Questions of Consequences
By Storm
The pilot episode of Voyage introduced the character of
Captain John Phillips - and then killed him off within the first fifteen
minutes. Few clues were given as to what his relationship was with the crew, or
how they reacted to his demise. He was never mentioned again in the series,
which to me, seems rather unfair - but then, IA was
pretty bad about character development. These following vignettes are my
explorations into that void left by Phillips’ passing.
Chief Jones’ POV
Chief Petty Officer Curley
Jones sat morosely at his table, alone, nursing a beer. It was the latest of
many; he’d spent the evening wandering from bar to bar, working his way along
the San Francisco waterfront, trying to get drunk enough to forget Seaview’s
last mission.
It was a lost cause. As drunk
as he was, he knew he’d never forget the horrible scene of the burned out wreck
that had taken the life of Captain Phillips. There’d been no time to mourn
however - not with the world itself at stake. The mission Phillips had been
murdered to stop had gone on with that young whipper-snapper
of a captain loaned to the Institute by the Navy, one Commander Lee Crane.
Curley sighed. The OOM had
been tickled pink to get Crane as a replacement. He had to admit the man knew
his business. Which was a good thing, or Seaview would have never
survived to make it as far as San Francisco, where she was currently undergoing
emergency repairs before returning home. Now the OOM
wanted Crane as permanent captain. Curley wasn’t too sure about that idea;
Crane was definitely gonna have to get rid of that
rod up his ass before he could be the Grey Lady’s skipper. Sneaking aboard the
way he had and belting Kowalski in the chops. The Chief had been downright
insulted. What had the man expected for crying out loud? The boat’s skipper had
just been brutally murdered - of course the crew wasn’t at the top of their
game. Curley shook his head. He sure hoped Admiral Nelson knew what he was
doing.
Nature called at that point,
reminding the Chief of the old saying - “you don’t buy beer, you just rent it.”
He rose and ambled somewhat unsteadily back to the men’s room. As he unzipped and relieved himself a Marine sergeant bulled his
way into the stall next to him. The man was at least six six and looked like he could bench press a jeep. Curley
ignored him and finished his business.
As he turned to leave the
sergeant sneered and said, “In the Marine Corps they teach us to wash our hands
after we pee.”
Curley’s response was
instantaneous, even as one part of his brain told him he should simply ignore
the prick. “In the Navy they teach us not to pee on our hands.”
There was an incoherent roar
from the Marine, who was fortunately even drunker than Curley.
Fortunate for Curley in that
in his rage as the sergeant turned to grab for the COB, he’d forgotten to
fasten his trousers. As his pants started down, he had to pause and make a one
handed grab to keep them from winding up around his ankles. That moment of
hesitation was all Curley needed. He waded in, fists flying. Curses rebounded
off the walls. Thuds shook the building, bringing the owner flying in to see
what was happening. He took one look at the size of the two combatants and fled
for reinforcements.
Which didn’t
take long to arrive. MP’s swarmed
in, batons flying. Curley, not being as drunk as the Marine, threw up his hands
and surrendered immediately. The sergeant was too drunk to care. In the end it
took seven MP’s to take him down. At the sight, Curley decided he had perhaps
been more than a bit rash to have started the fight - because if the MP’s hadn’t
arrived so quickly, he’d have probably gotten his rump kicked. On the other
hand, given the Marine’s belligerence, there was every chance Curley wouldn’t
get blamed; after all, he hadn’t been the one who’d refused to back down
when the MP‘s arrived. Drunk he might be, but fighting with the MP’s was
something he didn’t want to have to explain to Mr. Morton! COB or not, the XO
would have him cleaning the heads with a toothbrush for a month - if not the
ballast tanks. Still, the XO wasn’t going to be happy about having to come bail
him out of the brig.
Once the marine - who was
apparently well known to the local MP’s - had been dragged from the men’s room,
the senior MP turned a disapproving eye on Curley. “Name and ship,” he curtly
demanded.
Curley sighed. “Chief Petty
Officer Jones, SSRN Seaview.”
The MP’s expression shifted,
turning to one of thoughtful speculation. “The Nelson’
Institute’s boat - the one that limped in yesterday looking like she’d been in
a fight? And didn‘t you guy‘s lose your captain not long ago?”
Curley nodded.
“Huh.” The MP studied him
thoughtfully for a moment, then apparently made a
decision. “Under the circumstances, I’m gonna let
this slide. But Chief, I don’t wanna see you again -
understand?”
“I sure do,” Curley told him
with relief, “and I’ll make sure the rest of the crew on leave understands too.”
“Good,” stated the MP as he
handed the chief back his cap, then turned and left, leaving Curley alone in
the men’s room.
Curley stood silently for a
moment, then looked up at the ceiling and said softly, “Skipper, I guess I’ve
been an idiot, but I sure miss you. But this isn’t getting your Lady repaired
and back home.” He twisted his cap in his hands. “Guess I’ll have to break in
this new captain too. I sure hope he’s up to your standards and that the
Admiral knows what he’s doing. The kid seems awfully young to me, but he did
okay on the last mission.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Things is changing,
Skipper and that’s a fact. I dunno where we go from
here, but I’ll do the best I can. Sorry about falling down on the job and
starting that fight. Guess I was lucky to not get myself hurt really bad - can’t
look after our Lady if I’m laid up. It won’t happen again, Skipper - you got my
word on it.”
