TRWD30

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
30

“How much longer?” Jiggs asked me wearily. I’d taken the conn when Seaview inched her way into the lower depths of the fault. It was tense. And slow going. “I nearly pee’d in my pants,” Jiggs added, “when you scraped the rocks.”
“Sorry, my skills as a sub commander seem a bit rusty. Sparks? Resume the conn.”
“Aye sir, I have the conn,” Sparks responded, “Jackson? Take over communications.”
“Now wait a minute, Harriman,” Jiggs complained, “you shouldn’t even have given Sparks the conn in the first place when we submerged. And Jackson’s not even a member of your crew and…. ”
“You know damn well that Sparks was the only officer qualified for the bridge while all the rest are with the search and rescue teams aboard the Flying Sub and Hovercraft, or getting some badly needed zzz’s. And just because Jackson served as your aide for awhile it doesn’t mean he’s not still a qualified submariner. He can handle it. Besides, he’s a part time spook. Certainly knows about communications. Sparks? When we clear the cavern, take her up.”
Just then we scraped the rocks again.
“Oops,” Sparks said and ordered a slight correction to the helm. “The skip’s gonna’ have a hissy when we get him back.”
“Somehow, Lad,” I said, “I don’t think he’ll even notice.”
“If he’s still alive, that is,” Jiggs said.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your pessimism to yourself,” I chided my old friend
Jiggs said nothing as we bit our fingernails for the next few hours, figuratively, while Seaview was buffeted from the currents, occasionally bumping the jagged rocks as we neared the opening to the loch. I hadn’t remembered the fault being so turbulent when we’d used it years ago to check the top secret, as it was then, sea lab in Loch Ness.
More bumps and bruises to Seaview, though her hull remained structurally intact. Still, Lee was going to have a hissy for us scratching the paint.
“Clearing the channel,” Sparks finally called out with relief. It wasn’t long before we surfaced into Loch Ness.
“Admiral!” Joe called out, “Special Forces has a new cam signal! A lot of interference, hard to pinpoint, but it’s no-where near the dungeon lair!”
The cam was streaked with dirt and we could barely see a cavernous rock face where rusted iron rings were set about five feet up from the rocky base, another abandoned and long forgotten dungeon.
“I don’t see what good this cam is,” Jiggs sighed.
Suddenly a roughly hewn archway in the cave became visible as flickers of light from beyond it grew in intensity. Suddenly the light blinded us as hand held flashlights and headband flashlights of armed men in neon thermal jumpsuits pushed the queen and Lady O’Brien into this chamber and cuffed to the rusted iron rings on the rocky wall.
“…We rather doubted either of you old ladies would make it this far,” one of the guards laughed, “pretty long hike from Three Hags to Urquhart, especially through these old caves and tunnels.”

“Urquhart Castle?” I asked.
“About three miles from Three Hags,” Sparks said, looking at the printout that Joe handed him and ordered flank to it.
“Flying Sub and hovercraft on the way,” Joe called out. “All search and rescue forces too.”

