Return From Darkness
by Beth Kauffman
Revised version of my first Voyage to the Bottom of
the Sea story that appeared originally in Silent Running 3 in
1998
Captain
Lee Crane paced back and forth in front of the huge windows in the Observation
Nose of the submarine Seaview, an overwhelming feeling of foreboding
filling him. Something wasn’t right. He
could feel it. Admiral Nelson
along with Chief Sharkey had left for the mainland of Qualan over two hours ago
and no word had been received since their initial contact. He rubbed a hand through his jet black hair
and walked slowly to the periscope island.
“Chip,
do you see anything?” he asked his second in command, Chip Morton, for the
third time in the past fifteen minutes.
“Nothing,
Skipper. Just a few British and American
Navy ships, laying far off shore and a fishing boat docking at the pier. I don’t....”
“Captain!”
The tense voice of the radio operator interrupted Morton.
“What
is it, Sparks?” Crane asked as he ran to the radio shack.
“Sir,
I’m picking up radio transmissions from all around the Capital area.”
“Can
you understand what they’re saying?” Crane asked.
“No
sir. I can’t make it out but whatever
they’re saying must be pretty important judging from the tone. They sound…agitated.”
Crane
turned back towards the crew and scanned their faces, finally settling on one.
“Sarno,
come here on the double!”
Sarno
hurried to his captain’s side.
“Sir?”
“Sarno,
you’re fluent in the language and dialects of this area aren’t you?”
“Yes
sir. Most of them,” he replied.
“Can
you understand what these radio transmissions are about?” the captain asked,
giving him the headphones.
Holding
the headset to his ear, he listened intently for a moment. His face changed from one of concentration to
one of astonishment.
“Sir! They’re transmissions from the rebels. They’re talking about taking over the Capital
complex! Something about their plan
working.” He put the headset back to his
ear and listened for another moment.
Slowly he dropped his hand and stared at the captain the blood draining
from his face. “Sir, they say everyone
within the Capital complex is to be....be...”
“Be
what Sarno? Speak up."
“Sir,
they’re all to be killed. No matter who
they are!” he said, his hand shaking as he said it.
“Sparks! Try raising the admiral! Find out if he knows what’s going on!” Crane
yelled, his pulse racing as he pondered the danger Nelson was in.
“Tell
him it’s urgent, Sparks!”
Turning
back to the young man beside him, he said softly, “Sarno, keep listening. Find out where the rebel forces are if you
can and how close they are to the Capital itself.” And the admiral, he thought to
himself.
“Helm,
take us closer to the shore. All ahead
one third. Lay offshore 1000 feet.”
Worry
filled Crane as he sorted through all the possible scenarios. He had felt uneasy about this mission from
the first Nelson had told him of it and had argued with him up to the last minute,
even trying to convince Nelson to let him come along as back up. All to no avail. The only concession he would agree to was
taking Chief Francis Sharkey along. The
last night on shore before they’d left for Qualan, he’d had dinner with the
admiral at Nelson’s home, and he had laid out what their mission was.
“Lee,
the President has requested our attendance at the peace talks between the rebel
forces in Qualan and the government.”
“You
mean the President wants you at the talks,” Crane said with a slight
smile at his friend.
Nelson
picked up his coffee cup and smiled back.
“Something like that. Apparently
the rebels claim to have developed a weapon that can destroy their country ten
times over. I, along with other
representatives from around the world, have been asked by the Qualan president,
and the rebels, to attend the conference to determine whether that is true or
not. The rebels claim they will prove to
representatives from around the world of the might of this weapon. If what they say is true, the government of
Qualan may have no choice but to capitulate to the demands of the rebels.”
“How
could a band of rebels have developed a weapon the size they are intimating?”
Crane asked.
“Speculation
for the past 18 months has been that the rebels have been aided by outside
forces. Their weapons have taken an
upgrade; they seem to have acquired a small naval fleet consisting of a
destroyer and a few cruisers, plus their munitions seem to be endless.”
“Another
country is aiding them?” Crane asked, leaning forward worriedly.
“Exactly. It doesn’t take a genius to know the rebels
have no facilities to develop anything.
But, there are reports out of Asia that a small, obscure country with
ties to one of our biggest enemies has been building a facility in its
mountainous interior. Spy satellites
have watched the progress and the Pentagon has become increasingly worried of
what exactly they are doing.”
“What
has the Pentagon been doing other than becoming uneasy?” Crane asked.
Nelson
folded his hands and leaned forward.
“Several times over the past 8 months, agents have entered the country
across a neutral border. None of those
agents has been heard from again.”
Crane
whistled softly. “What’s the name of
this country?”
“It’s
a small obscure country as I said. It’s called Bahkan.”
“Bahkan. I’ve heard of that country before. Why do I know it?” he asked.
“Probably
because they were in the news a few months ago.
A large explosion rocked the country.
It was felt for several hundred miles around. Speculation again was they had set off some
kind of device of unknown origin.
Satellite images showed a vast section of the interior of the country
was devastated.”
“I
remember that!”
“Right.”
“How
would a country the size of this Bahkan be developing anything we should be
worried about?”
“Again,
conjecture is they’re receiving help, materials and intel from our friends-The
People’s Republic.”
“And
this Bahkan is helping the rebels?”
“That’s
what the intelligence community believes.”
“And
indirectly, The People’s Republic is aiding them.” Crane leaned back in his seat, a worried
expression on his face. “Admiral, if this all boils down to a plot by The
People’s Republic, you could be in a great deal of danger.”
Nelson
nodded. “Agreed. The US government has had that drawn to their
attention. Repeatedly. But if the rebels have a weapon such as the
one they described, we need to know. And the only way it seems we will know is
if we see their plans and possibly the actual weapon.”
“And
we can’t do that any other way than by sending you and other experts to this
conference?”
Nelson
spread his hands in a gesture of defeat.
“It would seem all our objections have been dismissed. If this is the only way, then we have no
choice.”
“And
what about your security? Yours and the
others? What steps are being taken?”
“A
contingent of Marines has been dispatched already to secure the area. Plus, the Qualan government has its own
forces ready and waiting in the Capital area.”
“That
hardly seems like enough protection!”
Nelson
raised one shoulder in a shrug and smiled.
“Nevertheless, it’s what we have.
Seaview will remain off the coast along with several warships
from our allies. Hopefully, we won’t
need assistance from the Marines or the ships, assuming any help would be
allowed,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his
face. “But if this supposed weapon
exists, it may be the catalyst to ending this war that has been waged for far
too long between the government and the rebels.”
“Captain! I have Admiral Nelson on the view screen,
sir,” Sparks called out urgently, pulling Crane back to the present. Hurriedly,
he walked to the view screen monitor.
Within seconds the harried face of Admiral Harriman Nelson came into
view. Jacket off and shirt sleeves
rolled up, he was calmly issuing orders to a few Marines standing near
him.
Nelson
turned to the screen and smiled wryly.
“Lee, I guess you’ve heard our news?”
“We
just picked up transmissions from the Capital district. Is it true?
Are you under attack?”
As
if in response to his question, a bomb exploded somewhere outside the building
the admiral was in. Shards of glass and
bits of wood showered Nelson as he tried to cover his head against the attack.
“We
had little warning this was in the offing,” Nelson shouted as more soldiers and
civilians ran past. “We were able to get
the Qualan president and most of his cabinet out before the attack actually
began. Where they are right now, I have
no idea. They were escorted by a
contingent of American and British Marines.”
Nelson
turned to issue more orders to more Marines carrying automatic rifles. “Cover
the far doors. Don’t let anyone past
you. And good luck. We’re going to need it.”
“We still have a few of our own contingent
here,” he said as he turned back to the screen.
“Several of the scientists were trying to escape but are trapped in the
lower levels from what I’ve heard. We’re
trying to reach them now but I’m not holding out much hope. The British and the
French have set up barricades along with the Qualan forces still loyal to the
government. We’ve been trying to set up
barriers on each floor, but it doesn’t seem to be having much effect on them. I don’t think we can hold out much longer.”
Just
then Chief Francis Sharkey, who had been quite proud to have been asked to
accompany the admiral as a sort of bodyguard, ran up carrying two M-16 rifles
and two ammo magazines. “This is all I
could find, sir.”
Taking
the offered gun, Nelson checked the magazine and busied himself for a moment
loading the gun. He looked up after a
moment and hesitated, an indefinable look passed over his face and then said,
“Lee, I want you to get the Seaview out of territorial waters. Once you’re safely at sea, contact Admiral Starke. He’s aboard the Harker. Tell him what’s happened, although he’s
probably already been informed, and await further orders.”
Crane
rebelled at the thought of leaving his best friend without trying to do
something to help. “Admiral, I can have
a squad of fifty men there in fifteen minutes.
We can.....”
“No
Lee. It would be a pointless waste of
lives. There’s nothing you can do. By the time you can get here…it will all be
over.” Nelson smiled apologetically at
Crane, knowing the anguish his friend was feeling. “It doesn’t look good this time, Lee,” he
said softly. “Now do what I said and get
my boat and my crew out of there and to safety.
We know the rebels have access to ships.
They may have added a few planes to their arsenal. They won’t hesitate to blow you out of the
water.”
Just
then a loud explosion rocked the room and Nelson was knocked to the floor,
blood pouring from a cut on his forehead.
“Admiral,
they’ve broken through the outer barricade!” an unseen voice cried.
The
admiral pulled himself from the floor and directed the men to set up defensive
positions. Nelson, Sharkey and the
others in the room began firing.
