A Fourth Season Story immediately following the episode, Nightmare.

 

 

 

Invisible

 

by Lynn

 

 

Prologue – “Bail-Out”

 

The sound of his parachute opening was only slightly comforting as Commander Lee Crane bailed out of the F-15 Eagle fighter jet experiencing mechanical failures.  The dramatic ejection from the aircraft wasn't nearly as worrisome as the fact that he was bailing out over unfriendly territory, currently a hot spot as the region was unstable with war threatening to break out between two small countries sharing the same disputed border.  Unfortunately, their original flight path had been altered when their fighter jet malfunctioned and lost directional control.  The pilot bailed out first over friendly territory, but Lee's ejection system jammed momentarily and by the time he bailed out he was flying directly over hostiles.   To make matters worse, a small deployment of US troops had been captured while offering protection to relief workers providing medical care in a small village along the disputed border only a week ago.  The Strovokian raid had been overwhelming as thirty men attacked the village, ensconced the medical supplies and abducted the relief workers and six US Army soldiers hostage.

 

Lee watched from his open chute currently hovering precariously over unfriendly territory as the jet crashed into the mountain range along the disputed border.  Unfortunately, Lee now found himself landing in a hostile country with no survival gear, and wearing his full service dress uniform instead of a flight suit.  This he knew was a bad thing.  If he could get hold of some civvies he could possibly melt in and pass as a local, his European traits easily affording him cover, but a high ranking US officer captured here could only spell bad news.  He knew his assumption was valid as the Relief workers had been negotiated to freedom only days after their capture, but the Strovokians were reluctant to release the US Servicemen, touting them as spies and proof of what they wrongly perceived as an American threat to their country's sovereignty.  The fact that they were on a mission of mercy was ignored and the Relief workers had already informed the US and indeed the world, of the ill treatment the soldiers were receiving.

 

It was all a bit of bad luck for Lee, who had been ordered to the region for an unusual deployment to satisfy his Reserve Status fulfillment and had been conducting a goodwill tour on behalf of the Navy in several neighboring countries.  The news of the Captain of the Seaview visiting the Region was highly publicized as he was treated with great honor among both the dignitaries and the village people he met along the tour.  He was there to honor the allies of World War II and had visited battle sites and cemeteries marking the loss of the soldiers of each country as well as America's own servicemen.  He'd been deployed to the friendly countries in the hopes of bolstering the pro-American sentiments of the government and its people even as their neighboring countries, Strovokia and Rokania, teetered on all-out war; a war fueled by a newly established rebel government in Strovokia recently coming to power via a military coup.

 

All of which weighed heavily on Lee's mind as his feet touched down for a hard landing on the inclined rocky clearing.  He grunted as he rolled when his back connected with a rock then stood immediately to pull in his chute, the large white billows like a beacon broadcasting his position to the unfriendlies.  He was only half-way through pulling the chute in when he heard the sounds of multiple “clicks” signaling the futility of his actions as Lee dropped the parachute, raised his hands in the air and turned slowly toward his captors at their insistence.

 

“Put your hands behind your head, American.”

 

Lee complied with no other options available to him as his hands were pulled roughly behind him and tied.  He was patted down with no weapon being found as the Strovokian Lieutenant approached him and smiled deviously.

 

“Captain Crane of the Seaview,” he stated, recognizing his prize and turning to his men as he waved his hand mocking a grand introduction of an honored guest.  He turned back to Lee as his eyes squinted darkly, his hatred visible in every line of his furled forehead.

 

“My men would most like to welcome you to our country,” he said speaking sarcastically and walking away as Lee watched five Strovokian rebel soldiers approach him.  What followed was a melee of hits, punches and kicks as each took out their indoctrinated hatred for all things American, and especially for the high level American Officer now within their grasp.  With his hands tethered securely behind his back he was easy prey and after fifteen minutes found himself face down in the dirt breathing heavily for the beating he had sustained.

 

“On your feet prisoner,” the lieutenant ordered as two soldiers raised Lee to stand.  “There will be no special treatment for you Captain Crane, you will walk like the rest of us,” he finished as they led Lee out of the clearing and toward their camp.

 

* * * * *

 

ACT I - “Broken”

 

Sergeant (SGT) Tony Rogers and his men watched as the officer wearing Naval service dress was escorted through the rebel compound, his feet barely keeping up with their insistent steps forward and bearing the tell-tale signs of a significant beating.  Even from their cell, nothing more than a metal cage welded together with bars only two inches apart, they had seen the white parachute as it opened south of the camp.  Even with his obvious effort to fly his parachute further away, the rebels had obviously been able to catch up with the officer and bring him in.

 

Rogers expected the officer to be brought to the cage, but instead he was tied to a pole in the middle of the compound.  Though his head now hung low, Rogers noted the officer had scanned his surroundings and took in the cage incarcerating all six servicemen. 

 

“We have an honored guest,” Lt. Savin announced so that the prisoners could hear.  “The famous Captain Crane of the Seaview is here among us.  The Commander will get the special attention his rank deserves as I am sending for General Cyrek to personally greet our new guest.”

 

Savin turned and walked away as SGT Rogers and his men continued to watch the Navy Commander tethered to the pole in the morning sun.  Everyone knew the Commander was being softened up for the General's visit.  Each of Rogers' men had endured harsh treatment and had endured their own beatings over the course of the week, but they realized the Commander's beating had exceeded their own.  Perhaps it was his rank, or the fact that he was dressed in his full services blues, or perhaps it was the fact that Commander Crane made quite the prize as his travels to the neighboring countries had been made known even to the prisoners this last week. 

 

“See how your country abandons you?  While you sit in our cell they parade Crane around like a king...”

 

It went on and on, as their captors used Crane's visit as proof that the United States would allow them to rot as prisoners, and eventually be hung as spies without negotiating with the Rebels.  All this to demoralize the men and hopefully convince at least one of them to turn and denounce America. 

 

“He looks bad,” PVT Sanchez noted.   The heat of the day was especially taxing as there was no shade to shield the Commander still wearing his service jacket in the hot sun.

 

“Look at all those ribbons,” PVT Stevens noticed, impressed with what had to be a lot of accomplishments for the young Commander.

 

“Just show for the 'good-will' tour,” Private First Class (PFC) Jenkins added sourly, having already expressed his feelings about Crane's tour upon their captor's first taunts.

 

“No, they're the real deal.  You don't get to wear those ribbons without good cause,” Corporal (CPL) Jackson added.

 

“Commander... that's an Army...?” PVT Cox thought trying to convert the Naval rank to the familiar Army rank.

 

“That's a Lt. Colonel you doofus,” Jenkins finished.  “I swear, didn't you learn anything in basic training?”

 

“I wonder how long they're gonna leave him out there?” Stevens asked rhetorically.

 

“Maybe Washington will rethink their 'No Negotiating' stance now that Crane's here?” Sanchez asked hopefully. 

 

“Forget it.  They took a world famous submarine captain and put him right in the middle of a region about ready to engage in war.  If that doesn't show their colors I don't know what does,” Jenkins said moving away from the cell bars and settling down against the opposite side with his back resting against the cell wall.

 

“Alright you guys, knock it off,” SGT Rogers ordered trying to keep military decorum in place even in their cell, as well as trying to keep the disgruntled sentiments of Jenkins from spreading and further damaging the morale of the men.

 

The men eventually moved away from the cell wall following the shade that moved over their cage and taking advantage of the breeze to cool them off.  Crane was left on the pole for the entire day, even past their dinner time as the barely edible stew was handed out.  They had learned early to eat what was given to them because it didn't get any better on subsequent meals.

 

The sun began to set, and not once had their captors offered any water to Commander Crane, finally he was cut free and nearly fell forward, caught by the rebels as they dragged him to the cell.  The other prisoners were corralled into one corner as they unceremoniously dumped Crane in the corner and left.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee was aware that he had been dumped into the cell with the captured soldiers but his body refused to work as he lay curled on his side exactly where his captors had dropped him.  He heard the cell door shut and the lock keyed and then the shuffles of the men as they approached him.

 

“Commander?” SGT Rogers said turning Lee over on his back.

 

“Here,” Sanchez said offering a cup of water from the pail their captors kept filled for them.

 

Lee's eyes were barely open as the sergeant raised his head and placed the tin cup to his mouth, his lips dried and cracked as Lee received his first drink all day.

 

“Easy Sir.  Take it slow, we'll try to get you rehydrated,” Rogers said urging Lee to drink slowly.

 

“Condition of you and your men?” Lee asked in a rough dry voice.

 

“Sanchez and Cox both have cracked ribs, the rest are just cuts, bruises and scrapes,” Rogers reported.  “How about you Sir?”

 

“I'll live... I think,” Lee added with a small smile as Rogers offered him more water.  Lee drank more and then let his head fall back heavily on the ground, he was dead tired from standing all day and the heat had nearly done him in.

 

“Just rest Sir, we'll do what we can to protect you.”

 

“Don't bother sergeant,” Lee said with a strong and steady voice.  “They're going to get mileage out of me; don't interfere, keep your men safe... that's an order,” he admonished as his eyelids dropped and he fell asleep with only a small transition of time.

 

“Very gallant of him,” Jenkins whispered indignantly in the corner.

 

“Shut up,” Jackson ordered, employing his corporal stripes over the PFC.  “Can't you see what he's been through?”

 

“He's an officer... Navy... and a Weekend Warrior... he's gonna fold, and when he does he'll take us all down with him,” Jenkins predicted with confidence as he turned away and headed for “his” corner.  SGT Rogers expelled an exasperated breath at Jenkin's disrespectful attitude, but he was reluctant to ride him too hard here in this pit they called a cell.  He let the comment slide figuring Jenkins was dealing with their capture in his own way.

