36A

TRWD36A

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
36A

The loungers, table and chairs were back in the Observation Nose. I joined Jiggs, Mrs. C., Emmie and the now sober Edith watching the BBC broadcasts on the monitor which included almost continual recaps of our journey through the fault, Lee almost losing a scalp patch when the BBC helicopter’s rotor made it difficult for the patch not to buckle and come lose. The recaps also showed Lee playing with Rascal and the Loch Ness Monster.
Occasionally we got live coverage of our boat, surfaced, sailing slowly down the river, several police boats escorting us and preventing the increasing swarms of pleasure boats from getting in Seaview’s way.
Twice Cookie had brought us coffee. And once had gone up to the conning tower with some for Lee and Chip. Will joined us, increasingly agitated.
Chip finally climbed down the ladder, ordering Sharkey to join the captain and pulled off his parka.
“When the hell’s he coming down?” Will asked. “It’s cold and damp and….”
“Don’t worry, even he’ll have to pee sometime,” Chip said with a grin as he headed aft. I was tempted to rejoin Lee topside, but it was so nice and warm in the Observation Nose, Emmie at my side, and the view ports weren’t covered by the crash doors any longer. It was nice on my front porch.
Sharkey’s voice summoned O’Brien up, and soon our nostrils were assaulted by a very odiferous Lee climbing down.
“Peeyoo!” Mrs. C. complained as our nostrils were assaulted by his odor.
“Sorry,” Lee said, “didn’t notice any smell in all that fresh air topside. With me, Will.”
“You want to go to Sick Bay?” Will asked, “On your own?”
“I don’t think I can shower the stink off by myself. I need a disinfectant scrub down. Funny, Rascal and Nessie’s slobber didn’t smell bad when I played with them.”
“Put your clothes into the bio hazard laundry when you’re stripped,” Chip ordered as he returned, “include the parka.”
“Yes, mother,” Lee answered with a grin, and headed aft, his cane, against the plot table, forgotten. Joe, however, got up from his chair and decided to accompany him. Just in case Lee needed a bit of support, but frankly, I didn’t think Lee needed any anymore.
“Am I mistaken or is Lee breathing better?” Jiggs asked me. “He doesn’t appear to be hurting much anymore either.”
“Well,” Edith said, “some legendry creatures were supposed to have magical powers. Perhaps the real ones do, too.”
“That’s absurd!” Jiggs said.
“Mr. Morton?” Sparks called out. “Call for the skipper. From ‘him’”
Jiggs and I knew exactly who this ‘him’ was.
“Is it urgent?” Chip asked.
“Unknown, the call’s actually from the White House switchboard this time. Not a secure line.”
“Inform the president that the captain’s gone to Sick Bay and can’t be disturbed just now. We’ll have him contact the president shorty. Unless the president wishes to speak with Admiral Nelson instead.”
I groaned.
Sparks repeated what his XO had said into his headset’s microphone, and waited. Finally, well, after a minute or so, acknowledged the call and signed off.
“They say the president only wants to speak to the skipper. Sorry, sir.”
“Poor Harry,” Edith said, “you’re becoming more and more like a third wheel.”
“My dear,” Emmie said, “there’s no need to be rude.”
“I’m not offended at all,” I said. “And frankly, I’d rather he put up with President Avery than me.”
“Mr. Morton?” Will called over the PA from Sick Bay, “We’re still scrubbing down, but I wanted to report that most of the captain’s deep tissue bruises and lacerations show significant improvement, far earlier than expected. Even his orbital tissues aren’t quite as raw. I had some of the residual monster slobber on his face sent to your lab in a bio hazard unit. The stuff stinks like hell. I’ve had to spray Lysol all over Sick Bay. You’ll want to be prepared when you open the unit.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Chip, I’ll be in the lab,” I said, and hurried aft, Jiggs following.
“You can’t believe there’s some kind of magic in that slobber?” Jiggs asked as we hurried along.
“Perhaps, chemically speaking. Or it’s just a coincidence that Lee’s doing so much better physically so soon after playing with the creatures and getting licked by them.”

And so, once we were in the lab, I ran all the tests I could, but to no avail finding anything weird. So much for magical or healing properties.
A knock at the door interrupted.
“In,” I hollered.
“Excuse me, sir,” Kowalski told me, entering, “the skipper says for you to go ahead with the interview without him. He’s been, er, detained.”
“Detained?”
“Oh, nothing medical sir. He’s already cleaned up.”
