Shark Bait
Inspired by a comment from
Liz Martin - RLK
A light tap on his cabin door
had Admiral Nelson calling out a tired “Enter.”
He took one look at the slouching shoulders and exhausted expression of
his CMO, Dr. Will Jamison, waved one hand at the chair next to his desk and
with the other opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the bottle of scotch he
kept there, as well as two glasses.
Nothing was said between the two men until Will had downed half of the
three fingers Nelson poured out in one single gulp.
“Thanks,” the doctor told his
boss. “After the last four days…” His voice trailed off and he took a more
controlled sip of what was left in his glass.
“What’s the latest count?”
Nelson asked carefully. While he was
fairly up-to-date with current events, he had a feeling that Will would
appreciate the chance to be listened to almost as much as he seemed to
appreciate the drink.
Will took a huge breath and
let it out in a long sigh before answering.
“Every bed in
Nelson snorted. “I’ve known him a lot longer than you have
and I’m still tempted to slap him silly on occasion,” he admitted.
It caused Will to grin
broadly.
“Let Chip and I know when you do it. We’d both be more than happy to cheerlead.”
Nelson laughed outright and
took a sip from his own glass. “Speaking
of whom,” he encouraged.
Will sighed heavily
again. “Thank heavens we found that
handy seamount and settled in for the duration.
I swear those two would be trying to run the boat all by themselves, barely
recovering or not.”
The current situation had its
cause in a couple of semi-unrelated occurrences five days previous. Seaview was on her way home from a three-week
cruise. After charting an area of ocean
bottom north of
When Chip had realized what a
relatively easy cruise it was going to be he went to his captain with a
slightly different crew Duty schedule from what he normally put together. Lee took a casual glance, thought better of
what he’d just read, took a longer glance, and pointed an eyebrow at his
XO. “A little bored, are we?” he
asked. Chip merely shrugged. “Or should I be asking, which crewman ticked
you off so bad that you want to harass the entire boat?”
That caused Chip to grin
broadly. Very little got past his eagle
eyes and ears, such was his dedication to his job. And the crew as a whole was very careful not
to tick him off, that being the fastest way to extra duty. But what was causing Chip’s current humor was
the knowledge that, even as laid back as Lee’s leadership style was, there was
rarely a misplaced bolt on the entire sub that he didn’t know about. No one, up to and including the Admiral,
totally figured out how he managed it.
His grin turned into a soft
chuckle. “We haven’t had any major
crises the last couple of missions.
Thankfully,” he added with feeling, and relaxed slightly as he explained
his plan. “This cruise should be quiet
as well. Just thought that it was a good
time to surprise everyone and do the quarterly proficiency drills a little
early.”
“But all of them in a single
cruise?” Lee asked. Chip sent his CO a
slightly evil grin, which Lee slowly matched, and the two spent the next half
hour going over the schedule.
As both men expected, no
matter the steady stream of drills combined with regular duties, the crew as a
whole performed exceptionally well. As
was their habit, Chip gave them nothing more than a ‘Bravo Zulu,’ a well done,
and left Lee to congratulate the crew in a bit more personal manner – in this
case with a twenty-four hour layover and shore leave at Pago Pago on the island
of Tutuila in American Samoa.
The stay on the small island
went fine. The crew had a great time and
even the senior officers took a few hours for themselves. The Admiral and Will enjoyed a wonderful
dinner together at one of the local restaurants, and Lee and Chip took off for
a hike.
The problems started about
eight hours after Seaview left the island and headed home. It began with several men exhibiting the
symptoms of mild food poisoning. At
first Will wasn’t concerned. Turn young
men loose on a tropical island and there was no telling what they’d put in
their mouths. But matters quickly got
out of hand. Men were dropping like
flies so fast that Will and his corpsmen could barely keep up. A virulent form of viral gastroenteritis, or
stomach flu, was Will’s next guess, but tests wouldn’t confirm the
diagnosis. Will was kept so busy tending
to crew that Admiral Nelson took over the testing. Until that point only crewmen had been
affected, not any of the boat’s officers.
Nelson was close to confirming that some sort of poison was causing the
problem – thankfully in small doses – when the first officer went down. It took a while for it to be noticed because
the officer in question was Chip, known by the whole crew to be almost as good
as his CO at simply ignoring any and all infirmities if at all possible. Will had immediately confined Seaview’s XO to
the already overcrowded
Will was noticing a tendency
for patients to recover fairly quickly once they were put on IV’s. Unfortunately, some of the first crewmen to
get sick relapsed soon after being released.
It was all extremely frustrating, but Will was by this time so tired
that he couldn’t properly reason out a cause.
He did, however, realize the first time Lee came in to check on Chip
that Seaview’s CO was also suffering from whatever was going on. Will fussed but as usual Lee chose to ignore
him. And in truth, Lee didn’t seem to be
all that bad. Will did notify Admiral
Nelson, and the decision was made to find someplace to settle Seaview until the
whole mess could be sorted out. Rough
weather topside precluded the submarine from surfacing – Will practically
growled when Lee muttered something about rolling on the surface probably not
being overly helpful to already touchy stomachs. Happily they’d made their way to a spot
safely above crush depth and everyone’s concentration turned to figuring out
what the blazes was going on.
Will was taking an infrequent
break, grabbing coffee and a bite to eat in the Officers’ Wardroom that
morning, when the answer smacked him – literally – in the head. Severe tiredness had led to extremely short
tempers, which had led to bouts of sudden silliness as crew did their best to
keep from killing each other. A minor
altercation between two of the JO’s led to one of them picking up a piece of
dried fruit and throwing it at the other one.
It ricocheted and hit Will just above his ear. He chuckled and started to toss it back
before suddenly staring at the innocent morsel, vaguely remembering that one of
the crew had brought a large box of the mixed fruits aboard when he’d returned
from shore leave; the same crewman who had been the first felled by whatever
was happening, and one of the first to relapse once he was released from Sick
Bay. Will grabbed up the bowl full of
the stuff that had appeared in the Wardroom the day before and headed for
Nelson’s lab.
It didn’t take Nelson long at
all, now that he had firm evidence in hand, to discover that the dried fruits
were, indeed, the culprit. Will and
Nelson told the crew only that the dried fruit had been treated with an
unapproved – at least by
Now, about twelve hours
later, Will could finally take a deep breath.
As he’d told Nelson, there were still too many men recovering from the
effects to move the giant submarine. But
at least no one was getting worse. He
took another controlled sip of scotch, and let out a sigh that seemed to come
all the way from his toenails.
“My sentiments, exactly,”
Nelson agreed with the unspoken commentary, and worked on his own glass.
Will sent him a grin that was
half grimace. “You know, Admiral,” he
told his boss, “I’ve never been as grateful as I have been in the last few days
that you had the foresight to include such a large, well-equipped,
At that Nelson gave him a
slightly sheepish little grin.
“Actually, Will, you can blame your ‘favorite’ patient, somewhat, for
that part of Seaview’s design.”
Will was confused. “But Seaview was already built and in service
before Lee came aboard.”
Nelson nodded. “It goes back to when he served under me on
the Nautilus.” His grin went even more
sheepish.
Will frowned. “What did he do?” he demanded in an almost
growl.
“Among other things, saved my
six,” Nelson told him openly, “or there would never have been a Seaview in the
first place.”
Will sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this,” he said
with a note of resignation in his voice.
He none-the-less raised an eyebrow, inviting Nelson to explain.
Nelson sent his CMO a fond
grin. “Some of this I learned later,” he
started his explanation, “when my XO at the time, Cory Mains, and I went over
the ‘After Action Report.” Will
nodded. “And some of it I’ve put
together from odd comments from both he and, over the years, Lee.”
“That man actually talked
about a past mission?” Will’s voice held
total disbelief, causing Nelson to chuckle.
Will all too often muttered about his reticent CO.
“Like I said,” Nelson
admitted, “it was only the odd comment.”
Will nodded, and Nelson started his tale.
~
Capt. Harriman Nelson was not
a happy man. The submarine he commanded,
Nautilus, had been called to Pearl Harbor from where she was patrolling in the
area of the
Part of Nelson’s unease had
to do with where that meeting was supposed to take place – west of the town of
While Nautilus waited, Nelson
would make his way on foot approximately ten kilometers due north, along an arm
of water, to its end. There he would be
met by an undetermined number of scientists who were coming west from
Provideniya. They were scheduled to be
attending a ‘meeting of the minds’ at a research center there to discuss how
changes to
Part of what was making
Nelson so nervous was that, like Nelson, Stepan Rospev, the man he had met
several years ago at an international conference, was also extremely
knowledgeable about nuclear physics.
According to intel he had grown tired of the
Rospev had made it clear that
he would only meet with someone he trusted, and that someone was Nelson. There wasn’t any mention of who else might be
with him, or how he was going to get away from the conference in the first
place and make his way the ten clicks to the meeting point undetected. All Nelson could do was hope that Stepan
would take all these things under consideration when he plotted his escape.
Capt. Nelson’s XO, Lt. Cdr.
Cory Mains, was almost as unhappy as his CO.
Skulking around unfriendly waters was nothing new – Nautilus spent a
fair amount of time trying to keep tabs on Cold War opponents and other threats
to free world security. But that had
nothing to do with working in close enough to deploy a landing party! He understood what was expected of him in
Nelson’s absence. And he was comfortable
enough with his own skills, as well as the crew under him, to carry out the
assignment. But ever since Nelson had
briefed him, two days out of
So far, the rest of the crew
had been told nothing – there was no reason.
Just before they reached St. Lawrence Island COB Bullock would be
briefed, as he would be responsible for getting Nelson safely to shore. Word would get out, as was inevitable in the
close confines and small crew size of a submarine. But the crew would also understand that they
could expect to be told only what they needed to know, and to mind their own
jobs to their highest ability as others were dependant on them.
Nelson spent several hours on
the trip north studying the topography he’d have to traverse. Staying along the arm of water would mean
easier walking but more chance of discovery.
He’d been supplied with local clothing and ID documents, but he’d rather
not have his less-than-fluent Russian tested.
Midsummer meant moderate temperatures.
Nautilus hit St. Lawrence
Island’s west end just after 1800 hours.
She proceeded cautiously along the island’s southern coast as Nelson
went over last-minute details with XO Mains.