“…Where have you taken the captain?” the weary, mud splattered queen was asking, shivering.
“…That doesn’t concern you, Queenie.”
Lady O’Brien squealed as some rats ambled toward her.
“….Try to kick them away as much as you like, lady, but only our sonic repellant can keep them away from dinner,” he said, tapping his odd looking watch.
A blood curdling cry of pain interrupted from somewhere beyond the archway. There was no need to wonder whose it was.
“…Leave him alone, you bastards!” the queen shouted.
Another scream of agony.
“…Go away, go away!” Lady O’Brien shouted to the rats that were beginning to sniff around the women’s feet.
Just then Simpson entered, and pulled something out of his breast pocket, tossing the small orb up into the air.
The women screamed as it landed with a thud on the dirt and rolled to stop, iris up. I almost vomited, but one of the rats bit into the eye and was instantly killed from the sparking electronics.
“…Gotcha!” Simpson sneered at the prisoners and picked up the fake eyeball, putting it back into his pocket. “Am I the best modeler in the world, or not?”
There was the sound of shuffling and cursing from beyond the arch and more approaching light while the women were trying to kick the rodents off their legs.
Suddenly Lee, his metal socket still dangling worse than before, a laceration angling downward from the left side of his forehead to his cheek, was dragged in by four heavily armed guards, his arms secured behind his back by ropes and a short pole. From the looks of his left shoulder, it could have been dislocated, but I couldn’t know for sure. He was badly bruised and beaten and had a newly scalped area on his head, blood oozing down from it. God only knew how many other wounds he had, his torn and tattered blood stained clothes hiding them from view.
He was barefoot, his feet were cracked and bloody. He fell to the ground. Simpson removed his bonds while the guards cuffed each wrist, pulled him up and secured him to the rings in the adjacent rock face from the women.
While the scent of blood distracted some of the rats away from the women and toward Lee, Simpson pulled out the model eyeball tossing it to a man just entering, who caught it easily, then frowned.
“…This was supposed to be the captain’s real eyeball!”
“…I’d tried to do the job at Three Hags,” Simpson said, “but I was distracted by the power flux. I dropped the forceps but you ordered emergency retreat before I could pick them up. Want me to do it now? I can use my fingers.”
“…No, never mind. In fact,” the newcomer mused as he approached the women and rand a hand over the struggling queen’s cheek, “perhaps we can torture our gallant captain even more by letting him witness the ladies being devoured by the rats. Of course, we’ll need to bloody them up a bit…and if the vermin tire of the royal repast, the dehydration and hypothermia will dispatch our guests soon enough. They’re already in the first stages of both….”
“…Why… are you… doing this, Ozno?” Lee gasped, coughing up goo and blood as he pulled against the rings, in anguish. “They haven’t… done… anything to you.”
“…That’s true,” Ozno said as he twisted a handkerchief into Lee’s open wounds causing Lee to gasp, until the blood dripped from the cloth. “But,” Ozno continued, “the ladies were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Too close for comfort.” Then he handed Simpson the handkerchief, “Rub this over the women. Oh, by the way, Captain, the People’s Republic is still going to destroy the major cities in United States and the United Kingdom too, even without using my holograms. I’ve already started the countdown for them. And guess what? Fail Safe won’t work. The devastation that will befall your countrymen, ah, I mean countrypersons, we must do away with all that old-fashioned gender bias, will include bio-virus’s that will make any survivors wish they’d been annihilated in the actual explosions.”
“The DOD has techs starting to work on Fail Safe!” Joe called out.
“…Simpson, stop him!” Lee was yelling, gasping in pain as he tried to breathe and tearing his wrists as he struggled against the cuffs while the rats, having already clawed their way up his body, began to tear out flesh with pieces of what was left of his shirt. “If he’s started… the countdown, you must… know how he did it. How to stop it! You can’t be…that far gone…what did he promise you to turn traitor? Or maybe he brainwashed… you somehow! Oh God,” he gasped in mental and physical agony, “can’t you see that?”
“…Simpson sought me out, Captain,” Ozno said, “not the other way around. How better to be avenged for the humiliation you and Nelson gave him. Simpson, I don’t think that’s enough blood on the ladies to encourage the rats. Shoot our guests, nowhere vital." He took a sealed 'baggie out of one of his pockets, and held out the piece of Lee’s dripping scalp, "I want to keep this as a souvenir. Leave a flashlight on that ledge over there, so our guests can watch each other writhe in agony.”
“…How much longer before the missile attacks and the explosives you set to seal them in here?” Simpson asked.
“…Long enough for us to get to the tour sub, then rendezvous with the seaplane. It’s on the way already. I’ll give you the honor to trigger the explosives in the archway.”
As Ozno and his men departed, Simpson took out his gun and aimed at the women.
“…Simpson, you… can’t!” Lee gasped. “It would be… like shooting… your… grandmothers!”
“…I suppose you’re right…but I have my orders. And you’re supposed to watch the old bags get eaten while you are.”
“…I won’t last…that…long…” Lee said, his head drooping down.
“…See here, you’re not going to go and die on us yet…”
No response.
Simpson neared to examine him.
Suddenly Lee kicked out, catching him in the groin.
“…What’s taking you so long?” Ozno’s voice preceded him, returning to the dungeon, “You simpleton!”
With that Ozno pulled Simpson up who was clutching his privates, and took his gun. Then Ozno shot Lee in the right shoulder. Then he aimed at the women.
“…The captain’s going to die in a few minutes,” Simpson said, straightening up, “so what’s the point of shooting them if he can’t watch. They’re all gonna’ get eaten anyway. Waste of ammunition, if you ask me.”
“…Oh, shut up, you twit. Though, it would be more painful for them to die slowly. Let’s go.”
Simpson triggered the explosives in the archway, and with Ozno fled.

