Chapter Five
More Than Meets the Eye

The vessel was on the ocean floor, per the Captain's order to come to a full stop. The clock had counted down to six days, and without sonar they were completely blind navigating submerged. And all knew that a surface run would be impossible, not just due to the recent attack, but the speed they could make and the impossibility of surface navigation once they reached the polar ice floes.

"We've blown it," said Wilson in frustration, looking out Seaview's Herculite windows. He was too disheartened by this turn of events to continue venting his spleen at Crane.

The Admiral was already trying to conceive an alternate plan, but given the limited amount of time left, even he saw the hopelessness of the situation.

Lee, however, had already formed his own plan. If the sonar mast had detached from the submarine, it still must be within their vicinity—even allowing for shifting currents—before it had likely come to rest on the seabed. It was a gamble, he knew; but considering the alternative, he was more than willing to take the risk.

He put his proposal to Nelson, certain that his commanding officer would see its potential: "If that scraping sound was the mast tearing loose, it must be somewhere nearby."

"I don't see how that helps us," said Wilson.

Of course, you wouldn't, Lee thought. That'd be too much to ask.

"I could put a party of divers out. If they can find the gear, we can surface and repair the damage within an hour."

"It's a long shot, Lee, but it's worth the risk." The Admiral's tone had taken on its first hopeful edge since sonar went dead.

"Right, sir. three divers can do the job." He nodded. "I'll need two volunteers."

"Two?" asked Wilson, somewhat surprised.

"I'm going with them." Lee's tone was adamant.

Nelson wasn't surprised by Lee's readiness to volunteer: from his time spent on the Nautilus, the Admiral knew that Crane was always ready to place his life on the line for his crewmates or the success of a mission. However, as Captain, there were other responsibilities that needed to be considered.

The Admiral's answer spoke volumes: "Oh, no you're not. As Skipper, you're too valuable to risk on a diving mission."

Lee had steeled himself for his superior's objections, and was ready with his response: "If we fail, sir, nothing else is going to make much difference."

The Commander was correct. Six days was barely enough time for an evacuation order. Moving nearly a billion people would have been relatively easy compared to returning them to their devastated homes, and in some cases countries. The infrastructure for some of the world's most important cities—New York, Washington, London—couldn't be picked up and moved, and unlike Los Angeles, San Francisco and Tokyo, most of the buildings in those cities weren't designed to withstand earthquakes, let alone a succession of tidal waves.

Over his own objections, the Admiral gave the only reply to Crane's logic that he could, "Pick your men."

"Aye-aye, sir."

As Crane left the nose, Nelson gave Wilson a challenging glance, daring the man to continue his badgering of the Seaview's Skipper.

Wilson's eyes acquiesced his response that maybe Nelson was right, and there was more to Lee Crane than he knew.

*.*.*.*.*

As preparations were made for the diving party to depart Seaview, Wilson forced his way into joining the team, claiming to be the best diver onboard. Whether it was a testament to the scientist's capabilities as a skilled diver, or his poor attempt at an apology, Lee didn't give a damn. Finding the sonar mast and the success of the mission were all that concerned him. The more eyes out there searching for the gear, the better the chance for success.

It also occurred to him that if allowing Wilson on this search mission could broker a temporary truce between them, it'd be one less headache he'd have to deal with as they got closer to zero hour. So, appearing to swallow his pride, he answered Wilson simply, "Forgive me, I didn't realise that. We nearly left without you."

Nelson covered his smirk well. He recognised the sarcasm deftly hidden behind Lee's words; something that Wilson's arrogance didn't pick up on.

*.*.*.*.*

Once outside the sub, the team began the arduous and dangerous task of searching for the missing sonar mast in the inky depths.

Lee caught sight of a shark, and his training kicked into gear, as he fired his spear gun for a direct hit into the creature. The blood trail might attract other scavengers; so, he signaled his team to use their repellent, and keep at the ready.

