Senior rating Seaman Kowalski was getting more nervous with each passing minute. He was in good company. Chief Sharkey was blowing on his hands, trying to warm them in the cool, damp air. A steady rain was coming down, not helping anyone’s attitude. Seaman Riley was trying desperately not to fidget – with limited success. He’d already been growled at twice by Sharkey but simply couldn’t contain himself. “What do you think could be keeping him?” Seaview’s youngest seaman asked the COB.
Sharkey stared the young man into silence, but finally sighed heavily and answered. “I don’t know, Riley. But you know the Skipper. This is where he said to pick him up so this is where we wait. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”
The three men were hunkered down in some scrub brush along the edge of a small cove. It was 0100 hours on the cloudy moonless night. The three men had come ashore just before 2300 hours in a small rubber dingy, sent from their second home, the submarine Seaview, to retrieve their captain. Cdr. Lee Crane had been ashore, in enemy territory as it were, occupied in his part-time job as a special agent for ONI. None of his crew particularly liked that the Navy’s intelligence agency continued to call on Cdr. Crane’s services from time to time but they couldn’t do anything about it. The two people who could potentially put a stop to it, Crane’s best friend and Seaview’s XO, Lt. Cdr. Chip Morton, and both men’s boss, Admiral Harriman Nelson (Ret.), had so far been unable to convince the man that commanding Seaview should be his only, full-time, job. ONI had been a steady part of Crane’s service since shortly after graduating Annapolis. Such was the man’s strength of character and dedication to duty that he continued to honor his commitment to the agency. That same strength and dedication had all too often been the only reason Seaview made it home from some of their more intense missions. XO Morton had been heard to point that out – rather adamantly – to his Annapolis roommate. But so far, when ONI called, Crane most often went.
This time it should have been an easy mission. Admiral Nelson was doing some research off the Pacific coast of Central America when Admiral Robert Jones, ONI’s director, called and requested Crane’s assistance with “a little infiltration and inspection” trip into suspected guerrilla territory. The same three crewmen who had dropped him off fifty hours ago were now awaiting his return approximately five kilometers south of where they’d put him ashore. The pickup point had been determined before Crane left the boat, as well as the time – 2330 hours. There had been no communication with or from Crane since they’d dropped him off. Which explained why the three men were getting more nervous, the longer they were forced to wait. Sharkey had already made two quiet calls back to Seaview. All three could hear the nervousness that was starting to creep into the Admiral’s voice, but he was trying hard to remain calm as he told them to continue to wait. There were still several hours of darkness – they’d be fine for a while yet, and hopefully Crane had merely been momentarily delayed.
The COB had just glanced at his watch and was preparing to call in with another update when a soft noise disturbed the sound of constantly dripping rain that had been keeping the men company in their vigil. All three men instantly stared in the direction the small noise had come from but none moved a muscle. Hoping that it was their overdue Skipper, they were conscious of the fact that it could just as easily be an unfriendly. It seemed that they barely breathed, waiting for some sign to signify friend or foe.
It was slow in coming, which did nothing to relieve the tension. But finally there was another noise that they could now identify as coming from the other side of the small cove. No one moved – with the exception that all three drew their weapons out from under their rain ponchos and pointed them across the open area. Just in case.
There were a few more sounds – like someone moving clumsily through the brush that surrounded the small cove. It’s what had caused all three men to reach for their sidearms – their Skipper usually moved like a ghost. A few more branches cracked and a shadow separated itself from the other shadows. It was human-shaped but appeared distorted through the dark and rain. Whoever it was stopped…Sharkey couldn’t call it walking. It was more like a disjointed shuffle…a few feet into the open and appeared to look slowly around before slumping even further and then suddenly collapsing onto the wet ground. The three men watching still didn’t move. But when there were no more sounds they finally broke cover and approached the slumped over form with continued caution.
Kowalski was the first to recognize the form. “Skipper,” came out in an emotional breath and he holstered his pistol and dropped down next to Crane. Sharkey and Riley remained standing, one eye on the surroundings and one eye on ‘Ski as the first-aid-trained rating ran his hands over Crane’s still body. Knowing their need for information was just as great as his own, ‘Ski kept up a soft listing of what he was finding. “Can’t find any open wounds. He’s soaking wet; he must not have packed a poncho. Riley, pull the blanket out of my backpack.” As Riley holstered his gun and complied, Kowalski continued his manual examination. “Left shoulder…looks like it’s dislocated. Or the collarbone is broken, but I don’t think so. Can’t be sure without digging and I don’t think we should take the time.”
