War Games

by kashkow

If you want to fix the game, you better pick the right player...Sequel of sorts to "The Greatest Gift" You can read this without reading the other, but it will make a little more sense if you read the other first.

War Games

ByEllen H

Chapter 1-

Commander Lee Crane stood to take the papers being held out to him by Admiral Thomas "Bull" Evers. He was dressed in his service dress blue uniform with all the braid, ribbons and devices. When one was called to a meeting with the Chief of Naval Operations, it was best to put on your best face and best uniform.

He had reported to the Pentagon as ordered, on time, and had been kept cooling his heels for almost an hour. HIS Admiral never treated people this way, and he paused for a moment to consider when he had started measuring Admirals by one particular one of his acquaintance. When he had finally been called in, he had found himself in a meeting room with five admirals, eight aides, a stenographer and a man in a plain brown suit who was only referred to as 'Smith.' Crane was too familiar with the intelligence agency types to be in the dark about what he was. He was from one of the various 'letter' agencies, CIA, NSA, etc.

He had settled into the indicated seat, unselfconsciously. It was a long table, with the five Admirals, Mr. 'Smith', himself spread down the length. Many junior officers would have been intimidated by the plethora of brass, but once you traveled with Nelson, no number of other Admirals could frighten you. He noticed that one of the Admirals in question was Jiggs Stark of COMSUBPAC, the submarine command in the pacific. Also there was Stark's opposite number in the Atlantic theater, Admiral Davies. He had dealt with both in the past. He also recognized, though he had not dealt with them, the Deputy CNO for Plans, Policy, and Operations; the director of Naval Intelligence; and The Vice-CNO. Whatever it was that was going on, it was big.

He had sat there quietly as the various Admirals had leafed through the papers in front of them, and the aide who had led him in returned to the row of seats along the wall where the other aides were sitting. He noticed that several of the aides outranked him. Definitely rarified company. He clasped his hands in front of himself, on the table and went over his schedule in his mind.

He was in Washington on Institute business. Nelson had insisted on him taking over some of the day to day administrative duties, and one of those duties was meeting with the Naval Allocations Board on a regular basis to answer a bunch of silly questions about the amount of coffee consumed on a particular cruise and other burning questions that only accountants could possibly find interesting or useful in any way. Since the Navy paid for a good number of their cruises, and cruising was whatSeaview DID, he had gritted his teeth and answered each question politely and in as much detail as possible. The only joy he'd had in the process was in remembering that Nelson had to do this next time. He was going to have to find a way to use something really unusual on the next Navy funded cruise. Say a requisition for a parrot for something, that should whip the accountants into a frenzy for the next meeting. It was going to have to be a good reason though, or Nelson would know what he was up to and strike back.

He had found out years before that Nelson was not a good target if you didn't plan for future retaliation. The man had a long memory, and a mean streak. While he might appear a bit dour to many who did not know him well, Crane had known him since they had met at Annapolis when Crane was an almost seventeen year-old fourth-year midshipman, and Nelson was an instructor. While Nelson had never said anything outright, Crane had been well aware that the then Captain Nelson had known exactly who was responsible for the statue incident, and had retaliated in a subtle way. Chip still didn't realize that it had been Nelson who had pulled it off, variously accusing Crane and several other classmates in the years since.

Now that the Board had excused him so they could move on to the next victim, he had several other stops to make. Nelson had suggested that he 'drop in' on several members of the congressional appropriations committee, and several private institutes with headquarters in the area that occasionally used Seaview for their own research purposes. It took a lot of money to keep Seaview running; and while he didn't enjoy it, he knew this fundraising was important work. He appreciated that only the best was good enough for his boat and his crew, and he meant to see that they got the best, even if it meant smiling at people he didn't like.

He was planning his afternoon, if he ever got out of here, when he noticed that the Admirals seemed to all be looking at him, some covertly; and others, like Stark, were simply staring. As the Admiral at the head of the table, Evers, finished reading the papers in the file before him and closed the folder, he too turned his eyes to the young man sitting at the end of the table, calmly staring back at him. "No nerves in this boy," Evers thought to himself as he met the clear golden eyes. Any other officer would be fidgeting and sweating, or barely holding on to their temper after being made to wait and then sit under scrutiny. This young man - incredibly young for all the things he had done - could have been sitting down to coffee with friends for all the effect it seemed to be having on him. Evers looked around at the other Admirals seated at the table and met Jiggs Stark's eyes, which were amused. Stark had warned them about Crane. "Not quite what you'd expect," was the way Stark had put it.

At first glance, Crane looked all Navy, a recruitment-poster boy as a matter of fact. Slim and trim in his dress blues, with several rows of campaign ribbons on his chest. . He had his Dolphins above his ribbons on the left breast, the Naval pilot wings below the ribbons. On his right breast, he wore his command at sea pin, and below that his Master Diver Insignia, his Naval Parachutist, and Submarine Combat Patrol pins. The boy was a walking jewelry store. Very impressive to the civilian committee Evers knew he was appearing in front of. Clean cut and way too young looking for his rank, Crane seemed to represent the best the Navy had to offer. It wasn't until you looked into his eyes that you saw the difference that set him apart from others of the "Navy's best".

Those golden eyes met his with no deference, no submission, but there was respect there. Every submarine captain he had ever met was cocky, but they at least toned it down when faced with brass. This man backed down from nothing and no one. Evers had to hide a smile, looking down at the file in front of him, as he contemplated this young man dealing with Nelson. He would bet that things got pretty loud sometimes. He looked back to the commander, who looked back at him, still waiting calmly. He had the distinct impression that the young officer had cataloged everything and everyone in the room. Evers suspected that if he questioned Crane right now about his guess as to why he was there, the officer wouldn't be too far off based on who was there and what was happening in the world.

"Commander. Thank you for coming so quickly. I wasn't aware that you were in town until someone mentioned you were before the appropriations board today. You seem to have escaped unscathed, and that makes me think that maybe you are the man for the job."

"What job would that be, sir?" Crane replied.

"In the last two years, we've had to reevaluate our defenses to take into consideration an enemy that had never crossed our minds. Terrorists. I don't need to tell you what they are capable of. We've seen that. They've struck us from the air, and we have to consider that they could also strike us from the sea." He motioned to one of the aides who put a folder in front of Crane. He did not open it, but instead continued to look at Evers. Yes, this was one cool officer.

"I am sure I don't need to tell you that many of the poorer governments in the world have not been too picky about to whom they sell their old, obsolete war machines up to and including submarines. If a buyer has the cash, or the appropriate cash equivalent, then the sale goes through regardless of their ideology. In some cases, the transaction even includes crew, training, advice, etc. We need to consider the fact that there may be terrorists out there with the capability of attacking our cities from the sea. Needless to say, we want to be prepared."

He stopped and waited, but there were no questions forthcoming. The commander simply sat and continued to look at Evers. Oh, Nelson trained this one well. Never give up anything until all the cards are on the table. He grunted and sat back in his chair, and catching Stark's eye again, nodded slightly. "One of our most effective training methods has always been war games. It introduces the human factor, something you can't duplicate with a computer simulation. What we are proposing is a war game on a scale that we have not previously considered. A new enemy requires some new training." He paused again, considering the commander. Once again, the had the distinct impression that the young man was not only following what he was saying but was several steps ahead of him.

"What we want you to do for the purpose of the training exercise is be that human factor." There, it was out. He stopped, waiting for the response. He found himself anxious. He had been somewhat skeptical when Stark and Davies had suggested Crane for the exercise. He had wanted someone more experienced, older, sneakier if you will. But upon meeting the young commander and watching his responses, or lack thereof, as the idea was presented, he had come to believe that this young man was the one they wanted for this assignment. The question was - would he do it? Evers would not order the man to undertake this task; even so, he suspected he was in for a call from Nelson for hijacking the man while he was here on Institute business. But desperate times called for measures that might not be the most polite.

"Exactly what did you have in mind, sir?" It seemed like simple curiosity; no decision one way or the other.

Evers waved at Stark who turned to Crane and explained, "You have the necessary contacts to find someone selling a submarine. You will find this person, and you will purchase said item. We won't know what exactly you are getting, unless our…" He paused and shot a glance at 'Smith', "Intelligence department can ferret it out. Once you procure the submarine, the computer will assign weapons that are appropriate to the vessel, and also available for purchase. You will have to put together your own crew. We want to go whole hog on this Crane. We will be trying to find you, and the sub, and stop you BEFORE you get anywhere near our shores. When you do get the submarine armed, crewed and launched, we'll get a 'tip' from our allies about a possible threat, and we'll be looking for you at sea. You choose the target. You can have two months."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "That isn't much time to buy and crew a submarine, even an older one, especially if I have to do it covertly. Any terrorist would have been planning for a long time before undertaking this kind of plan."

"True, but obviously we can't just give you an experienced crew. That won't be representative either. We're hoping that given your familiarity with what you need, your experience with submarines, you'll be able to work faster. Should the parameters prove too difficult we may have to retool the plan later."

"It's not going to be cheap…"

Evers waved it aside, and motioned to an aide who slid a file in front of Crane. He opened it and barely kept the reaction off his face. He hadn't seen that large a number since college physics.

Crane sighed. This meant he'd be away from the Seaview for at least a month. He really hated that. And he would have to be cautious if he contacted anyone because it would be the first thing the intelligence people would monitor. In fact, he wasn't sure that he would be able to contact anyone that he knew. Technically, the Seaviewwas a Naval Reserve boat, and that meant that he would be the enemy. Not like he could just call up to chat about what he was up to. He would have to drop out of sight, and do everything as if he were a terrorist.

He wished he could talk this over with Nelson. He valued the man's opinion. Once he agreed to this he was committed, and he didn't know how long he would have to prepare. From what he could tell, they were ready to go now.

"I would need some time to make arrangements. I can't just leave Admiral Nelson and Seaview hanging."

"We're cognizant of your responsibilities, Commander, but we don't have that much time. We need to get this underway. You can, of course, go home and pack, but after that the game is on. However, I think it is only fair to warn you that in the event you make it to a point that you are a threat, all Naval vessels, including the reserves, will be put on alert. You could end up facing your own boat should it come to that. I would suggest discretion on how much you discuss."

"I understand, sir." He sat back in his chair and sighed. He really didn't want to be away from his 'Grey Lady' for a month. He would miss his boat and his crew, and his friends. Almost everything that made his life worth living was on Seaview or at the Institute. He had come to realize in the last few years that wherever Seaviewwas, that was home. However, he also felt the pull of duty. He WAS the best, or at least one of the best, man for the job, and he felt that it was a good idea.

The Navy needed to be ready for such a threat. If he could make a contribution, a month out of his life was not too much for the Navy to ask of him. He looked around at the admirals, ending with Evers. He nodded. "I'll do it if you want me, sir, but I'm afraid you'll have to break it to Admiral Nelson. He's not going to be happy." There was a snort of amusement from Stark.

Evers smiled and nodded. "Good man, Crane! I'll take care of dropping the bomb on Harry, so to speak. He won't yell at me, much. Now, let's get down to the details. The file in front of you has…"

Chapter 2-

"NO, I do not think I could spare him for over a month!" Harriman Nelson bellowed into the phone. He was sitting in his office at the Nelson Institute for Marine Research. He had been working on the plans for the Seaview's next cruise, scheduled tentatively for two weeks from today. He had been grumbling over the lack of details on the research that the Palmer Institute's scientists were planning to perform during that cruise when Angie, his executive secretary, put through a call from Thomas Evers, Chief of Naval Operations, and a friend of Nelson's from years ago. It hadn't taken long for the conversation to escalate to yelling. In fact as soon as Evers mentioned that he had co-opted Nelson's captain and friend, Lee Crane, for a month or longer exercise, all bets were off.

Nelson had come to resign himself to Lee Crane's occasional O.N.I assignments. Mostly because to not do so would cause a break with the young man who had come to mean so much more to him beyond being the captain of his submarine. But this was beyond that. It was bad enough when he didn't know where Crane was for a week or more. Nelson tended to get grumpy when he was worried. Now Crane would be gone for over a month! This could lead to the mutiny of the entire crew of theSeaview. Nelson was realistic and honest enough to recognize that he could be a trial to all around him when he was upset.

Not to mention that the crew tended to take the safety of their captain very personally. The fact that the man was a walking trouble magnet was part of the reason. He could find trouble anywhere. He needed a crew of 125 to stay in one piece. The second reason was that the crew genuinely LIKED their young captain. He would do anything for them, up to and including giving his life, and they knew it. Knowing that he would be gone for over a month, and out of their care, would make the crew morose. Not that they wouldn't perform their duties well; they just wouldn't have that something extra that Crane seemed to bring out in them.

And that led to Chip Morton. The Executive Officer of the Seaview was perfectly capable of taking command of the boat for any given length of time, but he too had a problem with letting Lee Crane get out of his sight. He was all too familiar with Crane's trouble finding ability, having gone through the Naval Academy with him. He also knew that the Seaview ran more efficiently when Crane was on board, and the XO liked things to work at their best. Morton was going to be chewing nails. The crew would be cleaning things with toothbrushes to satisfy the finicky XO by the end of the month.

All in all, no one was going to be happy with this, and Nelson felt no reason to hide it from Evers.

"Surely among all the submarine captains that you have on active duty, not to mention the ones that are retired, you could have found someone besides MY captain," he said sarcastically.

"Not so, Harry. Think about it. Why did YOU ask for Crane when Phillips died? You wanted the best. Stark and Davies tell me that Crane IS the best, and we want someone who is going to be a challenge. Crane has experience not only with submarines but also with working covertly. Most of these guys couldn't DO covert out of the water. He's what we need, Harry, you can understand that. We get Crane and he does double duty. We're going to use him to see just how hard it would be for terrorists to get their hands on a sub. You tell me who else we could task to do that and then take the sub to sea."

"Yes, I understand that he's the best, that's why I would like to have him on MY boat where he belongs." Nelson made a mental note to drop a word to Stark and Davies about their suggestions.

"Look, Harry, I know you don't want Crane to do this. Tell you the truth, I don't think Crane wants to do it, but he has agreed. I'm going with the plan and with Crane. He should be on his way back, now, in that flying submarine of yours. Don't give him too hard a time, huh? Remember, I could have just activated him and made it an order. This way he had a choice."

Nelson snorted indelicately. "You don't know Lee Crane very well, so I'll pretend you didn't say that." He sighed. "All right, it seems I have no choice in the matter. In the future, though, I would appreciate it if these things weren't just presented as a fait accompli. A little advance notice would be nice if you are going to appropriate my personnel."

There was a laugh from the other end of the line. "Hell, Harry, half the time we can't even give you notice when we're appropriating your boat, much less your men. We'll do our best, though. I'll keep you posted. Goodbye."

Nelson hung up the phone and slumped back into his chair. He swiveled so that he could gaze out the large plate glass window that looked out over the Institute. It was quiet on the docks near the giant gray submarine since most of the crew was on shore leave. Nelson thought about how he was going to handle this. At least he didn't have to worry about telling Morton or the crew. As he thought about that, he started to smile. Evers had said that Crane was on his way back from Washington D.C. That meant that he would be stopping soon to pick up Chip Morton in Chicago where he had been visiting his family.

He knew that Crane had spent several days there before going on to Washington so it would be a simple stop and go, but then they would be in the air for over an hour. Surely Lee would tell Chip then what was going on. Oh to be a fly on the wall; the only person who hated Crane's outside assignments worse than Nelson was Morton. He imagined it was going to be a tense flight.

The phone started ringing and he reached for it, trying without much success to keep his temper under control. When he heard the voice at the other end, he quit trying.

Chapter 3-

Crane guided the Flying Submarine, known as FS1 to the world, but that he just called "my baby," to its cruising level and snapped on the automatic pilot. They had just taken off from the surface of Lake Michigan after receiving clearance from the air traffic control at O'Hare. Since the FS1 was traveling lower and faster than most traffic, there should be no problems since they were routed around all the major airports between here and Santa Barbara. He sighed as he thought about the phone call he had made to Nelson. Maybe getting back to Santa Barbara quickly wasn't that much of a good thing.

Crane sat back in his chair and looked over at Chip Morton, his XO and best friend. Morton had seemed a little out of sorts when he came on board. Not that he had said anything in particular; but they had known each other for years, and Crane knew about Morton's moods. One of the things that got Chip in a snit was Crane's ongoing commitment to O.N.I. Since he seemed to be cursed to always do something to himself while off the boat, Chip seemed to think that he should just stay on board. Lee snorted mentally. Like that kept trouble at bay. However, after much argument, they had come to an agreement; Crane kept going out on the assignments that he felt he needed to take, and Morton complained loudly and long. It was somewhat annoying, but Crane knew it stemmed from the concern that Chip felt for him and shrugged it off. At least most ONI assignments only took a week or two. This was going to take a month at the least. After the fiasco with the phone call to Nelson, he wasn't really looking forward to this. Well, no use putting it off…

"Uh, Chip," he started tentatively.

Morton's blue eyes looked up from the newspaper he had been reading, having gotten it just before meeting Crane at the dock. He had buried his nose in it almost immediately after strapping in. Lee winced. It didn't look as if Chip was in any mood for what he would see as bad news.

"There's been a change in the crew roster for the next couple of cruises. I wanted to tell you about it myself, so that you could make plans." Starting off slow and working up to it seemed like a good plan.

"Really? Did one of the chief's 'knuckleheads' get arrested on leave? We'll be able to cover since we've been cross training everyone. Unless there was more than one..?"

"Uh, well it isn't one of the ratings. I…."

Morton looked more closely at his friend as he broke off. His eyes narrowed. "That means it's an officer. Who exactly isn't going to be there, Lee? The next couple of cruises means over a month. I hope whoever it is knows that being an officer means that he has certain obligations and responsibilities. " Chip was glaring by the end of his statement, obviously already suspecting exactly who was going to be missing.

Crane grabbed onto that statement and ran with it. After all, Morton had just said that an officer had responsibilities. "Well, that's just it, Chip. I've been reactivated. I'll be away for a month, maybe two, on an assignment direct from Admiral Evers. I'm afraid I can't give you many details, since it may end up involving Seaview, but…."

"You're going to be gone for over a month," Morton said flatly, interrupting.

"Yes, it's an assignment direct from the CNO. If I could, I would…"

Morton held up a hand. His face had taken on a red color. His eyes flashed. "You are not in the regular Navy anymore. You do not have to take assignments, not even from the CNO. Your reserve requirements are met by the time that Seaview is under Naval authority. You took this assignment because you wanted to, not because you had to. Quit beating around the bush."

Crane felt his own temper, already ragged because of the tongue lashing from Nelson, rising. "Look, Chip. It might not be a matter of HAVING to, but I think it's in the country's best interest if ….."

"I don't want to hear it! It's always the same with you. It's for the good of this or the good of that. Well, newsflash, Lee, we do good on the Seaview as well. You have saved the world from there several times; why you feel this need to run off and do it somewhere else, I don't know. Is this some kind of Superman complex? Do you think that nothing can be done right if you don't do it? Tell me you're not THAT egotistical!"

"What has put the bug up your butt, Mister? I don't know what your problem is, but do not take it out on me! I was not asking for your opinion or your approval. If you have a problem with my personal or professional choices that is your prerogative, but you will not address me in THAT tone again. Now, I have informed you, as XO of the boat, of a change in the roster. You will be Acting Captain for the period that I am gone." Crane reached up to the control panel and flipped a few switches and then undid the safety belt he wore for takeoff. He rose from the chair, not taking his eyes off Morton. "I will be leaving on my assignment as soon as possible after returning to Santa Barbara, so I'm going to try to get some sleep. You have the stick. It's on autopilot for now." With that he turned and went back to the bunk. He pulled the blanket that was neatly folded at the bottom of the bunk up over himself and, turning his back pointedly to the front of the vessel, closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. It was going to be a hectic month, and he wasn't sure how much sleep he was going to get. He tried not to think about the words he had just exchanged with Morton. Obviously his friend was in a bad mood. Everyone was entitled, but there were limits, even with friends. He fervently hoped that before he left they could be back to the easy, say anything terms that he valued. He cleared his mind and tried to use some of the techniques he had learned for sleeping under just about any circumstances. He never knew exactly when the purr of the small craft's engine lulled him to rest.

Chip Morton was having a rotten day. He had had a rotten week, when you got right down to it. He had come back to Chicago to spend time with his family, only to find that everyone had other things to do. Once Lee left for D.C. that seemed to start an exodus among the Morton clan; first one sister, then another, went out of town for the wedding of a friend. Then his uncle and aunt, who lived next door to his parents, headed down to Florida to visit a cousin who was in college there. All of his cousins were already out of town when he got there. While he loved spending time with his parents, they could only be expected to change their regular schedules so much for him. Not that they wouldn't offer to do anything he might have liked, but he didn't want to disrupt their lives. They had friends and rituals that they were used to and he tried to fit in with that. The problem was that their friends were not quite in his generation.

As an added kicker, he couldn't seem to meet an unattached woman to save his life. Everywhere he went, every woman that he found attractive was either married, getting married, or in a committed relationship. It was very frustrating, and lonely. He had wished that Crane were there. Available women seemed to fall out of the sky when Lee Crane was around. Chip was always willing to take on any extras.

As the week went on, he somehow managed to convince himself that had Lee not left, he would have had a much better time. It was irrational and he knew it wasn't in any way Lee's fault that his shore leave was something of a dud, but he still had that thought in the back of his mind.

Then it had come time for him to leave, and the final straw had hit the camel's back. His parents could not come down to the dock to see him off. In fact he had been forced to take a taxi. It had started with a call from a friend of his mother. They were planning a rummage sale to raise funds for the local Women's Center. It was scheduled for tomorrow. The couple who were supposed to be setting up the tables and getting the area ready had been forced to leave town on a personal emergency, and Chip's mom and dad had been the only ones available to fill in. Unfortunately they had to be at the hall to meet the custodian at the same time that Lee Crane had said he would meet Morton at the dock. The custodian was only available at certain times and had to lock up the building again once the set up was done, so it could not be delayed. He knew that if he had asked his parents would have declined, but Morton knew that the charity was important to them both, and he didn't want to be a whiney child. So, in noble fashion, he had told his parents to go ahead, and that he would see them later. After a quick kiss from his mom and a hug from his dad, he had watched them drive off while waiting outside for the taxi.

Somehow this too had become Lee's fault. Surely he could have arranged for a more convenient schedule. But when he had called, he had said it was important that he return to Santa Barbara ASAP. So Morton had grumped his way through the morning, smiling at his parents in an insincere fashion, and generally making himself even grumpier. His father had mentioned that he might want to check his attitude with his baggage, but Chip had shrugged it off. By the time he had boarded the FS1 and strapped in, he was coming to realize that his father was right. He had allowed everything to pile up on him, and he needed to make an attitude adjustment. He had exchanged terse greetings with Crane, who had raised an eyebrow at him but had left him to himself, no doubt recognizing the mood. Sometimes Crane could read him very well. He had retreated behind his paper, and tried to talk himself into a better mood before he took it out on his friend.

Unfortunately, he hadn't quite made it when Crane brought up the roster change. He had genuinely thought that one, or more, of the ratings had ended up in jail; but, even as he asked the question, he had seen something in his friend's golden eyes and the frustration he had been dealing with came out. He accepted Crane's continued loyalty to ONI with bad grace he knew, but he had always felt that it was his duty to protect his captain, and he couldn't do that if his captain kept going off on these wild adventures. Lee had always simply accepted Chip's dislike of his other 'job' and had simply tuned out the sarcastic remarks. This time, with the force of his frustration behind it, Morton knew he had overstepped a line with his friend that he was not sure he could retreat from.

He had not heard THAT particular tone from his friend before, at least not directed at him. The times he had heard it were few and far between; it was a mixture of anger and disappointment, and it somehow had the effect of making you feel as if you had let Crane down; that he had believed in you up until this point, but now there was nothing left. He had not liked the wounded look that had appeared in Crane's eyes behind the cold anger.

He recognized that he had approached the issue badly, but his frustration level was such that he didn't feel like apologizing right then. Also, he had often wondered where the other man got this NEED to be everything to everyone. He suspected that it had something to with Crane's upbringing, or lack thereof, but wasn't sure exactly what psychological drives were responsible. He watched as Crane went back to the bunk, his posture more rigid than usual, and lay down, his face pointedly turned away. Morton sighed, and turned back to the control panel. He glanced over the settings, and then took another look over his shoulder. Crane was still turned to the bulkhead. Morton went back to his paper, once again not really seeing the articles. He needed to figure out what bug WAS up his butt, so that maybe he and his best friend could part on better terms. He didn't want this remaining between them.