Crane
watched in horror, helpless as his friends fired round after round at the
attackers. For a moment, Crane thought
they might be able to hold out but then a machine gun blast hit the admiral and
Crane watched in horror as his best friend fell to the floor in a pool of
blood. Stunned, Crane saw Sharkey fall
to the floor beside his commanding officer and reach out a hand to him. He rose, his face contorted with anger and,
with a bellow of rage, yelled, “You animals!
You killed him! You no good....” Before he could complete his sentence, a shot
hit the Chief in the head and he fell to the floor beside the admiral and lay
still.
Silence
reigned on the submarine as they watched in disbelief the bodies of their
friend and commanding officer lie unmoving on the floor their blood flowing
onto the debris strewn floor. A single
rebel, his face covered by a bandanna came within view of the men on the Seaview. He walked to the bodies of Nelson and Sharkey
and kicked them with his boot. Turning
to the video monitor, he raised his gun and fired round after round at the view
screen.
Even
though the picture was gone, Crane continued to stare at the screen, trying
hard to absorb what had just happened, what he had just seen. He slowly shook his head. This mission was supposed to be one of
peace. And now his best friend was
dead? His body left in the hands of the
ones who had killed him? He struggled to
tamp down the grief and anger he felt well up inside him
“Captain!”
Kowalski shouted. “Radar’s picked up two
planes headed our way. They’re on an
attack course!”
“Mr.
Morton, clear the decks and prepare to dive,” Crane shouted, coming out of his
daze.
All
hands sprang to do the captain’s bidding, for the time being forgetting the
horror they had just witnessed.
“Sir,
all hatches closed and we’re ready to dive,” Morton yelled.
“Dive!” Crane ordered. “Take us down to a depth of 100 feet and come
to a heading of 290. Flank speed!”
The
men hurried to set the course.
“Keep tracking those planes.” Crane paced about the Control Room, nervously
twisting the ring on his finger.
“Sir! “I have propellers coming fast on an
intercept course off our starboard bow.
Cruiser class! Range 4000 yards!”
“Evasive
maneuvers!” Crane yelled. “Full left
rudder. Dive to 200 feet!”
Crane
reached for the microphone, grasping it tightly in his hands as he struggled
for control. “Attention all hands. We are under attack by the rebel forces of
the country of Qualan. Battle stations! All hands to duty stations! Stay alert!”
He allowed himself a brief smile as he watched the crew leap to obey.
“Any
contacts?” Crane asked as he leaned on the periscope island.
“Distant,
sir. 5000 feet. Port stern. Moving…away from us.”
“Away? Keep tracking. What about the planes?”
“No
contact, sir.
“What
the hell is going on?” Crane whispered to himself. He glanced down and realized he still held
the mic firmly in his hands. Placing it
back in its cradle, he glanced about the room at his crew... the admiral’s
crew. A wave of sadness washed over him
as he envisioned Nelson’s body lying amidst the rubble of what was supposedly
an attempt at peace. Gripping the rail
of the periscope island, he rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes,
trying hard to shut out the memory of the admiral’s bloody body lying in the
dirt
“They’ve moved off, sir. Wait…I’ve got propellers off starboard. Profiles as destroyer class.”
No
sooner were the words spoken than Sparks announced there was a call coming in
from Admiral Starke.
Crane
hurried to the radio shack to take the call.
“Admiral. This is Crane here. Do we have you to thank for getting those
cruisers off our backs?”
“Yes, you do Crane. And I expect payment when you reach
port. You can tell Harry for me that I
expect dinner at that little restaurant he keeps talking about. Anytime after you reach port will do,” Starke
said with a laugh.
The
smile faded from Crane’s face as he realized Starke didn’t yet know of the
admiral’s fate.
“Sir...
Admiral Nelson is...was...” Crane stopped, unable to bring himself to say the
words.
“Nelson’s
what Crane?” he barked. “He isn’t going
to back out of a free dinner he owes me for saving all your skins is he?”
“Admiral....
Admiral Nelson was still in the Capital district when the fighting broke
out. We were in contact with him via the
videophone when the rebels broke through their defensive fortifications.” Crane stopped, his throat suddenly
constricting. Maybe if he didn’t say the
words they wouldn’t be true.
“Crane? What are you saying? Where’s Nelson?”
Crane
took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then said the words he dreaded saying.
“We
saw him and another man from the Seaview cut down by machine gun fire
when the rebels broke through to where they were-to where the peace talks had
been. He’s dead, sir. At least we think
he is. ”
Crane’s
words were met by silence.
“I...
I can’t believe it,” Starke’s voice said softly. “I never thought anything could kill that
old.... We were roommates for a year at
Annapolis. He...” The radio went silent.
Crane
stared at the floor as he awaited Starke’s return.
The
long silence was abruptly ended by the terse orders Crane was given for getting
the Seaview headed out of territorial waters. Nothing more was said between the two
grieving officers and Crane, despite his objections, reluctantly gave the order
to set sail.
“Chip,
take the con will you. I’ll be in my
cabin. Call me if there are any more
contacts.” With that Crane strode
quickly from the room, struggling to maintain control.
The
tall, lean captain slowly walked the corridors towards his cabin, but stopped
in front of the door marked “Admiral Nelson”.
Reaching out a trembling hand, he ran his hand over the nameplate on the
door then opened it and walked slowly inside.
On
the admiral’s desk were papers and reports he had been working on when he had
left to go ashore. He ran his hands over
the desk and sat down on the chair.
Letting out a shuddering sigh, he placed his head in his hands and tried
to blot out the sight of the Admiral lying unmoving and seemingly dead, on the
debris filled floor.
How
could this happen? How could everything
go so wrong? And how could the United
States government be so mistaken about the intentions of the Qualan
rebels? It had all been a setup. But for what purpose? To kill a few Americans or to attempt to kill
their own President? It just didn’t make
any sense. None of it did.
The
picture of the admiral lying on the floor came back to him again. Slowly, he shook his head. His best friend was gone and there wasn’t
anything he could do. Except hope
perhaps. Hope that Nelson and Sharkey weren’t dead. Perhaps Sharkey had been wrong about Nelson
being dead. Maybe....
Crane
slammed his fist onto the desk and jumped as a picture fell over. He picked it up and, with a frown, looked at
the image of the admiral’s sister. She’d
had the photo taken recently and had given it to Nelson before they had
sailed. Nelson was not one for having
pictures on his desk, but this time for some reason, he had consented. Premonition?
A last look at his only living relative before leaving for his death?
No! He had to stop thinking that way. What was it Nelson always said? There is always hope. Even where there doesn’t seem to be.
Crane
left the cabin and headed back to the Control Room, determined to let the crew
see that he still had hope. After all,
Nelson had come out of worse situations alive.
Hadn’t he?
He
entered the Control Room and felt the heavy air of sorrow descend upon him.
“Listen
up!” Crane barked. “Until we hear otherwise, we will work on the
assumption that Admiral Nelson and Chief Sharkey are still alive.”
“Sparks,
get me Admiral Starke, now. I’ll take it
in my cabin.”
With
that, Crane strode quickly from the room and, amidst the open mouthed stares of
the crew, headed to his cabin, this time not even glancing at the admiral’s
cabin door.
After
taking the call, Crane returned to the Control Room.
“We
have been authorized to remain off Qualan waters until we have verification of
the fates of Admiral Nelson and Chief Sharkey,” Crane said tightlipped.
“We
have, however been denied permission to go ashore. Things are pretty confused right now and no
one at the Pentagon seems to know exactly who is in control. Until we know for sure one way or another, we
stay put.”
“Mr.
Morton, surface and put out lookouts.
Tell them to be alert.”
He
watched, satisfied as his crew hopped to do his bidding and was pleased to
notice the men seemed to have lost a bit of their sense of hopelessness. Hopefully, it was not misplaced
optimism. The next few days would tell.
*********************
Time
seemed to stand still for the crew of the Seaview. Waiting had never been easy, but awaiting
word of the fate of the admiral and Sharkey was becoming down right painful.
Crane
climbed to the conning tower and stood staring out across the water to the
misty shore line of Qualan. What was
going on there? Did anybody have
anything figured out yet? Why was there
no word? Had they found the admiral and
Sharkey yet?
Frustrated,
Crane slammed his fist onto the side of the tower and earned the startled looks
of the lookout. Grimacing, partly from
pain and partly from embarrassment, Crane descended the ladder and entered the
Control Room.
“Sparks,
are you sure the radio is in working order?” Crane asked his radioman.
“Yes
sir. I just ran a complete diagnostic on
the whole system. Everything is
fine. Except there are no messages
coming in.” The frustration was evident
in his words and tone.
Crane
turned from the radio and started toward the plotting table. Before he could get there though, Sparks
called out that there was a call coming in from Admiral Starke.
“I’ll
take it here, Sparks,” Crane said as he walked to the view screen.
“Admiral. Is there any word?” Crane asked anxiously as
the grim face of Admiral Starke came into view.
“Crane,
are you in the Control Room?” Starke asked.
“Yes
sir. Is there a problem?”
“Perhaps...
this should be taken in private, Captain.”
The
hopeful look died on Crane’s face. “Sir, any news you have of Admiral Nelson
and Chief Sharkey concerns my whole crew.”
“Very
well, Captain. The news, I’m afraid is
not good. A partial list of the dead and
injured was just released by the rebels.”
Starke paused and wiped a hand over his weary face.
“Both
Nelson and Sharkey are on the list of known dead I’m afraid,” he said without
looking up.
Crane
and his crew stared at the admiral’s face with unbelieving stares.
The
captain’s mouth moved but no words came from it, his grief threatening to
overwhelm him. He closed his eyes
briefly.
“Are
they sure?”
“As
sure as they can be about anything right now.
