Hope or Hopeless

They were dead in the water, on the bottom, in trouble.

The crewman was looking for reassurance. 'Can we get out?'

Nelson in his paternal way provided comfort. 'They can't fail to see our marker buoy.'

'Suppose they don't find us?'

There was only so much comfort to offer in a life-and-death situation. Nelson had reached the end of the comfort.*

While Kowalski and Riley were freeing the Skipper, the first four men of the detail removed the hijackers from the compartment. They wanted them gone, out of the sight of their senior officers. They also needed the space for the rest of the detail and corpsmen. Once the hatch was again clear and the scene free of hazard, Sharkey and Patterson came in, charged with the speedy and safe delivery of Doc to the Skipper. Both were alarmed at what they saw there, but quickly turned and continued as planned to attend to the Admiral.

The Skipper was lying on the deck in flaming agony, icy shock, and deadly weakness. As the Doctor approached, Kowalski gently said, "Skipper, the Doc is here." Crane's eyes flicked to meet Kowalski's in silent acknowledgement. Kowalski's voice was anchoring and holding him here. His mind yearned to fly free but Ski's words held him. Held him to the living.

Young Riley also looked at Kowalski, taking in his shipmate's deference for the officer, but compassion for the man, in the simple statement. He was learning a lot from Kowalski in just a moment or two. Riley would ever after credit the last couple of minutes as a turning point in understanding the workings of duty and loyalty. In learning that frantic haste, fear, strength, and gentleness could work together all at once and not be at odds. He would, in future, value this mentoring, unwittingly and freely given to him from a tough, seasoned and empathic sailor who was just saying and doing what, in the moment, seemed to be right.

Doc, bag in hand, crouched at Crane's right side quickly visually assessing the situation and opening his bag as he looked. "Kowalski, get his shirt open, find where the worst bleeding is coming from and apply direct pressure immediately." Tossing a bulky packet from his bag he directed, "Here use this. Put a good amount of pressure on it. Do it now."

"Aye, aye, sir." Kowalski shifted to the Skipper's left side. Crane's eyes watched him as he intently yanked open the blood soaked shirt. There was so much blood, but one long wound was brimming with fast flooding pools of red. He ripped open the packet and dabbed the gaping wound with the pad to make sure it was the one with the most serious bleeding and tried not to think about the bone he just saw as he covered it from view and applied pressure.

He looked back at the Skipper's face, and was startled to find the Skipper watching him. Looking at him with the intense vague look of a young infant. One who watched closely but had no context for understanding that vision. Intent. Trusting. Then Kowalski leaned into the wound more because the bleeding looked so bad. The Skipper gave a deep uncontainable visceral groan. It was dreadful to hear. There were broken ribs there as well. With the added pressure Kowalski felt the grating under his palms. He looked up at Doc thinking he shouldn't push so hard. "Doc! His ribs are crunching!"

"Keep pressure on it!"

"Aye, sir." Then looking back at the Skipper he apologized. "I'm sorry, sir. Sorry, sir." Kowalski cringed at the suffering he was inflicting but maintained the pressure as if his Skipper's life depended on it. It did. The Skipper's strange vague gaze stayed on Kowalski even as his body contorted in agony under the ministrations to save his life.

Doc calmly addressed Crane using his name to get his attention, "Captain Crane, as promised I brought painkillers for you, sir."

The Captain's eyes, which had been intent on Kowalski, moved to look at Doc trying desperately to focus on him and remain aware. He seemed to recognize and know him. His body was wracked with the terrible pressure on his ribs but he voicelessly whispered, "All right".

Doc turned to Riley and commanded briskly, "Rip his sleeve all the way up and support the Captain's arm for me."

"Aye, aye, sir." Riley promptly did so, struggling a bit to rip the sleeve without jolting the injured man.

As the Captain twisted against the pressure on his ribs the Doc reiterated to Riley, "Hold his arm very steady."

"Yes, sir." Riley held the Skipper's arm firmly against the movement, treating this task as a sacred duty.

"Captain, this will sting but it will start working in just a couple of minutes," stated Doc as he injected the painkiller. Crane fought to keep his focus on Doc.

Riley couldn't take his eyes off the Skipper.

The Doc matter-of-factly said, "I am going to give you something to let you sleep now Captain."

Crane shook his head in negation. His body heaved. His voice was gone, but his faintly whispered words shouted out loudly his deepest duty and obligation, "No. What … about … the men … " Riley was startled and astounded at what concerned the critically wounded Skipper in this fraught moment.