“Then why the delay?” I asked, irritated. I hated doing interviews and besides, I knew the press really only wanted to speak with Rascal’s playmate.
“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Ski was saying in response to my question, “but he’s out of Sick Bay and beating the hell out of the punching bag in the gym.”
“That’s not a good sign,” Jiggs said.
“Thank you, Ski,” I said. “Well, Jiggs. Care to join me go see to what’s troubling him? You too, Ski. In case Doc will want an update.”

It was short walk to the gym, several officers and crew hanging around outside of it muttering to themselves and with each other. They gave Jiggs, Ski, and me a wide berth to enter.
Lee had apparently freed his pets from their carriers, ands Winston was walking on a treadmill next to Joe’s.
“I think Winston’s had enough, bro,” Joe told Lee after noticing me, turning both of the treadmills off and rolling his eyes heavenward picking the dog up and attaching the leash to his collar.
I hadn’t said a word, but the mirrors against the bulkhead informed Lee of my presence.
He said nothing and continued to beat the punching bag.
“Do you really want me to go to all the time and trouble to have procurement order a new bag? At this rate, you’ll knock all the stuffing out...so, what’s the problem?”
Lee stood still, eyes downcast, pouting.
“Was it the president?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said then looked at the men near the doorway. “Give us a minute. You, too Ski. Jiggs, Joe, you can stay.”
In minutes only Jiggs, Joe, and I remained in the gym, the door closed.
“ONI called too,” Lee said and pulled off his gloves, “our agents reported that the People’s Republic is definitely in Ozno’s network. Along with Russia, North Korea, and others. But it can’t be officially verified without us admitting we have spies in the field. There are also some additional rouge scientists that had been working with Ozno and the chairman. Avery’s ordered me not to say anything against the People’s Republic and its growing coalition because that might dampen the People’s Republic’s overtures of peace! What peace? They never wanted peace and they still don’t!”
“Perhaps it’s best not to aggravate things publicly,” Jiggs said. “At least your silence would buy ONI time to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt what the chairman and his friends are up to, without revealing our spy network.”
“I have to agree with Jiggs, Lee,” I said sadly.
“Waiting to say anything just puts us all at risk,” Lee pouted. “If the people of the free world knew what the coalition is up to, it might make the People’s Republic’s chairman hesitate with any manifesto against the west.”
“I really think you should wait to say anything just yet, son. Let ONI do their job to get more irrefutable proof. Then the president can’t order your silence. In fact, having told us could still get you into trouble.”
Lee raised an eyebrow.
“You know our lips are sealed. Now, let’s go do that interview about your playmates. Where would you like to hold it?”
“I don’t want to do it, Harry.”
“My turn to say ‘too bad.’”
“You’re going to fuss about this aren’t you.”
“Afraid so.”
“Your cabin. It’s bigger and you have that nice model of Seaview behind your desk, even if it is gray.”
“Sorry. By the way, I miss the red eyepatch.”
“It got all wet from the monster’s ‘slurps. Had to send it to the laundry. In fact, Doc had to clean and repack the entire cavity. At least I don’t stink anymore.”
“There’s only one red eyepatch?” Jiggs asked as Lee took Winston’s leash from Joe and we headed out of the gym.
“Yeah. Melody found it in a party box of pirate stuff for a kid’s party at the White House. At least black matches my hair, what there is of it.”
“You still have plenty of hair,” I said. “Has Will said the patches can grow some?”
“Supposed to anything real skin can. But may take awhile.”
It wasn’t long before we reached my cabin and Lee had Sparks arrange the interview via my videophone. Lee took the edge of my desk in the hopes that he couldn’t be seen very well by whoever conducted the interview from the screen. But I turned the videophone so CNN would be able to see us both and vice versa. Jiggs and Joe took seats on the bunk.
The green light on the videophone began to flash. It had begun…
“…Were live from the submarine Seaview,” the CNN anchor said. “Admiral, what can you tell us from your scientific findings regarding the creatures of Loch Ness?”
“…Well, the DNA from their saliva proved the two are parent and offspring. How a kelpie matures into a mature Loch Ness Monster is unknown at this time. Their saliva and mucosa are definitely mammalian. There’s no sign of disease that I can tell. Both are apparently healthy.”
“…Several members of the scientific community are interested in cloning them. What do you think about the viability using their DNA samples?”
“…Absolutely not! Let’s just let nature take its course, shall we?”
“…We couldn’t help noticing that the creatures liked you very much, Captain. Any idea why?”