The rebels apparently were familiar with Harry and his work. It seems they expressed ‘great regret at the
loss of such a great man’ to the President and apologized for their actions
that had inadvertently caused the deaths of so many foreigners. Empty words as far as I am concerned,” said
the admiral, his voice rising in anger.
Regaining
his composure, Starke looked up at the anguished face of Crane.
“I’m
sorry, Captain. I really am. I... I know how close you two were. I wish I could have delivered better
news. You and your crew have been
ordered back to Santa Barbara where a memorial service is being planned. My condolences to you and your crew,” Starke
said abruptly.
Before
Starke could terminate the transmission, Crane asked what was on the minds of the
men.
“Sir,
what about the.... their... bodies? We
aren’t just leaving them there, are we?”
Starke
rummaged through some papers on his desk as if looking for something. Finally, when he could stall no longer said
in a barely controlled voice, “Yes, Captain.
As a matter of fact we are. Most
of the buildings in the Capital area were torched by the rebels, including the
building the talks were held in. Not
much is left of anything there. Finding
bodies is...is not on the Qualan government’s, or the rebel’s, priority list
right now. Getting the country back to
some semblance of order is, or, as close to order as is possible when your
country is torn apart by civil war.”
“The
injured, and there are many, have been released to hospitals and into the hands
of their individual countries. However,
no bodies have as yet been released and we have been told to not expect any in
the near future.” Starke’s face began to
show red as he tried to control his anger.
“Word has also come that the government forces are in the process of
taking back a substantial part of the country, however the Capital district is
still a war zone. We have been requested
by the Qualan government to stay out.
Neither side seems to be in control right now. We’ve been informed that any bodies that can
be identified will be returned to their country. If they can be identified.” Starke’s voice
began to soften as he spoke.
“Otherwise…”
“Sir,
otherwise what?” Crane asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming.
“Otherwise,
they will be buried in a…mass grave, Captain,” he finished with tightly
controlled emotion. “I’m sorry.”
“Sir! We can’t just leave them there! We can’t leave them there to…Please! I can have a party of men ready and in the
Capital within the hour.”
“I…I’m
sorry, Crane. You have no idea how sorry
I am but we’ve been ordered to…to stand down.
We’re to take no other action here.”
“Sir! Please…”
“I’m
sorry, Crane,” Starke said, a profound sadness filling his face. “Do you think this is what I want? If it were up to me I would gather my own men
and…” Starke stopped abruptly before he
said too much, his face red from the effort.
“Harry is…was my friend long before he ever met you. I…can’t…,” Starke lowered his head and Crane
could see the effort it was taking to remain in control of his emotions in
front of Crane.
“We…you
have your orders. I expect you to carry
them out. Harry would expect you to
carry them out. I’ll meet you back in
Santa Barbara.”
Sir,”
Crane said, his voice barely audible.
“Nelson’s sister, Edith.... has...anyone notified her yet?”
With
a grimace Starke answered, “Yes. She was
waiting at the Institute with Nelson’s secretary Angie when the word came
through. They were both upset to say the
least. Edith will be ok, Crane. She is Harry’s sister. Comes from good stock. Get your boat under way, Captain. Meet you in Santa Barbara in a few
days.” With that, Starke’s face
disappeared from the screen.
Crane
stood for a few moments staring at the screen where only a moment before he had
heard the words he had dreaded hearing.
“Mr.
Morton, get us under way. Set course for
home,” the captain said quietly. With
that he walked slowly from the room, knowing nothing would ever be the same
again.
The
next few days were tense, quiet affairs aboard the submarine. Each man was seemingly lost in his own
thoughts. Routines continued. Watches were kept, but the life of the ship
seemed to be missing. And it was. Two of their comrades were dead...
murdered. There would be no graves to
mark their final resting place. Only a
plaque to say that they had ever been.
***********************
Several
days later the submarine arrived at the Nelson Institute docks. The usual routines were followed and the crew
made ready for shore leave without the customary exuberance and
expectation. Their thoughts were focused
on the memorial service they had been informed would take place the following
morning.
“Chip,
are all crew members ready for leave?”
Crane asked his executive officer.
“Yes
sir. All stations report they are on
stand-by status. They’re awaiting
orders.”
“Tell
the men they are free to leave. A
skeleton crew will remain aboard until the memorial service tomorrow
morning. They will be relieved of their
watch in time to be at the service. Do
the men know where and when the service will be?” Crane asked wearily.
“Yes
sir. They’ve been informed the service
will be held on the front lawn of the Institute.”
“Good. Let them go then, Chip.”
Morton
informed the men they were free to go and then turned back to his friend.
“When
will you be heading out, Lee?”
“Soon. I want to check a few things before I leave,”
Crane said quietly, avoiding his friend’s stare.
“You
can’t avoid seeing her you know,” Chip said, suddenly pretending interest in a
navigation chart in front of him.
“Who?” Crane asked absently.
“You
know who. Edith. Word came two hours ago that she was in the
admiral’s office. Waiting.”
Crane
threw down the log book he had been pretending to read and stared at Morton.
“What
am I supposed to say?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air. “Sorry, but your only living relative is dead
and you can’t even bury him?”
“How about ‘I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?’ Just be there. That’s all she needs.”
When
Crane remained unmoving, Chip picked up his jacket and headed for the
ladder. “I’ll be at the Institute if you
need me.” And with that he was gone.
Chip
was right. Crane knew he was right but
something inside of him refused to give in and follow him to the
Institute. One of the hardest things he
had ever had to do was to tell a Navy wife her husband wasn’t coming home
again. Or a grieving mother her son was
gone. It was one of the worst parts of the job.
Now when he should have been able to avoid that duty, he was right back
there.
What
made him hesitate? Edith was not only
the admiral’s sister but his close friend.
Why couldn’t he bring himself to face her?
“Because
I’m a coward!” the captain yelled to his deserted ship. “A coward for having left my best friend at
the hands of those bloody murderers!
There should have been something I could do! Something! Anything!” Crane swiped his hand across the plotting
table and scattered charts and notes across the room. “I should have…should have tried to get him
back…get his…” He fell to his knees and felt, not for the first time, hot tears
roll down his cheeks.
The
memory of the admiral’s body lying amid the debris came back to him again as it
had every day since the attack. The
horror he felt at the memory was like a vise around his middle. He relived each moment as they had watched
the screen and the attack knowing there was nothing they could do. No help they could offer. Just be silent witnesses to their deaths.
Crane
raised his head and looked about at the now empty Control Room, the empty
ship-his friend’s creation-and remembered the admiral’s last words, words of
concern for his crew and boat.
There
hadn’t been time to do anything other than watch. No time for rescue parties or help. No time for anything but watching. The admiral had known that, and had known
what any attempt at rescue would mean to the men. He had accepted it, just as he must
now accept it. As much as he didn’t want
to believe it, he had to. And he had to
find a way to come to terms with it. He
had to find a way to deal with the grief he felt at his loss.
Wiping angrily at his eyes, Crane looked about the Control Room once more and reached for his jacket. Nodding his head in final acceptance, he climbed the ladder to the conning tower and looked about at the activity. Seamen scurried about, loading and unloading while guards stood their watches. Crane bowed his head for a moment, then walked across the gang plank and began to walk.
A
few minutes later he found himself in the Institute itself and outside the
admiral’s office, not quite sure how he had gotten there. He hesitated a moment then opened the outer
door. Angie Wood, Nelson’s secretary,
sat at her desk, her head propped on her hands and her eyes red from
crying. She looked up, and then jumped
to her feet.
“Lee! Oh Lee.
I’m so glad to see you!” she said as she rushed to him.
He
reached out and grabbed her in a tight hug and he felt her hot tears on his
cheek, her sobs shaking her. The two were
content for a moment to share their grief with each other.
“I’m
sorry,” she said softly as if it were her fault. “I know how hard...” she broke away from him
and turned to face the row of windows that lined the outer office walls, her
shoulders shaking.
Crane
walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. She reached up, grabbed one and grasped
it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I...”
“It’s
all right, Lee. I understand. We all needed some time to ourselves,” Angie
said as she turned back to face him, her eyes still wet with tears. “I just can’t believe he’s really gone. It just doesn’t seem possible. He…I’m never going to see him again. Am I?”
Forcing
his voice to be steady, he shook his head.
“No. We’re…we’re not. He’s…”
“Right. Well, we just have to get through it then,
don’t we? And hope the pain eases. Well…uh…Edith…Edith is in his office,” she
said quietly, nodding towards the office door.
“Chip is with her. He’s been there
for awhile.”
Crane
turned towards the door and stared at it for a moment.
“She
won’t bite you,” Angie said with a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. “She just needs to see you, Lee.”
“I
know. I know. I just....” he left the sentence unfinished.
“You
just don’t know what to say, right?”
“What do I say?” he said turning to
her, anger on his face. “Sorry, but I
left your brother behind? Sorry, but I
was only following orders? Sounds rather
hollow, don’t you think?” he asked, his voice rising.
“All
she needs is to see you. She doesn’t
want explanations or excuses. She just
wants to see her brother’s best friend... you Lee.” Angie reached out a hand and laid it on his
arm. “Maybe so she can share a bit of
her grief. She hasn’t cried since word
came that the admiral was…was gone. It’s
as if she’s holding it all in. Not
willing to let it out. Maybe she doesn’t
believe it. I don’t know. I’ve been with her almost every minute since
we first heard the reports.”
“You’re
right. I know you’re right. I’m being a coward,” he said quietly as he
put his hand on top of hers and squeezed.
“No,
Lee. You’re being a sensitive human
being who doesn’t want to face the truth any more than the rest of us,” she
said, her voice breaking slightly.
Reaching
a shaking hand out, Crane gently wiped the tears from Angie’s cheeks,
straightened his jacket and tie and with a small smile at her, walked towards
the office door. He knocked softly and
opened the door.