Doc replied as if this was a perfectly normal and sensible thing for the Skipper to say. "Captain, we'll let Mr. Morton see to the men for a while. It's time for you to take a break, sir. I am going to give you this shot now. Doctor's orders." He moved to give the second injection. Right then Nelson, just released, arrived to kneel beside Kowalski. He leaned over, and placed his hand over the Doctor's.

"Wait a moment, Doc."

"He needs this."

"Just a minute please, He needs to hear this right now."

"But I need to get him to sick bay he isn't stable … "

"This is important, Doc. Please. There's more than one kind of pain. You can put him out in just one minute." He pleaded, "Doc, the corpsmen aren't here yet … please."

The Doc paused, moved his hands back, "Aye, sir. One minute."

Nelson looked at Crane. After the intense urgency and desperation of his words with the Doc his voice was suddenly gentle but compelling, "Lee." Could Lee even hear him? "Lee."

The Captain's attention was wandering; with the blood loss, deadly cold shock, and painkillers taking over it was too much to follow what was going on around him. His closing eyes didn't see the physical world around him, they saw Messer's cold eyes silently promising to kill him and beyond Messer he felt Farrell.

When Nelson spoke to him directly using his name Lee struggling to come back from where he was drifting looked over to Nelson unable to answer at first. As he focused on the Admiral his composure broke and his breathing went ragged. He tried to lift his left hand toward the Admiral but the movement faltered. Nelson felt the flutter of Lee's hand by his knee and gently laid his hand over the Captain's damaged one, human touch not inflicting suffering. Crane's eyes cried out to the Admiral speaking clearly his guilt and unbearable shame. He breathed out, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Why, Lee?" Gently still.

"I didn't … want … to scream."

"I know. You told me."

"I couldn't tell … " The words faded away.

"As soon as the chain hit you, you looked at me and told me as plainly as if you had said the words out loud that you had to scream. You told me you didn't want to, because if I heard you it would hurt me. Am I right?" Nelson questioned him to hold him here, keep him with them.

Crane responded, his whisper faint as a dissipating wisp of smoke, "Aye, sir."

"I understood what you needed me to understand, Lee. That's why I yelled. So I wouldn't hear you. So you could scream all you needed to. You didn't hurt me. You have no reason to be sorry. They broke your bones. They couldn't break your integrity. Your commitment to your men has never faltered." Nelson took a shaky breath, "Lee, your honour is shining so brightly right now my eyes dazzle looking at you. I am proud of you … so proud."

Hearing those words Riley looked at Nelson in astonishment, then his eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the Skipper.

Nelson rapidly blinked his blearing eyes, and nodded to Doc who injected the Captain.

Crane, grey-faced and breathing shakily in intense distress, strove to hold the Admiral's eyes with his own. Nelson reassured him. "Be easy, Lee. We've got you. Be easy." Riley felt the quaking tension in the Skipper's arm lessening. Crane suddenly blanching and fading fast, fought to keep his gaze fixed on Nelson, but the light in his eye wavered, faltered, and was gone as he slid into solace in the arms of Morpheus.

The despairing Admiral looked shattered as Lee slipped into the drug-induced sleep. Would he live? Had he just spoken to him for the last time … with so much still to say? He gently laid his other hand over the Captain's. "Ah, lad, just … just … be easy." The Captain's struggling had ceased. In that unexpected hush they all looked at the silent, still Skipper with bated breath.

Young Riley, looking at his unconscious Skipper, was mystified and overwhelmed. He felt they were in the lull at the eye of a storm. A moment frozen in time, the Skipper's face white, lax. Awed by the sudden silence, he glanced at the Admiral, the Doctor, and Kowalski in turn; he then looked wonderingly at the unmoving Skipper whose other arm lay limp, dead weight in his hands.

The Doc rapidly continued to treat Crane inserting an airway for transport to sick bay.

Then activity and noise surged around them, the corpsmen arrived with rapid footfalls bringing a stretcher to take charge of getting the Skipper to sick bay. Time seemed to suddenly speed up. There were many voices asking many questions, barking out directions. All those kneeling there except Kowalski leaned back, hands on their knees, then rocked back to stand up and away as many other hands descended towards the Skipper. Kowalski continued to apply pressure until the corpsmen took over. He reported to them, "Watch his left arm, there's something wrong with it."