“Wrap and run,” Sharkey decided. “We need to get the heck out of here.”
“He’ll be a whole lot better off in Doc’s care,” Kowalski agreed. “And I can’t find anything that needs attention before we move him.”
“Riley, get the dingy,” the COB ordered, and the young seaman scurried to get it uncovered from the brush they’d used to keep it camouflaged. Sharkey and Kowalski very carefully wrapped Crane into the light thermal blanket, mindful of the injuries the senior rating had found and careful not to exacerbate any that might still be hidden underneath Crane’s clothes. They carefully carried the still unmoving man across to where Riley had the small boat waiting.
Crane made absolutely no sound other than a small groan when they carefully laid him in the bottom of the boat. And he remained motionless the short bit of time it took the men to paddle out to the waiting submarine, the top of Seaview’s conning tower the only thing above water. Sharkey had given a very brief announcement of their return, and willing hands were ready to help everyone back aboard.
Among those waiting were the boat’s CMO, Dr. Will Jamison, and his two corpsmen. The three immediately surrounded the still unmoving Skipper, Doc barking orders. Kowalski quickly told him what he’d found on his brief exam. The doctor nodded, did his own brief exam, and ordered Crane transferred to the waiting stretcher and hustled off to Sick Bay.
Two other men had been standing nearby, quietly watching the fast arrival and even faster departure of the boat’s captain, both with worry written all too plainly on their expressive faces. As Crane was taken to Sick Bay Admiral Nelson nodded to his XO, Chip Morton, and the younger man turned and started issuing the orders to submerge and move Seaview to safer open waters. Nelson quietly followed the procession down to the sub’s medical facilities, standing out of the way while the doctor and his team carefully stripped their CO and made a more thorough examination. Crane’s only contribution to the soft chatter around him was the occasional soft groan, a few small movements of his head from side to side, and using his right hand to clutch the blankets that were laid over him. Nelson did take possession of the small backpack Crane had been wearing and went through it, grabbing the camera and notepad, protected from the inclement weather by a waterproof bag. They would contain what information Crane had collected on his ONI ‘errand.’ With him unable at the moment to report in to the agency, Nelson would do that for him.
Seaman Kowalski’s initial assessment had been fairly accurate, for its brevity. Crane did, indeed, have a dislocated left shoulder. Nelson cringed when Crane’s loudest sound to date came as Will gently rotated Lee’s left arm and then quickly snapped the shoulder back into its socket. But even then Crane didn’t open his eyes, just tried to move away from the sudden pain. Will sent Nelson a reassuring smile as he quickly and carefully immobilized the joint, laying Crane’s arm across his chest and wrapping everything snuggly together.
As the corpsmen gently lifted their CO, laid him in a lower bunk, and covered him with several blankets, Jamison turned to his boss. “He’ll be fine, Admiral.” He better than anyone aboard knew that Nelson’s silence during Will’s evaluation and treatment of Seaview’s Skipper had been a difficult battle. Nelson had originally met Crane the younger man’s first year at Annapolis and the two shared a relationship that transcended mere superior/subordinate. Will smiled softly as he continued. “Exhausted, mildly hypothermic from being soaking wet – he almost seemed too wet for it to be from just rain. Maybe whatever fall caused the dislocated shoulder was into some shallow water. But otherwise he’s in pretty good shape. He’s got a little bump on the left side of his head, also probably from a fall. But it’s minor with no signs of neurological damage.”
“Why is he still unconscious?” Nelson tried to keep the harshness fueled by nervousness out of his voice, but with minimal success.
Will understood and didn’t take offense. “Whatever happened the last forty-eight hours, he was kept busy. He’s tired and cold.” He shrugged. “With probably a pretty good headache. He’ll wake up when he feels like it.” Nelson harrumphed and was turning to leave when there was a small sound from the one occupied bunk. Will walked over and bent down. “Going to wake up, Skipper?” he asked lightly, aware that Nelson had followed him across the room.