He put his cap back on,
sobered by his close call and headed back to the dry dock where Seaview
was having the worst of her hurts tended to. He had a job to do and a promise
to keep.
Harriman Nelson’s POV
Admiral Harriman Nelson sat
at his desk in his cabin aboard his submarine and listened to the silence
around him as he nursed a glass of bourbon. The repair crews had quit for the
day and most of the crew was on leave, either enjoying the pleasures San
Francisco had to offer, or like himself, holed up somewhere brooding.
He had plenty to brood about.
With the deadline to save the
planet, they’d had to miss John Phillips’ funeral. How that had hurt. He and
John had known each other for a very long time; even though Lee Crane had been
his first choice to command Seaview, John Phillips had been a very close
second. So despite his pleasure in finally having Crane as his boat’s captain,
he considered the cost
to have been far too high. He took a swallow of the bourbon and
rested the glass against his forehead as he closed his eyes against the pain.
Lee Crane might be his protégé,
but John had been his friend. The two officers had served together, meeting for
the first time aboard a diesel sub in 1950. Nelson had been the weapons
officer, Phillips one of the junior lieutenants. A few years later, when Nelson
had command of the Nautilus, Phillips had served as his chief engineer.
It was because of their resulting friendship and his respect for John Phillips’
ability as a sub commander that he had asked John to command Seaview
when the Navy refused to let him offer the position to Crane.
Now Phillips was dead -
brutally murdered - because he had accepted that offer, putting him in the car
with Nelson on that fateful day. Not that he would have wanted Lee there
either! The very thought sent a pang through him, washing waves of guilt
through his soul. There had been warnings from the Intelligence communities
that certain forces were aligning against him because of Seaview, but he’d
thought the threat exaggerated by those within the US government who coveted
his creation for themselves.
He took another swallow.
Hubris on his part - and a friend had paid with his life for it. The Irish part
of his soul - a portion of himself he usually kept under tight wraps - wondered if this
first important mission was a portent of things to come. He didn’t know how he
would handle the guilt if it was. He thought of all the bright and dedicated
young men he’d convinced to serve aboard Seaview. Chip Morton, Bobby O’Brien,
Kowalski, Patterson….
And now Lee
Crane. His thoughts hastily
skittered away from the direction they’d been going.
No. Nelson set the glass down
with a thump. He refused to go there. He would sacrifice himself before he’d
lose another one of them so senselessly.
Senselessly. That, he came to the abrupt
realization, was the thing that had tormented him the most about John’s death.
That it had, in the end, made no difference. Seaview had gone on her
mission undeterred. She’d have gone even if he himself had been killed; Chip
Morton would have taken her out, if it had come right down to it. That was
something his enemies didn’t seem to understand.
He shook his head. Perhaps he
was looking at things from the wrong perspective. The fact that killing
Phillips hadn’t changed anything was perhaps itself a statement. It said
that no matter what, Seaview’s crew would carry out their duties. To
stop them, the boat would have to be sunk with all hands. And it was John
Phillips who had molded ship and crew into that smoothly functioning machine
that Lee Crane would build on.
It was John’s legacy to the
future. Nelson could think of far less glorious legacies a man could leave
behind.
While it didn’t take his pain
away, the thought did begin to ease the constriction around his heart. Perhaps
when they finally got back to Santa Barbara, he would host a private wake for
the crew and share that thought with them. He could almost hear John
protesting, “But Harry…” It brought a faint smile to his lips. Phillips had
been a rather modest man, who didn’t much care for the limelight.
He lifted his glass. “A toast to you, John. Long may your Lady sail the seas.”
Lee Crane’s POV
Commander Lee Crane stood at
the window of his hotel room and gazed out over the city of San Francisco. His
mind, however, was not on the bustling city spread before him, but up at the
northern end of the harbor at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard where the
submarine Seaview rested in dry dock, having her recent wounds tended
to.
Wounds she’d suffered under
his command.
He turned abruptly away from
the window, his face a grimace of frustration. Nelson had informed him on the
way back from their recent mission that he wanted him as a permanent captain.
Oh, God, how he lusted for the position now that he‘d had a chance to see Seaview
in action! He just wished he’d known Nelson had that in mind before he’d
alienated most of the crew with his stunt back when he first arrived at NIMR.
Crane shook his head and
sighed. In retrospect sneaking aboard had been a spectacularly stupid thing to
do. He really should have taken the disparaging remarks of the two admirals who’d
briefed him on the boat and her crew with a very large grain of salt and done
some research on his own. At the very least, he should have at least sat down
with his old friend and Academy roommate Chip Morton and picked his brains.
After all, Chip was Seaview’s XO and had been with the boat since her
keel was laid.
But, no. He’d been miffed at being pulled from his own boat in
the middle of a mission and as a result he’d let his irritation overrule his
common sense. Never a wise thing to do in the best of
circumstances. So he’d taken the word of two admirals whom he’d known
from experience didn’t always tell him the whole truth and rushed headlong into
disaster.
