Shadows from the Past

Notes:

Story length

This is a novel length story in 42 chapters. Be assured it has been completely written before I uploaded the first chapter like all my stories because I dislike abandoned stories. I hope you are engaged enough to get to the end. My intent is to post several chapters a day.

2. The time frame of the story

This story takes place in 1992. The latest canon date I ever saw on an episode start was 1982. This story could be consistent with the characters' natural ages in 1992, if you buy into Lee being one of the youngest commanders in the Navy before he joined Seaview. Lee conceivably could be around 42-44 in 1992, but I think that's a stretch.

Moreover, given the existence of canon dates in the 70's, I can't visualize the boat and its characters remaining unchanged 15-20 years later. Chip still an exec? No, he should be captaining. Or O'Brien? So in my mind, I've pulled the whole series forward in time to the late 80's and early 90's, so it is only five or six years or so from Lee's first coming aboard. I rationalize this by stating I think the feel of the series - highlighting covert actions in Central America, South America and the Middle East - rang far more true to the mid 80's and early 90's. Shall we say more the age of Reagan than Carter?

I proffer this to get you in the mood for the era of the story. If you had an early satellite/cell phone, you know how expensive and limited in use they were. Would a sub captain need or have one for personal use? Not in my book. (Nelson, of course, had one or more!) Forget mobile GPS in the car. Unfold that map. Forget being in constant contact with everyone. Wait and worry instead. Many life tasks were much more time consuming too. Much less information was on the internet or computers then, and even when it was present, accessing it and obtaining it were more complicated. I found it both fun and challenging to strip away the conveniences we now take for granted in writing this story.

Chapter 1 - A Bad Start to Leave

Lee Crane arrived home from a six week mission in the Atlantic exhausted and grumpy. The crew had been overworked and under rested the entire trip. Then when it was over, Lee and Admiral Nelson had a spat.

Lee had come to dread Atlantic missions. This latest one highlighted the reasons why. To compensate for the extra cost of added travel days from Santa Barbara, California to the Atlantic, the Seaview sailed with a partial crew. Labor costs were Seaview's largest variable expense, after all. That meant extra work for everyone and an overworked crew could be a tense one.

Even though Lee and Chip thought they'd got the staffing right, this last cruise turned into one long headache. The Ivy League university visitors seemed to think that Seaview should operate like a four-star hotel. Nelson had unwittingly encouraged this by promising the guests a once in a life time experience of traveling through the Panama Canal in a submarine. At least he charged a handsome premium for this privilege. However, taking on extra guests to bunk in unused crew quarters for additional funds was a mistake that led to complaints from all sides the entire trip. By the time the mission was completed, the crew was snarling behind the guests' backs and at each other.

To make things right, after Seaview deposited their visitors on the East Coast before heading back to California the faster but more dangerous way, under the North Pole, Lee - without Nelson's approval - gave the entire crew three days extra paid leave to compensate for their misery. The crew's mood brightened at the bonus and everything ran better on the return to Santa Barbara.

Just after docking, Lee informed Nelson of his actions.

"You did what?"

"What I felt was appropriate."

"I didn't notice anything extraordinary going on. Everything seemed to run smoothly."

"That's because the men did their jobs so well, admiral. They kept you insulated so you could focus on what you love best."

"Oh, so now you want me to thank you for doing it without consulting me? Thanks for keeping things running smoothly, Lee, but just remember, it's my name on the checks! We barely were covering our costs for this mission before your magnanimous act."

"Tell me about it! You know, admiral, we could just turn down the private Atlantic work and solve this problem once and for all. Or maybe, just maybe, you could get around to finalizing plans and raising funds for an East Coast based sister sub."

"That again?" Nelson fumed.

Lee ratcheted down seeing Nelson's Irish temper flash to the surface, even though he was uncertain why Nelson was angry. "It makes sense, admiral, and you know it. Only you can pitch it to the Joint Chiefs and Congress."

"I hired you to drive my sub, Captain Crane, not to run my business."

"Forgive me. Take it out of my paycheck then!"

"Serve you right if I did!" Admiral Nelson stalked off to his cabin after securing the last word.