Drop off would be at 0030 hours, the darkest hour of the area’s short
night. Nautilus would return to St.
Lawrence Island and hang around its southern coast, resting quietly on the
relatively shallow bottom. She would
return in exactly twenty-four hours, come to periscope depth, and await
Nelson’s signal, two quick flashes from the penlight he carried, before sending
an inflatable boat ashore. A second
pick-up time was arranged for the following night, just in case there were
problems making the first one. While
neither Nelson nor Mains wanted to think about what could cause it, they also
established a third plan – if Nelson missed the second pick-up Mains was to
contact ComSubPac for further instructions.
Nelson knew that at least the
basics of his rather unorthodox assignment had gotten to the crew when his
appearance in the Control Room dressed in native civvies caused nothing more
than a grim nod from several men. One
look that was more intense flashed ever so briefly across the face of Nautilus’
newest JO, Lt. Lee Crane. Nelson had
been an occasional lecturer during Crane’s
He stayed in the
A quick glance around the
Capt. Nelson had waited an
extra second for the small inflatable to hit shore before grabbing his backpack
and hurrying into the underbrush. The
last thing he needed was wet shoes and pant legs bothering him, and he didn’t
dare risk a fire to dry them out.
Luckily there was a small stretch of fairly flat land. Nelson sent the seamen who had rowed him
ashore a quick nod and melted into the brush.
He found what cover he could and watched until the small boat was safely
back to Nautilus and the conning tower disappeared from view. Mains had disapproved – strongly – that
Nelson wasn’t carrying a communications devise of any kind, but Nelson agreed
with the men who had briefed him about not daring to risk it. If he was discovered, there could be nothing
on him to connect him to the
Nelson proceeded with all due
caution, his senses on high alert. While
there was little to maintain a livelihood outside of the villages, there was
still the chance of stumbling into a remote homestead. People in this part of the world were
notorious for their independence. He
avoided any totally open ground as much as possible, but still made fairly good
time as he paralleled the arm of water to its northern end. He’d not gone all that far when the sun
reappeared from its very short nighttime disappearance. The skies were clear, and Nelson found
himself squinting in the unaccustomed brightness. Definitely
spending too much time with your head under water, he muttered quietly to
himself. Shaking his head with a soft
self-conscious grin, he continued his outwardly casual but inwardly cautious
amble north.
He stopped just short of the
top of a rise, lay down, and slithered forward just far enough to see over the
top. To his right he could see the end
of the arm of water he’d been following.
The smell of smoke had him searching for its source. Just to the west of the upper edge of water
there was a large area of brushy terrain.
From its northern edge rose a small plume of smoke. Nelson said a silent prayer that it was his
friend but took the time to skirt the area and approach from the north, through
more underbrush instead of going directly to the fire, just in case it was
someone else. It took him an extra half
an hour, so cautiously was he moving.
But he breathed a huge sigh of relief when he paused behind the last
line of brush and peered into the small clearing. Even bundled up as the four men were who were
sitting around the small fire, Nelson had little difficulty recognizing Stepan
Rospev, a slightly rotund man who seemed more fitted to sitting behind a
microscope than diving with cephalopods, which is what he’d been lecturing on
when Nelson had originally met him.
Nelson hesitated only long enough to be fairly sure that there was no
one else around before entering the clearing.
All of the men startled at his appearance. Two of them instantly returned to staring at
the fire while one openly stared at him.
The fourth, Rospev, rose and took a couple of steps in his
direction. Nelson wasn’t overly happy
with his reception from the others, but walked over and offered Stepan his hand
in greeting.
Nelson was made even
unhappier by Rospev’s first comment. “I
was hoping that you would not come, Harriman,” he said softly, in heavily
accented English. Before Nelson could do
more than raise an eyebrow, the sound of several weapons being cocked reached
his ears. “I am sorry,” Rospev continued
with a small shrug. “I was betrayed by
someone I thought I could trust.” The
man at the fire who had continued to stare now stood and sent Nelson as evil a
grin as Nelson had ever seen, as half a dozen heavily armed soldiers walked out
of the underbrush to surround the smaller group. “Unfortunately I have now been forced to do
the same to you,” Rospev continued, strong regret in his voice.
“Not your fault,” Nelson told
him as rough hands grabbed him, stripped off the backpack, and thoroughly
searched him. The man at the fire had
taken several steps forward and now shouldered Rospev out of the way to stand
directly in front of Nelson, practically spitting as he said something in rapid
Russian. Nelson didn’t catch all of it
but there was no mistaking the sheer venom with which it was said. But it was the shove given to his friend that
irritated Nelson more and he launched himself at the man. He had the satisfaction of landing a couple
of solid blows to the man’s face before his head exploded, and everything went
dark.
* * * *
Cory Mains continued to stalk
the
Cory was standing quietly in
the Conn, trying to control his case of nerves over his absent CO and wishing
Nelson was there right now going on and on about some marine topic Cory could
care less about when his thoughts were interrupted by a call from the radioman,
Petty Officer Medlen. There was a call
from ComSubPac that Mains was directed to take privately in Nelson’s
cabin. Cory knew that he frowned, not
liking the sound of that, but nonetheless hurried to his CO’s cabin and
notified Medlen to put the call through.
Cory was not proud of
himself for how he handled the call. Not
only was he unable to maintain his cool, he was totally unable to convince the
powers that be of what a terrible mistake they were making with what they
ordered him to do. He practically
slammed the mic back in its holder at the end of the call and had to take a
couple of minutes, and a whole lot of deep breaths, before he was able to once
more pick it up. He hesitated again,
giving serious consideration to ignoring his orders and changing them to
something that made a good deal more sense.
But a few more deep breaths reminded him that he was too good an officer
to ignore a direct order. On top of
which he knew only too well what Capt. Nelson would have to say about that, and
cringed slightly as he let that reaming out pass through his mind. On the other hand it would almost be worth it
if it got Nelson safely back on the boat, and Cory had absolutely no faith in
the orders he’d just been given accomplishing that task. The hand not holding the mic slammed against
Nelson’s desktop with enough force to rattle things in drawers. But his voice was under control – mostly –
when he made his call.
* * * *
Once Lt. Lee Crane’s shift
was over in the
“Sit!” Mains ordered, and
pointed to the small visitor’s chair in the cramped cabin. He knew that taking out his anger on the
young lieutenant, especially as it was in no way Crane’s fault, was the wrong
way to be dealing with the orders he’d just been given. He could even understand the look of
confusion on Crane’s face as he sat on the very front edge of the chair. Mains took another deep breath, tried to get
himself under control, and started his explanation.
“ComSubPac just called. Seems the State Department has had further
intel on Capt. Nelson’s assignment and now thinks that he could be walking
straight into a trap.”
“Sir,” Lee couldn’t stop
himself from uttering, but instantly clamped his lips shut and gave his
attention to his XO no matter how his heart rate had jumped.
“We’re ordered to make the
meet tonight as already established, but be prepared to send in rescue if the
Captain misses the pick-up.”
Lee just nodded. He was starting to get a tiny idea of why he
was being briefed, and also why his XO was so miffed.
Mains’ voice was hard, and
his look especially penetrating, as he continued. “For some reason ComSubPac has it in their
head that the rescue party is going to consist of one man. You.”
It was all Lee could do not
to cringe at the vehemence Mains put into that last word and again only managed
a short nod, watching with slightly lowered eyes but still giving his XO his
entire attention as Mains seemed to struggle to regain control.
Which he did, with noticeable
effort. His stare was, however, only
slightly less menacing when he continued. “I’ve seen your service jacket. I’m reminded now that there are some rather
interesting gaps, remarkable for their lack of detail.”
Once more Lee only
nodded. He knew that Capt. Nelson was
aware that Lee had been tagged by ONI, the Navy’s Intelligence agency, for
further training shortly after graduation from Annapolis, and that he
occasionally ran ‘errands’ for them. But
it wasn’t anything that was openly discussed.
Even under current circumstances.
Mains actually wasn’t
surprised when Lt. Crane didn’t offer to elaborate. He was starting to get an idea of why
ComSubPac had been so adamant in their choice of a rescue ‘team’. He had his voice, and himself, under more
control as he continued. “I’m not sure
what kind of pack we can put together.
The Captain’s kit was given to him at
“I can manage most of what I
need,” Lee told him, finding his voice.
“I keep it in my bag,” he admitted, again slightly lowering his
eyes. “Maybe COB Bullock could scrounge
me up some kind of coat?”
Mains nodded. There was no telling what some of the crew
might have in their individual kit bags.
“I’ll see what he can come up with and have him leave it in your cabin.” Lee nodded.
“Weapon?”
“Have my own,” Lee told him
almost shyly. “Radio?”
Mains’ expression once more
went hard. “The Captain was forbidden
from taking anything in.” It was his
turn to nod as Lee reacted to that bit of intel. “Since I have no such orders for you…” His voice trailed off and he and Lee both
gave curt nods.
“Not sure how much I’ll be
able to keep in contact,” Lee amended.
“Anything has to be better
than nothing at all,” Mains growled.
“I’ll take you off of the Duty schedule.” He sent a stern look Lee’s way. “I don’t suppose that it’s any use advising
you to get some rest.”
Lee’s expression went
slightly sheepish again. “Probably not,
sir,” he admitted.
Mains merely nodded. “Now pull your chair around here and I’ll
fill you in on what I know, and what you need to know.”
“Captain Nelson may still
make the meet,” Lee offered as he repositioned himself.
“We can’t wait until the last
minute; if nothing else, the period of darkness is too short.” Lee nodded his agreement and the two put
their heads together.
* * * *
Nelson regained consciousness
slowly, at first none too sure that he even wanted to. His head was pounding, his ribs hurt, and he
couldn’t make his arms move out of whatever contorted position they seemed to
be stuck in. Finally a soft “Harriman”
penetrated his pain-filled haze and he managed to get his eyes to open.
From what he could remember,
he seemed to still be in the same small clearing, although along its edge. The
fire in the middle of the area now had a good many more men around it, mostly
soldiers from their dress. Nelson turned
his head enough to find the voice that once more softly spoke his name and
found Stepan Rospev sitting a few feet from him, his hands bound behind him
around the slender but sturdy trunk of a scrub tree. Nelson finally took stock of his own
position, leaning to one side which put undo stress on one shoulder, and
struggled briefly to sit up with his back now firmly against a similar tree
trunk. He took a deep breath, feeling
the effort pull slightly across his ribs.
