Graduation

by kashkow

Lee and Chip are ready to graduate from the Academy. Of course being Lee Crane means that it does not happen easily. Another of my old stories posted here for you.

Graduation

By: Ellen H

Author's Note: I am not in any way knowledgeable about the US Naval Academy, or the procedures that take place there. Any mistakes contained herein are solely due to my lack of interest in conforming to reality. Always has been a problem with me. Thanks as usual to my Beta. The woman is amazing!

"That is not a regulation knot midshipman," said the blond young man perched on the desk with his feet on the chair. He was eating cookies from a tin that sat beside him on the desk.

"Yes, yes, it is a regulation knot, as you would know if you would stop eating MY cookies long enough to take a closer look. I don't tie it like you do, but the results come out the same," replied the young man who stood before the mirror, straightening his now knotted tie and his crisp white jacket. His fouled anchor insignia shone bright gold against the jacket, as did the buttons. He smiled at himself with a slightly narcissistic air. "Looking good!" he thought. The extra money his family had spent to have his dress uniform tailored had really paid off. He was going to look good when he went accept his diploma. He turned from the mirror, and his self- satisfied smile died a little as he looked at the third, and youngest, member of the group that was gathered in the small quarters allowed midshipmen at the Naval academy.

The young man, just barely turned twenty, had an even younger looking face. If it hadn't been for the knowledge and maturity shining from the striking golden eyes, you could easily have mistaken him for three years younger. As it was he was paying no attention to his fellow classmates' bickering. He was seated on one of the two beds, his posture as upright as if on parade, reading over handwritten notes on 3x5 cards. He too was dressed in his summer white uniform. His companion knew for a fact that his uniform was not tailored, yet it fit just as well, and looked better. The whites seemed to show to advantage every inch of the long lean frame. Jeez, the kid was smart as a whip and looked good too. There just wasn't any justice in the world.

The blond midshipman finished the last cookie and stepped down from the desk, carefully wiping any crumbs off his uniform. He marched to the mirror and looked himself over. He flashed a grin at himself and then at the other two. He frowned at the young man on the bed as he realized he was ignoring the sartorial splendor of his elders. He went to stand in front of him.

"You have until tomorrow to memorize that. I thought you'd gone over it enough already," he said chidingly.

Golden hazel eyes lifted from the cards and looked up at him. "I already have it memorized, but it's slightly more interesting then watching Jerry primp and you eat so I thought I would practice the timing."

"It's not like you are going to be graded on it. You're graduating. They can't take it back now," the blond pointed out.

"They may not take it back, but there will be a lot of command officers there and I would like to appear as something other than an idiot to the people I might be serving under in the next few years. Don't think they won't remember. Some of us are not just getting by on our…good looks," the younger man said solemnly, ignoring the mock outraged looks from his companions. He rose to his feet, silently satisfied when he noticed that he was just a smidge taller than the blond who stood back to allow him room. At least he wasn't the shortest AND the youngest anymore. Thank God for late growth spurts.

There was a snort from the third young man, Jerry, and he added his opinion to the conversation. "I thought your ambition was to go to sub school and get on board the Nautilus with Nelson. He already knows what you're made of, and it's not like he's going to be here. Anyway, I think being Brigade Commander and standing First is enough of a kudo to get you noticed in the best light possible." The younger man had been the best student in the class since the first year. Jerry shook his head. It was bad enough that the kid was smart but he was also the best at PT and had won several trophies on the track and field team. In the last two years of the Academy, he had been persuaded by his friends and a very interested coach to try out for the football team as a wide receiver. It had come to no one's surprise when it turned out he was very good at it.

Chip Morton cast a mischievous look at the younger man and turned to Jerry. "Didn't you hear? Mr. Crane has a new objective. The Nautilus is just a steppingstone. He now intends to be the youngest sub commander in the fleet. Thinks he's James T. Kirk." The midshipmen didn't have much time for TV as a rule, but a few shows were followed as religiously as training and studies allowed. Star Trek reruns were always a crowd pleaser in the common room.

Crane rolled his eyes. "That shows what you know, Chip," he replied with an answering grin. "I have to get the experience somewhere before they'll give me a boat and I want to learn from the best, so I still intend to try for the Nautilus. Captain Nelson has forgotten more about submarines than I'll ever know. And somehow, Jerry, I really don't think he'll remember me out of the thousands of midshipmen he has taught over the years. "

Jerry shrugged and then faked a dramatic shudder. "I don't know how you two can even think of going for subs. You wouldn't get me in one of those sardine cans if they made me an admiral." Hell, the quarters on an aircraft carrier were too small for him, but at least when the bulkheads started closing in you could go up on deck and get some fresh air. Sometimes he wondered why he had decided he wanted to be a Naval officer. Then the 'why' came back to him as two of the reasons he had decided to stick with it stood before him. He wanted to work with men of the caliber of his classmates in a "job" where leadership, honor and integrity meant something.

Crane smiled at him. "Better than some floating city where you need a bike to get from one end to another," he said, knowing that Jerry was headed for carrier duty. He went to the mirror and straightened his already straight jacket. He would pass muster at the scheduled luncheon for the VIPs that had come in for the graduation tomorrow. He was aware that his friends were very excited, expecting family and friends to be there to see them graduate from the academy. He was expecting no one. His friends were all here at the academy already, and his family….well, they would not be coming. He was proud that he was first in his class, but somehow, with no one to share it with, the honor seemed less enjoyable. Not that he would have expected less from himself. He wanted to be the best, and that meant he gave his best to get there. He spun and looked over his companions. The three of them were a study in differences.

Chip Morton, at twenty-two, was the all-American boy. Blond haired and blue eyed, he had a tan that set off both to full advantage. He was trim, but his shoulders and arms were large with muscle. He had been the Navy's first-string quarterback for the last two years. He thought quickly on his feet, and had no trouble leading the team to two successful seasons in a row. Jerry Guthrie, on the other hand, was a stout redhead with freckles. He was the acknowledged mathematical genius of the class. He had challenged every math class required in his first two years, passing them all with flying colors, and had been one of the few students in the history of the Academy who passed theoretical mathematics with the highest possible grade. He broke codes for fun. Crane himself was tall, slim, and dark haired. His complexion was a Mediterranean olive. He was graduating at the top of his class despite being one of the youngest midshipmen ever enrolled in the Academy and over a year younger than the next youngest of his classmates. Although the four years experience made his age less dramatic a difference than it had been when he had first come to the Academy.

He glanced at the clock. "We have five minutes to get to the Alumni Hall. If Mr. Morton could drag himself away from the food we might get there on time," he quipped.

Chip Morton scowled at Crane. "You're just jealous of me manly figure," he said, striking a muscle man pose. His friends laughed and they filed out of the room after Crane, joining the other upper classmen who were filtering out of the dormitory heading for the luncheon.

Two hours later, VIPs fed and suitably impressed by the new crop of officers to be, the three young men and several of their classmates were heading back to the dormitory. The others were talking among themselves about their plans for the evening as Lee Crane brought up the rear. As they were about to enter the dorm, he spotted a familiar figure striding across the quad in the direction of the on campus bachelor officers' quarters. Most instructors lived off campus, but there were facilities for those who preferred on campus housing and for visiting instructors.

He was sure that he recognized the man, Captain Harriman Nelson, former instructor at the Naval Academy and current captain of the USS Nautilus. But he wasn't sure how that could be. As far as he knew, the Nautilus was supposed to be at sea. Of course, midshipmen were not apprised of changes in the schedule of the premier nuclear submarine in the Navy. Had Nelson come for the graduation ceremonies? Surely a man of his stature had more important things to do than attend what to him was just another in a long line of ceremonies. As an instructor, he had no doubt attended many. The idea that he would have made an extra effort to attend this particular graduation was ridiculous.

With a quick glance after his fellow midshipmen who had continued into the dorm, Crane turned and followed the man. The graduates were on town liberty for the rest of the day and most had family coming in. As far as Crane knew, his friends were going out to dinner that night with their respective families. He had been invited to join any number of groups and had been almost ordered to join the Mortons' gathering by his friend and roommate. Chip had been incredibly generous with his family. The last several years had given Crane an insight into what it truly meant to have a family, to be part of one, even if peripherally. He had not really agreed to go with anyone though he was sure Chip, and his family, were planning on him going along. As it was, he really had no desire to become a third wheel, so to speak, at the celebrations. As welcome as he might have been, he felt that the families deserved to celebrate without him hanging around in the background. His friends and their families deserved to spend this time together. Chip's and Jerry's accomplishments were – as they would cheerfully acknowledge – in large measure due to the start their families had given them. Including him might slow the flow of "remember when" stories that are so much a part of such gatherings, no matter how welcome he was made. He made a decision. He caught up with Chip and using a tone that he hoped would discourage questions told him that he had something planned and he would see him later tonight or the next day. Without giving his friend a chance to pry he spun on his heel and left.

Even with his longer stride, he was too far behind the man to catch up to him before he entered the Bachelor Officers' Quarters. Since Midshipmen were not allowed to enter the building unless expressly invited to do so by one of the residents, he decided to wait. As he waited, he examined his reason for being there. He didn't want to force himself on Nelson. Crane had found the captain an incredibly insightful man, and had decided early on that if he could emulate the captain in any small way he would be a better officer for it. He realized that he only wished to express his gratitude for the help that Nelson had given him during the three years he had acted as his faculty advisor. Since Nelson had been posted to the Nautilus during summer leave, he had not had an opportunity to do so previously.