Several hours later, when Lee finally disembarked the boat, after doing the job of two other crewmen besides his own (owing to being shorthanded), he was understandably fatigued and cranky. Still, Lee regretted his tense words with the admiral. He respected how excited Nelson became amongst his academic peers on such missions and Lee was happy to facilitate them. He just increasingly disliked the grind of these longer missions. Maybe it was sign of aging.

Lee felt immediate relief upon opening the front door of his condo, his eyes drawn straight ahead to the view of the beach from the glass doors on the opposite end. He dropped his duffel on the floor, barely noting the odd plopping sound just before catching the splash it and his moving feet caused. "Damn." Lee's eyes turned downward in disgust.

A half inch of water covered his floors as far as he could see. Lee then noticed the tell tale sound of running water from his left, behind the utility closet door. Lee banged a fist on the door in anger before he sloshed to a living room chair to remove his socks and shoes. He placed these on the coffee table, rolled up his pant legs and waded back to the closet. "Of course, it had to be the cold water line!" Lee griped, his toes icy. He then wrestled open the swollen utility room door, nearly falling backwards when it finally gave, and cut off the condo's water main. Afterward, he waded to the phone to call the condo's maintenance man.

"Good morning. It's Lee Crane in 228. My washing machine supply line burst when I was at sea. I'm wading in my unit."

"Sorry. Washing machine is your problem. It's an inside fixture."

"Gee thanks, like it was my idea to hide the supply line cut off behind stacked units and not the builder's." Lee's complaint was met with dead air. "Might you at least recommend someone to help get this cleaned up?"

"Try the phone book or your insurance company, friend."

Lee slammed the phone down in frustration, then gathered himself. It was 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday. Maybe he should have noticed that and expected the response he'd gotten. Another couple of hours wasn't going to change anything. It looked to have begun days ago. What he needed most was a wet/dry vacuum. "Good luck with that at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday!" Lee flipped through the phonebook uncertain what to look under. Plumber? Flood damage? He only knew that Sunday emergency service would cost a fortune and really, he thought, what was the emergency at that point?

Lee waded through the rest of the condo to assess the damage. The tiled living areas got the worst of it, or so he thought until he squished on the bedroom carpet. "Why the hell didn't I rip that out like I meant to when I moved in?" Lee squished his feet to the bedside phone and called Chip at the Institute apartment where Chip planned to sack out a few hours before he headed home to his wife and toddler. Chip had warned Lee about ownership when you travel for long stretches. Chip had bought a house down the block from his handy father-in-law for that very reason.

When Chip didn't answer, Lee left him a message. "Chip, buddy, I may need a place to crash and a little help with a plumbing disaster. Call me as soon as you can. Never mind. I'll deal. Enjoy your leave. Love to Mary and Little Chipper." Lee hung up and cursed at himself for calling. So second nature was it to call his XO with problems that he hadn't thought through it first.

Lee headed to the bedroom closet. Nothing much was damaged, except the spare duffel that he might want to pack some clothes in was soaked. His larger suitcase in the far corner of the closet had fared no better. The fabric on the bottom was sopping wet. Coffee. Lee needed coffee. He padded to the kitchen. He opened the tap and reached for the coffee carafe. By the time he got it under the tap, it was dry. "Right. I did just cut that off, didn't I?" Lee stepped out onto the patio. The sounds of the ocean were soothing. He curled up in his lounge chair and watched the surf. Minutes later he fell asleep. He never heard his phone ringing inside.

At 9:30 a.m., Lee awoke suddenly and momentarily disoriented. He was on his patio, the lounge chair leaning on top of his side. "Going to be one of those days!" He pushed the chaise upright and then gathered himself to do the same after checking out the body parts. Everything was operative.

Lee meandered back inside. No fresh food. No coffee. Water everywhere. Oh, yeah, and the blinking answering machine. Nineteen messages.

Lee knew the messages weren't important. People who needed to get a hold of him would leave messages at the Institute. It was the same with mail, mostly. Lee usually picked that up on his way to his condo, but had foregone that this morning. Given that being outside was more pleasant than inside at that moment, Lee decided he'd go get the mail before dealing with the answering machine. His box would be overflowing by now. The mailman would be pissed and he'd let Lee know it by bending and cramming stuff. He missed Carol next door, who used to check on his place and his mail, and on him too. Okay, he didn't miss that last part by the time she'd left.