Admiral Nelson watched closely as Crane was given oxygen and loaded onto the stretcher. He feared for his friend.

The corpsmen in a flurry of voices and footsteps carried the Skipper off to sick bay. Down the passageway calls of, "make a hole" were heard as they cleared the way as they went, their haste justified.

As he followed the stretcher, Doc called to the Chief, "Bring the Admiral to sick bay as soon as you can." Then he was gone, running.

Nelson swayed a bit in the sudden quiet and reached out his hand for support. The Chief stepped up to the Admiral, put an arm behind him, Patterson offered support on the other side and together they went from the compartment.

As they paused to negotiate the hatch with the Admiral, quiet, gentle Patterson glanced back at the compartment, where cots, ropes, weapons, and chain were jumbled down on the deck near the forward bulkhead. He made a mental note to talk to the Chief about rearranging everything in this space to completely change its appearance before the Admiral ever came back in.

Kowalski and Riley were left alone looking at one another in silence and hollow emptiness as the adrenalin shakes started.

Kowalski absently wiped his bloodstained hands on his already blood marked clothes, his thoughts elsewhere. In his mind's eye he saw his own hands sticky with blood pushing, inflicting pain. Cringing, he felt again the grating of bones under his palms.

Riley's mind was full of a surreal contrast, the Skipper's body shuddering in agony as he asked with concern about his men. For the first time he wondered if he commanded a boat, if he would feel that concern for a crew. He glanced down to his own hands that firmly held the Skipper's arm still against the throes. Beyond his hands, down on the deck, he saw a bloody knife.

Back in the control room Morton waited in anxious dread. They had the sub; did they have the Admiral and the Captain? He second-guessed himself. Why did he use such a high-risk plan? Place the officers in such jeopardy? The men in the control room were settling down after the frantic and skilful execution of untested manoeuvres and the successful capture of the hijackers there. Flurries of reports came in from all over the boat. The duty watch kept glancing at the intercom speaker and to Morton, waiting for the one word that mattered. Morton grabbed the mike, "This is the Exec. Sick bay, report."

A voice replied, "Sick bay here. Mr. Morton, the Captain just arrived in sick bay. His condition is not yet determined, but sir … "

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I can't say more. You might want to get down here."

"Very well."

Morton was running before he even let go of the mike. The mike fell and swung tapping against the plot table. As he raced out the hatch he called back "Sparks, you have the conn." Morton was gone; the men looked at each other fearing the worst.

Sparks spoke to the empty air. "Aye, aye, sir."

Chip arrived in the passageway outside sick bay and was stopped by a corpsman. "I am sorry, sir. Doc is working on the Captain and no one can go in right now but he asked me to tell you some things he didn't want me to say over the intercom. As I am needed here I couldn't go to the control room."

"I understand."

"Sir, we don't know everything about the Captain's condition yet. But he has been stabbed and that wound is immediately life threatening. That's why Doc can't speak with you himself at the moment. The Captain appears to have many other injuries, sir … " The corpsman paused, swallowed, looking with concern at the Exec, "Numerous injuries, sir. We haven't been able to assess all of those yet. We are working to stabilize the critical wounds right now."

"I understand."

The corpsman paused slightly to switch to the next casualty. "The Admiral is here now as well and being treated for minor injuries, shock and exhaustion. His condition is assumed to be good but the Doc hasn't fully assessed him either.

Sir, about the Captain, I could keep in contact with you by intercom but I can't give details that way. All I could tell you would be his current official condition, more than that would need to be reported in person. Right now as Doc hasn't completed a full assessment, his official condition is undetermined but must be assumed to be critical."

"Very well. I will assign a runner to bring report to me. Would that allow you to report more fully?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please provide an update every 15 minutes until Doc can provide a complete report."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And … thank you."

"Yes, sir."

Morton headed back to the control room where many other tasks awaited his attention, the first of which was to update the apprehensive control room duty watch. He assigned Ron duty as the confidential runner between sick bay and the control room.

As acting commander, Morton contacted COMSUBPAC, and the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) as soon as the boat was back in his hands to advise on the situation. Now he must contact NIMR.

"Sparks, get me the Institute."

"Aye, aye, sir." After a few seconds, "Miss Hale at the Nelson Institute, sir."

"Very well."

Sparks announced, "Miss Hale, here is Lieutenant Commander Morton."

"Good day, Mr. Morton."