He realized that he had been outside the building almost twenty minutes and was receiving many curious glances from instructors and visiting officers who were coming and going from the building. He moved over to pace in a small area to the left of the main door. It was hidden from the doors by a healthy potted bush. He looked around as he heard the door open. He was close enough to hear the last of the words coming from the familiar figure that was now walking with a man who Crane recognized as Commander La Salle, the head of the mathematics and physics departments. Commander La Salle was carrying an over-stuffed brief case, and was still trying to straighten his jacket.

Nelson was speaking "…..catch a cab to the airport and see if we can rent something to get us to Hampton. I can't see any other way to make it in time." Crane stepped forward, came to attention, and saluted. The two superior officers both showed surprise at his sudden appearance but responded with salutes. Crane thought he saw something else flash in Nelson's pale blue eyes, recognition perhaps.

"Mr. Crane?" La Salle asked, wondering why the young man was there.

"If you'll forgive me, sirs. I couldn't help but overhear. I'll be happy to drive you to the local airport. I have a car, and I am familiar with the roads. I assume since you were speaking of hiring a plane you want the executive airpark and not the commercial airport or the base?" he said quickly. He was being incredibly forward. One did not approach senior officers in this fashion, but he really did want to speak to Nelson, and he truly did not mind helping out. Nelson just stared at him for a moment, seemingly considering the offer. La Salle leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice.

"It's probably a good idea, Harry. The town is very busy with the graduation and it will take time to get a cab. This way we can be on the road and who will suspect?" Crane pretended that he didn't hear, and continued to meet Nelson's evaluating eyes. Slowly the red head began to nod and Crane felt his heart start to beat faster. Something was going on.

Nelson looked him up and down. Noting the dress white uniform. "You seem a bit overdressed for the occasion," he said, raising an eyebrow, "shouldn't you be on town liberty about now?" Crane smiled.

"We just finished the VIP luncheon. I'll change when I get back; you seemed to be anxious to get to the airport."

"Hmmm. Yes," Nelson said looking around as if he had just noticed the large number of midshipmen dressed in their white uniforms. Crane knew for sure then that Nelson was not there for the graduation. Something was definitely going on. He waved a hand toward the parking area and followed the two senior officers as they headed in that direction.

He had managed to save enough money a year ago to purchase the old junker car. About the only good thing you could say about it was that it ran. Over time, he and his friends had worked on the body of the car until it was to a point where it was no longer in danger of being towed as an abandoned car. He had managed to get the seats reupholstered last summer and he was confident that at least his two passengers would not be ashamed to be seen in the vehicle. He led Nelson and La Salle to the car and he saw the two older men exchange an amused glance as they looked it over. He cast a critical eye over the vehicle. It was a 1957 Chrysler C3, and looked, he had to admit, quite out of place next to the smaller, sleeker, newer cars that populated the parking lot. It was painted black, with some nice chrome work. He opened the door, and slid behind the wheel, retrieving the keys from atop the visor. As he slid into the passenger seat, Nelson raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't keep it locked up? That seems very trusting in this day and age," the captain said although as a First Classman, Crane would have academy grounds parking privileges with the attendant security.

Crane shrugged his shoulders. "There's not a lot of car thieves who want something this old, and anyone desperate enough to steal it would break into it anyway, so this way it's ready to go when I am, or one of my friends can borrow it when they need it. Besides the guards know this car and would stop someone who didn't look as if he should be driving it." While he spoke, La Salle had climbed into the back so Crane started the car. He had to hide a smile as he saw the two men look at each other again as they heard the roar of the engine. "Chip Morton is very good with engines. I think he took the whole thing apart and put it back together at least twice last summer. It runs a lot better than it did and all I had to do was feed him every hour on the hour and provide the parts. I learned a lot from him about mechanics that summer." He said reflectively. It had actually been the first time he had been able to indulge in such 'shade tree mechanics'. Before he backed out of the space he took off his cover and put it on the back seat next to La Salle. He then pulled out of the space and headed toward the airport. He wasn't even out of the parking lot before the two officers began discussing something Nelson referred to simply as the 'project'.

Since he couldn't see Nelson making what was obviously a flying visit to Annapolis to get a theoretical mathematician and physicist to discuss just any project, he assumed it was some type of top-secret project that Nelson was working on for the Navy. Crane was aware that besides being an exemplary submarine officer, Nelson was also a prolific inventor. Most of his inventions were not weapons; in fact, he knew Nelson favored working on things that enhanced human life, not took it, but Crane assumed that occasionally The Powers That Be demanded something that could be used for the security of the country. He followed some of the conversation but it quickly moved into levels of physics that he could not comprehend. Jerry Guthrie would have been hanging on every word. Of course if he had understood it he might not have been paying enough attention to notice that they were being followed. He took several turns that were not necessary to make sure he wasn't jumping at shadows then he broke into the conversation.

"Excuse me, Captain Nelson, but we're being followed, sir, and not very subtly. They don't seem to care if we see them or not." As he finished speaking he was shocked to see Nelson pull an automatic from behind his back. He heard La Salle gasp from the back seat.

"Is that really necessary, Harry?" the instructor asked, his face going pale. Nelson was looking over his shoulder out the back window and seemed to ignore the question. He turned back around and looked at Crane.

"Can you lose them?" he asked with no explanation. Crane shot him a surprised look, then grinned. He nodded.

"Yes, sir. I can." As he said it, he slammed the accelerator to the floor. The big v-8 engine, tuned to perfection by the incredibly nitpicky Chip Morton, roared and the car shot forward, throwing Nelson and La Salle back against their seats. The old car rocketed down the road opening up a five hundred yard lead before the driver in the car following could respond Crane spun the wheel as they came to a crossroad, and the old car squealed around the corner, only the weight of the big frame keeping it from going up on two wheels. There was a long straight road ahead of them, and Crane slammed the accelerator down again. He spared a glance at the rear view mirror to check the progress of the other car. He was holding his lead. Good, that would be important in a little while. He turned his attention back to the road, a plan forming in his mind. From beside him he heard Nelson speak.

"I'm assuming you have a plan, Mister Crane." The voice was as calm as if he was on the bridge of his boat taking a star sighting.

Crane felt a smile growing on his face and he cast a quick glance at Nelson. Somehow he was not surprised to see the same spark of excitement he felt reflected in the blue eyes. He gave a quick nod. "Yes, sir. I do have a plan. If it's all right with you, sir?"

Nelson waved a dismissive hand, turning to look back at the other car. "You're the captain of this boat, Mr. Crane. You set the course. We're just supercargo at this point."

Crane smiled wider and continued guiding the car down the road. They passed several cars going the other way, and he got the impression of startled faces as they rocketed past. It would not be long until the local police were alerted. The question was, would it be soon enough? Or maybe it was, did Nelson WANT the police involved? Crane decided he couldn't count on the police and so he had to go ahead with his plan. He looked at Nelson. "Do you have the time, Captain?" he asked.

"I've got 1345; what do you have, Eric?" Nelson asked the man in the back seat. At Crane's surprised look, Nelson smiled and shrugged. "I believe if you need the time, it must be important. For accuracy's sake, two are better than one." The young midshipman nodded as La Salle confirmed the time. Still learning from Nelson; it felt right somehow. Crane took another corner, and then another. They were now on the road leading to the small private airport on the outskirts of Annapolis. As they powered through the turns they lost some of their lead to the smaller, better handling car that was following them. It didn't seem to make all that much of a difference until, on a short straightaway, the back window blew out, showering La Salle and the two men in the front seat with glass. Luckily the safety glass came out in chunks instead of the shards that could have been deadly. Crane tried to push the accelerator through the floor.

"Damn it, Harry!" La Salle shouted over the wind that shrieked through the car. "You didn't say anything about shooting!"

Nelson hunched down in his seat, and grabbed the small handle over the window as the large car rounded the next corner, almost throwing him into Crane's lap. The captain looked over toward the young man driving, and saw that what had formerly been a bright white jacket was now turning crimson from the shoulder down on the young man's right arm. The car had not so much as swerved or lost an iota of speed. Amazing. He dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket, and bracing his feet against the floorboards to steady himself in the racing car, he let go of the handle and reached for the top of the sleeve.

"I'm going to stop the bleeding," he warned and saw the young man switch most of the steering to his other hand. Once he received a nod, he worked his fingers into the jagged hole left in the sleeve as the bullet had grazed the shoulder. Once revealed, the wound looked nasty, but not serious. He used the handkerchief to wipe off as much blood as possible, and used the one that La Salle passed forward to bind it. The bleeding had already slowed so the handkerchief should stop it all together.

"Time again, sir?" Crane called out, seemingly unconcerned about his arm. After a quick consultation with his watch, Nelson reported the time as 1358. Crane nodded, and glanced at Nelson and then at La Salle in the back seat using the rear view mirror.