“How long?” he finally got out.
Rospev shrugged. “About three hours, I think.”
“Why?” When Rospev merely looked confused, Nelson
continued. “Why are we still here?”
Again Rospev shrugged. “I am not certain,” he admitted. “No one is being overly communicative. I am sorry.”
Nelson understood that Rospev
was back to the interrupted conversation earlier, apologizing for getting
Nelson into this mess, and it was his turn to shrug. “Happens,” he said.
“I should have been more
careful,” Rospev muttered miserably.
“We all get fooled,” Nelson
told him. He glanced at the other men
but they seemed to be in the middle of their own animated, if quiet,
conversation and weren’t paying Nelson and Rospev any attention. “What happened?”
Rospev shuddered. “I could not take it any longer,” he told
Nelson. “The constant demands for
weapons upgrades while my own research requirements and conservation
recommendations went totally ignored.”
Nelson sent him as an encouraging a nod as he could. “When this conference was announced I am
afraid that I let myself become overly excited.
I realized too late that I might have said too much to the wrong
people.” He shook his head. “But even then things seemed to be working
out. I did not question when plans came
together too easily.” He frowned. “Or when Viktor, Dr. Lobov,” he expanded, and
nodded in the general direction of the man who Nelson had slugged, “seemed so
excited to be included in my plans.”
Nelson had noticed that the man seemed to be favoring the left side of
his face as he talked to the others around the fire, and took grim satisfaction
in knowing that his right fist didn’t hurt without good reason. He noticed Rospev’s expression turn even more
miserable. “I was so proud of myself for
pulling everything off so easily that I did not take into consideration that it
was too easy.” His voice turned
hard, if still quiet. “I have been such
a fool!” He looked at Nelson fully. “And now I have unfortunately involved you.”
Nelson once more
shrugged. “We’ve all made mistakes in
our lives, Stepan,” he told his friend with feeling. “We just have to figure out a way to get it
turned around.” Rospev merely hung his
head. “What did you tell them about me?”
“Just that I was expecting
someone to lead us the rest of the way to safety – at no time did I identify
you.”
Nelson nodded. “That was good thinking,” he tried to give
his friend something positive to think about.
“You don’t know why we’ve been kept here instead of being moved?” he once
more asked.
Rospev shook his head
slowly. “From what little I have heard
them talking, I think that they may be waiting for something to happen. Or, someone else to arrive. I am not sure.”
“Humm,” Nelson muttered
mostly to himself, pondering that bit of information and what it might
mean. But the fact that he was no longer
unconscious was at that moment noticed around the fire and one of the soldiers,
accompanied by the man Stepan had identified as Viktor Lobov, walked over. Nelson took great personal satisfaction in
the fact that Lobov’s sneer was being seriously hampered by a quickly
blackening and swelling eye.
Unfortunately he allowed enough of a grin to show on his face that Lobov
took exception. A hard boot toe
connected with his already aching left ribcage before the soldier, who seemed
to be in charge, shouted at Lobov sharply, and two other soldiers quickly
hurried over and forced Lobov to accompany them back to the fire.
“Your name,” the soldier
demanded, in even more thickly accented English than Rospev. Nelson pretended to not understand and the
question was repeated in Russian.
Nelson gave him the name that
was on the forged documents he’d been given.
“Yuri Zolkin.” There was a
shouted curse from Lobov, and before the soldiers could get him once more under
control Nelson heard his own name nearly screamed in his direction.
“Dr. Lobov claims that you
are an American named Harriman Nelson,” the soldier continued.
Nelson picked up enough of
the statement, spoken in Russian, to be fairly sure of the translation. He merely shrugged. He wasn’t quite as successful at interpreting
the man’s next statement, but once the soldier went back to the fire Stepan
filled in the blanks. There was
apparently someone coming from Yanrakynnot, further to the north, who was
supposed to be able to identify Nelson.
Once that was confirmed they would be taken to Provideniya and then to
Achchen, from where they would be flown to Moscow.
Nelson asked if there had
there been any indication of when the person was supposed to arrive from
Yanrakynnot, but Stepan could only hazard a guess of sometime the following
afternoon. Traveling in this area of
Siberia was problematic at best. Nelson
silently pondered his options. He was on
his own, obviously, as Nautilus was of no help.
Nelson et al would probably have left the area before he missed the
second pick-up time, and even then he’d not been given any plans of rescue from
that direction in his original briefing.
He knew that was one reason Cory had been so upset. But that couldn’t be helped now. Cory, a good officer, would follow his
orders.
No, Nelson was on his
own. He saw no way of making the first
pick-up. If he could somehow escape he
might just make the second. Barring that,
if he could figure out a way to get to Kivak he might, somehow, manage the 38
miles of ocean back to St. Lawrence Island.
He shook his head – carefully, as it still hurt like the blazes. Whatever he did, he had to include Stepan in
his plans if at all possible. His friend
was a dead man if they ended up in Moscow.
Nelson, once identified, would be paraded around as an American
spy. If he was somehow ransomed home his
career would still be over for sure, and even that was a big ‘if.’ More likely he’d be tossed in a Russian
prison, or end up dead like Stepan once his usefulness in a propaganda campaign
was over. Okay, Harry, he muttered silently, you walked into this mess.
He frowned at his unintentionally bad joke. Now
it’s up to you to get yourself out of it.
* * * *
Lee barely waited for the
small inflatable to head back to the waiting Nautilus before double-checking
his compass and heading north. He was
only too aware that XO Mains, despite his following of orders, didn’t have a
great deal of confidence in Lee’s ability to rescue Capt. Nelson. He was determined to prove his worth, as well
as bring the man safely home who had become very much Lee’s mentor at
Annapolis. He wasn’t sure how he was
going to do that, especially as he had no idea of what danger he was headed
into. But over the last few years he had
learned, with ONI’s training and help, to trust his judgment and
instincts. They’d gotten him in trouble
a time or two – his impetuous nature tended to over-balance caution. But he’d always managed to think fast enough
on his feet to find a way to accomplish his task. He allowed himself a slightly smug grin. His superiors hadn’t always approved of his
methods. But at least they’d had to
acknowledge his successes.
COB Bullock had located a
light jacket of undeterminable origin, along with what could almost be
described as a fishing vest – a light garment with a multitude of pockets. Lee filled a good many of them with items
from his kit bag, after changing from his uniform into dark blue knit pullover
and a slightly ratty pair of jeans. XO
Mains had shaken his head slightly at the outfit when he brought Lee a small
radio tuned to a hopefully obscure channel that Nautilus’ radiomen would be
monitoring constantly. He’d handed Lee a
first aid kit that the sub’s corpsman had put together and tied up in a piece
of canvas that had been cut from a larger piece to do away with the US Navy
stamp it carried. Lee nodded his
approval of the foresight and stuffed it in the large back pocket of the
vest. Mains also handed him another
package that turned out to be several large roast beef sandwiches. Lee ducked his head as Mains warned him that
the sandwiches better not come back.
Obviously Mains had picked up on, during Lee’s tenure aboard Nautilus,
Lee’s habit of not eating if other projects were occupying his mind. Lee sent him a small grin as he covered
everything with the jacket. A black
watch cap Bullock had found somewhere, with no Navy markings, completed Lee’s
outfit.
Now, Lee was grateful for the
layers of clothing. Moving quickly he
kept from getting too cold. But the
rising sun was obscured from shining by a building cloud cover and the breeze
was freshening. Lee suspected that there
was bad weather coming – he just hoped that it would hold off for another 24
hours. By that time, with any luck, he’d
be safely back aboard Nautilus along with Capt. Nelson.
It was about mid-morning when
he approached his target area.
Unknowingly mimicking Nelson, he spotted the smoke from the fire and
skirted the area to approach from the north.
He avoided making the same mistake Nelson had only because of the
forewarning Nautilus had gotten from ComSubPac.
Inching through heavy cover as silently as possible, he discovered a
sentry posted on the edge of the clearing.
Lee recognized this as both good news and bad. At least Nelson was most likely still close
by. But Lee’s job had instantly gotten
more difficult than already assumed. He
carefully scanned what he could see around him and decided to move more to the
east before getting any closer to the clearing.
The breeze was making the brush rattle and wave, thus covering some of
his own movements and noise. But it also
hampered his ability to maneuver quickly.
The trees to the east, even if only the stubby ones that could survive
Siberia’s brutal winters, offered a few more possibilities both for
surveillance and possible distraction.
He had to avoid another
sentry but was soon snaking his way through the underbrush beneath the
trees. What he found brought more good
news and bad. Lee spotted Nelson and
another man, sitting on the ground with their arms tied around small tree
trunks at the edge of the clearing, another sentry between Lee and them. In the clearing he could make out several
more men, some dressed as soldiers, some not, sitting or standing around a
small fire. There was a pot sitting in
the embers and, as he watched, one of the men passed around some metal
bowls. The others took turns ladling
what appeared to be a stew of some sort into the bowls and began to eat. One of the men glanced toward Nelson and said
something Lee didn’t catch, but it caused everyone else to laugh. The smell of the food drifted Lee’s way,
reminding him that he’d not eaten in too many hours. He’d been too nervous, after his talk with XO
Mains, to get much down except coffee.
With another glance at the one sentry he could see, Lee hunkered down
even further in the brush. From this
distance, Nelson didn’t appear to be taking much notice of what was going on
around the fire. He hadn’t reacted to
the laughter, although Lee did see the other prisoner glance Nelson’s way
before also studiously ignoring it.
While Nelson’s back was upright against the tree, his head was leaning
forward and down as if he were sleeping.
Or unconscious, Lee thought
angrily. Several options for action
presented themselves but Lee hesitated.
He needed more information about what was going on, and the only way
that was going to happen was if he remained calm and continued to observe the
camp.
* * * *
Nelson was cold and
tired. And hunger wasn’t helping his
aching head and ribs. He and Stepan had
been released from their bonds only a couple of times, to relieve themselves
and eat the hard bread and small amounts of water given them. Unwillingly, it seemed to Nelson. But then, he had to admit that he’d yet to
meet a friendly Russian soldier. During
those all too brief moments of freedom they’d had several guns trained on them
and there had been no opportunity to do more than comply.
