Long Trail

Crane headed back into the forest trying to look confident and energetic since he knew Ski was watching him go. Once he got a couple of hundred metres into the woods though he faltered and slowed a bit finally stopping to lean against a tree. His legs were like jelly after carrying Chip so far.

He had varied the carries he used. He started with piggyback but once Chip got too weak he tried fireman. Chip couldn't tolerate that. He switched to pistol strap carry and Ski helped getting Chip up and down each time so it was less draining but he was close to done in. Chip was about the same height as Lee and a trim man but he naturally carried fifteen or so pounds more than Crane's ultra lean build did.

Getting Chip to the beach had taken forever and had almost been too much physically so Crane knew that continuing would be hard going. The kind of effort he had already put in demanded refuelling, rehydration, and rest. He didn't have food or water, both lost in the mêlée while they disarmed their attackers but kept hold of the vital backpack.

There would be no rest at all in the foreseeable future. Of the three people who knew where the pack was he alone was uninjured and able to go back and get it. He couldn't wait for another detail to do the recovery because if he stopped now for more than a few minutes at any one time his overextended muscles would quickly seize up on him. That fatigue complicated by the tidal windows for landing on the beach negated waiting. He had to get it now while he had the mental stamina to drive himself.

He hoped Nelson would see that. Nelson would be mighty ticked to not be involved in the decision-making. He was more than a little worried about Nelson's reaction to his choice. He knew Nelson would be livid but mission trumped fatigue. Hopefully the Admiral would remember that. Despite their friendship he wasn't looking forward to their next meeting.

Crane knew there was an ebb and flow to energy. On the ebb, energy was so low movement was almost impossible to make but wait, recover, and in another minute or three energy flowed and it was possible again. As he leaned against the tree waiting out the ebb, waiting for that flow of returning energy he took stock of how he felt. Yes, fatigued with that unique tiredness of glycogen depletion, calorie deficit, dehydration, and overexertion, but he wasn't injured, he could carry on.

Water was going to be a problem but there was nothing he could do about that but pace himself to get the job done without overtaxing himself. He scoffed slightly. Yeah, right. He knew headache and muscle cramps were in his future. He pushed himself away from the tree; the sooner he could go on the sooner this would be done and behind him.

As he walked he was glad he was well. He had worked really hard at putting on a bit of weight and building back strength, endurance, and agility during the past year. He revelled in again being fit and strong. As he doggedly put one foot in front of the other he realized how unwell he had been. Sure Doc cleared him as physically fit to return to duty months ago but he remembered how he'd had to force himself to do anything.

He hadn't been able to eat much; he'd had no appetite, and early in his recuperation often couldn't keep food down when he did eat. At times he would look in a mirror and could almost visualize his skull under the skin of his emaciated face. Could see all his ribs. He had cringed remembering the look of his stick-thin legs; like photos of prisoners of war.

Lee's mind had been prisoner, prisoner to a ghost and to the trauma of the missile complex mission. Those missions had been too much to bear. Far, far too much.

Nelson and Morton destroyed Mulayo. He himself had stood up to Hendley. As his body healed he had worked hard to rebuild health, doing his physio, trying to eat. But Lee had been prisoner still for a while afterwards, healed in body but unwell in mind. He had eventually found his own slow but steady healing with help from friends who encouraged him. He found practical ways to deal with the mental distress and rebuild resilience. He smiled to himself remembering his breathing, grateful thoughts, and especially the writing. He had practically written his way to wholeness.

When he returned to active duty it took all his mental energy to manage daily evolutions and command his boat. At the end of a day he would head to his cabin, sink into his desk chair or bunk and just coast on the mental exhaustion. He struggled again as active duty left him too drained to practice the things that had given him back his mental strength and peace of mind.

He remembered that mental exhaustion with distaste but it was mostly in the past. He was well now. Energetic. Not perhaps physically right at this moment with the over exertion but mentally he had stamina. He was especially glad of being well because this mission hadn't gone well. A year ago he wouldn't have been able to carry Chip more than a few metres. But today he did and for far longer than he could ever have imagined. His mental toughness had carried him through. It had taken so long to cover the distance but mental endurance had prevailed over physical exhaustion.

Saying the mission hadn't gone well was an understatement. A member of the project team had ambushed them. He still didn't know why, maybe he never would.

Kowalski had a sprained ankle but fortunately it wasn't broken. Ski had been a real trooper helping stabilize and support Morton especially with getting Morton up into a carry or down again when Crane was wearied and had to rest. Ski had moved slowly but determinedly under his own power. Crane had of necessity moved slowly carrying Chip so he and Ski had kept pace with each other although Crane had to stop and rest far too frequently for his liking. He had felt a bit envious of Ski. Kowalski had looked like he could go on at that slow steady pace forever.

Bodies can do amazing things but are still human, fallible and limited. He was amazed at what together they had done in covering that distance with two of the team injured.

But the mission wasn't complete. The vital backpack was hidden but it couldn't stay where it was. He needed to hike in again and carry it out to the beach. There was something else he had to do, had to know. He hadn't shared that with Ski. Ski had already been perilously close to physically holding his Skipper down to prevent him going back.