"You're going to have to brace yourselves as best you can. We should be right on time, but there might be a bit of a bump." He didn't see the puzzled look that the two senior officers shared but he was aware of Nelson bracing himself beside him and he tightened his own grip on the wheel and braced his left foot against the firewall. His right foot was beginning to cramp from being in the same position for so long, but that would be remedied soon. Either this would work and they could slow down to a more reasonable speed, or the car would be in the river and it wouldn't matter anymore.

They came around the last turn before they reached the river crossing that Crane had been anticipating. He heard Nelson swear softly as he took in the scene that was lay before them. He had no doubt that the man had put together all the pieces of what he could now see, and had come to the correct conclusion regarding Crane's plan. As they came off the turn Crane floored the accelerator again. 100 feet ahead of him he could see the big steel plate that made up the Pennsechock drawbridge beginning to lift. It was rising in the slow stately manner of the old mechanism it was; by the time they were at the river's edge, it was already three feet up from the horizontal. There was another car waiting at the edge of the bridge, and Crane swung into the other lane to pass it. They slammed through the small wooden barrier, scattering bits of wood in their wake. The car did not falter. In seconds, they were flying over the edge of the drawbridge that was now three and a half feet above it's horizontal.

To Crane, it was if the world suddenly became silent. He had taken his foot off the gas as they had left the road, and it seemed they hung there suspended forever, only the metal support structure of the bridge going by marked their forward passage. Then the world seemed to engage again as the big car slammed onto the inoperable side of the bridge. It skewed sideways but Crane was ready, and with a firm hand and a foot on the brake he manage to only sideswipe the railings in an almost gentle kiss of metal on metal. Then he was back on the gas, and they blew through the wooden barrier on the other side of the bridge. A quick look in the rearview mirror showed him only the underside of the still rising plate and he knew their pursuers were stuck on the other side of the bridge for at least the next 20 minutes as it was kept open to allow the series of barges now moving up the river to pass. There was going to have to be explanations for all this when it was over, and he wished he had an idea exactly what that explanation be.

They roared down the road, now only traveling at the speed limit, and Crane once again spared a glance at the man in the passenger seat. Nelson was studying him with a considering look. At Crane's glance he smiled. "Have you been running moonshine out of the Appalachians, Mr. Crane?" the captain inquired, in a serious tone but with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Don't encourage him, Harry. I'm pretty sure we've just contributed to the delinquency of a minor," La Salle said from the back seat. The commander was staring out the back window at the still rising bridge.

Nelson snorted. "Don't worry, Eric. I happen to know that Mr. Crane is a man of many talents, not all of them exactly what one would suspect of a Naval officer. He's a veritable prodigy in some of them. As he has just demonstrated." He turned back to Crane. "I assume the bridge operates on a schedule, and hence your inquires regarding the time?"

"Well, the bridge isn't on a schedule but that first barge is, sir. The captain needs to be home by 1500 every day, and that means he has to come in around 1400 to make it to dock and get home. The man is like clockwork. The bridge operator just started automatically opening up at 1400 every day. The rest of the barges were a pleasant surprise."

"And you knew this because?" Nelson inquired. Crane turned down the short road leading to the airport before answering.

"I come out here on a regular basis, sir. I got stuck going one way or the other a couple of times, and so I learned to avoid it if possible."

"And you knew about the barge captain wanting to be home by 1500, how?" Nelson asked.

Crane shrugged, not remembering his wound. He made a mental note not to do that again. "I asked, sir. The bridge operator works in a small shack on this side of the river. He let me come up and watch him operate the bridge one time, and he told me about the barge captain needing to be home by 1500 to pick up his kids as they get out of school." Nelson nodded, a small smile on his lips. They pulled into the airport, and Crane parked near the business office.

It wasn't a large airport. Most of the pilots around here flew out of the commercial airpark, vying for space with the large airliner that came and went. However, there were a good number who still flew out of this older airport that offered not only no airlines, but also a spectacular view from the end of the runway. Of course, as was pointed out, a runway that ended at the cliff overlooking the ocean didn't allow for any mistakes on your takeoff. The local pilots just scoffed and said it made you a better pilot very quickly. Nelson and La Salle climbed out of the car and looked around. Crane climbed from behind the wheel, and looked at the scratches that ran the full length of the driver's side; so much for his inexpensive paint job. At least it hadn't seemed to have dented anything much. Of course the rear window was completely gone. That was going to cost a pretty penny to replace. He would have to search the local wrecking yards and hope he could find a replacement that way. While he was studying the car, the other men had gone into the small business office. He was running a hand down the rear quarter panel looking for dents when they came out. Nelson' s face was dark with anger, and La Salle was looking anxious and trying to calm him down.

"Harry, you know the man is only doing his job. If you can't show him your license, you can't expect him to trust you with a very expensive plane. Be reasonable."

Nelson snorted. "I have don't have time to be reasonable. We have to be there in less than two hours, and we can't make it by road as has been made very obvious. I barely made it here in front of them and you can bet they'll be waiting should we try to make a run for it. This was the only way to make it in time, and we're being stopped by regulations." He said the last word like a curse.

"Just consider what you would do if one of your junior officers broke regulations, even for a good cause, and let it go. We'll find a way. Maybe if we speak to the police…." He broke off as Nelson started emphatically shaking his head.

"We can't tell them what's going on. It's classified, and they would probably think we were nuts anyway." He waved a hand at Crane and the car. "Do you think they would appreciate our little race here?"

"We wouldn't have to give them details. Some of the men there on the PD are ex- Navy. We could get someone."

"When? We're on a deadline, literally," Nelson said and kicked a rock that lay in his path.

Crane listened to the two men, and looked thoughtfully at an open hanger nearby. There was a small Cessna parked there. He quickly ran the possibilities through his head. He reached into the back seat and retrieved his cover. He went to trunk and, opening it, took out the windbreaker that was there, exchanging it for his bloodied tunic. It wasn't quite regulation, but it covered the t-shirt. He carefully shook the glass from his cover and put it on. He stepped around the car to stand in front of the senior officers.

"Excuse me for eavesdropping again, sirs, but may I offer a possible solution?" he said, drawing the attention of the two older men. There was a flash of temper in Nelson's eyes, then he seemed to relax and a small smile touched his lips.

"A certain…..inevitability about you, Mr. Crane, coming to the rescue again. What is your suggestion?"

"Harry, don't you think…" La Salle started with a nervous glance at the midshipman.

"No, I do not. He's an adult and is about to become a commissioned officer in the US Navy. This is no more dangerous than the combat he would be expected to engage in should we go to war, and is no less in the service of his country," Nelson snapped at his friend. He turned back to Crane with a raised eyebrow. "Mr. Crane?"

Crane waved at the Cessna. "I can fly you both to wherever you need to go. I have my license with me, and we can rent that plane there. It's got the range and the speed to get you anywhere north of Atlanta in the next two hours."

"You uh… have your private pilot's license?" Nelson inquired, somewhat unbelievingly Crane thought.

"Yes sir. I've been working on it the last two years. I uh ….couldn't afford to do it all at once." Crane was grateful for the dark complexion that he hoped would hide the flush he felt in his cheeks. "I do have my license and can carry up to four passengers with my current rating. I'm still not ILF certified but that shouldn't be a problem today since I'll have plenty of time to drop you and make it back before it gets dark," he added. Sunset at this time of year should be after eight. The clear blue June sky would offer no problems now and he should be able to make it back in plenty of time. He was actually well past the point in his book studies where he could take the exams and flight test for ILF status but he didn't have the money. Maybe soon.

Nelson and La Salle exchanged glances. They could both see the faint color rise in the young man's cheeks at his confession of what he obviously felt was a fault. La Salle, knowing the importance of the issue, and also knowing that Nelson was not beyond simply stealing a plane and flying them himself, reluctantly nodded. He was quite conflicted at continuing to allow the young midshipman to involve himself in this matter, but it seemed that fate was taking a hand. At least they had been given an exceptional aide. Nelson, evidently having no such doubts, took out his wallet and handed several large bills to the young man, who looked at him in surprise.

"Well, go rent the plane. We have to be in Hampton, Virginia in just over an hour and a half. Can you get charts in there too?"

Crane, slightly put off by the sight of the several hundred dollar bills that Nelson had stuffed in his hand, nodded absently and headed toward the office. It shouldn't take long to get the plane rented. Bob, who worked the counter, knew him well since he had taken his flight training here. He could also buy the charts he would need from the old man. Less than five minutes later he was coming out the door and heading toward the car where the two older men were standing in deep conversation. He immediately held out the change to Nelson, along with the itemized bill he had insisted Bob write up. Nelson glanced at the bill only briefly and didn't bother to count any of the change as he stuffed it in his pocket.

"Are we ready to go?" he asked. He looked toward the access road, and Crane knew he was concerned about the men who had been following them. Crane nodded.

"The plane is fueled. I just have to do a quick preflight and we can go. If you and Commander La Salle would like to get aboard, I'll be with you in a few minutes." He had a clipboard with his charts and a laminated checklist. He was soon well into his preflight check, going over wings and checking the engine and flaps. He noticed the two older men getting on board, La Salle slipping into the back with his briefcase. Crane went as quickly as safety would allow and was soon in the plane doing the interior checks. He was aware of Nelson, sitting in the copilot seat, watching as he ran through the list.