“…My charming personality?” Lee said with a grin. “Probably because they’d seen me through the viewports and felt comfortable with someone familiar.”
“…What do you think about being named their guardian by International Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals?”
“…Haven’t heard that,” Lee said, genuinely surprised, “I’m honored but it’s, well, impractical. I mean, it’s pretty doubtful I’ll be back in Scotland once we leave, for awhile at least. As long as contact with them is supervised, I think Nessie and Rascal will be okay.”
“…When do you expect to reach the port of Inverness, and when is the luncheon you plan to host for the queen?”
“…ETA’s just a couple of hours. The lunch is planned for tomorrow at 1300, or One P.M”
“…What will you be serving?”
“…I don’t believe the menu’s been confirmed yet.”
“…To change the topic, Captain, when you arrive in Inverness, will you undergo an exam of your optic nerve to determine if a digital prosthesis is viable?”
“…Possibly. As for a new prosthesis, I have every hope. But if it’s lost cause, well, everyone will have to get used to me looking like a pirate,” he tapped the black eyepatch, “and before anyone says that statement’s socially incorrect, I apologize to all pirates, living, dead, historically accurate and even those of pure fiction. At least, thank God, I still have one good eye.”
‘…Edith Nelson has posted online that the kiss of the Loch Ness Monster and kelpie gave you has special healing properties. What do think about that?”
“…It’s possible, I suppose.”
“…Admiral?”
“…I’m still running tests on the saliva and mucosa samples to identify any unusual elements. So far none have shown up.”
“…What do both of you think about the growing unrest in the United States regarding the president’s recent reprimand, and the widespread desire, that you, Captain, retake the office of the presidency”
“…I think Lee’s already addressed these questions previously,” I answered before Lee ould.
“…It’s okay, Harry. I’m surprised so many folks are still upset about the reprimand. There’s no need to be. I deserved it. And I don’t know why I’m a popular suggestion to sit in the oval office again. Unless it’s because I had the job before, if only for a little while.”
“…Or,” the reporter said, “because you’re the champion of the free world.”
“…Oh lord,” Lee flushed, “I did what I had to do, that’s all. I’m just a sub driver, really.”
“…But would you consider taking the presidency if it were suggested that you do?”
“…Hell no. Sorry. It would take some convincing for me to go back. I’m sorry, but it’s a thankless job. Gut wrenching. Anyone who sits as president of the US is torn into too many directions at the same time. Damned if they make a proposal or decision, damned if they don’t. When I was in office, most of the time I wanted to pull my hair out. And I don’t have enough left for that now,” Lee added with a laugh as he twirled a stray curl.
“…How well are your injuries healing?”
“…Our chief medical officer say’s I have substantial, no pun intended,” improvements. And he wants me to stay on nutrition drinks, oatmeal and Jell-O. But don’t worry, I can guarantee we won’t serve those to the royal party.”
Just then there was a knock on the door.
“…Excuse me,” Lee said moving off the desk to open the door.
Chip handed him a message.
“…Perhaps we can pick this interview up later?” the reporter asked.
“…No need,” Lee replied, “nothing earth shaking. I’ll be back in a minute. Want to say hi to CNN, Chip?” Lee added without waiting for an answer and departed, leaving the door open.
Chip was reluctant but moved to stand behind me.
“…Commander Morton,” the reporter said, “firstly, do you prefer that address or the more popular ‘Chipee’ and what are your opinions of the recent events?”
“…I’m glad the captain’s back aboard, safe and sound, well, at least he’s recovering from his injuries quicker than expected. And Chipee is a nickname Lee gave me. Not really used by anyone but him in conversation, and not that often. He knows I prefer Chip.”
“…We’ll make sure our reporters are aware of your preference. What do you think of the popular notion by thousands of your countrymen wanting the captain to go back to the White House?”
“…Thousands?”
“…Actually, millions, from the last tally.”
Chip whistled, eyes skyward, then pursed his lips.
“…They’re entitled to their opinions. And the constitution would have to be amended to draft him. Oh, he’d be good. Like he was before. Damn good. But hasn’t he done enough? I think we should simply want him to be happy. And he’s happiest here, in command of Seaview…”
Just then Lee returned, a printout in his hand, and Chip retreated to join Jiggs and Joe on the bunk.
“…Bad news?” I dared to ask Lee as he resumed his perch on my desktop.
“…It’s from Gerrard’s,” Lee said handing me the message.
“…Oh, Lee…I am sorry,” I said as I read it.