An hour and 45 minutes later, he was gliding the FS1 in for a landing off the coast at the Nelson Institute. He landed her gently and guided her in to the dock. Finally shutting down the systems as he felt the ratings attaching the lines that would hold her in place. He turned the chair, intending to wake Lee and talk with him before they disembarked, but Crane had already risen from the bunk and refolded the blanket. He had gathered his shoulder bag and briefcase and had slipped back into the Navy coat that he had shed for the flight. As Morton was turning, he picked up the bag and briefcase and started up the ladder to the hatch.

"Lee, I wanted to…" Morton stopped as Crane just kept right on going up the ladder, exiting out the hatch as the dockhand opened it. He didn't look back. Oh, yeah. He was pissed. Lee was almost never rude, especially not to his friends.

Morton cursed under his breath. He had finally managed to get over his snit and had even reached the point that he could laugh at himself a little. He had been acting like a spoiled brat, and he realized now that he hadn't hid his attitude very well from anyone the past week. When had he come to expect the world to revolve around him just because he was on leave? It wasn't as if he hadn't seen his family two months ago. All things working as scheduled, he would see them again at Christmas, cousins and all.

Now he needed to make nice with his angry captain. He had come to realize that it wasn't that Lee was angry with him personally. No, what was going on was that CAPTAIN Crane was angry at his EXECUTIVE OFFICER. He had expected his subordinate to support him and take the necessary steps to cover on the roster, not comment on the appropriateness of the captain's absence. The fact that it had been a personal, and sarcastic, attack had made it all the worse. Morton sighed and unbuckled his belt. He rose, collected his bags, and exited up the ladder. He gave his bags to the dockhand to take to his car and went toward the administration building where he was sure that Crane had disappeared.

He came up empty in Crane's office, so he headed up to Nelson's office. He noticed that Angie was out to lunch, it being just after noon. He went up to Nelson's door and knocked.

"Come." He entered, and was surprised to see that Nelson was alone. He frowned and then shook it off as he noticed Nelson looking at him curiously.

"Thought I better let you know we are back. We just docked the FS1. I kinda thought Lee would be here. He jackrabbited in this direction almost as soon as we docked."

The shrewd blue eyes studied him closely, and Morton got the feeling that Nelson had figured out that something was wrong. The man saw way too much about people sometimes; must be that genius at work. Nelson leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

"I saw him drive off a few minutes ago. He was planning on going right home. I spoke with him by phone before he left D.C. He didn't say anything to you on the flight?" Nelson was obviously fishing to find out what had gone on.

Morton frowned again, and sat down in the chair in front of Nelson's desk.

"He told me about the mission for the CNO. About being gone for a month or more," he said, calling on his best XO skills to keep his voice even.

Nelson raised an eyebrow and smiled a little. "I take it that didn't go over very well?"

"I uh… I kinda got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning - heck for the last week- and I said some things that were out of line, even for a friend. He got a little pissed off and, like I said, he made a beeline out of the FS1 when I docked. I wanted to catch up with him and apologize but, as usual, he's making it difficult."

"I'm afraid we're in something of the same boat. He called from D.C. right after Evers called me. I… wasn't in a good mood. He listened to me rant in silence, and then told me that he had to leave as soon as possible once he got back. He said that since I had made my stand on the subject clear, and since he didn't have anything to add, he would just pack some things and go. As I said, I wasn't in too good a mood so I agreed. Needless to say I regret that now."

"Damn," Morton said succinctly.

"Indeed." Nelson agreed.

"Is he gonna check in? I didn't even let him get far enough along to describe the mission."

"He CAN check in, but I don't know if he will. Because of the mission parameters, he has to be very cautious about who he contacts and what he says when he does." He went on to describe the mission as Evers had described it to him. Morton listened and then shook his head.

"He won't call. He'll know that they will be watching and listening to everything that goes on around here. They'll tap every phone of everyone he could possibly call. They'll try to trace anything he does. He'll know that, and he won't take the chance. He's determined to do this right, and he'll do whatever it takes to get it right." Morton stood up and went to the picture window. He thought for a moment, looking out over the Seaview. "You know, he may have been right. He WAS the only man for the job. He may be the only one that can get it done. I'm not sure if it's wrong to be proud that my friend is THAT proficient at his job or upset that he's ALWAYS the one that seems to have to sacrifice for the 'good of the country'."

Chip frowned and shook his head, "Lee is the best. He won't have any trouble taking on a terrorist's mindset. And he knows enough shady characters to find a sub, weapons, and a crew. Lord knows he can drive a sub like no one else. But damn it anyway."

Nelson sighed and rocked for a few moments in his chair, watching Chip look out the window. "We could beard the lion in his den, so to speak, and go to his apartment. It may not be pleasant," he finally suggested.

Morton turned and looked at him, a small smile growing on his face. "To hell with pleasant. Let's go!"

Nelson rose and grabbed his jacket. He scribbled a note to Angie and left it on her desk. The two men left the administration building and headed to Morton's car.

A half hour later they were standing on the front porch of Crane's beach house, pounding on the door. After several minutes it became obvious that there was not going to be an answer. Nelson reached into his pocket, just as Morton was reaching in his. They exchanged glances, and smiled.

"Well, I guess he couldn't have been all that pissed; he didn't ask for his key back from either of us," Morton observed. He pulled out his key and turned it in the lock. As the door swung open, they heard a cheery voice from a distance.

"Yoo-hoo! Mr. Morton, Mr. Nelson is that you?"

"Oh boy!" Morton muttered under his breath, and then turned with a fake smile in the direction of the older woman who was approaching from the house next door. She was in her seventies but had kept herself slim and trim; in fact, she often ran the beach with Crane in the mornings, saying she liked to run early but was afraid to do so without an escort. Morton liked to tease Lee that the woman was out to lasso a young husband, and that Crane was obviously the next victim.

Crane always snorted and told Morton that it wasn't a husband that the woman wanted; it was a son and grandchildren. She had been widowed twice, and had been childless in both marriages. She had many grand- and great-grand nieces and nephews that she hosted to beach parties on a regular basis. But she still longed for her own brood. In Lee Crane, she had found the perfect substitute son. He was always ready to help her around the house, accept her baked goods, keep an eye on her place when she traveled, and was happy to run with her in the mornings. Morton had even caught Crane sending a postcard from several of the more exotic places that they had visited to the lady, and a package had been dispatched with due care at Christmas time last year.

She approached now, smiling at the two men on the porch. "It's so nice to see you both. You're looking for Lee, aren't you? I'm so sorry but you just missed him. Did he know you were coming?"

Morton and Nelson exchanged glances again and then Chip spoke. "Uh hi, Mrs. Wright. No, Lee didn't know we were coming. I thought maybe he was upstairs taking a shower or something and was just going to go in and wait. You say he left?"

"Yes, dear. He was in quite the rush; couldn't even stop for coffee and a cinnamon roll. He came home, put his little car in the garage, came over and told me he'd be gone for a month or so, and asked me to watch the place as usual. I guess I don't have to tell you boys, you're going out on your boat again, aren't you?"

Nelson lowered his head to hide the smile at being classified by this woman as a boy. Then he looked back up and questioned the woman casually. "We came to pick Lee up; if he left his car in the garage, how did he leave?"

"Why, he took a taxi. After he left my house, he came back here and less than ten minutes later I saw him getting into a cab with what looked like a gym bag." She shook her head. "I don't know how you men do it; even my essentials take up more room than that. I couldn't leave for a month with anything less than a trunk."

Morton and Nelson laughed, hiding the disappointment that rose in each of them. Crane was gone and they would not be able to find him. He was very good at his job, and they were both sure that there would be no easy trail to follow. After a few minutes chatting with Mrs. Wright, they locked the door again and went back to Morton's car.

Chip slid behind the wheel and sat there as Nelson eased into the passenger seat. He was staring at Crane's house, his eyes unfocused. "I've seen him off on almost every ONI assignment he's had since he came to the Seaview. A few jokes and a few warnings, but always he knew I was his friend and that he could count on me to be there if he needed me. Now he's gone again; I wasn't there, and he thinks that I disapprove of him." He pounded the steering wheel several times with his fist, only stopping when Nelson reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

"I don't believe that he thinks otherwise now. He's not stupid and he knows you, and me, well. Maybe better than we know. He let us both blow off all of the steam we wanted, and took the quick way out. No long explanations, no dodging of questions to protect his plans, no goodbyes. He just went on an assignment, and left us to stew in our own juices. He gets his own back by letting us twist in the breeze under our own guilt, and he gets to leave without too many more lectures. A win-win situation for him."

Morton thought about it for a moment. Yes, Lee was very good at retribution. Morton had learned that at Annapolis soon after meeting the incredibly young looking Crane. A devious mind had lurked behind those sharp golden eyes and innocent face, and it had only gotten more so since then, they had been played by a master, using their own knee jerk reactions against them. While it helped mitigate the guilt a little, Morton still knew that he needed to apologize for the snarky comments, and hoped it wouldn't be too long before he could do so.

"Let's hope the sneaky son of a bitch makes it back soon. We owe him one."

Nelson smiled a little; he too was still feeling the need to apologize for the tone of his complaints, if not the feelings behind them. "I count two that we owe him. Perhaps we could work together on a little something?"

They shared an evil grin as Morton cranked the car to a start.

Chapter 4-

Lee Crane climbed down the steps of the bus and turned to offer his hand to the very pregnant woman that was coming down the stairs behind him. She smiled at him and, taking his hand, lowered herself gingerly to the ground. With one hand on her back, and moving awkwardly, she moved out of the way of the other passengers getting off the Greyhound. Crane offered her an arm for support, and she smiled gratefully at him.

"You are very gracious, Senor," she said in Spanish, which was flavored with the accents of Guatemala from whence she had come. "Not many men want to be seen with a woman who looks like a blimp."

Lee smiled down at her, and answered back in his own idiomatic Spanish, "Ah, then that is their loss, for who could be more lovely?"

Her laughter rang out through the mostly empty bus station. It was almost nine o'clock at night, and not too many people were getting off here. He had taken several taxis and then hitchhiked for a while before buying a bus ticket for cash in a small town on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada. That had taken him to an even smaller town near the California-Mexico border where he had purchased another ticket heading back up the coast.

It had been there he had first seen Ysalane Aguayo. She was traveling from Guatemala to be with her husband, Eleazar, who had found work in the United States and had gotten his green card and work visa. He had arranged for her to get the correct papers allowing her to legally join him. She had not told him she was pregnant with their first child and she was having quite a time trying to manage herself and the three pieces of battered luggage that held her every possession. The man behind the ticket counter had made it plain that she was expected to get the luggage from the waiting room to the bus on her own. It seemed that no one was willing to help, and she was afraid to leave any piece of luggage unguarded as she moved the others as she was sure it would not be there when she returned. She had been lucky so far. She had taken a train almost the whole length of Mexico and had not had to deal with the bags since a very nice conductor had carried them on and off the train for her. Another man, also a Guatemalan, had helped her get them to the border crossing and across to this bus station, only 75 feet away from the border, before he had been picked up by a group of friends heading for work in the Imperial Valley to the west.

She was trying to figure out how she was going to heft all three bags when a low voice had spoken from behind her.

"Con permiso, Senora. Se puedo Ayudase." It had been spoken in Spanish, in a dialect that sounded as if it was from the eastern part of Mexico, the same area in which her husband had been born. She had been surprised to turn and find herself looking up at a North American. He was a very handsome man, with dark curly hair, golden eyes, and a fine boned face that seemed very young for the wisdom that was in those eyes. His skin was darker than most people from the United States, though not as dark as her own. He could have been from an old hidalgo family, or from Spain, where there was no Mestizo, indian blood, in the family tree. He had stood there calmly, smiling slightly, as she looked him over with suspicion. He did not look like someone who needed to steal her poor belongings. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and carried a single bag over his broad shoulder. The clothes were clean and looked expensive for all their casualness. He certainly did not look like someone who had to pick up pregnant women in a bus stop if he wanted female companionship either. No, this man could have almost any woman he wanted she suspected. She had decided to trust him, at least as far as the bus.

"I would appreciate that very much, Senor. I will take one, if you could take the others." She reached down to take the smaller of the three bags. He did not look as if the weight of her larger bags would bother him at all. He picked them up easily and moved smoothly toward the area that the station man had indicated, moving as if he wasn't burdened at all. She followed along in the awkward gait that had become her regular means of locomotion. Her bags had been deposited on the line that said "luggage" and, with a smile the tall man had gone back into the station and to one of the payphones that lined one of the walls. She had taken a seat on one of the benches near her luggage to await the bus that was due in 20 minutes.

It had been two months since she had received her husband's letter saying she should come, containing the papers she would need to file. She had completed the paperwork almost immediately, submitting it by mail as instructed, and had then spent two long months waiting for the response. When it had finally come, she had been so very happy. It had taken her only a few hours to pack her bags and say goodbye to her friends. She had only distant family remaining so there was no one to make long goodbyes to. She had sent a wire to her husband warning him that she was coming, and boarded the train for the long journey north. Now, only a few hours on a bus separated her from the man she had not seen for almost eight months. He had sent money regularly and had written as much as his job allowed. She knew that he would be as happy as she to be reunited. They were only 24, and life was stretching before them with a golden glow in the future. They would be able to offer their child more than they had ever had. She was pulled from her retrospection as the bus pulled into the station and stopped.

She struggled up from the bench and went to stand near her bags. The driver unloaded the bags for the people getting off here and then, after examining her ticket, loaded her bags into the crowded space beneath the bus. She headed for the door and sighed as she saw the first step was quite high off the ground. She was reaching for the rail when a hand appeared on her other side, offering support. She looked around unsurprised to see the slim man from before. She smiled at him and between the two of them, she was aboard and looking for a seat. The bus was almost full but she found an aisle seat near the middle of the bus. The nice man ended up in a seat two rows behind her. As she sat there waiting for the bus to move, she noticed that the man had removed a sheaf of papers from his bag, which he had stored in the overhead bin, and was intensely writing, obviously deeply absorbed. She looked at the other people on the bus and noticed that many of them looked like they had come from Mexico, or even further south as she had. The people looked tired, as she was sure she did too. She heard a throat cleared from the seat next to her. The man she was seated next to was an Angelo, and looked to be somewhere in his forties. His face was whiskered, his hair unkempt, and his eyes bloodshot. When she turned to look at him, he smiled at her with a gap-toothed grin and breathed alcohol fumes at her that made her stomach roil. She managed to keep her smile and turned her head forward, closing her eyes and pretending to try to sleep. After five minutes the bus began to move, and the vibration and the warmth of the bus lulled her to real sleep.

She was not sure how long she had slept but when she next became aware the bus was not moving. A couple of people were moving down the aisle, obviously getting off. She also became aware that someone was touching her stomach. She looked down to find the hand of the man next to her rubbing her bulging stomach. She let out a gasp and, taking his wrist, removed the hand from her stomach. "Me you are no touching, Senor," she said in the broken English she had been practicing since her husband had left for the United States. The man gave her a wounded look and took a swig from a bottle that he had in a small brown bag. His eyes were blurry. She looked down the aisle towards the front but saw no open seats. She looked over her shoulder and found that the slim man who had helped her had moved in to a window seat; the seat next to him was empty. She rose, ignoring the mumbled protest from he former seatmate, and went down the aisle.

"May I sit, Senor?" she asked, not wanting to intrude. He looked up from his papers and cast a glance up the aisle at the man she had been sitting next to. He gave her a small knowing smile and nodded.

So it had begun. They had spoken only a few times at first but, as they reached LA and found that they were on the same bus headed north along the coast, they had spoken more. Or, Ysalane had spoken and he had listened. She had found herself telling the man her story, and where she was going. A smile had appeared on his face as he told her that evidently fate was playing with them, since he too was going to the same city. He had said little about himself, saying only he was going to visit an old friend. He had helped her practice her English, correcting her gently when she made mistakes. They had passed the time talking or sleeping and Ysalane found the trip pleasant.

Now they stood at the station, watching the bus disappear into the night. Lee Crane, as she had learned his name to be, stood beside her. Once the bus turned a corner there was no sound except that of the traffic passing on the nearby freeway, and the wind. She could smell the ocean in the cool breeze and looked forward to seeing it for the first time tomorrow. She cast an anxious glance around; where was Eleazar? She had told him the day, and that she would be following a certain bus schedule as closely as possible. He should be here. She looked at her fellow traveler. "You do not have to wait with me. I will be fine; Eleazar will come soon."

He smiled; his face mostly hidden in the shadows and shook his head. "I'll wait."

She could see that there was no arguing with him and she was glad, as she had no wish to be alone in a strange city in the darkness. They moved to a bench and sat, in silence, waiting. Almost ten minutes later a battered truck, its engine rattling and sides rusty, came out of the darkness and stopped in front of the station. A young, swarthy man climbed out of the cab with a screech of hinges, and ran toward Ysalane. He came to a stop as she stood and her wrap fell away to reveal her condition. His jaw dropped and his eyes popped. She smiled at him, and he continued forward to hug her as gently as if she were glass. She was having none of it, and clung to him fiercely. They murmured in each other's ear all the things they had longed to say for so long. It was several minutes before they separated, and even then he kept a hold of her hand. She saw him glance at the man who had risen to his feet and turned away to give them privacy, and she spoke.

"Eleazar, this is Lee Crane. We rode up from the border together and he waited with me."

"I thank you, Senor, for staying with my wife. I came as quickly as I could, but the truck would not start." He put out a hand. Crane shook it.

"It was nothing. I don't have to be anywhere at a certain time. I was glad to help." He bent to pick up his bag and, with a twinkle in his eyes, moved quickly to place a kiss on Ysalane's cheek. "You take care. Maybe next time I'm in town, you'll have that restaurant; I'd like to try those tamales."

She blushed and slapped at his arm. "For you I will always have some ready." She turned to Eleazar. "Could we not give him a ride? Unless you must go to work, I did not think of that." She had not considered that her husband might have come from his job to pick her up. Looking at Eleazar she saw a flush go up his cheeks; she frowned. "What is wrong?"

He mumbled something and glanced nervously at Crane. She ignored the look and pressed him again. "Eleazar, what is wrong?"

"I lost my job. I have no place to be. If I do not find work soon, I will have no home for you and…" he gestured to her swollen stomach. He was embarrassed to be speaking of such things in front of a stranger.

Crane shook his head and started down the road. "I only have a few blocks to go. I hope everything works out for you both. Goodbye." He was soon swallowed by the night. Leaving the two newly reunited people to once again fall into each other's arms, only this time sorrow drew them together, instead of joy.

Chapter 5-

Former Navy Master Chief Hal O'Bannon stopped sanding the patch of rust on the aft bow plane of the submarine he was preparing for painting. He squinted up into the floodlight that lit his work area. A squadron of bugs was circling around the light; the rest of the small marina he owned and operated was in darkness. At this time of the year, the owners of the boats docked here had usually found much warmer climes. At this time of night, the tourists who came to see the WWII submarine that he was now working on had long since disappeared into the hotels that lined the beach in either direction. He was content with the silence and the chance to finish the job that had taken so long.

The dive plane was the last thing to be painted on the old submarine. It had taken a miracle to get her here, to her last berth, and he was determined to see she was done up right. Due to the amount of work that she had needed, he had not been able to do the work on his own, but he had supervised the workers that he and his former crewmates had hired. Now, with only the dive plane remaining, he was filling in some of the slow time with finishing the job. After the outside was done, they would begin reworking the inside, returning her to her original condition as money allowed. Several of her ex-crew had made a lot of money over the years and had shown their gratitude for her wartime miracle by making hefty and frequent donations.

O'Bannon looked at his watch. It was after 2130, and he should consider going in. The wind off the harbor was growing cold, and his bones were not as immune to it as they had been fifty years ago when he had first set foot on the USS Triggerfish. He packed up his supplies and policed the area to make sure there was nothing to fall into the water. He took his job as the custodian of this section of the harbor to heart. He was only holding this land in trust for future generations, and he was determined that it would be in as good a shape as he had found it, if not better. He had already made arrangements for the Triggerfish to remain here after he was gone, but he wanted the rest to remain as well, the marina, the 10 acres that edged the small bay, and his business.

He was closing up his toolbox when a voice spoke from behind him, the surprise almost causing him to have a heart attack.

"You know, Master Chief, I expected that this work would be done by now. Have you been goldbricking again?"

O'Bannon rose to his feet and turned to face the man he credited with saving the Triggerfish from an ignominious end as scrap. The younger man stood on the dock, grinning at him, and looking much healthier than he had last seen him, suffering from a concussion and with a bandaged head.

"Oh sure, and where was the executive officer while the captain was having to take care of these details on his own? I recall that these things are usually taken care of by the XO so that the captain can take care of the important things," he quipped.

Crane snorted and reached for the toolbox as O'Bannon lowered himself to the dock. The two men shook hands. They had become friends, despite the age difference, when they had moved the Triggerfish from her berth at the Naval scrap yard in Washington to the harbor here in California. An injury had sidelined Crane from theSeaview, but that hadn't kept him from signing on as XO, with O'Bannon as the Acting Captain, when he had heard about the plight of the old boat. They had moved the boat by using the crew that knew her the best, the remaining crewmembers of the WWII Triggerfish. It had been a successful mission. The Triggerfish had even had one last bit of glory as she assisted Seaview in rescuing a crew of scientists from an undersea lab; all in all a satisfying end to a long and distinguished career.

O'Bannon and Crane had been in contact over the previous six months but, since the young captain's life was often hectic, letters and phone calls had been few and far between. O'Bannon understood the demands on Crane's time and enjoyed the communications, infrequent though they were. He admired the younger man and would have loved to serve under a captain such as Crane. He noticed that the slim young man was carrying a gym bag over one shoulder. He nudged him with an elbow.

"You running away from home again, boyo?" he asked, grinning. Since Crane had more or less snuck off on his friends when they had moved the boat, O'Bannon had kidded him that he had run away from home to go to sea.

"In a way," Crane answered with a mysterious smile. "You let me use your guest room, and I'll let you know. This is your slow season isn't it?"

O'Bannon looked at him suspiciously. "What are you up to? I don't need your help getting into trouble; I got that down to an art."

Again the mysterious smile. "Just a little something to keep you off the streets. I'll tell you about it once I get some coffee."

Like many ex-Navy men, O'Bannon was addicted to the strong, black slurry that the Navy cooks called coffee, and always had some brewing on the stove. They went into his small house and, after depositing Crane's bag in the small guest room, sat at the kitchen table to sip at a cup of the coffee.

"Okay, enough tension. I can see you are up to something; spill it."

Crane grinned at him. "How would you like to put together a crew and play a little war game?"

"Put together a crew? From where, and to crew what, the Triggerfish?" O'Bannon asked in puzzlement.

"From the same place you put one together before, and to crew something a little bit newer than the Triggerfish. I'll provide the officers and the training."

"Are you nuts? What good could a herd of old men do you in a war game? Not to mention that we wouldn't know a thing about a boat like the Seaview."

"I'm not talking about the Seaview. I'm talking about a Natruska Class Soviet nuclear sub. It's not that much different than the Triggerfish. It just has a reactor instead of the diesel engines. I already have a line on some engineers. "

O'Bannon waved his hand in the air. "Don't split hairs, boy! What in the hell are you doing trying to crew a twenty-year old Soviet submarine? Don't tell me you lost that cushy job with Nelson and are going freelance on your retirement money."

Crane snorted. "I don't think my retirement fund would stretch to a Natruska. In fact, I'm not sure it would stretch to the fuel rods necessary to run one."

"Then what the hell is going on, and why are you here looking for over-the-hill seadogs?"

Crane smiled again, and opened the notebook he had gotten out of his bag. He leaned forward and began to talk.

Chapter 6-

Ten hours later Hal O'Bannon sat on the end of one of his docks sipping a cup of coffee. He and Crane had talked long into the early morning, finally going to bed around 0400. It was now 0800, and O'Bannon had found himself awake and ready for the day. He had dressed quietly and, taking his coffee with him, had retreated to his old lawn chair to think.

What Crane was asking was not beyond possibility. He suspected that his fellow crewmates would jump at a chance to go back to sea. Perhaps even more could join in than last time; some had not been available due to illness or prior engagement. Of course this was short notice, but he suspected most, if not all, would be able to clear their schedules. They had soundly enjoyed the last trip, and this was even better; this was a call to aid the country. He knew that he wanted to go, but he had a problem.

This was indeed the slow time of the year, but that meant that he had let all but one of his seasonal workers go, and the one remaining guy, Mick, could only handle so much. He would need to hire someone else to watch the place during the day; Mick was nocturnal by choice and excelled as the night watchman. In these times, he couldn't afford to leave the place unguarded, as people would try to get on the boats. His seasonal people had all moved on to other jobs, and there wasn't a large local pool of workers from which he could hire someone who would not only be reliable, but also willing to cook for Mick. The night watchman would rather starve than lift a hand to cook and meals had long been part of his compensation.