Chip
was sitting on the admiral’s desk watching Edith as she stood in front of the
window that faced the docks. At the
sound of his knock, she turned and put a hand to her mouth.
“Lee. I....I...Oh Lee. I can’t believe it. This time he’s really gone, isn’t he?” she
asked softly as she walked across the room to him.
Crane
opened his arms and Edith fell into them.
He held her tightly and nodded as Chip rose from his seat and left the
room.
“I’m
sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I... I
just...” he struggled for the right words.
“You
just couldn’t bear to face me. Right?”
she asked as she pulled from his embrace.
She looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “I understand you know. You feel guilty. Helpless.
The same way Harry always did when he had to inform someone of their
loved one’s death. You aren’t any different
you know,” she said, walking across the room to her brother’s desk. She fingered the papers lying there and
looked up.
“I
don’t blame you or the President or even the rebels. It happened.
Nothing is going to change that.
Is it?”
Crane
turned to face her. “No. Nothing’s going to change that.”
She
nodded, then sat down at the desk.
“Well. The memorial is set for
tomorrow morning. I didn’t let them plan
anything too elaborate. I know Harry
would have hated that,” she said softly as she rubbed her hands over the desk’s
finish. “He never wanted to be buried in
Arlington either. I guess that isn’t
something I need to worry about now.... now that...” Edith waved her hand in the air and covered
her mouth with it. “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be able to think straight
right now.”
Lee
walked behind the desk and sat on the edge.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. “You’re doing just fine. Perhaps a little too fine. Angie says you haven’t even allowed yourself
to cry yet. Don’t you think...?”
“I
think I know myself better than you do, Captain,” she interrupted, rising from
the chair. “I will grieve when I feel I
can do so without...without...”
“Without
losing control?” Crane said as he reached for her hand.
Edith
stopped and looked at him. She shook her
head slowly and sat down again. “I don’t
know. Maybe. I can’t seem to think beyond tomorrow. Beyond all those people and the words of
condolences and everyone telling me ‘what a great loss it is’. As if I don’t already know that. I don’t know if I can endure it, Lee.”
“You
can. Because I’ll be there and Angie
will be there and Chip. The whole crew
will be there. You can get through it
because we’ll get through it together.”
Crane stroked her cheek with one finger and Edith grabbed on to it as if
it were a lifeline. She looked up at him
with teary eyes. “Stay here with me for
a little while. Just for a little while,
Lee.” With that the tears she had held
back came forth like a tidal wave, washing over her again and again. And through each wave, Lee held on to her to
steady her.
***********************
The
memorial the next day was a rather short affair considering the stature of the
man they were memorializing. The Seaview’s
crew, researchers and employees from the Institute gathered on the lawn joining
several representatives from the Armed Forces, a few members of Congress and
the President himself, whom Harry had considered a friend. Speeches were made, eulogies given and
through it all Edith, Lee and the others seemed to come through somehow. The missing man formation was flown over the
proceedings by Navy jets and it was hard to find a dry eye anywhere. The admiration and respect accorded Admiral
Harriman Nelson was evident. The world
had lost a great man and the world mourned, silently and in its own way.
The
next few weeks crawled by at a snails pace.
The admiral’s will was read, putting control of the Institute jointly
into the hands of Edith Nelson, Captain Lee Crane and Commander Chip Morton and
asking Admiral Jiggs Starke to temporarily be advisor to the three. The two young officers were rendered
speechless by the admiral’s bequest. Repairs
were made to the Seaview and she was made ready for sailing. The only problem
was, she seemed to have no captain and no set course.
***********************
“Crane,
what is the meaning of this?” Admiral Starke bellowed, waving a piece of paper
in the air two weeks after the will was read.
“I
think it should be clear, sir. It’s my
resignation,” Crane said without looking him in the eye. “I wasn’t sure who to submit it to in view of
the fact that the admiral isn’t...”
“Accept
it!” Starke yelled. “You know darn well he would never have
accepted it! And neither will I!”
Starke
rose from his chair and circled around to the front of the desk and seated
himself once more on the edge.
“Crane,
look,” he said in a quieter tone. “I
know how you’re feeling. We all are
feeling.... uncertain. Angry even. But we still do our jobs. This resignation is unacceptable. Harry wanted you to continue on with his
legacy. How can you turn your back on
what he wanted?”
“With
all due respect sir, it doesn’t matter whether you accept it or not. I resign my command of the Seaview
effective immediately. I would suggest
Commander Morton be given command. He
deserves it.” As he said the words, he felt as though a knife was being twisted
in his gut and he felt guilt engulf him.
“Whether
he deserves it or not doesn’t matter.
Nelson put you in charge of his boat. He wanted you and Morton to take his
place.” Starke got up and walked to the
window that overlooked the harbor. He crossed
his arms behind him and rocked on his heels, staring out over the port.
“I
understand how you feel, Lee. Believe
me, I do. It’s hard to accept the fact
that he isn’t going to come rushing through that door ever again all excited
about some new find or some new project.
However, we owe it to him...to Edith, to continue on. And that’s what I intend to do,” he said
turning back to give Crane a hard stare.
“Nelson trusted you. He…he cared a great deal about you. How can you just turn away? You know he wouldn’t want that.”
Pain
tore through him as he listened to Starke’s words. “Sir, I would never do
anything to hurt the Institute or Edith or the admiral. But I can’t sail on the Seaview
again. And I can’t be at the
Institute. At least not right now. It’s…its too hard. I…I’m sorry.”
Starke
stared at the young captain, knowing the anguish he was feeling at the loss of
his friend and mentor. He felt the same
pain. Harry had been like a brother to
him and his death had hit him a lot harder than he had expected. He watched the young man whose head hung
down, his eyes staring without blinking at the carpet. Shadows marked his face and it was obvious
sleep had been elusive to the young man.
“All
right, Crane. Have it your way. I will put Morton in temporary command
of the Seaview. Give it some
time. Think it over. Allow the wounds to heal. Then return, and either take command back, or
give it up. Agreed?”
With
a short nod and a stab of remorse, he said, “Agreed.”
The
captain turned and headed for the door.
Before he could reach it though, the admiral’s voice stopped him.
“Crane,
do you know how Harry really felt about you?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Without
turning around, Crane closed his eyes against the pain he felt flow through him
and answered softly, “Yes sir, I do. It
was the same way I felt about him.” With
that the tall, dark haired captain opened the door and strode from the office.
******** Three Months Later********
The
dingy bar was filled with the late Friday evening crowd. Smoke hung over the room like a heavy fog and
the noise had reached almost unbearable levels.
One table, set back in the corner of the hazy room was occupied by a
dark haired, leather-jacketed man. His
companion was a blonde haired woman who was on the verge of boredom.
“Lee,
when are you taking me sailing?” she pouted.
“Soon
baby. Soon,” he said distractedly as he
slowly swirled the amber liquid in his glass and stared at it as if it were the
most important thing in the world.
“We’ll go soon. Maybe in a few days.”
“You
said that yesterday. And the day before
that. I get the feeling you’re not
really here. In fact, you never seem to
be “here” at all,” she said, her voice rising an octave.
“Look,
Julie, I...”
“The
name, Mr. Hot Shot Submarine Captain, is Cindy!
And I think we have sailed this ship as far as it is going!” With that she rose and stalked from the bar.
Crane
sighed as he stared after her. He hadn’t
been fair to her or the other women he had met in the last weeks of traveling
around. Weeks? It had been months now-three months, two
weeks and three days.
He
had traveled around the country visiting every old friend, cousin and
acquaintance he could think of the past few months. Having run out of places to go he had
returned to Santa Barbara a few days ago.
The town was the same. He
wasn’t. An emptiness seemed to fill him. Having thought long and hard, he had decided
to relinquish his command of the Seaview. Where he once felt excitement at the prospect
of a new cruise, a new mission, a new discovery, he now only felt
distaste. The thought of walking through
his beloved boat knowing the admiral wouldn’t be there twisted his insides
unbearably. He’d decided to stay on, at
least for now, at the Institute to help Edith but he wasn’t sure how long he
was going to be able to go there every day knowing the one man he had admired
the most in the world was dead, probably buried in some unmarked grave with
other’s whose countries had abandoned them.
Pain
tearing at him again, he picked up his drink and raised it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone
come through the doors of the run down, dark bar and frowned as he saw who it
was.
The
blonde haired newcomer scanned the room quickly, then, recognizing his quarry,
advanced towards Crane’s table.
“Lee.
It’s been a while. How are you?” Chip Morton asked, seating himself uninvited
at the table.
“Fine
Chip. Just fine. And you?
The crew?”
Chip
dropped his eyes to the pock-marked table.
“Fine Lee. So’s the
Institute. And Edith,” he said finally
raising his eyes to search his friend’s face.
“You look like hell.”
“Don’t
pull any punches, Chip. Tell me what you
really think,” he said sarcastically.
After
a prolonged silence, Crane looked up, anger in his eyes. “How did you find me?”
“I
have my ways,” Morton said with a slight smile.
Lee
looked up into his friend’s eyes and saw that the past months hadn’t taken the
edge of grief from Chip’s face any more than it had taken it from his own. Circles under his eyes told him that sleep
was not Chip’s friend any more than it was his.
“So
who saw me and reported back to you?”
Sighing,
Morton drummed his fingers on the table.
“Riley. He said he saw you here.”
“And
you couldn’t wait to come find me?
Couldn’t wait to try to talk me into coming back?”
“No. Actually I came with a message from Admiral
Starke. He heard you were back and wants
to see you. When Riley said he had seen
you here, I thought I would save him the job of tracking you down. He wants to see you tomorrow morning 0900. He said it was urgent.”