Nelson’s muscles were
cramping from the lack of activity and there had been no offer of moving closer
to the fire. Now, as the brief night had
given way to a gray morning, the cold was seeping in worse and worse. He was almost looking forward to whomever
they were waiting for to arrive, if only it meant that he would be released
from his enforced immobility. His head
drooped as the men prepared their noon meal, and he didn’t bother to look up
when he heard them laughing.
He did look up as one of the
men moved away from the fire in his direction thinking perhaps that, now that
all of the men had eaten, maybe he and Stepan would be given something. But it seemed that the man was only headed to
relieve the guard who had been posted in the area behind Nelson and Stepan so
that he could go and eat. Nelson sent
Stepan a grim look and once more lowered his head. He didn’t acknowledge the small sound he
heard behind him a few minutes later, assuming that it was the sentry moving
around. The men at the fire didn’t appear
to take notice, either. It had been so
soft that Nelson figured they hadn’t heard it; they had been talking quietly
amongst themselves. From what Nelson
could pick up, they were speculating about when the person they were waiting
for would likely show up.
He also didn’t pay any
attention when something seemed to brush his hand. His fingers were so cold and stiff that at
first he wasn’t sure that he’d felt anything at all. He couldn’t help but notice the bit of black
knit that appeared by the side of his tree, between he and Stepan. Just a brief glimpse before it disappeared, and
then he was sure that he felt something once more touch his hand. He noticed Stepan openly staring behind
Nelson and quickly motioned to him.
Stepan seemed also to realize what he was doing, and both men glanced
toward the fire. Thankfully no one there
appeared to have noticed them and both Nelson and Stepan once more lowered
their heads, although Stepan was covertly still trying to see behind Nelson.
“Sir,” came in a soft
whisper, too soft to identify the speaker.
“I’m going to cut the rope.” Nelson
gave a very brief nod, just enough to acknowledge that he’d heard. He still couldn’t quite identify the voice
but was getting a strong idea of who it most likely was. He didn’t move his arms as he felt the
tension release so as not to alert the men around the fire. He wasn’t too sure he could anyway, as stiff
as he’d become. But he readied himself
as best he could for whatever was about to happen. He glanced at Stepan, who gave him an equally
brief nod, and an arm reached between the two trees and Stepan’s rope instantly
hung slack. He, too, held himself still.
“How many more?” came from
behind him, still in a whisper.
“I assume you took care of
the one behind us.” What Nelson
recognized as a watch cap appeared once more, barely around the tree and
sheltered from the view from the fire by Nelson’s hip, and gave a brief
nod. “Then three more sentries, north,
west, and south, and the five by the fire.”
“South has already been
neutralized,” came the whisper. “Head
that direction when the fireworks start,” and the watch cap disappeared.
Nelson was now fairly sure
that his rescuer was Nautilus’ youngest JO, Lt. Lee Crane. He wasn’t going to speculate on how that had
happened, although he had the niggling of an idea. He could even smile softly at what his XO,
Cory Mains, had probably had to say about it.
But he wasn’t about to knock the timing.
As carefully as he could, without attracting too much attention from the
soldiers, he began stretching muscles and loosening joints, preparing a body
sore, stiff, and cold, for quick moving.
He sent Stepan a quick nod as his friend was doing the same. Nelson was also eyeing his chances for
grabbing one of the soldiers’ rifles. He
wasn’t sure what kind of diversion Crane – if that’s who it actually was – was
planning. He’d just have to play
whatever was about to happen by ear, and take his chances as they presented
themselves.
He had no idea where his
rescuer had disappeared to until, from the area east of the fire, a small
projectile suddenly flew out of the brush and arced directly into the center of
the fire, missing the stew pot by barely an inch. The resulting explosion happened so fast that
it caught everyone, including Nelson and Stepan, off guard. Nelson was quick to note that it was little
more than a flash bomb. It momentarily
blinded and disoriented the men around the fire but didn’t cause a lot of
actual damage. As quickly as he could he
headed Stepan south while he headed for the fire and the soldiers’ weapons.
He’d grabbed up one rifle and
was reaching for another when he heard a shout.
He turned just in time to see Viktor Lobov, an expression of complete
hatred on his face and a nasty looking revolver in his hand. Nelson had no time to react before he saw
Lobov pull the trigger. He felt the
impact in his upper left arm, spinning him around and forcing him to drop the
rifle he’d picked up. Expecting another
hit, instead Lobov suddenly fell backward, a red stain quickly spreading on his
chest. Totally surprised, Nelson looked
and saw who he could now identify as Lee Crane emerge from the bushes, pistol
in his hand, and head in his direction.
But as the rest of the soldiers were starting to regain their senses
Nelson motioned him away and grabbed up the rifle he’d dropped. He barely glanced at his arm, noting that the
bullet had gone all the way through.
Time enough to wrap something around it once they got away.
If they got away. The soldiers were quickly getting over their
initial startlement, realizing that they weren’t actually hurt, and reaching
for their weapons. Nelson clubbed the
nearest one with the butt end of the rifle.
He also grabbed both his own pack and the one Stepan had earlier
identified as his. Stepan had told him
that they’d both been thoroughly searched but left intact. Slinging one strap from each over his
shoulder with a muffled groan, he took off for the brush.
He momentarily lost sight of
Crane as bullets started to fly. He
stopped long enough to send several back in the direction of the soldiers
before hurrying on, but had only gone another fifty yards or so when he found
both the lieutenant and Stepan hunkered down behind some rocks. As he ducked around them as well Crane let
fly half a dozen rounds – he, too, had snagged one of the soldier’s
rifles. There was momentary silence from
their pursuers.
“Sir,” came an exclamation,
and Nelson realized that Lee had spotted the blood on the sleeve of his coat.
“Nothing serious,” he
responded offhandedly as he kept an eye on the direction they’d just come.
Crane looked doubtful, but
Nelson sent him a meaningful glare and Lee backed down. “In that case, sir, I suggest that you take
your friend and keep going south. “I’ll
keep your other ‘friends’ occupied and join up with you shortly.” It was said firmly, but Crane kept a properly
respectful expression on his face accompanied by an ever so slight downward
look in his eyes as he kept looking between Nelson and the path north.
Nelson snorted but in fact it
was exactly what he’d been about to suggest, only with him staying behind. Since he couldn’t argue with the logic, and
so far Crane had handled himself and his task with perfect competence, he
merely sent Crane a nod and he and Stepan, who had yet to say a word but did
take his pack from Nelson, took off.
They didn’t go far, only a
couple of hundred yards, before they found another place of suitable
cover. It was off to their right
slightly and offered a steep hill at their back, rocks to crouch behind for
cover, and a clear view of the area Crane would traverse to reach them, as well
as any following soldiers. There had
been sporadic gunfire behind them, short bursts of several shots followed by
moments of silence. As Nelson kept watch
for Crane he also kept glancing at Rospev, who suddenly seemed to be fighting a
headache. As Nelson looked at him, he
removed the fur hat that he’d been wearing ever since Nelson woke up from being
gun-whipped. “Stepan!”
“I am doing okay,” his friend
tried to wave off Nelson’s concern.
There was dried blood on the side of Stepan’s head.
“What happened?” Nelson
asked, still trying to keep an eye out for Crane. He was getting nervous because of the gunfire
he’d heard.
Stepan shrugged. “After you were incapacitated I unfortunately
showed pleasure at the damage you inflicted on Viktor’s face.” He sent Nelson a broad grin. “Viktor has always been vain about his
looks.”
Nelson returned the grin and
gave him a ‘thumb’s up.’ “Bad?” he
asked.
“No,” Rospev told him. “A bit of a headache,” he admitted.
“I hear you,” Nelson agreed,
but inwardly he still worried. While he
had lost consciousness there had been no blood.
The side of Stepan’s head was crusty with the dried substance. Nelson knew that head wounds often bled
heavily even though little damage had been done. But he also knew that that much damage
usually indicated multiple hits. He’d
have to keep an eye on his friend and be on the lookout for any signs of an
awkward gait or slurred speech – anything that might be an indication of a
worsening head injury.
For now he was a bit more
worried about Crane. It was taking the
young man longer than Nelson thought it should for him to catch up. Nelson was just giving serious consideration
to heading back in the direction of the camp when the black watch cap poked carefully
out of some brush. Nelson gave a very
short whistle, Crane looked around until he spotted Nelson’s head barely
peeking over the rocks, and hurried to join the other two.
Nelson kept watch to the
north until Crane dropped beside him with an audible whuff of air. Nelson sent him a hard look and Lee gave him
a small smile. “Hi, Skipper,” he said
softly.
Nelson snorted. He tried to send Lee a glare but knew that he
wasn’t controlling his face well enough to cover a small grin. “Hi, yourself, Lieutenant,” he muttered
nonetheless. “How’d you talk Mains into
this?” He had a pretty good idea already
but he wanted to see how Crane answered the query.
“Wasn’t me, sir,” Lee
admitted. “Someone from ComSubPac
radioed. They told him that there had
been further intel indicating that your meeting had been compromised.” There was a mutter from Rospev, low and
angry, and in Russian, and Nelson sent him a nod. “They told Mr. Mains to send me in.” Lee sent Nelson an extremely sheepish
look. “He’s not thrilled, for sure. If I don’t get you safely back, sir, he’ll
relegate me to cleaning the ballast tanks for the rest of my tour aboard
Nautilus.”
Nelson chuckled openly. “He might anyway, just on general
principles,” he teased the young man he’d grown fonder of during Crane’s years
at Annapolis than even now he’d openly admit to.
It was Lee’s turn to smile
although it was accompanied by the shy, almost through-the-lashes look Nelson
had grown used to seeing at the Academy.
But almost instantly Lee’s expression turned firm. “Sir!”
Nelson realized that Lee was
staring at his left arm. “It’s nothing,”
he told Lee offhandedly. “I put my
handkerchief inside my sleeve; that will hold until we get back.” He saw Lee suck in a breath and open his
mouth, preparing to argue, and wasn’t in the mood. Trying to change the subject he turned to
Rospev. “Stepan, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask about the other two men with you
and Lobov. Should we have tried to bring
them with us?”
Rospev shrugged. “I think that they would have liked to
come. But Viktor intimidated them so
much, when the soldiers moved in, that they were too afraid. They pretended to have just been playing
along so that they could turn me in themselves.
