TRWD31

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
31

It was late and I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning so much that Emmie kicked me out. While sympathetic, and caring about Lee herself, she was almost as exhausted as I was.
I headed to the Wardroom, not that coffee was the best of ideas. But I was up anyway, so why not? Of course, with a slight roundabout route I could pass by Sick Bay and peek in.
Sick Bay’s lights were set to ‘evening glow’, though Will’s office lights were on. He had, no doubt scrubbed down himself after treating Lee, and was in uniform despite the hour. The epitome of a doctor ‘on call’, he was studying something on his desktop computer.
Frank, also changed, was checking the readings from the machines monitoring Lee’s vitals while Ski, in a Sick Bay issue jumpsuit now, was taking a nap on one of the bunks along the wall nearest to a new gurney they’d moved Lee onto.
I was surprised to see Joe sitting beside his sleeping friend, holding Lee’s now sterile hand, and running his free hand through what was left of Lee’s washed, disinfected, dried, and combed hair, careful not to disturb the artificial skin patches covering the scalped areas, the stitches horrible looking things attaching them to Lee’s viable scalp.
“Can’t sleep either?” Will startled me, looking up from his computer.
“Do you have eyes in the back and sides of your head or something?”
“Afraid so,” Will said, leaving his desk and walking over to me in the doorway.
“How long has Joe been here?”
“He was pacing outside like a caged tiger. It was so distracting, that as soon as I was satisfied that Lee was stable, and we’d scrubbed ourselves and the area down, I decided to let him in. Especially since Joe said he wanted to pray over him.”
“I didn’t know he was religious.”
“He might not be. But, when it’s someone you love, well, sometimes one finds the faith one and others never thought one had.”
Joe, disturbed by our chat, even though we’d spoken softly, kissed his fingers and touched Lee’s forehead with them.
“You going to let him do that?” I gasped, “Getting his germs all over Lee?”
“Chill, Admiral,” Joe said, rising from his stool, “I didn’t actually kiss my fingers. It was just air. It was a kind of blessing. Thanks for letting me sit with him awhile, Doc.”
“I might as well tell you both now rather than later,” Will said, nodding toward his office’s computer. “I don’t have the advanced optical equipment, but I think that rat might have eaten too much of the optic nerve. Which means that a digital prosthesis might not be an option.”
“Oh God,” Joe whined.
“I said ‘might’. Nothing’s written in stone right now,” Will said, patting Joe on the shoulder. “He’ll have a more thorough exam by experts. Do you want something to help you sleep?”
“No, I’d rather be available if Lee wants me.”
“Winston, stop!” Mrs. C. was yelling at the top of her lungs, as suddenly the dog bounded in, whining, running and jumping around Lee’s gurney. Fear gripped me as I wondered what the dog sensed that the machines didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mrs. C., her hair a mass of tangles, wearing a fuzzy robe and slippers whined, “he got out when I opened the door.”
Joe picked up Winston, who was squirming violently in his arms.
“What’s going on here?” Emmie asked from the doorway, panting, along with Edith, “I could hear you yelling. I thought you were supposed to stay in your cabin.”
“I…I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to go get some hot chocolate. And none of us are quarantined anymore since Doc cleared Lee of rabies. So, Doc, when can you re-attach the socket you removed and get him a new prosthesis?”
“Not sure, yet,” Will said, saying nothing more.
“What’s going on here?” Chip, in a crisp clean uniform, entered.
“Long story, Lad,” I answered, “and since I don’t think any of us will get any sleep tonight, perhaps we should all have some of the family label?”
“None for me,” Chip said, “I have to get back to the Control Room,” he aid said but neared Lee, to look him over. Gently he patted Lee’s arm. “Hang in there Lee; it won’t be forever.”
“I’ll join you, Harry,” Mrs. C. said, “after Joseph and I take Winston back to my cabin.”
“On your way,” I said, “stop by Admiral Starke’s cabin and invite him as well. He might not welcome being awakened, but I think he’d rather enjoy a snort or two than sleep.”