 

* * * * *

 

The next morning Lee was taken from the cell back to the pole in the middle of the compound again.  This time his jacket and shirt were shed as he was once again tethered to the pole, his bruises nice and ripe and broadcasting his beating from the prior day.  He was left in the sun all morning as the sun bore down on his bare skin, by afternoon his upper body was red signaling both his burn from exposure as well his rising body temperature.

 

“At least give him something to drink!”  Rogers yelled to his captors as Lee's eyelids fluttered opened at the sound of the sergeant's insistent demands.

 

The Rebels laughed and took a cup of water to the pole tossing the water on Lee's face.  The cool water felt good and Lee couldn't help but lick his lips trying to glean some drops to his dry mouth.

 

“Thirsty American?” He heard the voice say with great disdain.

 

“Here!”

 

Lee felt his chin being grabbed and his mouth pulled wide open as they began pouring down more water than he could take in causing him to cough and sputter with the rough handling.  Still he managed to drink some, knowing it would have to do.  When they were through humiliating him they walked away laughing and cursing in their language as Lee's head dipped once again.

 

The day wore on and this time Lee was pulled down from the pole just before dinner.  He walked as best as he could as they again dragged him to the cell and dropped him in the corner.  He rolled off his sunburned chest moaning for the effort as his fellow prisoners huddled about him.

 

Rogers again raised his head as Lee took long drinks of water. 

 

“Here Sir,” Cox said offering Lee his uniform shirt back, “It gets cold at night.”

 

Lee nodded and moved to sit up with Rogers and Sanchez helping to put his shirt on and then moved him to rest against the cell bars.  He didn't bother to button the shirt for the heat that still prevailed even with the setting sun.

 

“Try this Sir.  It's not that tasty but it will keep you going,” Stevens offered handing Lee the tin filled with the same stew they were fed every night.

 

“Thanks, Private...?”

 

“Stevens Sir.”

 

“I guess we missed introductions last night,” Lee said with a weak smile as he took his first bite and registered his displeasure with the cuisine in his facial expression.

 

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it.  I'm Sergeant Rogers.  You've met Private Stevens.  That's Privates Sanchez and Cox, Private First Class Jenkins and Corporal Jackson.”

 

Lee nodded to each of the men as they were introduced.

 

“Sir?  May I ask why you were brought to this unstable region for a 'wine and dine tour'?  No disrespect Sir, but there's a war about to start here,” Rogers asked as respectfully as he could.

 

“Washington needed to calm down the neighboring countries.  I was sent here to help stabilize the region and bolster pro-American sentiments for the nations who may be sitting on the fence regarding the new rebel regime.  Sorry the wining and dining comes with the territory,” he said wearily with an equally weary half-smile.

 

“When was the last time you were Active Duty, Sir?” Jenkins asked boldly and with little decorum to hide his opinion of the Naval officer.

 

“I do my Active Duty time like the rest of the Reserves, you've got a problem with that?” Lee asked confronting Jenkins.

 

“No Sir,” Jenkins replied recognizing the Officer's tone and the authority of his silver oak leaves, even if he didn't respect the man he perceived as “soft” and who had achieved his rank through plush appointments like the one on Seaview.

 

Lee breathed deeply and tilted his head back against the bars, letting the attitude slide with no more said.  He was too tired to play military right now, he hoped the Sergeant would take care of it because what he really needed now was sleep.

 

“You should lie down and rest now Commander,” Cox said taking Lee's abandoned half-eaten stew from his limp hand as Lee nodded and slid back down turning over on his side with his back to the men. 

 

“Wake me if anything happens I should know about, Sergeant,” Lee ordered and closed his eyes.

 

“Yes Sir,” Rogers answered as he glared at Jenkins but still said nothing to correct the PFC's attitude toward his superior officer.  He was fighting some of the same sentiments that Jenkins was expressing and though the Commander had held up well to this point, he wasn't confident that the submariner had what it took not to fold under continued pressure.  He too wondered if the plush job aboard Seaview had softened Crane.  If “wine and dine” tours were how he played out his required active duty then it might not take much to break him.  That would spell real trouble for his men, their morale was already low.  It would spell even more trouble for America if the high profile officer ended up agreeing to bad-mouth America on video tape in order to receive better treatment.  It was a real concern for Rogers, maybe he wasn't as brazen as Jenkins but he wondered if Jenkins was right.  Was Crane nothing more than a glorified under-water bus driver who hadn't seen real Duty in years?  The thought left Rogers pursing his bottom lip as he left the Commander to his sleep.

 

* * * * *

 

Crane hadn't stirred from his position all evening and had to be roused in the morning when breakfast was served, a mushy rice mixture with no seasoning and hardly palatable.

 

“I'll skip it,” Lee said, crinkling his nose at the proffered bowl.

 

“But Sir, it's all you'll get till dinner.  You really need something in your stomach,” Sanchez said trying to coax the Commander to eat.

 

“I'm not going to eat that mush, you eat it if you want,” Lee said pushing away the bowl and the help Sanchez was trying to offer.

 

Sanchez stepped away, wondering why the Commander was being so stubborn.

 

“Do you think you'll get something better just because you're an officer?”  Jenkins asked accusingly.

 

“Jenkins!” SGT Rogers chimed in, finally feeling that the attitude had crossed a line he had to address.

 

Lee just turned his head away looking straight forward.  Let Rogers deal with the insubordination, he thought silently; he was too tired to care at present as he focused instead on the Rebel guards walking toward the cell.  He knew they were coming for him again and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth trying to hide the new perspiration forming that had nothing to do with the heat.  He could vaguely hear Rogers reminding Jenkins that Lee was an officer and a Commander at that, but he wasn't focused on the private's reprimand.  All he could see was the guards making their way for him again. 

 

He felt the fear rise up unnaturally within him.  He had been through a lot lately, but the last mission with Bentley, the supposed UFO expert that turned out to be an alien, had tested him to his limit.  He passed the test... the earth was saved, but he was still fighting the nightmares of being alone on an eerie deserted Seaview with phantom orders being made and obeyed without a single soul seemingly on board.  He'd been shocked by an unknown force field, shot in the shoulder by Harry, and even put on trial for Patterson's murder by his own trusted friends, Harry and Chip.  He barely destroyed the missiles in time, fired on Washington DC by the alien Bentley, and woke with Seaview back to normal as if nothing happened.  Harry explained that the entire “nightmare” had been a delusion, programmed into him when he hit the force field, including his painful bullet wound.  It all made sense on the outside, but inside he was still fighting the nightmare of Harry, Chip, Chief Sharkey and Kowalski's ill treatment.  Kowalski had landed a few sucker punches that felt all too real and being put on trial had shaken his trust in his best friends who had found him guilty and sentenced him to death.  His present capture and treatment felt like an extension of the “nightmare” and as the fear rose, he found it difficult to put back into place.*

 

He was motioned out of the caged cell once again as he sucked in his trepidation, something he wasn't used to feeling, and walked out trying to bear himself as an undefeated man.  Once again his shirt was stripped but he lost his thread to dignity when he realized that this time he was going to be tied facing the pole with his arms above his head.  He knew what was coming and the thought of his back taking the punishment was too much as he tried to push off his captors and make a run for the woods.  He was easily grabbed, gut punched back into submission and tied to the pole; sure enough he got exactly what he feared.

 

The first smack with the wide leather strap caused him to grunt loudly, by the seventh whipping across his back he was screaming with each cruel contact against his bare skin.  By the twelfth lashing he was begging his captors to stop and so it continued for the full count of twenty-four lashes as he hung by his hands with his legs barely supporting him.  Silent heaves of his shoulders gave away his tears as he buried his face in his raised arms.

 

From across the courtyard SGT Rogers lowered his head for the humiliated officer and whispered, “He's breaking.”

 

It was just a whisper but everyone in the cell heard as the soldiers each came away from the cell wall one by one and lowered themselves to the ground pondering what would happen to Crane once the General arrived.

 

“If he's not broken now, he will be the next time,” Jenkins said with little emotion.

 

“He held up well for a while,” Sanchez offered.  “Every man has his breaking point.”

 

“Yeah, but what will Crane do once he's reached his?  Is he going to trade his allegiance for better treatment?”  Jenkins asked evenly.

 

“None of us were subject to what he went through,” Cox reminded his fellow prisoners.  “Just because he cried out doesn't mean he's going to fold completely.”

 

“True, but what if Jenkins is right?  What if he's had it soft for so long he'll do anything to stop the pain... even sell us out?”  Stevens asked.

 

“You've been pretty quiet Sarge, what do you think?” Sanchez asked, looking to the experienced NCO** for his assessment.

 

Rogers expelled a breath as he watched the sun baking the back of Commander Crane still hanging by his hands in the courtyard. 

 

“It's not the pain... it's the fear I saw.  I think he's breaking and I'm afraid I don't know what he'll do.”

 

* * * * *

 

At evening Lee was cut loose from the pole and dragged back to the cage.  He was dropped in “his” corner and his shirt was thrown on the ground beside him as his captors laughed and locked the cell door.  Lee turned on his side with his back facing the soldiers.  Red angry welts criss-crossed his back colored with bruises in various shades of purple.

 

“Sir?”  Sanchez said approaching Lee to offer his help.

 

“Leave me alone,” he answered in a quiet but authoritative voice as Sanchez backed off and Lee was left to his little corner and alone with his pain for the rest of the evening.

 

* * * * *

 

Early the next morning Lee felt someone's hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“It's just me, Commander,” Rogers said as Lee swallowed hard.

 

“What do you want?” Lee asked barely holding on to anything that resembled his usual “never give up” attitude.

 

“Sir, you need to drink some water before they come back.”

 

Lee gasped uncontrollably... his edge was gone.  He was tired, the heat now emanating from his body signaled a fever as his body tried desperately to combat the ill treatment.  He was burned from sun exposure on both his chest and back, he had suffered two dozen lashes, and he was obviously becoming dehydrated.

 

“I don't think it matters anymore,” Lee said never turning toward Rogers.

 

“Sir...”