"Got to give you credit, Mr. Simmons, this is first class." Lee was amazed at the volume of mail his postman had squeezed, jammed, crushed and possibly crowbarred into his box. Getting it out was a puzzlement. In his first ten tries, all he managed was a piece or a corner of an item until he made room for one finger to wedge in. At last he extracted the pile. He sorted it on the nearby bench. Junk, junk, junk, junk, junk. A letter from his friend Roger Cresson. Junk, junk, junk. A hard thick invitation type card, bent in seven directions, from Richard and Doris Mattingly was stuck inside a junk mailer. "Curse you, Mr. Simmons." Junk, junk, more junk. Lee dumped the pile of junk mail into a conveniently placed trash bin and took the rest back to his condo.

Lee plopped the mail on the kitchen counter by the phone. He propped his feet up on a stool to get them off the wet floor, then hit "play" while ripping open the first piece of mail. He didn't make much progress with the mail as he was deleting most of the phone messages after just a few words.

Amidst the solicitations, there was a message from his mother. She rambled on about his cousins in Vermont, nothing of true import or interest. She just needed to vent about some long held irritation with that side of the family, hence the call to his condo, not the office. Lee pushed Roger's letter aside for a few more moments. Roger was an O.N.I. buddy. Lee couldn't see opening a presumedly friendly missive during one of his mother's rants. The card from the Mattinglys. That one puzzled him. An invitation of some sort. Richard and Doris Mattingly from the Country Club - Lee had golfed with Dick periodically - cordially invited him to the wedding of Melanie Ann Mattingly and Roger Clark Cresson. "Say what? Damn!" Lee grumbled as he noticed the date was today. Late afternoon in San Diego.

"Roger and Melanie?"

Lee had introduced the two of them several years ago when Roger had visited Lee in Santa Barbara, but it was nothing more than a brief hello before the men headed out to the golf course with her father. Nothing could have come from it. Lee himself had avoided Melanie. Her sole ambition seemed to be to marry an officer. Yes, she was plenty attractive and could be charming, but Lee wasn't looking to be acquired. Lee couldn't see Roger falling for her in a million years. Lee paused his telephone messages as he pondered this revelation.

Melanie had moved to San Diego a year or two ago, to find more fresh meat is what Chip had suggested. Chip, who had dated her twice, compared her to a shark. Her engagement to Roger simply baffled Lee. "Oh well, too late to R.S.V.P., although I'm sure my lack of response was marked down in the rude and uncouth column. Roger will understand. Damn. I would have gone, for the spectacle alone."

Lee hit play on the messages. More solicitations. This time he let them play through as he opened Roger's letter.

"Hey good buddy. Hadn't heard back from you. Figure you must be out at sea. I was sure the invitation would get a response from you one way or the other. Call me when you're back to catch up. I would love to see you. Had hoped to have you in the groom's party (it's a thin one, since this is kind of impulsive and I don't have much living family) and most of my Navy bros are scattered round the globe (wondering where you are on that right now). If you get this in time, just show up. You never eat your plate's worth anyway. Dress whites aren't mandatory, although the ladies do so like you in them and if you show up in time, I'll stick a pretty bridesmaid on your arm and shoot you down the aisle with her."

As Lee finished up the letter, voice message sixteen from four days earlier played. "Hey, Lee. It's me, Roger. Still hadn't heard back from you. Found out from your secretary you were out on a long cruise but might barely be back in time. If so, please come. Rachael is standing up for me. She's had it rough this year and could stand to see a friendly face at this shindig."

Lee had all but written it off as just too much to deal with until the end. Rachael. A rough year. He'd barely heard anything about her in two years. He vaguely recalled that she'd been sent to the Gulf, but he suspected her tour had been long over. Lee swallowed hard, hoping she was okay. Rachael was one of them, a good egg, a dependable cohort. One of the guys. One of the few gals who ever was accepted that way.

Lee barely heard the next two messages - junk anyway - before Chip's message took him out of his thoughts.

"Call me back at the house later if you need to. You nearly missed me entirely, as I decided to go straight home, but my battery was dead. I let the Motor Pool guys take care of it while I caught forty winks. Great way to start leave for both of us. You're welcome to the apartment if you need it, although something tells me that the Institute is not where you want to start your leave!"