He deserved the lecture he
was going to get from Morton. That is, if Chip was even still speaking to him.
He had to wonder if in his fit of pique he’d burned that bridge as well. The XO
hadn’t looked very happy with him earlier when he’d taken his leave and headed
ashore. Lee didn’t really blame him. He’d spent the first part of the voyage
running rough shod over the emotions of the crew, who were grieving for their
late captain, John Phillips.
Lee felt a stab of guilt at
the thought. His own loss - being pulled off a boat that was, after all, still
there - didn’t begin to approach theirs. Phillips had been a plank owner, as
were most of the current crewmembers. They’d been with him through the boat’s
construction, her launching and sea trials, only to lose him brutally just
before their first important mission. Phillips had been their captain, their skipper,
their mentor, father figure and confessor all rolled into one. Lee winced as
his conscience jabbed at him. Gaining the crew’s confidence after a start like
that was going to be difficult, if not impossible. He was probably going to
have to eat some serious crow.
Turning back to the window,
he stared again to the northeast. He hadn’t expected to want to stay,
especially after what Admiral Johnson had said about the quality of Seaview’s
crew; he’d called them misfits. Crane’s nostrils flared with embarrassment at
the memory. In truth, the boat’s crew was one of the most professional he’d
ever had the opportunity to work with. They might not have been as quite spit and
polish as a regular Navy boat, but they carried out their duties with a quiet
competence that impressed him.
He should have known they
would be the best, he snorted to himself - Chip Morton was their XO. He wryly
recalled the gangly blond youngster who had been his roommate. Morton had been
bright, but a bit of an under-achiever until Crane had challenged him. Then he’d
blossomed, taking the all too serious Crane by surprise with just how smart he
really was. The race had been on and it had taken everything Lee possessed to
finish just barely ahead. The most surprising part to him was that Chip had
been generous enough to still befriend him. That had been an entirely
unexpected benefit.
Still, mused Lee to himself,
Chip wasn’t the sort to tolerate a sloppy boat. And neither was Harriman Nelson
- or John Phillips, when it came right down to it. When the late captain had
still been in the Navy, he’d had a reputation for running highly proficient -
and loyal - crews. Crane had only met him a couple of times when he and Chip
had still been midshipmen, but he had to admit Phillips seemed to be everything
a submarine captain ought to be. So why, he asked himself, had he given any
credence to the assertions of slackness?
Because, he was honest enough
to admit to himself, he wanted to. He’d known about Nelson’s pet project for
years and had been a bit jealous when command of Seaview went to an
older officer. The subsequent reports of Seaview being “Nelson’s Folly”
had then convinced him he was better off staying in the Navy. He huffed
silently to himself. He knew better now. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was
if the disparaging reports on the ship and her crew were deliberate camouflage
by Nelson so any enemies would underestimate the boat’s abilities or if they
were mean spirited attempts by Nelson’s personal critics to obscure the man’s
genius. Either way, once Lee had had taken Seaview to sea, he’d realized
the reports were dead wrong. The Gray Lady was far more than he had ever
dreamed of in a submarine.
John Phillips had been a
lucky man to be Seaview‘s captain.
In retrospect, Lee found
himself envious that Phillips had been the one to take her to sea for the first
time. He wished it had been himself instead.
And then it might well have
been him lying in the morgue while someone else took his boat on her world
saving mission. He shivered at the sudden vision. He’d had some close calls in
his work for ONI - close enough to give him nightmares. Some of the people he
had known and worked with hadn’t been so lucky. He clinched a fist. Dammit, he
knew what it was like to lose a colleague to enemy action. He should have been
more sensitive to the needs of Seaview’s crew. Not for the first time he
wondered just what had possessed him to act like such a stiff necked prick. And
to actually strike an enlisted man! If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he’d
have wound up in the brig for that. Any officer in his own command who’d done
such a thing would have been on the beach with his head in a sack.
He could only shake his head.
He owed Seaman Kowalski a huge groveling apology.
Suddenly the walls of his
hotel room seemed confining. Seaview had woven her spell around his soul
and he found he wanted - no, needed - to be aboard helping make repairs,
both to the physical fabric of the boat and his relationship with the crew.
Snatching his jacket off the back of the chair as he passed, Crane headed for
the hotel lobby. Catching a cab back to the boat shouldn’t be a problem -
though it was probably going to cost him a small fortune.
*************
Fog had begun to creep in by
the time he made it to the dry dock. The sentries at the gate had looked at him
oddly when he’d presented his ID. It was obvious they thought he had left to go
back to his own boat, that he had only been Seaview’s captain for this
one mission. The thought left him with a wry smile. The crew probably didn’t
know yet that Nelson was trying to get him assigned permanently as Seaview’s
captain either.
On reaching the dry dock, he
paused for a moment, letting his eyes roam hungrily over Seaview’s
unique lines. He could see why a lot of people scoffed, but he’d seen her
perform. Crossing the gangplank, he saluted the colors on the stern. The duty
sentry - ‘Boots’ Malone, one of Kowalski’s friends - challenged him as soon as
he stepped onto the deck. Well, at least his stunt had tightened up the
security. He wondered if Malone’s presence meant that Kowalski was aboard,
since the two of them usually shared the same watch.