“He
did. Well, I want to see him too. I hope you like being the Seaview’s
captain, Chip because I’m recommending you be made permanent captain.”
Chip
stared at his friend in astonishment.
“You’re giving up command permanently?” he asked dumbfounded.
“Yes.”
“How
can you just dismiss what the admiral wanted?
You know how he felt about you!
He trusted you! To turn your back
on…!”
“That’s
enough, Mr. Morton! You can just
stop. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t be there. I can’t be what he wanted. I can’t.”
The
silence between the two men went on for a few more minutes until Crane couldn’t
take it. He looked up and saw his friend
staring at him, something undefined in his eyes.
Deciding
he didn’t want to know what the look was, he rose, put down some bills on the
table and said softly, “I guess I’d better go see what is so important Starke
had to send you all the way down here to fetch me.”
Placing
a hand on Chip’s shoulder for a second, he squeezed and walked off, hoping Chip
would try to understand what he felt and what he wanted. And that he wouldn’t judge him too
harshly. He was doing a very good job of
that on his own.
***********************
At
0900 the next day, Crane knocked on the mahogany door to Admiral Jiggs Starke’s
office and waited.
“Come
in!” barked a voice from within.
Crane
opened the door and walked into the office where only a few months ago he had
tried to relinquish command of the ship he had loved commanding. Now he was back to make it permanent.
“Sir. I heard you wanted to see me.” He stood at attention while Starke looked
through some photographs on his desk, slowly shaking his head. Then suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone,
looked up.
“Crane. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in. I...uh...I have something to show you,” he
said rising from his chair and coming towards Crane, who still stood at
attention.
“Oh. At ease, Captain. Sorry.
I seem to be at a loss right now.”
“Sir,
if it is all right with you I need to say something first. I’ve come to a decision about my
command. I have decided to...”
“Please,
Crane. Listen to what I have to say
first. Ok? Then you may talk. Please, sit.”
He indicated a chair in front of the desk.
“I
have something here I want you to see before you decide to give up your command
of the Seaview. Yes. Don’t look so surprised. I know what your decision is. Or should I say was.”
Starke
took a seat on the edge of the desk and handed a packet of photos to Crane.
“I
want you to look at these photos. They
were taken by an operative we have working within the Qualan rebel force. They were taken approximately two months ago
and recently smuggled out of the country by forces loyal to the Qualan
President. Look them over carefully
before you decide what you want to do, Crane.”
“Sir,
looking at some pictures taken by a CIA or ONI operative isn’t going to change
my mind about my future,” Crane said beginning to rise from his chair.
“Well
I disagree, so humor me, huh?”
Looking
through the pictures quickly, Crane frowned impatiently.
“I
don’t see how a bunch of photos of Qualan refugees and....” Crane stopped in mid sentence and stared at
one particular photograph with an incredulous look then looked at the next and
the next with increasing excitement. He
slowly raised his eyes to Admiral Starke’s and saw a hint of a smile begin to
play around the edges.
“Admiral...
I... I don’t believe it. I...it’s... are
these for real?” he finally asked.
“We
believe them to be, yes. However, they
were taken two months ago. Whether
they’re still alive or not...?”
Crane
looked down at the pictures in his hands and slowly shook his head. Staring back at him was the face of Admiral
Nelson. Or what appeared to be
Nelson. The picture was grainy and the
face was gaunt, but the features were Nelson’s.
The other two pictures were of someone resembling Sharkey, and Nelson
and Sharkey together seated on the ground.
“Our
operative came upon a camp set in the thickest part of the jungle on the Qualan
mainland,” Starke continued. “He thought
the man in question was Nelson but wasn’t sure. If you look at some of the other pictures
there, you will notice a few other familiar faces.” Starke sorted through the pictures and threw
several down on the desk.
“Augustus
MacGregor, British General in charge of Nuclear Development, Colonel Jean De Mond,
in charge of his country’s weapons research lab and General Ivan Kazov in
charge of Russian missile development.
All brilliant men and all duped into believing that the rebel forces of
Qualan had somehow developed a weapon of fierce destructive power. And all there at the request of the Qualan
government to analyze the threat from the rebel forces.” Starke went back to his desk and sat down.
“And all on the known dead list issued by the rebels.”
“What
they want with Nelson and the others, I suppose, is easy to guess,” Starke
resumed.
“Information,”
Crane said slowly.
“Yes,
but what kind? The only explanation we
can come up with is they either want help developing some kind of new weapon or
they want them to tell the location of our underwater missile sites.”
“Which
they will never give them. The help or
the sites.” Crane rose from his chair and walked to the window. “How do we get them out of there?”
“We,
Captain? I thought you were resigning?”
Crane
turned away from the window and walked to Starke’s desk. Placing his hands on the desk he said, “Let’s
not play games, Admiral. You know there
is no way I would resign knowing that he’s possibly still alive and in trouble. You knew that before I even got here. Now...do you have a plan for getting them out
of there?”
“As
a matter of fact, Captain, I do. Or at
least the CIA does. I assume you and
your crew would like to be instrumental in any rescue attempt?”
Crane
rose to his full height and stared down at the admiral. “Try and stop us, Admiral. You will have a full mutiny on your
hands. And there will be no
“attempt”. We will get them out.”
***********************
Rain
fell from the black sky in torrents and humidity hung in the air like a
suffocating blanket. The jungle
surrounding the compound was dense, dark and filled with the night sounds of
jungle creatures.
A
man dressed in what once had been khakis, walked quickly across an open area of
the encampment, avoiding the worst of the muddy puddles that had formed and
stopped outside a long, narrow building.
In his hands he carried two bowls containing a whitish mixture. Before entering the building, he dumped the
contents of the one bowl into the other and, tossing aside the empty bowl, went
inside.
The
interior of the building was dark and oppressive with two rows of bunks down
either side of the structure. The man
made his way to one bunk where an older man lay tossing lightly in his
sleep.
Leaning
down, he placed a hand on the sleeping man’s forehead and swore softly. The fever was back. He shook his head in dismay. Kneeling beside the bunk, he reached out a
hand and gently shook the other man.
“Admiral? Admiral?
It’s me, Sharkey. You awake,
sir?” he called softly. “I brought you
something to eat. They’re being generous
today, sir. Extra portions. I even think I saw a few pieces of meat. At least, I think it’s meat,” he said as the
admiral slowly woke up. Nelson turned to
look at Sharkey and then down at the offered bowl. Smiling slightly, he looked back up into
Sharkey’s face.
“Extra
portions, eh? When have you ever known
our “hosts” to provide extra portions?
And just where, may I ask, is yours?”
“Mine,
sir? I ate already. With the others,” he said gesturing out the
door.
“Hmmm. Really, Francis, you don’t expect me to
believe that, do you?” Nelson said as he slowly sat up. Grimacing in pain he held the bowl out to the
Chief. “Take some.”
“Sir,
I told you, I already ate.”
“Yes,
I know what you said. I appreciate the
gesture, but giving me your food is not something I will accept. Now eat.
That’s an order.”
Grudgingly,
Sharkey reached for some of the food.
Knowing how weak the admiral was, he thought giving him extra food might
help. He should have known he wouldn’t
get away with it.
The
past four months had been sheer hell.
After the attack, he had awakened alone in a dark room that smelled of
garbage and death with the biggest headache he could ever remember having. The bullet that had hit him in the head had,
thankfully, only grazed him. Still it
had taken three days of almost non-existent care before he could even attempt
to sit up. After that, the days began to
run together. His constant questions of
where he was and where the admiral was were met with silence or a slap.
Until
one day he awoke to find three men in the room with him. They bound and gagged him, put a cloth sack
over his head, dragged him down some steps and threw him into the back of a
truck.
The
drive seemed to take forever over roads so rutted they may not have been roads
at all. Eventually he had arrived at the
camp set in the jungle and was put into a small room where he was kept for
another few days and interrogated.
When
he had finally been let out, he had found himself in a prison camp. There were a few inmates sequestered with
him. Most were Qualanese, but there were
some Europeans and a few Americans. A
few of them Sharkey recognized as having been at the peace talks with the
admiral and himself.
He
had begun searching through the buildings in the hope that the admiral had somehow
survived the attack as he had. But he
met with failure. Assuming the admiral
was dead and that he was also presumed dead, he had begun to give up hope.
Approximately
two weeks after he had arrived at the camp, a truck had arrived. One man, whom he recognized as a high ranking
British General named MacGregor, got out of the truck slowly. Sharkey remembered him from the “peace talks”
as a friend of Admiral Nelson’s.
Sharkey
watched as MacGregor blinked in the bright sunlight then turned back to the
truck to help someone else down.
The
man that got out was gaunt and needed help getting down from the truck. With a shock, Sharkey recognized the man with
MacGregor was Admiral Nelson. He looked
as though he had aged ten years. Blood
stains were evident on his uniform shirt-one on his chest on the right and one
low on his side on the left-and he leaned heavily on MacGregor as he walked
from the truck. His left leg was heavily
bandaged and he was obviously in a great deal of pain. Coming out of his stupor, Sharkey started
towards the pair only to be barred by the guards.
The
two prisoners were led into a building everyone in the camp had taken to
calling the “hole”. Every one of them
had been in that building at one time or another: it was the place where
interrogations took place.
Sharkey
turned from the scene with a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew what was in store for the two men and
he clenched his hands in anger at his impotence.
Four
hours later, the admiral and MacGregor were dragged unconscious into the
building occupied by Sharkey and most of the non-Qualanese prisoners. Sharkey and the others had assumed a routine
when one of them returned from “the hole” and they all fell into it now, doing
all they could to help the newest prisoners.