Apparently Crane still wasn’t ready to return to consciousness because his only response to the doctor’s question was to grab the blankets with his unrestrained right hand and try to snuggle further under them. Will helped by tucking them in a little more firmly, and stood up. “He’s always complaining it’s cold in here,” he grinned at Nelson, “when in actual fact I try to keep it a few degrees warmer.”
“Unwell bodies require added warmth,” Nelson agreed. Once more he turned to leave, and once more there was a soft sound from the bunk. Will moved aside and let Nelson take a shot at getting through to the younger man. “Lee?” Nelson asked softly, leaning over his captain. “You’re safe, back aboard Seaview. Just relax and sleep.” Will buried a grin at the gentleness in the Admiral’s normally gruff voice. While Nelson usually tried to keep it controlled, his relationship with Crane had elements of an almost paternal nature that became more evident when the younger man was ill or injured. The whole boat was aware of it. It didn’t keep the two strong-willed men from going toe-to-toe – loudly – if they disagreed over a point of boat’s order. But the crew understood that the relationship, along with Crane’s strong friendship with XO Morton, and Nelson’s belief in both younger men’s abilities, made the leadership of their boat all the more strong and so far impenetrable by any of the ‘bad guys’ who had given it a try.
It seemed that Crane was going to ignore Nelson as he had Jamison, and Nelson started to stand up. But once more there was a soft mumble and Nelson leaned closer. “What do you need, Lee?” he asked. Will head ‘something’ but couldn’t understand and he, also, leaned closer. “Lee, you need to speak up,” Nelson implored his captain.
“Ch…wind…” Nelson and Will shared puzzled looks, trying to decipher Crane’s mumblings. Once more the dark head tried to bury itself in the blankets, turning slightly toward the bulkhead and away from the men listening to him. “Church,” came out a little more clearly, followed by “window.” The older men thought that was all, but what sounded like “African” was muttered even more softly before Crane remained quiet, breathing the steady rhythm of sleep.
Jamison pointed an eyebrow as Nelson straightened up. The Admiral shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.” He indicated the camera and notepad that he still carried. “I’ll check the pictures and notes before I call Robert,” referring to ONI Director Admiral Jones. “I’m guessing it’s something that’s bugging Lee about the mission. Now that he’s got it out, he can let himself relax because he feels like he’s given his report. Maybe Robert knows what it means.”
“You’ll head to your cabin by way of the Conn?” Will asked. It caused Nelson to finally smile.
“I will indeed tell Chip that Lee will be fine.” His grin spread. “Before I kick his tail toward his cabin. I don’t think he’s slept more than a few minutes at a time since Lee’s been off-boat.”
“Any bets that he doesn’t hit here first?” Will asked.
Nelson chuckled. “Sucker bet.”
Will returned the grin. “I’ll take my shot at sending him to his cabin.” He shook his head. “No guarantees.” Both men understood the strong bonds of friendship between Crane and Morton that had formed their four years of rooming together at Annapolis.
“Once I’m off the horn to Robert I’ll check on him. One way or the other we’ll slow him down. My guess is, once he’s quiet for longer than a few minutes he’ll crash good and proper.” The two older men had loads of practice keeping track of the Command pair. Both younger men would work themselves into the deck if circumstances warranted. Sometimes even if circumstances didn’t warrant it if they thought there were things that needed doing. The older pair had shared quite a few hits on the scotch bottle Nelson kept in his lower desk drawer over the ‘antics’ of the workaholic younger ones. Now, with one more shared grin, Nelson left and headed forward.
He had to bury several grins as he made his way to the Control Room. At almost every corridor intersection, one or more crewmen just happened to be standing. A quick nod from Nelson and he’d immediately see shoulders tense with unasked questions relax and the men would switch directions. Nelson knew that, by the time he hit the Conn, word had spread throughout the boat that their Skipper would be just fine. It amused Nelson, but also greatly pleased him. Lee had been responsible, after a bit of a rocky start, for molding Seaview’s crew into the most cohesive unit Nelson had ever served with. It was a talent remarkable in one so relatively young. Nelson felt himself extremely fortunate to have coaxed the man away from the regular Navy and into the Reserves so that he could serve as Seaview’s captain.