He would do anything he could to help Crane, he owed the boy that, not only because of his help with the Triggerfish but because he was a friend. He just didn't think he would be able to go along, and then who would look after the kid? He sighed and sipped at his coffee. Well, the other guys would take care of the commander if he couldn't. They had grown just as fond of the young man.

He felt the dock bounce under another person's weight, and looked over his shoulder. "About time you rolled out of the rack. No wonder Nelson's giving you the boot, if you keep goldbricking like this."

Crane chuckled then frowned. "Maybe you better not say that too loud. Given how things stood when I last talked to him, I may have to hit you up for a job when this is over."

"Oh heck, kiddo, you're too high maintenance for me. Anyways, Nelson is no fool. He knows a good thing when he sees it. He didn't get where he's at by being a slave to his ego; and, giving you the boot for anything less than blatant incompetence would be stupid. What happened?"

"Let's just say he doesn't see this assignment the same way I do. He would have preferred that I turned it down, just like the ONI missions he would rather I not take."

"I can't say I blame him there."

"I don't either; I never have, him or Chip. If I had my way I'd never leave Seaview, but that's not the way it has to be. The Navy and this country have given me everything. I don't want to think where I would have ended up if I hadn't been able to go to the Academy. I got an unequaled education, a career I love, and met people who have become my family because this country gave me the opportunity. I cannot do less in return. If I'm the best one for the job, and I'm not doing something else that is important, then I do the job. I can't really say that taking algae samples in the Bearing Sea outweighs the security of the country." He sat down with his back against one of the bollards, one of the posts that supported the dock. He smiled sadly. "Of course, after I left them hanging, maybe the admiral and Chip won't be worrying about that anymore."

"Don't talk nonsense; it doesn't become you. Just because Nelson got worried and Morton got up on the wrong side of the bed, that doesn't mean that they don't like you anymore or don't want you around." O'Bannon peered at the younger man for a moment then decided to speak of something he hadn't spoken of for over 40 years, and then only to his wife, dead now for over ten years.

"I ran away from home at 13. I told my father one day that I was quitting school to go to work in a garage. There were 12 of us kids; Ma and Da being good Catholic Irish. I was the third eldest. Da had near worked himself to death at that point, and couldn't take on any more jobs. But they were determined that their children would go to college, or at least get through high school, like they never had a chance to do. My older brother was 18 and on his own and working sending money home. I figured that now it was my turn. I didn't need any more learning to work with engines; I was a natural with them. Since I was old enough to notice that there was such a thing, I had wanted to build them, make things go. I decided that I was going to go to work and help with the money. Da exploded; he was tired, and he wasn't at his best. Called me ungrateful, and stupid. That did it for me. I had his temper, and none of his restraint. I raged on for most of an hour and then went and packed my stuff. He didn't try to stop me, just sat there and nodded with a sad smile, like he was agreeing with everything I said."

"I went into the kitchen where my mother was cooking dinner, as if I hadn't been yelling and cursing like a sailor for the last hour, and I kissed her on the cheek. Then I left, with big declarations of showing them how successful I was going to be." He paused for a moment, still able to see his mother's face after all these years, sad and resigned. She hadn't asked him to stay.

"I didn't look back that day. It was different then. If you could do a day's work, then you were a man, and they left you to it. I didn't make it big, of course. I worked in a garage until I was old enough to join the Navy. I couldn't go back, my pride kept me from trying."

"When I enlisted, I ended up with this chaplain, a priest by the name of O'Hannigan. He took one look at this Irish mug, and asked when he could expect me at confession and Mass. He wasn't a man you said 'no' to. I went, and somehow he got me talking about why I was there, and what had happened. He told me that I needed to call or write my folks. I fought him on it, but he was a persistent soul, and eventually I swallowed my pride and called." He stopped again, and looked back over the years to that skinny, redheaded boy gripping the phone so tight his knuckles were white. He shook his head.

"One of my youngest sisters answered; she didn't even remember me. I had to explain who I was. I could hear her yelling through the house for Da. Then I could hear him walking to the phone. He said 'hello', and I almost couldn't talk. I finally said 'It's me, Hal. Your son.' Like he would have forgotten. There was this silence, and then he said to me, 'Thank god you called, boyo, I haven't rested easy since you left. Tell me, are you all right?' We talked for almost an hour. It turned out he had been keeping track of me through some friends, but lost me when I joined the Navy. As far as they knew I had dropped off the face of the Earth." He stopped and smiled at the quiet younger man who had been listening.

"I'm getting to the point of it all, so don't nod off now. The point being, even though we parted with angry words, he still loved me, still cared about me, and if I needed to come home, I was welcome to do so. He never stopped caring, and neither will Nelson, or Morton for that matter. I saw them when you were hurt before; they were worried. They are your family, and that's what family does."

Crane stared at him for a moment, then a small smile quirked his lips. "Point taken. Though I think my situation is a little different."

"No, blood isn't what makes family, it's the love, and the respect. Take my word for it."

Crane grinned at him, a new light in his eyes. "Well, you are supposed to be wise at your age; I guess I'll have to believe you."

"Don't get smart, boyo, or you'll be calling the unemployment office for your crew."

The two smiled at each other, then O'Bannon became serious.

"I'm sure the others will jump at the chance to go, but I can't go with you." There, it was out.

Crane frowned. "I thought it was your slow season. Is it the money? I'll cover all the expenses. I have a rather large fund to work with."

"No, it's not the money. I don't have anyone to watch the place during the day. Mick's only good for the nights; I can't leave him here alone."

Crane bit his lip, and appeared to be thinking furiously; suddenly a strange light came into his eyes. "What if I could find someone who was willing to take over for a month or so? I'd cover his wages."

"Who you going to find on short notice that can stay here for a month or more? It ain't exactly the most exciting job." O'Bannon enjoyed the laid back, quiet times, but others were harder to please.

"I happen to know someone, here in town, who needs a job and a place to stay while he looks for a permanent position. You've got that small house they could stay in, don't you?"

"They?" O'Bannon asked, completely puzzled. The forceful personality that was Captain Crane was coming to the fore, and he suspected that he might as well agree now, and get out of the way.

Crane levered himself to his feet with an ease that O'Bannon observed with envy. Oh to be that agile again. "I need to use your phone, and a phone book." He was halfway up the dock before O'Bannon could get out of the chair. Oh yeah, 'get out of the way' was the defiantly for the best.

An hour later Hal O'Bannon was standing in front of his house, watching a man and woman drive up in an old truck. Crane was at his side, smiling. The man, obviously of Spanish descent, got out of the truck, and went to help the woman climb down. Hal was startled to realize she was very pregnant. He cast a glance at Crane, who smiled pleasantly back at him, and went to greet the newcomers, calling out to them in what O'Bannon realized was rapid Spanish. The man was full of surprises this morning.

"I'm glad you could come. I appreciate you coming so quickly."

Eleazar Aguayo shrugged eloquently, and smiled. "We had no where else to be, senor. You spoke of a job?" His eyes were hopeful.

"I did," Crane said, and waved them over to stand before O'Bannon. "Ysalane and Eleazar Aguayo, this is Hal O'Bannon. He owns this marina. It's the slow season, and he has something that he would like to be able to do, but he doesn't have anyone to stand in for him on the day shift here."

Everyone exchanged greetings, and they went to sit at the kitchen table. After describing the job - and letting them know that there was a small house available for their use, free of charge - the couple asked for a few minutes to discuss the proposition. O'Bannon and Crane stepped outside to give them some privacy.

O'Bannon looked at Crane and shook his head. He was truly amazed; it had turned out that Eleazar had been working at a marina up the coast as a shipwright before he was laid off due to the death of the owner of the company he worked for. He knew boats, and he would be perfect for the job.

"What?" the younger man asked, innocently.

"You have got to be the luckiest bastard I have ever met. Everything just falls into place for you. How the hell did you pull this off?"

"I don't know what you mean, Master Chief." Crane smiled at him. "I'm just making use of the available resources."

"Oh bull…" he cut off as Eleazar and Ysalane came out of the house.

"If you are willing, Senor, we will take the job. I will watch, and Ysalane will cook for your other man. The wage you set is fair," he said to O'Bannon. He clutched Ysalane's hand as he spoke, hope and dignity in his bearing.

O'Bannon grinned and reached to shake the young man's hand. "It's a deal!" Everyone was smiling.

Crane patted O'Bannon on the back, and spoke, "I have some calls to make. Why don't you get them familiar with the place, and I'll take care of that." He started back into the house.

"Don't run up my phone bill!" Hal bellowed after the younger man, and then turned to smile at the couple who were looking at him with trepidation. He waved away their concern. "Don't mind me; gotta keep the kid in line. Come along, I'll show you the place. I think you'll like it…" He had a big grin on his face. He was going back to sea!

Chapter 7-

Chip Morton was sitting in the nose of the Seaview, watching as the curious sea life, mostly fish, stared back through the clear Herculite plates. He was leaned back in his chair with reports spread on the table in front of him. He was off duty, but was trying to keep up with the never-ending paperwork that seemed to be breeding in his in-box. Usually Crane handled a good portion of this paperwork flood, but since he was gone… Chip frowned. That was still something of a sore point. It had been two weeks since he had watched Crane disappear up the ladder of the Flying Submarine, and no one, at least no one at the Institute, had heard from him since then.

The crew was sullen, the admiral was working on a short fuse, and Chip acknowledged that he himself was edging toward grumpy. The men were avoiding him as much as duty allowed, and he had found himself eating alone in the wardroom to keep from snapping at some junior officer over some spilt coffee or scattered crumbs. And it was all Lee Crane's fault. The crew wanted to know where their captain was, but no one had a clue.

Nelson had managed a civil conversation with Evers, and had extracted a promise of being kept up to date on any 'intelligence' regarding the activities of one very special "enemy." So far he had not surfaced anywhere, at least not where they were looking. Nelson had gotten the full briefing from Evers regarding the extent of the task set before Crane, and had reported to Morton that it was widely held by almost everyone on the committee that there was little chance of Crane actually making it very far.

Chip smiled a little at that. "They don't know him very well do they?" he said. He had every confidence that wherever Crane was, he was well on his way to getting his boat to sea, if he wasn't already there. Morton knew Crane better than almost anyone, and he knew just what the young, innocent looking man was capable of. He just wished that someone knew where he was. He could be, and knowing Crane, probably was, up to his ears in trouble, and not one Seaview man would be there to save his skinny butt.

Chip brought his focus back to the nose as he heard someone coming down the stairs. He recognized Nelson, and straightened up in his chair. Little things like slumping could set Nelson off like a firecracker in his present mood.

"Hello, Chip. Catching up on the paperwork?" Nelson asked easily, evidently in a slightly better mood.

"Yes, sir. I don't remember there being this much last time Lee was gone. Did you add some of yours?"

Nelson smiled mysteriously, and sat down at the table. He leaned back, and taking out a cigarette, lit it and blew a cloud of smoke toward the windows. He looked at Chip and said, "I just heard from Evers."

Chip leaned forward in anticipation. "Lee?"

Nelson nodded. "In a way. No news of him directly, but several people that they had been watching, suspecting that Lee would contact them, have disappeared."

"Disappeared? How?'

Nelson smiled. "That's what they would like to know. The people went into a store, or an office building, and never came out, at least that they could see. Investigation after the fact suggests that they knew they were being tailed, and slipped the surveillance. Since most of them would have no experience in that particular skill, Lee's fine hand is suspected. So far eight nuclear trained seamen and officers that had worked with Crane in the past have disappeared. Inquiries to their families yield only that they are 'out of the country' for a while. No one has any more information than that."

"So, he has the skilled workers necessary to run the engines on just about any nuclear sub produced in the last 40 years, but what about the rest of the crew? He'll need at least 30 more men, depending on what they gave him, and there's no telling what shape the thing will be in."

"True, but you have to remember, they aren't watching everyone. They couldn't. Think about the number of submariners that Lee has come into contact with over the years he's been in the Navy. You know how he tends to keep track of HIS men; there's no telling who he's contacted. By now I expect he has the boat fully staffed. By the rules of the war game, he should be notifying Evers of that soon, one way or the other, and then the intelligence boys will be trying to track them down and find out their capabilities. Lee will of course be suitably vague when he reports. It should be interesting to observe how competent they are."

"Interesting?" Chip snorted. "You sound like you're getting into this. I thought you were as opposed to it as I am."

"Oh, I still don't like the fact that the Navy seems to feel they can snatch Lee any time they like, but I do see the need for the game. Look how far it's gone already. They know what Lee looks like, where he started from, and whom he knows, yet they haven't managed to find him, or the people he 'hired'. You can't say that about most terrorists. If we have that poor of a system, wouldn't you rather know about it, and make sure it is changed for the better?"

"So we sit and wait, counting Algae species, and being happy that the country is safer, all through the efforts of Lee B. Crane, super spy extraordinaire! Need plans stolen, call Crane. Need someone snuck out of the country? Call Crane! Need to sneak into some godforsaken country for no apparent reason? Call Crane!" Chip finally ran out of steam and sat back in his chair. Nelson was regarding him with a small smile, and he sighed and smiled back. "Damn it, I want him to come home and take care of his own paperwork. I want Cookie to bake brownies and bring them forward with a fresh pot of coffee because Lee missed lunch, again. I want the crew to act like they enjoy their jobs, not like someone killed their dog. I just want things back to normal….or at least as normal as it gets around here. I want him to know I didn't mean what I said the day he left." He wound down again, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed his outburst. The control room crew was too well trained to be looking their way, but he suspected every word he had just said would soon be spread around the boat. He looked at Nelson.

"And it doesn't matter at all what I want, does it, as long as this is what HE thinks has to be done? Even if he doesn't WANT to." he asked.

Nelson's smile widened. "My conclusion exactly, and arrived at in the same manner as a matter of fact." He swung around to look at the control room. "It is a happier boat when he's here, even the Seaview herself seems to miss him." Nelson's clear, blue eyes moved back to the XO. "But what we do is important too, Chip, those of us who stay behind and do the day to day 'unexciting' stuff. And Lee values the fact that we ARE here. He wouldn't leave HIS boat to just anyone. Why he does what he does is part of what makes him what, and who he is, and I don't think either of us want him any other way." He paused for a moment, and then a small smile crossed his face, "In fact, the way he is just might give us a clue as to who else he's 'hiring' for a crew."

"What do you mean?"

"There are at least twenty old sailors that I know of that will do anything for Lee if he asks, and I do mean OLD sailors." Nelson's smile had grown.

Morton stared at him for a moment, completely lost, and then the flash came. The crew of the Triggerfish, one of Crane's 'lost causes' that he had somehow pulled through in the end. But… "That was a diesel sub, do you think they would be up to a nuclear, even an old one?"

"He's got the trained engineers for that, and the rest isn't all that different. A few weeks training and they are more than sufficient as a crew." Nelson nodded sure of his idea. "I have to contact Evers with this. Maybe the intelligence division can track some of the Triggerfish crew. Lee might not be so covert with them since he wouldn't expect anyone to be looking."

Morton started to protest Nelson's sharing of the information, but stopped as he realized that they had to treat this as if it wasn't Lee. Just some intelligence that they had come upon that needed to be shared for the good of the country. Morton nodded his agreement, and picked up his pen. "I'm almost done with this batch, Admiral. I understand Cookie is doing beef stroganoff tonight; care to join me in the wardroom?"

"I'd like that. I'll even tell you why algae species are important. That should make for exciting dinner conversation." Nelson laughed at Morton's look of horror, and rose to his feet. "I'll meet you there at 1800. After I talk to Evers." He reached over and patted the broad, khaki clad shoulder, then disappeared up the stairwell.

Morton shook his head, and then bent back over the reports, "Damn, Lee," he thought, "First all the reports, and now I gotta listen to the science stuff. You are going to owe me big."

Chapter 8

Lee Crane was soaked to the skin, his jeans and tee shirt sticking to his slim frame. He had most of his upper body stuffed into an access panel under the main control panel in the aft ballast control room of the former Russian submarine Bratsk. O'Bannon walked in, exchanged looks with Tom Hendricks - a former submarine COB, 20 years his junior - who sat on the deck handing in tools as requested, and then rolled his eyes to the overhead. The picture was completed by the small black cat that was sitting on the other side of the legs protruding from the access panel, tail wrapped around its feet, eyes locked on the panel, and a gentle purr resonating from its body.

That had been the pattern since they had come to the Russian port, Kaliningrad, eight days previously, and taken possession of the boat from a seedy looking individual with whom Crane had conversed at length in Russian. Since then, provisions, charts, and other necessities had appeared. They were moored among several other older Russian subs, in for a refit at a civilian dock near the Naval station, though how that had been pulled off O'Bannon wasn't sure he wanted to know. There were other boats here that were evidently for sale on the legitimate market, and he suspected that Lee had been able to make a quick deal. He had seen Crane give the seedy Russian a briefcase, and suspected a rather large bribe was changing hands. They had a crew of 45, not counting themselves, not the optimum amount, but doable. Twenty-two of O'Bannon's former crewmates had made it, and were now being put through some intense training on the more modern boat. Not that there had been a lot of changes; the main change, the reactor, was being taken care of by a crew of men that Crane had recruited from his evidently vast pool of acquaintances around the world. The men stuck close to the boat so that they didn't draw any attention to their foreign accents, and let Crane take care of dealing with the Russian authorities and vendors.

Watching Crane coordinate the plans for all of this had been something of an education for the old master chief. He had thought that he had seen how palms were greased and papers expedited and then lost while he was in the Navy as a senior enlisted advisor to Admiral Keating (ret). He hadn't seen anything. The deals made had been highly illegal, and risky, and showed a very disturbing lack of security. Several of the men that Crane recruited had been under surveillance. They had been snatched from under the nose of their watchdogs; again, not a shining recommendation of the system. Crane had proven to be much sneakier than O'Bannon, and obviously the intelligence community, had given him credit for. The arrangements had been made for travel for everyone, with some traveling alone, and others in groups. O'Bannon had been amused to find his own crewmates were traveling as a senior club group touring Italian museums. There was a very good possibility that most of the men hadn't been in a museum in their entire life. They had flown out of Chicago, the easiest of the crew to move as no one was watching them. The others had flown out of various airports throughout the U.S., Canada, and Mexico. Crane and O'Bannon had flown out of Guadalajara. They had met the "museum tour" in Rome, and had ridden on a bus, driven by a friend of Crane's who had 'borrowed' it from a tour bus company in Belgrade, to Helsinki, and a train to Kaliningrad.

Once everyone was gathered there - having come in by plane, train, boat, and car - they had begun the hurried preparation and training that were needed to get the boat out to sea before they were exposed. They had met at a hotel near the port, a turn of the century hotel that had little of its czarist glory left, but which at least had the benefit of a room large enough to hold all 47 men. Everyone had been introduced, and a question and answer session had gotten everyone up to speed. O'Bannon had also had something of a shock when Crane had introduced him as the COB. He had been both honored and slightly awed that the young man had so much confidence in his organizational skills. He had heard stories from Crane about Lt Commander Morton and Francis Sharky, and hoped that he could live up to the legends in terms of helping to get things organized and running.

O'Bannon, and the others, had been astounded to learn that they had to make their own information leak by notifying someone that the crew was assembled, convinced it would give them away. Crane had smiled, and told them that a friend of a friend of a friend would be sending a telegram to Admiral Evers' daughter in Seattle, Washington, from a telegraph office in Hong Kong. The telegram would be paid for in cash, and sent anonymously. As soon as it was sent, the urgency to get things done cranked up another notch however. Crane could only do so much, with his limited resources, to buy off officials and keep people quiet. The boat had been in surprisingly good shape, though they had found some rather glaring problems, fortunately not with the reactor, which they were working on. One of the messiest was a ballast control problem that had defied any fix so far.

Crane, who up till that morning had been making rounds of the boat on regular intervals, helping wherever he was needed, had literally dived into helping with the ballast. He had been down in the bilges and inside the ballast tanks then he had been inside the access panel for the last hour rewiring what he had described as a rat's nest of a previous repair. Hendricks had dutifully followed him through every step, trying to insist that HE could take care of the problem now they had tracked it to its lair, but the young captain had simply slid into the access hatch and asked for a wire cutter. Now watched by cat and master chiefs he muttered curses in what sounded like Russian at the state of the wiring

The cat had come with the boat, and had been christened Svetlana, in honor of a former girlfriend of the Chief Engineer, the former 'Bull Nuke' on one of Crane's old commands. It had rapidly become obvious to the crew that the only one of them that the cat intended to tolerate was Crane. Otherwise a casual petting could turn into a bloodbath. The really funny part was that the cat seemed to be playing the crew. When Crane was present she was the model of cat decorum, allowing petting from anyone and looking completely innocent; but, should Crane leave the room, she became a whirling dervish of claws and teeth. When presented with evidence of this change from angel to devil, Crane had simply smirked, and fed the cat some of his dinner, an act which had Cookie - the owner of, and frequent cook at, a five star restaurant in New York- swearing like the sailor he had been so long before. He had threatened to feed Crane the same stuff the cat got daily. Crane had shrugged and smiled in an apologetic manner, and slipped the cat another tidbit when Cookie stomped back to the galley.

The captain was the youngest man on the boat. Everyone else was over forty. This led to some serious joking at the young skipper's expense, now that naval rank restraints were removed, though it was gentle compared to what went on in the crew quarters among the various age groups. Almost all of the nuclear men that Crane had recruited had retired at Chief Petty officer or better. O'Bannon was the only Master Chief except for the Chief Engineer, and they were sharing quarters away from the rest. But for all the kidding, and the informal attitudes of everyone on board, there was no doubt who was in charge.

The final decisions all rested on the broad shoulders of the youngest of them. That Crane had everyone's respect was a given; and, while some doubted they would be able to complete their "mission," the betting pool was running wild about how far they would make it. Crane, who was supposed to be above such petty things as the boat pool, had O'Bannon put down twenty on making it all the way. O'Bannon had added his own twenty to it, and several others had followed suite. Optimism was high.

O'Bannon's biggest problem was proving to be making sure the young skipper didn't work himself to death before they left port. He went over and gently prodded one of Crane's feet with his own. "Are you coming out, boyo," he said loudly, "or am I coming in after you?"

"I'm almost done, Master Chief, can't it wait for ten more minutes?" came the muffled voice.

"No," the master chief said blandly. He didn't add anymore.

There was an audible sigh from the panel. Then Crane squirmed out, and pulled himself up until he was seated cross-legged on the deck. He pulled the soggy tee shirt away from his chest, and rubbed a greasy hand across his face, leaving another mark on his cheek. He looked balefully at the master chief.

"I was almost finished. What can't wait?"

"What's wrong with your arm?" O'Bannon growled, pointing at the bloody, dirty rag that was wrapped around Crane's left arm and secured with duct tape. He cast a nasty glance at Hendrickson, who shrugged his hands apologetically as if to say 'what could I do?'.

Crane glanced at it dismissively. "Scratched it in the ballast tank. It was all I had to tie it up with at the time. It's not bleeding anymore."

"Oh, well, that's just dandy, isn't it? And I'm sure that rag was nice and clean when you wrapped it up, no germs or anything."

"Master Chief, I don't recall you having had medical training that qualifies you as a medic; did I miss something of your past?" Crane inquired, rising to his feet to stand eye-to-eye, or as close as possible given their disparate heights, with the older man.

O'Bannon was having none of it. "Don't give me that, bucko. You need to get it cleaned and bandaged with something a little more sanitary than a dirty rag."

Golden eyes flashed at his tone, and O'Bannon was aware that Hendrickson smothered a snort.

"Master Chief, I am over 21 and well able to take care of myself. When I need your medical advice, I'll let you know. Now, you interrupted me for something, what was it?" No mistaking the command tone in that voice.

O'Bannon stood eye to eye with him for a moment, not used to backing down, even from officers, when he knew he was right. However, this officer was obviously made of sterner stuff, or else he had lost the power that, at one time, had all of the junior officers on his boat quailed. O'Bannon sighed, and frowned, he wasn't going to hide his disapproval, even for his friend.

"That slimy Russian, Vassily, is back. He wants to talk to you. Something about a satellite phone."

Crane nodded curtly, and looked at Hendrickson. "I think you can see what I was doing, Master Chief. Finish it off and then test the system again. If I don't hear anything from you before I'm done, I'll come back down."

"Aye, sir," Hendrickson said and cast a glance at O'Bannon as he slid down to the access panel.

Crane went out of the compartment without a backward glance to see if O'Bannon was coming. He was, of course, following along, muttering under his breath all the way. He found some amusement in noting how well the men had come to understand the young skipper and his body language, as men were practically flattening themselves against the bulkhead to allow the officer to pass quickly. He wasn't sure exactly what button he had pushed, but it had been a good one it seemed. He also noticed that the cat was following along.