 

“Leave me alone,” Lee yelled with more emotion than control and buried his face in his arm, just then he heard the sound of the lock clicking open and laid there motionless.  Maybe they'd leave him be if he just laid there, he reasoned, but there was no such luck.  His captors pulled him to his feet, ecstatic for the obviously broken man in their grasp as they taunted him with their next words spoken in broken English for all the prisoner's benefits.

 

“The General will be here today Crane.  He likes to interrogate his own way,” they taunted laying on emotional torture to go with the three days of physical torture he had already endured as they took him back to the dreaded pole in the middle of the courtyard for day four of his capture.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee was tied with his hands above his head exposing his back once again.  They cracked the leather strap several times near his shoulders watching him flinch but not connecting as the Rebel soldiers laughed and taunted the officer.  Once, when he thought he had the game figured out, they changed the game plan and actually laid several lashes across his damaged back producing a scream that echoed through the forest around them.  Then they returned to snapping the lash close to his shoulder as he buried his face in his arms to protect himself.  They played the game for several hours; cracking the leather and laughing as he flinched and then periodically laying several lashes across his damaged sunburned back.  They finally left him to his misery at mid-morning, followed soon after by a convoy of jeeps making its way toward the compound as all the prisoners stood and moved toward the front of the cell.  They were sure it was the General and wondered if Crane still had enough soldier in him to bear up under what was coming next.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee's hands were cut from the pole as he crumbled to the ground.  He was dirty and sweaty, bruised from the beating across his mid-section and bearing the marks of two days of lashings across his back.  The sunburn only added to his misery as the fever turned his face flush and his need for water increased.

 

He heard the steps of the “guest of honor” as two perfectly polished boots moved into his line of sight where he lay sprawled on the dirt.

 

“So this is the famous Captain Crane?” He said laughing and then turning, fully expecting the rest of the soldiers to laugh with him... which they did.

 

“My men tell me you have been properly prepared for our little discussion,” he stated adding the expected psychological torture on heavy. 

 

Lee raised his head to view the General and watched him unfurl a whip.  He swallowed hard as General Cyrek cracked the whip in the air displaying his mastery of the weapon and then stepped back quickly and cracked the whip toward Lee.  The end of the whip whizzed past Lee's ear without touching him but producing the expected flinch with an accompanied whimper.  Cyrek smiled, noting a man at his wits' end and probably ready to give him anything he wanted.  He moved a step closer and cracked the whip barely catching Lee's shoulder as the whip bit into his skin.  It was too much, he had given everything he could give... he had nothing left to offer.  His back was already a mass of welts and bruises, the idea of the thin whip tearing into his flesh took whatever edge he was holding onto and tore it from his feeble grasp.

 

“No!  NO!  Please no more,” he begged as Cyrek moved closer to the weak American.  Four days of torture and he had broken.  The General wasn't impressed with the Captain of Seaview, as he had employed far more painful torture than his men had employed and better men had held out much longer.  He looked down at the Naval Commander curled in a ball like a baby and drew his leg back for a kick; the American disgusted him.  He let loose his kick with fervor as Lee unexpectedly reached up and grabbed the bottom of his boot, the move putting the General off balance as Lee held on tightly with his last bit of defiance.  Lee continued to hold his boot even after the General lost his footing and fell to the ground until his grasp was finally pulled away.

 

“You fool!  You will pay for that,” Cyrek yelled.  “Tie him to the post!” He ordered, as Lee was once again tied with his back exposed while Cyrek demonstrated his accuracy, cracking his whip in the air.  Lee steeled himself for the expected blows to his back, but before Cyrek could lay the first lash the General heard bombs dropping in the woods near the compound.  They weren't on top of them, but they were too close.  Now wasn't the time to deal with the American as the General shouted orders to his men.

 

* * * * *

 

SGT Rogers and his men watched from their cell as Crane appeared totally broken but held on for one last act of defiance, bringing General Cyrek to the ground with a thud.

 

“He's going to pay for that,” Stevens whispered, afraid for what the Commander would endure next.

 

“At least he's trying to fight back,” Jackson added, even though the move looked more like a feeble attempt from a desperate man trying to find his dignity once again.

 

“I don't care what any of you say, every man has his breaking point,” Sanchez said, wishing he could will some strength to Crane just now.

 

They watched as Crane was tethered once again, only this time he didn't seem to fight it, almost like he was resolved to take the beating as they each reasoned that he had completely broken with no fight left in him at all.  Just then their attention was drawn to the bombs falling to the West of the compound.  It looked like the war had begun and they were going to be caught right in the middle of it.  The General belted out orders as the Rebel soldiers ran in all directions trying to comply even as the activity in the courtyard etched up to near pandemonium.  It was at this point that they heard someone speak in perfect English on the East side of their caged cell.

 

“SGT Rogers, you and your men hit the deck and cover your heads.”

 

The special ops American dressed in wooded camouflage set a quick charge as snipers had already dispensed of their guards with silent bullets.  A moment later the charge exploded and their escape was set.

 

“This way!”  The commando ordered with insistent hand movements as Rogers and his men didn't have to be told twice, seeing their way protected by a small but deadly detachment of US Special Forces.  They were guided to the safety of the woods as Rogers glanced back to see what had become of Commander Crane.  He was no longer tethered to the pole as General Cyrek now held the Commander in front of him using Crane as a human shield and dragging the Commander back with him into a waiting jeep.  The General high-tailed it out of the melee as his men fired into the woods, never seeing the snipers and not knowing where their prisoners had escaped to.  As the General made his hasty retreat, the bombs found their mark on the compound and any rebels who had an inkling to follow after the general direction of the prisoner's escape were now looking for the nearest cover.

 

* * * * *

 

SGT Rogers and his men ran with everything they had as the rescue team led them to safety.  They reached a clearing about a mile away and were relieved to see a Huey helicopter waiting for them.  Rogers and his men piled in along with the special ops team who had two walking wounded being helped aboard.  The Huey took off with ease and made its way to safe territory with the six prisoners and the entire special ops team; it was a successful daring rescue with only one man left behind... Commander Lee Crane.

 

* * * * * 

 

ACT II - “Invisible”

 

Rogers and his men couldn't have been happier as they flew over friendly territory and then landed on a US Air Force Base.  Upon landing several men got out and kissed the ground as they laughed and celebrated in an almost euphoric manner.

 

“SGT Rogers, you and your men please follow me.” 

 

The former prisoners were loaded into a truck and taken to the base hospital where each was examined and treated for their injuries.  Several hours later they were enjoying a real meal in the mess hall as the men were welcomed as heroes with the best the base had to offer in hospitality.  After their fine meal they were taken for their debriefing, a matter that couldn't wait until later even though each was desperate for a nice soft bed to sleep on.

 

They were debriefed separately by several teams taking down everything they could remember about their ordeal.  Finally they were all brought back together as a four-star Admiral joined the debriefing.

 

“Men, my name is Admiral Nelson and I have been authorized to brief you on the particulars of your rescue.  I don't need to remind you that this operation has been deemed Top Secret.  Any leak on information I now share with you will be counted as willful disobedience and subject to a Court Martial.  Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes Sir,” the men all answered in unison as they stood shoulder to shoulder in a horizontal line.

 

Admiral Nelson took in a deep breath and then expelled it.

 

“At ease men.  Have a seat,” he offered pulling a chair away from the front of the table to sit among the men who were sitting in a row on the opposite side.

 

“Your rescue was conducted in a joint operation with the Army Rangers and an Office of Naval Intelligence operative working on the inside.  Your position was marked by the ONI Operative four days ago, however he also had a vital secondary mission - to mark General Cyrek's position as well.  You were under surveillance once your position was marked, but we couldn't move until the General made his appearance.”

 

“Commander Crane?” Sanchez said forgetting his military decorum and interrupting the Admiral.

 

“Yes Private,” the Admiral replied.  “We needed the General tagged with a transponder to lead us to his headquarters.  If the Rebels lose their leader their second in command is more than capable to continue the resistance.  We need to shut down the entire Rebel operation.”

 

“But when did he tag the General?” Stevens asked.

 

“When he grabbed the General's foot,” Cox joined in.  “Remember how he just held onto it even after the General fell?” He said now recognizing the Commander's smooth move.

 

“Then the Commander didn't break?” Jenkins asked sincerely and nearly in shock.

 

“Commander Crane was briefed on General Cyrek's habits, one of which is to let his men soften up the prisoners before he arrives.  It seems that Cyrek likes to take full credit for breaking prisoners, but he doesn't want to expend his own energy.  He doesn't get involved until the prisoner is ready to talk, then he adds his influence; the prisoner talks and his ego swells.  It was the Commander's plan to break slow enough to be convincing but not too long to be incapacitated.”

 

“But Sir,” SGT Rogers interjected, joining the conversation and returning the discussion back to the proper decorum for a debriefing.  “Why would the Navy send one of their most famous and celebrated officers to do the job?”

 

“Sometimes the most obvious man produces the best option.  We needed a high profile officer to warrant the General's personal attention in the matter.  His good-will tour was highly publicized to make his capture even more lucrative to the General.  Commander Crane's notoriety made him the best option.  In short, he was the last person the Rebels would suspect and was completely invisible in his cover.”

 

“Invisible Sir?” Sanchez asked, looking for clarification.

 

“When a cover is so believable that the actions of the operative are completely accepted without question he is said to be Invisible.  It's like tailing a suspect in a yellow taxi cab in the middle of New York City,” he added providing a visual picture of hiding an operative in plain sight.

 

“Then the plane's malfunction...?” CPL Jackson inquired joining the question/answer session.

 

“Was a ploy,” the Admiral finished providing Jackson with his answer.  “The fighter pilot bailed out over friendly territory while Commander Crane intentionally flew the jet into Strovokian airspace.  He bailed out as part of the plan to be captured and subsequently mark your position.”