Nelson seemed to be involved in renewed discussion with the other man about their project but Crane suspected he was aware of every move the younger man made. Completing the checklist after he started the plane and checked the dials, he taxied it out of the hanger and rolled the plane toward the end of the runway. Reaching the end he turned it into the wind and started to bring the engine level up to the proper revs, holding them in place with the brakes. He was getting ready to release, after having checked in with the Unicom control that took the place of the non-existent tower, when his eye was caught by something moving along the road that ran parallel to the runway. It was the car that had been following them!

He let off the brake all at once and the plane surged forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nelson turn back toward him to protest the jolt, but he must have caught sight of the car for he said nothing and the pistol reappeared in his hand. The plane was running even with the car for a few moments and then they were pulling ahead. Over the roar of the engine he couldn't know if the men in the car were firing at them, or if they even realized who was in the plane taking off. In a matter of moments they had reached critical speed, and he pulled back on the stick, feeling the lift. They left the runway with twenty feet to go before the edge of the cliff and sailed out over the sunlit ocean. He guided the plane around so that it was headed south and west.

He had quickly worked out the course he would need to take to avoid all the restricted zones that covered the East Coast. Washington DC was a mess of them and he would be going inland to avoid them and to avoid traveling for any length of time over the ocean. It wasn't that the little plane wasn't up to it but in the unlikely event of a forced water landing they had no equipment. Always plan for the worst possible outcome and then you were prepared for anything. A good pilot always took care of his passengers and crew. The same could be said for a good officer. The thoughts flitted through his mind, a legacy of his Academy training – and even to the man seated beside him. As he brought the plane to his cruising level, he set the radio to the next tower frequency. He would contact them in 15 minutes to let them know who he was and where he was going. He had not filed an official flight plan, though he had left a partially filled official form with Bob who had promised to file it in an out of the way place until he got back. He was inside the rules, but he was edging toward a violation if anyone from the FAA should inquire. Nelson had sat back in his seat, and the pistol was once again in hiding. As Crane started to look over his chart, verifying his course, he heard a small humorless laugh from the back seat.

"What?" Nelson turned to see La Salle who was still laughing. The other man shook his head.

"I never thought I would know anyone else who got in as much trouble as you, Harry, but managed to get out of it just as easy. It seems our young midshipman here is one such person. To our advantage I must say," the commander observed. Nelson gave him a smile and turned to study the young man flying the plane.

He had met Lee Crane over four years ago, actually before the young man had become a midshipman. He had taught him in various classes over the next three years and, until his posting to the nuclear submarine Nautilus, had been the young man's faculty advisor. Over the years Harriman Nelson had known many young men. He had seen the best and the worst that America had to offer, and he had found this young man to be one of the best. He had a sharp wit, and seemed to have a natural talent for strategy and leadership. Nelson had made a note to himself to keep an eye on the progress of what he suspected was going to be a spectacular officer. He was still trying to figure out exactly why the young man had volunteered to drive them.

While he was still teaching, he had become aware of, and was flattered by, the young man's seeming hero worship. It was gratifying without being fawning in any way. Even now, the lad did not seem intent on forcing himself on the older officers. He had simply seen a need and stepped forward to solve it. Looking at the profile of the pilot, he realized that the young man had grown another inch or so since he had seen him last though there was no indication that he had gained any weight. Ah to be young again. Nelson kibitzed as Crane plotted his course around the Washington zones, quickly figuring vectors and leg speeds. He wondered briefly how the last year had been for the young man. Nelson had lost touch with the once familiar Academy routines, hence his surprise to realize that graduation was the next day. Where had the year gone? It had only been a few months ago that he had been shaking his head over the antics of this midshipman and his friend Morton, hadn't it? He shook off the thoughts and, convinced that the midshipman knew what he was doing, he turned around and started going over some concerns with La Salle. The project was classified, but he didn't see the young man as a security risk, and it seemed unlikely he was familiar with the particular level of physics that they were discussing.

For Lee Crane the trip to Hampton, Virginia was becoming a study in contrasts. On one hand he was thrilled, and deeply honored, to be able to help Captain Nelson and Commander La Salle get where they needed to go. On the other hand, his arm felt like someone was pushing a red-hot poker through it. He had never been shot before, and he guessed this really didn't count since the bullet had only grazed his arm, but he didn't like it. He made another mental note to avoid it in the future. The actual flying was routine. During his flight training he had made several trips to the south, learning the protocols for flying in congested areas. He only half listened to the two men talking. Once again he had found himself very much out of his depth with whatever they were speaking of. It seemed to have something to do with a weapon, but he couldn't say for sure if it was defensive or offensive, or even exactly what it did. He was quietly pleased, however, that evidently Captain Nelson was comfortable enough with him to talk about it in his presence. Of course Nelson probably knew that there was little chance of him understanding any of it, but still, he could have memorized something. He knew that Nelson was aware of his ability for almost total recall of things that he concentrated on. Or maybe he was assuming too much. Why should Nelson remember him at all? After all he had been the faculty advisor to many other midshipmen, and certainly he had taught many more over the years he had spent at the Academy. Why would Crane stand out any more than any other man? On that slightly depressing note, Crane realized they were just outside the Hampton tower area. He switched the radio over to the new frequency and tried for contact. After a second call he received an answer.

"Flight CN2345. You are third in line for landing on runway N5. Climb to 3000 ft and fly the pattern," the voice of the controller said. There followed the regular wind speed and altimeter settings for the airport, and Crane brought the plane into the pattern, waiting for his turn to land. It was busy at this time of day and he could see the two planes that were ahead of them below him in the pattern. He heard the tower talking to other planes that were stacked up above him as he was moved down. Quite the rush hour compared to the small field at Annapolis. He felt like a hick just in from the country. He followed the tower's instructions and soon had the plane on the ground and taxiing toward the small terminal. He had to settle for waiting at the end of the line of planes that had similar ideas. He looked around at the two older men, who had not seemed to notice the whole landing process. He supposed he could take that as a compliment to his flying skills. His ego was getting quite the workout today. Since it looked as if the line for parking near the terminal was not moving he had guided the plane into a temporary tie down area, concentrating on maneuvering through the busy traffic, when he became aware that both Nelson and La Salle had fallen silent and seemed to be watching him. He brought the plane to a halt, and shut off the engine then he turned and looked at Nelson then La Salle.

"Did I miss something, sirs? I'm sorry I was…" He stopped as Nelson smiled at him.

"Just wondering what rabbit you were going to pull out of your hat to get us from here to our final destination," Nelson quipped. La Salle reached over the seat and slapped Nelson's shoulder.

"Stop it, Harry. Don't tease the boy. He's gone far beyond the call of duty. I'm sure he will be more than happy to dump us off and get back to Annapolis. He probably has someone waiting for him. At the very least I'm sure you have a speech to practice, don't you, Crane?" The commander asked.

Nelson turned to him with a puzzled look, obviously about to ask what he meant. Crane found himself almost dreading the answer, mentally uncomfortable with the subject. He was never quite sure what to do about compliments since he never got them from his adoptive parents. Perfection was the only option and therefore did not deserve compliments. He was saved from the moment when he caught sight of two men, dressed in suits and wearing dark glasses, stepping out of the terminal and looking in their direction. It was just over two hundred yards away, but he had a feeling that the men were looking directly at them. He really couldn't say exactly why he thought that, but every alarm his subconscious mind had seemed to be going off. He reached over and grabbed Nelson's arm. It was a breach of protocol, but he felt the captain would forgive him.

"Sir, I think your friends have found us again," he said, not taking his eyes off the men. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nelson's head snap around to follow his gaze. The captain sprang into action, the gun once again appearing in his hand.

"Out that way," he said to Crane, indicating the door that was opposite the side from which the two men were approaching. Crane instantly opened the door and climbed out, moving out of the way as first Nelson and then La Salle followed him onto the tarmac. Before La Salle was all the way out, Nelson was already moving away from the plane, moving quickly through the parked aircraft. A quick glance over the tail section showed Crane that the two men were coming toward them. He hesitated, thinking he should stay with the plane. He was after all, responsible for it. The men had no reason to bother him. As far as they could know, he was just the pilot of a rented plane. Nelson appeared beside him.

"Come along, Mr. Crane. You don't want to meet those men," he said. Grabbing Crane's left arm, he started dragging him away. Crane resisted.

"Sir," he protested, "I'm responsible for the plane. They aren't after me. Maybe I can slow them down while you and the commander…" Once again the captain cut him off and, with more strength than Crane had suspected from the shorter man, began dragging him off.

"They aren't going to just chat with you, lad. The plane can be picked up later. I'm not losing a man at this late date. Now run!" They both took off at the same time, Crane easily keeping up with the older man's shorter stride. As he pounded along after Nelson, he thought about what he had said. Even with the throbbing arm, and with the possible hazard of the men behind them, he felt a thrill of excitement within him.

For the last four years, ever since he had taken the class in Naval history that Nelson taught, he had wanted to serve under the man. He had been drawn to the sub service because Nelson was a submarine officer. He had studied hard, been the best, because that was what Nelson would want in an officer. There were a lot of men vying for a position with a captain like Nelson. He had to stand out if he wanted to be noticed. "Maybe, just maybe, this would all be for the best." He felt an almost simultaneous flush of embarrassment at the thought. When had he gotten so ambitious as to view the danger to not only himself but also the captain and commander as a means to improve his career chances? It seemed he needed to do a little work on his ego. It had gotten out of hand. He wasn't going to be one of those officers who would do anything, step on anyone, to get what he wanted. It wasn't supposed to be about him; it was about duty, and honor. He needed to remind himself of that more often.