As I poured ourselves out shots in the Observation Nose, I mentioned that it was time to speak to the brewers about improving it.
“Close enough for government work,” Jiggs said bemused.
“I agree, Harry,” Mrs. C. said. “Not quite as good as it could be.”
“But,” Edith said, “it still makes for a wonderful fruitcake.”
Chip groaned from the Control Room.
“Now, now, Chipee,” Emmie said, “some people actually like fruitcake.”
“How about some news, Harriman?” Jiggs asked as he had a snort.
There were eight split screens on the monitor now and we chose the good old reliable BBC, its image of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament all lit up against the starlit sky in the background.
“…In spite of Her Majesty’s impromptu ceremony,” one of the reporters, a lovely girl in blue was saying from the anchor desk, “Americans, though allowed honorary knighthoods, are not allowed to use the preface ‘sir’ before their names, not even in the United Kingdom, unless they have dual citizenship.”
“…You think he might apply for it?” the co-reporters, a middle aged gentleman in a tweed suit asked.
“…I think we all know that the captain is one hundred percent a Yank. And in fact, Her Majesty made a glaring mistake in that she didn’t designate an order of knighthood. She’s not allowed to just say ‘sir knight’.”
“…Still, several Americans, and even our own citizens are already referring to the captain as ‘Sir Lee’ in conversation and in print.”
“…What about him being called her ‘Champion’? There’s already a queen’s champion, isn’t there?”
“…Yes, indeed. It’s been handed down from a feudal family since 1066 and though times and duties have changed, the modern King or Queen’s Champion is the official royal standard bearer and an essential part of a coronation. ”
“…But she didn’t actually say ‘queen’s champion’. She only said he was ‘her’ champion. Perhaps she should have used her name, to make things a little more clear.”
“…Whatever your opinion, the Honorable (and while a correct term for a former president, nobody really uses it in America) Champion of the Free World, as he is, the captain is reported to be sleeping soundly in his submarine’s infirmary, or Sick Bay, as they call it. Sweet dreams, Captain.”
“… Now a report from across the pond, in fact, way across the pond in the People’s Republic. The interim chairman, Mr. Wo, cites the former chairman’s suicide as proof positive that he had indeed been involved in a plot with Dr. Ozno against the United States and the United Kingdom, and that on behalf of his people wishes to apologize and declare that the People’s Republic would like a trade agreement with both….”
“Pause it!” Joe shouted to the duty Sparks.
“It’s a live broadcast,” Chip reminded him.
“What is it, Joe?” I asked.
“His watch! It’s the same kind as Ozno’s and his minions.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Jiggs began.
“Can you replay it?” Chip asked the Sparks.
“Wasn’t recording it, sir, I’m sorry.”
“Joe? What is it?” Chip asked. “Why the concern?”
“I may be wrong, but it could mean this new chairman’s part of Ozno’s network.”
“Oh, you’re groping at straws!” Jiggs said.
“Perhaps…but what if I’m not…”
“Get ONI on it, Joe,” Chip ordered.
Joe gulped down his shot and headed to the radio shack.
Big Ben showed that it was 0300 and the gentleman reporter was speaking….
“…In the United States, President Avery is under fire for what some members of congress are calling ‘gross negligence’ in what is known now as ‘The Ozno Affair’, which the president has not denied. In fact, he’s rumored to want to step down. Furthermore he’s told advisors that he wants congress to create a bill that would allow them to draft, in a manner of speaking, the captain back to the presidency as soon as he’s able.”
“…I think we all know,” Avery was saying to a reporter after attending some kind of evening function, “that nobody in the presidential line of succession wants to assume the job, and that another election has no guarantee of a capable person to take over right now. There’s only one man for the job in these increasingly troubled times. The problem is that he would rather dive his submarine down deep below to escape the job. I am, of course, referring to Captain Nelson-Crane. While it’s conceivable that he might be persuaded to resume the office on an interim basis again pending another election, I believe it would be best for the nation that he retake the reigns of office for the full term. Even if he has to be drafted to do so once he’s deemed medically able.”
“…But what about his freedom of choice?” someone in the crowd asked, “wouldn’t any such bill be contrary to the constitution and the bill of rights? Wouldn’t it open a Pandora’s box of possible dictatorships in the future?”
“…Well,” Avery said, “we used to draft our young men to the military without their say so in times of need. Why not the president in a time of need?”
“…This entire idea proves you really are lacking in judgement.”
Applause and boos.
“…I know I am,” Avery said, “we need someone in the White House who has an unerring sense of judgement, intelligence, leadership, and experience handling matters that even the angels in Heaven would turn away from. We need Captain Lee Nelson-Crane.”
“…Have you discussed all this with him?” the reporter asked
“…Not yet. But I will be as soon as he’s able to take my call.”
“…What if declines your suggestion?”
“…Then I will ask congress to amend the constitution to allow us to draft him. Good night.”