I wash my hands of them!” he ended with a growl.
Nelson nodded. He’d had enough of the taste of Lobov’s
venomous persona that Stepan’s explanation made perfect sense. But his attempt to sidetrack Lee with the
conversation fell flat on its face.
“Captain, you need to let me
look at that wound.” Lee’s voice was
very firm and under control. “You know
what happened the last time…”
“Not another word,
Lieutenant,” Nelson snarled, cutting him off.
He glared at Lee, but Lee met his gaze with one of conviction. They were both remembering an incident that
had occurred about three months after Lee came aboard Nautilus.*
The semi-standoff ended when
Nelson couldn’t hold the glare in the face of Lee’s silent but firmly insistent
expression, and shrugged out of the coat and left shirtsleeve. Lee took a look toward the north as he
reached into the large back pocket of the vest and brought out the first aid
kit he’d been given. “I’ll watch for
unfriendlies,” Nelson grumbled, still trying to sound angry. “You just hurry up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nelson saw Rospev raise an
eyebrow at the strange conversation he’d just heard and sent him half a
smile. “Confused?” he asked.
“I gather that I have stepped
into the middle of a previous conversation?” Rospev responded hesitantly.
Nelson snorted again as Lee
ducked his head but continued to assess the damage, clean it the best he could,
and tape bandages in place. “Dr. Stepan
Rospev, Lt. Lee Crane,” Nelson made the belated introduction. “Crane has the disgusting trait of
occasionally thinking he’s smarter than his superior officers.” Lee’s head ducked even further. Rospev looked nervously between the two. What he knew of Nelson, the man definitely
did not tolerate insubordinate underlings well at all. “He also,” Nelson continued in a growl before
his face relaxed into a sheepish grin and his voice softened, “has the
disgusting trait of frequently being right.”
He sent Rospev a wink before nodding toward the spare pack that he’d
grabbed. “Check that, would you,
Stepan? I saw food come out of it and
I’m hoping that there’s more. I’m
starving.” Rospev complied eagerly, but
both men also watched Lee as his hands reached back into his multi-pocketed
vest.
“Here, sir,” he said,
offering Nelson the sandwiches. “These
should help.” Nelson’s eager reach for
the package almost made him miss the slight flinch as Lee quickly reclosed the
jacket. Nor did Lee miss the fact that
Nelson saw it and he sent his CO another of his shy little smiles. “I was hurrying, and not totally watching
where I put my feet,” he said by way of explanation. “Zigged when I had intended to zag. No biggy, just a bruise that’s going to bug
me for a few days.”
Nelson glared at him, ready
to reciprocate Lee’s insistence on tending to Nelson’s injury. But sounds from the direction they’d just
come grabbed the attention of all three.
Rospev flattened himself, hands still searching through the pilfered
pack. Nelson and Lee both barely peeked
around different rocks and watched five of the soldiers, heavily armed, attempt
to follow their prey. They entered the
small clearing in front of where the others hid and stopped, appearing to be
pondering their options after apparently losing the trail in the rocky terrain
of the clearing.
Nelson was trying to figure
out his options when he realized that his young lieutenant had a
mischievous, bordering on slightly evil, grin starting to creep across his
face. “Whatever you’re plotting, Mr.
Crane, I’m back in command of this assignment,” he managed to growl while
barely whispering, so as not to give away their position.
“Yes, sir,” Crane
agreed. But the grin never left his
face. “Am I allowed to offer a
suggestion?”
Nelson very carefully
kept a grin off his own face. During his
years at Annapolis Crane, along with his three co-conspirators, Midshipmen
Morton, Levin, and Hughes, had been suspected of any number of instances of
minor mayhem. Nothing had ever been
proven, and none of the instances were anything mean-spirited or
hazardous. Mostly the moments had had a
knack for adding a bit of levity to an otherwise serious and strenuous time in
the Middies’ lives, and helped to make their class one of the most successful
and cohesive that the Academy had thus far produced. The prevailing thought at the time was that
Morton had been the mastermind but Nelson had never totally bought into that
theory. Crane had the ability to think
totally outside the box. He was young
and occasionally impetuous, but Nelson had learned that it was wise to at least
listen to his ideas instead of totally dismissing them out of hand.
But he was interrupted from
asking when the soldiers suddenly sprinted south, putting themselves between
Nelson and his escape route. “That’s
just terrific,” he muttered angrily.
“Actually, sir, it is,” Crane
told him, the grin still spreading. As
the soldiers disappeared into the brush on the other side of the clearing
Nelson turned a nasty glare on Crane but it failed to diminish the lieutenant’s
obvious glee. In fact, he basically
ignored Nelson and turned instead to Rospev.
“Doctor,” he addressed the scientist, “are you convinced that the other
two men you brought with you want to defect?”
Rospev looked at Nelson for
several seconds, waiting for the man to flatten his impudent crewman. When Nelson held his tongue, Rospev finally
answered. “Like me they have no close
family left behind, and wish to continue their research without political
interference. I still condemn them for
not being able to stand up to Viktor and the soldiers, and trying to save their
own lives.” He sighed. “But I can understand why.”
“Did Dr. Lobov know how Capt.
Nelson was getting to the meeting place?”
Rospev shook his head
carefully, obviously trying to ignore his headache. “I did not know, only where we were to meet.”
“Coming from Kivak would make
the most sense,” Nelson interjected, “with its proximity to St. Lawrence
Island.”
Lee nodded. Nelson noted that the grin had disappeared
but he could almost see the gears turning behind Lee’s expressive eyes. “Yes, sir,” he replied respectfully. “That means that they won’t be expecting us
to do something so totally stupid as to double back, pick up the other two men,
and head east to the coast. From there
we can head south.” As Nelson started to
open his mouth to object, Lee hurried on.
“We’ll have to skirt the town of Chechen, sir, but from what I remember
of the map that won’t be too hard. And
we can have Nautilus pick us up not too far south of there; less distance for
us to travel and only a bit trickier for Mr. Mains. And further away from Kivak if they,” he nodded
toward where the soldiers have disappeared, “have already sounded the alarm.”
Nelson sent the younger man
another glare. “And just how do you
propose we change the pick-up point? We
have no way to contact Nautilus.”
Lee’s grin returned. “You may have been forbidden to bring a radio
along, sir.” He patted his jacket. “Mr. Mains was given no such order.”
Nelson could only shake his
head. As usual, Lee’s logic was
sound. He sat quietly, eating his
sandwich as well as his share of the hunk of cheese Stepan had pulled from the
pack. Happily there had also been a
canteen attached to the pack. Lee shook
off the suggestion that he at least eat half a sandwich and share the water but
Nelson, who was not unaware of the lieutenant’s inclination towards thinking
first of others while ignoring his own needs, made it an order. The shy smile came back as Lee complied. They both kept a careful watch for more
unfriendlies. Once done eating they
removed everything from the pack and hastily buried anything they didn’t
need. Along with some bread and a couple
of tins of peaches they found a box of ammunition for the rifles Nelson and Lee
had snagged. After they both reloaded
the weapons they divided the rest of the bullets up between them, stowing them
in pockets so they’d be handy. Nelson
was continuing to keep a close watch on Rospev but, other than obvious signs of
a headache, the Russian seemed to be doing okay. They continued to watch southward but once
they were ready they headed north, back toward the camp.
This time they approached
from the west, Lee having convinced Nelson that the cover was better than the
way both had entered the camp the first time.
Nothing much had changed except for a lot fewer men around the fire. And, something covered by a tarp. Nelson gave Lee a short nod of thanks for
taking out Lobov. The two scientists
were still huddled around the fire but now only two of the soldiers were left
to guard them, one of them obviously nursing an aching head from Nelson’s
having whacked him earlier with the rifle butt.
Lee slipped aside before Nelson even realized what the young man was
thinking and surprised everyone by walking into the camp, rifle leveled at the
two soldiers. Nelson shook his head – he
was definitely going to have to have a long talk with the lieutenant. But not right now. He hurried forward, his rifle also at the
ready, and heard Rospev follow him.
They didn’t waste a whole lot
of time. Using the rope that had
previously had Nelson and Rospev immobile they quickly did the same to the two
guards. While Rospev explained what was
going on to his colleagues Nelson watched their reactions closely, and realized
that Lee was doing the same thing. But
they seemed to show only excitement at being rescued, and quickly gathered
their things. Nelson sent Lee a nod
when, from out of his vest he brought out a small roll of duct tape and placed
a couple strips across the mouths of each guard. As Rospev would have shepherded the other two
scientists out of camp toward the east Nelson stopped him and pointed the trio
west. He watched Lee put another strip
of tape across each soldier’s eyes as he quickly collected anything from around
the camp that could come in handy. Lee
helped as soon as he was done with the guards.
They both avoided the tarp-covered body.
Once done they reunited with Rospev and circumnavigated the camp to the
north, being extra watchful as they had no idea when reinforcements were to
arrive in the form of the man who was supposed to be able to identify Nelson,
and whoever he might be bringing with him.
But they neither saw nor heard anyone and were quickly out of the area.
More people meant that they
had to move more slowly, and Nelson cringed every time the newcomers made a
loud noise; they were obviously not used to trying to walk silently. And the second time that he had to tell
Rospev to tell them to quit talking and shut up, he also called a halt to get a
few things straight. Through Rospev he
explained that they were still in grave danger, and if they didn’t want to be
found and shot they’d better get a grip on procedures. When Rospev translated that they seemed to
finally understand that they weren’t home free.
Nelson wisely didn’t mention that, if they didn’t get themselves under
control, it would in all likelihood be him who shot them! His arm was really starting to hurt, and
between that and the constant tension he was in a foul mood already without
their incessant chatter.
Rospev, too, seemed to be
regretting the decision to go back for them.
He did introduce them to Nelson as Drs. Yegor Onopov and Sergei
Bakunin. Nelson glanced at Lee who was
hanging back a bit, keeping their rear guarded, but didn’t include him in the
introductions. A nod told him that Lee
was perfectly happy with that arrangement.
He seemed to be keeping as much of an eye on Onopov and Bakunin as he
was on their back trail. Both scientists
had watched him shoot Lobov and were keeping a cautious eye on him as
well. Nelson decided that that wasn’t a
bad thing. If they were concerned about
Lee always being behind them with a rifle at the ready they were less likely to
cause trouble. After that, traveling was
much quieter, although still not totally to Nelson’s liking. But at least it did seem that they were doing
their best to move as silently as they could.