“…Are…they…gone?” Lee whispered as he opened his eye.
“…I thought you were dead!” the queen sobbed.
“…We all will be if…we…don’t…figure out how to…get out of here,”

The explosion in the archway sealed it shut with rocks and debris. While it might not have been intended, the ‘ceiling’ also caved in.
Rocks, dirt, and a few rotted coffins with their skeletal occupants crashed through into a heap. The women screamed.

“What the…” Joe muttered and got busy on the several lines of communication he had.

“…We’re flooding!” Lady O’Brien yelled as water began to flow in from between the rocks blocking the archway.

“The Flying Sub’s at Urquhart,” Joe called out, “The hovercraft is almost there. Mr. Morton’s gone ashore to find the tourist sub’s entrance and the tunnel Ozno must be taking to get there. He has permission from MI-6 to use live ammo if necessary to apprehend. Special Forces is almost there. The police too.”
“But will there be enough time for anyone to reach Lee before he bleeds to death?” I yelled.
“Or before the rubble buries them from another cave in?” Jiggs added. “Before they’re all eaten, or drowned?”
“MI-6 says the coordinates from the cam isn’t the castle’s dungeon!” Joe shouted.
“Well, that’s just great!” I shouted sarcastically.

The queen and Lady O’Brien were wailing and crying and screaming as rats dug into their bodies, to escape the rising water while another cave in poured down dirt and bones. One huge rat had latched onto Lee’s face and crawled into the empty orbital cavity.

The next thing I knew I found myself being pulled up off the deck by Jiggs. Sparks was reviving one of the helmsman, and several crewmen were trying to clean up all the vomit in the Control Room. I was lucky, I guess, to have simply fainted.

“It’s all right, Harriman,” Jiggs said, “Lee pulled the rat out by the tail with his teeth.”
The water was up to Lee’s elbows and indeed he had the rat by the tail in his mouth. He was using his head and shoulders, though his left shoulder wasn’t too strong, to slam the rat repeatedly toward his wrists. It took me a moment to figure out he wanted to catch its teeth into his cuffs to unlock the things, ignoring (he had no choice) another rat that had taken refuge in what was left of his hair. A few rats were clinging to the queen and Lady O’Brien’s hair as the water inched up to their shoulders, though most of the rodents were crawling up the mounds of debris from the ‘ceiling’s cave in.

“Special Forces at Urquhart,” Joe coughed.
“My God, Lee’s done it!” Jiggs exclaimed.
Lee was pulling his left wrist out of the unlocked cuff, his hurt shoulder making it difficult, and holding on firmly to the struggling rat, to use its teeth to unlock the other cuff. He was barely in time to free himself to help his companions the same way as the inrushing water was almost up to women’s mouths.
“…Everyone okay?” Lee gasped flinging the rat away to splash into the water. Grabbing the women he helped them through the water to one of the rat covered mounds, some of the rats still hitchhiking on the trio.
“...That a trick question, captain?” the queen caught her breath.
Just then the rats spilled down the mound they’d tried to climb up.
“…There’s no way out!” Lady O’Brien wailed.
“…There has… to be,” Lee said. “The coffins got… down here, didn’t they?” he gasped, “we just… have to dig… and crawl our way up….”
Another cave in dumped more dirt, debris, and a few more skeletons on top of the mound and its climbers.
“...We’ll go that way,” Lee said, helping the women through the water and debris to the new mound, “Use your shoes to help dig!” he ordered the women. “One of you, give me a shoe.”
It was impossible to see them anymore.