The same could be said for her XO, Lt. Cdr. Charles P. “Chip” Morton. The blond’s command style was much more ‘no-nonsense’ than Lee’s laid-back leadership, but between them they’d formed an exemplary balance that Seaview’s crew thrived under. Chip was the stable, controlled force that the crew had come to depend on in moments of utter chaos.
As Nelson stepped through the aft hatch into the Conn he glanced forward, expecting his ultra-competent XO to be at the chart table, leading his crew in no small part by his overall calm. Nelson wasn’t disappointed and allowed a small smile to appear. It not only relaxed the Conn crew but Nelson saw Chip’s shoulders relax as well, and Nelson walked up to him allowing the smile to spread. “Cold, sore, and sleeping,” the older man told the younger.
Chip allowed his own small smile to appear before asking, with speculation in his voice, “Sleeping of his own accord?” Will’s accuracy with small loaded syringes was not only legendary aboard the submarine, but in NIMR’s Med Bay as well.
Nelson chuckled softly. “To the best of my knowledge, not even a painkiller while Doc relocated the shoulder.” At Chip’s instant frown he continued. “Lee wasn’t really ‘with it’ at the time. He’s pretty tired.” The grin came back. “I suspect that there will be additives to the IV he’ll no doubt wake up attached to.” Chip nodded and his grin came back as well. “Now,” Nelson switched to a much more firm voice, “I see that Lt. Keeter has arrived, ready no doubt to assume command…” he glanced at his watch, “which he should have done over an hour ago…” He let his voice trail off as he pointed an eyebrow at his starting-to-squirm-slightly XO.
“Aye, sir,” Chip acknowledged the mild reprimand with lowered eyes.
Nelson took instant pity on him. “Will’s expecting your brief appearance in Sick Bay. But…” he pointed a finger at the blond, “we both expect it to be very brief, and then your six belongs in your rack. For longer than your usual wake-up time of 0600.”
Chip brought his eyes back to Nelson’s – almost. “Aye, sir,” he repeated with a return of his slight smile. Nelson nodded toward the aft hatch and Chip quietly headed that direction.
Nelson frowned. Chip hadn’t officially turned Command over to the waiting lieutenant. He’d known Chip was nervous but the lapse in protocol was very unusual and he sent the frown Lt. Keeter’s way. “He officially gave me the Command as soon as we were in open water, sir” the lieutenant explained. “He just hadn’t left yet.”
It caused Nelson to chuckle. That sounded more like his XO. “I’m surprised that he hadn’t already come down to Sick Bay,” Nelson wondered out loud.
“He wanted to, sir,” Keeter said so softly that Nelson wasn’t sure he was supposed to have heard. But Keeter sent him a quick look and Nelson grinned.
“Learning lots here on Seaview, are you, Lieutenant?” he asked innocently.
The double meaning was not lost on the perceptive young man. “The Skipper and XO are incredible teachers,” he answered honestly.
Nelson backhanded the lieutenant’s shoulder lightly. “That they are,” he agreed, before getting serious. “Give me ten minutes, then have Haskins place a call to Admiral Jones and have it piped to my cabin.” Haskins, as usual, had night duty in the radio shack – technically the back portside corner of the Conn.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Keeter acknowledged, and Nelson headed up the spiral stairs.
Nelson spent the intervening time checking Lee’s camera and notes. Pictures of a suspected guerrilla stronghold, and notes on its size and exact GPS location – precisely what he’d been sent in to find. But no mention of the words ‘church,’ ‘window,’ or ‘African.’ If that’s actually what Lee had said – he’d been mumbling and that was as close as Nelson could come to deciphering the sounds. He was flipping once more through the digital pictures when his cabin phone beeped and he found himself speaking to an extremely grumpy Admiral Jones. “Sorry to wake you, Robert,” he said amiably.
“I told Crane to report during office hours. There wasn’t anything urgent enough that couldn’t wait a few hours.” He paused. “At least, we didn’t think so.”
“I was under the impression that your office hours were twenty-four/seven, Robert.”
A sound came through the receiver that Nelson didn’t bother to even try translating. He didn’t have any trouble understanding the next part. “Why are you calling me and not Crane,” Jones growled.
“Lee had a small accident and returned to the boat a little…out of it,” Nelson admitted.
“Bad?” Nelson knew Jones was only asking because a damaged Lee would make it harder to get permission from Nelson to continue to borrow one of ONI’s best agents away from his number one job.