It
had been ten hours until the admiral had regained consciousness. It was with surprise and delight that Nelson
found Sharkey leaning over his cot.
That
had been over three months ago
“Where
did you go?” Nelson asked, breaking the train of thought the Chief had taken.
Looking
up with a startled expression, Sharkey put on a smile and shrugged his
shoulders. “Oh, just pondering the past
few months is all.”
“That’s
all? I’d say that was more than enough
for one night,” Nelson said with a short laugh as he shifted his position on
the cot. He reached a hand down and
rubbed his injured leg slowly.
“I
wish there was something I could do for that,” Sharkey said as he gestured
towards the leg.
Nelson’s
other injuries had healed slowly but the leg refused to mend, perhaps due to
the constant pounding the guards gave it when Nelson was a tad too slow in
obeying.
“It
will heal. Once we’re out of here,”
Nelson said as he tried to rise from the bunk.
“You
don’t really think anyone is going to rescue us do you?” Sharkey said as he
reached down to help the admiral.
“Yes. Yes, I do.
I have to believe that.” He
grimaced at the pain in his leg.
“Perhaps
we’ll be rescued. Perhaps we’ll have to
make our own escape. But one way or
another I believe we will get out of here,” he said as he limped across the
room and looked out the door at the misty compound.
“Where
is everyone anyway?” Nelson asked, changing the subject.
Sharkey
walked across the room to stand behind the Admiral.
“They’re...
at the cemetery,” Sharkey said softly.
Nelson’s
hands clenched on the door frame.
“Who?”
he asked softly.
Sharkey
hesitated a moment. “MacGregor.”
Nelson
sagged against the door as he absorbed the news.
“How?”
he asked.
“He
was put in the “oven” yesterday while you were being interrogated by
Malek. He was in there most of the
day. When they finally released him last
night, he was almost dead. We brought
him back here but he died early this morning.
I’m sorry, sir. I know he
was...was a friend.”
Nelson
slammed his hand into the door frame and scanned the compound area until his
eyes came upon what the other prisoners had taken to calling the oven. It was a small box, approximately six feet by
six feet with barely enough head room to sit up in. It was topped and encased in metal which
gathered the hot, oppressive heat of the jungle and magnified it. Anyone incurring the camp commander Malek’s
wrath ended up there. How long one
stayed depended upon the degree of Malek’s anger. Apparently, MacGregor had enraged him.
Slowly
turning his eyes from the oven, Nelson’s eyes narrowed in anger as he looked up
on the commander’s porch. Commander
Malek stood there staring back at him with a smug smile. With a little salute to Nelson, he laughed
and disappeared back inside his quarters.
“If
I only had a knife,” muttered Nelson as he turned away from the doorway and
limped back into the dark room.
***************
In
another part of the Qualan jungle, not far from the coast, a group of five men
stood crouched in a dense thicket of vines and vegetation.
“Where
are they,” Crane muttered. “They should
have been here by now,” he said as he checked his watch for the third time in
the past minute.
“They’ll
be here, sir. They’re probably just
being careful,” Kowalski said.
“You’re
right, I know. It’s just... after all
this time...I just want to get going.
Find them. And make them pay.”
Suddenly,
a slight sound broke the stillness of the night. The men of the Seaview turned at the
sound and raised their rifles in the direction of the noise.
“Hey! Easy there!
We’re friends. Put those things
down,” a voice said from the darkness.
“Come
out in the open where we can see you,” Crane called.
Two
men dressed in ragged rebel rags came into the open. Both men were dark-skinned and appeared to be
natives. Morton and Kowalski raised
their rifles to cover the men.
“Easy
man. We’re friends,” the leader said,
raising his hands in front of him.
“You
have a code name?” asked Crane.
“You
really take this spy stuff seriously don’t you?”
When
he received no reply but a stony stare, the leader shrugged his shoulders and
in a bored way said, “Chicago.”
Kowalski
and Morton lowered his rifles at the captain’s impatient wave.
“I’m
Captain Lee Crane of the Seaview.
These are my men Commander Morton, Seamen Kowalski, Patterson and
Barton.
“I
know who you are, Captain. I really
don’t need a rundown of the names in your party. My name is Lombok. This is Trais,” he said gesturing to his
companion and moved off the trail and back into the shadows.
“We
have some work to do and I suggest we get to it. We have a long road ahead of us and not much
time to do it in. How much do you know?”
“Not
much. Just that our men were captured at
the peace talks and are being held somewhere on the mainland. We don’t even know if they’re still
alive. Do you have any information on
them? Are they alive?” Crane asked
anxiously.
“Peace
talks,” Lombok said derisively. “They
weren’t peace talks, Captain. They were
a diversionary tactic. A diversion that
apparently worked. They got what they
wanted.”
“Which
was?”
“Some
of the best military and scientific minds in the world. All to further their cause.”
“Which
is?”
“To
take control of the Qualan mainland. At
whatever price. And from there to become
a world power. All through
intimidation.”
“You
never answered the captain’s question,” Morton spoke up for the first time.
Lombok
looked away for a moment, then looked back at the captain.
“Are
they alive? I don’t know. The information I have been able to glean
from others hasn’t been encouraging.
Malek is leaning pretty heavily on his guests. Several of the inmates there have been killed
already.”
“Malek?”
Crane asked. “Who is he?”
Lombok
gave a little snort of derision. “The
Devil, Captain. Malek is one of the most
evil people you will ever hope not to meet. He is also in charge of the interrogations at
the camp. Pity your people,
Captain. Pity them, and hope they can
hold out. If they are still alive,” he
said as he moved off down the trail.
Clenching
his teeth in anger, Crane and the others followed him down the trail.
They
followed the trail for a few minutes, then went off the track and walked through
the jungle for about an hour before Lombok called a halt.
“We’ll
stop here. We should be safe,” Lombok
said as he sat down on the ground. “Sit
gentlemen. We have to discuss our plans. Trais, scout around. Make sure we are alone.”
As
he moved off to do Lombok’s bidding, Crane and the others sat.
“He
doesn’t talk much, does he?” Morton asked looking off into the jungle after
Trais.
“Trais? He can’t talk. He doesn’t have a tongue. Malek took care of that. That’s the only reason he is here. He wants revenge. He has bided his time playing the part of the
loyal rebel to get close enough to Malek to make him pay.”
“He’ll
have to stand in line,” Kowalski said.
Lombok
gave a short laugh then proceeded to lay out a map of the area.
“We
are here,” he said pointing to an area near the coast. “Your men and the encampment are here.” He pointed to an area about 20 miles inland.
“It
is, conservatively, a two or three day walk, provided we run into no patrols or
any other obstacles.”
“Why so long for a 20 mile walk?” Morton
asked.
“Have
you ever walked through thick jungle, commander? It isn’t easy.”
“Aren’t
there any roads?” Patterson asked.
“Of
a sort, yes. However we want to have the
element of surprise on our side. Any
activity on the road will be a tip-off to our presence. Once we get your people, we will “borrow” a
truck or two from the rebels and take your men out that way, as well as any of
the others we can get out.”
“Any
idea how many are in that camp?” Crane asked.
With
a frown Lombok looked up and said, “Not many.
The numbers from what I understand have been dropping. Let’s just say the cemetery is filling up.”
Crane
looked away, his face lined with worry.
“Do you think there is something up?
Some reason he is pushing so hard?”
“I
have no idea. I haven’t heard of any
plans relating to the prisoners. Just
that he is determined to get the answers he wants from them or...” Lombok
trailed off.
“Or
he kills them, right?” Crane said his voice rising in anger.
“I
am afraid that is so, Captain.
Slowly. However, since the camp
is still there and there are still prisoners there, we can assume that not all
of them have been cooperating with the good commander.”
“Now,
let me tell you my plan for getting your people out,” Lombok said scanning his map.
********************
Two
days later, the sun rose on the prison camp, increasing the humidity level ten
fold. Prisoners moved about the
encampment slowly, dreading the start of another day. In the far building from the gate, Sharkey
stood in the entrance and stared out at what passed for activity. Fewer and fewer men were answering the call
for breakfast every morning and the number of crude handmade crosses in the
cemetery was increasing.
“Looks
like they’re about ready to give the call, Admiral,” Sharkey said as he turned
back into the building.
“Right,”
Nelson said as he rose awkwardly from the bunk.
“Doesn’t pay to keep our friends waiting does it?”
“No
sir, I suppose not,” Sharkey went through the door to stand in the stifling
sun. “Completion on the road was
finished last week. I guess our next
project for our captors is construction of an airfield judging by the
dimensions I’ve seen. Are you sure
you’re up to this, sir?” Sharkey looked back as the admiral sagged against the
doorway and ran a hand over his eyes.
“That fever of yours isn’t getting any better.”
“Does
it matter if I’m up to it or not? You
know Malek likes his prisoners on the work lines when not in his illustrious
presence,” Nelson said as he moved through the door to stand beside his
friend. Sharkey had been one of the
prisoners, along with several Marines and Qualanese from the talks that had
been allowed to live simply because of their ability at construction. Although he hadn’t been questioned after the
initial interrogation, he did endure abuse at the hands of the guards. All prisoners were expected to go out with
the work parties as long as they were able.
Those excluded were those being “questioned” that day and anyone that
didn’t have the strength. Those in the
latter category were usually ones that had been in the former category
previously.
“Well,
Chief I...”
“Ah,
Admiral Nelson. You weren’t by any
chance heading out for a day in our hot sun, now were you? Really, I think a day spent
indoors...talking... would be much more beneficial.”
Nelson
turned at the sound of Malek’s voice.
Two guards stood with him, their guns aimed at Nelson and Sharkey.
“Actually
Commander, I don’t feel much like talking.