They caught up to La Salle, who had stopped to wait for them, and the three men moved on together. La Salle, who was in his late forties and had been an instructor for the last ten years, was not in the best of shape. He was puffing hard, but still kept up. Crane matched strides with the commander and took the heavy briefcase from his hand. The commander gave him a look but Crane just shrugged and with little effort pulled ahead of the commander to follow Nelson down a narrow path between two hangers. They zigzagged around several more hangers then came to a stop at Nelson's raised hand. They were at the chain link fence that separated the hangers from what looked like the long term parking area. There were about twenty cars parked there and no people were visible.

"What now, Harry?" La Salle huffed as he leaned forward, hands on knees. "Don't tell me we're going to do the whole obstacle course thing because I'll just stay here and let them shoot me if that's the case."

Nelson cast a quick glance around, making sure no one was looking their way, then smiled at his friend. "You never were very good at the PT, Eric. Need to get out of the classroom more often," he kidded. Then his face became serious. "We'll go over the fence and find a car that's unlocked. There might be keys, or we'll hotwire it. As soon as you are over, start checking cars. If we have to we'll break a window to get in, but I'd rather do as little damage as possible." The other two men nodded. Crane gently tossed the briefcase over the fence, then reached up and took hold of the top bar. His right arm protested, but he ignored it. With a swing of his body he was up and over the fence. He found himself standing on the other side looking back at his two companions, who were staring at him. Finally Nelson looked at La Salle.

"I guess I should get out more often too," he said. His friend snorted.

"Not even in your best days, Harry," the other replied. Crane looked at them for a moment in puzzlement as they began clambering over the fence then scooped up the briefcase and started checking cars. He was on his forth one when he found an unlocked driver's door. He tossed the briefcase in the back and got the others' attention with a low whistle. Once he was sure they saw him, he twisted himself down under the wheel. This would have been much easier in his Chrysler; there was enough legroom there for several people. He was so busy concentrating on what he was doing that he didn't realize Nelson had come up on him until he heard the man speak.

"Let me in there, lad. I can…." The engine turning over drowned his words out. Crane backed out from under the dash and stood up, ending up standing face to face with Nelson who was looking at him with a strange look on his face.

"Sir?" he asked finally. Nelson shook his head and smiled a little.

"I'm sorry, lad, I seem to have underestimated your talents. I shan't do that again." He motioned toward the back door. "Why don't I drive this time? You just relax in the back." He slid behind the wheel and reached across to unlock the door for La Salle who had finally caught up. He then unlocked the back door for Crane.

As the commander slid into the seat he smiled at Nelson. "Definitely contributing to the delinquency of a minor, Harry. Your talents never cease to amaze me." Nelson shook his head.

"I'm afraid the 'minor' is the one that is doing the delinquency. Our midshipman is very resourceful," he said, starting the car forward and heading toward the small automatic gate. He ignored La Salle's startled glance at the occupant of the back seat and Crane's embarrassed shrug and retrieved the parking stub from the dashboard. He glanced at it and then at La Salle. "Do you have any money? This has been parked for a week already. It's going to be around twenty dollars."

La Salle snorted. "You didn't give me time to grab my wallet before you dragged me out of my quarters. You must have had some change from renting the plane," he retorted. Nelson brought the car to a halt at the machine and fed in the ticket. A small screen showed the amount due. He grumbled a bit as he dug in his pocket and brought out the change the midshipman had given him. Crane thought he heard something about getting a reimbursement from the DOD. They were soon on their way, fighting rush hour traffic. It was also Friday, which no doubt added to the crowds. Crane had somehow assumed that they would be heading south to Norfolk, but as they headed west he realized that wherever they were going, their destination wasn't on the Naval Base. Of course if he had taken a moment earlier to consider the point, he would have known they weren't heading to the base or they would just have landed there. He was sure that the captain could have gotten them clearance to land easily.

Crane settled back against the seat, and cradled his arm against his stomach. His shoulder was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he was pretty sure that he could feel a trickle of blood down his arm. He briefly considered mentioning it to the two senior officers, but they had once again started speaking of their project and he discarded the idea. It was just a graze, and he would take care of it himself when he got to a restroom. He was trying to figure out how he was going to get back to the plane, or barring that, at least back to Annapolis in time for curfew when he was almost throw to the floor when the car suddenly swerved to the side as Nelson avoided the car that had crossed into their lane. Crane pulled himself back up in time to come almost face to face with the man in the other car who was leveling a pistol at their car.

"Gun!" he yelled out, hoping that Nelson would understand. He must have since Crane was thrown against the back of the front seat as Nelson slammed on the breaks. The other car overshot their position but also stopped. Nelson, with nowhere to go but forward, slammed the accelerator down, and Crane found himself thrown back on the seat. This was getting very tiresome. It was easier when you were driving and could hang onto the wheel. They were ahead of the other car now, but it was coming up behind them. Crane suspected it was only a matter of time before they were fired on. With that in mind, he sat forward and spoke to Nelson. "May I have your pistol, Sir?" he asked. He saw Nelson's eyes look at him in the rear view mirror, and he felt he needed to assure the senior officer that he knew what he was doing. "I shot marksman on the range, sir. Commander La Salle is not in the best position to use the weapon, and I am. Perhaps if they know we are armed they'll be more reluctant to repeat that move they just made."

The cars continued to speed through the traffic, weaving from lane to lane as they overtook slower cars. Nelson seemed to be considering his options. It was only a matter of time until a state trooper caught sight of them, but until then they were in a precarious position. Looking ahead Crane could see an open spot in the traffic, and he suspected the other car, which was now on their bumper, would again make a move to force them off the road. He could only speculate about how important Nelson's project must be if they were getting this much opposition in such a public venue. He suspected that if they had been stopped on the less used back road of Annapolis, they might not have survived. Nelson had obviously reached the same conclusion as he reached around and pulled the pistol from behind his back, handing it over to Crane. He ignored La Salle's murmured protests.

As he had been trained, Crane released the clip to assess the amount of ammunition, and then worked the slide to verify that there was not a round in the chamber. It was a Navy issue Colt, .45 caliber, and very familiar to him. He slammed the clip back into place and thumbed the safety off. He ignored the butterflies that seemed to be congregating in his stomach. A quick glance showed that they had reached the open area, and that the other car was coming up on them. He rolled down the window, though he could have shot through it without a problem. It just seemed…..neater this way. Also, he was sure the owner of the car would appreciate getting it back as much intact as possible. He wondered briefly how Nelson was going to handle that exactly, but quickly dismissed it as irrelevant.

"Aim for their tires," Nelson said, as he concentrated on getting every ounce of speed possible out of the car.

"Aye, sir." Crane acknowledged out of habit. He didn't see Nelson's amused glance in the mirror, or La Salle's rolled eyes. He did wonder at the statement he heard from the commander, but he didn't take his eyes off the other car. He would wait until they were even with the back quarter panel and their front tire was in range, and hope that they were still out of firing range themselves.

"Good God, Harry! There's another one of you!" La Salle said.

Nelson just laughed and shook his head. He split his attention between the road ahead and the mirrors, watching not only the other car but also the young man twisted around in the back seat, staring with concentration out the back window. He watched as the pistol was brought up and held ready. He glanced back at the road in front of them, and at the side mirror that showed the other car almost past their rear wheel. He looked in the side mirror again just as Crane twisted himself partially out the open window and, seemingly taking no time to aim, fired twice at the pursuing car.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Before Crane could even pull himself back inside, the other car began veering wildly, just missing the rear end of their own car. Nelson watched in the rearview mirror as the car hit the side barrier and rolled several times, coming finally to a stop on its roof. He slowed down slightly but kept alert. There might be another pursuer, holding back and ready to pounce if the first failed. He wouldn't be caught unaware again. He looked at the road sign as they roared past it. They were only ten miles from the facility, and the turn off was nearby. If their pursuers had been over-confident, and just sent the one car, they could be home free. His wandering attention was drawn to the conversation that was going on in the car.

"….I'm sure they are all right, son. I didn't see any fire, and even bad guys have to wear seat belts because of the law. I don't think you need to worry about it. I somehow doubt they would have extended the same courtesy to you if the positions were reversed," La Salle was saying. Nelson looked into the rearview mirror to see the young midshipman looking out the rear window at the rapidly fading accident site. He had forgotten for a moment how young the boy was, and how traumatic all this could be for someone who wasn't used to it. He had gotten jaded working for ONI. He was glad that he had made a clean break of it with them, though the last several hours had been just like being on assignment. He watched as the midshipman took a last look, and turned to sit normally again, snapping on his seat belt. The golden eyes met his in the mirror and he could see a myriad of emotions there. The boy's face, now looking exceedingly young, was pale. Nelson suddenly wished he could take the time to talk to the younger man, to explore those emotions, but there was no time. La Salle's assurances would have to do. Eric was not used to this either, and he could tell that comforting the younger man was comforting the mathematician as well.