“Not really,” Nelson told him almost reluctantly. “But not totally coherent. He was trying to say something but the words didn’t make sense, either to the pictures he took or the notes that he wrote down. I’ll transmit everything in the morning but I thought you might need this even faster.”
He definitely had the ONI Director’s attention. “What words?” came the demand.
“If we heard them correctly, church, window, and African.”
“You’re sure.”
“Not really,” Nelson repeated. “But it’s what both my CMO and I thought that he said.”
“Harrumph.” Nelson grinned. He knew that Lee and Chip thought that that word, pronounced just that way, was something men learned when they were promoted to the rank of admiral. Not that the two couldn’t produce their own version all too easily – especially Chip. Occasionally Nelson used it just to watch the younger men’s reactions. In this case, however, it was used as Nelson most often did – to express discontent. “I have no idea what the words could mean,” Jones continued. “But with Crane, heaven only knows what he ran into.” Nelson nodded even though Jones couldn’t see it. They both knew Lee just seemed to stumble into the strangest situations. “I’ll spread the word,” Jones continued,” and see if anything shows up. When will Crane be coherent?”
“Best guess, sometime tomorrow. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more.”
“And I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Jones told him. “You’re still in the general area?”
Nelson knew what Jones was angling for. “I still have some sensors to put out,” he told Jones. “But Lee won’t be in any shape for another mission any time soon. He dislocated a shoulder. Like I said, nothing serious, and Doc popped it back in fairly easily. But Lee’s going to be sore.”
“Harrumph,” Jones muttered one more time. “Keep me posted,” he ordered, and broke the connection.
Nelson frowned at the phone before he hung up, but then snorted softly. He understood the need to keep track of the world’s less desirable, more unstable, bits of humanity. He also had ONI experience. It was why he was hesitant to stop Lee from accepting the occasional assignments from the agency.
For now he needed to double-check that his other workaholic officer was settled in for the night, and headed for Sick Bay. But he made it only around the first corner before stopping – Chip was just reaching for his cabin door. He stopped and sent Nelson a sheepish grin. “Sound asleep,” he confirmed Lee’s condition. “Jamie chased me out.”
Nelson grinned and pointed to Chip’s cabin door. “Exactly the condition I expect you to be in within five minutes,” he ordered, but the grin was still evident.
Chip returned it. “Aye, aye, sir,” and he entered his cabin. Nelson nodded and headed back to his own cabin. If truth be known, he hadn’t had a whole lot of sleep the last couple of nights either.
* * * *
It felt to Nelson like he’d barely closed his eyes when he thought that he heard a light tapping on his cabin door. He raised his head sleepily, decided that he must have been dreaming, and started to roll over in preparation for going back to sleep when the tapping came again. Burying the urge to mutter something that would definitely be politically incorrect, he sat up and growled instead “Come,” as he glanced at his watch. Just after 0600. He’d been asleep just over two hours.
Lt. Keeter opened the door only far enough to poke his head through. “Incoming call from DC, sir. Admiral Jones. Haskins will pipe it up as soon as you’re ready.”
“I’ll be ready by the time you get back to the Conn,” Nelson told him, a little more under control. The lieutenant’s head disappeared and the door closed. He was sitting at his desk when his phone beeped. “What did you find, Robert,” he said without preamble. If Jones was calling back this fast it must be important.
“A hornet’s nest,” Jones told him, also not wasting time with pleasantries. “Or rather, a viper’s nest. I need to talk to Crane. Now!”
“Talk to me first,” Nelson ordered, all senses instantly on high alert.
“A man, South African by birth but mercenary down to his skivvies. I’d say to his heart but according to sources he doesn’t have one.”
“Sounds like the pleasant sort,” Nelson said dryly.
“His name is Church, Harriman. Peter Church. As nasty as they come. CIA lost track of him two years ago. They thought that he was dead. If he’s in Central America…” His voice trailed off.
“Understood, Robert. It may require some tap dancing around my CMO. He’s a little proprietary when it comes to his charges. My officers in particular.”
“This is bigger than both of us, Harriman.”
“Understood, Robert,” Nelson repeated. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything further.” Both men hung up at the same time.