 

The men nodded as the pieces began to fall into place, including the fact that Crane was captured wearing his service dress instead of a flight suit so that his uniform could broadcast his importance as a prisoner to the Rebels.  They were also keenly aware that their country had sacrificed a multimillion dollar aircraft for their rescue.

 

“So Commander Crane allowed us to believe he was breaking under the physical torture to tag the General?” Jenkins reiterated beginning to understand what being “invisible” cost the Commander as Admiral Nelson responded to his question with an affirmative nod.

 

“But how was a rescue mission of this magnitude pulled off in the middle of a region about ready to engage in a war?”  Jackson probed incredulously.

 

“While it is true that Strovokia and Rokania have a history of unrest over the disputed border, the powers that be have managed to keep the dispute on a diplomatic level, that is until General Cyrek scored a military coup.  The ousted President fled to a neighboring country and Rokania agreed to posture for war but to hold back until the rightful government was reestablished, at which point diplomatic negotiations will begin again.  We were given a small window to work with that got even smaller with your abduction.  This is when Commander Crane was called in.”

 

The totality of the Commander's sacrifice began to weigh heavy on each of Rogers' men as each man had decided in varying degrees that Crane had indeed folded under pressure and had broken under torture; several had even decided that Crane would sell them out for better treatment.

 

“He knew he would be tortured, Sir?” Sanchez asked in a hushed voice.

 

“Yes Private.  Though it wasn't necessary for you to be privy to these details we felt you deserved to know the sacrifice of the man who affected your rescue.”

 

“Then Commander Crane is an ONI Operative?”  Stevens asked as Admiral Nelson stood and leaned against the table to field the remainder of the questions.

 

“I'm not at liberty to discuss Commander Crane's association with the Office of Naval Intelligence, you are free to draw your own conclusion but I must remind you that if those conclusions are shared outside of this room you will bear the consequences of divulging Classified information.”

 

Each man nodded in understanding as Jenkins spoke up.

 

“What about Commander Crane, Sir?  Is he still missing?”

 

The Admiral pursed his lips tightly and answered with narrowing eyes, “Commander Crane is also wearing a transponder which is currently still in close proximity to General Cyrek.  They reached their destination several hours ago and we are currently waiting for cloud cover to breakup in order to retrieve pictures from the satellite.  The stability of an entire region depends on not only bringing in General Cyrek, but also his second General Antal.”

 

“You mean that Commander Crane is at their mercy until the weather clears?” SGT Rogers asked incredulously, nearly forgetting his military decorum as he realized it was already mid-afternoon.

 

“Commander Crane is doing his job like he always does,” Admiral Nelson answered, keeping his cool but feeling ever as much the same sentiments as the sergeant.  “It's got to be done right.  The raid will not be made with US forces.  Only a small Special Ops team will accompany the Strovokian military still loyal to the President; it is imperative to the stability of the region that the Strovokians take control of the Coup.  The Special Ops detail will consist of only three men and their sole mission is to retrieve Commander Crane.  Period.  The Strovokians must take back their own country, we are involved only as a matter of courtesy.”

 

“Permission to join the detail to retrieve the Commander, Sir,” PFC Jenkins requested jumping to his feet and standing at attention awaiting the Admiral's approval.

 

“Me too Sir,” PVT Sanchez added rising to his feet as he was immediately joined by the other four soldiers.

 

“We would all like to go, Sir,” Rogers added as all six men stood at attention.

 

Admiral Nelson let out an audible sigh and then reined it in.  “Your willingness to join the detail is so noted, but I'm afraid is completely out of the question.”  He stopped, offering a tight lipped smile that widened as he continued, “I'm afraid that Commander Crane might forget his place and take it out on my hide if I allowed you to go back into harm's way.”  The men chuckled with the Admiral's intended joke as Nelson's smile faded into something more serious.  “Let's not undo the Commander's hard work, shall we?” He finished as the men nodded reluctantly.

 

“Do you think he's alright, Sir?”  Sanchez asked obviously worried about Crane's well-being in the hands of the General.

 

“The President's forces have kept up a heavy offensive, it should be keeping the General's attention elsewhere.  We can only hope and pray that it will be enough until we're able to extract Commander Crane.”

 

With that Admiral Nelson pushed off the table and stood erect, the meeting obviously over. 

 

“Now men, I'm going to return to Command Central and see about getting my Captain back.  You are all ordered to hit the rack and get some sleep.  You will be informed of the outcome of the extraction.  That is all,” he finished as the men snapped to attention and Harry returned their sharp salutes and left.

 

The men were escorted to their barracks and even though they were treated to the first soft bed in almost two weeks, each laid with their eyes wide open pondering what Commander Crane had physically endured, including willfully choosing to humiliate himself for the mission.  They found it hard to sleep as they feared what the Commander's mission could further cost him.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee found himself in a very cold underground cell in General Cyrek's bunker compound.  So far the General hadn't put two and two together and Lee remained “invisible,” his cover still soundly in place with Cyrek having no clue that he had planted a small transponder on the bottom of the General's boot near the heel.  He thought back over the process and smiled; he hadn't needed that long to attached the transponder and activate it, but he couldn't resist tugging on Cyrek's leg and watching him fall flat on his six. 

 

His smile faded as he thought back over the last four days.  There was nothing else to do but think and he was very nearly spent physically with the beating, the lashings and sun exposure.  At least he'd been given plenty of water since being dumped in the cell and was starting to rehydrate.  He lay on his side trying to find relief from his back that felt like it was on fire and wondered if SGT Rogers and his men were safe.  He was pretty sure they were.  The last thing he saw before being loaded into the jeep was the last of the Rangers laying down cover as he made his way back into the safety of the woods.  He had missed a great deal of the rescue with his back to the cell cage, not to mention the rifle butt he received in his back as they cut him down to keep him subdued,  just before the General grabbed him and used him as a human shield.  He didn't have much left to fight with at that point and had to rely on the transponder hidden in his shoe for his extraction.

 

Lee breathed in catching a painful breath causing him to close his eyes and rein in the pain.  He figured he should try to sleep.  He was too tired for much else and he didn't feel like forcing anymore water down, especially since his stomach was empty from playing the finicky eater as a prisoner.  He was pretty sure he had been pegged as “soft” with the first comment about the “wine and dine” tour so he had used it in order to strengthen the men's opinion of him.  It wasn't that he wanted to deceive them, but they were in a cell with all four sides walled with bars and were being watched from every direction.  He had to convince his captors that he was breaking and his fellow prisoners were helping the deception with their own natural responses.  In a way, their distrust had worked to his advantage as he was able to feign his break-down much faster than their employed torture dictated.  The fact is, he had endured far worse in his career with ONI and the fact that his cover had painted him as little more than a diplomat had helped the men buy the charade hook-line-and-sinker.

 

He continued to ponder the mission, recalling the details still fresh in his mind.  The first transponder had been easy to plant and activate, it was buried in “his” corner of the cell near the bars.  It wasn't easy playing the defeated man in front of Rogers and his men, but there wasn't anything else to do.  His mission came first; their safety was paramount and the sooner General Cyrek showed up the sooner they would all be rescued; so he played the part of a man losing his edge with each day of mistreatment. 

 

The hardest part was letting the fear show.  A natural fear is good, it keeps a person safe from danger if they heed their body's warnings, but what he showed was less a natural fear and more the terror of a desperate panicked man.  He had drawn on his recent experience with the alien Bentley to dredge up the type of reaction he felt was necessary to convince the men around him he was breaking.  Though he had dealt with a few nightmares from the experience, it hadn't really shaken him as much as he was dredging up for the sake of the role he was playing.  It was a fine line of acting the part and not letting the part take him over, especially when he didn't hold back his screams of pain.  Begging for his life hadn't left him feeling too special about himself either, especially with Rogers' men watching, but humiliation was all part of the package of a man broken by torture, pain and hopelessness.  So he played the part, and all in all he was happy with the final outcome; the soldiers had been rescued and Cyrek had been tagged.  He had done his part, now if the General would leave him alone until the extraction he would call it a good mission, despite his welts, bruises, cracked ribs and sun burn.

 

He allowed his eyes to drop and close as he fell into an uncomfortable but much needed sleep, confident that the extraction team was on their way.

 

* * * * *

 

“Blast it!  We can't keep waiting for the cloud cover to clear.  Crane has been in the General's hands too long as it is!” Harry said, his voice full of emotion and employing all the weight his four stars carried.

 

“We have no choice, Harriman.  We need to know what the region looks like,” countered General Peterson in the conference call from Washington.

 

“What about old SAT photos.  Why can't we use those?” Harry offered, trying to come up with some option to get to Lee.  He knew Lee's extraction was only secondary to Strovokia's military strike against General Cyrek's compound.  It had to be a decisive victory or they ran the risk of the Rebel government entrenching itself even deeper in power. 

 

“I'll check into it and get back to you Harriman.”

 

“Very well Richard, we'll be ready to move as soon as the word is given,” Harry promised and signed off with General Peterson.

 

“So we wait?”

 

Harry turned toward Lt. Commander Chip Morton who was barely able to keep from pacing off his excess energy.

 

“I'm afraid so, Chip.  Our hands are tied until Washington and the Strovokian President feel the offensive will produce a solid victory.  Their resources are limited and a failed attack may just seal the fate of the attempt to return the Strovokian government to power,” Harry explained. 

 

It all seemed rather logical, but inside Harry was just as tense as Seaview's XO, currently on loan to ONI as well as Seaman Rick Kowalski.  Together, they were the three-man extraction team to free Lee, something Harry insisted upon before ONI sent Lee on this suicide mission.  The stakes were high, and everyone knew that thousands of lives depended upon Lee's ability to pull off his part and draw General Cyrek close enough to be tagged.  Now, only a successful offensive against the Rebel General could save two countries from a bloody war, and an entire region from destabilizing and possibly drawing more countries into the war. 

 

Chip ran a tired hand through his short blond hair in frustration.  He had been present during several of the released prisoner's debriefings and was well aware of Lee's last reported physical condition.  He could only hope that the General was too busy with the battles at hand to work his frustration out on his best friend.