“…Constitutionally,” the BBC’s gentleman reporter said, “according to experts in American policy, the whole idea is absurd. Forcing the presidency on someone goes against everything that America prides itself on,”
“…George Washington didn’t want the job either,” his co-anchor said, “but he did take it in the end.”
“…This is the BBC,” the gentleman said, “Good night, or Good morning depending on your location. We now present an entertaining film from 1937. ‘The Prisoner of Zenda’ with Ronald Colman. Just an FYI, its release in the year following King Edward the Eight’s abdication was said to be a lesson about duty over desire. Whatever your personal feelings, it boasts a fine story, performances, and music. Enjoy.”

The broadcast went to a commercial about something called Bovril, then began the movie. I remembered having seen both versions of the film on a TV movie channel of some kind. But what I had remembered the most was the haunting hymn ‘See, the Conquering Hero Comes’ by Handel.
An appropriate selection to watch now, as our own conquering hero was right now aboard Seaview. Home.

“Do you think congress can actually force him?” Mrs. C. asked. “More than just pressuring him, like last time?”
“I don’t there’s a snowflake’s chance in hell of a vote, let alone passing such a bill, ” Jiggs said.
“Don’t be so sure,” I said, “a constitutional amendment could do just that.”
“The thing is,” Chip said, approaching, “Lee IS the best person for the job. But he’d be miserable. We’d be miserable. Even the boat would fuss and.…”
“Admiral?” Joe asked as he left the radio shack, “ONI reports there’s nothing to determine if the new chairman’s watch was the same as the terrorists’. I guess I was wrong about a connection….but I know a way to find out for sure.”
“You can’t be serious!” Chip said.
“What’s this all about?” Jiggs asked.
“I can sneak into the People’s Republic and steal the damn thing and…”
“You’re too well known to get past the borders,” Chip said. “Besides, don’t we have agents in the field there?”
“I’d rather do it myself.”
“I’m sorry, Joe,” I said, “Lee needs you here.”
“Yeah, but...”
“Should we tell Lee?” Chip asked me, “about Joe’s suspicions? And that we want ONI to take on some up close and personal espionage?”
“You may have to,” Doc said from the spiral ladder, having overheard. “He’s awake. And restless. And wants a status report on Seaview, Ozno, along with our progress following the Loch Ness Monster and the kelpie. He also wants some coffee and to be allowed out of bed to take Winston for a walk even though he can’t even sit up yet. No way am I allowing him near his dog and cat yet to protect him from fur and dander intrusion into his stitched tissues. Not until they knit. And no way am I letting him have anything as acidic as coffee, or even solid food for that matter. His GI tract is a mess, horribly bruised. He’s pretty upset about that. Would have had to restrain him but he’s too weak to escape. Admiral, only you can calm him down without me knocking him out. In fact, the pain killers I have administered, might have made him a little delusional. He’s been trying to figure out Seaview’s coordinates from the holes in the ceiling tiles. Of course, one can trace what looks like the Big Dipper on one of them.”
“Oh, my poor baby,” Mrs. C. said.
By the time Will and I reached Sick Bay, it was too late. Lee had fallen asleep again.
This time, I grabbed a chair to pull next to the gurney, taking his hand, and running a hand through his hair, just as Joe had earlier on. Not to comfort Lee, but myself. My faith that God knew what He was doing was in shambles.
“Why, God, why did you let Lee go through all this?” I asked angrily. Then I heard that movie hymn from Will’s office. I could see the movie on his office monitor of the movie from the corner of my eye. Ronald Colman as the doppelganger king walked down the aisle for his coronation, to receive the crown, to be anointed by God.
I looked at Lee. Could Angus McDonald have been correct? Had Lee been anointed to thwart Ozno and our enemies? Even if he had, I still had a score to settle with God for letting him go through hell to do so.
“H…Harry?” Lee mumbled as he opened his eye.
“I’m here son, I’m here.”
“I…thought... I heard angels singing....why'd they stop?" Lee asked innocently, “It was… nice…”
“Just an old movie I was watching in my office, Skipper,” Will said.
“If they actually were angels,” I said, “I’d have a bone to pick with them.”
“Huh?” Lee asked, confused.
“Why didn’t the angels, why didn’t God, protect you from all you went through,” I said angrily.
‘Harry,” Lee said taking my hand. “I’m fine…sort of…maybe not…damn, it hurts to talk…breathe…give us a minute, okay, Will?”
“But I can adjust the med for the pain. And if it’s really hard to breathe, I can nsert a respirator or…”
“Give us… a… minute? Pretty… please?” Lee asked giving Will his lost puppy dog look.
It was usually effective but not now. I had to raise my eyebrow toward Will to get him to move away.