I thought a nice stroll in this lizard infested jungle of yours would be
much more to my liking,” Nelson stared the hated man in the eyes.
“But,
I disagree,” Malek said, moving closer.
“You may have noticed there seems to be a lack of... conversationalists
here of late,” he said gesturing about the compound. “I thought perhaps you and I might continue
that talk we started a few days ago.
Or,” he continued in a menacing tone of voice, “Perhaps we can expound
on certain information I was given a few days ago by a certain friend of
yours.”
“Oh,
don’t look so shocked, Admiral. It
happens. Even the best and strongest
will eventually give in. Unfortunately,
the information came too late to save his life.”
“You
want to know who? Yes? Well, let’s just say DeMond was not as strong
as he thought. Nor are you my dear Admiral
Nelson. Nor are you. Although I am much more interested in
American technology and secrets I will accept DeMond’s French ones. For the time being,” he added with a cruel
smile.
“Now,
Chief, I think the others are waiting for you.
Clear lots of jungle today, my friend.
We will have need for that airfield soon.”
With
that, Malek turned away and began to head towards his “office”.
“Admiral,
I...” Sharkey began, his face suffused with anger.
“Coming,
Admiral?” Malek said as he turned back to the two men. “Or must I show you once again how useless it
is to resist.
Nelson
gave Sharkey a pat on the back and began to follow Malek. The guards gave Sharkey a long look, waiting
for him to object, then followed their commander.
Sharkey
fell in with the other prisoners and headed for the gate. He turned back once more and watched as the
admiral disappeared inside the building with Malek and the guards.
“Hang
on, Admiral. Just hang on,” he muttered
as he walked on to the work site.
********************
Sweat
ran down Sharkey’s face and dripped onto his shirt as he tried to clear brush
and vines from what would pass for a runway in a few weeks. Weeks?
Did they have that long? Could
any of them hold out for a few more weeks?
Did anybody know about this place?
That they were here?
“It
sure doesn’t seem likely,” he whispered as he pulled at an especially stubborn
vine.
“Diam!”
shouted one of the guards. “Diam!”
“Yeah,
yeah. Quiet, I know. No talking.
Sure, sure,” Sharkey said as he resumed his work. What was happening back at the compound? Was the admiral all right? How much longer could he hold out? There had been something about Malek today,
he thought absently. Something akin
to... desperation. As if they had all
run out of time. Was something up?
At
that moment, something hit Sharkey squarely in the back. Startled, he stood up and glanced behind him
but saw nothing. Shrugging, he went back
to work but was soon surprised when he felt something hit him again. Turning once more he gazed into the jungle
and nearly shouted with joy when he recognized the face of Captain Crane
staring back at him with a big smile on his face.
“Cap..,”
he began but quickly stopped when he drew the attention of a passing
guard. He resumed his work but closer
this time to where the captain lay concealed.
Captain,”
he whispered. “I can’t believe it! Is it really you?”
“That
it is Chief. Where’s the admiral? Is he...”
“He’s
alive, sir. At least he was when I left
this morning. They took him in for more
interrogation. I don’t know how much
more he can take, sir. He’s pretty
weak.”
Crane’s
face fell when he heard the news. At
least he was alive. That was more than
they’d had a few weeks ago.
“How
did you both survive?” Crane asked. “We
thought we saw you both shot down.”
“We
were, sir,” Sharkey answered as he continued to clear vines from the
field. “It is a long story. Suffice it to say we were both a long time in
recovering. The admiral still isn’t
recovered. One of the bullets hit him in
the leg and it refuses to heal. That
coupled with the “chat” sessions Malek inflicts on him... we’ve got to get him out of here!” Sharkey’s voice began to rise, earning him a
long stare from one of the guards.
“Chief,
we have a plan. But we can’t implement
it until later tonight. Can you hold out
until then?”
“I
sure can, sir. Just knowing someone
knows about us is enough to keep me going.
But I’m worried about the admiral.
I’m afraid Malek is tired of waiting for answers he knows aren’t
coming. I’m afraid of what he will
do. He...”
At
that moment the guard showing interest in the chief’s apparently one-sided
conversation began to walk towards him.
He motioned him away from the edge of the jungle and pointed to a spot
closer to the other prisoners.
“Sini!”
he yelled.
“I’m
coming,” Sharkey said as he moved towards the spot the guard pointed to. He began working the spot and glanced back at
the place where the captain had been only an instant before. He saw no sign of him. Sighing, he began to tug at the ever present
vines and wished for nightfall.
********************
Five
long hours later, Sharkey dragged himself into the compound with the
others. Exhausted, most went directly to
their bunks to rest. Sharkey walked
slowly to the building that had become his home, glancing occasionally at
Malek’s building. He hoped the admiral
had been able to hold out.
Suddenly,
a guard stopped Sharkey in his tracks.
“Stop. Come this way,” the guard
said.
Surprised
the guard was speaking in English, Sharkey hesitated a moment before following
him to the back of one of the barracks.
The
guard looked around carefully before he spoke again. “My name is Lombok. I’m working with the CIA. I’ve come with Crane and the others to get
you out of here. Where is Nelson?”
Sharkey
stared at the man before him for a moment.
The man’s sun darkened skin, ragtag uniform and semi-automatic rifle all
screamed rebel to the Chief. “You’re
CIA? Sure you are. And I’m FBI.
Want to trade more initials?”
“Chief,
I have no time for jokes. If you want to
get out of here, you will listen to me closely.”
“You
speak pretty good English. Where did you
learn?”
Sighing,
Lombok glanced about anxiously. “I
graduated from UCLA 10 years ago, signed on with the CIA and became an
operative. Now can we get to something
important?”
“Sorry. I guess if you know the Skipper…well I’ve
gotten so’s I don’t trust no one any more.
Except the admiral.”
“And
he is...where Chief?”
“I
don’t know. I haven’t had time to check
the barracks yet. If he isn’t there... then
Malek must still have him.” Sharkey
clenched his hands in anger.
“Go
find out then. We need to get this plan
in motion.”
Sharkey
walked to the front of the building and walked inside. A short time later he came out and headed to
the rear of the building. His face was
red with anger.
“Malek
put him in the oven,” he spat out. “That
lousy...” Sharkey began walking towards
the commander’s office but was restrained by Lombok.
“Not
now, Chief. Malek will get his, but it
must wait. How do you know Nelson is in
this oven?”
“One
of the other men, a Marine named Sanders, couldn’t make it today. He said he saw them drag the admiral to the
oven around noontime. Holy... he’s been
in there almost six hours! We gotta get
him out!” Sharkey started towards the box the men called the oven and was
promptly restrained by Lombok. He looked
about him to see if they had attracted any attention.
“Not
now! I will go. Tell me what this oven is and where it is.”
Sharkey
explained the situation to Lombok.
“All
right. You go about your business as if
nothing happened. Wait for the
signal. When the firing starts, head for
the gate. There will be a truck
there. Herd everyone you can into the
truck and wait for us. Understand?”
“I
understand. But what about the
admiral? We can’t leave him.”
“I
will check on him now. Hopefully, he is
conscious enough to understand what I am saying. If not... well we’ll have to play it by ear
then. Now go.”
Sharkey
headed back to the barracks. He stopped
in front of his quarters and stared at the oven for a moment. “Damn them.
I’ll make them pay.”
Lombok
had meanwhile made his way to the oven and began to call softly to the
admiral. After receiving no reply, he
made his way to the gate and left, calling to the guards that he was checking
on the fence lines.
He
walked around to the area where Crane and the others waited impatiently.
“What’s
the word Lombok?
“Are
they all right?”
“Where’s
the admiral?” Everyone started talking
at once. Lombok held up his hand. “Calm down and keep low. We don’t want them seeing us. Yet.”
“Sharkey
is fine but he says according to another prisoner Nelson was interrogated all
morning and then put into what they have taken to calling the “oven”.” Lombok looked about them carefully, then
continued, “He’s still there but I can’t get a response from him. I don’t know if he is alive or not. I’m sorry.”
The Seaview’s
men looked away, anger etched in their faces for the atrocities their friends
had been forced to endure.
“What
in all that’s precious is an oven?” asked Morton.
“An
instrument of torture, Commander- a hot box if you will. It’s intended to weaken even the strongest of
prisoners. No food. No water. Just unbearable heat.” Lombok pointed towards the box. “According to what I was able to pick up from
the guards, the last man put in there died.
We don’t have much time, gentlemen.
Captain, are your men ready?”
“They’ve
been ready! Ever since they
heard they were alive.”
“All
right. You two,” Lombok said pointing to
Kowalski and Patterson, “Take the explosive pack there and make your way to the
fuel dump. Wait there until you hear the
first explosions. Trais was able to
plant a few explosive charges on the perimeter and in the ammo and fuel dump
areas. That’s where you two come
in. As soon as the first one goes, which
should be in about 30 minutes, blow the fence line and come in through the
hole. Take out all the guards you can
and get as many prisoners as you can find moving toward the gate.”
Lombok
turned to Crane and Morton. “Captain, I
want you, Barton and Commander Morton to wait outside the fence until the
shooting starts. Once the fence goes, I
want you three to head in through the gate.
Morton, you and Barton take out the guard tower in the northern
section. Trais will take care of the
southern one.”
“What
about the admiral?” Crane asked anxiously.
“That’s
where you come in Crane. I assume you would
like to be the one to free your friend?”
At Crane’s nod, Lombok continued.
“As soon as the guard towers are gone, you move in and get Nelson out of
there. Don’t expect him to be
conscious. You’ll have to carry him to
the gate. By that time I or Trais will
have commandeered a truck and will have it waiting at the gate. All right.
Any questions?”