 

* * * * *

 

“The Loyals are engaged in our Southern Compound,” one of Cyrek's lieutenants reported as the General and his men stood around the map table marking the current position of the former government troops, still loyal to the President.

 

“How about activity near our HQ?” Cyrek asked using his pointer to tap out their current location.

 

“There is indication of a small troop buildup here,” the lieutenant said tapping the map, “but they seem to be milling about without purpose or direction, General.”

 

“Good.  Then I think it's time we utilize Commander Crane to the fullest,” Cyrek said thoughtfully.  “Has his capture been contained from the media?”  He inquired of his second in command, General Antal.

 

“Yes General.  All the American's know for sure is that Crane bailed out before the crash.”

 

“Excellent.  Crane's condition will be explained as injuries sustained during the crash,” General Cyrek considered thoughtfully, as he tapped his pointer across his left palm.  “In order to crush the Loyals we need our 'neighbors' to either support us, or stay out of the way once the war escalates.  I think it's time for Crane to provide us with a video detailing his 'true' feelings for his country.”

 

“Is Crane ready to give such a statement?” General Antal inquired.

 

Cyrek smiled, remembering Crane curled into a near fetal position begging for his life at the southern compound. 

 

“I broke his spirit,” Cyrek boasted taking credit for Lee's feigned broken state, “He will say whatever I tell him to say.”

 

Cyrek's men nodded in agreement as the Lieutenant left to retrieve the American.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee woke immediately at the sound of the main door opening as the loud creak declared he had visitors.  He sat up and stared down the Rebel Lieutenant unlocking his cell door.  Lee had been provided a soldier's issue camo shirt to replace his own uniform shirt lost at the original compound in the woods.  It was buttoned half way up, though not tucked in as the Lieutenant motioned for Lee to move forward while several guards surrounded him.  Lee complied but was no longer playing the defeated man; the US soldiers had been rescued and the General had been tagged; his mission was complete and he had no intention of giving Cyrek any more satisfaction at his expense.

 

Lee was ushered into the General's situation room as General Cyrek approached him.

 

“Commander Crane, our little discussion was interrupted.  I think we should begin again,” Cyrek stated trying to instill fear with the expected psychological games and posturing that Lee expected.

 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Lee said with steeled eyes broadcasting his determination. 

 

Cyrek's eyebrows tightened as he studied Lee and realized that the man standing before him was not yet broken as he had surmised earlier.  He silently pondered how the broken man begging for mercy earlier had found his defiance again so quickly.

 

“You have nothing to say,” Cyrek repeated with a raised eyebrow and stepped away with only a small motion signaling his order as the two guards flanking Lee moved into position to restrain him.  Lee watched as one of Cyrek's gorillas, an officer bearing the insignia of the General's Private Security Force, approached him menacingly.  “We shall see about that,” Cyrek finished with his back toward Lee as the first punch was thrown in Lee's gut.

 

Lee doubled over as much as his captors would allow and worked to regain his breath.  He had tightened his stomach muscles for the expected blow but the strength of Cyrek's security chief was overpowering.  The gut punch was followed up by several more body blows as Lee's cracked ribs protested the treatment and threatened to break entirely.  With each punch Lee grunted but made no other sounds as the Security Chief moved to deliver solid uppercuts to Lee's jaw, whipping his head back and forth with each powerful punch.  The beating piled upon his first beating and took its toll as Lee's legs began to buckle.  He was raised back up to receive several more blows to his mid-section as Lee heard the first cracked rib break completely and a pain-filled gasp escape as a compound fracture punctured his skin.  He reined it in as his grunts turned to groans and was finally allowed to crumble to the floor when his guards dropped him.

 

Lee curled into the pain, but it wasn't like the near fetal position he had exhibited at the southern compound as he continued to maintain his defiance even in his pain. 

 

“Take him back to his cell, let him think about his manners.  Perhaps he'll be ready when he is called again,” Cyrek ordered, laying on the intimidation thick and knowing that the best torture included time alone dreading the next session. 

 

Crane will talk soon.  He is nothing but a poster boy from America; an officer who knows more about wining and dining diplomats than being a soldier, Cyrek thought silently as he watched the guards drag Crane out the door.

 

* * * * *

 

“The SAT photos are over a year old and are inconclusive.  We're going to have to wait for the weather to clear,” General Peterson reported, already knowing what Harriman Nelson's response would be.

 

“Blast it, Richard.  Are you sure?”

 

“Harriman, all we see down there is a dense forest, anything could have been built in the last year.  We cannot advise the Strovokian Loyals to go blazing into an attack when they don't know what they're up against,” Peterson countered calmly.

 

“You're right of course, Richard,” Harry conceded. 

 

General Peterson nodded, understanding Harriman's unspoken concern for Crane.  He was well aware of the Commander's physical condition and the dangers of being in the hands of General Cyrek.

 

“I understand, Harriman.”  He blew a consoling breath and tried to offer some hope in his next words.  “I understand Commander Crane had our boys completely snowed with his break-down.  We laid on the diplomatic parties heavy.  Every photo submitted for the newspapers included Crane with a glass of wine in one hand and a lovely hostess on his arm.  The cover was well manufactured and expertly maintained by Crane.  I believe his covert role in this entire matter is still protected.  As long as he stays Invisible he'll stand a chance.”

 

“Yes I agree, but we both know that the next step in Cyrek's plan will be to exploit Crane with a video recording denouncing the United States, and Invisible or not, Lee Crane will never do that,” Harry countered calmly but deadly serious.

 

“I'm aware of that fact.  We'll do the best we can Harriman.  Commander Crane did an extraordinary job on this mission, but the big picture of his mission was to prevent a war which will surely transpire if we send the Loyals in without proper intelligence.”

 

“I agree,” Harry said, understanding the stakes at hand and knowing that Lee knew full well what he was getting into when he agreed to take the mission.  “Commander Crane wouldn't have it any other way,” he added as Peterson nodded in agreement.

 

“I'll keep you posted, Harriman.”

 

“Very well, Richard.  My team is ready to move, just give us the word.”

 

They signed off as Harry avoided slamming the phone down on the hook and expelled a cleansing breath instead.  Lee wouldn't want the region enveloped in war because they deployed too soon and blind at that.  He removed all traces of concern from his face and moved toward the next room where Chip and Kowalski were waiting the outcome of the conference call.  Each was itching to get to Lee, but they were also soldiers of the sea and knew exactly what was at stake.  They would all have to be patient, there was nothing left to do but wait... and pray the cloud cover would blow over before General Cyrek turned his attention back to Lee.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry rejoined Chip and Ski in the Situation Room as they waited what they hoped would be good news.

 

Harry shook his head in the negative as he approached them with tight lips.  “No good.  The SAT photos are inconclusive.  We can't send the Loyals into this blind,” he said taking his personal feelings out of the explanation and conducting himself as the United States Admiral that he was.  Chip reacted as he expected with little facial expression, but his worry showed through in his deep blue eyes.  Ski blew out a breath but controlled what Harry knew would have been an epitaph of colorful words to express himself had he not been within earshot of the surrounding Brass. 

 

“You mean you can't retrieve the Commander yet?”  PVT Sanchez interrupted as Harry noted that the six rescued soldiers were back in the Situation Room and waiting for news on Lee.

 

“I'm afraid not men.”

 

Their expressions of disbelief were subdued but audible as Harry offered a bit more explanation, not that he was in the habit of defending orders but he knew the soldiers were bearing a heavy burden believing that Lee had broken under the harsh treatment.

 

“Commander Crane was sent in to do three things:  mark your position for a rescue, tag General Cyrek in order to find his secret base, and in so doing stop a deadly war before it escalates and pulls the entire region into its vortex.  If we go in with bad Intel we will damage and undo everything Commander Crane has accomplished up to this point.”

 

The men relented, fully understanding their own duty and silently wishing the Commander's duty wouldn't have to be rendered at such a high price.  

 

Harry nodded at their understanding and moved toward the center of the Situation Room to confer with the Brass on the latest of the mission. 

 

“Kowalski, why don't you and the men hit the Mess Hall, I'll send a runner if anything changes,” Chip suggested, effectively dismissing the men and giving them something to do in the process.

 

“Aye Sir,” Ski replied.  Both Chip and Ski were dressed in similar fashion as Harry, with wooded camo fatigues and all three bore a recognizable demeanor that shouted “commando”. 

 

Chip's golden oak leaves denoted his rank as Lt. Commander, as the soldiers converted his rank to an army major.  He's as young a major as Crane is a Lt. Colonel, SGT Rogers thought silently as they followed Ski toward the Mess.  Though the three men were dressed in army camo everyone knew they were Navy.

 

“Are you part of the three-man team to extract Commander Crane?” Stevens asked easily, conferring with the Rating as they walked along.

 

“Yeah,” Ski replied, barely keeping his concern hidden under his expressionless face.  His square jaw was set sharply as he tried to walk-off some of the tension he had built-up waiting for news of Captain Crane.

 

“Have you worked with the Commander before?”  Cox probed.

 

“Yeah, he's my Skipper,” Ski answered trying to loosen up.

 

“You're a bubblehead?” Jenkins asked incredulously, wondering why swabbies were out on dry land playing commandos.

 

Ski let loose a chuckle.  “Yeah, well actually bubbleheads are diesel submariners, Seaview is nuclear powered,” Ski corrected knowing that Seaview's nuclear power plant was public knowledge.

 

“I'm surprised that the Rangers aren't going in for the Commander,” Jenkins noted trying to approach the subject as diplomatically as his brass personality could handle.  “Are you a SEAL?”

 

“We've all had extended Field Training to qualify us for the mission, but only the Skipper has had SEAL training.”

 

“Commander Crane is a SEAL?” Sanchez asked, clearly impressed.