“…They can’t repair what’s left of my rings to any kind of wearable state,” Lee explained to the reporter, “They suggest I purchase a display case for them. They’ll bring some over along with the remnants when we reach Inverness.”
“…“Perhaps you could purchase some of their rings,” the reporter said.
“…Wouldn’t be the same,” I said before Lee could. “All three of Lee’s rings were one of a kind. Matchless.”
“…Yes, of course,” the reporter said, “but keep in mind that Gerrard’s not only has exquisite jewelry, but has also acquired some very rare antiquities. In fact, they’ve acquired a recently discovered signet ring of George Washington that they’ll be sending to Sotheby’s in London.”
“…For real?” Lee asked, as stunned as I was.
“…The Washington’s were landed gentry in England before they sailed to America. Men in that station often had such rings. And even great men have family members that pass down and sell off bits and pieces of their family history.”
“…Sad,” Lee said, shaking his head. “Something like that should be in a museum. Mount Vernon, or the Smithsonian, maybe.”
“…I do know,” I said, “that Washington’s seal ring was purchased by the Sons of the Revolution. It’s kept in a little box and taken out once a year for display or for when a new president of their organization takes over. Big ugly bulky thing. They still used seal rings to secure letters and documents with wax in the colonial days. What is this signet ring like?”
“…I’m afraid I don’t know,” the reporter said. “Perhaps their lots of upcoming auctions are on their webpage.”
“…Can you imagine actually holding or wearing it?” Lee asked me reverently.
“…Excuse me, Skipper,” Sharkey said from the doorway, “but…oh, I didn’t know you were busy.”
“…Is it important, Chief?” I asked. “We’re conducting an interview.”
“…Oh gawd…I’m so sorry. But, yeah, we got a problem with the ballast tanks again.”
Only Lee, Jiggs, Joe, Chip, and I knew there was no problem. This was an apparent excuse to relieve Lee of the interview, which he’d probably arranged when he’d stepped out to retrieve the Gerrard’s message.
“…I’m sure Harry can answer the rest of your questions,” Lee told the reporter, “Sorry. But Chip and I need to go check this out.”
“…Of course, Captain. Thank you for your time.”
Lee grinned and he and Chip departed.
“…Admiral, what are your views about the possibility of losing the captain to the Oval Office should he be urged to take it?”
“…Well, we all know he wouldn’t want the job. And like Chip, I only want him to be happy. In fact, I’m sure he’d be miserable taking it on again, even if he felt it his duty to do so.”
“…But, as an American, do you believe he’d be a good president?”
I knew I’d be damned if said anything, and damned if I didn’t. In the end I acquiesced with the truth. Lee appreciated the truth. Even when it hurt.
“…He won’t thank me for saying this, but frankly, I think he’d be the best damn president the United States has ever had. But his heart wouldn’t be in. That’s what I’m concerned with right now. And there are still some men and women left on the ‘substitute list’, all capable to take the reigns if President Avery might eventually decide to step down.”
“…If another interim presidency was offered by Congress, do you think he’d accept it pending a new election?”
“…I honestly don’t know. Personally, I think it would be better for the nation to follow the usual protocols. One of the substitutes for the remainder of the term.”
“…But what if the substitute is no good either, as your last two were and this one is clearly not up the job either.”
“…Then Congress is within its rights to censure or impeach Mr. Avery. However, he’s done nothing to merit either. Just because he wants Lee to take over, and a great many of our countrymen do, that doesn’t make it constitutionally feasible to force him.”
“… Well, it appears our time is up. The BBC thanks both you and the captain for your time.”
“…You’re welcome.”
“…This is CNN, from the submarine Seaview. We now return you to our regularly scheduled program.”
The interface closed, and the videophone turned off. I practically sagged in relief.
Almost immediately Emmie entered, and embraced me.
“Oh, sweetheart, you were marvelous. Edith, Mrs. C. and I were watching the monitor in the Wardroom.”
Jiggs and Joe excused themselves to give us a little privacy.

After a while we headed to the Wardroom.
“Harry,” Edith asked me as she added some sugar and milk to her coffee, “Mrs. C. wants us to serve a traditional two crust apple pie for the queen’s lunch. I think we should go with a more European style of pie, like a tart. What do you think?”
“I think we should leave it to Cookie.”
“But he’s just the cook. You’re the diplomat.”
“Me? Since when? Why not ask Lee? It’s his party.”
“If Lee has his way, he’ll serve hot dogs!”
