My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

20

“Something’s wrong with Cookie,” Chip whispered to me as I joined him in the Control Room.

“I hadn’t noticed anything wrong with breakfast.”

“Probably having a hard time deciding what to feed us when the skipper’s in Germany,” O’Brien said, handing Chip his clipboard.

“Yeah,” Kowalski smacked his lips. “Deciding between Apple Strudel and Wiener Schnitzel can do that to you.”

“Non secure video call from Mr. Ames,” Sparks called out and piped it to the monitor.

Ames was at Lee’s desk, surprisingly cleared of much of the clutter we’d seen last time, though there more vertical files, taking up all available wall space.

“Ah good,” he said as he saw us, “The Austrian government’s invited Lee to a grand ball they’re having in honor of Austrian composers."

"Austria's not on their itinerary."

"Oh, the government knows that, but they'd really like the captain to attend. They've also invited the tour group. So if Lee, er, the captain agrees, the American ambassador strongly suggests that he go in uniform. Seems the natives are a little concerned that he might show up in something inappropriate, like jeans and cowboy boots. Now, you know and I know he’d never do that in response to such an invite, but...he doesn’t have his dinner dress uniform with him, or a tux, and it’s a pretty fancy affair. While I’ve obtained permission from some Air Force pilots ferrying some new jet aircraft to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, to cart either outfits for the captain and commander on their aircraft, I’m sure Lee will need a little persuading.”

“You do realize,” I said, “ that if Lee doesn’t want to do something, nothing I can say will persuade him...”

“Well, you have more influence than anyone. I got him on hold. Putting him through...”

“Wait...”Chip began but was too late. The image of Lee appeared on the split screen.

“What’s going on?” Lee asked from in front of Jackson’s laptop, “Ames said it was important.”

“Er...well, you see, son...”

“Chip?”

“It’s this Austrian grand ball thing, Lee.”

“How did you hear about....never mind.  I’m going to have to have a little talk with Ames when I get back. Well, what about it? I'm not sure I can go...I don't want to impose it on Mrs. P. either.”

“I'm sure you can spare one night away if she decides against the invitation. Ames told you about the Ambassador’s uniform request?” I said.

“Yeah, he told me. Don’t worry, if I do go,  I won’t wear my cowboy boots, if I had them with me, that is.”

“Ames can have the Air Force ferry them to Germany. Dinner Dress uniform or a civilian tux...he needs to know which. And before you complain, it's a white tie affair and you are a representative of all that’s good with the U.S. Lee....”

“There’s nothing wrong with a nice business suit...it was a last minute invite after all, wasn't it?”

“Dinner Dress Uniform or tux,” I said firmly.

"If I go."

"If you go, blast it! Lee, think about your country!"

“Joe?” Lee hollered, “did you know about this?”

“Nope."

“Well, you'd better decide," Chip said, "Ames can't keep those aircraft grounded for long."

"All right, all right. I'll go. Joe too. I'll even try to persuade Mrs. P. if she seems okay with it."

"Good," Chip said. "What's it going to be, uniform or tux?"

"Lee could arrive in his birthday suit and nobody would mind,”Joe said. “Well, except maybe irate husbands and fathers.”

“Joe, that’s not funny,” Lee warned.

“Well, excuse me....I’m just your traveling companion...making sure you’re fed, watered, and that you don’t overdose on the Strudel.”

“Strudel?” Ski whispered to Riley, seated next to him, “he’s already had Strudel?”

“Yes, Kowalski,” Lee said, “ I’ve already sampled some dyed in the wool Apple Strudel. Joe’s going to send Cookie the recipe we stole, er, borrowed from the hotel here.”

“You're wasting time," Chip said, "uniform or tux? If you can't decide we can toss for it."

“Oh good grief,” Lee said, irritated, “I vote for the tux. Joe too."

"Hey, don't I have a say in this?" Joe asked.

"No."

“They’ll be at Ramstein Air Force Base tomorrow,” Ames said. “You can pick the clothes up when you’re in the neighborhood.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lee replied. “You’re a bit sneaky, Ames.”

“Part of my job description as your assistant. Well, I’ll let you talk shop with the admiral. I’m signing off, Lee.”

“Very well. Good night or good morning, whatever the case may be.”

“Well, anything else, Chip?” Lee asked after Ames clicked off, “Harry? How’s my best girl doing under the ice cap?”

“Well,” Chip hesitated. “Seaview’s virtue is still intact after an amorous whale made advances. No real damage except for Cookie's Oleykoekes  falling onto the deck."

"Seaview’s virtue? Oh gawd not again...Harry, you really have to invent something to repel those unwelcome advances. Anything else?"

"Becker and Monroe," Chip said, "were introduced to the roster of Blue Noses, and we should be out from under the ice pack in a day or so. Then, after a brief stop in Washington, we’ll be headed to the North Atlantic.”

"My best to Becker and Monroe,” Lee said.

“Where are you off to tonight?” 

“Joe?” Lee asked.

“Your memory Lee, tsk tsk tsk,” Joe said as he headed to one of the beds, his luggage not yet unpacked and picked out the revised itinerary. "We’re going to the local Biergarten, you can bring your own food, did you know that? Maybe we should take our leftover Strudel. But they have food too. I can hear some nice warm pretzels and mustard calling my name. And there’s also a yodeling and slap dance contest being held tonight. It says here, Lederhosen not required but highly recommended. On sale with a discount.”

“Lederhosen? You’re kidding!” Lee exclaimed.

“Go with flow, bro. Go with the flow...it’ll make Mrs. Piccadilly happy...”

“Well," Lee sighed, "at least I still have my knee high’s from Scotland to go with them.”

“Er, Skipper?” Riley called out, “Like, if you enter the yodeling contest, remember that you go from a low pitched chest notes to  high vocal tones. And try to use vowel sounds and er..sorry for speaking out of turn, Mr. Morton, Admiral.”

“Actually,” Joe said, “I already asked the gift shop if they had a gross of earplugs we could donate to the organizers...”

“I’m not that bad a singer,” Lee said, “but I have no intention of entering a yodeling contest!”

“How about the slap dancing contest, then?” Joe asked.

“I’d like to slap you sometimes, that’s for sure,” Lee said.

“You slap your knees, like this, see?” Joe demonstrated taking one of Lee’s hands on his, slapping his, Joe’s knees. “Of course, loses in the translation without bare knees.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You want to go in lederhosen, fine. I’m wearing jeans.”

“What about Mrs. Piccadilly? You don’t really want to hurt her feelings, do you?”

“You can’t win this argument, son,” I laughed.

“I suppose not. By the way, Harry, we’ll be visiting some American Cemeteries in both Germany and France. Also Buchenwald Concentration Camp, so it won’t be all fun and games while we’re here. Pretty damn sobering.”

“Indeed.”

“Riley?”

“Yes sir, Skipper?”

“I’m not really sure I can yodel, but if I decide to try, I’ll do my best. Thanks.”

“Yes sir!”

The betting pools are in full force. Only time will tell if Lee finds the courage to raise his voice over a tankard of beer, with exposed knees, no less.