Joe added another split screen as Special Forces set up tripods and cameras on the Urquhart grounds. The cemetery was invisible except for some oblong depressions which were turning into sinkholes. Soldiers dug furiously down them though no one knew for sure just where the captives were crawling to.
“Morton got Ozno!” Joe yelled. “But the tunnel’s blocked. The soldiers have them now, and the seaplane’s been fired on, fired on it so it’s not getting away either. Mr. Morton’s team’s using bio readers for heat signals up at the cemetery, but says nothing’s showing.”
“…The damn rocks keep falling on us!” Lady O’Brien’s voice cried, growing fainter. The cam’s audio still captured their voices as the chamber continued to flood, and the flashlight left by Simpson still illuminated rocks splashing into the ‘pool’.
“…I can’t breathe!” the queen gasped.
“…We’re going to die!” Lady O’Brien wailed.
“…We’re…not going to die!” Lee ordered. “Shut up… and dig! None…of us show signs …of oxygen… deprivation…you’re just scared…God as my… witness, we’re… getting out of here! And… we’re going… to stop those… damn missiles too.”
“…How?” Lady O’Brien panted.
“…You don’t even know where Ozno’s got his control center now,” the queen said.
“…Doesn’t mean…we…can’t…find…it. Or we…can ask NATO to… initiate some… kind of electronic… disturbance in the… People’s Republic so… they… can’t… fire.”
“…They can do that?” the queen said.
“…Hell, I …don’t know. I’m… trying to… figure out what… might work.”
“…If they can,” Lady O’Brien said, “wouldn’t that be considered an act of war?”
“…What do you call what the People’s Republic is doing with Ozno now?”
Another cave in, only this time rocks, fell on top of the cam which broke it.