They drove on in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally it was the youngest of them that broke the silence. "Excuse me, Captain Nelson, but do you think you could drop me at a bus station? I should be able to make it back to the airport and then back to Annapolis before it gets dark if I go now. I don't think anyone will be watching the plane since they know we left the airport. Not that they'll be interested in me anyway."

Nelson found himself frowning at the idea of turning the midshipman loose to find his own way back to the Academy. It wasn't that he didn't think the young man was capable of getting it done, to the contrary he was sure that the boy could handle almost anything that fate should throw his way. He had gotten the impression that the young man was used to doing things for himself, and had only recently come to terms to Chip Morton's sometimes heavy handed 'big brothering'. The captain could not help but admire the lad's persistence in fulfilling the responsibility he obviously felt regarding the plane, however it still might not be safe, and he could not allow the young man to be drawn into this anymore than he already had. The people that were trying to stop him were ruthless, and the life of an innocent hostage would mean nothing to them. Nelson found himself thinking that the life of this particular midshipman just might come to mean quite a lot to him. He wasn't sure why exactly, it was just an instinctive feeling, and he had learned long ago to listen to those feelings. He shook his head.

"I don't think that would be wise, Mr. Crane. We'll call the airport in Annapolis and explain that we were delayed. I will give him a credit card number for the charges. We'll make arrangements for your return when we reach our destination," he said. A frown crossed the midshipman's face briefly, and for a moment he thought the lad was going to argue, but he sat back in the seat and nodded.

"Aye, sir," came the proper reply.

The rest of the trip was completed quietly, with the two senior officers once again taking up where they had left off. They ignored the young man in the rear seat who seemed to be watching the scenery go by. A closer look by someone who knew him would have seen the outer serenity masked a busy and troubled mind. He had no doubt that the 'shooter' was dead, dead at his hand, as if he had shot him outright. He had seen the man thrown from the car as it rolled. The idea of having directly caused the death of another human being was making him sick. There had been no other choice, he knew, but that didn't make it better. He decided to concentrate instead on the more mundane problems that seemed to be multiplying for him. Regulations required that all upper class midshipmen be in their bunks by midnight, no exceptions, even on the night before graduation. Any prior arrangements had to be just that, prior to the occurrence. He caught sight of a digital clock outside of a bank that they passed. It was already almost 1800. Even if he were to take off now he would be pushing the edge of the ILF statutes going into an airport with no tower. The plane was HIS responsibility, and Bob had done him a favor by renting it to him on short notice. He could not allow Bob to possibly get in trouble if the plane was supposed to be available for someone else. He reviewed the possibilities. He could cut off almost thirty minutes by taking the sea route. Since he would be flying alone he had no problem taking the calculated chance, but that was no good if he couldn't get to the plane.

While Nelson was not his commanding officer, in fact he wasn't exactly clear on the exact protocol that governed this situation, he still had been given an order of sorts. Nelson had said that 'arrangements would be made.' Crane wasn't so sure. He had a feeling that once they reached whatever facility they were heading for he would become a third wheel. He couldn't really expect anything more. Whatever the two senior officers were involved in, it had to be important, or there would not have been so much effort made to stop them. He technically was with an instructor, though not his faculty advisor, so he was sure that Commander La Salle could get the curfew waved for him. That being so, he could take a bus back to Annapolis and get there in time for the graduation the next morning, thus avoiding the issue with the plane and regulations. That thought brought up another worry though.

His summer white uniform was looking slightly less than regulation. His pants were wrinkled and creased in the wrong places, though somehow he had managed not to bleed on them. His tunic was ruined. He would clean and iron the pants as soon as he returned. He would have go to the quartermaster for a new tunic. That was going to be costly. Trying to find some solace in the situation, he reminded himself that he had his speech memorized so he was set there. That left the problem of actually getting back as his main one. He glanced at Nelson. Maybe he wasn't giving the captain enough credit. After all, submarine captains had to be good at multitasking, and Nelson was the best at what he did. He might just be able to split his attention between completing his mission and seeing that one misplaced midshipman made it back to the Academy. He settled back a little more in the seat, relaxing the tense posture he hadn't even realized he had undertaken. If necessary, he would take his own measures, but he had to give Nelson the chance to make good on his implicit promise to get him home on time.

Almost two hours later the young midshipman knew he was going to have to take matters into his own hands. It was just after 2000, and he had not so much as seen Nelson or La Salle for the last hour. They had arrived to much excitement and the news that the project was in even worse shape than when Nelson left. Something had gone wrong with whatever measures he had taken before he had gone to get La Salle, and it had pushed the deadline even further out of reach than before. Nelson, a look of grim determination on his face, had ushered Crane and La Salle, once again in possession of his briefcase, into a small office that had obviously been set up for his use. He had collected his papers while listening to a lab tech go over the specifics of the newest crisis. He had snapped out some orders and the tech had scrambled off to get things underway. Crane had settled unbidden on the settee in the corner of the room, watching quietly as Nelson and La Salle threw theories back and forth, occasionally disappearing for a few moments to go into the lab next door and check something then back to looking at notes and generally making no progress. Almost an hour later Nelson had looked up from a batch of notes he had just found and smiled at La Salle. The commander, a pair of pince-nez perched on his nose - much to Crane's silent amusement - had looked at him in puzzlement. Nelson had dragged him over to the notes and the two men had begun speaking in excited tones, a breakthrough evidently occurring. They had scooped up the notes and headed for the lab. Nelson had caught sight of the young man who had come to his feet as they looked to be moving, and had stopped his headlong progress. The look on his face told Crane he had indeed forgotten the younger man.

"Damn," Nelson thought as he looked at the midshipman. He had literally put the lad out of his mind while dealing with the problem at hand. He had promised the young man that he would get him back to Annapolis, and had so far done nothing. He frowned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crane. I have been somewhat derelict in my promise to you. I will have someone take care of you as soon as we get this stage under control. I'm afraid all of the office workers have already gone home, and only the techs and a few scientists are available to make the arrangements. It shouldn't be long." He had hustled off, and that had been the last Crane had seen of anyone. A quick look down the hall a half hour later had revealed a long window into the lab which revealed the two senior officers, now clad in white coats, and about five techs or scientists all working over something he could not see. It was obvious from the level of activity that things were not going as well as Nelson had hoped. Not wanting to be caught staring, Crane went back to the office and waited for another half hour. He was going to have to make his own way back it seemed.

He found some blank paper and wrote a note to Nelson and to Commander La Salle. The latter he asked to contact the provost at the Academy and explain that Crane had been on an emergency excused absence. To Nelson he left the thanks that he had wished to express earlier, and good wishes for the success of the project. He gently reminded Nelson of the need to contact the airport about the plane. He was not sure exactly what was going to happen with that; he had technically rented the plane for the full twenty four hours, but he had told Bob that he would be back that evening. Bob would have left some time ago, and would probably assume that they had simply decided to bring the plane back tomorrow. The admiral could take care of the parking fees at the airport in Hampton, something Crane also mentioned. There had been no envelopes in sight, and he was not going to go poking around in the desk to find any, so he simply folded the notes and placed them on the desk. He left the building the same way he had come in and walked toward the guard shack. There was a different guard on duty now, and he looked at Crane in surprise as he walked up and handed in his visitor badge.

"You walking?" the guard asked curiously as he checked Crane off the clipboard. Crane shrugged.

"No car," he said. "I came in with Captain Nelson and Commander La Salle. They aren't ready to leave." Mentally he added, "And I don't really want to get caught driving a hotwired, stolen car that could have been seen leaving the scene of a fatal accident where guns were involved." The guard had nodded his understanding and pointed out a bus stop a half block away. He said the next bus was due in about five minutes. It would take him into the nearest city center. He should be able to make arrangements to catch a Greyhound back to Annapolis. It was going to be a long night, but at least he would be there on time for tomorrow. He started walking toward the bus stop, mentally reviewing the funds in his wallet. Maybe he could get some sleep on the bus. It hadn't been an easy day. He was glad that as a submarine officer he wouldn't be having days like this.

Captain Harriman Nelson looked up from where he was putting the finishing touches on the project the administration had shoehorned him into undertaking. It had taken them almost ten hours of work, but they had finally managed to solve the chain of problems that seemed to have erupted during the construction of the working prototype. A quick glance at the clock on the wall revealed it was just after 0200. The techs were all looking like death warmed over; and he had a crick in his lower back from bending over the lab tables. If he could only build his own labs where he could do his work, he would set it up so that he would be comfortable while working. He caught sight of Eric La Salle coming back into the lab from the office, reading something in his hand. He was frowning; and when he looked up from the paper, he continued frowning at Nelson.

"What?" the captain asked testily. "Don't tell me that you forgot to carry a 1 and that all the work we've just done is off by a factor of ten." He was tired of this project. It had forced him to leave his boat to continue on its patrol without him; and, to be frank, he was not all that excited to be building a weapon that while conceived as defensive could very easily be put to offensive use. It had happened before. He put down the small screwdriver he held and stretched his back. La Salle's scowl blackened. Nelson raised an eyebrow at him. Eric was one of the steadiest of men, unflappable in the face of Nelson's sometimes-volatile temper, and calm in almost any situation. This anger was unlike him. "What is it?" Nelson asked, coming to stand before his friend and colleague.

