TRWD38

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
38

It was 0200 and I couldn’t sleep. Not too many of us could, though Emmie was deep in the arms of Morpheus.
I’d pulled on my robe over my PJ’s and remembering to pull on my slippers headed toward the Wardroom passing by the gym. I heard the punching bag getting pounded and ducked in, wondering if Lee was taking out his frustrations again. But this time it was the sweat suit clad Chip.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
“Nothing you can do.”
Punch.
“I don’t like it either,” I told him.
Punch, punch!
“You can try to talk him out of it!” Chip demanded, still punching the bag angrily. “With you on his case, he could have told Avery and everyone who pressured him to go to hell!”
“I doubt if I could talk him out of it.”
“I guess,” Chip sighed, slipping off his boxing gloves. “But you could have tried. You still can. Damn it, Admiral. Four years! Even if we beg and plead with him when his time’s up to come back, he won’t. You know he won’t. He’ll have some notion that he’ll be demoting me!”
“Well? Wouldn’t he be?”
“There’s only one skipper for Seaview and that’s him! I don’t give a rat’s ass if I’d need to step down to be XO or even take a reduction in rank with the Reserves for him to resume command again. This is where he belongs!”
“Have you thought that he might not even want to pick up where he left off? People change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This new chapter in his life hasn’t even begun yet. And you might actually enjoy command.”
“Mr. Morton?” O’Brien interrupted over the PA, “can you come forward and join the skipper in the conning tower?”
“Nelson here,” I spoke into the mike, “why isn’t he in bed? What’s wrong?”
“All I know is that he wants Mr. Morton to join him topside.”
“Right there,” Chip said taking the mike, then returning it to its cradle.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I told him, turning.
“Why don’t you come along with me?”
“He’d have requested me if he’d wanted.”
“He thinks you’re in bed, where he should be! Probably just doesn’t want to disturb you.”
“Well, I’ll wait in the Wardroom. All he has to do is call me if he wants.”
With a frown, Chip plodded out.

The Wardroom was nearly deserted, but the monitor was on. Gawd, how long was the press going to continue with their recaps of Avery’s message to the nation about stepping down and Lee replacing him? But this newscast seemed to be a little different, so I didn’t make any adjustments or turn it off….
“…And this is a close up taken by Gerrard’s of the gold wire broaches the president elect designed and commissioned as parting gifts for Her Majesty and Lady O’Brien following the special luncheon aboard Seaview.
“…Already the noted jeweler is receiving requests for duplicates, which the company has declined, stating that Nelson-Crane has the copyright and they haven’t been able to reach him.
“…We also had a chance to speak with Angus McDonald for his views of this historic afternoon.”
“…Well, it were a bit of a surprise for all of us, him agreeing to go back to the White House. Admiral Nelson weren’t too pleased about it, I can tell you. All I can say is, God bless the lad, and good luck to him.”
“…If you’ve just joined us,” the anchor continued, “the White House went live at seven p.m. Washington time with the following message….”
“…My fellow Americans,” Avery said, “there has been no argument that during my short term in office I’ve had great difficulty living up the expectations demanded for presidency. In addition, no one in that chain of succession, also known as the presidential substitutes, has been willing to take the oath of office in my stead. And barring a new election which would only lead to prolonged chaos and give me a nervous breakdown waiting to step down, a special session of congress had been convened to consider asking Captain Nelson-Crane to step into my shoes. His experience and dedication to duty is without question even though he’s had no desire to return to politics or this office. He prefers to be a sub driver, as he calls it. However, in these troubled times, it is with gratitude and humility that I announce he has agreed to assume the presidency and he’s sailing his famous red submarine Seaview to Washington for the inauguration. This inauguration will not be as full of pomp and circumstance as the event should be, owing to time constraints. God bless Captain Nelson-Crane. God bless America.”
The screen returned to the anchor desk.
“…The news was received well by most Americans, but Mr. Ronald Nelson had a few negative words from his prison’s conference room….”
“…I just don’t get it. It’s stupid to think that Lee can do anything different from Avery or anyone else. He’s not God, for Pete’s sake. And don’t take that ‘I’m just a sub driver’ crap at face value. He’s a politician, all right. He turned into one the first time he was interim president and nobody can tell me he still isn’t one. Playing that ‘just a captain’ crap? Hell, it’s just to get sympathy. As if he didn’t already have enough. Cheech.”
“…Do you have any message for Admiral Nelson?” the interviewer asked.
“…Yeah, Pop? You’d be wise not to name either of your brats after Lee. They’ll have nothing to live up to.”
“…We take you now,” the anchor said, “to continuing live coverage of the Seaview making her way along the River Ness as she heads toward the bay which she’ll meet the Atlantic Ocean. Despite the late hour, several locals along both shorelines and in small boats, armed with flashlights are making their farewells and capturing the view on their cameras and smart phones.
“…Police boats have had a busy time keeping the boaters from getting too close, so important especially in the dark, though the sub does have running lights and of course her spotlight at the bow. The Royal Navy has helicopters in the air, though they’re keeping to a distance to protect the captain’s scalp patches which you remember came loose from rotor wash before.
Our own helicopter is in the air as well with telescopic views of the hero captain, in the conning tower with someone who looks as it might be Lt. Cdr. O’Brien. Both men back in uniform since this afternoon’s appearance in kilts. Both men are wearing khaki padded jackets and caps. I believe they’re called ‘covers’ in naval circles. A crewman with a similar padded jacket is holding a flashlight over a printout the officers are reviewing…
“…It looks like Chipee Morton has joined them, only he’s in some kind of athletic fleece.”
Patterson headed back down into the boat with O’Brien while Lee and Chip, arms folded across the coaming said nothing for a while. Then Lee began to speak. Of course, the BBC couldn’t pick up the audio. I tried to adjust our own deck cams to the conning tower, but by the time I had audio Lee and Chip had already finished speaking. I had to satisfy myself just watching them, as the BBC coverage on the bottom split screen showed various views of Seaview illuminated by her own running lights and small craft.
I noticed that the coffee carafe still on the sideboard and tested it for warmth. It was warm enough and I poured myself a cup, adding a packet of hot chocolate mix. It made a reasonable mocha and I simply parked myself in a lounger and watched the waves part our bow split the water.
I knew the view was even better topside, and I was glad that at least Lee could enjoy his last few days commanding his boat.
Before I realized it, someone was placing a blanket over me and saying ‘Goodnight’, but I was too tired to respond and just let myself be cocooned in warmth and softness.