"Hello, Miss Hale. I'm sorry but I will forgo pleasantries and formalities. I won't beat around the bush. We've had an incident. I need engineering to report on, and confirm with me, the expected hull stresses, potential failure points and recommended maintenance or repair, following the emergency manoeuvre code named The Slip. I will also need a report on all possible equipment and electronic issues and response changes subsequent to that same manoeuvre and maintenance and repair for such."

"Engineering reports hull stresses and equipment and electronics responses subsequent to manoeuvre code named The Slip. Yes, Mr. Morton. Anything else?" Miss Hale as always was professional and efficient.

"Yes, Miss Hale. I am going to send our report and casualty list in due course. I hope this won't be too upsetting, ma'am."

"Of course, Mr. Morton. That's standard procedure … oh."

"I'm sorry to distress you, Miss Hale. Just so you are aware I will tell you now, Admiral Nelson is likely to be in good condition. Captain Crane's condition is being determined at this time."

"I see. Thank you to letting me know. Mr. Morton, can you tell me anything more?"

"Just that there may be cause for concern, but I don't have details yet. I will keep the Institute posted as the situation allows."

"I appreciate that. Thank you. I will get the information you need right away."

Morton had relieved the men of the detail who first attended Nelson and Crane in the visitor's quarters so they could wash up, change, go to the crew's mess to get food and drink into them after the disquieting experience. They were all in an unsettled state. They were relieved that the Admiral was okay. However, the concern that they could still lose the Skipper despite their valiant efforts had them all on tenterhooks. Morton went to the crew's quarters to check on them, update them on Nelson and Crane, listen to their account of the experience and acknowledge their contribution to the rescue.

He also arranged with the Chief to meet with each detail briefly at some point today to acknowledge and affirm the crew's efforts during the manoeuvre, apprehension of the captors, and rescue of their senior officers. Then he checked with the steward about a meal for the Doc and corpsmen who are all still on duty in sick bay.

Hours later he had the situation under control, the boat safe, reports made, and new orders initiated. Morton finally got word to head to sick bay to receive report from Doc himself. As he walked into the anteroom he saw Nelson sitting hunched with a blanket around him, his wrists bandaged. Doc looked tired. He was standing tense, rolling his head and shoulders to relieve that tension. Morton made eye contact with Doc asking the important question in silence and in silence receiving the answer. It was bad … he might not live. Morton sighed and sagged, after a moment he straightened up and squared his shoulders.

He went to Nelson. "Sir, how are you?"

"Ask me once we know, but yeah I'm all right."

He looked a question at Doc asking if he might go into the ward and received a nod. He looked into the ward. Other than the occasion they had three men in decompression at the same time he had rarely seen all the corpsmen all working at once.# Sick bay was usually like a clinic, this time it looked like an emergency room. The corpsmen were all hands on deck at this moment.

He looked in trepidation at Lee. His friend was as white as the sheet covering him and he was swathed in blankets. The head of the bed was raised some to make breathing with broken ribs easier. The silent still form was connected to IV and oxygen. Corpsmen were monitoring him constantly. As Morton entered they looked at him with all the uncertainty showing in their eyes. Morton seeing the looks in their eyes feared, but nodded his thanks to them for the care they were providing.

Lee's hands were covered in needles and tubes or bandages and his lower face was covered with the oxygen mask so Morton gently laid his hand on Lee's forehead. He was thankful for this opportunity to speak with his friend. It wasn't private but he felt that at least he could speak with Lee and say what he needed to say.

With well-faked confidence he spoke with his customary calmness, "Lee, it's Chip. Am I glad to see you. You're in sick bay, and being well looked after." He glanced up at the corpsmen with an acknowledging faint smile. Looking back at Lee he continued, "Lee, don't worry about anything. The crew are safe; I'll look to the men for you until you're on your feet. Seaview is tight and dry, and in good trim. I'll watch over her for you until you're feeling better." He hesitated, a bit embarrassed with the corpsmen here to say anything personal, but said it anyway, "Lee, … I care about you. Get well soon my friend, you hear." Morton straightened up. He knew his friend well; that's why he hit on the biggest cares the injured man carried. He would never know if his reassurances were heard, but he knew he needed to try to give his friend, the Captain of this vessel, some peace.

After a few more moments of silently looking at the slack white features of his friend's face the Exec walked away from the Captain's bedside back to his other duties with the crew, the boat, and other cares heavily burdening his shoulders.