"Mental note to self," O'Bannon thought, "don't raise questions regarding health issues." He snorted quietly to himself as he followed Crane off the boat and onto the dock. The cat joined them, and hissed at the Russian. "Maybe she ain't such a bad cat after all," the master chief thought approvingly.

Vassily Krenkow, the Russian contact who had been seeing to their needs, stood beside his small car, fidgeting nervously. It seemed to be a habit; O'Bannon had yet to see the man stand still. As they approached, the other man broke into Russian, speaking quickly, and offering a cell phone to Crane who took it, nodding. He slid it into his back pocket, and was starting to turn when the Russian spoke again. O'Bannon didn't like the sly smile that accompanied whatever he said. Neither did Crane by the look of the frown that came over his face. He said something back to the Russian that made the smile fade.

After about five minutes of conversation, the Russian man abruptly turned and got in his car. Cranking it to life, he screeched off in a cloud of black exhaust smoke. Crane stood for a moment, staring after him, and then turned to O'Bannon.

"Master Chief, we're sailing in 30 minutes. Notify the section chiefs; have them make sure everyone is aboard and everything is ready to go." He bent over, scooped up the cat, and started back toward the boat.

"What about the ballast control?" O'Bannon said, surprised at the order, to say the least.

"It should be fine. Hendrickson will have it fixed by now. If we don't go now, we won't be going." Crane went rapidly up the gangplank, his earlier irritation at O'Bannon evidently forgotten in the wake of whatever the Russian had said.

"They're on to us then?"

"No, not yet. But Vassily says that his payoffs are losing effectiveness. His contacts supposedly want twice as much to keep quiet any longer. It won't stop there."

"You mean HE wants twice as much. The little…" O'Bannon started.

Crane interrupted him. "He is what he is. I used him, and now he wants to use me. We simply will have to move now rather than later. It was just a matter of time."

O'Bannon grunted and thought nasty thoughts about the Russian. He had noticed that Crane seemed much more tolerant of people's foibles than he had ever been. He seemed to be willing to accept people as they were - as long as who they were didn't endanger the boat or the crew - then took steps to work with the person to make a beneficial change. It made him a very good commanding officer, but O'Bannon wondered if it didn't make it harder on the man when people went bad in spite of his efforts.

Once they were back on board they went in opposite directions, letting everyone know what was going on, and preparing to leave. O'Bannon was not surprised to run into Hendrickson who reported that the ballast control was working. He clapped the man on the back, and sent him to turf the Chief Engineer, Olafson, out of the sack; the chief had spent most of the night testing the propulsion system as much as was possible while docked. They had been working literally around the clock, and now was the time for the payoff.

They were going to sea!

Chapter 9-

Admiral Jiggs Stark sat back in the leather visitor's chair in front of Admiral Evers' desk. He had lit up one of the cigars from the humidor on the desk, and was enjoying the smoke after the lunch they had just returned from. Evers was leafing through the message slips that had accumulated on his desk while they were out.

Stark blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and spoke, "You know I have to visit D.C. more often if you're going to treat me to lunch and cigars; makes the trip worth it."

"Like we could pry you off your island long enough. I understand your aide is in constant need of sun blocker since you're always on the beach or playing golf somewhere," Evers quipped.

Jiggs gave a laugh. "Oh, sure, like you're always out 'touring the fleet' in Florida, huh?"

Evers was about to reply when a phone on the credenza behind his desk rang. Stark knew that this was Evers' private line for the use of his family and friends so they did not have to go through the switchboard.

Evers swung around and picked up the phone. "Evers," he answered, as usual. He instantly started to frown as he listened. "Crane! How did you get this number?"

Stark sat up in his chair, his after lunch lassitude forgotten. He felt a surge of excitement. Things were heating up now; Crane had gotten to sea! He knew it. Harry would be insufferable now. He had told everyone involved that they might as well have just put Crane to sea to begin with, and not waste a month of his captain's time. The rest, with the exception of Stark and Davies, all thought that they would be able to find him before he sailed so that they could be ready. A rather large bet had been placed in the pool on Crane making it all the way, and Jiggs had no doubt as to who had placed it.

Harry had 'dropped a dime' on Crane so to speak by telling them about the Triggerfish crew, not that it had helped in the end. They had found out that the old crewmen had gone as a group on a 'museum tour' in Italy. The problem was that once they got off the plane, there was no trace of them. All the intelligence guys could find out was that they had gotten off the plane and loaded onto one of the many tour buses supposedly to go to their hotel, and that was it.

Evers continued to listen to Crane, and wildly motioned to Stark with a piece of paper. Stark took it and read, "Trace the call - sounds like a cell phone!" Stark rose and poked his head out the door to tell Evers' aide to get a trace going on the line.

He went back and sat down again, and listened in to Evers' half of the conversation.

"I understand that you just got your crew together a little over a week ago. Are you telling me you are sailing with a new crew in an unfamiliar boat and expect to be effective?"

"I believe you, Crane, but experienced or not…"

"Yes, I realize that we have to take your word for it but you have to understand that we have some concerns that the exercise not be wasted."

"All right, I'll take your word that you are sailing and that your crew is competent. I don't imagine you'd like to give me a hint as to your chosen target or weapons complement?"

"I didn't think so. Well, this means we'll be actively looking for you now. You're satisfied that that your computerized weaponry is active, and that a message regarding your target will be transmitted as the attacks take place? I assume you have a person in charge of the data entry for the system?"

"Yes, I will be contacting Admiral Nelson. I told you before that as a Naval Reserve boat, Seaview will end up involved."

"Yes, I figured you would, but I wanted to remind you. You too son, good bye."

Evers hung up, and turned to face Stark.

"I think I like that boy Jiggs. He's not arrogant, but there's not a shadow of a doubt in his voice about this mission, just pure self-confidence in himself and his crew. No wonder Harry has a fit when Smith takes him for ONI." He looked at the door as his aide knocked and came in. The aide's face was not encouraging.

"No joy, sir; in fact, we're not sure exactly what's going on. According to the trace, Commander Crane is in Kansas, somewhere near Abilene."

Stark snorted. "Well, it's somewhere to start looking. Our intelligence boys should be able to eliminate Kansas in another week or so."

"Now, Jiggs. You can't blame them all the way; it looks as if we didn't exactly know what we were getting with Crane. It's a damn good thing he's on our side. I wouldn't like to think about someone of his level of competence being on the other side. This should wake up a few people in the White House as to the situation we could be facing and the need for increased vigilance. Might even stop this talk of military cuts. In that regard, I don't think we could have chosen better."

"Oh, Crane will give you your money's worth, and then some. He may not be all Navy on the Seaview, but he'll get the job done. Any hint as to his target, or targets?"

Evers shook his head. "No, he wasn't wanting to chat much. I suspect if he had stayed on long enough we would have ended up somewhere besides Abilene." He snorted in amusement at the thought of a submarine in Kansas. "I suspect it is not going to be easy to get in that young man's head. Do you think Nelson or his XO could give us any help there? Act as consultants, so to speak."

"Well, those are the two that would know him best. We'd still have no clue about the Triggerfish crew if Nelson hadn't tipped us off. Not that it did us much good since he obviously had time to put to sea before we could get Intel assets in place. Harry said you were going to let him know when Crane called. Want me to break the news, and see what I can get on possible targets?"

"Yes, use the office next door, my chief of staff is off on leave, and it'll give you some privacy. I'll start the ball rolling on finding Crane."

Stark nodded and went into the other office, settling behind the desk. He wished that they had a videophone here so that he could see Harry's face, but he'd make do. Knowing that the Seaview was at sea, he had watch center communications put through a call. It took a few moments before he heard Nelson's voice.

"Harry, you still up there counting algae?" he asked jovially.

"As a matter of fact we finished that yesterday; we're on our way home now. Don't tell me you have a crisis that you need help on, Jiggs, I'm still waiting on payment for the last little favor we did for you."

"Check's in the mail, Harry. But no, I'm calling to bring you up to date on your boy."

"Lee? He's called in?" Nelson's voice was anxious.

"Not five minutes ago. He was notifying Evers that they were putting out to sea."

"Already? That's faster than you thought." The humor had returned to Nelson's voice. Jiggs smiled at Harry's transparent pride in his captain.

"Evidently you taught him well, Harry, the intelligence boys didn't have a clue where they were. Evers tried to have the call traced, and it said that Crane was in Abilene! Now it's a matter of waiting and searching. We still don't even know for sure what kind of boat he has."

"I'm afraid I can't take credit for his deviousness, Jiggs. It seems to be a natural talent. I'm assuming that we're going to a high alert?"

"Well, not quite yet, but we'll start looking. We don't know where he started from, so we're at something of a disadvantage. Based on what little we know about the Triggerfish crew's bus trip, we think he's probably in the Baltic region. We're moving overhead assets into position for a look see but I'm betting he'll be gone by the time our eyes are open."

"Well, if he sailed this quickly, I would suspect that they were in danger of being discovered. So I would expect your intelligence crew to be coming up with something soon. Has anyone back there bothered to read the report Crane did on his last mission? He was lurking around the bazaars in Morocco and some sleazy dives in Budapest talking to arms dealers about this very subject, trying to get a line on what was available, and who was making purchases. It might give the Intel people an idea who he might have dealt with and narrow the field a little."

"That report's one of the reasons he was chosen for this. I'll remind them that they might want to take a look. There's another reason that Bull had me call you, Harry. We want you, and Morton, to give us some idea of what you think he will pick for his target, or targets, if he gets away with it. You know he has the computer weaponry that will score a hit automatically, and print out a report in D.C."

Nelson was silent for a moment, and then spoke, "I can't say I'm sure that I know exactly what he'll choose. There are so many options, and several of them are based on what virtual weaponry he has. If he has cruise missiles it could be any city within range of the cruise missile on any coast. If he has only torpedoes it could be a choice of any military port where he can get in and do some virtual damage, or any combination thereof. I don't know that Chip or I will be much use to you there."

"But you, and Seaview, can be a major factor when we track him down."

"Yes…" Nelson said, drawing out the word. "I believe we might have a definite advantage on him there. Both Chip and I are familiar with his command style, and what he is likely to do in any given situation. Should we consider ourselves on standby?"

"Oh, I think you are past standby, Harry. Consider yourself activated. Can you divert to Pearl or are you closer to Santa Barbara?"

"Santa Barbara. We're due in at 1800. I don't expect there will be anything for at least a day or two. He'll have to get familiar with the vessel at sea, and run his crew through some drills. I'd say two days, maybe three. We'll stay on alert, and head for the Atlantic, ready to go on your notification. I have a feeling that is going to be our best bet."

"Sounds good, Harry. In fact I think I'll stay here in D.C., so I won't be too far off if he does strike here in the Atlantic. If he shows up in the Pacific I'll go back to Pearl to coordinate. Maybe I'll you on Seaview when you get here."

"You're always welcome, Jiggs."

"Crane may have another opinion about that."

Nelson laughed. "It's not that he doesn't like you, Jiggs; it's just that he won't forget that you thought his crew wasn't up to snuff. I'm not sure there's much you can do to make up for that. The only thing worse would have been for you to bad mouth Seaview herself."

"Then I would have had Crane AND you on my back. No thanks. I have seen the error of my ways, you can't argue with success."

"Be seeing you, Jiggs."

The connection was broken and Stark sat back in his chair, contemplating what he had learned. Two to three days grace to find the mystery sub and her wily commander; it suddenly didn't seem like a long time. He got up and went to share the information with Evers.

Chapter 10-

"You want to do what?" Joaquin Vega's disbelieving voice came from the back of the small group of officers gathered in the control room. Vega, the diving officer, blushed under his swarthy skin coloring as all eyes turned to him, including the golden eyes of the Bratsk's captain. But while the others all looked at him with disapproval for the outburst, the Skipper's eyes seemed to be twinkling with humor.

They had been at sea for 12 hours and were in the middle of the North Atlantic, following the standard route for Russian patrol subs. The hours had been spent running through drills and getting familiar with the boat. Everything seemed to be going fine. A few mistakes - luckily none of them fatal - had been dealt with swiftly and professionally; all in all a good turn out for a crew on an unfamiliar boat. The officers had been called to the control room to find Crane and his XO and weapons officer, Jack Elson, leaning over the chart table deep in discussion. They had stood there, waiting until the two men had turned. They had caught sight of an evil smile on Elson's face that was swiftly hidden behind the mask that all good XOs learned early as he turned away from the table. Neither of the two top officers had given away anything until Crane had dropped the bomb a moment before, prompting Vega's outburst. Out of the corner of his eye, Vega could see that the men working the stations were listening too, and was aware that he wasn't the only one amazed at what the young captain had proposed.

A small smile turned up the corner of Crane's mouth. "Many of you may be aware of the standard picket duty route that the United States and Great Britain share here in the North Atlantic. A destroyer from the US leaves from Norfolk and runs the route to the East at the same time a British destroyer leaves Portsmouth and runs the opposite route to the West. They usually meet at a point not far from where we are now. It is tradition, though not an approved maneuver, for the ships to stop and exchange some ice cream and other goodies like videos or music when weather permits. They tie up, bow to stern, and make the exchange; if time permits, the captains will have a meeting on one ship or the other. The crews mingle a little. Most of the brass know about it and, while it is officially frowned upon, only the most stiff-necked of Commanders won't indulge. That meet should be taking place in just over two hours. The weather up top is clear and calm. Perfect conditions. It is my intention to engage the ships once they tie up, assuming that they do." He moved to the chart table motioning the rest to follow.

"We're here," he said, pointing to a position on the chart. "We've been eavesdropping on the communications between the ships. They will be meeting up here." He marked a second position, less than a mile away from their own.

"I see the attraction of the target," said Eddie Dugan, the second officer, who would be in charge of the third watch, should they survive long enough to need a third watch. He had been the XO on then Lt. Crane's third boat. He had liked and admired the younger officer's skill, and had not begrudged his rapid rise. He had retired three years earlier at 55, after thirty years in the Navy. He was thoroughly enjoying the trip so far, even with the hard work they had been doing since arriving in Russia. Dugan was beginning to understand - given Crane's apparent knack for bribing his way into illicit arms sales - just what Lee Crane had been up to when the Navy pulled him away from the sub for various assignments. There had always been scuttlebutt about the young officer who, more often than not, would return from a 'routine training TAD' with bruises and bandages.

"But they aren't going to drop their guard just because of a traditional meet up. We'll be a sitting duck if anyone goes active on their sonar, we may even show up on a routine sweep. Bad luck sometimes strikes the good guys too, you know." He grinned, enjoying the easy style of the young captain; it was a definite improvement over the stiff 'I am The Captain, what I say goes' style that he had experienced in the past. Dugan wondered if Crane was always this willing to allow subordinates to question his plans and to listen to input on the Seaview.

Crane nodded to Elson, who stepped to the chart table and traced a finger across the chart going from the north, across their position, and continued south. "This time of year there is a cold current that comes down out of the Arctic. We are station keeping in the middle of it. The thermocline should hide us from everything short of a focused sonar search, which I suggest we avoid provoking." The officers nodded; they understood that Elson was speaking of the effect that a layer of cold water, sandwiched between warmer layers, could have on sonar. The sound waves deflected off the edges of that temperature difference in odd ways, allowing even something as large as the Bratsk to 'hide in plain sight.' It took perfect conditions, and nerves of steel to take advantage of those conditions. Taking in the calm gaze of their Commanding Officer, they knew that he could and would meet the challenge.

Crane stepped forward again. He picked up an envelope from the edge of the chart table. "I haven't shared this previously," he said, removing a paper from the envelope, "except with Jack, as the weapons officer. This is our 'war chest' so to speak, the weapons that we 'purchased' along with the Bratsk and are being held for delivery on my word."

Elson shared a grin with the captain and that gave Dugan all the encouragement he needed. "So, Skipper, when are these weapons going to be delivered?" It was Elson who answered.

"Just as soon as we get out of here and a 'friend' of Lee's notifies the CNO about the arrangements that need to be made. CIA will work with their Russian counterparts to catch the arms dealer."

Lee grinned wolfishly. "They'll be the ones being delivered." Grins were exchanged all around before Lee went on. "We have 10 SBT-11 torpedoes. Five SUBSAM surface to air missiles with conventional warheads, and…" He drew it out, watching their faces, and then smiling as he read the last line. "One Cruise missile."

The officers murmured among themselves for a moment, then returned their attention to Crane who was waiting patiently. "I think we can do this. They won't be expecting anything this soon. They may be on alert, but they will not be on the defensive. What I propose, and Jack backs me up on this, is the following…" he detailed the procedure he wanted to follow, and the officers found themselves being drawn into the plan, actually believing it could work. They were going to do this!

Chapter 11-

Nelson woke to a pounding on his cabin door. He rolled over, and yelled toward the door, "In!" He didn't bother to hide his irritation.

A head nervously poked around the door; the COB was revealed by the dim, nighttime lighting of the corridor. "Sorry to bother you, Admiral, but Admiral Stark is on the video phone, says it's urgent. Sparks will pipe it up here when you're ready. Should I uh… wake Mr. Morton?"

"Yes," Nelson said as he slid out of bed and pulled on his robe. He went to his desk, turning on the small light there. "I'll wait on the call until he's here." Sharkey nodded and disappeared. Nelson took the few moments before Morton entered to run a comb through his hair and splash some water on his face; the clock showed it was 0400. He knew it was only 0100 in Hawaii, so it was some comfort that Jiggs was getting no more sleep than he was. He had returned to his chair by the time Morton appeared. He took a moment to consider that the XO appeared in full uniform, every hair in place and apparently freshly shaved. Nelson shook his head. He KNEW Morton had been asleep. How does he do that? he thought.

Sharkey must have told him that Stark was on the line, as there was a look of anticipation on his face that Nelson suspected was mirrored on his own. He punched the intercom button. "Pipe it up here, Sparks."

The videophone flared to life, with a picture of Stark seated at a desk. "Harry? Sorry to wake you, but that's what you get for guessing wrong."

"Guessing wrong?" Nelson asked, puzzled for a moment. Then said disbelievingly, "Lee was caught already?"

Stark snorted. "Hell no! Not unless you can call sinking two destroyers, virtually speaking of course, being caught. He struck and then disappeared again. The boys at Atlantic Surface Command are tearing their hair out. "

Nelson and Morton exchanged glances. Nelson almost smiled himself when he saw the delighted grin that was growing on the younger officer's face. "Details, Jiggs. We need details. Did you say TWO destroyers?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, two. Killed two birds with one stone so to speak. Though actually it was two torpedoes." Stark grinned and then continued.

"You know about the picket route in the North Atlantic, the two destroyers passing on the route between Norfolk and Portsmouth. They stop at the midpoint, exchange mailbags and shoot the bull over some chow every now and again. This time they tied up, bow to stern, and started to exchange bags. It was just about then that Crane fired two torpedoes. The first one passed under the British ship - they have a shallower draft - and took our destroyer, the Thurston, amidships. The second fish, running shallower took out the Olgilvey. Computer simulation says they would have both sunk within minutes, if there was anything left to sink, since the second fish would have hit the Ogilvey's ammo storage. The computer is assigning only a few survivors. So far those crewmen designated as such who were 'picked up' by rescue choppers say they didn't see a thing, and there had been no indication of a submarine in the area. The ships were on alert, but only at Double Take," he said using the naval term for Defcon 4, one of the lowest readiness levels. "Evidently we should have gone to Fast Pace immediately." Nelson, well familiar with the Defense Condition Codes knew he meant Defcon 2, the next to highest possible alert status.

"Evidently," Nelson agreed, not being too successful at keeping the amusement out of his voice. Lee had fooled them all. Leave it to Crane to act out of character - or, maybe this WAS in character, since he was supposedly a stalking enemy out to inflict as much damage as possible. It was going to be a challenge to catch him.

"Has anything come in on his armament, or even what type of boat he has?"

Stark nodded and pulled a paper from the side of the desk. "We got this in about an hour ago. I was going to call you in the morning with the update, since it didn't seem urgent. We got a report from Kaliningrad, Russia. It seems that shortly after we heard from Crane, Russian Naval intelligence got wind of an illegal arms delivery that was to take place at the Kaliningrad shipyard where some old Russian boats, Natruska class, were mothballed until budgets improved. They caught the arms dealers and investigation showed that one of the boats was no longer there. A group of men, somewhere around fifty of them, seem to have arrived a little over week and a half ago. They kept pretty much to themselves. It is known that they provisioned the boat, and that they sailed the same day we got the call from Crane. Intelligence managed to pull their collective thumbs out long enough to confirm that Crane was at the shipyard. Best guess is that he set up the arms dealers with the Russians. We have some information – best guess is that someone finally bribed the right snitch or went back channel since the Russians aren't talking yet – on the weapons bust. He's got ten torpedoes, eight now, five SUBSAMS (Subsurface to air missiles) and a Cruise missile. As far as they can tell no nuclear warheads though." Stark dropped the list and looked up at the camera.

"A whole new ball game now, Harry. We know where he was and how fast he can go, so it should just be a matter of time until we pin him down. The question is- what can he accomplish before then?"

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised at that answer, Jiggs. Where do you want us?"

"It's six of one and half a dozen of the other. Either he's in the Atlantic, or he's going under the ice cap and will end up here in the Pacific. The way things are going, I would bet that whatever you do, he'll do the opposite. Where do you want to be?"

Harry laughed. "I think you are finally getting the whole picture. Chip and I have been talking. We're betting that he'll stay in the Atlantic. We've got the Landis Institute cruise coming up in five weeks and he'll not only want Seaview released from active duty before then, he'll want to be here. In fact, we're already on the Panama transit schedule day after tomorrow."

"Sounds good, I'll keep you appraised. Stark out." The videophone went dark, and Nelson stared at the screen for a moment, then he turned and looked at Morton who returned his regard.

"Well, Commander, it seems we have our sailing orders, though a bit indistinct. What do YOU think about Lee's choice of target?" Nelson quizzed, sitting back in his chair.

"I think it was a target of opportunity, sir. The ships were there, Lee was there, and the conditions were right. I think he just took advantage of them, and it paid off in a big way. It was perfect. Two destroyers at the same time, little to no risk, plenty of room to run if they should happen to spot him, and lots of ocean to get lost in after the fact. Whatever his primary target may be, using up two torpedoes isn't likely to affect it in any way, but he got a lot of bang for the buck." Morton grinned at Nelson.

Harry groaned at the humor, and waved Morton toward the door. "I'll overlook the unseemly wit due to the early hour. Don't you have a submarine to get moving?"

Still grinning, Morton rose to his feet and gave a snappy salute. "Aye, Aye, sir. What will you be doing, sir?" he asked as he opened the door.

Nelson smiled at him, got up, and walked back to his bunk. "Why, Commander, I am going back to bed. There's no need for my presence in the Control Room. I'm sure that you, as Acting Captain, have it all under control, so to speak."

Morton gave an exaggerated wince, and left. Nelson slid back under the covers and closed his eyes. He agreed with Chip's assessment of the action so far. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up, and was exactly in the character of the game. He would have done it himself in the same situation, given the opportunity, and as long as it didn't interfere with the primary objective.

Nelson had given that quite a lot of thought over the last few days, the primary objective. What would Lee Crane choose? The tomahawks and the cruise missile definitely gave him some options. Nelson began running through a mental list of possibilities, never quite knowing when he fell back to sleep, lulled by the purr of the engines as they moved out to sea.

Chapter 12-

O'Bannon was making his way forward with a tray in one hand and a medical kit in the other when he ran into Mr. Elson heading aft. The XO, a small yet muscular man in his late forties, peered at the tray, and then at the medical kit. He shook his head.

"Forget it, Master Chief. He's out like a light. We just finished a conference in his cabin, and he was asleep before I could get out the hatch. I don't think he's gotten any rest in the last 48 hours, what with us playing hide and seek, and he's making up for lost time." Elson didn't try to hide the relief in his voice, a relief he knew the master chief shared; O'Bannon had been chasing after Crane like a hen with one chick. Crane had impatiently waved away his suggestions of food and sleep as if the master chief were an annoying fly buzzing about.

The Bratsk was currently sitting on the bottom about twenty miles off the coast of Maine in an area of seamounts, upon one of which the Bratsk was resting. They had made their way by a very circuitous route to this place over the last two days. They had alternated running drills with the real thing, as they avoided surface and air searches obviously looking for some sign of them. Crane had explained that he wanted them to keep looking for a while. The longer they didn't find anything, the easier it would be to get where they needed to go.

They had come to these outer banks, known for their good fishing, and settled in to wait out the initial storm. It had given almost everyone a chance to catch some much needed rest; that included the young captain who had, unlike the crew, not been working in shifts. He had been everywhere, working with the men to get them familiar with the boat, checking on the hasty repairs they'd made to get to sea. He had worked over his plans with the officers, and they were coming to see that they might just have a chance to pull this off. Their enthusiasm spread to the rest of the crew.