“Malone, is Kowalski ashore?”
“No, sir,” the man answered.
His tone was faintly hostile - not enough to be insubordinate, but enough to
let Crane know he hadn’t been forgiven. “He’s making repairs on the sonar console
in the control room.”
“Okay. Carry on then.” Crane
sighed to himself as he ducked inside the sail hatch and began the climb down
into the control room. He was challenged again before he got to the bottom of
the ladder - this time by Kowalski.
“Checking security again,
sir?” There was no emotion in Kowalski’s voice, but there was definite
hostility in his eyes.
“Actually, Kowalski, I was
looking for you. I owe you an apology for my previous behavior.” Crane looked
the seaman right in the eye and put as much sincerity in both his expression
and voice as he could. There was a moment of blank incomprehension on the man’s
face before Crane’s words sank in, followed by puzzled disbelief mixed with
rebellion.
“Sir?” Kowalski’s tone matched his expression.
“I seriously owe you an
apology,” repeated Crane. “My attitude when I came aboard was reprehensible -
and I’m sorry. I‘d like to clear the air between us, if that‘s possible. Is
there someone who can replace you on watch for a little while so we can go somewhere
and talk? I‘ll clear it with Mr. Morton first, if you prefer.”
The rating hesitated for a
moment then said, “I really need to get this done, sir.” He indicated behind
himself towards the gutted sonar console; wiring and electrical components were
spread over the deck.
Crane looked over the snarled
mess and sighed. He hadn’t realized the damage was quite so bad. “I see. Well,
that does come first. I’ll give you a hand and then we can talk.” He saw
Kowalski blink in surprise and could almost read the man’s thoughts; this
jerk’s willing to get his hands dirty? Crane winced internally; he had only
himself to blame for the crew’s attitude. Shedding his uniform jacket, he
rolled up his sleeves and asked, “What do you need me to do?”
Kowalski looked at him for a
long couple of seconds, then slapped a pair of wire strippers into his
outstretched hand and indicated a bundle of new wiring lying on an adjacent
console. Crane nodded. “Strip the ends. No problem.” He settled on the deck
with the wires and began the process of preparing them for installation.
Kowalski went back to the job of stripping the old wiring out of the sonar
console, keeping a wary eye on him as he did so. For several minutes they
worked in silence.
“What was Captain Phillips
like?” Crane asked into the silence; he felt that was probably the one subject
that might get Kowalski to open up to him - and there was little point in
actually putting off their talk until later. The rating paused in his work
before answering with a question of his own.
“Why do you want to know?”
A
legitimate question. “I feel like
I was misled by my briefing before I came aboard. What I found wasn’t what I’d
been led to expect. You’re a good crew. Maybe not as spit and polish as some
people would like, but as good or better than any crew I’ve ever sailed with.
Captain Phillips was the one who molded this crew into what they are. I … I
never had the privilege of knowing him and I wondered what he was like.”
The scowl on Kowalski’s face
told him that the rating had a pretty good idea of just who had had a hand in
that briefing - and exactly what had been said.
“Captain Phillips was one of
the best,” he finally answered. “Strict, but fair. He
was always there for anybody in the crew when they had a problem. He stood
between us and the Admiral…”
Crane’s forehead wrinkled in
puzzlement. “Why would he have to stand between you and Admiral Nelson?”
Kowalski gave him a smirk. “You’ve
never served with the Admiral in command before have you?”
“Well, no,” admitted Crane.
“Admiral Nelson is about as
smart as it gets, but sometimes he forgets the rest of us aren’t on his level.
He also forgets sometimes that none of us are superhuman either. Captain
Phillips kept him grounded in reality.”
Crane blinked. That was an
aspect of being Seaview’s captain he hadn’t considered - it hadn’t been an
issue on the mission they’d just completed, not with the future of the world
itself at stake. On reflection, though, he could see where Nelson’s sometimes
single-mindedness could be a problem. He had to wonder if he would be up to the
task; he knew from the Academy that Nelson’s temper and personality could be
formidable. Phillips must have had an equally formidable personality to be able
to stand up to him, not to mention Nelson’s complete respect. The shoes he was
being asked to fill began to loom increasingly large.
“That’s something I never
thought about,” he had to admit thoughtfully. “I wish now I’d had the chance to
really get to know him. He sounds like someone I would have admired.”
“Captain Crane…” Kowalski paused, as if unsure what he wanted to ask was permissible.
“Go ahead and ask whatever is
on your mind, Kowalski. God knows you deserve answers if I have them.”
“Well, sir. I was wondering
why the brass keeps putting us down like they do.”
Crane looked pensive for a
moment before answering. “I’ve been wondering that myself. I have some theories
about it, but that’s all they are, is theories.”
Kowalski gave him a brief
grin. “So do we, sir, so do we.”
Returning the grin, Crane
said, “There are two possibilities. One is a deliberate misinformation campaign
to make Seaview’s enemies underestimate her capabilities.” Kowalski
nodded thoughtfully, so he continued. “The other is that Admiral Nelson’s
personal enemies are doing it out of sheer spite.” The sudden scowl on Kowalski’s
face told him that the rating - and probably much of the crew - believed the
second to be true. “Of course, both could be true,” he felt compelled to add.