La Salle wordlessly offered him a slip of paper. It was a sheet of facility letterhead folded in half with his name written on it. He cast a puzzled glance at La Salle and then opened the note. In a cramped but legible hand he read:

Sir,

I meant to speak with you in person but as you are deeply involved in your project, I do not wish to offer any further distractions than have already been forced upon you by the circumstances of the day. What I wanted to express was my gratitude for the attention that you gave me as my faculty advisor. Your guidance has set me on a course that I feel to be my true calling in this Navy. I know I am not alone in saying that your example, both as an instructor and as a line officer, have set a standard for which I can strive. I can only hope that I may be half the officer you have shown yourself to be.

If I may, I wish to remind you of the plane. I clearly am unable to fly it back myself, and there are fees to be paid to the Hampton airport for the tie-down space. If you could arrange for the plane to be flown back to Annapolis by 1500 tomorrow I would appreciate it.

I hope that your project is completed successfully.

Again my thanks,

Lee B. Crane

Midshipman

As he finished the letter and looked up, La Salle handed him another one. This one was addressed to La Salle. He read:

Sir,

I find myself in the position of needing to ask a favor of you. Would you please, when time allows, call Academy security and let them know that my absence was authorized. I realize with graduation being today it is not going to be a big issue with them, but I am sure that you will understand that I prefer that things be done in the correct manner. I estimate that I should arrive in Annapolis around 0100 depending on the bus schedules and will then have to either walk or catch a ride to the Academy so I should be there around 0200.

In case I am unable to see you before I leave for my posting, I would like to tell you that I have enjoyed your classes and that your navigation method has allowed me to be a far better navigator than I was before I took your course.

Best regards,

Lee B. Crane,

Midshipman

Nelson read the note and then looked up at La Salle who was still watching him with an angry look. La Salle took the paper back and placed it in his pocket.

"In case you are interested, I called the Provost who checked in with security. Midshipman Crane walked up to the gate at 0130. He had evidently walked from the Greyhound station. Bill did some checking. The boy is currently in the laundry washing and ironing his white pants for the graduation ceremony tomorrow where, I might add, he is delivering the Class speech." La Salle shook his head. "Really, Harry, the whole thing was very badly done. Not much of a reward for an impulsive act of kindness, is it? You could have at least have had the boy driven back." La Salle stomped off muttering. Nelson watched him go and then looked around the room. All the techs gave every appearance of being deeply engrossed in their work, even if they were not currently doing anything. One of the facility scientists who had been on hand to help with the project was also studiously avoiding any eye contact.

"Dr. Gamma. Could I please have a word with you?" Nelson requested, his voice low but firm. The thin man turned reluctantly and came to stand before Nelson. "I believe I asked you to have one of your security men take care of the man I had waiting in my office. It seems that wasn't done. May I ask why?"

The scientist sneered. "I am NOT your errand boy, Captain Nelson. I am a scientist with as many degrees as you have. I am only working on this project because I have been ordered to do so. I am not here to kowtow to your every command or to take care of YOUR people," he said haughtily. Nelson's eyes narrowed as the man spoke, and a tide of red started to rise in his face. Anyone who knew him, as La Salle did, would have given him a wide berth. Gamma, unknowing, stood his ground.

"Indeed, Doctor, you are not my errand boy; and, since you find working on this project so distasteful, you may consider yourself released from any obligation to work on it further. Understand that while I sought only to avoid usurping your authority as one of the directors of this facility by requesting that you delegate a simple job to one of the employees instead of doing so myself, I will not make that mistake again. Throughout this project you have been more than candid regarding your opinion of Commander La Salle and myself. You have questioned not only our purpose but also our competence. I find the last particularly interesting since I see from the log that it was during the time that you personally were working on the apparatus that the crisis escalated almost to a point that we had to evacuate the surrounding area. A crisis, I might add, that would not have been reached for several days had you not altered the steps I had explicitly ordered to be followed. You can be assured that I will be speaking to the Head of this facility and the Department of Defense who funds it to be sure that in the future you are not inconvenienced by being forced to work on projects that you feel are beneath you." Nelson spun on his heel and headed for the office. Pausing to look over his shoulder as he reached the door he continued, "Please turn in all materials and notes regarding this project before you leave, Doctor. I will have one of the security men escort you to your office to facilitate that chore so that you can be on your way." He pushed open the door with barely restrained violence and went into the office.

La Salle followed in Nelson's wake, noting the covert smiles that the lab techs were sharing. It seemed that Doctor Gamma was not popular with the help. He went in the office and pushed the door closed behind him. As he did so Nelson hung up the phone on the desk with a bang. The commander had no doubt that at least one security man was already at the door to the lab, waiting to escort Dr. Gamma to his office and out to his car, sans any notes or reports. The redheaded captain flung himself into the leather executive chair and glared at La Salle, who calmly sat in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. Aware of his friend's volatile temper, he looked steadily back at Nelson, knowing it wouldn't take long. Right on cue, Nelson pounded his fist on the chair arm and erupted.

"Damn it, Eric! I thought arrangements had been made. If I had known that Gamma would screw up so simple a task, I would have taken care of it myself. I'm not so much the absent-minded scientist that I would treat the lad that way. Especially after everything he had done for us yesterday. Surely you don't think that I would do such a thing knowingly?" he finally asked, running down. La Salle smiled at him gently and shook his head.

"No, Harry, I don't think you would have done it knowingly. I'm as much to blame as you, that is why I was angry. I'm glad you tossed Gamma out on his ear though. Never liked the man." He suddenly stopped and covered a yawn. He slumped back in the chair and looked at the clock. It was now almost 0300. He sighed. "You realize that I have to go back to Annapolis myself. I can't miss the graduation ceremony, and there is a certain midshipman I would like to thank before he moves on to his first posting. Most of them have to report on Monday you know, and he might be leaving tonight." He gave a little laugh. "The worst part of the whole thing is that the boy didn't even seem resentful of the treatment he received at our hands. Makes it hard on a …what did you call it…..absent-minded scientist to bury himself back in his lab and forget the whole thing."

Nelson eyed him grimly and sat back in his chair, rocking it back and forth. He shut his eyes for a moment. His day had begun at around this same time yesterday morning with a flight on the helicopter that picked him up from his boat somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic and from there to a carrier and the first of several flights that had finally landed him in Annapolis and on the doorstep of his friend and collaborator. He was tired beyond anything he had felt for a long time. He must be getting old. As he sat there with his eyes closed, he had a sudden vision of a slim young man, clad only in his skivvies, waiting for his pants to get cleaned so that he could iron them out for the ceremony that would mark the beginning of his new life as an officer in the US Navy. Despite the midshipman's written words, Nelson didn't really feel like much of an example right at that moment. A commander's first duty was to his crew, and he had let his crew, a crew of one man, down. His eyes popped open and there was a light in them that made La Salle groan. He knew that look. He pushed himself up and started scooping his notes back into his battered briefcase. Nelson looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I'm not going to leave them here and if I know that look in your eye, and I do, you have a plan on how we're going to get to Annapolis. If it's anything like your regular plans, that means I'm not going to get any sleep anytime soon either." He kept scooping up his notes as he heard Nelson chuckle. The captain reached for the phone and was soon waking up people in various places.

Reveille rang through the grounds of the Naval Academy, waking all those who were not already up, and starting a bustle of activity as thousands of young men and women started the last day of the academic year. There were no classes today, only ceremonies. Several smaller ceremonies were taking place throughout the day in various venues, but the main attraction was the graduation ceremony at noon. Friends and families would be roaming about the campus meeting instructors and seeing where their children had become Naval officers. It was all very impressive.

It was something less than exciting to Lee Crane, who rolled over at the first sound of the wake up call and groaned. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were his dress white pants, clean and pressed, hanging in his open wardrobe. He would have to go to the quartermasters for a new tunic as soon as they opened. The second thing he saw was Chip Morton's inverted face as it hung over the side of the upper bunk. The blond looked put out. Crane groaned again and pulled his pillow up over his head. He had finally gotten to bed around 0400 and the two short hours he had gotten had done little to make up for the excitement of the previous day. He really wasn't ready to face an irritated roommate. He was obviously not going to get a break as he felt his mattress sink where someone sat down on the side. His pillow was summarily removed from his head and Chip Morton was there smiling at him.

"What? Is this 'Early bird' Crane I see lingering in bed? Is it a sign of the apocalypse? Are you ill?" he asked jokingly, referring to Crane's usual practice of rising before reveille to go out for a run. Crane briefly thought about flashing his bullet wound. But after he had cleaned up the graze in the bathroom early this morning, putting on some antibiotic ointment and a bandage, it was not very impressive. He had already disposed of his bloody t-shirt and jacket, so he could not flash them for sympathy. And, somehow, he was reluctant to share any of the happenings of the previous day even with Chip, who he considered his closest friend. The project was classified and he figured the rest of it probably was too. Better to keep his mouth shut. He seized his pillow back and swiped at Morton with it. The blond midshipman laughingly dodged and moved away. Crane took the opportunity to roll out of his bunk and get dressed in his tracksuit. He told Chip that he had decided to go for a drive the previous evening and that the car had blown a tire in the middle of nowhere. Morton knew he had no spare tire, so it was a plausible story. He said he had managed to get a ride back but it was very late. He explained that his jacket and shirt had gotten too dirty to clean after trying to fix the tire. Chip knew there was more to the story than Lee was telling but he was running late himself and left to meet with some friends. Lee heaved a sigh of relief that Chip had let him off the hook. Morton reminded him of the breakfast appointment they had with several of their friends, possibly the last time they would all be together for a meal in a long time.