The men had more trouble
keeping to cover this much closer to the waters of the Bering Strait, and
getting around Chechen cost them several hours.
It was nearing 2100 hours before they found a suitable place to stop and
rest. Nelson was becoming seriously
concerned about Rospev; for the last couple of hours he’d accepted help walking
from Bakunin, and Onopov had checked his head wound and eye responses during
one of their ever more frequent stops.
Stepan had assured Nelson that he was doing just fine, but Nelson caught
a look that passed between him and Onopov and wasn’t totally buying it. Even Lee seemed more exhausted than Nelson
thought he should be when he dropped beside Nelson and used his compass to help
estimate where they were. But Nelson
chalked it up to too many hours with too little sleep and food. His thoughts went back to the worried look
Lee had sent him before Nelson left Nautilus and figured that the young man had
probably not rested well afterward. He
watched Lee pull a small radio out of his pocket, put an earphone plug in his
right ear, and talk softly into the radio he held a scant inch from his mouth.
“Polar bear to Orca. Polar bear to Orca. Come in, Orca,” Lee spoke quietly but
firmly. He clamped his right hand over
his ear as he continued to hold the radio in his left. Nelson motioned for everyone else to be
quiet. Apparently Lee got an answer as
he once again spoke into the radio.
“Small change of plans. Request
pick-up…” and he gave the estimated coordinates. “Polar bear has package plus 3 more. Repeat, pick-up for five requested. With damages,” he added with a quick flick of
his eyes toward Nelson. There was
another short pause, then “Roger that, Orca.
Polar bear out,” and Lee re-stowed the radio.
Nelson sent him a stern
look. “Not exactly original call signs,
Lieutenant,” he observed dryly.
Lee sent him his shy
smile. “Seemed appropriate, sir,”
Nelson nodded. “How long?”
“Nautilus will have to be
especially vigilant as word has surely gone out by now.” Again Nelson nodded. “But they will hopefully be looking closer to
Kivak.” He looked around. “I suggest you stay here while I go scout for
good cover closer to the water. We can
move down there nearer to 0030 hours.”
Nelson nodded. “Good plan, only…” The last word came out a bit louder as Lee
started to move. “You stay here,” Nelson
ordered. His glare increased as Lee
started to open his mouth, and Lee shut it again. “I’ll do the reconnaissance.”
“Yes, sir.” Nelson hesitated a second as he thought that
he detected a note of relief in the younger man’s voice, as if he was just as
glad not to have to move. But he chalked
it up to the fatigue that Lee had already been showing and slipped quietly out
of the small shelter they’d found.
It took longer than Nelson
thought that it would to find a safe waiting spot. If it had just been him there were several
small sheltered areas. But he needed a
spot where five men could stay hidden, and still be accessible to someplace
that the small inflatable could land. He
was also concerned about getting that many men back to the submarine in one
trip. There was no way there would be
time for two. Nautilus’ inflatable would
just barely be big enough for everyone.
Nelson considered the option of dumping packs as soon as they were deep
enough that it would be unlikely they would wash ashore and be found. He and Lee could do that, if necessary. But the three Russians were carrying what
they could from their old lives – probably things that were irreplaceable in
whatever new lives they established in the states, or wherever they
settled. Nelson was extremely loath to
tell them they couldn’t bring even the little bit they’d stuffed in their
packs.
The place that he finally found
was a bit closer to a small settlement of houses, probably a fishing village,
than he would have liked. But there was
a small concave area – not really a cave but it did offer an overhang to get
underneath – with enough brush around it to offer cover for everyone, and near
enough to a fairly level gravelly area where the inflatable could land. He noted the coordinates as best he could
with his compass and made his way back to the others.
Slipping through the
surrounding brush as silently as he could, he suddenly found a rifle barrel six
inches in front of his nose. “Oops,”
came in a whisper, and the rifle was lowered.
“Sorry, sir.” Nelson found Lee
looking at him bashfully.
Nelson chuckled softly. “Under the circumstances, better safe than
sorry,” he waved off Lee’s apology.
“Mission accomplished, but it’s a bit further away than I’d like. How’s Stepan?
We’d probably better get going soon to be sure we get there on time.”
“I’m fine, Harriman,” came
Rospev’s voice from behind Lee.
“Sure you are,” Nelson
grumbled, but moved to where he could give his friend a reassuring smile. “Just a little longer and we’ll have you
safe. All of you,” he added, including
the other two scientists in his glance, and got back nods in return. He grabbed Rospev’s backpack as well as his
own, as Bakunin helped Stepan to his feet after shouldering his own pack. Nelson turned and found Lee ungracefully
getting up. “Lee?”
Crane sent him a tired
smile. “I’ll be glad to get home as
well, sir.” He was favoring his right
side again, and for the first time Nelson noticed a dark stain on the
jacket. Lee noticed him staring at
it. “Not sure where the COB found this
jacket, sir, but it’s definitely seen better days.”
“It would appear, so have
you,” Nelson muttered. Crane sent him
another of his shy little smiles but didn’t say anything further, and Nelson
led his little band out of the shelter.
The going was even slower as
Nelson watched Rospev have more and more difficulty walking. He and Bakunin kept right behind Nelson as
best they could, followed by Onopov, with Crane bringing up the rear. They were having to stop every twenty yards
or so and it was midnight by the time they reached the place Nelson had found. As they settled themselves under the
overhang, Lee once more pulled out the small radio. But when he seemed to be having difficulties
with it, Nelson took it gently from him.
“You rest,” he ordered, and Crane gave him a grateful nod.
“Polar bear to Orca,” Nelson
spoke, once he’d turned on the radio and set the earphone.
Almost instantly he heard his
XO’s voice in his ear. “Orca standing
by,” was all he said, but Nelson breathed a huge sigh of relief hearing the
familiar tone. He was brief as well, not
giving the actual coordinates but merely the difference between what Crane had
given earlier in case anyone was listening.
“Understood,” came the reply, and both men broke the connection.
This time Nelson kept the
radio. Crane was kneeling, half-leaning
against the rock face watching and listening in the growing darkness around
them. He made no objection when Nelson
pocketed the device instead of handing it back.
They both looked toward the other three as Rospev suddenly toppled over
where he was sitting, and Onopov and Bakunin quickly started examining him,
whispering in Russian to each other.
Nelson caught bits of it, but obviously Crane caught even more. “They think that he’s bleeding into his
brain,” Crane translated softly. “They
aren’t sure how serious it is but, since it took so long to develop, they think
that he will be okay.” They watched as
Rospev roused. He wasn’t totally
coherent but seemed to realize what was happening. “But he needs medical attention as soon as
possible,” Crane continued.
Nelson nodded and turned his
attention to the sea. Nautilus’
corpsman, Petty Officer Burdick, was one of the best he’d ever served
with. No neurosurgeon, for sure. But once they could scurry out of Russian
territory and Doc, as any sub’s corpsman was usually called, had a chance to
evaluate Stepan’s condition for himself, they could put in a call and get
someone on the line who could walk Burdick through whatever he could do to keep
Stepan alive until they could get him to one.
Nautilus was supposed to head for Washington State once they made the pick-up
but Nelson was already revising those orders, figuring out the nearest Alaskan
port from which Stepan and the others could be evacuated. Nome was pretty much a straight shot from
where they were. Once back aboard,
Nelson would head there with all due haste.
His attention was drawn to a
soft noise off to his right, like perhaps a small animal of some sort, but
almost instantly he forgot it as he caught movement out on the water. He sent a quick double-click from the penlight
he carried and prepared to move his small band of men down to the beach. But he’d no more than stood up when his head
was nearly taken off by a bullet that missed him by inches. So fast that he almost didn’t realize where
it came from at first, an answering volley was fired from Crane’s rifle. “Move, sir.
I’ll cover you,” Lee told him.
Nelson hesitated only a second.
They were only going to get one chance at this and apparently ‘someone’
wasn’t going to make it easy. As Crane
sent another shot in the direction Nelson had heard the noise, he hustled the
three Russians toward the water as fast as he could. Onopov and Bakunin were half-carrying,
half-dragging Rospev. Nelson quickly
snatched up Stepan’s backpack – he’d never taken off his own – and sent a rifle
volley of his own into the darkness as he nearly walked backward, defending the
three. There were several more shots in
his direction and what Nelson took as a muffled oath escaped one of the
Russians. He turned and saw Bakunin
stumble slightly before continuing his part in getting Stepan to the boat,
although now with a noticeable limp.
Nelson sent another round in
the shooter’s direction and it was matched by a couple from Lee. He was gratified to hear a pained yell after
the second one and turned his attention to the water. He was never more grateful to see anything in
his life than he was when Nautilus’ inflatable hit the rocky flat area. There hadn’t been any more unfriendly shots after
he’d heard the yell and as quickly as he could he helped the two crewmen, one
of whom turned out to be COB Bullock himself, get the Russians on board. Onopov immediately started looking at an
apparent wound in Bakunin’s upper left thigh.
Nelson was preparing to push off when he realized Lee hadn’t yet made an
appearance. “Crane,” he hissed into the
darkness.
“Here,” came the reply, and
Crane all but stumbled down to him just as another shot came way too close for
anyone’s comfort. Nelson practically
shoved Crane into the inflatable, emptied his rifle in the general direction of
the unfriendlies and, tossing it aside, pushed off and jumped in all in one
motion. He was instantly reminded of his
own injuries, all but forgotten in the tension of the last couple hours, and a
groan escaped before he could stop it.
“Skipper?” came from both the
COB and Seaman Lands as they paddled toward the open ocean as fast as they
could.
“I’m fine,” Nelson growled.
Softly there was a rebuttal
from Crane. “The Skipper has a bullet
wound, upper left arm.”
“Lieutenant,” Nelson all but
spit out.
But it didn’t stop
Crane. “It’s cleaned as best I could,
but Doc will need to take a look as soon as he can.” Even as hard as Nelson was glaring at the
younger man, he noticed Bullock have to turn his head and suspected that the
COB was having to hide a grin as once again Crane chose to risk Nelson’s wrath
by giving an unedited report. “Dr.