“What about what you were
told?” Kowalski asked; there was a touch of anger and resentment in his voice.
Crane thoughtfully rubbed his
chin. “That’s something that seriously puzzles me. But having had the
opportunity to command Seaview, I have to wonder if they weren’t trying
to goad me into doing something rash, so I’d piss the crew and maybe Admiral
Nelson off and be unable to stay on even if I wanted to.” He gave Kowalski a
rueful look and added, “And I do want to stay. Seaview is the most
incredible boat it’s ever been my privilege to serve on, let alone command.”
“That’s the truth, sir,”
responded the rating with a flash of a smile. “She is something else. But what about your own boat?”
“After Seaview….”
Crane trailed off and gave a heartfelt sigh. “Parche’s
got a good XO who’s ready for his own command. Which reminds me - why didn’t
Admiral Nelson give Seaview to Chip? He’s certainly qualified.”
Kowalski shrugged
uncomfortably. “Scuttlebutt has it that the OOM offered it to him but he turned
it down.”
Crane shook his head and
dryly replied, “I’m going to have to have a serious talk with Mr. Morton about
his priorities. But that does sound just like him. He’d want it on merit - not
because somebody else died and opened the way for him.”
The rating’s face took on a
thoughtful look. “Do you really think that’s why he didn’t take the job, sir?”
“I’ve known Chip Morton since
the Academy - I’d be willing to bet on it. I’d also say that if there hadn’t
been any choice in the matter he would have taken the position - and done well
at it.”
“You and Mr. Morton were at
the Academy together?”
Crane nodded. “Roommates in fact. We’ve never served together though.”
Kowalski seemed to be turning
the information over in his mind as Crane discretely studied him from out of
the corner of this eye. Much of the hostility had faded from the rating’s
posture, which gave him hope that he could mend fences with the crew.
Otherwise, for the sake of the boat, he’d have to tell Nelson to find someone
else to command his creation. That was something he really didn’t want to do.
“Huh,” muttered Kowalski,
more to himself than anything, before lifting his eyes
to meet Crane’s. “Do you mind if I think on this a while, sir? Alone?”
“Not at
all, Kowalski. I need to go
apologize to Mr. Morton too.” There was a brief startled look in the sonarman’s eyes that shifted into something else, the
beginnings of respect he hoped. Smiling ruefully at him, Crane added, “I expect
to be eating a lot of crow for a while.” That statement brought a twinkle into
the other man’s eyes, raising Crane’s hopes even further. If he could get
Kowalski to forgive him, then most of the rest of the crew likely would as
well.
Or so he hoped.
He levered himself up from
the floor and dusted the seat of his trousers off. “No time like the present then. Any idea where Mr. Morton is?”
“He was in the missile room
the last time I saw him, sir, but that‘s been a while,” the rating answered as
Crane picked up his jacket.
“Guess I’ll just have to find
him then.” Crane turned and headed aft. “Good luck, sir,” followed him through
the hatch.
Luck? If only it was that easy.
Chip Morton’s POV
Lieutenant Commander Charles
Philip Morton wandered through the corridors of the submarine Seaview,
ostensibly checking on the progress of the repairs being made to the boat. In
truth, he was merely going through the motions. The repair crews were all gone
for the night and most of the crew was ashore on leave.
He should have gone with
them, but he’d switched duty with the weapons officer, Bishop. Truth be told,
he wasn’t in the mood for leave. He had a lot of conflicting emotions that
needed to be sorted out. That wasn’t something he could do with a belly full of
booze; the last thing he needed would be to publicly lose control.
Because that’s what he felt
would happen if he let his guard down for even an instant. He had admired
Captain Phillips; after all, it was Phillips who’d brought him to Nelson’s
attention back at the Academy and made sure he didn’t get lost in the
brilliance of his roommate, one Lee Crane.
That had certainly been a
rocky start to a friendship, he recalled wryly. Crane had been - and still could
be - one of the most intense people Morton had ever met; it had sparked an
equally intense rivalry. There hadn’t been many areas where Chip could best Lee
Crane, so the two had wound up finishing first and second in their class. Lee
had been first. Since Morton had never realistically expected
to finish anywhere near that high, he had come to realize that Crane had in
fact done him a favor.
They’d somehow become friends
after Chip had come to that conclusion. The problem was,
the jerk who’d sneaked aboard the boat - supposedly to check security - and
then belted Kowalski in the chops - wasn’t the Lee Crane that Chip Morton had
come to know at Annapolis. It had taken some hard thinking on his part to come
up with an explanation for just why Crane had acted like that, but he still
wasn’t entirely satisfied he had the answer. He knew Lee had been yanked off
his own boat, and in all fairness to his friend, had
to have been miffed about it, but still… striking an enlisted man! If the
situation hadn’t been so dire, Crane would have wound up in the brig with
charges filed against him. As far as that went, if Kowalski wanted to press the
issue, it could still happen.