The fact that they were acting as the 'enemy' and were about to inflict a black eye on their own Navy was beside the point. The better they were at getting the job done, the better the military responses would have to be, or learn to be, to prevent any possible future incidences. They were going to be the irritant that made the system sit up and take notice.

O'Bannon frowned. He had been chasing the boy around the sub for two days. He'd had some little success getting him to eat. How anyone that active could survive on coffee and cookies was a great puzzle. Sleep wasn't on the agenda. And that arm….

The little "scratch" had turned out to be a gash on the outer side of Crane's left arm, nearly from wrist to elbow. It had been deep and dirty. Cookie, acting as corpsman, had cleaned it out with peroxide; it was a learning experience for Cookie, who had previously only been able to swear in two languages. After putting on some butterfly bandages and a lot of antibiotic ointment, the amateur corpsman had wrapped it up in gauze. He had suggested that it needed to be seen by a doctor, but the skipper had merely snorted and gone back to helping with a small steering problem that had developed. Cookie had told O'Bannon when he came by to get something for Crane to eat that the bandage needed to be changed. A determined O'Bannon had set out with teeth clenched, ready for a fight, only to be deflated by the XO's words.

Elson laughed at the crestfallen look. "Face it, Master Chief. If a crew of one hundred and twenty or so, with an ADMIRAL in residence, can't keep the man in line we got no chance. You might as well be happy with what you can get. I had a little easier time riding herd on him back when I was his XO and he was my ops officer but he was a handful even then. Now that he's my CO – well, I figure I'll just go along for the ride. " He sniffed in the direction of the tray. "Is that some of Cookie's omelet? I missed breakfast this morning. The smell was driving me nuts." He relieved O'Bannon of the tray and headed back to his cabin, next to Crane's. "Thank you, Master Chief. I'll see this doesn't go to waste." He entered the cabin and closed the door.

O'Bannon grumbled under his breath and went on to the captain's cabin. He quietly opened the door and poked his head in. He could just make out Crane's form on the bunk, with Svetlana curled in a small black ball on the pillow by his head. He put the first aid kit on the small desk near the door, and pulled the door closed again. Maybe the man would have the sense to clean the wound himself.

O'Bannon continued forward to the Control Room. It was a larger room than that on the old Triggerfish, though not as roomy as the Seaview's. Crane had taken him on a tour of his boat after they had gotten the Triggerfish berthed in her final resting place. Even now he could see the pride that had shown in the golden eyes as the young captain had taken him through every compartment, and introduced him to every seaman that they passed. O'Bannon had been interested to note that the captain knew every rating by name, and had some personal question for each. The reaction from the ratings had been a real kick for the old Master Chief. He was used to captains commanding respect, but he could see the genuine liking that was in each ratings eye's as they spoke to their "Skipper". He shook away the memory, and moved forward. O'Bannon found himself recognizing several Russian words on dials and buttons as he passed, becoming familiar with the Cyrillic writing as he used the strange yet familiar panels. This was quite the experience.

He came to a stop at the radio shack, glad to see that Bob Weir was there. Bob was another of the Triggerfish crew that had joined them. The school where he taught was out on vacation, and the teacher was glad to put out to sea once again. He had been inspired by the last trip to write a memoir of his wartime experiences, and the book was enjoying some small success. This should give him more material. O'Bannon dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Bob looked up.

"Hey, Hal, thought you might be getting a little sleep since the skipper is catching a few winks. Don't tell me you're picking up his habit of not sleeping."

"I couldn't stay up that long if I tried. You'd find me asleep in an access panel somewhere. I don't remember having that much stamina at that age, or any other age come to think of it," O'Bannon said with a grimace. "Anything new on your eavesdropping?"

Bob reached out to tweak a dial, following the changing channels that the Navy used to communicate between ships. "Nothing really exciting so far. Did you hear that they are pretty sure that we are under the ice cap?"

"Well, that's what we were looking for, a little misdirection. I expect we will be disabusing them of THAT idea soon." O'Bannon leaned closer. "Any scuttlebutt on the next target?"

Bob grinned, and threw a glance at the second officer, Dugan, who was bent over the chart table, and whispered back. "I didn't hear any specifics, but I can tell you that after the meeting all the officers were grinning like a bunch of schoolboys. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were a bunch of kids getting ready to pull off the world's largest prank. Like egging the principal's house and then toilet papering it in the bargain. It should be a good one."

There was the sound of a throat being cleared behind them. They turned to find the Chief Engineer, Olafson, standing behind them with a faked stern expression on his face. Olafson was thoroughly enjoying being the top man in the Engineering Department. For once the old master chief had no officer looking over his shoulder as he babied *his* boat. The crew had taken to calling him 'Master Cheng,' combining his rate and the position in one title.

"Gossiping is frowned on in this man's Navy. Loose lips sink ships ya know."

"We ain't in the Navy no more, Ole. We gets to gossip all we want," O'Bannon growled.

"Yeah, that's why you're over here whispering together like two old women. Now give over, what's the scuttle?" The chief engineer's face was round and ruddy, reflecting his ancestry, and his blue eyes twinkled. He had retired from the Navy almost five years previously, and had not believed it when his old captain had contacted him for a new 'Sea duty'. His wife, still getting used to having a full time husband after 30 years, had sent him off merrily, saying the break would do them both good.

"Nothing specific, Master Cheng. Looks like it's going to be good though." Bob replied.

Olafson grinned again. It was strange enough being on a Russian boat, hiding out from their own Navy, but having half the crew be over 65 was even stranger. Olafson had been on active sea duty until he retired, and he had gotten used to being the oldest man on the boat. That wasn't the case here and then some. He was pretty sure that one of the "boys" working in his engine room was well over 70. But they did the work, and were fast learners, so he had no reason to gripe. In fact he hoped he was as perky in another 10-20 years.

"With Crane planning it, I have no doubt. The man has a definite nasty streak in there somewhere. I suspected it before, and saw some evidence, but this is the best yet. I just hope we get off the bottom and on the move soon. I can't say I like the neighborhood much." He slapped O'Bannon on the back. "I hear Cookie has out did himself for lunch. Fresh baked rolls and some kinda fish in a sauce I can't pronounce. Wanna go get some before it's all gone? This boat is inhabited by a bunch a hyenas, I tell ya. Lucky any of us can get through the hatches." Their laughter rang through the formerly quiet room, causing the duty personnel to smile in their direction. O'Bannon nodded and they disappeared aft together, already exchanging stories about portly submariners they had known.

The second officer watched them go, shaking his head. The two master chiefs had become fast friends; they were often seen together in the wardroom, playing poker or rehashing old boats they had known and crewed. They also evidently both shared a love of sailing, though Eddie Dugan himself still didn't see the attraction of traveling on top of the water.

He wished he had been able to serve with either of the master chiefs while on active duty. They seemed to be dedicated to the boat and the men, and damn fine at their jobs. He had met many such men in his career, and he was happy that he could do so again. He had missed this camaraderie. He resolved to find himself something similar when he got back to his regular life. He enjoyed the feeling too much to not have it again for the rest of his life. And he was pretty sure that not even his crafty captain would be looking to crew two Russian boats in one lifetime. He went back to studying the chart; trying to get familiar with the route their young skipper had laid out in the planning session they had had earlier. He felt the smile growing on his face as he thought about their proposed target once again. It was a bold move, and it would be entertaining to see how this went. He hadn't had this much fun in years!

Chapter 13-

Nelson and Morton were once again sitting in the nose, both working on paperwork, when Sparks' voice came over the intercom. "Admiral Stark on the line for you, Admiral. It sounds urgent."

"Pipe it up to the videophone, Sparks," Morton replied after getting a nod from Nelson.

"Finally," he thought, "some action, maybe." They had been cruising for two days, generally sailing in a large circle, awaiting orders. They had used the time wisely, taking care of some maintenance and a few small experiments that Nelson had been putting off, but it was not exciting work.

Morton had guessed what his friend and captain was up to with the delay, and wasn't surprised. Crane would know that everyone would lose their 'edge' after the first day or so, and it would give him a lot more room to maneuver, wherever he was. They still hadn't managed to locate the lone submarine. Speculation was that they were hiding out under the ice cap, but that just didn't seem like Lee. He was nothing if not proactive.

Morton turned his attention to the videophone as the signal came through.

"Jiggs, do you have our sailing orders? We're getting tired of boring holes in the water, even at Navy's expense," Nelson said jovially.

Stark harrumphed. "Oh, yeah; I got your orders. High tail it up the Eastern Coast. Crane struck again." He broke off, reading from a paper in front of him. He was frowning.

"You look angry, Jiggs. What was the target?" It was hard to imagine what target could have gotten his old friend into such a swivet. Previously, Stark had been amused by the ability of this one sub to avoid capture. It was getting their point across to the president and congressional funding and Armed Forces committees as nothing else ever had. Obviously, something had changed.

"Damn it, Harry, he's making us look like a bunch of asses. One young, wet behind the ears captain with an old submarine and an untrained crew, and we not only can't find him, we can't even keep him from hitting a target on the mainland. He came in past the pickets, took out the target, and left, and we STILL don't know where he is. The only visual confirmation that we have is from a freaking fishing boat that said they saw them surface off of Annapolis and…"

"ANNAPOLIS! He took out Annapolis?" Nelson interrupted, his mind whirling. It was actually the perfect target. What better place to strike? After all, it had been a hotly contested fort for years before it became a military academy. It had been fought over, and occupied, and now turned out the next generation of Naval officers, both a tactical and sentimental target. It was a thumbing of the nose to the other side.

"Surfaced about a mile off shore and dropped in the cruise missile; by the time anyone got there, they were long gone. Who knows which way they went. We have everything out looking for them. The Atlantic looks like an expressway at 1700 on a Friday." He gave a frustrated growl. Nelson hid his smile. It seemed Lee was being a little too efficient.

"That fishing boat I mentioned? They were close enough to talk to the crew of the Bratsk. They were there for almost thirty minutes before they left. The boat owner says that the crew was made up of old men with the exception of the one they called "Skipper." HE was a young, slim man with dark hair. For Pete's sake, Harry, they even let him take a Polaroid of his crew standing on the bow of the sub! That's adding insult to injury!"

Nelson lost his battle to keep his laughter in check. He began laughing and noticed that Chip was enjoying a laugh also. "I could have told you, Jiggs, that you'd be getting more than you could handle with Crane; maybe next time you'll ask me BEFORE you snatch my captain out from under me."

"Oh, that's all well and fine for you, Harry. You're not getting your butt chewed by the CNO, not to mention several members of congress who are now virtually DEAD because they were touring the Academy at the time! They want to know why it's taking so long to catch Crane, and why we can't even prevent an attack when we know it's coming, and by one of the men we trained ourselves. Confidence in our defensive capabilities is dropping like a rock. And to top it off, Crane is still out there with five SUBSAMS and eight torpedoes. You need to get here now, Harry. How soon can you reach the Eastern seaboard? We gotta catch this boat now, and you and the Seaview are our best bet."

Nelson, trying to regain a serious look, motioned Morton forward to answer the question about how soon they could reach the area. The XO's face was back to expressionless, though Nelson detected a merry twinkle in his blue eyes.

It seemed the Navy had gotten more than it bargained for when they had hatched this plan. He would love to be a fly on the wall about now in the Pentagon meeting rooms. It was something of a balm to his anger regarding how Crane had been co-opted into this program. Now it remained to end the game, and get Crane back where he belonged. There were a few things he wished to say to the young captain, not the least of which was how proud he was of him. Nelson returned his attention to the present as Morton signed off with Stark.

"Well, Chip, it seems we're going a hunting," he said with a twinkle in his own eyes.

Morton grinned back at him. "He's made everyone else look foolish. What's to say that we won't be the next on the list? He wasn't exactly happy with either of us when he left."

Nelson shook his head. "Wounded feelings aren't part of the mission, or personal vendettas. He's simply following the parameters of the task given him. I think that the idea of getting back at us won't even cross his mind. The question we have to answer is what will cross his mind. I must admit that the choice of Annapolis as the primary target was a good one. It was certainly one way of thumbing his nose at the Naval establishment – and to think I thought he enjoyed the Academy."

"Well, it had its moments, sir, as I recall. It's not going to be easy getting into his head, that I know for sure. I might have a few ideas about where he's hiding out. I remember him writing a paper in third year strategy that talked about how to evade an intense search by surface and air assets. Bet if I think about it a bit, I can remember most of it."

"Good, good. That may be our only advantage. He'll know we are coming. I don't see him making the mistake of doing what we think he will."

"So, basically, we should take what we think he'll do, and then figure out what the opposite is?"

"I fear it won't be that easy, Chip. I think we may have a challenge on our hands. Perhaps a little strategy session of our own…"

The two men bent over the table, talking about how to outsmart their friend.

Chapter 14-

The mood aboard the Bratsk was jubilant. They had risen from their resting place and moved into position a mile off shore early in the morning. They had been forced to avoid three sonar sweeps, two from surface vessels and one from an airborne sub chaser. Once on station, they had surfaced to make the shot easier. Not that their weapons officer would have needed that, Crane had been quick to assure the man, if they were firing for real. But if they were who they were supposed to be, they might not be as well trained or as confident in their missile launching capabilities as Crane and his people were. So they had surfaced, and made the day of a passing fishing boat. Most of the crew had piled up on deck to be in the picture, though the skipper had stayed up in the conning tower with the lookouts. There had been a twinkle in his eyes and he had been smiling when he shooed everyone below decks. That should really tweak everyone's nose out of shape.

The next 24 hours was spent dodging an ever more intensive search. They had been forced to 'torpedo' three more vessels, and use two of their SUBSAMS against sub chasing planes in order to escape. They had then performed what the crew was calling the 'Crane maneuver.' They had managed to escape from the latest ship, and needed a way to get out of the area. A super tanker, moving down the coast headed to one of the refineries in the gulf, provided a perfect opportunity. They had moved in under or her, and had become part of her profile. In this way they had passed several surface ships, and countless planes, before quitting their unknowing escort. When asked how he had thought of it, Crane had said he saw it in a movie that had been playing on the plane from Mexico to Italy. It had seemed like a good idea, and just about improbable enough to be pulled off.

They were now lurking in deep water off of Florida. They had 3 SUBSAMS and 3 torpedoes left. The officers had conferred, and agreed that since they had not been captured, and still had weapons left, they would keep looking for other targets. The computer had assessed that they had taken a pretty good battering by depth charges from the one vessel that had dogged them most of the night before they had gotten position on them and launched a virtual torpedo into their bow. Lee planned to look the captain up and buy him, or her, a drink. It had been a heck of a fight. There were now three compartments that were 'virtually flooded'; five of their crew were sidelined as 'casualties.' The five had taken up a semi-permanent game of poker in the mess hall, and refused to let any 'live' crew play.

Crane leaned against the rail that surrounded the small periscope island, and closed his eyes. Svetlana was curled at his feet purring loudly. He was tired. He couldn't remember when he had last felt this used up. He had been up most of the night, only stopping for the occasional catnap, as they had traveled south under the big tanker. Now that they were back out to sea, and had room to maneuver, he had several decisions to make. He had some ideas for targets, but that wasn't his biggest worry. He knew what was coming. THEY would be here soon, if they weren't here already.

Seaview. HIS boat would be hunting him, as would the people who knew him best. It would be infinitely harder to escape with the Seaview on the prowl. If they were found by Seaview they would have no hope of running, as his 'gray lady' could easily overhaul them. They were vastly out-gunned. The only advantage the Bratsk had was her maneuverability. She could turn much quicker than Seaview, and could go into places the much larger Seaview couldn't follow. That was the only chance they would have. Crane had a plan there too. Once all the weapons were gone, once the game was almost over…

"You know, I probably won't run her into a seamount or anything should you want to get some sleep." It was Elson, acting in his capacity of XO to see that the captain was in some kind of working order despite himself. It made Crane homesick for Chip. He missed his friend. He missed the admiral, and he missed his boat.

The Bratsk, while performing her function as best she could, wasn't the Seaview. Though, over the last week at sea, he had begun to 'feel' her, almost like he did theSeaview. He could tell what speed they were making just by the vibration of her deck. Could tell if everything was working as it should be by the 'feel' of her around him. He wasn't sure what it was about these ladies of steel and titanium that got to him. Any exposure at all, and he seemed to meld with the boat. Even though she wasn't his 'gray lady,' he would miss the Bratsk when they were done. He hoped she would go to a good home; he hated to see a good boat wasted.

He smiled tiredly at Elson. "Well, she does have a new paint job, and I wouldn't like to see it messed up," he kidded. It made him feel closer to Morton, using the old routines. It seemed to be a regular joke with XOs. He would have to ask Chip if they took a class in CO soothing. He didn't remember one himself, but perhaps it was new. He had never really thought of himself as a good XO. He had done the job, and had supported his captain, but he had never reached the level that Morton, and Elson, seemed to have reached. A seemingly effortless process that would be near impossible for anyone else who tried it. Then again, he probably had the shortest XO tour on record before he was pulled to run the maiden voyage of the Navy's new spy boat. Maybe, given time, he could have matched Chip's skill. But the CO spot did seem to come easier to him. Chip would probably rag him about that.

"With all this traffic, it may get a little scratched, but you'll get her back in one piece. Why don't you at least take a break and get some food and a nap? I'll let you know if there's something I can't handle."

Crane nodded and headed aft toward the wardroom, Svetlana keeping pace. He wasn't really hungry. He was, however, thirsty, and was hoping for a cool drink. His arm was aching again, and he knew he should clean it and re-bandage it before he took a nap. He suspected he had an infection but, other than some penicillin to which he was allergic, they didn't have any antibiotics aboard.

He was somewhat peeved at Vassily for foisting the incomplete medical supplies on them. He had specified that he wanted the best. It had been what he paid for. He made a mental note to make sure that Vassily understood that in the future such forgetfulness would not be tolerated. When you were in the field, you had to be sure that anyone you dealt with understood that messing with you was not a good idea.

Entering the wardroom, he saw that the poker game was still going. The players had moved from matchsticks to real money, and the piles seemed evenly distributed so far. He headed toward the counter where Cookie kept several thermos jugs filled with cool drinks available. He hoped that Cookie was back in the galley cooking, as he didn't want to explain why he hadn't had much of an appetite over the last several days. He never ate much, but lately he hadn't felt like eating anything. He got himself a glass of iced tea, and sat down to watch a few rounds of the poker game. He leaned back in the corner of the room, getting comfortable on the bench. Svetlana leaped up to take her accustomed place in his lap. Her purring was very soothing. It felt good to sit down, too. He turned his attention to the poker game. Given the cutthroat nature of the game, maybe he could even pick up some pointers that would allow him to get some of his money back from Chip.

A half hour later, O'Bannon came into the wardroom in search of more coffee. He had been filling in for one of the "dead" crewmembers down in environmental, and had run out of the necessary brew some time before. As he entered the room, he started to give the card players hell, but he was hurriedly shushed; heads nodded to the slim figure sitting in the corner of the wardroom. Crane was seated, head leaned back against the bulkhead, asleep. The black cat on his lap looked to be asleep as well.

"How long has he been here?" he asked quietly.

"About 30 minutes or so. He came in and got something to drink and sat down to watch, I guess. He didn't last long. Do you think we should wake him up? It's gonna be dinner soon."

O'Bannon frowned. He was glad that the young captain was sleeping, but his choice of place wasn't good. The master chief knew that the kid would be mortified that he had nodded off in the wardroom to begin with. There was no helping it; he would have to wake him up and get him to his cabin, hopefully without a side trip to the Control Room or other points on the boat. He jerked his head at the door, motioning the card players to leave. He suspected it would be easier on the skipper if he didn't wake up with crewmembers gawking at him.

Once they were gone, he went over and sat down across from Crane. Svetlana opened her eyes and looked at him balefully. He reached out, ignoring the hissing sound from the cat, and put a hand on Crane's arm that was resting on the table. He fleetingly thought that Crane seemed warm to the touch, even through his shirt, but that thought disappeared as he found himself the focus of the golden eyes of his friend. He watched as the realization of what had happened came to Crane, and a faint blush colored his cheeks.

"It ain't much, but you do have your own cabin, you know. The rest of us are sharing." He thought he would try humor; it couldn't hurt.

It seemed to work, as Crane gave him a sheepish smile. "I only wanted to get something to drink, then I was going to get some sack time. Guess I decided to combine the two." He glanced at where the card game had been, and O'Bannon saw relief in his eyes that the men were gone. He had done the right thing.

Crane finished off his drink, shooed the cat down and rising, dropped the glass in the bin for dirty dishes. "Before you even start, I'm going to my cabin now. Yes, I will sleep."

O'Bannon smiled at the younger man, and watched him head out the hatch, cat in tow. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about him for a while. He went and got some coffee and headed back down to environmental where one of the other men had stood in for him for a few minutes. They had started out shorthanded and, with five men 'gone,' they now were even more so. He was beginning to think this game was more work than staying at home.

Chapter 15-

It had been almost 15 hours since the Bratsk had last been seen. Nelson was looking over the printout that Stark, who had come aboard via helicopter as they were cruising across the Gulf of Mexico, had given him. He saw that the Bratsk had taken virtual damage in a depth charging. In the process the boat had torpedoed two more surface ships and shot down a sub chaser. Then they had disappeared. Nelson considered the facts, comparing the reports to the charts he had spread out on the table. He also had a report showing all ship movement through the area in the last twenty hours. He studied several different pages, confirmed several facts, and then grunted.

"What the hell does that mean, Harry? If I wanted uninformative noises, I could have stayed at COMSUBLANT and listened to Davies gripe about not being able to pull submarines off patrol to search for the Bratsk," Stark growled from across the table. He was sure that if anyone could catch Crane it would be Harry and his boat, and he, Stark, wanted to be there when it happened.

"It means, Jiggs, that I am pretty sure that I know how the Bratsk made it out of your containment area."

"What! How? We've been over those papers and reports for hours."

Nelson stood, and dragged a satellite photo over in front of Stark. "What do you see?"

Stark gazed at the photo. "It's some large surface ship, an oil tanker or container ship. So?"

"The course of this tanker is parallel to the edges of the containment area, less than 10 nautical miles from where the Houston engaged the Bratsk and lost her. I think that's how they got away."

"What do you mean, Harry? What does a tanker have to do with it?"

Morton, who was studying the charts and pictures, suddenly burst out laughing. "You gotta be kidding me. He used the tanker to mask his profile. They just sailed south underneath. Any sonar sweep would have only seen the tanker; and the tanker boys probably never even knew there was a submarine underneath them. That's like something out of a movie."

Stark harrumphed at Morton's outburst, and the XO tried to hide his amusement. Nelson shook his head at Morton, and turned back to the charts. "It's a very old tactic, used from the beginning of submarine warfare when sonar first came into use. It's kind of an old joke now, which is probably why it was successful. Nevertheless, I think we can be assured that they are no longer in the containment area. In fact, I would say they are somewhere out here." He drew a wide circle encompassing the Gulf and part of the Atlantic from South Carolina to the tip of Florida, and across to Mexico.

"Oh, well that narrows it down. During WWII a German U-boat prowled that area for months without being caught," Stark growled.

"Yes, but they didn't have the technology we do, and the ability to focus our search in that area. The Navy was a little busy elsewhere at the time. We can set up a perimeter and limit his movement. But, you realize that there are still quite a few targets that would be appealing. There are several bases in the area, and a rather large amount of ships for them to hunt. He'll go one the offensive now. He only has so many torpedoes left, and he'll use them to the best advantage. The question is will he move in and take a chance at catching ships in port, or will he hunt the hunters."

"You paint such a beautiful picture, Harry. I'll get on with the CNO and get it organized. We need a win here, Harry, not just an end to the exercise. We need to show that in the event of this actually happening we can be effective."

"We can only do our best, Jiggs. You can't pick someone like Crane as the adversary, and then gripe about the results when he does what you asked. I think if we can pen them in the area, and slowly close the net, we should have a good chance of ending it neatly for your committees."

Whatever Stark was going to say was interrupted as Sparks once again came over the intercom. "Admiral Nelson, it's the Chief of Naval Operations Office, for you or Admiral Stark."

"Pipe it out here."

Admiral Evers appeared on the videophone; he was not happy. "Stark, Nelson! What the hell are you people doing out there? The Bratsk just took out an aircraft carrier off South Carolina. This kid is making us look like a bunch of incompetent nincompoops!"

Nelson leaned back in his chair, and schooled his features into a suitably interested look. His temper, always hot, was beginning to simmer. Across the table, Chip Morton saw the signs, and ducked his head to hide a grin. It wasn't going to take much more to push Nelson over, and then, watch out!