“Seaview’s audio receptors on full!” I ordered Joe.
“They already are!” Joe wailed, “we’re too far away. New report from the BBC,” he added, turning on a new split screen.
“…It is unknown,” the reporter said urgently, “when or if the search and rescue teams, now scrambling all over the grounds of Urquhart Castle, will get through the tons of debris trapping the queen’s party as they try to dig their way out of the dungeon to the long abandoned and forgotten cemetery, before they run out of oxygen, or are buried or drowned alive.”
“… The terrorists,” the anchor said, “have been captured by Commander Chipee Morton and have been handed over to the Special Forces.”
“…We have breaking news from the president of the United States….”
“…I want to assure all of my countrymen,” the president began, “and those of our allies that our Fail Safe has been completely restored and activated. We will again be able to intercept and destroy any missile attack on our nation and that of our allies. I have warned the chairman of the People’s Republic that any action on his part will mean the immediate declaration of war. He has assured me, however, that the claims by Dr. Ozno about a missile launch was fraudulent. Without any conclusive evidence to the contrary, including that of friendly sources there, we have no option but to take his word for it.”
Indeed, the Fail Safe panels had opened and Sparks ordered all Fail Safe stations manned.
“…We return you now to Urquhart,” the reporter said. “More sinkholes has formed, possibly dumping tons of debris onto the brave souls trying to make their way to freedom. It is looking more and more doubtful that we will see Her Majesty and her companions alive again. What…”
The shoulder cams and camera phones of some of the soldiers turned toward the disturbance, a bit further afield than were the searchers were digging. Was it another sinkhole forming as grave after grave fell deeper into the earth?
Suddenly the remnants of a coffin and occupant were pushed out, by the mass exodus of rats finding their way though the soil. The rescuers raced over and began to dig. Nothing. Nothing.
Suddenly, about two hundred feet away, some dirt began to fly up into the air. More rats? More and more dirt flew up. Along with a shoe. Everyone raced over but before anyone got there, Lee, caked in dirt, debris, mud, and blood, partially emerged, coughing, reaching back for the queen and Lady O’Brien with his good arm. He and now the searchers, helped them crawl up and out.
The trio collapsed against each other, coughing, and tried to pull the hitchhiking rodents off of each other. Lee reached for the queen’s discarded shoe and handed it back to her, as he poured the dirt out of it. She laughed, and put it on, as she dumped out her other shoe, still in her hand. Lady O’Brien, also having used her shoes to dig, did the same.
Paramedics beginning to check them all over, covering them with blankets. One of the paramedics put surgical booties on Lee’s feet.
“…Get me… the… president,” Lee urgently if weakly demanded, still on his knees, blood and mud dripping from his mouth and nose. “Fail safe…”
“…Skipper! Skipper!” Ski hollered, running toward him with Chip and his teams in hot pursuit.
“…President…Fail Safe hacked…”Lee groaned in pain.
“…We know, Skipper,” Ski said, “Fail Safe’s fixed and activated.”
“…And we got Ozno,” Chip said, taking some gauze from the paramedics to staunch the facial laceration, while Ski took care of the weeping bullet wound.
“…My God, is there any place on you they didn’t draw blood, Lee?” Chip asked.
“…Sorry,” Lee said as Ski used a penknife to cut away Lee’s tattered shirt to expose purple bruising and lacerations.
“…I don’t think his ribs are broken,” Ski told the paramedics, “but I think they’re cracked and he’s got to have a gazillion deep tissue bruises and maybe internal bleeding. Maybe a dislocated shoulder or torn ligament.”
“…You’ll still be annihilated, Captain!” Ozno yelled as he was being taken to a helicopter by some of the soldiers. “You and your people. Only I can stop the countdown! And I won’t!”
“…God, he’s got a remote!” Lee hissed.
“…None on him,” Chip said, “even his watch was clean when they frisked him.”
“…I…don’t like this...” Lee gulped while Ozno smirked and Simpson checked his own watch.
Lee’s brows furrowed.
“…Deactivate Fail Safe!” Lee ordered suddenly. “Shut it down!”
“… “Fail Safe was fixed, Lee, remember?”
“…Shut… it…. down, I tell you!” Lee screamed. “It’s got to be the internal clock! Ozno… must… have… had… a back-up the techs wouldn’t see! The clock… will launch… the missiles when Fail Safe’s activated.”
“Deactivate Fail-Safe!” I ordered though only the president could actually do that. He did, within seconds.
“…He’s done it, Lee,” Chip said, showing Lee the text he’d gotten.
“…I’ll kill you, Captain!” Ozno yelled. “So help me, I’m going to kill you!”
“…For you, Lee,” Chip said after his phone beeped, handing it to him, “It’s the president. On speaker.”
“…I’ve deactivated and shut down Fail Safe, Captain. IT confirms there was an active rouge timer. No signals of any launch and…ONI says the People’s Republic’s chairman has just committed suicide. The threat is over.”
Lee sagged in relief, and leaned against Chip’s shoulder.
“…No, let go of me,” the queen was ordering her paramedics and stood, if wobbly, blanket around her, searching for something on the ground and picked the purple stalk. She returned to stand before Lee who was still leaning against Chip.
“…I’m not sure this will be officially recognized by my country or yours,” the queen said, “and this heather is hardly a sword of state, but with more than a thousand years of tradition behind me, Lee Beauregard Nelson-Crane,” she began, and tapped Lee on the shoulder with it, then over his head to the other. “I dub you sir knight and my champion. I’d add champion of the free world if I could invest you with that. But then, by now, everyone knows you are.” Then she bent down to kiss him on both cheeks, in the European style. “Arise, Sir Lee,” she continued, “when you’re able to that is. I think we need to get you to a hospital first.”
“…I’m fi…” Lee began then realized the absurdity of any denial. “I think Seaview’s Sick Bay will do. But first, Ski, reset… my shoulder.”
“…It’s not dislocated,” one of the paramedics who’d been the first to check Lee out said. “It’s probably a torn ligament.”
“…Look!” a soldier exclaimed, pointing to the loch and the rising kelpie. A small one.
“…Those aren’t holograms!” Joe reported to Chip’s radio. “But we got a couple of bio’s and heat signatures. They’re real.”
“…Two of them?” Chip asked.
Just then a creature with a long neck surfaced near the kelpie.
“…It’s the Loch Ness Monster!” Lady O’Brien said.
It raised a fin to pat the kelpie which was happily splashing about with its hooves and tail.
“...We can tag them,” Chip said.
“…No,” Lee sighed, “There’s been…enough pain… around here…if we use …the…darts they’ll never.. trust us again…use the bio signals to track them…divers…the Flying Sub….”
“…Shouldn’t that be Admiral Nelson’s decision?” Lady O’Brien asked.
“…I think,” the queen said, “we’d all do well to do as the cap…as Sir Lee says.”
The paramedics lifted Lee onto a stretcher after inserting two IV’s into his arm, and began to carry Lee toward the shore, where the Flying Sub was parked aft hatch on the shore. It was almost impossible to see him through the crowd of the Special Forces men and women accompanying the procession.
Chip walked on one side of Lee along with the queen and Ski with Lady O’Brien on the other.
“Hey, sailor,” one of the Special Forces soldiers asked Ski, “what do you think about your captain being ‘Sir Lee’ now?”
“…I don’t see what all the fuss is about. He’s always been ‘sir’ to me.”
Laughter all around.
Lee managed a small wave toward the creatures just before they descended back into the depths.
“…I think,” the queen said, patting Lee’s hand, “perhaps Angus McDonald is right. About being anointed and all that.”
“…Hardly,” Lee said. “Er…look, that thing you did…I appreciate it, but…I’m just a sub driver…besides Americans aren’t… allowed.”
“…Honorary knighthoods most certainly are allowed. I recently invested one of your actors. Though, technically they’re not supposed to use the ‘sir’ with their names, just the abbreviations of the order behind their printed names. But I assure you, this knighthood is going to be official if I have to ram it down both our country’s governmental throats...and captain? Call me Lillibet, Sir Lee.”
“…My country,” the queen said, “my rules, Sir Lee.”
“…As…long…as…you both join me for…lunch or supper aboard Seaview.”
“…Whenever you wish,” she grinned and watched as Lee was hauled up and into the Flying Sub by Chip’s team. He managed to wave his goodbyes and soon the Flying Sub had scooted away from the shore and launched up into the air.