Not likely at this point, but
if Crane did stay on as the new captain, there was every possibility that
Kowalski - and probably a good many of the other senior ratings - would opt to
transfer back into the Navy. Chip wasn’t entirely sure at this point that he
would want to stay on himself unless Lee made some radical adjustments in his
attitude. Would Nelson, faced with the wholesale defection of Seaview‘s
crew, chose to pick another captain? As far as that went, Chip had to admit to
severe misgivings at the prospect of serving with the Admiral without Phillips
to run interference. Would Lee be up to the task? Did he have any idea of just
how bloody single-minded Nelson could get? There had been shouting matches in
the past between John and the Admiral over some of their missions - would Lee
realize that he couldn’t just blindly follow orders - that part of his duty
would be to keep Nelson’s brilliance grounded in reality?
Chip shook his head in
frustration. He’d told Lee before just how different serving on Seaview
was, but judging by his actions when he first arrived, Crane hadn’t taken that
knowledge to heart. That meant there was likely going to be a confrontation
between the two men sometime in the near future. There was also Chip’s grief
over Captain Phillips’ death, which was a separate issue, but still hovered
over everything to complicate the situation. That hadn’t been Lee’s
fault in any way, and it would be unfair to take that pain out on his friend.
He allowed himself an ironic
smile. He was pretty sure that Crane hadn’t realized when he’d come aboard as
the temporary replacement captain that Nelson would pull strings after
the mission was over to make the posting permanent. He strongly suspected that
Crane might not have been quite so brash in his dealings with the crew if he
had, no matter what the rationale had been for his actions, because now he was
going to have to mend bridges. Or perhaps that possibility had occurred to
Crane and his intent had been to make himself unacceptable for the position.
That was quite possible, Chip realized, even though he couldn’t imagine Lee not
wanting the captaincy. But then, he reminded himself, he had turned it
down.
Finding himself in officer’s
country, Chip paused in front of the captain’s cabin. Crane was ashore; that
morning he’d finally let down his façade enough to admit to Chip that he didn’t
feel comfortable staying in the cabin with so many of Phillips’ personal
effects still there. The crew had been reluctant to have them packed up; it
would have given an unwelcome finality to John Phillips’ death. As long as his
belongings were still aboard, they could almost pretend that his absence was
only temporary.
Almost.
He blew out a gusty sigh. But
it wasn’t temporary. Phillips wasn’t ever coming back and things were never
going to be quite the same. Even if things didn’t work out with Crane, the
inescapable fact was that Seaview was going to have a new captain. It
could have been him; Nelson had made the offer only hours after Phillips‘ death. He’d turned it down,
though as a last resort he would have taken command and done his best on the
mission. It could still be him, though at this point it still wasn’t something
he wanted. The very idea of filling a dead man’s shoes - especially when it was
someone he had known well - gave him the creeps. Illogical he knew, but there
it was. It would be easier for someone who hadn’t known the previous captain.
Which
brought him back to Lee. Whatever
burr his old buddy had up his six was going to have to go. Seaview’s
crew would never stand for his current attitude. He would never stand
for it either. If Lee had truly changed into the idiot who’d snuck aboard -
something Chip was reluctant to believe - then their friendship was at an end
and Nelson needed to get someone else to command Seaview. Shaking
himself from his morose thoughts, he turned to continue on down the corridor
towards his own cabin. There wasn’t any further point in wandering around the
boat pretending to be busy. With only a skeleton crew aboard, no one was going
to care if he spent the last part of his watch in seclusion.
A few steps brought him to
Nelson’s cabin, where he paused again. Light seeped under the crack at the
bottom of the door, indicating the Admiral was still up. He debated knocking,
but decided he really didn’t want to disturb the OOM. Nelson had taken Phillips’
death hard. He’d put it aside for the mission, but now that they had time to
decompress, he was about as approachable as a wounded bear. Shaking his head,
Morton decided to wait to approach the admiral about some of the things on his
mind.
A few more strides brought him
to his own door. Entering, he flipped on the light - and found he had company.
“Lee!” he exclaimed in
surprise, “What are you doing here? Aren‘t you supposed to be on leave?”
Crane had been seated in a
chair in front of the desk with the lights out. Now he stirred from his slumped
position and put his elbows on the edge of Chip’s desk.
“I needed to talk with you,
Chip. I owe you an explanation and an apology.”
“Actually, it’s Kowalski you
owe the apology to,” responded Chip tartly as he settled into his own chair
behind the desk.
Waving a hand, Crane told
him, “I already have. Along with an explanation.”
“I’d be interested in that
explanation myself,” Chip told him dryly.
Crane hung his head and gave
him a small embarrassed smile. “I was misled in my briefing from certain
Admirals about the professionalism of the crew - I thought they needed somebody
to unite against so they’d get their minds back on their duty. I … I misjudged
them.”
Chip snorted. “I could have
told you they would do their duty, if you’d bothered to ask me. In fact I have
told you in the past. We may not be regular Navy, but we‘re all professionals
here.” Well, that certainly explained why Crane had gotten off to such a bad
start - but he would have thought that by now his friend would have better
sense than to take everything certain of his superiors told him as gospel.
Particularly since Morton had a pretty good idea of who
at least one of those admirals was.