“I…I’m sorry, Harry,” Lee told me.
“What? Whatever for?”
“Putting… you through… all this…”
“Me? You’re the one who was battered and beaten, and mutilated and eaten and…”
“I…never… hurt so… much… in my life, or been… so scared…but I… learned a… long time… ago… not to blame… God when… bad things happen….”
“Why not? He could have stopped things before they began! Turned Ozno into a pillar of salt or made an earthquake destroy the People’s Republic or….”
“Harry,” Lee interrupted, “you… don’t really… mean… that, do you?”
Damn it! Despite the stitched laceration on his forehead, the gauze stuffed into his orbital cavity, despite all the bruises on his face, neck, arms, the patches of plastic looking bio ‘skin’ where he’d been scalped, well, his face still looked so cherubic that I felt as guilty as hell for what I’d been thinking. Even though I was still mad at God.
“Well, I guess not,” I lied, “ but…”
“Ozno and co., they’ll …have to… answer to Him..for what they… did. Let it go, Harry, okay?”
“I still think God should have protected you.”
“He got me out, didn’t He?”
“You got yourself out. And…”
“Never mind,” he said, emotional pain in his eye. Nothing could shake his faith in the Almighty and he was sad that I was doubting His goodness. “Seaview?” he changed the subject, bringing me out of my anger.
“She’s fine, but, well, I’m afraid Sparks and I scratched the paint…Lee,” I found it impossible to go on, and got up out of my chair and began to pace about.
“You’re …making… me dizzy.”
“Sorry,” I said, and resumed my seat and took a breath, “Avery wants to step down.”
“Hardly surprising,” Lee sighed.
“He wants you to take over. And not just till a new election. He wants you to take over for the full four years. Wants congress to force you.”
“Even congress… wouldn’t… be stupid …enough to do that….would they?”
“Probably not, but a constitutional amendment might allow for it.”
“No!” Lee said, agitated, “I won’t do it…I…can’t…I can’t.”
“Easy, son, easy. It’s just talk right now, by a man who’s ashamed of himself for not being the president he should be and by the people who love the Champion of the Free World and want him to become president again.”
“I wish the… queen… had.. never said… anything! I appreciate the… honor, but… there’s no ‘I’ in teamwork…That’s what… foiled Ozno and the chairman’s scheme.”
“Perhaps others helped, but…”
“Perhaps? It was all you, son. You rescued the queen and Lady O’Brien, you figured out how Ozno was going to launch the People’s Republic’s missiles. And you stopped one before, let’s not forget. Face it, son, you are the Champion of the Free World.”
“Harry!” Lee whined.
“Joe thinks,” I continued, “the People’s Republic’ new chairman is part of Ozno’s network. He wore a watch Joe thinks is somehow connected.”
“If…if so, the new…chairman…might have…killed the former and called it…a…suicide to cover the first’s…involvement,” Lee yawned.
“Perhaps I should go,” I said as I rose.
“No, don’t go…please…Will?”
“A few more minutes,” Will said, “then I want you to rest.”
“But… I want… to take Winston… for a walk. And tell….Mom not… to cry…”
“She was crying tears of joy for your safe return. And you’re in no condition to walk Winston, just yet,” I said patting his hands that were clinging to his sheets and blankets.
“Admiral,” Will said, “why don’t you read to him for a little while? That should help him settle down. I still have that first edition of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne that you loaned me.”
“Is …he one… of your egghead scientist… buddies?” Lee asked. It was apparent to Will and me that Lee was not joking.
Doc was having a hard time to keep a smile off his face from Lee’s childlike innocence. Drug induced, but innocent just the same.
“Yes,” I lied, “but I….”
Doc nudged me, as my words had washed over Lee like a blanket. He was already asleep.

I stayed a few minutes more as Will adjusted Lee’s meds in the IV drips and checked the Foley’s collection bag. I was glad to see there wasn’t too much blood in his urine now.

As I rose to leave, I found myself almost humming the hymn from the movie. But I had seen the true conquering hero, right there I Sick Bay. I had to wonder just what the history books would report a hundred years from now. I would only be a footnote but Lee? He’d be right up there with George Washington and Abe Lincoln.