He had witnessed many of Nelson's temper explosions, had even been the recipient on some memorable occasions. The only person who could face them with equanimity was Crane. He had watched with some amusement when Crane first came aboard and the fiery Nelson temper ran up against the calm, unflappable façade of the young captain. Not that Crane was always calm, or quiet. He had seen Lee's temper as well, and the two were evenly matched there. Now it looked like the CNO was about to get an earful.

"I was just going to call, Bull," Stark soothed, "Harry here thinks we can contain the Bratsk within a certain area, and just tighten the net until they surrender. I have the coordinates; all we need is your authorization to get the surface ships and planes underway."

"Hell, yes, let's get this thing finished. We're bleeding support up here in Washington. The congressional committee is meeting in three days. I'd like to be able to tell them that we still aren't chasing this boat around like we didn't have a clue. Good grief, Nelson, doesn't that boy of yours understand what he's doing?'

"Oh, boy!" Chip thought, "Here it comes."

"COMMANDER Crane knows quite well what he is doing, I can assure you of that. In fact, I'd say he might be the only one involved up to now who does know," Nelson snapped. Stark, hearing the tone, winced.

"And what does THAT mean, Nelson?" Evers snarled back.

"What it means is that everyone was anxious to get the most qualified person for the job, and now that he is doing what you asked, everyone seems to be blaming him for the system's shortcomings. If your preparations were so poor that you couldn't anticipate and counter the moves that have been made, that is not Commander Crane's fault. In fact, I think that he and his crew are to be commended for the job they have done in revealing the holes in our defensive plans."

"Now look, Nelson…"

"No, you look! Commander Crane took this mission out of duty to his country. He and the men with him are fulfilling that mission at some inconvenience to themselves, their employers, and their families. While they are not facing the dangers of retaliation, they are by their mere presence in a submarine at some risk. If we cannot be grateful for the sacrifices THEY are making on our behalf in this instance, then perhaps we, as makers of policy, don't deserve to be in a position to ask for such sacrifices from the young men and women of this country. If their sacrifices have no worth to us then we will use that precious resource thoughtlessly, and that is something this country cannot afford. I suggest that we get over this pointing of fingers and do what we are supposedly here to do, learn from the experience." Nelson rose to his feet and stalked toward the videophone.

"Have your people get hold of us with the coordinates of the last attack and for information on that containment area. We'll coordinate from here. Seaview out." He reached out and manually disengaged the viewer. He turned around, color still high in his face, and looked at Stark, who had in the course of Nelson's diatribe, started to smile.

"And what are you smiling at?" Nelson snapped.

"You know, Harry, it's a good thing you're retired and that Evers is just about due for HIS retirement. I don't think you're going to be very popular for a while."

"The hell with popular. I didn't get where I am now by being popular. I got here by being right, and they can take their allocations committees and go to hell. I have more than enough private concerns asking for the use of Seaview. I don't have to have the Navy contracts. I'd like to see them try to replace us anyway," Nelson huffed, sinking back into his chair and getting out a cigarette.

"You have too many other friends on Capital Hill to get the boot, Harry, but I don't think Evers is going to be offering you any extra work if he can help it." Stark said, still grinning. Then he got serious. "Point taken though, Harry. I was doing the same thing. Told Crane to do one thing, and then bitched about it when he did it. When you are right, you're right. I apologize for the carping."

Nelson waved a hand. "Don't apologize to me, Jiggs. In fact, don't apologize at all. The only person, or persons, who had a real right to get angry aren't even aware of it. I just want to be sure that Lee is not penalized for something that he should be commended for. He always says he's not interested in promotion, but I'll be damned if he doesn't get what he deserves because of petty political maneuvering."

"Calm down, Harry. I'll be sure that he gets a commendation, and since he's in MY chain of command, you can be sure that he'll be evaluated fairly when the time comes for promotion."

Nelson nodded, and then looked at the charts, his blood pressure returning to normal. He cast a glance at Morton who had been silent through everything. The younger man smiled at him and nodded quietly. Nelson was surprised at the respect he could see in the blue eyes. He cleared his throat, and turned his gaze back to the charts. "Now, let's see about getting this over with."

Chapter 15-

The Bratsk was once again lurking near the bottom. They had had a hard run after striking the carrier. Several close calls, and another virtual depth charging, had brought them to this place of interim safety. They had 'lost' another two compartments, including the aft torpedo room, along with seven more men. One of their torpedoes had been there, and they had used the last two escaping. They were down to one SUBSAM. They were all hollow eyed from lack of rest, and Crane had considered surrendering, though it would not have been his own choice. He had suggested it to the crew, who had hastily and to a man voted him down. They wanted to finish out the mission. It was a matter of pride that they did it right.

So they waited, monitoring the naval channels, listening as the net was closed around them. Crane knew who he could thank for that maneuver; he recognized Nelson's fine hand. He also knew it was just a matter of time until they were stuck. They were lurking in the canyons now, safe from all but the most intense sonar search. ButSeaview was coming.

The "casualties" were now running two games in the mess hall, and the still active crew were joining in. The stakes had grown, and the poker was more cutthroat. O'Bannon, one of the casualties, was ahead almost $100. Crane was beginning to feel like the captain of an illicit gambling boat. He had tried to get some sleep, since they were now to all intents and purposes finished, but there was still the last act to play out. He had a feeling it was going to be soon, and his nerves were jangling. It might be a game, but the adrenaline was still there. He ran an arm across his forehead, noticing the wetness on his sleeve from the sweat.

Good thing they were almost finished, he thought, since the environmental controls seem to be giving up. He had requested that someone take a look at it, but no one could find anything wrong, even though Crane could tell it was way too hot. Everyone else seemed to be just adjusting to the heat since they didn't even seem to be sweating. He sighed and started to lift his iced tea with his left hand, only to quickly set the glass back down on the table. His arm had become tender to the touch, and hurt when he used it. When he had re-bandaged it last night, it had been red and inflamed. He definitely had an infection going there.

He rose slowly from the table and deposited his glass in the bin. He was going to try to sleep again, and try to figure out what the last step should be; he already had an inkling. They really didn't have any more weapons that would do them any good. The only way for them to 'win' the game was to get away. He really wasn't sure that was going to be possible.

He wandered down the central corridor, one hand unconsciously running down the bulkhead in a caress. He would miss the Bratsk. He went into his cabin, and slumped onto the bunk. Svetlana, who had been curled on his pillow, looked at him and meowed a question. He stroked a hand down her lithe body, smiling slightly at her purr.

Once again he longed for his cabin on the Seaview. He would even put up with Jaime fussing about his arm. He was vastly tired of the futility of this game. It was a feeling that had been growing as he had come to the realization that there could be only one outcome. Lying down, he cradled his left arm against his chest and closed his eyes. He wished it were a little cooler.

It was almost three hours later by the clock on his bulkhead when he felt someone shaking his right arm and calling, "Skipper, Skipper, wake up." It was Bob Weir, the communications man, who had evidently become the boat runner.

"What is it?" he asked, wearily.

"The Seaview is coming in with what looks like half the fleet. It looks as if they have us surrounded, sir," the teacher said prosaically. "Time for the swan song?" he added as he watched Crane roll off the bunk.

Crane quirked a grin at him, "Yes, I think so, but we might have a little bit of fun first."

"That's what we signed on for, sir. You really know how to liven up a retirement!"

Carne laughed and headed forward to the Control Room. He looked at the chart where Elson had marked the positions of the incoming ships. They were well and truly trapped. If they moved out of the canyon, they would be instantly detected; if they stayed in the canyon, it was only a matter of time until they were found.

"One degree up bubble, quarter speed ahead," he said, after getting the conn report from Elson. He went to stand behind the sonar operator, one of the youngest of the crew other than himself. Crane laid a hand on his shoulder. Jay Meeks pulled off one earphone, and kept one eye on his scope. "We're going to be threading the needle here, Jay. Keep a close eye on things. Can you tell me where the Seaview is?"

"They are coming in at quarter speed, at 325 degrees, at about 500 ft. They've gone active. About another 20 to 30 minutes and they'll be on us."

"They're sweeping the canyons. We can avoid them for a bit, but we can only run so long," Crane mused aloud and stood considering for a moment. They were moving, more or less away from the Seaview, just above the broken canyon area. "What's the biggest thing they have up there?"

Elson nudged one of the small ship markers he had used. "There's a destroyer about a mile ahead of us, and a cruiser to starboard about the same distance."

"Must be pretty crowded up there. Hope no one runs into someone else. What say we clear the area?"

"With one SUBSAM? I think we may be a bit overmatched. It's not like you can get a good ricochet," the XO said flatly.

Crane grinned at him. "We won't be needing that SUBSAM. I have another plan, but it's going to take a little acting on all our parts." He motioned Elson and Dugan toward the chart table; he picked up a pencil and started to lay out a course. "I hope you guys took drama in school…"

Chapter 16-

Nelson, Stark and Morton were huddled around the chart table. The net was tightening around the Bratsk, but she was using the canyons and valleys in the sea bottom to their best advantage to play hide and seek. Still, despite her canny captain, it was only a matter of time now.

Stark had been interested to see that, while the crew was doing their duty to the fullest and even he could find no fault with Morton's command style, every man aboard was still obviously proud of the fact that it was so hard to track down their captain. He was pretty sure that there was a healthy pool going among the ratings about just how long it would take to pin him down.

Nelson and Stark had been coordinating with the surface ships to cut off the possible escape routes open to the other submarine. They had "lost" two more ships and a couple of planes. The Bratsk was fighting to the last, evidently, but it was coming to an end; there was nowhere left to go.

All three men looked up when Sparks called from the communications shack, "Admiral, I think you need to hear this!" At Nelson's nod he put it on the intercom.

"MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is the uh… Naval Reserve Submarine Bratsk calling any Navy vessel. MAYDAY MAYDAY! We have a nuclear containment accident. MAYDAY! Any Naval vessel in the area, please respond."

The three men exchanged glances; was it a trick or was it for real? Nelson reached down for the microphone and spoke.

"Bratsk, this is Seaview. Nelson speaking. We are receiving you; what is the nature of your emergency?"

Another voice answered his query. It was calm, but there was an underlying sense of urgency that brought everyone to attention.

"Seaview! This is the Bratsk. Executive Officer Elson speaking. We have had a total failure of our primary reactor cooling system. All attempts to bring the auxiliary system online have failed so far. Our Chief Engineer estimates we have another…" there was a pause, evidently while the man checked a chronometer, "14 minutes until it goes critical. Over."

"Bratsk, can you surface?"

"No time, Seaview. We are on the bottom, and ballast control ain't exactly working as well as it should. By the time we get to the surface, or even shallow enough for the evac tubes, the reactor will be getting ready to let loose. No need to get wet and cold if we're too deep to survive, and it'll just get worse, if you know what I mean. We… know we could be pretty much done for. The captain's main concern is trying to figure out a way to make it so we don't take any of you with us."

"Where is Captain Crane?" Nelson asked. This was sounding more and more real. He noticed that Chip had gone to the computer and was entering information. As he watched, a printout was torn off. Morton scanned the information and paled. He handed the page to Nelson. He scanned through the information, and felt what seemed like a ball of lead form in his stomach. Of the recorded nuclear submarine accidents for the former Soviet Union more than 50 % had been in the Natruska class boats, and was attributed to failure in the reactor coolant system.

"He's… He's in the reactor room with the Chief Engineer; they're…" There was some interruption on the other end and they could faintly hear another voice.

"You mean he WAS with me in the reactor room; he threw me out! 30 years and I never been ordered out of my own reactor room. If I gotta go down with this piece of Russian crap, I wanted to go down pounding the shit out of the freaking reactor… " The transmission cut off at that point, and there was silence.

Nelson raised the microphone "Bratsk, Bratsk, come in!"

"Seaview, sorry about that, emotions are a little high. The captain can't… uh, come to the mic right now. The chief engineer just came up and said that it's getting worse. The auxiliary is not functioning. We're… The dampers are being put in now, and we're making arrangements so that the compartment can be flooded with seawater at depth. We're headed out to sea now, course 125 degrees; you should be able to see us now on your sonar. If we can get down far enough and flood the compartment, it should keep the reactor cool enough not to meltdown. Radiation leaks should be at a minimum after that. We uh… don't know if anyone is going to survive this or not." The XO's voice sounded husky.

"Where EXACTLY is Captain Crane?" Nelson demanded.

"The uh… the reactor control systems are fried. The radiation leakage was incredibly high. We pretty much are unable to do anything automatically. We had to get the dampening rods in manually…" Elson faded out, leaving the listening people to draw their own conclusions as to who was doing that lethal task.

Nelson swayed as his knees suddenly grew weak; he grabbed the edge of the chart table to keep upright. He raised the mic to his lips, but couldn't speak. Morton, his face pale and eyes full of pain, put another piece of paper in front of Nelson. It was an estimate of how far Seaview needed to retreat from the Bratsk in case of a meltdown or explosion. Nelson looked at it with non-comprehending eyes. He was possibly going to have to leave nearly fifty men to die in the depths, a slow and agonizing death, and one of those men was his best friend, his brother-in-arms … his son of the heart.

Morton, his eyes now blank, turned to the room and announced in his best XO voice, "Reverse course, emergency flank speed. Take us up to 100 feet. Sparks, get on to the surface ships and get them out of the area at full emergency speed. Tell them to head west, away from Bratsk's course. NOW."

Everyone sprung into action, hiding as best they could their grief at the fate of their captain. He would not even die with his own boat.

Chapter 17-

Elson released the button on the microphone, and everyone in the Control Room held their breath. Finally, the sonar operated let loose a yell. "Bingo! The Seaview has reversed course, and the surface ships are moving off."

"All ahead full, course 125 degrees. Take us down to just above crush depth," Crane said

"Aye, sir, full ahead, 125 degrees, just above crush depth," Elson echoed

Everyone yelled, and there was a lot of backslapping. Only the captain and XO, standing near the periscope island, were quiet. Elson looked at Crane and frowned. "You don't look too happy for someone who has just outsmarted most of the Atlantic fleet," he said quietly.

Crane gave him a small smile, and reached up to wipe his forehead with his hand. Elson notice he was looking flushed and the hair around his face was wet. "I have friends, close friends, on Seaview; this is going to hurt them. They'll be angry when they find out it was all faked, just a ploy to get away. I was already on their lists, now I'm right at the top."

"They'll understand. It wasn't like you just came right out and said you were getting irradiated. It was a ploy in a war game. All's fair."

"I hope so, but it may be a good thing that it'll be a few days before I get back to Santa Barbara," Crane said, "I got a feeling I will not hear the end of this for some time."

Elson patted him on the back. "We appreciate your sacrifice, Skipper. This is going to make a fine story for many a cold winter night in front of the fire."

"Gee, so glad I could help." Crane managed a shaky smile. He went back to the chart table, watching as the crowd that had gathered in the Control Room for the 'performance' faded back to their jobs.

They had a narrow window to escape, and it was going to be close even with the head start his little ploy had gotten them. He glided one hand over the chart looking for the rift he had in mind. It was at just the right depth, and it would take them well out to the center of the Atlantic. It also had the advantage of not being large enough for the Seaview to navigate for any length of time. It was at right angles to their stated course; if they remained on 125 degrees they would intersect the rift at around 100 feet above their crush depth. With some quick maneuvering, it would appear that the Bratsk had simply gone to the bottom on course 125. The plan was for the Bratskto be far away before anyone came in to see what her fate had been.

He sensed a presence at his shoulder, and turned to find O'Bannon standing there, a small smile on his face. "It's a thing of beauty, boyo; they'll be studying this one at the academy next you know it. This and the 'Crane Maneuver.' You won't be able to buy a drink in an O Club from here to San Diego."

Crane snorted. "Somehow I don't think I'm going to be very popular in some quarters for a while."

The wise old master chief looked closely at the young man leaning over the chart table. He could read the sorrow and guilt in the posture of the man before him. He put a hand on the slim shoulder and squeezed. "They won't hold it against you, boyo. They know you are doing what you have to do under the rules of the game. They understand duty just like you do."

"Do they? They both had a fit when I took this assignment. I told you how they reacted; this is going to drive them further away, that I could leave them hanging, thinking I'm already dead, or am going to be after hours or even days in agony. Not much of a friend, am I?"

"I think you're a fine friend, and I think they'll think the same. Oh, I think they'll be wanting to take a strip off ya, and I wouldn't turn my back on them if I was you. You've got to have more faith in your friends, angry or not, they'll be happy you are well." Thus saying he took a good look at his young captain. "Then again…" he reached out, and before Crane knew what he was doing, put his palm on the younger man's forehead. He was burning up.

"Master Chief..." Crane started warningly

"What the hell have you gone and done to yourself now?" O'Bannon said, ignoring the warning tone. He didn't bother to lower his voice, and he caught the attention of the crew in the Control Room.

Crane sighed, sagging against the chart table as he turned to face the master chief. A disgruntled expression crossed his face. "Aren't you supposed to be dead or something?" He grumbled. At O'Bannon's steely look, he sighed again. "It's just a little fever. I'll get some antibiotics when we get to port."

"We have penicillin; I'll be more than happy to give you a shot in the a…"

Crane held up a hand, shaking his head. "I'm allergic. Keep your hypo to yourself, Master Chief."

"Well then, what are you doing about it?"

"I'm taking lots of fluids and aspirin. I hope that meets with your medical approval."

"That's lovely, and I expect this fever is from an infection in that arm of yours?"

Crane nodded, his eyes not quite meeting O'Bannon's.

"Have you been cleaning it out? Changing the bandage?"

"I'm not an idiot, Master Chief. I do know how to take care of a wound. It just got infected. Like I said, I'll be fine until we get to port. Two more days and a shot of streptomycin and I'll be fine."

"And you didn't feel that you should mention this little problem?"

"What? You're my father confessor now, Father O'Bannon? We don't have a medic aboard, I can't take the penicillin, what would you have done about it?"

"Well..."

Crane cut him off. "Enough. My arm and my temperature are fine. Go back to your poker game so I can get this boat into port and get my arm taken care of. You can pay for the doctor out of your winnings." He turned back to the chart table, catching Elson's eye. "Let's get ready to do this, Jack; you may get to scrape the paint a little after all."

They leaned over the chart table, ignoring the master chief who stood there steaming.

Chapter 18-

Harriman Nelson sat in the nose of the Seaview, alone, smoking a cigarette. At his elbow was an empty glass. It had formerly been filled with the Nelson family scotch. It hadn't been enough. A whole bottle wouldn't be enough to dull the pain he felt. He gazed unseeingly out the windows of his submarine. The submarine he had been so proud of everyday since it had launched, and now it seemed to mean nothing. An hour ago it had ceased to be important.

Lee was gone, and he had taken Nelson's future with him. All the plans, all the dreams… gone. Gone in a few horrible minutes in a strange Russian submarine in the darkness of the ocean depths.

He took a deep drag on the cigarette, ignoring the sound of the crash doors opening.

He barely took notice as Stark sat down across the table from him.

"Harry..." Stark began.

"Go away, Jiggs," Nelson said tonelessly.

"No, I don't think I can do that. I'm sorry, Harry, very sorry." Stark knew his sorrow was nothing compared to Nelson's, or that of anyone else on Seaview, but he WAS sorry. While Crane wasn't all Navy, he had been all submariner, and there weren't too many of those left in Stark's opinion.

He looked out the windows, following Nelson's gaze into the darkness of the waters around them, waters that would be a grave for Crane. How would Harry stand that? How would he stand the question that Stark now had to ask.

"I talked to the CNO. He uh… wanted me to pass along his regrets…"

"What else, Jiggs?" Nelson asked; even in his depression he could tell there was something else.

"He… He wanted to know what you thought should be done about the Bratsk. Can we get in and safely take off the remaining crew once they flood the reactor room? Will there be any problem with the reactor leakage or danger of an explosion in the future? Can we afford, security wise, to leave the nuclear fuel down there? And if not, how can it be retrieved?" Stark felt like a heel for asking, but if he didn't do it then Evers would, and Nelson wouldn't have handled that discussion well at all.

There was no response for several minutes, and then Nelson turned his head and looked at Stark. There was an intensity of sorrow in those blue eyes that Stark hadn't seen since Edith died. Nelson stared at him for a few moments, and Stark began to believe that Nelson hadn't heard him, or just wasn't going to answer.

"The seawater at depth, when it flooded the compartment, would have cooled the nuclear core to a point that the damper rods could control the reaction. Once that was done the radiation would have dropped to a nominal level. Depending on where the crew was on the boat, on whatever shielding was available, on when we could get to them – we might rescue some. The rest of the boat would have received a heavy dose of radiation, but it would be manageable in suits after 24 to 48 hours. The Glomar Challenger could raise her easily from those depths. It would be better, for the environment, if the boat was raised. And maybe for the families of those who didn't…" He stopped, not able to continue.

"But it wouldn't be better for you would it, Harry?" Stark thought. "Nothing is going to make it better for you, is it? If anyone did survive, it wouldn't be Crane, would it?" He nodded, and spoke aloud, "Thanks, Harry. I'll let them know and they can get the Glomar heading this way from San Francisco. The rest of the fleet is dispersing back to base and back to patrol. What is Seaview going to do?"

Nelson returned his gaze to the windows. "We'll be here, for a while."

Stark nodded, and stood. He understood. This was all that Nelson could give Crane now, his presence. He moved to the crash doors and, after opening them, went through to the subdued Control Room. It seemed darker somehow, as if the boat itself was in mourning. He saw that Morton was standing by the computer frowning at a printout. He went to stand by the young officer's shoulder, wondering what it was. Morton looked up at him with puzzled eyes.

"It's not there," he said finally. "Why isn't it there?"

"What's not there?" Stark asked, puzzled. Morton held out the sheet of paper and Stark took it. While he was no longer on active sea duty, he was able to tell that the printout was telemetry from an unmanned probe. It showed nothing unusual that he could see, and he looked at Morton again, none the wiser for having read the paper. Morton, seeing the puzzlement, snatched the paper back and strode to the chart table. He pushed the compass and pencils aside, and pointed to an area on the chart.

"They should have been there. The probe should have found them there. But there's nothing. No radiation, no wreckage, no boat, no…" he stopped.

Stark understood. The efficient XO even in his grief, Morton had sent a probe out to find the final resting place of the Bratsk. And the probe had come up empty. There had to be some explanation….

"Maybe they got down further than you thought, or diverted a little from their course. The probe might have missed it," he offered logically. Even before he finished, Morton was waving a hand in dismissal.

"We know how fast they were traveling, and that they only had so long before it went critical so they had to get it down and flooded before that. That narrows the area they could be in. I have sent that probe EVERYWHERE they could be. There's not even a hint of radiation in ANY of the currents in the area above the regular nominal amount. That boat should have been leaking radiation into the surrounding water to some degree, even if it wasn't much. There should have been a spike somewhere," Morton said pounding his fist on the table. The fact that his friend was dead was an ache he could almost not bear, that they couldn't even find his final resting place was quickly becoming the last straw.

"Then maybe the boat isn't there to find." Another voice spoke calmly from the direction of the nose. Nelson stood there by the open crash doors, a strange light in his eyes. For a moment Stark thought to himself, "He's drunk." But then he watched as Harry strode smoothly and with great deliberation to the chart table. This was not a drunk man.

Nelson spent several minutes staring at the map, humming quietly, almost happily, to himself. When he looked up, Stark and Morton were shocked to see a large grin on his face, and those wounded, sad eyes of minutes before were once again twinkling with life.

"If you searched the area where they should be and they aren't there, then there's one very good explanation for that." He paused, waiting for them to catch up. Finally, impatiently, he said it himself, "The boat isn't there now. They never were there. They went somewhere else."

"What?" Stark said, completely lost. Maybe Harry WAS drunk; the man had always had an immense capacity, but maybe under the circumstances….

"It was all fake? The whole thing?" Morton said, obviously catching on to what Nelson was saying. "The son of a bitch was faking the whole thing?"

Nelson was nodding, his eyes twinkling, a smile still on his face. "We have been had by a master, gentlemen. He let his crew do the acting and put himself in a fictional bind that we bought hook, line, and sinker. I doubt he could have pulled it off with anyone who didn't know him so well, who didn't expect him to be up to his neck in some deadly crisis at any given moment. He played us."

"But… but where the hell did they go?" Stark said, bewildered. This was coming too fast for him.

Morton had been studying the chart and ran a finger down a canyon at right angles to the course the Bratsk supposedly was taking to her doom. "Down here. They veered off down into the canyon, and hauled ass out of the area. They could be anywhere within 30 to 40 nautical miles from there by now. They're long gone. They got away with it. The sneaky son of a bitch got away with it." He too was beginning to grin, and life had come back into his eyes. Glancing around the room, Stark noticed that all the men in the control room were grinning, and that the somber darkness had been dispelled. Their captain was still alive, and he had found a way to win!