Something metallic caught his signal light and glimmered at him. He breathed a grateful thank you to whatever gods watched over fools and sea captains, as he dove for the object. Sure enough, it was the mast, and it looked to be in one piece, just the cable appeared to be snapped. He was so single-minded in his intent that he didn't notice what was camouflaged by the sea floor's foliage: a giant squid, hungry for its next meal.

As he was about to grab the mast, he felt the current around him shift as an outstretched tentacle coiled itself around his upper body, and attempted to drag him to its waiting orifice.

Thankfully the others in the diving party saw his plight, and came to his aid with their spear guns and magnesium flares, aiming either to kill the creature—something he doubted their limited weaponry was capable of—or give him the chance to break free.

The creature, not wanting to lose its meal, also fought back, tightening its hold on him. Between the water slowing down his movements and the squid's pressure on his chest, he was taking a beating. Even with his life in the balance, the irony of the situation wasn't lost on him: Wilson was an asset to his plan of using only three divers. Having a fourth diver probably saved his life: they were making enough of a distraction and, no doubt, causing the thing so much pain that Lee was finally able to wrench himself free.

As the Chief and Malone supported him, Wilson took the opportunity to grab the sonar mast, no doubt wanting to play the rôle of hero once they were all safely back aboard. Lee shook his head. Let the man have his moment in the spotlight, if it was so vitally important to him; completing the mission successfully and getting the crew back in one piece were his top priorities.

*.*.*.*.*

Back aboard the sub, Crane was nursing his bruised ribs, as he worked his way out of his diving gear. He was indebted to Wilson for his help, but the scene aboard was just as he imagined it: The scientist taking the credit for retrieving the sonar mast, hefting it like a prized trophy.

Lee held out his hand towards Wilson in a conciliatory gesture.

Wilson smiled heartily, as he shook the Captain's hand. "I told you I was the best diver aboard."

Lee shook his head slightly. It was all about ego with Wilson. He had bruised the scientist's ego when he was XO of the USS Tecumseh, by daring to disagree with his proposal for an inspection of the Pacific ridge plates. Even though he was overridden by both his CO and Wilson, Lee still stood by his recommendation that Wilson's plan would place the boat in a dangerous position along the ocean floor. True, he'd only been an Executive Officer for a few months, but it was his duty to point out any risk involved for the crew or the boat. The scientist definitely knew how to hold a grudge.

"Captain," said Nelson, "I want you to report to sickbay."

Admittedly he was sore from the tussle with the squid, but to take time out from the mission for the ship's doctor to tell him he had a couple of bruised ribs was, he believed, a waste.

"I'll be fine, Admiral," he replied. "I'm sore, but that's to be expected. And I've got a mission to complete."

Nelson knew all too well how much Lee hated sick bay, hospitals, and anything—short of an attractive nurse—having to do with doctors, but he would brook no excuse. "It'll take the crew about an hour to repair the sonar mast. You can spare that much time, Captain, and that's an order."

*.*.*.*.*

It didn't matter whether it was a sick bay aboard a Navy vessel or Cedars-Sinai: no matter where you were, all hospitals carried that same disquieting scent of antiseptic and disinfectant.

The doctor seemed pleasant and capable enough as he probed Lee's ribs, but he'd still have preferred to be anywhere else aboard.

"We haven't been formally introduced Captain, I'm Lieutenant Commander Will Jamieson."

"Commander." He winced a bit, as the doctor hit a decidedly tender spot.

"The Admiral's already alerted me that I shouldn't expect you to be one of my easiest patients."

Lee smiled slightly. "I'm here, Doctor, aren't I?"

Jamieson raised an eyebrow. "It's what you already guessed: you've got a couple of badly bruised ribs."

"But otherwise I'm fine." The tone he said it in was a challenge: a challenge to the one man who could technically classify him unfit for duty.

"Otherwise, you're fine, yes. Though I do want to bandage those ribs; it'll help make you a bit more comfortable. I suspect that I'd have to tie you down to keep you in sickbay, anyway."

"All right," acquiesced Lee. "Do what you've got to do, Doc, so I can return to duty ASAP."