Nelson squared his shoulders. Will was going to blow a gasket if Lee had to be physically or medicinally roused. Nelson didn’t like it either, but this serious a security issue required just as serious attention. He showered and dressed in record time and headed to Sick Bay by way of the Officer’s Wardroom. He needed coffee!
Orders notwithstanding, he wasn’t at all surprised to find Chip already making a hit on the coffee urn. He snorted as the blond turned several shades of red, but then shrugged and asked if Chip had checked on Lee yet.
“Just about to poke my nose in quick before I head for the Conn,” Chip admitted. He sent Nelson a pretty good rendition of Lee’s soft, shy, smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Harrumph,” Nelson muttered. “I could have, but not after the call I just got.” He emptied his coffee mug in one long pull and immediately re-filled it. “Come along. Then I’ll only have to explain this once. And maybe you can help deflect some of Doc’s temper tantrum.”
Chip raised an eyebrow. “Why would Jamie be mad at you, sir?”
Nelson frowned. “I need Lee awake. Whether Will likes it or not.” Chip physically shuddered, drained and refilled his own coffee mug, and the pair headed for Sick Bay.
As both men expected, Seaview’s CMO was sitting at the desk in his office. As they walked in, each took a peek through the connecting door at the one occupied bunk in Sick Bay proper. Only the very top of Lee’s dark head was visible, the rest of his body covered with several blankets. But the body seemed to be resting quietly – a good sign. Lee was often very restless when confined here.
Will didn’t seem at all surprised to see them, either, and leaned back in his chair with an indulgent expression. “Three hours,” he commented lightly. “While I would have wished for a little more sleep on both your parts I’ve learned not to expect miracles.”
Chip sent him a momentary glare but deferred to Nelson after the older man’s cryptic remarks in the Wardroom. “How’s Lee?”
“Resting nicely. For a change,” was added with a grumble.
“Sorry, Will, but I need him awake.”
“Why?” the doctor demanded, abruptly standing up with a glare of his own.
“Robert, ah, Admiral Jones, just called back. Those words Lee was muttering last night. We need to know specifically what he was trying to say. There could be major international significance to them, if Robert’s intel is to be believed.”
“And how often is ONI’s intel correct?” was muttered at his side. As Nelson frowned, the blond backed down. “Sorry, sir,” Chip apologized. “But you know how often they screw up. Especially when it concerns Lee.”
Nelson tossed his XO a quick indulgent look – Chip’s displeasure with ONI was well documented. And not all that off-target – at least where Lee’s assignments were involved. All too often Lee returned from a mission damaged in some way and it was usually because of some form of incorrect or incomplete intel. One of the reasons Jones valued Lee’s services so much was his ability to think and react quickly to rapidly changing circumstances. But that was also what made him so valuable to Seaview – he had an incredible knack for handling the sudden chaos Nelson’s projects could occasionally turn into.
Now, Nelson knew that he needed to explain Jones’ intel to both of his officers before either would be happy with what needed doing. Well, Nelson admitted, neither would be happy no matter what. But, like Nelson, they’d understand. “Chip, you didn’t hear what Lee was trying to say just before Will got him settled. He kept muttering three words: church, window, and African. I looked through the pictures on his camera and the notes he’d taken but could find no reference to anything so I called Robert to see if they meant anything to him. Well…” he hesitated. “Let’s just say that yes, they did. And not in a good way. The CIA was keeping tabs on a South African national by the name of Peter Church. According to Robert, not the sort you want to loose track of. Which, apparently, they did a couple of years ago. They thought that he’d been killed. If Lee spotted him at the guerrilla encampment…”
As expected, the other two were frowning unhappily. But neither made an objection when Nelson turned on his heel and headed for Lee’s bunk with both following. Nelson snagged a chair, set it next to the bunk near Lee’s head, and settled into it. Reaching out a hand, he laid it on Lee’s undamaged right shoulder and gently shook it. “Lee?” he said, softly at first and then a little more firm when the first try had absolutely no effect. “Lee.”
Lee’s dark head rolled slowly on the pillow. “Huh?” came out, but heavily muddled.
Nelson gave the IV line that Will had indeed set up a quick look, then glanced at the doctor. “Fluids and something to help dull the pain,” Will told him. “He was definitely exhausted. As much as I don’t like this, there’s nothing in the IV that should keep him from being coherent.”