“FDR did when she visited the states with her parents.”
“Oh. But surely he should be told that.”
“I’m sure Chip already has. If you’re so disturbed about the menu options, as Lee to put you in charge of the menu.”
“All right, I will,” she said, finished her coffee and left, leaving Emmie and me to watch the monitor in peace with a few officers also taking a coffee break.
Instead of clicking on the monitor for news, I simply enjoyed my coffee, surprised that I really did enjoy it. Emmie had taken the liberty of plying it with a flavored dry creamer and some kind of ‘natural’ sweetener.
“Don’t worry, sir,” O’Brien had said. “We made sure Cookie will have the real stuff for the queen’s party. The Brits tend to like a lot of cream and sugar. At least that’s what Mr. Ames told us.”
“We have real cream or milk?” Emmie asked.
“Well, we will. Mr. Morton already has a shopping list for the mess specialists once we dock.”
“Can you add extra for the trip home? I really really, really, taste the difference between the powdered stuff and the real from a cow kind of milk.”
“The powdered milk is made from real milk and cows,” I said. “Unless you want soy milk, which also comes in powdered form.”
“Harry, I love you, and understand the need for shelf life, etc., but if real milk’s available and it can last the trip home, I sure would like a few gallons stored.”
“Oh, of course!” I said, suddenly realizing that milk was good for expectant mothers.
“The skipper likes fresh milk too,” O’Brien said. “Especially to dunk cookies in. Speaking of cookies. My great aunt prefers shortbread.”
“Take it up with Edith,” I said, just as she re-entered.
“Sorry,” she said. “Lee told me to butt out.”
“What?” I asked, disturbed that he would use such a tone with her.
“Chill, Harry. He didn’t say it exactly like that. He put Chip in charge of the menu. Two Crust American Apple Pie is the planned dessert. With whipped cream, for those stupid cans, and ice cream. Maybe some cookies. But Lee and Chip can’t decide which kind yet. And the entre, oh gawd, is hot dogs, Boston Baked Beans, Scalloped Corn, and Potato Salad.”
“American cuisine lives,” I said, raising my coffee in a toast.
“Only the beans and the corn are American. Our hot dogs are based on German sausages. At least the scalloped corn was based on a Native American dish called Indian Pudding. I have no idea how Boston put its stamp on Great Northern Beans.”
“I hate to tell you this, but Boston Baked Beans might not have developed as they did without the molasses distilled from Rum production from slave labor. You know, we might want to serve Boston Brown Bread as well. I understand it’s derived from the early corn bread the Native Americans made….”
“Who knew you were a food historian?” Edith interrupted.
“I’m no expert, but I do like to know what I’m eating. By the way, American hot dogs do have a fascinating history…”
“Nobody wants to know! They’re still inappropriate to serve the queen!”
“Now wait a minute,” Emmie said angrily. “Just because you say so doesn’t make it so.”
“Well, if Lee insults the queen it’s his neck.”
“I don’t think there’ll be a problem,” Lee said, having overheard from the doorway. The menu’s already been presented to and approved by Lillibet. Any further comments against it, Edith?”
“I guess not, since you’re on a first name basis with her.”
“The only decision left is which kind of cookies to serve. Shortbread’s a given in honor of Lady O’Brien. Now we have to choose between chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, or peanut butter, or all four. What do all of you think?”
“I think the full assortment,” I said.
“Mom?”
“Well, oatmeal raisin’s your favorite if Doc lets you have some.”
“Emily?”
“All of them.”
“Edith?”
“What? You’re giving me an option?”
“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been behaving a bit bitchy lately. I know some passengers don’t like being cooped up on a sub….”
“Oreo’s. The double stuff kind.”
“I like them too…we’ll have to go to town to buy some, though.”
“I was kidding!”
“But you do like them?”
“She went through an entire bag on her thirtieth birthday,” I said.
“That was supposed to be a secret!” she scolded me. “If you must know, I was very depressed.”
“Fair enough,” Lee said. “Well, if anyone’s interested, the shoreline’s getting more and more crowded the closer we get to Inverness. Bagpipers serenading us with everything from Scottish ballads to Yankee Doodle. Even some Sousa marches if I recognized them correctly. The BBC says bonfires will be lit at twilight as we’ll be arriving a bit later than planned, as we have to keep our wake at a minimum, despite the police boats keeping the curious away.”
“Not that much longer, surely,” Emmie asked.
“Afraid so. Why not have some hot chocolate in the nose to watch.”
And so we are.