 

“He's fully certified as a SEAL but mostly he's the Captain of our Boat,” Ski offered, trying to bring the conversation around to something a bit less probing.

 

The men nodded as they reached the Mess and grabbed their trays.  They resisted talking until they sat down at a table off to themselves.

 

“So, tell me Kow-lals-ki...”

 

“It's Kowalski, but you can call me 'Ski'.”

 

“Sure thing, Ski.  I was wondering... is the Commander and actor?  I mean he sure was convincing,” Sanchez asked as SGT Rogers looked on, content to let his men ferret out the information they all wanted to know.

 

“Nah.  He's just good at what he does,” Ski chuckled.  “I should say he's good at 'whatever' he does.  Look guys, he's a class act.  He knows his business; whether it's playing hide and seek with an enemy sub at depth, maneuvering the sub into places no one else could take it, or using a wrench and getting dirty when he has to.  He's saved my six and everyone on the boat more times than I can count.  The guy can smell danger faster than a bulldog and can think on his feet and match wits with the best of them.  And if he's the CO on a mission your chances for survival have probably doubled.”

 

SGT Rogers blew out a “that's impressive” airy whistle through his teeth, “That's some testimonial,” he added.

 

“Yeah, well I'm not the only one.  Half the boat volunteered for this mission,” Ski added finishing up his meal.  “Listen guys, I'm going to head back to the Command Post.  I want to be ready when we get the word.”

 

“Take care, Ski.”

 

“Thanks.  And you fellas don't worry, we're gonna get the Skipper back.  You can bank on that,” he added with confidence and left, stowing his tray and heading straight for the Command Post.

 

“I sure wish I was going along,” Sanchez said wistfully.  A chorus of “me too's” followed as Jenkins lowered his head staring at the interesting spot on the Mess Hall floor.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee was happily dumped in his cold cell and left to himself.  He knew it wouldn't last, they'd leave him alone to let his breaks and bruises ripen up and then they'd go at him again, but he was through playing the broken man who would do anything to stop the pain.  It had been an unpalatable but necessary ruse earlier, but not now that the soldiers were free and the General was tagged.  He knew that an all-out offensive was on the way and that's when his extraction would be implemented; but sooner or later the General was going to take off his boot and it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to guess who had tagged him.

 

Lee wrapped his arms around his mid-section, the newly broken and bloody ribs piercing through his skin had taken precedence even over the welts and bruises on his back.  He needed sleep and allowed his eyes to close as a small groan escaped and he silently wondered who would get to him first; his extraction team or General Cyrek.

 

* * * * *

 

ACT III - “Extraction”

 

“Here and Here,” said General Daneil of the Strovokian army still loyal to the elected President, pointing on the enlarged satellite photo as he spoke.  “The underground bunker has three exits and the compound is heavily fortified here with heavy artillery.  This approach is a blind spot due to this mountain, it will take two hours to traverse around but will be free from the artillery.  This will be your entrance, Admiral Nelson.  You will be embedded with a detachment of my men, they will provide coverage for you.  You will be given fifteen minutes to find Commander Crane before an all-out assault is implemented.  After that we're going for broke, we must stomp out the rebels in one quick, swift move or we run the risk of losing too many assets to even defend ourselves, much less to launch another assault,” General Daneil finished very efficiently.

 

“Very well.  We'll make the most of those fifteen minutes,” Harry added, relieved that the skies had cleared and the SAT photos had provided the necessary Intelligence needed to plan a very well thought-out offensive.  He was equally relieved that summertime in July produced sunsets even after 2100 hours, giving them the time they needed to get to Lee tonight, and not to have to wait until morning.

 

“Good.  Radio the Command Post and advise us as soon as Crane is secured.  The President is very hopeful that he will be able to thank the Commander in person for his part in the President's return to power,” General Daneil added.

 

Harry nodded, grateful that the extraction was finally underway, though he realized Lee was still in harm's way as it would take two hours to reach the mountain behind the underground compound and another two hours to work around it for their stealth entrance; that left four long hours for Lee to be in the hands of Cyrek.  Harry's bottom lip pursed tightly as he moved to inform Chip and Ski that they were about to be deployed into action.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee was roused from his sleep by rough hands that pulled him toward the cell door.  He tried to put his feet under him to walk and found the process difficult as the second beating had left his body sore and unwilling to comply with his need to move.  He realized his face must be just as bad since his vision out his right eye was blurry, he figured his eye was nearly swollen shut and ignored it.  He had lost all track of time, so he didn't know how long he had been sleeping or how long before his extraction would be affected. 

 

He arrived at his destination and was relieved to see Cyrek still in uniform as that signaled that his transponder was probably still happily beeping away the General's every move.  The thought brought an inward smile that he easily suppressed as his face felt the full effect of his mishandling of late.

 

“Commander Crane,” Cyrek said, greeting Lee as if he were a guest at one of the diplomatic functions he had attended earlier in the week.  “I have so much I want to discuss with you.”

 

Lee's defiance was evident as he glared at Cyrek and remained silent.  He had already spotted the video camera set up and knew what the General wanted: a denouncement of his loyalties to America full of scathing and accusatory lies in order to influence the neighboring countries and to intimidate the United States into staying out of the conflict.  The General was going to be sorely disappointed because he wasn't going to get it from Lee.

 

“I won't cooperate Cyrek.  You won't get a confession, a denouncement or whatever else you want from me,” he said defying the General as he stood erect and tall regardless of the consequences.

 

“That's big talk from a man who cried like a baby only hours earlier, Crane,” Cyrek said reaching for his whip and unfurling it.  He snapped it several times in the air, expecting to elicit the fear he had witnessed earlier and then spun around and snapped the whip next to Lee's face, cutting his cheek in a painful but superficial strike.  This time Lee didn't flinch as a small stream of blood followed the newly formed cut on his face and dripped to his collar where it was lost to the dark colors of the camouflage shirt he wore.

 

Cyrek noted his prisoner's bravery and decided to etch up the intimidation.  He didn't like his part in a torture session to take too long as he felt it emphasized the prisoner's strength too much.  He much preferred to break a man quickly as it bolstered his ego, especially when he ignored the fact that the prisoner was already at his wits' end before the General began his intimidation.

 

Cyrek moved behind Lee, cracking the whip in the air and watching for the expected flinch that would add fear to the adrenalin and weaken the prisoner even more; he saw no such fear and laid a harsh whip across Lee's shoulders.  The whip tore through his shirt and other than the grunt that is impossible to hold back when one experiences sharp pain, Lee gave him no other satisfaction.

 

Cyrek drew back his whip and applied two more lashings as Lee took the punishment without being restrained.  The General realized that Crane was too strong and watching his defiance was bad for his subordinates as he kept their loyalties with much the same fear.  He pulled back his whip, rolling it up as he walked away and giving an order over his shoulder casually.

 

“Go easy on the left side of his face, it is the least damaged and we will use his profile in the video.”

 

With that the General left his Private Security Chief to his work as Cyrek smiled at the sounds of Crane receiving multiple blows behind him.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry, Chip and Ski made their way quietly around the mountain behind the secret underground bunker.  They were embedded with a Strovokian strike force whose skill equaled their American counter-parts.  They had been moving silently for nearly two hours, not stopping to rest with each man well aware of the stakes that hung in the balance: the freedom of an entire country, the peace of an entire region, and the life of Commander Crane.

 

The strike force leader crouched down and pointed out their target entrance at the back of the bunker.  One guard stood at the door, two others walked a sentry pattern.  The leader assigned targets to his men as Harry nodded his team's readiness.  With the silent count-down of three fingers, all three enemy guards dropped without a sound.  Immediately the strike force moved in, removing the downed guards to the concealment of the surrounding woods and stood guard as the American extraction team moved in for their man.

 

Harry led his team through the long hall that thankfully was lit by only sparse lights, leaving it shadowy and easy to conceal their movements.  As they hoped, the back of the bunker was less fortified and guarded only as an after-thought as any large attack would have to be funneled through to the front of the bunker, where the heavy artillery was placed.  Harry's plan was to check the cells first.  He had no blueprints of the bunker and had to extrapolate the layout upon his first glance at the “T” in the hall.  He tilted his head in the direction he wanted to go and left Ski to guard the exit as he and Chip made their way deeper into the bunker and descended a small graded incline downward.  He assumed the lower depths would be the optimum place for keeping prisoners and was rewarded with a large wooden door with a single guard leaning against it and whittling away at a piece of wood.  Harry nodded as Chip understood the unspoken order and fired a silent shot dropping the guard before he knew what hit him.

 

Harry ensconced the proverbial round key ring hanging on the wall and opened the door as Chip dragged the guard in behind them.  They happily found no guard on the inside as they walked past several empty cells till they found Lee curled up on the wooden bunk with his back facing them.

 

Harry opened the cell door as Chip stood with his sidearm ready.  Harry approached Lee avoiding touching his back, the torn stripes across his bloody shirt signaling the harsh treatment he had endured.

 

“Lee?” Harry said quietly trying to rouse him and hoping he wasn't deeply unconscious.  Lee responded with a small moan but opened his eyes immediately recognizing Harry's voice.

 

“Come on, Lad.  Can you walk?”

 

Lee nodded and turned over as Harry got his first look at Lee's face, beaten and bruised with dried blood trailing down the corner of his mouth.

 

“I'm alright Sir,” he answered in perfect “Lee” form as Harry helped him move toward the door, grateful he was mobile. 

 

Chip took in an appraising view of Lee but kept his focus on his task at hand.  They had burned seven minutes getting this far and they still had to make it out of the bunker before the Strovokians began their assault.

 

Chip took up Lee's other side as the last four days of mistreatment had left him lacking in resources to draw on.  Chip wrapped on arm around Lee's waist while holding his gun ready for use.  They retraced their steps and stopped momentarily when they heard approaching footsteps in an adjoining hall.  Chip released his hold on Lee, ready to fire, fight or do whatever was necessary to clear the way, but was relieved when he heard the footsteps take a different route in another direction.