“…And there goes the conquering hero,” the BBC anchor was saying, “or Sir Lee, depending on your point of view, back to his submarine Seaview which we can’t see from here, though it is reported to be in the loch. The terrorists are being flown to the nearest military base for interrogation by MI-6 and Scotland Yard.”
I didn’t listen to the rest of the newscast, as Sparks, still at the conn, reported the Flying Sub was soon to arrive and recommended a lower hatch retrieval of our errant hero via the aft hatch in frame D2.
I raced to the lower deck, with Jiggs, Emmie, Edith, and Mrs. C. following to find Will, Frank, Baker, and a plethora of anxious crewmen, along with Sharkey, waiting.
“Call for you, Admiral,” Joe called over the PA, “the prime minister.”
I darted to the nearest mike to take the call. At least I could still watch Lee’s homecoming from it.
Once the hatch opened and Lee was brought through on the stretcher, Chip next to him. Mrs. C. was the first at his side, smothering him with kisses while the crew applauded and cheered him.
“Mom…not in… front of the crew,” Lee said sheepishly.
Laugher and looks of utter reverence toward him by all as his journey continued.
“Harry? Harry?” he asked weakly, looking for me.
“On the phone,” Jiggs said, pointing to me down the companionway, “could hardly say no to the prime minister.”
“Joe?”
“Acting Sparks.” Sharkey said.
“Sparks himself?”
“Has the conn,” Jiggs said.
“Oh, Lord, I bet… he doesn’t… like that.”
“Actually, he’s done a fine job.”
“Bet he… still… doesn’t like it.”
The corner turn took him out of view, surrounded by his ‘welcoming committee’.