Rospev is worse,” Crane continued. “Head
injury. I’m not sure about Dr.
Bakunin.” Onopov said something softly
and Crane translated. “Dr. Onopov says
that he doesn’t think the bullet hit anything but muscle, but it will need
tending to as well.”
Nelson was so mad that he
could have almost, at that moment, tossed his insubordinate lieutenant
overboard. And yet, at the same time, he
had to bury a chuckle. Crane was
obviously taking no chances that Nelson would, as he had in the past, downplay
the injuries and not get Burdick to check them properly. Especially in this case, where there were
others hurt as well. He knew that
Bullock and Lands were reading the anger on his face as they studiously ignored
him and paddled for all they were worth.
But he also knew his crew – and especially Crane – well enough that he
wasn’t going to be able to slip past his corpsman, even if it had to wait until
he had looked at the Russians first. He
was fairly sure that Crane would have held his tongue until getting back to the
boat if Bullock hadn’t been there. The
COB reported directly to XO Mains, and Crane’s comments would be passed on as
soon as possible after they got back. As
worried as Cory had been before this whole mess started, once the COB passed on
Crane’s information Cory probably wouldn’t let Nelson out of his sight. Nelson was in one respect very pleased. It spoke well of the respect his crew had for
him. But he was still royally
ticked! He turned his back to the rest
in the inflatable and watched the coastline slip further away.
So intent was he on his
personal little temper tantrum that he was startled when the little boat
suddenly slowed down, and he turned to find Nautilus’ conning tower directly in
front of him. Instantly his only
thoughts were of getting everyone aboard and getting the heck out of the area
before anything else went wrong.
Willing hands made the
transition from inflatable to submarine go swiftly. Obviously Crane’s original message had been
noted because Burdick met each member of the shore party just inside and
immediately started sorting out the injuries.
Nelson was able to side-step the corpsman with a fierce glare and head
for the Conn but behind him he heard COB Bullock begin to repeat Crane’s
assessment, and he’d barely gotten caught up with XO Mains, and gotten Nautilus
headed west, when the COB entered the Conn.
“COB,” Nelson ordered,
“status.”
Bullock didn’t hesitate. “Doc’s assessing the head wound. Seaman Carrick,” Carrick had extensive first
aid training and helped out when needed, “is checking the leg wound. Turns out the other guy isn’t injury free
either. He started throwing up
blood. Lt. Crane is translating; seems
the guy has what sounds like a bleeding ulcer.”
“Sounds like Sick Bay is a
tad busy,” Nelson said, with a pointed glare at his COB.
Bullock nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He maintained a proper, respectful expression on his face as he
continued. “Doc said, if you could hold
out a bit longer, he’d get to you as soon as he could.”
Nelson saw Mains, who had
already noticed the hole in Nelson’s jacket sleeve but had carefully held his
tongue, now shoot him a look of concern.
Nelson tried to casually wave it off, all the while controlling a grin
at his COB who had obviously been taking lessons from Crane. “I can wait,” he assured both men. He turned back to Mains in time to catch his
XO getting a grin of his own under control.
Apparently he was thinking pretty much the same thing as Nelson
was. Quietly, so that Mains was the only
one who heard it, he muttered, “I am going to have that young man’s
head. Now he’s gone and corrupted my
incorruptible COB.”
The two men had served long
enough together that, despite the growl in Nelson’s voice, Mains still heard
the respect, and was comfortable that he could get away with speaking fairly
openly. “And I was just thinking that
I’d write him up for a commendation for getting all of you back. Relatively in one piece,” he added carefully.
“He’ll be receiving it
posthumously,” Nelson growled, but he couldn’t quite get his grin under control
and got an answering one back.
They weren’t out of the woods
just yet. Nelson had set a course that
had Nautilus taking a rather circuitous route to Nome. Heading first north-northeast, he was trying
to avoid any unfriendlies who could possibly be waiting for them to make a
beeline for St. Lawrence Island. It was,
therefore, nearly an hour later before XO Mains could nudge his CO towards Sick
Bay. Once Nautilus had safely entered
international waters Nelson set a course for Nome with all due haste, and
placed a call to ComSubPac to update the powers that be on what was going on. There had also been a call to Nome, to relay
Petty Officer Burdick’s issues and get him the information necessary to
stabilize the patients as best he could until they could be delivered to the
hospital there.
Nelson got those updates when
he tried to enter Nautilus’ tiny Sick Bay.
Rospev was lying on the one exam table and a bunk mattress had been laid
on the floor behind it for Onopov, an IV stand between the two holding bags of
fluids for both men. Rospev’s eyes were
open and Nelson tried to talk to him.
But the Russian was only semi-conscious and not very coherent. As Burdick would have sat Nelson down on a
chair to check his Skipper’s injury, Nelson demanded an update. Burdick explained that at present, both
Onopov and Bakunin were stable. Bakunin
was in the closest crew cabin, being kept an eye on by Carrick. Burdick was more concerned about Rospev but
at the moment was following the instructions he’d been given by the doctors in
Nome and Rospev seemed a little better. Nelson raised an eyebrow when Burdick had
mentioned where Bakunin was – the closest crew cabins belonged to the
JO’s. Burdick confirmed that Lt. Allman
had volunteered his bunk, as opposed to using the Mess as was usually the case
when there were more injuries than Sick Bay could handle. Nelson carefully hid a grin – Nuclear Specialist
Allman did not like his meals interrupted. But it reminded Nelson to ask if Burdick had
checked out Crane.
The corpsman gave him a
puzzled look as he finally got Nelson sat down in the corner and started to cut
away his shirtsleeve and get to the bandage Crane had taped in place. “I wasn’t aware that he was injured,
sir. He was really tired but he didn’t
say anything else was wrong.”
Nelson snorted. “He wouldn’t,” he grumbled. “At least until you had everything else under
control. And I’m not sure that he is
hurt,” he admitted before having to swallow a yelp of pain, as well as an oath,
as Burdick started cleaning the wounds.
The bullet had gone straight through and both entry and exit wounds got
a thorough cleaning and examination, much to Nelson’s discomfort. Through clenched teeth he continued. “He was favoring one side. I gathered that he slipped and fell against
something – he said that it was just a bruise.”
He sent his corpsman a disgusted look.
“But I wouldn’t put it past him to downplay it.” The frown deepened into a glare as Burdick
struggled to maintain a straight face.
Crane’s status on board Nautilus had gone straight up when he’d risked
his CO’s retaliation by reporting Nelson to Pearl Harbor’s base commander for
doing exactly the same thing. Nelson
gave the corpsman a quick nod despite the glare and still clenched teeth.
“I’ll track him down and
check,” Burdick assured him. He sighed
as he glanced around his tiny space.
“Just as soon as I get a spare moment.”
“He’d better be in his bunk,
resting,” Nelson grumbled fiercely.
“Yes, sir,” Burdick agreed,
but had to turn his head to the side as he could no longer keep a grin covered.
Once Burdick had the wounds
cleaned and treated to his liking he taped more secure bandages in place. Nelson asked if he could cover it with
something long enough for Nelson to take a quick shower. The corpsman nodded with a small grin and put
several more layers of tape in place, telling his once more fairly under
control CO that he’d replace the whole thing later that day.
Gratefully Nelson finally
made his way to his cabin, stripped off his by now totally disreputable outfit,
and stepped into his tiny shower.
Mindful of submarine protocols, he still stood under the spray of water
longer than usual, letting it wash away some of the frustrations of the last
couple of days as well as the dirt, sweat, and grime. He was still there when he heard a commotion
of some sort in the corridor, and noisy voices coming from fairly close
by. He quickly dried off and redressed
in a clean uniform. No alarms had been
triggered but he scurried to see what chaos was being created now.
There were several men
standing outside one of the small JO quarters and at first Nelson thought that
there must be some sort of problem with Dr. Bakunin. But a loud clearing of his throat made
everyone back off and he found Petty Officer Burdick and Seaman Carrick both
working on a very pale, far too still, Lt. Crane. “What…” came out loudly, but anything else he
might have said got stuck in his throat.
Burdick gave him a brief
look. “I came to check on him and
couldn’t rouse him. He didn’t fall,
sir. Or rather, he might have, but he
was also shot.”
“What?” Nelson yelled before
he could get himself back under control.
“I really don’t think that he
realized how serious it is,” Burdick continued.
“It doesn’t look like it bled much and he did put a bandage on it.”
“Then why is he unconscious?”
Nelson was still yelling.
Carrick cringed at the volume
of Nelson’s demand as he continued to hand Burdick supplies from the first aid
bag. Even Burdick hesitated ever so
briefly. “It was bleeding internally,
sir. I suspect that he felt lousy, but
thought that it could wait until things slowed down before saying anything
because there was so little external blood.
Once he lay down…” The corpsman’s
voice trailed off as he concentrated on accessing the actual damage. Nelson saw him make a small incision, and
paled himself at the sudden rush of blood that had apparently been pooling
inside.
“I need more light,” Burdick
suddenly demanded, and Carrick grabbed a desk lamp and held it close. Nothing more was said for a bit except
Burdick asking for supplies from Carrick.
“Back to your stations,” sounded in Mains’ characteristic style, firm
but not overbearing, and everyone in the corridor except Nelson scattered. Mains came to stand by his shoulder and
Nelson filled him in with what little he knew, his voice filled with emotion
but fairly steady and under control.
“He’ll be okay?” Mains asked,
as Burdick seemed to start getting things back under control.
The corpsman shook his
head. “I don’t know yet, sir.” He wiped at some more blood. “The gun shot must have barely nicked an
artery. Or, the fall earlier bruised it,
and pressure finally built up enough that it blew out. I’m not sure.
Whatever happened, it didn’t blow until the lieutenant had already
bandaged the area, I think, and the bandage caused the blood to stay inside so
he didn’t notice.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, it’s also probably what
kept him from bleeding out totally.”
Nelson reached out a hand to
grasp the doorframe as his knees suddenly went weak. “When the boat came he was the last one to
get to the beach. We were being fired at
and I practically threw him aboard…” His
voice trailed off.
“Probably wouldn’t have made
a difference,” Burdick told him, trying to sound convincing. “I’ve got the bleeding clamped off – I need
to move him down to Sick Bay where I can do a better job of getting it more
under control until we get to Nome.