 

Harry nodded his head toward the long shadowy hall that stood between the extraction team and freedom as Chip resumed his hold, moving forward with Lee's arms across both of his best friend's shoulders and his head tilted down in exhaustion.  They reached the hall to find Ski hovering over a guard who had obviously gotten too close as he laid at the Rating's feet, no longer a threat to their escape.

 

Harry and Chip moved toward the exit as Ski covered their retreat, walking backwards to keep his field of vision clear and covering the officer's backs.  Harry opened the door and was met first by a rifle muzzle and then a nod to exit as the Strike Force recognized the special ops detail.  Quickly the entire team retreated back to the woods as Ski took up Harry's burden of supporting the Captain so that the Admiral could make his radio call.

 

“This is Blue Falcon, our package is secured.”

 

“Acknowledged,” was heard as Harry moved deeper into the woods following Chip and Ski's fast pace taking them to safety with each step forward.

 

* * * * *

 

“General Cyrek!” The Lieutenant reported with concern.  “Trouble with our rear guards Sir!”

 

Cyrek raised an inquisitive eyebrow, demanding to know what kind of trouble warranted interrupting his late dinner.

 

“Our guards stationed at the rear of the bunker have missed a radio check.”

 

“Send reinforcements,” he ordered calmly, “And bring them to me if they are found sleeping on duty,” he added, ready to deal with any lack of discipline in a most cruel way.

 

The Lieutenant had barely received his orders when the heavy artillery began to batter away at targets in the distance.  The alert sirens sounded loudly and were drowned out only by the bombs now falling on the underground bunker.  The artillery was the first objective targeted as the Loyals surrounded the bunker cutting down any enemy soldier not surrendering. 

 

* * * * *

 

Harry heard the sound of the battle behind him and smiled tightly at General Daneil's finely crafted battle plan in full affect even as they retreated to a clearing.  They would wait here for the helicopter to arrive once it was safe for the flight.  Chip and Ski placed Lee carefully on a stretcher already waiting for him as the Strovokian medics began to stabilize their patient.  Though Lee was exhausted and very nearly unconscious he acknowledged both Chip and Ski with a tired nod of thanks as Harry moved in closer.

 

“Hold on Lee, the chopper will be here soon.”

 

“Sergeant Rogers and the men?” Lee inquired in a tired airy voice.

 

“Safe and already at the Air Force Base,” Harry replied.

 

Lee nodded his understanding smiling slightly as he allowed himself to slip effortlessly into a pain-free sleep, courtesy of the medics who had efficiently spiked his IV with medication.  Harry returned Lee's smile and pushed the hair away from his forehead in a comforting manner, then retreated from his fatherly display to his “I'm the Admiral” role.

 

“How is he?” Harry asked the nearest medic.

 

“Stable Sir.  He'll be comfortable for the ride back to your base,” he promised as Harry nodded his thanks and looked up to see the helicopter making its approach to land.

 

* * * * *

 

Lee woke on the helicopter ride back to the US Air Force Base in Western Europe and immediately found Chip's face hovering over him.

 

“Are you doing okay?  Do you need any more pain meds?” Chip asked, speaking loudly in Lee's ear to be heard over the chopper's flight.

 

“No... I'm good,” he said with a small smile, grateful for Chip's friendship and that his friends had made it through the extraction unscathed.

 

“Geez Lee.  For being invisible you sure are a mess,” Chip quipped in a familiar banter meant to comfort Lee.

 

Lee chuckled, presently he was floating along quite happily but keenly remembered his ordeal and realized that he probably looked as bad as he had felt earlier. 

 

“He never suspected me,” Lee bantered back, referring to General Cyrek's belief that Lee was nothing more than a soft, poster-boy officer more accustomed to the duties of a diplomat than one of a soldier.  “He never even found the transponder,” Lee laughed realizing his good mood was being helped along by the pain meds.

 

“Yeah, well when you're all better you and I are going to have a nice little talk about ONI,” Chip said delivering the words “all better” as if he were talking to a two year old, “but not until you're done floating like a fruitcake on pain meds,” he finished with a grin.

 

Lee smiled, but his eyes were serious.  “You would have done the same thing, Chip,” he said and closed his eyes heavily as the humming of the chopper lulled him back to sleep.

 

Chip reached over and squeezed Lee's shoulder, wishing his best friend wasn't so good at being a spy, but knowing with all certainty that if he had been called upon, he too would have done the same thing.

 

* * * * *

 

The chopper landed as Chip, Harry and Ski deboarded first intending to help carry Lee's stretcher, but immediately gave way to the men lined up ready to do the job themselves.  The former prisoners each took a corner of the stretcher and escorted Lee in honor guard style with CPL Jackson carrying the IV and SGT Rogers presiding over the detail.

 

“Welcome home, Commander,” PVT Sanchez said as Lee opened his eyes and offered a small smile for his weary state.

 

“You're going to be just fine, Sir,” Cox added, each man taking in the fact that the Commander was returning in far worse condition than the last time they saw him.

 

“Just rest, Sir.  We'll give you a smooth ride,” Steven's offered as Jenkins agreed silently with his comrades' words but found himself unable to speak at the moment.

 

“Detail halt,” Rogers ordered as Lee was placed inside the waiting military ambulance.

 

“Thank you men,” Lee replied, acknowledging their actions and offering his appreciation in his very expressive hazel eyes as Harry, Chip and Ski boarded the waiting jeep behind them.

 

The soldiers watched as the ambulance doors were closed and each exhaled a long breath.

 

“It's a good thing I wasn't on that raid,” Jackson admitted referring to Lee's condition and his obvious mistreatment.

 

The men nodded in silent agreement and then headed back to their assigned barracks.  They were waiting for their final debriefing at which point they were going to be allowed to make their first contact with their loved ones back home.

 

* * * * *

 

Several hours passed before Rogers' men were called to the debriefing.  Again they sat with all six chairs facing a conference table with a single chair on the opposite side of the table.  It was always “hurry up and wait” in the military so they thought little of the fact that they had been kept waiting for nearly twenty minutes when the side door opened and Admiral Nelson reappeared.  He had shed his “commando” look and was now looking quite the Naval officer in his service dress blues.  The men snapped to attention delivering sharp salutes and waiting for Harry's response before releasing them.

 

Harry saluted, dropping his cover on the table and taking a seat on the opposite side.

 

“At ease men and be seated,” he ordered and opened the folder he carried in with him.

 

“We are here to discuss the official account of your rescue,” Harry said as the soldier's exchanged side glances with one another.  Official account?  Each thought silently, realizing that what followed would be the account that they would share with the world upon their return home.

 

“Upon your capture the US began a painstaking and systematic search to ascertain your position utilizing satellite images.  On day seven of your capture, Commander Crane's plane crashed over Strovokia.  The Commander bailed out and was subsequently captured.  He was kept separated and as such you were at no time privy to the treatment he received.  On day eleven of your capture, US Army Rangers executed a daring rescue affecting your release.  Commander Crane however was taken prisoner to the Rebel HQ.  On the evening of that same day, a highly trained Strovokian Strike Force infiltrated the Rebel base and rescued Commander Crane before assaulting the base and capturing the high command including Generals Cyrek and Antal.”

 

Harry lowered the paper and closed the folder.  “Commander Crane's injuries have been blacked out in an effort to deflect what would be an intense dramatization of his experience and draw unwanted attention from the media.  In short, his part in the capture and subsequent rescue is being ignored.”

 

“This is the account that has already been released to the media.  You are expected to corroborate the account to the fullest.  This is your duty by direct order of the SECDEF (Secretary of Defense).  Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Sir, yes Sir!”  Was rendered in strict military compliance to the direct order as Harry stood, rounded the table and leaned against it, positioning himself directly in front of the men.

 

“Now let's talk off the record for a moment,” he offered, inviting the men to share their concerns.

 

“Sir, you mean Commander Crane isn't going to get any credit for what he did?  What he endured?”  Sanchez asked.

 

“Gentlemen... I'm speaking completely off the record here,” he qualified.  “But I think by now you all realize that Commander Crane is more than an able submarine Captain.  He is, as you have already guessed, a highly trained and skilled operative for ONI.  He did his job so well that even General Cyrek still doesn't know that Commander Crane is an operative.  He still doesn't even know he was tagged with a transponder,” Harry smiled as the men chuckled lightly.  Harry returned to his serious tone and continued.  “If Commander Crane's role is made known in this rescue and subsequently his skills exposed, he would be of little use to the Office of Naval Intelligence's future needs.  In short, Commander Crane wouldn't be able to help the next American that needs extraction,” Harry said laying it on the line as each of the men nodded knowing they would never take that hope away from someone else who needed his skills as desperately as they did. 

 

“We understand Sir,” SGT Rogers said speaking for his men, as Harry took the time to gaze into each man's eyes to gauge their acceptance and compliance in the matter.  He noted their obedience and nodded approvingly.

 

“How is Commander Crane, Sir?” Cox asked.

 

Harry smiled thinly but with satisfaction.  “Resting comfortably.  He has no life-threatening injuries and will recover completely with the appropriate rest.”

 

The collective sighs of relief were nearly audible as Jenkins spoke up.

 

“Will we be able to see the Commander before we ship out, Sir?”

 

“I think that can be arranged,” Harry answered before pushing off the table.  “Now men, look over the contents of the folder and surrender it to the aide at the door when you leave.  You are authorized to contact your families at that point.  I'm sure you all know that your imprisonment was the top story of every news media organization in the world these last two weeks.  You can expect a hearty heroes' welcome upon your return home.  Your country thanks you for your service.” 

 

Harry ended his address by shaking the hands of each of the men individually and reached for his cover on the table, at which point SGT Rogers belted a crisp, “Pre-sent Arms” out in traditional military cadence.  Harry returned their salutes and left, leaving the soldiers to ponder the fact that Commander Crane wouldn't receive any credit for his part in the daring rescue.  True, the Rangers did a bang up job getting to them, but none of it would have been possible without the Commander tagging their position.  Even the extraction team would go unheralded as Washington used the situation to score some political gain by crediting the Strovokian Strike Force for Crane's rescue.