“I came to realize that,
Chip, by the end of the first day at sea. I shouldn’t have made assumptions
based on what Admiral Johnson and Admiral Starke told me, particularly since
you‘d already told me something different.” Crane sighed and added, “I’m prepared
to eat however much crow it takes to square things with you and the crew.”
“Starke.” He made the name sound like an obscenity. “That old
windbag is just jealous because Seaview isn’t his.” In retrospect it
shouldn’t have been a surprise; COMSUBPAC was always grousing about the boat
and crew to Nelson - and anybody else who got within earshot when he was
spouting one of his tirades. It shouldn’t have surprised him about Johnson
either - he wouldn’t want to lose one of his best ONI operatives. Chip
was still ticked at Lee over his actions, however. He got up to pace.
“You’ve known me how many
years, Lee? Fourteen? Fifteen?
And you gave more credence to what Starke and Johnson told you than me?” Chip
couldn’t quite keep the outrage out of his voice.
Crane flinched and looked
away, turning his signet ring in agitation. “I know it was stupid, Chip. I just…
oh, hell, I admit it. I was pissed when the Navy jerked me off Parche in the middle of a mission without bothering
to say why. And I let my irritation color my perception during the mission
brief. Plus,” Crane sighed, “I guess I was jealous when Nelson hired you for
the Institute and didn’t even ask me. I… I didn’t want to believe when
you told me how extraordinary Seaview was. You don’t know how sorry I am
for being such a jerk.”
“You were jealous?!”
Chip stopped in his tracks and glared at the other man, who had the grace to
blush. “I swear to God, Lee, right now I’m not sure I know you anymore.”
Crane’s head jerked up. “Chip,
I said I was sorry. It was a bad lapse in judgment on my part - and I certainly
should have known better.”
“You’ve got that right,”
growled Chip. He was finding it increasingly difficult to hang on to his
temper. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that it wouldn’t look good on his
record if he struck a superior officer - even if they were masquerading as
civilians. He jammed his hands down into his pockets and turned his back on
Crane while he fought for control.
“Go ahead and hit me, Chip,”
came softly from behind. “Get it out of your system. I deserve it.”
“You sure as hell do.” Chip
whirled to find that Crane had gotten up and was standing beside his desk. He
balled his fists - but kept them in his pockets as he visibly trembled with the
effort to restrain himself.
Crane spread his arms wide
and repeated, “Go ahead. You need it and I deserve it.”
With great effort Chip turned
himself around and fled to the head, locking the door behind himself.
He knew that Crane wouldn’t have reported him if he had taken a swing - not
under these circumstances - but he was afraid if he let his barriers down, he
wouldn’t know when to stop. That aspect of his personality was something he
tried very hard to keep caged. Not even Lee Crane had ever seen him completely
lose it. As turbulent as his emotions were right now, that was something that
could all too easily happen. He put both hands on the edge of the sink and
gazed unhappily into the mirror.
The door opened behind him.
He whirled, startled, to see Crane standing uncertainly in the doorway, lock
pick in hand.
“Chip, we really need to get
past this if we’re going to work together. What do I have to do to make it up
to you?” Crane’s expression conveyed both earnestness and worry.
It was the last straw. With
an inarticulate howl of pain and rage, Morton launched himself at the other
man, catching him by surprise. There was a solid thud as his fist connected
with the captain’s jaw; Crane staggered back and tripped backwards over the
chair in front of the desk. He went down, landing flat on his back with a solid
thump accompanied by the distinct whoof of expelled
air.
Chip skidded to a halt, his
rage abruptly chilled, appalled at what he’d just done.
“Lee, are you okay?” he asked
as he hurried to his friend’s side. His answer was a groan as Crane looked up
at him with a dazed expression. “Shit. And Doc’s ashore.”
“No need for the doctor,”
Crane managed to grunt, “just knocked the breath out of me.”
“Are you sure?” Crane was
blinking and slowly shaking his head like he was trying to focus. Chip made up
his mind - whether or not it got him in trouble, Lee needed somebody to
check him over for injury, especially since he already had bruises from the
mission they‘d just finished. With the boat’s doctor ashore, that meant one of
the corpsmen. He reached for the microphone beside his bunk.
Crane’s hand shot out and
caught his arm. “Chip, just help me up.”
Chip paused uncertainly. “Are
you really sure, Lee? You hit pretty hard.”
“You hit me pretty
hard, too,” responded the other with wry humor, “but I’ll survive. Call it
paybacks for Kowalski.”
“Doc and the Admiral are
going to notice more bruises, you know.”
“So I ran into a bulkhead.”
Chip snorted. “With your chin? Somehow I doubt they’ll swallow that.”
“As long as
they can’t prove it.” Crane
managed pull himself to his feet, but seemed slightly wobbly. Chip got a solid
grip on the captain’s arm and steered him to the edge of the bunk, where Crane
sank down with a sigh that could only be relief. “An ice pack would probably
help, along with some aspirin,” he admitted.
“For both of us,” said Chip.
Now that his adrenalin rush was wearing off, his hand was beginning to throb as
the bruised knuckles swelled. Crane arched an eyebrow at him, then reached out to lift Chip’s hand for a look.