"Well, where the hell are they going?" Stark asked plaintively, "Give me something to tell Evers, which is something I'm not looking forward to by the way." His only answer was Harry's laughter.

Chapter 19-

The Bratsk was less than half a day out from Portsmouth, England, where Crane had arranged that they could dock and traveling on the surface. O'Bannon appeared on the bridge where Elson was standing watch, enjoying the fresh air and the warm sunshine. Several of the crew, those not on duty or involved in the endless poker games, were lounging on the deck in a most un-Navy like manner. Improvised fishing poles were being deployed, without much hope for a bite since they were still making good speed, and sunbathing was a popular choice.

The skipper was sleeping now, the fever still rising slowly and sapping him of strength. Cookie was plying him with soups and liquids when he was awake, but now that the exercise was officially over, the young captain had left the running of the boat to Elson and Dugan.

Elson smiled at the master chief and was about to ask him what he needed when he saw the satellite phone in his hand. Elson shook his head.

"He'll rip you a new one, Master Chief. He wants to handle it his way."

"His way of handling it will be to NOT handle it. He'll show up unannounced, apologize, and go back to business as usual, and keep feeling guilty about doing his job. He needs to know that they won't turn on him, that they still want him around, even if they are pissed at falling for it. For a man with so much confidence in his command ability and in the crews he commands, he has no confidence in his value to others. All I'm doing is giving THEM a chance to show him."

Elson nodded, and turned his attention back to scanning the horizon with his binoculars. He still thought the skipper would blow a gasket, but he understood the master chief's concern. Elson had known many submarine commanders in his time, but none had been like Crane. The young man deserved a break, and if it required a little butting in to get it for him, Elson was more then ready to literally look the other way while calls were made. And after all, it wasn't as if they actually were in the Navy. What could one young man do to them anyway?Elson admitted to himself he didn't really want to find out. He couldn't help it if his ears happened to pick up the master chief's end of the short conversation.

"Hello. Can I speak with Admiral Nelson?"

"I know he's busy, but it is very important that I speak to him or get a message to him immediately."

"Yeah, you can take a message if you promise he'll get it very soon; it's urgent."

"That'll do. My name is Master Chief Hal O'Bannon; I'm the COB on the Bratsk. And…"

"Yes, that Bratsk. Anyway, let him know we are going to be docking in Portsmouth, England at 2000 hours local time tonight. We'll probably be at the base hospital by the time he gets here…."

"Just a little problem…"

"Yes, with Commander Crane but…"

"No, nothing like that, a little infection and fever. He'll be good to go in no time. Just tell the admiral, okay? Goodbye."

O'Bannon turned off the phone and looked at Elson, who had turned around now that the phone was no longer in use. He hadn't seen the master chief or anyone else using the phone, so there was nothing to report was there? The XO raised an eyebrow at O'Bannon's smile.

"The boyo's got them all whipped into a frenzy. That was the nighttime switchboard operator at the Institute. She had to be eighty if she's a day. She was so happy to hear that "The Skipper," her words not mine, was coming back soon, that I thought she was going to cry. She promised to get onto Nelson immediately in Virginia, that's where they're at, by the way, waiting for news. Told me she was sure that he would be there as soon as possible." He laughed and shook his head. What an extraordinary man his friend was turning out to be.

Elson joined in on his laugh, and the two men leaned over the rail, enjoying the sun, and the feeling of being at sea. They had won! What a glorious story they would have to tell.

Chapter 20-

Nelson threw the pen he had taken from the borrowed desk in the office he had been given use of at COMSUBLANT across the room. Childish, he knew, but it made him feel a little better. The Seaview was docked in the harbor, and he and Morton were in the borrowed office early trying to get a line on their errant captain. Jamieson had also tagged along, saying he had put a lot of time into the captain, and he wanted to be sure that his investment was sound. The three men had shared a look, each of them reliving the endless time days before when they had thought never to see Lee Crane alive again. That Crane could still be unwell was not out of the question, as the man had a tendency to overwork and underfeed himself, unless monitored by his devoted crew and friends. No one had heard from the Bratsk since she had disappeared off the Sonar three days earlier. While there was no set procedure for Crane to turn over the submarine, and return to his regular duties, Nelson had assumed Lee was heading for a 'neutral' port, and would contact them from there.

That had been until the phone call came from the Institute. The night time phone operator, a very nice woman of advanced years named Eunice, had been put through to the office. Nelson had put the call on the speakerphone so that the others could hear. Eunice had very happily told them that the Institute had gotten a call from one Master Chief Hal O'Bannon. Mr. O'Bannon had said he was calling from the Bratsk, and that they were going to put into Portsmouth, England at 2000 hours that night. Eunice had soft peddled the master chief's suggestion that they, meaning Commander Crane and himself, she supposed, would be at the base hospital if Nelson cared to join them. Hastily assuring the admiral that the master chief had said it was just a small infection and a fever.

After thanking the woman in as calm a voice as possible, and terminating the connection. Nelson had proceeded to launch his missile across the room, and then pounded his fist on the desk. The other two men sat watching him with blank faces, but each had an amused twinkle in their eyes.

"What are you two smirking at?" he snapped.

"Not exactly the happy response we would have thought you would have, admiral." Jamison said, a small smile on his face. "We've all been anxious to get some news, and while I admit it would have been nice to have a change in the Crane SOP of turning up injured, it's not unexpected. You seem a little… miffed?" The last was a question.

Nelson sat back in his chair, and considered the two men who sat before him. He wasn't sure himself exactly why he had felt the surge of anger. He WAS happy to know that the Bratsk was safe. He WAS slightly worried about Crane's 'infection and fever', but that wasn't what made him angry. He turned inward for a moment, searching for the cause. When he found it he opened his eyes to meet the inquisitive gazes of the two men who sat waiting for his answer.

"It would have been NICE if Commander Crane could have found a moment to check in himself, or at least leave a message himself. Rather than having the Master Chief do it," he said, surprised at his own tone as he did so. The two other men exchanged glances, and through some sort of silent communication seemed to agree that Jamison should field this one.

"I was given to understand that you all didn't part on the best of terms, though I also believe that no one was holding a grudge, least of all Lee. Knowing him I'm also sure that he is aware of what his little ploy cost you both, cost all of us, and is feeling guilty. I can understand him not wanting to discuss what must be a delicate subject, at least in his mind, over the phone. He's always faced his problems, or what he perceives as potential problems, head on. He wouldn't cut himself enough slack to try to make nice over the phone first." Morton was nodding in agreement.

Nelson wasn't ready to allow this logic to ruin what was turning into a perfectly good snit. He had held his emotions at bay for so long, they needed to get a workout. "Lee knows how we feel about him… how I feel about him. He could have called to say SOMETHING. Let us know that he really was ok…" It was whiney he knew, but damn it, he had been worried, and his heart still ached from the 'ploy' as Jamieson called it. He wanted to hear Lee's voice, to convince himself that Crane was ok. He wanted to see him, touch him, to know he was all right.

The other two men exchanged glances again, and this time the baton had been passed to Morton. He sat forward in his chair. His eyes were serious. "About that sir. Lee knowing how you… we feel. I'm not sure that he really understands how it is for you, for us."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Lee have talked about how he was raised, by the Cranes. How he was kind of an accessory to their lifestyle, some kind of Ken doll that they could dress up and have act like they expected, the perfect son and heir. That's how he saw family, just expectations and performance. He had a real hard time when he met my family; no expectations, and 'come as you are.' For the first few times I brought him home he was like some researcher, standing outside looking in, taking notes on how the subjects interacted. Making sure that what he was seeing was real, and not some act to fool him. It was almost a year before he relaxed enough to really enjoy himself. And then there was you…"

Nelson frowned at the pause. "Me?" he asked, noticing that the anger was rapidly turning into something else.

"You were… something undreamt of in his philosophy," Morton said, grinning at his literary reference. Jamison groaned, and shook his head. Morton grew serious again. "You were, are, everything that Lee ever wanted in a father. Everything he wants to be. And while his heart tells him that you… feel the same about him, his brain keeps seeing Benjamin Crane and how HIS love was conditional on performance. I think… that sometimes, with out meaning to, you kind of re-enforce that for him."

THAT made Nelson sit up in his chair. "What?" The anger was back, with a new target.

Jamieson sat forward and waved a placating hand. "What Chip means, Harry, is that when you let down the barriers of superior/subordinate or boss/employee with Lee, it is often at a time when he has just risked everything to save the world, the country, your boat, or yourself. Think about it Harry, when did you last call Lee 'son' anywhere but in sickbay? Or anywhere that anyone but he or a select few people could hear you do it?"

Nelson stared at the two men, and felt the anger drain away, leaving him empty. That pain in his heart was back again. He reviewed his own actions. He and Lee operated on an unspoken agreement. That the regard they felt for each other wouldn't affect the way they performed their duties. Always professional in public, allowing the barrier to drop only when alone or with a select few people who would understand, that was the procedure.

But HAD Lee understood? Or had he thought that his agreement was a requirement, another expectation? He had seemed to understand that Nelson wasn't the demonstrative type. Even with Edith he had been restrained. But, Edith had been secure in his love, always knowing how he felt. She had the benefit of a loving family growing up, and a loving, if physically distant, brother in later years to fall back on. Lee had no such foundation. Had Lee seen his attempts at comfort, his instinctive use of the word 'son' as he tried to convince himself that Lee was going to survive another dangerous mission, as only bones thrown to a favorite hunting dog after a successful hunt? He had to think about this. But there were more important things to be done.

Nelson raised thoughtful eyes to the two men across the desk. He sighed and stood up. They also stood. "It seems I have something else to talk to Lee about, what do you say we go pick him up?"

He led the way out of the office. He had a lot to think about on their way to England.

Morton brought the FS1 in for a touchdown on the bay at Portsmouth, England five hours later. Enquiries with to the royal Navy had confirmed that the Bratsk had docked there at 2000 local time. It was now just after 2100 and, as Morton maneuvered the small sub into a dock, Nelson pointed to the long dark shape berthed two slips over. The Bratsk.

Nelson, Morton, and Jamieson - who had practically demanded to be brought along - disembarked the flying sub. They noticed that a group of men stood on the deck of the old Russian sub, watching them as they climbed up the ladder and moved up the dock. In the lights of the docking facility, Morton recognized several of the men from the Triggerfish crew, and thought he recognized a few other men as having been on some of Lee's past boats. He also saw that an American flag flew from the mast.

He looked for a familiar slim figure, but really wasn't surprised when he didn't see him. The message had been clear. The base hospital was the place to look for Crane. Morton noticed that Nelson was also looking at the crew and the boat. It was with some surprise that he saw the admiral pull himself to attention and bring his hand up in a salute. Morton, long conditioned to act, adopted a similar stance, as did Jamieson.

All the men on the deck of the Bratsk stiffened in response and, as a group, returned the salute. Nelson turned with a nod and headed down the dock toward the main base. Chip looked back at the Bratsk as they moved away and saw the men smiling at each other and slapping each other's backs. They had gotten the respect they deserved, from an admiral no less! It was clear to Chip that had put the finishing touch on the game for the old salts.

The three officers bummed a ride from a passing sailor, who was amazed to find himself with three American officers, one of them an admiral, in his jeep. He took them to the base hospital, and gave them directions on how to find admitting.

The nurse at the desk, unfazed by the appearance of an admiral at her station, typed the name into her computer and directed them to the fourth floor. So it seemed that Lee had been admitted.

They traveled up to the fourth floor, and started looking for the room. It wasn't hard to find, as there was a small knot of men standing in the hallway outside the door. One of the men noticed the three approaching officers, and said something to the others. All three men stiffened to attention. Nelson recognized one of the men as Master Chief, ret. Hal O'Bannon. The other two men looked vaguely familiar, but not so much that he could put a name to the faces. With a glance at the others, O'Bannon stepped forward. Nelson noted that the three men, either intentionally or unintentionally, were blocking the door to the room.

"Admiral Nelson, good to see you again, sir. I hope you remember me," O'Bannon said holding out his hand.

"Of course, Master Chief. It's nice to see you again."

"Given the circumstances, you'll forgive me if I say I doubt that, sir. May I introduce to you, Lt Commander ret. Jack Elson, our XO, and Lt Commander, also ret., Edward Dugan, our second officer, gentlemen, Admiral Harriman Nelson, Lt Commander Morton and I believe it's Lt. Commander Jamieson, all of the Seaview." Greetings were exchanged, and an awkward silence ensued.

Finally Nelson spoke, "How is Commander Crane? Your message said he had an infection and fever. How did that happen?"

O'Bannon, evidently the spokesman for the group, answered. 'There's a doctor in with him now. They cleaned out the wound and stitched it up, and are pumping him full of antibiotics. They say he'll only have to stay overnight if the fever comes down. The doc threw us out so he could do an exam." Nelson, Morton, and Jamieson all sighed in relief at that news.

O'Bannon was continuing, "He gashed his arm open in the bilges. Wrapped it up in a dirty old rag and just kept working. By the time Cookie tried to clean it out, it was probably too late. That slimy Russian only got us penicillin for the medical kit, and the skipper said he couldn't take it. Of course we didn't know it was infected and causing a fever until three days ago."

Jamieson snorted and muttered, "Typical." He looked at Nelson. "I'll go in now and talk to the doctor." Nelson nodded. Jamieson stepped forward to open the door, and Nelson noted with some interest that the three men seemed to consult silently before they moved to let the doctor through. He also noted that they moved back into place blocking the door after Jamie had gone through. So it was definitely intentional.

"Master Chief…" Nelson began only to be interrupted.

"I… We would like to speak to you for a moment, Admiral, you and Mr. Morton, before you see the skipper," O'Bannon said firmly. There was a definite unspoken something there. Nelson glanced at the door, and then at Morton. There was a quizzical gleam in Chip's eyes that said he too had heard the subtext. It was obvious that they would not be getting in to see Lee until the doctors came out anyway, so Nelson nodded. O'Bannon motioned toward a room at the end of the corridor that was obviously a waiting room. It was empty, and Dugan closed the door after everyone was inside.

They sat, the three Bratsk crewmen on one side of the room, and the two Seaview officers on the other. Nelson found himself amused at the continuing 'us versus them' attitude. Evidently, even if you were only a Crane crew for a month, you were still CREW, with all that meant to good men. He respected that.

"What is this about, gentlemen?" Nelson asked, determined to get to the bottom of this so that he could see Lee for himself.

O'Bannon once again exchanged glances with the two retired officers, and then spoke. "We want to know what your intentions are in regards to the skipper." Nelson blinked in astonishment; this was not a question he had been prepared to hear.

"What?" he finally said.

O'Bannon cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "It may not seem to be our business, but it is if you're going to hurt him, blame him. He doesn't need that, or deserve it."

"You're right, " Morton started, "It's not your business. What's between Lee and us is just that, between Lee and us."

"Chip." Nelson said, placing a hand on Morton's knee. The younger man had slid forward on his seat and looked ready to get up. Morton threw him a quick look, temper in his eyes, but he sat back, arms crossed across his chest.

Nelson cleared his throat and looked at the three men, considering what the master chief had said. His own temper was simmering below the surface. Why did these men think they had the right to question his relationship with Lee? Then he thought about how he had last parted from his friend, angry words and hurt feelings. He knew O'Bannon was one of Lee's close friends, and Crane might have confided his feelings regarding that leave taking. And then the ploy that let the Bratsk escape… Nelson felt a shudder go through him again as he thought of the agony he had felt when he thought Lee was dead.

Lee was not stupid. He knew how Nelson and Morton felt about him. He knew what his ploy would cost, but he surely would know that while they might be angry that he played them, they wouldn't hold a grudge. Wouldn't he? It kept coming back to that, what did Lee think?

All this went through Nelson's mind in an instant. He looked into the concerned eyes across from him, and slowly spoke. "I… can't speak for Mr. Morton, but I can say that while I was… angry at first after we realized what you all had done, the overriding emotion was one of relief, and happiness, that Lee, and you all as well, were not going to die. While I won't say that I'll be forgetting it soon, I would never hold it against him." He could see Morton nodding slightly out of the corner of his eye.

O'Bannon and the others considered for a moment, and had another silent consultation. Evidently the spokesman torch passed to Elson, as he sat forward on the couch and O'Bannon slid back. "He wasn't too happy about that, our little play, I mean. I really think he did it for us, the crew, so we could win. I think he would have given up once you had us surrounded. The game was pretty much over, and we only had one virtual SUBSAM left. It wasn't his pride that got involved, it was ours." Elson looked at the others, then continued, "I don't know what the hell life did to him that made Crane what he is. But I know he's a damn good skipper, the best I ever sailed with, and he gave us a hell of a ride. You don't know us, and we don't know what goes on with you and the skipper, but I do know it hurt him to do what he did. So we're asking you to cut him some slack, please."

He paused for a moment, and then grinned. "I'd also hope you wouldn't mention this little talk we're having. I don't think he'd be too happy with us, butting in and all."

Nelson sat back in the chair, and nodded. "I can guarantee you complete silence there. I'm no more anxious than you to face the wrath of Crane."

Morton nodded. "My lips are sealed. Like the admiral, I'm not too happy about how we were played, but I understand why he did it, and I can't say my own transgressions have been for as good a reason. I'm willing to call it even. Though I won't promise that there won't be some reprisal in the future." He grinned evilly, garnering grins from everyone in the room.

"Far be it for us to stand in the way of fair retribution, sir. We just didn't want it to be a problem if you know what I mean?" O'Bannon said.

"No problems here, Master Chief," Morton replied. "He's my friend, nothing is going to change that if I can help it." There was no mistaking the sincerity in Morton's blue eyes.

The door opened and Jamieson entered, after checking to be sure that Nelson and Morton were there. He took a seat and sighed. Nelson had a quick flash of worry that perhaps Crane's injuries had been worse than reported. But then he saw that Jamie had a smile on his face.

"Captain Crane is doing, as one might guess, fine. HE sees no reason to stay here over night. Doctor Egan and I disagree in that his fever is still slightly over 100, and he needs to have another few rounds of antibiotics. The wound is clean and sewed up. A good job, if I say so myself. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he is exhausted and was asleep before I got out of the room."

"Can we see him?" Nelson asked. Jamieson smiled again, and nodded.

"Just for a few minutes, and don't wake him up. This may be the only peace the staff gets tonight. Besides that, maybe one of you can get Svetlana out of there."

Morton, who had been getting to his feet, paused. "Svetlana? Who is Svetlana? How can he find a woman in the middle of the ocean…." He realized the question he was asking as he saw Nelson's smile. "Never mind." He looked enquiringly at the three men from the Bratsk.

"We talked with him earlier. You guys go ahead. When you're done, if you want to come back to the Bratsk, we can put you up. It's not the Ritz, and it isn't anywhere near as nice as the Seaview, but we have extra racks. None of the crew have left yet and we have good food, bad lying and cut throat poker going pretty much around the clock," Elson offered.

Nelson smiled and nodded. 'Sounds perfect, we'll take you up on that. I don't imagine your cook is…"

O'Bannon broke in, "Yes, yes he is. And still making all those weird sauces to go on the food, but if you scrape it to the side, things are kinda edible."

"Definitely then. We won't be long; Jamie will see to that."

The two men went down the hall followed by Jamieson. They entered the room as a nurse came out, shaking her head and sucking on the back of her hand. She glared at their uniforms, and muttered something about "crazy Yanks".

Nelson and Morton exchanged puzzled glances. Jamie just smiled mysteriously and rubbed a Band-Aid on his left hand. They continued into the softly lit room.

Lee Crane was lying on his right side, asleep. He had an IV in his left arm; in the curve of his body lay curled a black cat, glaring at them with green eyes. As they approached she watched them warily, giving the impression she was ready to leap into action should they make any sudden moves.

"I'm assuming that this is Svetlana of earlier mention?" Nelson said, smiling at the picture of his no nonsense submarine captain sleeping with a watch cat.

Jaime held up his hand with the bandage. "Watch out; she looks like a small house cat, but she has claws like a leopard, and she's not afraid to use them. According to the ward doctor, several people have fallen before her fury. After taking her out several times only to find her back here minutes later, they thought it best to leave her."

Nelson could see that Crane's face was flushed with the fever, and some tendrils of his hair were dampened with sweat and sticking to his forehead. Nelson reached out a hand and gently smoothed them back, under the watchful eye of the cat that seemed inclined to tolerate the action. Nelson closed his eyes as, once again, the agony he had felt swept over him. Damn Lee for that ploy, but thank God it hadn't been real. It was so good to see him now, alive and safe. The whole exercise had produced more than military information. It had conclusively shown Nelson that when he had chosen Lee to carry on his dreams - the Institute, the Seaview - it hadn't just been a practical, logical, business decision. It had been much simpler than that. It had been an emotional, gut level choice. It had been a father leaving his legacy to his son. He laid a hand on Lee's shoulder and squeezed gently. Then he stepped back and let Morton step to the bedside.

Keeping a wary eye on the cat, Chip also laid a hand on Lee's shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of Lee's chest as he breathed. He was happy to see his friend, frustrated that he couldn't speak to him, and amused about the crew and the cat. There was going to be a lot to discuss when Lee woke up, and teasing was definitely called for. He liked to get his too-often solemn friend laughing, and he was looking forward to it. Then they would discuss that trip back from Chicago, and words said in not so much anger as frustration.

He stepped back from the bed, and the three men moved toward the door in unspoken agreement. As Morton reached for the door, they heard a purring sound fill the quiet room. They looked back to find that the cat had closed her eyes and was now purring loudly in satisfaction, obviously happier now that the strange men had moved away. They shared another smile, and went out into the hall.

"Leave it to Lee. Submarines, women, mermaids, and now cats, where does it stop?" Morton asked. O'Bannon, who had been leaning against the wall in the hallway, smiled.

"Ah, you've met Svetlana, have you? I don't see any blood, so you must have kept clear."

Jaime waved his hand again, and the three men laughed knowingly. "She don't like anybody but the skipper; even Cookie couldn't get her to make nice. And speaking of Cookie…" O'Bannon waved toward the elevator.

Nelson took one last look at the door to Crane's room, and then nodded. The six men went down the hallway, discussing food, poker, and mutual friends.

Chapter 21-

Crane looked up guiltily as the door to his room opened. Svetlana was standing on the rolling table helping herself to what had been Crane's breakfast. She was currently working her way through the scrambled eggs with an occasional lap at the small glass of milk. Crane, flush gone from his face, was crunching a piece of toast, and sipping at some coffee.

Jamieson, the first one into the room, stopped and crossed his arms. "That's just great. I'm glad that the CAT won't be losing any weight."

Crane gave him a small apologetic smile, and removed the cat from the table. She meowed in protest and glared at the men who had come in to interrupt her breakfast. Crane cuddled her against his chest, and she settled down, purring once more.

Nelson and Morton, following Jaime into the room, had spotted the cat on the table, and were grinning at the little boy guilty look that was on Crane's face.

"See you found you a lady friend to wine and dine, Lee. Even stayed over for breakfast," Morton kidded.

Crane smiled at him, and stroked a hand down Svetlana's slim form. "Well, she's faithful, and she's submarine trained. What more could a guy ask?" His golden eyes searched the faces of his friends, looking for what he wasn't sure. He didn't know what he expected to see. Anger, distrust, hate? There was nothing of the kind. The faces that looked back at him were the same he had seen before after being injured. Anxious, caring, concerned. Could it be that they didn't resent his ploy, weren't going to turn their backs on him?

"Am I to assume we have a new crew member?" Nelson quipped, taking the chair next to the bed.

"Where you gonna put her on the roster?" Morton said, perching on the end of the bed. Jamieson went to the footboard, took out the chart there, and started reading the entries for the night. He noted that the IV had been removed.

Crane grinned and said, "I was thinking of adding her to Sharkey's pest control detail."

"Yes, I can see that going over well," Nelson said, enjoying the banter. More serious things could be discussed later, perhaps over a glass of something old and mellow, and with less people.

"I'll have to stock up on Band-Aids," Jamieson complained jokingly, putting the chart back in the holder.

"She's just defensive; if you approach her right, she's very nice." Lee stroked her fur as he spoke, and the purring stepped up a notch.

"Yeah, maybe with a set of welder's gloves and a whip," Morton cracked. Crane frowned at him in mock anger, and then looked at Jamieson.

"When can I get out of here, Jamie? My fever is down, and I finished that bag of antibiotics. I need to get the Bratsk taken care of and the crew back to the States. Then I can get back to the Seaview."

"That's already been taken care of, Lee. Since you paid all that money for her, the Bratsk is going to Groton as a trainer. Your crew has agreed to take her back across, with Mr. Elson commanding. They seemed to think it was preferable to flying back. I've seen to the reprovisioning. They are all ready to go, but they would like to see you first. We thought you would come back with us in the FS1. The Seaview is sailing for home, but I understand that you need to be in Washington, DC for a debriefing." Nelson turned his eyes to Jamieson, who threw up his hands in surrender.