 

They each read the contents of the folder and left with Rogers being the last one out, handing the folder to the aide waiting at the door.

 

* * * * *

 

“We're shipping out today, Sir,” SGT Rogers said speaking for all the men, “And we just wanted to thank you in person for what you did.”

 

“Thanks for dropping by men,” Lee replied obviously weak but resting in a semi-sitting position.  His face was bearing the bruises, cuts and scrapes of the three beatings as he rested with his hand across his mid-section.  His ribs had been reset and taped and his back treated, but those injuries were hidden underneath his hospital scrubs and robe.

 

“You sure had us fooled Sir,” Jackson offered with a smile as Stevens agreed verbally with a, “You got that right!”

 

“Yeah, you should get an Academy Award or something,” Cox added as the men chuckled lightly with Lee, but the mood changed as Sanchez cleared his throat.

 

“We were just wondering, Sir,” Sanchez chimed in.  “I mean... we're all going home to a heroes' welcome, and... well it just doesn't seem fair that no one will know what you did out there.  You're the one who should be getting the recognition,” Sanchez said barely holding in his emotions as the other men nodded in agreement.

 

“I got what I came for men, there's no need for anything else,” he answered truthfully, each man understanding that 'what he came for' was their rescue.  “Each of you beared up well, you did your country proud and you deserve the welcome you'll receive,” he offered graciously.

 

His smile was returned by the men, proud to know the Commander and proud for the compliment he just paid them.

 

“Well Sir.  We just wanted you to know that we'll never forget what you did, even if we can never talk about it,” Rogers added, wrapping up the visit.

 

“Thank you Sergeant,” Lee replied with a small smile as the men snapped to attention and fired off a salute holding it for Lee's response.  Lee returned the salute and answered, “Thank you men, it was good to see you again.”

 

They filed out with Rogers holding the door open as Jenkins stopped and whispered something to the sergeant, to which Rogers nodded his approval and stepped out.

 

Jenkins turned back toward Lee obviously very nervous.

 

“Permission to speak freely, Sir.”

 

“Granted,” Lee replied wondering what the fiery, high-spirited PFC was up to.

 

Jenkins walked closer to Lee's bed and lowered his head for a moment then raised it as he resolved to say his piece. 

 

“I just want to say that I've learned a lot from you, Sir.  And I also want to offer my apologies, Sir.”

 

Lee's eyebrows tightened in question as PFC Jenkins moved along, determined to say what he had come to say before he lost his nerve.

 

“I mean, well Sir I was pretty down.  We'd been there a week, been mistreated, nearly starved and I thought my country had forgotten me when I thought they refused to negotiate for our release.  Then the rebels taunted us with your visit.  They showed us the newspaper clippings with all the dignitaries and well Sir, I hated you even before I met you.  When you were captured I was sure you were nothing but a soft officer who hadn't seen any real action in years.  I figured your posting on Seaview was plush and well Sir, I bad-mouthed you.”  He stopped for only a short breath and then continued.  “I was sure you broke Sir.  Sanchez... he kept defending you and trying to help, but I just figured you had folded and were ready to sell us out to get better treatment.  And now... well, I feel like a real jerk and I'm sorry.”

 

Jenkins took a deep breath, as Lee offered a small gracious smile.

 

“Apology accepted,” he answered sincerely as Jenkins looked into his eyes and received the absolution he was looking for. 

 

“Thank you Commander,” he said offering another salute and turning to leave.

 

“Private Jenkins,” Lee said calling the PFC's attention back to him.  “Do me a favor will you?”

 

“Of course Sir.  Anything,” he answered honestly.

 

Lee smiled broadly.  “Talk to Seaman Kowalski before you leave.  Ask him about the first time we met, I think he has an interesting story to tell you,” Lee said knowing that the first time he met Ski his fist was connecting with the Rating's jaw.  Ski had been royally ticked off on that mission and it had taken the entire eleven day journey to the polar ice cap for the Rating to decide that Lee wasn't some sort of Captain Bligh.  Now Rick Kowalski was one of Lee's most trusted men, someone he could count on with his life, as this mission had proven.

 

Jenkins returned the smile and nodded.  “Yes Sir.  I'll do that Sir,” he answered and took his leave with a much lighter burden than when he came in.

 

* * * * *

 

Epilogue - “Quiet Honor”

 

The afternoon was warm but breezy as the Air Force Base hosted a special guest.  The President of Strovokia had come to offer his personal gratitude to Commander Lee Crane for the significant part he played in locating General Cyrek and his secret headquarters.

 

Though it had only been three days since Lee's rescue he was dressed in his full service blues to greet the President.  He had successfully argued for the meeting to be held at the Base Hospital Atrium and not in his hospital bed dressed in scrubs and a robe. 

 

SGT Rogers and his men had happily boarded a transport back to the States yesterday and Harry had sent both Chip and Kowalski back to Santa Barbara to ready Seaview for her next mission.  Lee was slightly embarrassed and felt the honor belonged to his extraction team and to the American Soldiers who had beared up so well during their capture.  However, one does not argue with a head of state when they wish to bestow an honor upon you, so Lee graciously accepted the President's well wishes.  The meeting was purposely rendered with little fanfare from the base as his role in the mission had been suppressed and cloaked from the world.

 

“Commander Crane, I represent the people of my country as I offer our most sincere gratitude for your part in returning the elected government of Strovokia back to the people.  I also wish to offer my gratitude for the personal sacrifice you made to fulfill your mission.”

 

“Thank you Mr. President,” Lee offered as Harry stood beside him, having already greeted the honored dignitary.

 

“Now,” the President continued as he turned to receive a medal from his aide, “I understand that you will not be able to wear this medal that you have so rightfully earned.  Nevertheless, it is my country's highest military honor and I bestow it upon you now with both pride and gratefulness for your extraordinary service.”

 

Lee bowed his head as the President hung the medal around his neck to rest with honor upon his chest.  The bruises on Lee's face had little chance to heal in the short time he had been recuperating in the hospital, but he still bore himself with the dignity and pride of a US Naval Officer.

 

“Thank you Mr. President.  It was both my duty and honor to serve,” he offered sincerely.

 

The President smiled and turned toward his young twenty-three year old daughter who was dressed in a smart two piece navy pant suit with white appliques accentuating her polished look.

 

“My daughter would like to present you with our country's state flowers.”

 

The young woman stepped forward and offered the long stemmed flowers wrapped with navy blue and gold ribbon for the presentation to the officer.  Lee accepted the ceremonial flowers as she reached up on her tip toes to offer a kiss to both sides of his cheeks and stepped away with a smile and a fluttery heart she hoped no one else noticed.

 

Lee smiled his thanks as the President of Strovokia addressed both officers.

 

“Now Gentlemen, I regret that I must be on my way.”

 

The necessary handshakes were made as the President and his entourage took their leave, the whole ceremony taking less than fifteen minutes.  As soon as the President left the young Airman who had been assigned to Lee's care for most of his stay, stepped forward rolling a wheelchair.

 

Lee rolled his eyes and shook his head as he chuckled.  “I think I can handle the walk back Airman Sulley.”

 

AMN Shawn Sulley just smiled, having spent the last three days tending the Navy Commander and knowing his predisposition to push his recovery and overdo his physical exertion.

 

“Sorry Skipper,” he said, having taken up the relaxed and honored name for a Captain of a vessel, “Doc's orders,” he finished as Lee blew out a breath and resolved himself to ride.  He lowered himself carefully into the wheelchair holding his side for the effort and motioned his “driver” onward. 

 

“Very well, Sulley.  Lead the way,” Lee said with dramatic flair.  Harry suppressed his chuckle with a tight lipped smile and watched as Lee smoothly and quickly reached for the medal around his neck and slid it effortlessly into his pocket before Sulley even reached the door.  Lee was wheeled back into the hospital halls with the highest military honor of Strovokia tucked neatly into his pocket, secreted from even the hospital staff as Commander Crane's mission had been ordered sealed and classified.

 

Harry hung back a moment, pondering what he just witnessed; the heart of a true American patriot willing to give his all in service without due recognition for his sacrifice.  The corners of Harry's lips rose upwards as he expelled a breath of acceptance of Lee Crane's quiet honor being displayed so eloquently before him. 

 

Harry silently vowed that upon their return to Santa Barbara, he and Lee would enjoy a quiet dinner together at Giavanni's and as he raised his glass in honor of Lee's heroic efforts he would tell Seaview's Captain how very proud he was to be counted among his friends.  In so doing he would counter the cover that Lee played so flawlessly, rendering him invisible to the General as a soft officer more suited to diplomatic functions than that of a warrior and a soldier.  The thought caused Harry to nod his head in an unconscious reaction to his resolve as he moved forward, following Lee's “ride” back to his hospital bed.  As they waited for the elevator he heard Lee explaining to Airman Sulley that the last Rating who had insisted upon the wheelchair was still cleaning the bilge tanks aboard Seaview.  Lee's intended humor produced soft laughter from Sulley as Harry joined in with an audible chuckle and an “I'm proud of you, Lad,” squeeze to Lee's shoulder.  Their eyes locked and Lee returned his smile with satisfaction, feeling like he had gotten all the recognition he could ever need or want in Harry's simple gesture of friendship and respect.  

 

 

The End

 

Invisible 

 

 

 

*See the Fourth Season Episode, Nightmare; written by Sidney Marshall, directed by Charles Rondeau, original air date January 28, 1968.

 

** NCO – Non Commissioned Officer.  All grades of corporal and sergeant.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non-commissioned_officer

 

Please note that both Strovokia and Rokania are fictitious Eastern European countries created for this story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and her main characters belong to Irwin Allen