“Chip, that
looks like you might have broken some bones.”
“It’s starting to feel like
it too,” he had to admit, for his fingers were starting to look a bit like
canned sausages. Good thing he wasn’t wearing any rings or by the time they got
to sickbay they’d have to be cut off. As much as he didn’t want anyone to know
what had just happened, it was obvious he was going to have to seek medical
treatment for his hand.
“I think maybe we’d better go
see the corpsman after all,” sighed Crane, openly speaking what was on Chip‘s
mind. “Who’s got the duty?”
Chip had to think for a
moment past the mounting pain, then grimaced. “Dallas
does.”
Crane grimaced as well and
Chip didn’t have to ask why; Dallas Somers was one of the boat’s worst gossips.
“It might be better to go the base hospital then. How do we get there?”
“We have a motor pool car
assigned to the boat for Admiral Nelson. Kowalski has some first aid training -
and he’s nothing if not discrete, Lee. He could drive and nobody else would
need to know until
later.” Chip had scant hope that they could
hide their injuries; the best they would be able to do was lie like dogs about
what really happened and hope nether Nelson nor the boat’s doctor pressed for
the truth. He almost grinned; it was reminiscent of some of the
escapades he and Lee had gotten into at the Academy. Curiously, the thought
pushed most of his resentment at Lee away - what had happened on the mission
was in many ways a repeat of the process the two had gone through at the
Academy on the way to becoming not just roommates but friends. Apparently there
were lessons they’d both needed to relearn about the dynamics of working
together.
Apparently Lee thought so
too, for the look he turned on his XO was one of amused resignation. “Do you
want to explain to Kowalski, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it,” said Chip as he
sank down on the bunk beside Lee. His hand was really starting to throb now.
Crane nodded, apparently
willing to trust his judgment now. “So what do we tell the base doctor?”
Chip looked down at his still
swelling hand. “Well, the last time I saw something like this aboard Seaview, it involved a watertight hatch that had
swung shut unexpectedly.”
“That might work,” admitted
Crane in a thoughtful tone, “for both of us.” He reached for the mike beside
Chip’s bunk. Clicking it to broadcast throughout the boat, he ordered, “Kowalski,
report to Mister Morton’s cabin immediately.”
There were almost immediate
footsteps in the corridor outside. Chip found his eyebrows rising as he glanced
over at Lee.
And found Lee looking back
with a somewhat sheepish expression.
“I did tell Kowalski that I
was coming to talk to you,” the captain admitted.
Chip could only sigh. He’d be
willing to bet that Ski had heard the whole fight, if not the hot words that
had passed between the two officers. He just hoped no one else had. At the
discrete knock on the door, he lifted his voice and said “Enter.”
Kowalski stood there, the
anxiety on his face washed away by relief as he saw the two officers sitting
together on the edge of the bunk.
“Sirs?”
“We need you to get Admiral
Nelson’s motor pool car and take us to the base hospital. We’ve had a little…
accident,” Chip told him. He could see Ski’s eyes dart from the darkening
bruise on Crane’s face to the right hand that Chip was carefully cradling
against his chest.
“I see, Sirs,” responded the
rating with an almost straight face. Chip knew he knew very well their injuries
weren‘t from any accident. “Should I get the corpsman…?”
“No!” said both officers in
perfect unison. At the seaman’s suddenly perplexed expression Morton felt
compelled to add, “Dallas has the duty.”
Kowalski’s
eyes widened in startled comprehension. Nobody on the boat wanted to be seen in sickbay by Dallas Somers.
Not that he wasn’t excellent in the performance of his duties, mind; he just
couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Yes, sir,” he said, “it’ll
take me maybe five minutes to get the car here.”
“We’ll meet you dockside
then, Ski,” Morton told him.
“You sure don’t need any help
getting ashore, sirs?” Kowalski hesitated at the door, looking back over his
shoulder.
Both officers shook their
heads with Morton adding, “If something comes up that we do, I’ll call for Pat
or Boots.” Kowalski nodded, satisfied, and disappeared down the corridor.
As the sounds of the seaman’s
footsteps faded down the corridor, Chip looked over at Crane and commented, “If
we don’t start now, we won’t be there by the time he has the car.”
“Right. And if he has to come back and help, the more likely
we are to be seen - and Admiral Nelson called,” added Crane.
Chip couldn’t help a shudder.
“The Admiral’s got enough of a burden already.” Crane nodded gingerly in
agreement. Together the two officers made it to their feet, and leaning on each
other for support, began the walk down the corridor towards the control room
and the ladder topside. Morton couldn’t help the wry smile that flitted across
his face as he imagined the sight the pair of them presented.
It was just like when
they’d been together at the Academy. He felt his spirits lighten - briefly -
before an appalling thought intruded. God, what would he do if something
happened to Lee? He felt his hard won peace crack and threaten to
implode back into the black hole he’d just climbed out of.
No. Chip Morton made up his
mind right then and there he’d do everything in his power to keep Lee safe. He
wasn’t going to another memorial service, not for another friend, not if he had
any say about it.
He didn’t think he’d survive
going through the experience again.