The Castaways woke up the next day a little hung over, but not too worse for wear. Mr. Howell caught some grief for spiking the punch, but the Castaways realized no harm was done. Plus it was fun to let loose for a change.
The Professor did call Mr. Howell on one thing though, "I think you tried to take advantage of me to get RHC1," The scientist observed.
Mr. Howell replied, "A contract is a contract."
The Professor answered, "Yes, and I will live up to my agreement. Money isn't that important to me."
"Bite your tongue!" Mr. Howell exclaimed.
Most of the day was spent packing the boat. They would be setting sail first thing in the morning. Fortunately, the Skipper and Gilligan made a sturdy craft that could take seven people, the Howell's and the Women's outfits, and the Howell's money. Along with the luxuries, water, fruit, coconuts, vegetables, and dried fish were packed aboard. Also brought about were gallons of alcohol to be used as fuel. After last night, there wasn't much danger of the castaways drinking the potent solution.
The Professor went over the do's and don'ts of engine use with the Castaways. He explained, "Don't go over 1/2 throttle, when I converted the diesel engine to alcohol, it runs a little hot. The barrels of alcohol will be kept near the engine, but use caution in refueling."
The Skipper then explained other shipboard duties, "Gilligan and I will take turns at the helm while Ginger and Mary Ann will alternate as lookout. We'll be under engine power until we get into the shipping lanes, then we'll be under sail power to conserve fuel. The sail will also attract attention from lookouts."
"I can't believe this is our last night here," Mary Ann said.
Ginger lamented, "I just can't wait to get back to civilization."
The Skipper continued, "We better turn in early, no partying tonight… we need to be sharp and alert at dawn when we shove off."
At that, the seven castaways turned in to their huts for the last time. There wasn't much sleeping done last night, as all seven were anxious to get going. Before they knew it, the sun came up over the horizon, and it was time to board The Sloop John B and sail for civilization.
The seven boarded the boat. The Skipper took his place behind the wheel, The Professor sat in a chair beside the engine, while Mary Ann climbed up into the crow's nest. At the Skipper's command, the Professor pushed the throttle forward, and the Detroit Diesel converted to burn alcohol roared to life.
Gilligan, Ginger, and the Howells tried to rest in the cabin, but it was difficult when the sun was beating down. The one advantage of being night shift though, was that they were not expected to do as much. Chances of getting spotted at night were much slimmer, so the main responsibility they had was not to run into a ship. Since the Howells and Ginger were night people used to sleeping during the day, eventually they dozed off.
The weather was beautiful, and the Skipper had the radio up at the helm to listen for storms. The Professor was intent at listening to the engine. And Mary Ann looked out at the endless horizon. Minutes seemed to last hours, and hours seemed like days. Finally, after an eternity, the sun started going down.
Skipper woke up Gilligan, "Wake up little buddy. Lets get something to eat, so you can start your watch, and I can get some rest."
Gilligan said sleepily "Wow, I think I just got to sleep, OK, I'll wake up my crew."
Skipper smiled while Gilligan woke up Ginger and the Howells. The seven castaways had a meal of dried fish and fruit together.
Mary Ann yawned and said, "Even though it's early I can't wait to get to sleep. Today seemed to last forever."
The Professor agreed, "It was a long day, and I could definitely use a break from listening to the engine."
Skipper gave final instructions before turning in, "Only use the engine to keep us from going adrift, Little Buddy, we need to conserve fuel. Ginger, if you see anything wake us up, and Howells, wake the Professor if you have engine problems."
Both Gilligan responded with, "Aye, Skipper."
Mr. Howell quietly said to his wife, "Indeed, he just told us not to use the engine."
Even though the Skipper overheard the remark, he chose to ignore it.
0900 ZULU Somewhere in the South PacificUSS Aaron Burr (SSBN 613)
After a nearly a quarter of a century in the Sub Service, Captain Nick Holden knew the cat and mouse game well. The game was a bit different than when he started out during World War II, though. Now, instead of going out after enemy ships, his job is to stay hidden. He was the captain of the gold crew of one of the Navy's most advanced ballistic missile submarines, or "boomer." His ship carried enough firepower to totally flatten most of the Soviet Union, so he had to stay out of sight of reconnaissance aircraft. He only dared come up under the cover of darkness.
"Rig for red, up to periscope depth." Holden ordered.
"Periscope depth, eye," acknowledged the Helmsman. Lighting on the sub turned red, to remind the men it was "night." Day and night can easily be confused on a submarine, and psychologically, the human mind needs to know the difference.
The captain looked through the periscope, double checked the area was clear. The sonar would, of course, tell him if anything was around the vessel, but like most old school bubbleheads, he liked to sea for himself.
Captain Holden ordered, "Surface."
A klaxon went off, and soon the huge ship's conning tower broke the surface. The Captain opened the hatch and walked out into the darkness with the officer of the deck and the signalman of the watch. The fresh air felt good.
The Captain told the deck officer, "The nukes are far more efficient than the old diesels, but at least when I was on the Sea Tiger during World War II, I got to walk around some."
The OOD laughed good-naturedly.
The intercom on the bridge buzzed. It was Johnson, the sonar operator.
"Captain, I've got a contact. Very faint, sounds like a pleasure craft a few miles from here," Petty Officer Johnson reported.
"Very well, Mr. Johnson, keep me posted," The Captain ordered.
"Aye Sir," The enlisted man replied.
Holden figured the contact probably was nothing, but the object of an SSBN is to stay hidden. If the contact turned out to be a Russian trawler, the effects would be disastrous for national security. Even if it was just a pleasure craft, Holden knew Admiral Sherman would have his head if some party boat ended up with photos of a ballistic missile sub. The ComSubPac was Nick's old skipper during World War II, but Holden knew even Matt Sherman couldn't save him from a board of inquiry if his sub ended up on the cover of Yachting Monthly.