“Yeah,
I’ve got one,” Kowalski said. “What
about that... what about Malek? We
aren’t going to just leave him there are we?”
“We’ll
worry about him when the time comes.
Right now the important thing is those men in there. Anything else? All right.
Let’s move. It’s almost time.”
Lombok,
Kowalski and Patterson moved out while Crane, Barton and Morton moved a bit
deeper into the jungle to keep watch and wait.
They saw Sharkey come out of the barracks and move off to the one next
to it. A few minutes later he came out
and stood in front of his quarters, staring at the oven. A guard moved up beside him and gestured him
back inside. With undisguised hate, he
did as he was told.
Crane
tried to keep track of the movements of Lombok but lost him in the ever growing
darkness. Time seemed to stand still as
the men waited impatiently for the signal to move into position. After months of believing Nelson and Sharkey
were dead, it was hard to believe they were so close to freeing them from the
hell they had been living in.
Without
warning, the first explosion lit up the darkened jungle, startling the men
concealed in the brush. They ran towards
the gate and found the compound littered with bodies already. Prisoners ran in every direction with Sharkey
close behind herding them towards the gate.
Morton
and Barton ran off to eliminate the guard tower which was putting down a heavy
volley of gunfire into the compound while Crane ran off in the direction of the
box that held his friend.
Some
of the prisoners remained in their barracks waiting for the right moment to
move out. The night was lit up as the
north and south guard towers exploded in flames, the remains falling into the
compound. At the same time, the
explosives planted in the fuel and ammo dumps detonated, sending debris high
into the sky. Kowalski and Patterson set
off the charges by the fence line and burst through the opening, spraying
machine gun fire at the retreating rebels.
A
truck appeared by the front gate and Sharkey gave the signal to the other
prisoners to move out towards the waiting truck. He watched as the prisoners hobbled, limped
and dragged themselves towards freedom. Then
he ran back into the compound and towards where the captain struggled to free
the admiral from his prison. He stopped
at a body lying on the ground and turned it over. Smiling, he reached into the man’s pocket and
took out a set of keys, then ran on.
“Skipper! Here!” Sharkey said, handing him the set of
keys. “One of these is the right one to
open the door. Give me your gun.”
Crane
handed him the semi-automatic and went to work on the lock, not noticing that
Sharkey had taken the gun and headed off towards the firing.
“Hang
on, Admiral. Just hang on,” Crane
whispered as he struggled with the lock.
A few seconds later and the lock opened.
Crane swung the door open and peered into the dark, stifling interior,
gasping at the heat that escaped from the open door. “Admiral!”
Nelson’s
haggard, bruised face appeared in the doorway.
“Wh... what took...you so long?” he asked, weakly with a thin smile.
Grinning
broadly, Crane pulled Nelson from the box just as Morton and Barton made their
way through the compound to his side.
“Come
on! We’ve got to get out of here!”
Morton yelled.
“Wh...where’s
Sh...Sharkey?” Nelson asked weakly as they pulled him to his feet.
Crane
looked about him. “I don’t know. He was here a minute ago. He gave me the keys and then took my gun.”
“No! No.
He’s... he’s... after Malek.
You’ve got to stop him, Lee.
He’ll... he...” Crane grabbed for
Nelson as the older man collapsed in his arms.
“Chip. Find Sharkey.
Get him to the truck. Now! We don’t have time for vengeance!” Crane and Barton moved off towards the gate
half-carrying, half-dragging the unconscious Nelson with them.
Sharkey
had headed for Malek’s building, dodging gunfire as he did so, knowing the man
would be inside. He burst through the
front door of the despised building.
“Malek! Where are you, you slimy... Malek!” Sharkey searched through each room, kicking
open the doors to the rooms that had been the site of most of the
interrogations. Frustration mounted as
his search proved fruitless. He lowered
his rifle and leaned against a doorjamb, his mind numb with fatigue. After all this, Malek was going to
escape. The rage he felt poured out of
him and he slammed his hand into the door.
“Careful,
my friend. You don’t want to hurt
yourself.”
Sharkey
turned at the sound of the hated voice.
Malek stood in a corner with a gun pointed at Sharkey’s chest.
“Really. Did you think you would escape? None of you will escape. None of you!”
He walked towards the Chief, smiling his grotesque smirk. “Put your gun down. Now!”
Reluctantly,
Sharkey put his gun on the floor, hate filling his face. “I’ll kill you. Maybe not today. But some day.
Someday I’ll have my vengeance on you for all you’ve put us through,”
Sharkey said in a low tone.
“And
what is there to stop me from killing you now, my friend?” Malek walked closer to Sharkey and aimed the
muzzle of the gun at his face. He
hesitated a moment, a slow smile beginning to form and then there was a
shot. Malek froze for a moment and then
toppled over onto Sharkey, who dropped him, distaste written on his face. He looked behind him and saw a dark skinned
man pointing a gun at him. The man
stared at the body on the floor for a moment, gave a brief nod and then
motioned Sharkey to pick up his gun and follow him.
They
exited the building and ran smack into Morton.
“Chief! Man am I glad to see you! Come on we’ve got to get out of here.”
“The
admiral?”
Morton
turned back to him. “It’s ok. The captain has him. He’s alive.
Let’s just get out of here.”
The
three men ran through the compound that was littered with bodies. Sporadic gunfire met them but they arrived
unmolested at the truck. Nelson,
bruised, battered and drenched in sweat, was cradled in Crane’s arms,
unconscious but breathing. Several of
their fellow prisoners sat in the truck waiting and smiling.
“Chief! Glad you could make it. Come on.
Let’s go.”
Sharkey
climbed into the truck and smiled at the friends he saw there and the faces of
the men he had lived, worked and suffered with the past four months.
“We
made it.” Sharkey looked down at the
face of the unconscious admiral and put a hand on his arm. “He said we would. And we did.”
*******************
Crane
stood outside the door to the Sick Bay for a moment listening to the voices he
heard from within.
“I
said I am all right! I don’t need any
more...”
“And
I said you do. I am in charge here, Admiral. Not you.
And as far as I know...you’re still considered dead. So in theory at least you can’t give me
orders.”
Crane
smiled at the exchange and thought back over the past week. It had taken a lot less time to reach the
shore in the trucks than it had walking through the dense jungle. On the way, Nelson had regained and lost
consciousness several times. Each time
he was awake, they had encouraged him to drink as much water as possible,
hoping to ward off the devastating effects of severe dehydration caused by
being locked in the hot box.
They
had parted ways with Lombok and Trais and rowed back to the Seaview
where Nelson and Sharkey were greeted with joy. The admiral regained
consciousness briefly on entering his boat, reveled in the knowledge he was
home and promptly passed out again. He
was hurried to the Sick Bay where he was still a patient, nearly a week
later. He’d remained unconscious for the
better part of the first two days.
Exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated and beaten, it was a miracle he
still lived: a miracle Crane and the others on board the Seaview gave
thanks for.
A
call to the Institute shortly after they were sure the admiral would survive
had produced tears once again but this time they were tears of joy as Edith and
Angie, and the rest of the Institute, celebrated the shocking news the men were
alive.
The
others from the camp were ensconced in various cabins throughout the ship or in
the Sick Bay for treatment of their injuries.
Those from Qualan had stayed behind with Lombok and Trais to continue
the fight against the rebels that threatened daily to tear their country
apart. Of the forty-three men originally
taken from the “peace” talks, only twenty-one escaped. The rebels had been dealt a serious blow by
the loss of Malek and his camp. A blow
Crane and others hoped they never recovered from.
Repercussions
concerning The People’s Republic’s possible involvement with the rebels and the
kidnapping and abuse of Admiral Nelson and the others were ongoing as was the
investigations.
“You’re
lucky you’re even here! Alive! And as for that leg of yours! You’re lucky
you even have a leg there! After what it
looked like a few days ago I…”
“Jamie,
I know I’m lucky. All I’m saying…”
“I
know what you’re saying, Admiral. You
know best. Well…”
“Look…”
“No,
you look! Taking this medicine and doing what I tell you are for your
best. There’s still infection in your
leg and you still have a fever. ”
“It’s
not much of a fever. I…”
“Not
much? Admiral…”
Laughing
at the two men and their bickering, Crane decided he should intervene and
entered the room, pausing to take in the scene before him. Nelson, his wounded leg propped on pillows,
was lying in the bunk he had occupied since his return from Qualan. Bruises on Nelson’s face and body had begun
to fade and ribs that had been broken had been treated and begun finally to
mend. The doctor was hovering over him with a cup full of medicine.
“Captain,
help me here. He doesn’t seem to
understand. Perhaps you will have more
luck than I seem to be having with the admiral.
He seems to feel he knows better than I do what is best for him.”
Smiling,
he walked to the admiral’s bedside, a place he had spent many hours at over the
past few days, watching, worrying and waiting.
“Me? Have luck getting the admiral to do something
he doesn’t want? You must be joking!” he
said with a smile. “Sorry, Doc. This is your department not mine. However, I will remind the admiral that if he
should have a relapse between here and home, I can think of two women waiting
in Santa Barbara that will want some answers as I just told them, again, you
were doing fine.”
“You
talked to Edith and Angie?” Nelson asked with a slight smile.
“Yes. And I assured them, again, that you would
make a full recovery. Right, Doc?”
“As
long as he listens to his doctor, he should.
And that means taking any and all medications I prescribe. Right, Admiral?”
With
a scowl, Nelson nodded his head and took the offered medicine. With a look of revulsion, Nelson inquired, in
a not too quiet voice, just what the devil was in that stuff.
Laughing,
Crane headed out the door of the sick bay.
Things were back to normal. After
the past few long months, things were back to normal.
The End
Copyright 1998 by Beth Kauffman