"Great, now he's got an entire crew and the CNO asking when he's going to get out,." the doctor huffed. Then he smiled. "Luckily, dramatic escapes will not be required. As you said, your temperature is down, and you've done the full course of antibiotics. It would have been nice if you had actually eaten something, but I guess toast and coffee is all I could reasonably expect."

Crane greeted the news with a smile, and instantly started to get out of bed. "Somebody find my clothes before he changes his mind."

Morton located Crane's jeans and shirt in the small closet, and Crane disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the cat perched on his pillows, eying the three remaining men with distrust.

"I can see that we're going to have to have a discussion about the chain of command, young lady," Nelson said to her, amused when she looked away in disdain.

"I don't think she's too impressed with your rank, sir."

"Indeed. Another person on board I can't intimidate. This is an ugly trend," Nelson quipped. He sat back in the chair, happy to have his command crew back together again. Soon they would be back on the Seaview, and everything would once again be right with his world.

Chapter 22-

Crane stood on the dock, watching the Bratsk maneuver out of the slip toward the channel that would take them out to sea. He was sorry to see her go, happy that she was going to have another life as a training vessel, and frustrated that there was going to be a delay in getting back to the Seaview.

He knew there had to be a debriefing; that was the Navy. He wasn't looking forward to it, having gathered from Nelson and Morton that the powers that be were not all that happy about the fact that the Bratsk had done so well. Since he had only done what they had asked him to do, he wasn't exactly sure what their problem was, After all, they had chosen him based on the work he had done on illegal – and legal - arms trading, hadn't they? He thought they had; it was the only reason that made sense of their choice of a very junior command officer for the exercise. Surely they had known he could get the boat and weapons load out? Or maybe they had not actually read his report and didn't really appreciate how… easy it would be to actually acquire what he needed? He wondered a trifle cynically whether they had troubled themselves to read the classified report on the exercise he'd written onboard the Bratsk. It hadn't been easy; he could ignore the fever but evading the watchful eyes of his crew and the mother-henning Cookie and his soups to snatch time to write it had been more difficult. A special courier had picked it up from the hospital and flown it across the Atlantic yesterday; maybe it would shorten the face-to-face debrief. If they read it. From what Chip had gleefully reported, it sounded as if the CNO and staff were waiting to ask him in person what "the hell he thought he was doing". Maybe they hadn't expected him to take out Annapolis but at least he hadn't hit D.C.; that should count for something. He sighed; it wasn't as if he was a stranger to being in trouble with the Brass; he would face it when he got there. No, the butterflies in his midsection were from an entirely different reason – the admiral hadn't weighed in on his little ploy yet.

He rubbed his stomach to calm the butterflies. It was very full of Cookie's pot roast. It had a much fancier name but in the end, to Crane at least, it had tasted like a very good pot roast. Morton had put away twice as much as any man, and everyone else had enjoyed a generous portion as well. He had shaken hands with everyone on board and made sure that they knew that their travel expenses would be taken care of back to their homes. Everyone had been in high spirits. He wished he could say the same.

Crane leaned back against the wooden dock support and watched as the submarine passed out of sight. Nelson, Morton and Jamieson were already on the FS1 waiting for him to join them. Svetlana sat curled at his feet, casting a curious glance up at him as her boat left port not only without the captain but without her as well. He smiled down at her.

"Don't worry; you'll like the Seaview as much as you did the Bratsk." The cat meowed in answer and, rising, sauntered toward the FS1. It seemed she was ready to go. There had been the suggestion of a pet carrier, made by the dour nurse at the hospital, but both the cat and Crane had stared at her as if she had gone nuts. Jamieson had rolled his eyes and muttered about extra band-aids. Instead, her box, toys, and canned food were packed into luggage storage. Now she delicately descended the ladder, adept from long practice.

Crane followed her down and, after closing the hatch he took a seat next to Jamieson in the second row of seats. He would have preferred to fly, but Jamieson's look was enough to make him strap in without a word. Svetlana waited until he was done and then jumped into his lap, making herself comfortable. It might not be safe, and it certainly wasn't regulation, but that was how she seemed to prefer to travel. It remained to be seen how she liked air travel. Lee surprised himself, but not Jamieson, by falling asleep soon after they were in the air, the cat purring contentedly in his lap.

Three hours later Lee awoke as they were landing in the Anacostia River and maneuvering into a docking area. A car, a long black limousine, was waiting. Morton and Jamieson would wait with the FS1 while Nelson and Crane went to the Pentagon. Chip had sniggered that the admiral clearly wanted to "make a quick getaway." Crane had been surprised that Nelson was going along; Chip had made it clear that the admiral's presence had not been requested at the meeting, but the Admiral had made it clear that he was going. Crane had a suspicion that Evers and Nelson might not be on the best of terms, and that the debriefing might be a bit more exciting than he had thought.

Crane deposited Svetlana, who had taken to flying as easily as submarine travel, on the bunk. She took up residence on top of Crane's overcoat which he didn't need since it was sunny and warm in Washington.

The two officers entered the limo and it started toward the Pentagon, a 20 to 30 minute trip in the morning rush hour traffic. Crane watched the scenery go by for a moment then turned to find Nelson looking at him. There was something in the admiral's eyes that made Crane nervous. He checked his uniform, but everything looked right; he looked back up and quirked an eyebrow.

"What? Sir?"

"Do you think that I would fire you because you beat me - us - in a war game?"

"What? I don't know…"

"Do you?"

"No, sir, I know you wouldn't do that, you don't have that kind of ego, but…."

"But, you thought I would be upset at your method of beating us?"

Crane looked away from the piercing eyes. "I knew you would be… concerned, but I knew it would make the story believable."

"Concerned?" Nelson said with deadly quietness, "Yes, you could say I was concerned. I thought my… best friend was going to die a horrible death that I could in no way prevent. I couldn't even be there to comfort him, or even apologize for the harsh words we had exchanged when we last talked."

"You had nothing to apologize for, Admiral. You simply didn't want your captain going off for a month on other jobs, that's your prerogative as my employer."

"Do you think that's the only way I view you, as an employee? Do you only view me as your employer?"

Crane blinked; he knew that Nelson considered him a friend, even - hard though it was to believe - a son. He'd heard Nelson's drugged ramblings after the Turkmenistan mission; spoken with him on the deck of the German research vessel, Meer. Those incidents had shown him that the admiral wanted him – Lee Crane - to carry the Nelson legacy into the future, at least for now. And God knew that he considered Nelson to be the father he had always wished for; but, his experiences had taught him to be wary of asking too much of those who offered him family. It always came with a price tag, even if that price tag was 'just' expectations, of what he contributed, of responsibilities to carry out, of needs to be met. Well, except the Mortons…. Chip had made it very clear to him that he and his family didn't expect anything of him but that he be himself. An involuntary smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of Chip's diatribe after he came out of the hyperbaric chamber. A soft 'harumph' from the man next to him recalled him to the admiral's question. A question he wasn't sure how to answer; on the deck of the Meer,he'd promised himself that he'd never impose his feelings on this man. He'd kept that promise. He decided to hedge.

"Well, I consider you my friend, and I hope you consider me to be your friend," he began tentatively. He saw something flash in Nelson's eyes, and knew it had been the wrong answer. Had he overstepped, presumed?

"Why do you think that I have you taking over some of my jobs at the Institute, learning the administrative side of things?"

"You're busy. You have things to do in the labs, or at seminars. It's the best utilization of your resources to put me to work when I'm not at sea. I have the necessary clearances for most things… you've said you might need me to take over if… if…."

Lee was grateful when Nelson waved him to silence; he didn't even want to contemplate finishing that sentence. Just the thought of there being no Harriman Nelson in his life… He wrenched his attention from that sickening thought as Nelson interrupted.

"Is that really why you think I wanted you to learn those things? Do you think that I only see you as a 'resource,' like another can of coffee or crate of parts? That I would put just anyone in the job, if they were available and had the clearance or could get it?" He seemed incredulous, and somehow angry. Crane felt he was really messing this up, but he didn't know what he was doing wrong.

"I… guess I never really thought about it beyond that," he finally said.

Nelson was struggling to control his temper. He was angry, but not at Crane; he was angry at the past that had so scarred his young friend that he, evidently, was unable to see that someone could value him as something more than a 'resource.' He was also angry with himself. Chip and Jamie were right. Every time he had tried to show Lee what he meant when he called him 'son' had merely reinforced Lee's belief that Nelson wanted an 'heir' not a 'son.' He had used just that word, 'heir,' on Meer,when he'd told Lee he would take over the Institute after Nelson's death Evidently his own natural reticence about sharing his feelings had contributed to Crane's impression that he was just a handy stand-in while Nelson took care of more important things.

"Lee," he began, "I know we've discussed what I have planned for the Institute, for Seaview, after I am gone." He lifted a hand as Crane started to speak. The protest he saw spring into Lee's eyes at the mere mention of his demise made him hopeful of the outcome of this latest attempt to get past his young friend's defenses. "No, it's going to happen eventually. When it happens you know you will take over the Institute and the Seaview. I'm not sure I made clear that, except for some bequests to assorted people and charities, you will be the sole beneficiary of my estate."

Crane gaped at him incredulously. The sole beneficiary? You didn't make a friend the sole beneficiary of your estate when your estate was worth millions; that was for family, siblings, children…

"But…" he started and then stopped, not sure what he was going to say. He didn't want Nelson's money, had never even considered that he might in any way benefit financially from his acquaintance with Nelson. In fact he almost never thought of Nelson as being incredibly wealthy. He was simply 'The Admiral'. To be told that he was to be the recipient of not only the most important things in Nelson's life, the Institute and Seaview, which he, Lee Crane, could safeguard, but also his personal estate was overwhelming. Nelson was trusting him with his future, his scientific legacy, and Lee accepted that. He knew he could carry out the admiral's wishes and he was warmed by the thought that the admiral counted on him, on Lee Crane, as something a little more than some useful employee, as someone who shared the dream. But this sounded as if Nelson wanted to give him something for himself, just because… his mind still skittered away from what that 'just because' meant. But it almost seemed as if the admiral valued LEE CRANE, not just as a captain, not just as a friend, not just as a caretaker for his legacy.

Nelson felt a small smile growing on his face as the dumbfounded look grew on Crane's. Obviously Lee had harbored no ambitions regarding Nelson's estate, and hadn't even considered Nelson's demise. The fact that the young captain had devoted his life, sometimes almost too literally, for the promise of only a paycheck, a pension and the headaches of running an Institute for the benefit of others was all the more illustrative of the man that he was. Nelson felt humbled that he had earned, somehow, the devotion of this man.

"I have never spoken of it, I know. I guess I just assumed you would know how I felt, how you have come to mean more to me than just a friend, or a captain, and much more than a 'resource'. Since Edith died, I have no close relatives that I need to make provisions for…"Nelson hesitated as he saw Lee's eyes grow wary. I keep screwing this up; keep telling him that I chose him because there is no other choice. Dammit, not this time. Chip told me… He continued on smoothly, hiding, he hoped, his inner turmoil, "And even if she had lived I would have done this. YOU are the man I want to take my work onward, after I am gone. I can think of no one better. No one else I would like to call, would be proud to call, my son, in heart if not by blood, but not for the sake of the work, Lee. For your sake." Now he saw tears fill the golden eyes that had been staring at him. Had he said too much? Was this more than Lee wanted, had he read it so very wrong?

Crane felt the tears well up in his eyes as he heard the words that meant more to him than anything he had ever heard. He had thought when he had graduated the academy first in his class that that moment would be the high point of his life. Then he had been given his first command, and then he had been given command of theSeaview. Surely one man could not be so blessed to have more, each peak higher than the rest. But there it was. The simple words, from the one man who he had never even imagined would say it blew him away. This was it. His heart felt like it would burst. He blinked away the tears and realized that Nelson was waiting for some kind of response, and the longer he waited, the more anxiety showed in his eyes.

"I…" Crane had to stop and clear his throat. "I can't tell you…" He stopped, not sure what to say to express the feelings he had. "I have always admired you, looked up to you, wanted to be someone you would be proud to know. I… it started at the Academy. I wanted to be the best, and that was you. Then I became a submarine commander, and you were building the Institute and the Seaview, and I knew I couldn't do that, couldn't be what you were becoming. But then I was there, part of it, part of something bigger than myself. I still wanted you to be proud, and I was so happy to be able to talk to you as an equal, to be your friend. I don't know when it became more… when I started to wish that I had met you when I was a boy, that you had found me and taken me in instead of…" Crane stopped again. He turned his head to look out the window.

"You know that I was adopted when I was seven, and before that…" He shook his head, refusing to think about the years before. "Anyway, Mom and Dad and I, we were never quite on the same wavelength. They, well, Mom, tried very hard to understand, but how could they know what I was feeling, and how could I understand what they were feeling? I saw that other kids didn't have their lives planned out for them but every time I wanted to do something for me… Finally, it came to the point that they provided what I needed financially, and I performed as they expected a son to perform. After I decided to try for the Academy, Mom just kind of went along for the ride and signed the papers. Dad went ballistic. It was… rough… before I finally left for the Academy. Mom helped me pack; I think it was a relief for her when I left." Once again he shook his head, as if he could rid himself of the memories. "When Dad died, well, we hadn't spoken since I left for the Academy. I had tried writing but… I wasn't invited to the funeral. I've seen Mom a couple times since, we get on okay, I guess, but… I think she blames me. If I had been there…" His words trailed off.

Nelson ached for the young boy Lee had been; a boy who had loved but had not been loved in return. No wonder Lee was afraid to believe that someone cared for him as deeply as he cared. It hadn't helped that he had couched every conversation in terms of the Institute's future; he had probably sounded exactly like Lee's so-called father. It seemed that not even their conversation up at the cabin had been enough to drive away the demons. Perhaps if Jamieson and Morton hadn't flown up that night just to "check on them". Lee had resumed speaking with the directness that was more familiar to Nelson than the halting confession of boyhood hurts.

"The whole point of all that was, I met you and I realized that somewhere along the line you had become what I had always thought a father would be to me. My inspiration, my sounding board, my support system, but I never thought that I would be able to tell you. It didn't seem necessary. It was enough that you were there, and willing to share something of yourself with me. It seemed presumptuous to want recognition…" he broke off, and turned to look at Nelson, surprised to find him smiling.

"So it seems we both have a problem with communications, and interpersonal relationships. I guess genetics is not the only common bond that makes family. I think that we can continue on from here just like we have in the past, but maybe now we can understand each other a little better, and maybe cut each other a little more slack when it comes to knee jerk reactions and words said in haste."

Crane knew that Nelson was referring to the last conversation they had shared before he had gone on assignment and he nodded. Nelson smiled again, and nodded as well.

"Lee, son, I don't want there to be any misunderstandings about this at least. I am not Benjamin Crane; you are not important because you can carry my legacy into the future. The Institute, Seaview are important to me, the culmination of a lifetime of work; but their meaning and value to me has changed these last few years. They have become important to me because they give me something I can leave to you – to my son. Understand?" Nelson smiled at the look of sheer shock on his young friend's face. Shock and, finally, dawning understanding. The older man wasn't naive enough to think that Lee would never again question his place in Nelson's life. There were too many times and people in Lee's past and even present who made it clear that what he could do was the measure of his worth. And Nelson knew he himself often sent conflicting signals, could get so wrapped around an idea that people ceased to exist. But judging by Lee's reaction, they had made a start.

Lee swallowed hard. He didn't know how to deal with this; it was too overwhelming. Didn't know what the admiral would want him to say, didn't…. He became aware that Nelson's hand was warm on his wrist. The admiral seemed to understand what he couldn't say because he let Lee off the hook.

"Just nod your head, son."

Lee nodded and his admiral, his… father… squeezed his wrist before sitting back.

Crane could see him mentally shifting gears, and knew that their talk was over for now; but the feelings that had been discussed would live in his heart for a long time to come. He could tell that Nelson was satisfied with their talk, at least as much as his perfectionist admiral was ever satisfied.

"Now about this debrief…"

Chapter 23-

Crane was unpacking his bag in his cabin on Seaview when he heard a knock on his cabin door. He knew it was Chip by the cadence of the knock.

"In," he yelled, on his way into the head to deposit his shaving kit.

They had returned to the Seaview almost an hour before. Crane had felt it necessary to tour the boat quickly, seeing for himself that all was well with vessel and crew. He had been greeted with smiles and congratulations from the crew, and he had felt himself settling back into the familiar routines. It was good to see friendly faces. There surely hadn't been many at the debrief.

He had turned in his report to a scowling Evers, and had sat through almost two hours of intense questioning regarding his procedures and the results. He had the distinct impression that, in escaping, he had somehow managed to screw up someone's plan. Nelson had listened to everything with ill concealed amusement, and when the questions had begun to become tedious and repetitious, he had intervened.

"I believe that everything has been covered. Any other questions should be answered by Commander Crane's report." He had cast a glance at Evers that Crane could only call cold. He had thought that the two admirals, while not exactly friends, were at least amicable acquaintances. As an added puzzle, Jiggs Stark, sitting halfway down the table, was grinning. That was really strange; Stark had never struck Crane as much of a grinning sort, and he was patently amused at whatever was going on. In any event, they had taken their leave of the inquisition.

As they were walking down the stairs back to the car, Crane touched Nelson's arm. "What was all that about? What's with you and Evers?"

There was a twinkle in Nelson's eyes, but he shook his head. "I don't know what you mean." His bland smile said that he wasn't going to reveal whatever was going on. Crane stared at him for a moment, but there was no change in Nelson's demeanor. He sighed. Maybe he could get it out of Chip.

They had met the Seaview as it left the locks at the Panama Canal, and now, after his tour, Crane was getting a chance to finish his unpacking. He could have left it to his orderly, but he really didn't feel that he needed to add to the man's regular duties, especially since he had added Svetlana to the duty bill already. The cat, evidently wise in the way of captain's orderlies, had deigned to tolerate the man's presence as her servant.

Crane came out of the head to find Chip and Svetlana eyeing each other warily across the cabin. The cat was perched on the edge of the ventilation duct; Crane having removed the grill for her earlier. She had been doing a tour of her own, and had evidently dropped by to check in. Finding an invader in her new domain did not seem to be pleasing her.

Chip, seated in Crane's desk chair, was frowning at the cat. He switched his frown to Crane as he appeared in the doorway. "Couldn't you at least have found a nice cat?"

"Svetlana is nice; she just has high standards."

Chip snorted, and watched as Svetlana disappeared back into the ventilation shaft. "Great, now there are two of you creeping around in there."

"You'll never know when you are being watched," Crane acknowledged, and went back to unpacking his bag. He knew Chip was here for a reason, but he would wait for the man to get to it in his own time.

"We got a message from the Bratsk. Everything is fine. O'Bannon wants you to come by his marina in about a week, he figures they should be back by then."

"I'll do that. I'm glad it's going good for them."

"Lee…"Chip began and then stopped. Crane turned to look at him, and golden eyes met blue. Chip searched the golden depths looking for any resentment or anger. There was nothing like that, only the usual humor and friendship he had come to count on over the years. He let out a large sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I growled at you; it wasn't you, it was me. I was in a bad mood, and had managed not to take it out on my folks, so you were the next available target. That doesn't excuse it, but that's why."

"I understand. I was a little on edge myself, or I wouldn't have snapped. I also wouldn't have acted like a brat and left without saying goodbye. That was a little over the top. I apologize too." He crossed the room and held out his hand. Chip rose from the chair and took it, shaking hands firmly. It was good to know that there was no resentment between them. Chip valued Crane's friendship. He felt Lee was the little brother that he hadn't had. Besides which, his family would disown him if Crane shouldn't make an appearance on a regular basis. He was an honorary Morton, and everyone in the family loved him.

Chip grinned. "You know, Cookie hasn't cranked out a good meal since you left, I went past the galley a little bit ago and something was smelling good. What say we beat the rush?"

"Do you think of anything besides your stomach?" Crane bantered, returning the grin. He was also happy that the awkwardness between him and Chip was over. He had regretted his actions almost immediately, but in the interest of the exercise had continued anyway. Now they could be comfortable with each other again.

He nodded toward the door. "Well, we don't want you dropping from hunger; let's go see what Cookie made." Nodding, Morton started toward the door with Crane on his heels. Just before he opened the door Morton stopped and turned to face his friend. They stood there, eye to eye for a moment, then Chip stepped forward and drew Crane into a bear hug, slapping his back.

"Good to have you back where you belong, Lee," he said in a low voice in Crane's ear. Lee, surprised by the action, wrapped his own arms around Morton's sturdy back, and returned the slaps.

"Good to be back," he replied, meaning it with all his heart.

They stepped back from each other, slipping back into the other side of their relationship, that of captain and XO, coworkers. Morton turned and opened the door, leading Crane out into the passage and toward the wardroom.

As he and Morton disappeared down the corridor a faint protest could be heard. "No, he doesn't like you better than me; he just wasn't inspired to cook recently…"

Chapter 24-

Lee Crane was sitting on the deck of his beach house, talking on the cordless phone. He finished off the conversation, and dropped the phone on the table next to his chaise in frustration. He had been speaking to O'Bannon. The master chief was back at his marina, and had found that his employee base had increased by one. Alberto Lee Aguayo had been born three days previously. The Seaview, which had diverted for two days to the Galapagos Islands to pick up one of Nelson's friends and fellow scientists, had arrived in Santa Barbara the day before.

Alberto was now ensconced in a cradle, made by Mick the night man, in the small cabin on Hal's property and, evidently, was ruling the entire marina. Hal, with all the enthusiasm of an actual grandfather, was planning a bar-b-que for the weekend, two days away, senior staff was invited. Several men from the Bratsk would also be there, their homes being nearby. What had Crane frustrated was that O'Bannon had practically demanded that everyone should bring a date, and then had hinted that Crane needed to get a girl, get married and start having children of his own.

Where was he going to find a date this late? He had been gone for a month, and he was sure that those ladies that he counted among his friends - Chip called them his harem - would have other plans already. While he had no problem going stag, he was determined to pay O'Bannon back for the uncomfortable situation. He was interrupted in his plotting by the sound of a voice calling his name.

He looked up to find Mrs. Wright, his next-door neighbor, coming up the steps to the deck with a plate of cookies. Suddenly, it was if a light flashed on above his head, and he dazzled the older woman with a brilliant smile.

"Mrs. Wright, " he began, "how nice to see you. I was just thinking of you. Would you be free to attend a party on Saturday? I have someone I would like you to meet…"

Two days later Crane was sitting on the deck of the Triggerfish, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, his bare feet banging against the side of the old submarine. He was watching the crowd of people that were milling around the marina grounds. He grinned as he caught sight of O'Bannon and Mrs. Wright; the two senior citizens had become attached at the hip, it seemed. O'Bannon had taken to the woman immediately, and Crane swore the older woman had taken on a sparkle that was blinding. O'Bannon was proudly holding the baby- Hal called him Al -and dishing up macaroni salad to anyone who wandered by with a plate. Crane had retreated to the boat with a beer in sheer self-defense so that he didn't have to eat any more. The proud mother and father, seated nearby, looking tired but incredibly happy, were beaming at the older couple and their baby.

O'Bannon had informed Crane earlier that Eleazar, Ysalane, and Alberto Aguayo would be staying on at the marina, and Eleazar would be in charge of the new boat repair part of the business. O'Bannon planned to make the man a partner, but had not yet told him so. It would give O'Bannon a chance to travel, and get together with some of the friends he had made or met again during his two submarine adventures. Crane suspected that Hal might not be traveling alone, and that he, Crane, would need to find someone else to water his plants when he was at sea. He was glad for the older couple, and for Eleazar and Ysalane. It seemed everyone had gotten what he or she needed from this little exercise.

O'Bannon and Mrs. Wright had found a soul mate. Eleazar and Ysalane had found a place to raise their son and to build something here in this new country. Svetlana had found a new crew to terrorize, and the Bratsk had found a new home and new life as a training vessel. Even the Navy seemed to finally be happy with the exercise results. New procedures, equipment and platforms were being planned and it looked as if the funding would be there to support them. And Lee Crane, what had he gained from this experience? He finished off the beer he held, and contemplated how he was going to get another without ending up with another hamburger or hot dog. His strategy session was interrupted when a cold bottle, dripping with condensation, appeared to his right. He looked up to find Nelson smiling down at him.

As Crane took the bottle, Nelson, casually dressed in old slacks and a short sleeve shirt, settled beside him. They sat contemplating the crowd in silence and sipping at their beers. Nelson leaned a little to the right, and his shoulder pressed against Crane's. He didn't move away. A profound sense of peace and warmth settled in Crane's heart. Maybe Lee Crane had gotten the best thing of all.

The End