Crane finished tying his running shoes. He would go and run his usual laps, and have breakfast. Then go to the quartermaster. The graduation and commissioning ceremony was at noon, but muster for the graduation formation was at 1130. He ran five miles, showered and, after dressing in his summer whites, went to the quartermaster. After hanging the new tunic in his room, he walked to the nearby cafe for breakfast. He entered the busy establishment and heard his name being called. Crane located Morton, Guthrie, and some of his other friends among the diners, and with a sigh headed over to join them. He knew that Chip had not bought his car trouble tale, and knew that his friend would not be above enlisting their friends to help pry the full story out of him. He sat down with a vague smile at everyone and ordered himself a bowl of oatmeal and some toast.

Chip Morton looked from his own fully loaded plate to the sparse selection in front of Lee Crane's. Aside from the bowl of oatmeal and two pieces of toast, there was a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice that the waitress, familiar with the group, had added on her own. No wonder the kid was skinny as a rail. Not that he underestimated how strong that slim form was. He had been Crane's partner in unarmed combat training and the slender, younger man had very easily thrown the heavier, older midshipman around. Morton contended that it was mainly due to sheer cussedness, not to superior technique. That Lee Crane was the most stubborn of men he had no doubt.

The crowd never swayed the younger man. He did what he felt to be right, and stood up for that opinion against all comers. That particular trait had almost gotten the younger man expelled from the Academy two years earlier, but in the end, he had been proven right, and had instead received a commendation. Morton could not help but admire his roommate for his stand, and for his general attitude of truthfulness and honor. As far as he knew, Crane had never told him a lie in the three years they had been roommates. He might have evaded answering sometimes, usually when it came to questions about his life before the Academy, but he had never told an outright lie.

That had changed this morning. Morton couldn't say for sure how he knew it was a lie, the whole thing sounded plausible, and even like something that Crane would do. The boy tended to be broody and liked to be alone. Morton could not count the number of times over the years that the younger man had gone off on his own to work through whatever demon was bothering him. It was just his way. But for some reason, the whole story just sounded….wrong. Perhaps it was the younger man's attitude. For the last week Crane had been on cloud nine. Not only were they completing four arduous years of study and training but Lee Crane had done it and come out the top of his class. Morton still had to smile a little when he thought about Crane's face when the announcement had been made. Part of what made the younger man so likeable was his complete lack of self-absorption. He had been surprised and embarrassed when it was announced and then determined to put together the best speech so as to not make a fool of himself in front of his peers. He had diligently worked at it, trying it over and over with Morton until Chip had protested that he didn't want to hear anymore. Crane had continued working on the speech, and had almost shone with a quiet pride. This morning that pride had been gone, along with the spark of excitement that had grown in the golden colored eyes since he had learned of his posting to nuclear propulsion school.

It had been replaced by something else, something Morton could not quite understand. It was as if the boy had become a man overnight. Like he had already left behind the studious and quiet life of academics and gone out into a darker, more dangerous world. As if for Lee Crane the graduation ceremony was only a formality, an anticlimax. Morton found himself mourning the loss for his friend, even though he didn't have any proof that anything more had happened than a blowout on a deserted road. He picked up a grape off his plate and lobbed it gently into the bowl of oatmeal. Crane's head shot up and their eyes met. Morton could never say exactly what it was that ran between them that day. It was something that over the next ten years he would search for in the other people he called friends, and in the end, he would find it again with only one man, this man.

For Lee Crane, staring into his roommate's clear blue eyes was like looking into a mirror that held only the reflection of what you would like to be, not what you were. Chip Morton was his friend, and in his eyes Crane could see caring, puzzlement, and deep within, a sadness, sadness for him. It was as if his friend somehow knew what he had gone through, what it had cost him. And with the knowledge that someone else mourned the loss of his innocence, some of his peace returned to him. He felt again a measure of the excitement and pride that he had felt only yesterday morning, though it seemed so very far away. Life had to go on, and he could not dwell on what he had been forced to do. He would do it again, without thought, if the situation were the same. In the future he might be called upon to make decisions, to take actions, which were distasteful, painful, even deadly. In his position as an officer in the Navy, as, he hoped, a commander of a submarine, he would be leading a crew of men. Men who would look to him for orders that could put their lives in danger. He had to be prepared for that, and he believed he was, now. Perhaps he had not been before, even after the training they had received.

He could thank Nelson for another lesson, it seemed. He had seen the regret in the blue eyes when he met them in the mirror after he had killed the man in the car. He had at first thought it was only regret for the loss of a life, and it had been to some degree he was sure, but he now understood that there had also been regret that Lee Crane had been forced to kill, that Nelson had been forced to sanction the action by giving him the gun and telling him to use it. It had been a difficult decision for Nelson, he now knew, but he had made it for the good of the group, for the project, and for the country they all served. Crane looked away from his friend, and looked around at the rapidly emptying cafe. It was almost 0900 now, and most of the midshipmen would be retreating to Bancroft Hall to get ready for the ceremony. Crane looked back at the solemn blue eyes and smiled a little.

"Shouldn't we go try to shoehorn you into your uniform before all those calories hit," he asked, seeing a sparkle return to the blue eyes at his words. "I mean, you don't have time to get the waistband let out again." He stood and grabbed his tray, heading toward the place were you dumped your tray. He heard his friend protesting behind him.

"I had the length altered NOT the waist." Crane's smile got larger. Yes. Life had to go on.

The blue sky seemed endless above the field where the ceremony was being held. A stage had been set up at one side of the field, a podium on the front edge. Chairs covered the grass before the stage, now filled with graduates, a sea of white. The stands behind the chairs were filled to overflowing with family, friends, and junior classmen. There had been a series of speeches given by various dignitaries and members of the faculty. Finally the superintendent had risen to his feet and approached the podium. With a look that encompassed all of the graduating midshipmen, he looked around then began to speak.

"It is always with difficulty that we must select one out of a group of exceptional midshipmen to be called the best. Each year we find that we must look at different criteria: a mix of grades, leadership, general performance, deportment, and extracurricular activities, but it does not get any easier. This year was no different. You each in your own way are extraordinary and are deserving in your own right of recognition, but in the interest of brevity we have to choose one among you who best represents the sterling qualities that you all share. Usually at this point I would introduce him myself, but I have been asked to make an exception this year. Since the person requesting that favor is an alumni of this institution, a former First himself, and also an ex-instructor as well, I could not refuse that favor. So, it is my pleasure to present to you Captain Harriman Nelson. Captain." With that the superintendent stepped away from the podium and Nelson, clad in his white uniform with his ribbons displayed across his chest, climbed the stairs from where he had been hidden from the crowd and also the persons on the stage. He cast a slight smile at Lee Crane whose head had snapped around at the introduction, eyes wide. He went to stand behind the podium and looked out over the graduates. His blue eyes seemed to connect with each one there, and then he began to speak.

"I have asked permission of your superintendent to give this introduction because I could not let this opportunity go by. We do not often get the chance to salute the truly exceptional among us. Or rather, we do not take the opportunities to do so. When we are faced by the exceptional person, we often find ourselves jealous of their prowess, unappreciative of their drive, and suspicious of their initiative. So nothing is said. They are often the recipients of posthumous medals and honors, as too late they are recognized for their achievements. I, for one, will not let the opportunity go by.

I have known Midshipman Crane since before his induction into this Academy. The circumstances under which I met him were…unusual to say the least, and were the first of many unusual circumstances that would come to surround this young man. It rapidly became obvious to me that, despite his youth, Mr. Crane possessed the rare quality of being a natural leader. Even in the first year here he made a deep and lasting impression on his fellow students and his instructors. That impression was only to be reinforced over the next years. Mr. Crane came to exemplify the ideal of what a midshipman should be. He led by example, and it was a good one. He has taught us all some new and much needed lessons."

"As the superintendent has said, I am no longer an instructor here at the Academy, having been posted back to sea duty. While I will not say I regret the move, I will say that I now find myself regretting the fact that I did not get to watch the last year of this young man's development. To know that such a young man, indeed that a class of such young men and women, are becoming officers in this Navy gives me hope for the future of it and of this country, of this world. Surely in him, and in you all, lay the seeds of a peaceful tomorrow. So, Ladies and Gentlemen, fellow officers, I give you the First of this year's class, Lee Benjamin Crane." As he said the name, Nelson turned and looked toward Crane, who rose to his feet.

As the sound of clapping rose to an almost deafening level, he stepped forward and reached out to shake the hand of the man he had sought to pattern his life on. The firm grip closed around his hand and the light blue eyes looked into his. He could see an apology there and a type of quiet pride. Pride in him. Suddenly the fact that there was no one out there in the crowd to see him take this honor didn't seem to matter. THIS man would see. THIS man would understand. He smiled and got a smile in return. He stepped forward to the podium, and with a deep satisfied breath, began his speech.

The End.