chip.

“I have the conn, Skipper,” Morton replied.

Lee stood up from the stool. “Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be there,” Chip promised.

He watched them exit the control room up the spiral stairs. He had a pretty good idea what the Admiral wanted to discuss. Chip grinned to himself. He doubted it would make any difference, but let Nelson try. It would make the old man feel better.

Chip could feel things settling back to normal. Lee would hold Jamieson to his promise of light duty. Day after tomorrow they would be in Manila. He knew where he needed to take Lee to speed his recovery. After Crane finished running the liberty call. Considering what could have happened, they were lucky they were still going to Manila. With Lee at his side, it was going to be the best damn leave since that one in Saigon.

The End

©Diane Kachmar and L.A. Carr, 1985-2004. All rights reserved.