He’ll need surgery I’m not really qualified to do. But…”
He looked at both Mains and Nelson.
When Nelson couldn’t get his
voice to work fast enough, Mains spoke.
“Can either of the Russians be moved?”
Burdick nodded. “Dr. Onopov.
I’ve got him on meds but he’ll need to be monitored. I’d rather not let Dr. Rospev too far out of
my sight.”
“Move Onopov to my bunk,”
Mains told him, “and if Rospev can be moved to the mat that will leave the
table for Crane.”
“That will work,” Burdick
agreed. “But if we could use another
bunk next door,” he nodded in the direction of the other JO cabin across the
corridor where Bakunin was already stashed, “then Carrick can watch both Drs.
Onopov and Bakunin.”
“I’m sure one of the JO’s would
be happy to give up his bunk until we reach Nome,” Nelson said.
Mains had to smile, however
briefly, at Nelson’s handling of the situation.
There wasn’t a man aboard who would risk their CO’s infamous temper by
not immediately acquiescing. Well, perhaps Crane, he thought, and the
smile threatened to break through no matter how serious the situation was. Let’s
just hope that he survives to be able to! he added. Out loud he assured Nelson, “I’ll take care
of it.” Nelson nodded and, not wanting
to get in his corpsman’s way any longer, headed for the Conn by way of the
Wardroom. He was in serious need of
coffee!
Nelson realized that he was
on the prowl an hour later, trying to walk off a case of nerves by constantly
scanning the various stations in the Conn, when Mains told him quietly, “ETA
Nome a bit over two hours, sir.”
Nelson nodded and stopped his
stalking. But it wasn’t but a few
minutes later he realized that he was firmly gripping the chart table to keep
himself from starting back up again. He
glanced at Mains, who was studiously avoiding looking at him. “I’m glad we seemed to have avoided any more
trouble,” Nelson offered, just to make conversation.
“Yes, sir,” Mains agreed
wholeheartedly. “Wasn’t looking forward
to fighting our way home.” He realized
too late that that was probably the wrong thing to say to Nelson right at that
moment, since Nelson had had to do just that to get back to the boat. Happily Nelson chose to merely send him
another nod. “Almost lunchtime,” he
changed the subject.
Nelson let a small grin
show. He so appreciated having Cory as
his XO. The man was extremely
conscientious about how he ran both himself and his boat, the crew held him in
great respect for his fairness as well as his quiet confidence and ability to
maintain order. Nelson had no doubt that
he would one day make an excellent skipper of his own boat. Probably sooner than later. Right now, he very much appreciated Cory’s
efforts to casually try and get his uptight CO out of the Conn and out of his
hair! It caused Nelson to send him a
soft chuckle. “Understood, Cory,” he
told his XO, who merely raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t understand. “I’ll be in the Wardroom if you need
me.” He added, because he knew Cory
would expect it anyway, “I’ll check in with Doc before I come back.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Mains told
him, a perfectly controlled expression on his face. It caused Nelson to chuckle again ever so
softly as he left the Conn.
He really had intended to hit
the Wardroom first, but found himself outside Sick Bay instead and entered
quietly. Burdick, who was kneeling on
the floor next to Rospev, stood immediately.
“Sir,” he said respectfully.
“Everything under control?”
“For the moment, sir. Dr. Rospev comes and goes, but he’s
responsive to stimuli so I don’t think the head trauma is getting any
worse.” Nelson nodded and looked at
Crane, whose eyes had been closed but were now open a crack, looking in his
direction. “It took a bit but I got Lt.
Crane’s bleeding under control. He’s
held together with duct tape and wishful thinking at the moment, but he should
be okay once he’s had proper surgery.”
“I see that he’s awake.”
“I’d rather that he wasn’t,”
Burdick muttered, before seeming to realize who he was muttering at and getting
his voice once more under control.
“Tried to convince me that he could go back to his cabin.”
“You stay put, Lieutenant,”
Nelson ordered, pointing a finger at Crane.
“Aye, sir,” came a soft
reply, and Crane’s eyes once more closed.
Nelson shared a quick grin with Burdick across his body.
“When was the last time you
had a break, Petty Officer,” Nelson asked.
His corpsman looked about ready to drop.
“Been awhile,” Burdick
admitted. “But I’ll be okay until we get
everyone safely to Nome.”
“Bet you could use some Joe,”
Nelson told him, referring to the high-test coffee Nautilus’ cook kept
available 24/7. “I’ll make sure your
patients don’t walk out on you.”
“Thank you, sir, but I can
get someone…”
Nelson waved off the
objection. “Need to have a few words with
Lt. Crane,” he told the corpsman. He
made Burdick grin broadly when he added in a stern voice, “I’ll try not to
leave him in worse shape than he is now.”
“Aye, sir,” Burdick struggled
to get out without actually laughing, having gotten an earful from COB Bullock
about what went on in the inflatable. He
glanced at the IV’s attached to both of his patients and left with an “I’ll be
back in five minutes.”
Once the door was closed,
Nelson leaned back against the bulkhead and studied Crane quietly. He wasn’t sure if his former student and
current JO would reopen his eyes on his own, or if Nelson would have to speak
first. He had no doubt that Lee was
conscious. Just as he was preparing to
open his mouth, Lee’s eyelids cracked ever so slightly.
“So help me, Lieutenant,”
Nelson started, his voice firm and his expression harsh, “if you ever try to
hide an injury again on my boat I’ll turn you into shark bait myself.”
“I didn’t think it was that
bad, sir,” Crane tried to defend himself.
“Doc sort of had his hands full, and I thought that I could wait.”
“Doc backing up your excuse
is the only thing that’s keeping you from going on report.” Nelson’s voice was still hard.
“Aye, sir.” Crane sighed heavily and his eyes once more
closed.
Nelson grinned down at
him. His voice was much softer as he
once more spoke. “I don’t think that I
took the time to thank you properly for saving my tail, as well as the others.”
Crane’s eyes opened again, a
bit wider this time. “Just doing my job,
sir. Just following orders.”
Nelson momentarily
frowned. “You seen to have a
rather…interesting, shall we say…method for determining which orders you follow
when,” he grumbled.
Crane’s lips twitched ever so
slightly. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. “Just trying to do my job the best way I know
how,” he added.
It caused Nelson to
snort. “For which Mr. Mains is
grateful.” He sent Crane a glare. “I’m reserving judgment.”
“Yes, sir.” The two shared a look that spoke volumes, but
nothing more was said as Burdick chose that moment to return, a large steaming
mug of coffee in one hand and a thick sandwich in the other. Nelson nodded and left – the room was far too
crowded for him to hang around any longer.
~
“And how many doctors did he
drive crazy during that convalescence,” Dr. Will Jamison asked his boss with a
grumble of his own in his voice.
Admiral Nelson shrugged. “Have no idea,” he admitted. “We made Nome a couple of hours later and the
hospital sent ambulances for all four men.
Nautilus laid over that night and I went to see Stepan the following
morning.” He sent Will a frown and his
voice turned slightly hard. “I never did
find out who said what – nobody was about to admit anything – but before anyone
there would let me see either Stepan or Lee I was stuffed in an exam room and
had my head, arm, and ribs thoroughly checked out.” Will grinned broadly, Nelson finally did as
well, and his voice was back to normal when he continued. “Everyone was going to be fine –
thankfully.” He took a sip from his
glass. “Lee had lost a lot of
blood. While Burdick had done a great
job Lee did, as Burdick knew, need further surgery to repair the damage. Nautilus was ordered back on patrol – we had
seriously irritated the Russians with our little adventure. By the time Lee was fit for duty he’d been
reassigned.” Nelson chuckled. “I’m not totally sure that Cory was sorry to
be rid of him. Lee did have a slight
tendency to mess up his orderly boat.”
Will sent him a glare. “It’s nice to know that there are some
constants in the world.” Nelson choked
on the swallow of scotch he’d just taken, but both men ended up chuckling.
“He does keep things
interesting,” Nelson admitted.
“That’s one way to phrase
it,” Will growled. “What became of your
friend and his colleagues?”
Nelson grinned. “Stepan changed his name to Stephen Ross,” he
said casually.
Will shot him a look. “Our Dr. Ross, in the Microbiology
Department?” Nelson nodded, and Will
shrugged. “Explains the accent, and why
he never talks about his younger years.”
“All three, once they were
debriefed and given visas, found jobs at different marine labs around the
country. I didn’t keep in contact with
the other two. But when I started
planning NIMR Stepan, well, Stephen, was one of the first people I
recruited.” He grinned. “When Lee came, they instantly recognized
each other. Although,” he added, “they
both studiously avoid mentioning how they originally met.”
“I can understand that. Lee rarely talks about a past mission, even
if it wasn’t an ONI one.” Nelson nodded
in agreement with his CMO. “And I
imagine that Dr. Ross would just as soon forget the whole thing as well.” He drained his glass, Nelson indicated the
bottle, still sitting on his desk, but Will shook his head and stood up. “I’d better be getting back. But I do appreciate the information.” He sent Nelson a bit of an evil grin. “I’ll give my corpsmen an edited version the
next time they start feeling overworked.”
Nelson chuckled and Will left.
Nelson leaned back in his
chair, nursing the bit of scotch left in his glass. He hadn’t thought about that incident in a
lot of years. He’d been irritated when
the Navy – although it was more than likely ONI – had snatched Lee out from
under his command. Despite Mains’
mutterings, and even a few of his own, he’d really enjoyed having Lee aboard
Nautilus. When Seaview had moved from
merely a pipedream to actual reality he’d worked hard to get Lee assigned as
her captain but had been overruled by the Navy brass, with whom he still had to
remain on speaking terms. John Phillips
had been good – Nelson wasn’t regretting that first year at all. But a huge sigh escaped as he acknowledged
now how he was appreciating having Lee once more close at hand. While he could easily admit what he’d told
Will – Lee did keep life ‘interesting’ at times - Nelson was pretty sure that
he’d not have it any other way.
The grin increased as he
thought back on that mission. Humm,
he thought, wonder what Lee would have to say if I reminded him of that
promise of turning him into shark bait if he ever again hid an injury on my
boat. He downed the last of his
scotch. On second thought, he
chuckled, perhaps I’ll let that one stay forgotten.
~ Finis ~
*see First Duty, by R. L.
Keller