Nelson nodded and gave Lee’s shoulder another shake. “Lee,” he said sharply, and almost grinned as Lee gave a brave effort to respond to his boss’ order.
“Sir?” Lee tried to open his eyes but the struggle seemed too much. He did, however, turn his head toward the sound.
Nelson gave the shoulder a squeeze. “Lee, we need to know what you were trying to say last night.” He cringed and corrected himself. “A few hours ago, when you returned to the boat, you were trying to tell me something. I need to know what that was.”
Once more Lee struggled to open his eyes, and this time managed small slits. “Huh?” came out again. “What?” Clearly Nelson’s questions were confusing the young man – assuming that he even understood everything said to him.
Nelson tried again. “Lee? Church,” he enunciated carefully. “Window. African. What do they mean? It’s important.” All he got was what looked like confusion on Lee’s face. “Did you see something at the guerrilla camp? Or someone? Did you recognize someone?”
Lee tried to look at Nelson but his eyes were struggling to remain open. “Don’t understand,” came out muzzily.
“Lee, you tried to tell me something. Think! Church. Window. African. What do they mean?” He was distracted from his captain’s face as there was a strangled, choked off…something…from behind him. He turned and discovered Chip, his face distorted and his hands clamped over his mouth, struggling to get himself under control. Will laid a hand on the blond’s shoulder but the blond didn’t appear to be in major physical distress so he left Chip to Will and turned back to Lee. But all he saw was total confusion on Lee’s face.
The dark head was shaking from side to side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” came out before Lee’s eyes once more closed and he tried to snuggle deeper into the pillow and under the multiple layers of blankets. Nelson was forced to surrender his questioning and turned around to see what was causing such a strange reaction from his XO.
Will had sat Chip down in a chair and was just returning with a glass of water that he tried to hand to the younger man. But Chip waved off the doctor, got his face under control – for the most part – and once more stood up. He opened his mouth to speak, had to pause to bury an almost giggle, and started over. “That’s exactly what he said? Church, window, African?”
Nelson stared at him. “You know what it means?” he asked, incredulous.
Chip tried to say yes but all that came out was another almost giggle. He took a second to compose himself and tried again. “I think so, sir,” came out still slightly strangled by laughter.
Nelson looked at Will. “It would appear that it has nothing to do with presumed-dead mercenaries,” he told the doctor with an ironic lilt to his voice.
“So it would seem,” Will answered in kind, and both older men sent the younger one a raised eyebrow.
It was a struggle, but Chip finally got himself sufficiently under control to explain his hysterics. “You’ve both been at his place recently – you’ve seen the crocheted blanket-thing that’s laying over the back of his couch.” Both older men nodded, now looking more curious than concerned. “Last month, when he had that bit of a cold, and I went to pick him up before the scholarship awards program at NIMR…” He paused to make sure that both men knew what he was referring to.* As he got back nods he continued. “Lee wasn’t waiting at the door like he usually is when I pick him up so I went inside. It was pretty obvious that, after he went home early that afternoon, he’d laid down for a while and covered himself with the blanket. He must have awakened later than he planned because when he got up he just tossed it off – it was all bunched up at one end of the couch. I folded it up and put it back where he always has it, and neither of us mentioned it again.”
“I assume that somewhere in this story there’s a point to be made?” Nelson asked a bit sarcastically. He never did like long, drawn out explanations.
Chip snickered. “Yes, sir. The pattern of that crocheted blanket has a special name, given to it because of the brightly colored squares all outlined in black. For some reason Lee always has a problem remembering the pattern’s actual name. It’s called a stained glass afghan.”
There was dead silence before Nelson finally sputtered. “He was just cold?”
“He was soaking wet and mildly hypothermic when he was brought in,” Will reminded him. “And not overly coherent.”
Chip giggled again. “He just wanted his blankie,” he barely got out. All three men cracked up as they glanced across the room at the sleeping captain of the biggest submarine in the world.
“Ohmygawd,” Nelson suddenly sputtered. The other two sent him serious looks as Nelson’s face expressed almost sheer panic. “What am I going to tell Robert?”
finis
Author’s note: The basic commentary for this story actually happened. The names and incidents have been changed to protect my six !!!!!
*see
Shimmer by R. L. Keller