Fortunately my call had been short and I soon squeezed through the crowd outside of Sick Bay. Either they’d been denied entry or there wasn’t room.
“Come on in, Admiral,” Chip met me at the doorway and led me to a screened off area.
“Here he is, Skipper,” Doc, in surgical scrubs as his team were, placed my hand on Lee’s. He was already on a drip gurney, the kind to allow for flushing dirt and debris off the patient. His clothes had been cut off, revealing more of his horrendous injuries. This was not the time for modesty as Frank was gently sponged and sprayed his body clean with a strong smelling antiseptic. X-ray machine and MRI were being set close. Baker prepped trays with implements, sponges, antiseptics, towels, gauze, bandages while Ski, his hair damp from a hasty disinfectant shower, had been drafted to pull on some scrubs to assist. Also nearby was a Foley catheter which hadn’t been inserted into Lee’s privates yet.
“God, Harry,” Lee said and squeezed my hand. “It… it was… awful. I’m no hero…never been… so scared… in… my life. The queen…Lady O’Brien…are they really okay? The rats…they ate a… bit of them too…”
“Last word is that they’ll both be fine. Got it straight from the prime minister. You’ll all still need to be checked for rabies, however.”
“Afraid of… that. Don’t… want to turn… into a man beast… again,” he joked, then become serious, “Mom…she was crying…where is… she?”
“She’s gone to change clothes,” Ski said as he neared, “got some mud and dirt and blood on her from all that kissing and hugging you.”
“I…can’t remember…what did… you… do to me, Will? Why… can’t… I remember?” he whined as he struggled to breathe and against the pain, as he jiggled the IV’s.
“That’s only plasma and saline the paramedics gave you. I only gave you pain killers and antibiotics.”
“Still…hurting. How…’bout… a drink?”
Frank put a straw to his lips from a paper cup of water.
“Not… the… kind… I meant,” Lee joked.
Gentle laughter all around and outside of Sick Bay’s open door from those who’d heard the banter.
“By the way,” I said, “the prime minister said you might just be allowed to keep the knighthood.”
“Oh gawd.”
“You do deserve it, son. And more,” I said, “far more.”
“Time to go to sleep, Skipper,” Will said, “we have a lot to do.”
“Ski needs… to… fix my… shoulder…”
“Yes, Skipper,” Will said. “At least it’s not dislocated. Only some torn ligaments. Now close your eyes…that’s it…relax…just relax.”
“Don’t… leave… Harry,” Lee barely whispered. “I…I….”
Then nothing.
“He’s out,” Will said after a quick check of the attached instruments, and of his iris, “You’re welcome to stay Admiral, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You’ve had a propensity to faint lately. Even might behind the screen.”
I took a final look at Lee, finding it even more difficult to fathom the hell he’d been through. I felt compelled to lean over in order to kiss him on the forehead but Ski’s hand waylaid me.
“You probably don’t want to do that yet, sir. You sure don’t want to catch anything. Rat droppings and such….”
“He’s right, Admiral,” Will said.
“The Queen kissed him,” I said, “and nobody complained about that.”
“No doubt she’s already been quarantined and is being checked for rabies. I’ll have to quarantine and draw blood from you if you feel compelled to kiss him.”
“Mrs. C. kissed him, a lot!”
“And I ordered her to go take a full disinfectant scrub and to toss her clothes into a bio hazard hamper. I also drew some blood. She’s under quarantine in her cabin. I’d prefer not to go to all that trouble with you. You can kiss him all you like later. So let’s curb our fatherly impulses for now, shall we? Oh, and let Ski give you some of that disinfectant scrub. Chip’s team is cleaning up too. Ski’s already cleaned up. Admiral, Lee wouldn’t appreciate anyone, especially you, getting sick on account of him.”
It made sense, of course and with one last glance at Lee, I acquiesced while Ski had me place my hands into a deep container of awful smelling surgical disinfectant before handing me a bottle of the stuff. Thank God, the odor wouldn’t last long, Will told me. After all, I hadn’t had to plug my nose.

Secure in my cabin, after my scrub down, I clicked the monitor to the various newscasts.
There was growing dissatisfaction with President Avery and talk of congress introducing a bill to force Lee to take over.
Could the nation really expect Lee, even by special act of congress, which had to be unconstitutional on the face of it, to retake the presidency?

God only knew.