The Exec and Nelson listened as Doc gave report on the casualties from The Slip. The crew got off easily as they were well prepared. There were some injuries to the purification team that the corpsmen dealt with, but the Seaview men dismissed hearing much about these. With a glance at Nelson, Morton simply said, "Tell me about them later, Doc." Their concern was for their own.

Regarding the Captain, Doc couldn't say yet what the outcome would be. The stab wound was stanched and clean but needed to be meticulously protected. He had lost blood not just from the knife wound but also from bleeding into tissues from other internal injuries, lacerations, and extensive bruising. One of the corpsmen had compatible blood and donated a unit. Depending on the severity of the internal injuries they could still lose him but he lived to get to sick bay so Doc was hopeful in that regard. Doc said Crane could have died in the visitor's quarters if any organs were ruptured, but he warned there is damage. He had adopted a watch and wait approach to see if the damage resolved as bruising or active bleeding. The Captain's arm was broken as were several ribs. In addition to the knife wound there were multiple abrasions and lacerations. Off the top of his head Doc didn't remember how many stitches he put in, but it was a lot, the chain a brutal weapon. There were strains and sprains especially to his chest, shoulders, arms, and hands to deal with at some point but those could wait.

The Captain was getting oxygen, IV fluids, and medication to treat the threatening injuries. The corpsmen were keeping him warm with hot water bottles, frequently changed, and warmed blankets to combat the chilling effects of shock. He would be kept sedated for an undetermined time to allow and promote healing. Doc advised that he was considering additional blood transfusion if other compatible donors were available aboard. Surgery might be necessary if he was still bleeding internally. They would monitor closely over the next hours regarding that possibility.

Following reporting on the Captain's condition Doc said, "I have the Captain's personal effects here. Mostly the usual sort of things but there is something here that I think you might want to be aware of."

They all came over to Doc's desk as Nelson asked, "What is it, Doc?"

The Doctor took a large envelope out of the locked drawer of his desk, opened the end and slid some things onto the desk: a watch, a ring, a handkerchief, a few coins, and a piece of paper folded, crumpled, and stained. Nelson sadly touched the ring, nudging the broken circle with his forefinger. Doc said apologetically, "I was sorry to damage it, I had to cut his ring off, his hand is swollen, but what I really want you to know about is the piece of paper."

Nelson picked it up, shaken already by the state it was in. It was drying now, but it had been sweat dampened … an edge faintly tinged with a trace of blood. He unfolded it. It was a coded radio message. The blood drained from his face. Horrified, he looked at Morton. Chip met his gaze, appalled. In profound shock, desolation, and dismay they both turned to the Doctor.

Nelson, his voice low and intense, asked tersely, dangerously, "Where did you find this, Doctor?"

"It was in his pocket."

Nelson was aghast; Crane had what they wanted on him the whole time! Crushed to the core, Nelson's knees gave way. Chip grabbed his arm as he swayed and stumbled, guiding him to the chair where he dropped down abruptly, overwhelmed, his head in his hands.

Instead of the robust energetic domineering scientist he was used to seeing, for the first time Chip saw him as a broken man.

Nelson was on the sick list himself because of his ordeal and exhaustion but was not confined to sick bay. He remained in sick bay nevertheless.

Morton arrived back in the control room and headed to the radio shack. "Sparks, please update the Institute that Admiral Nelson is in good condition, and that Captain Crane is in critical condition."

Sparks looked at Morton with concern, "Aye, aye, sir."

Chip was dragging with fatigue now but his mind was racing with all the intensity of the day's events. There were still so many details to follow up. He braced himself with two shaky hands against the plot table, paused a moment to face the reality, then for another moment to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath, willed himself to keep going, then carried on.

Later Riley was talking to Kowalski. "I don't get it. The Admiral could let the Captain be tortured almost to death while he watched it happen and doesn't do anything to stop it. But now that the Skipper is in sick bay he's so worried he can hardly leave his side. I don't understand at all."

"Well as I see it, the officers can be ripped up by what happens but the mission, or the country, or saving the world, or whatever it is, somehow comes first. Like back when Farrell died the Skipper couldn't confess to something that would hurt our country, so Farrell was shot dead. But the Skipper was completely torn apart by that. I was there. I saw it. Patterson was going to be shot too, but then the Admiral rescued us. I don't know but it seems like when the country or the world is at risk we have to get each other out of those situations. I guess this time it must have been something like that … and this time it was our turn to get them out."

Riley shook his head. It just didn't make sense to him.

* Submarine Sunk Here

# The Condemned