Title: AGONIES

Author/pseudonym: J. S. Mikiels

Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea

Pairing: Harriman Nelson/Lee Crane; Dr. Will Jamison/Joseph Pheerse (OMC); Kowalski/Patterson; Chief Sharkey/Sparks

Rating: Slash PG

Status: New

Archive: Of course!

E-mail address for feedback:: jsmikiels@cei.net

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Twentieth Century-Fox and Irwin Allen Productions. No infringement held by either the TCF or the estate of Irwin Allen is intended.

Summary: On a secret mission to the Middle East, Seaview is hijacked by a band of Arab terrorists. Although the terrorists are subdued and quickly taken into custody, the danger that Seaview and her crew face is far from over. Now, they must survive the AGONIES their enemies have caused--IF they can!

AGONIES
By J. S. Mikiels

"Put your hands in the air. Don't move!" commanded a familiar voice, the voice of their ONI contact they had picked up the day before. In his hands was an automatic pistol. Seaview had been assigned to pick up Bashari Fouad Dhakti and his band and take them to National Security Agency Headquarters in Fort Meade, Maryland for debriefing. They had valuable information that would save many thousands of lives if it could be retrieved and acted upon in time.

Reluctantly, Captain Crane and Mister Morton raised their hands.

Dhakti, a captain in the army of the Rabat Republic, led a powerful resistance movement against the most powerful radical faction led by El Naya Mohammed Ali. His organization practiced terrorism in many places of the world.

In recent months, El Naya Mohammed Ali's attention had turned to the United States.

Captain Crane took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his raging thoughts. "What do you hope to accomplish?"

"First, I'm going to transfer the nuclear warheads to the medium range missiles and launch them at various targets in the United States," proclaimed Captain Dhakti, a smile of triumph twisting his lips. Then, I will torpedo each ship that comes after me."

Captain Crane stared in horror at the man standing in front of him in the Control Room. What the hell is going on? Surely, this is a nightmare, and I just haven't waked up yet!

Captain Dhakti nodded toward the Radio Shack. Two of the seven men barged through the door, pistols drawn. Captain Crane winced as the sounds of pistol butts thudding against flesh and the ensuing moans reached his ears.

Sharkey gazed around; his eyes were open much wider than usual. His jaw was clenched; his lips were pulled back. He backed away quietly, his face very pale. Ski and Pat stood and slipped from their stations. The three men inched their way toward the hatch Sharkey's up to something, thought Captain Crane. I'll keep the enemy captain talking and give him a chance to come up with a plan.

**

Lt. Peter Colton's head swam. Through the throbs of pain and nausea, he reached for the TRANSMIT button, but his hand was smashed with the butt of a pistol.

"Send any message and you're dead, you American pig!" yelled a man.

The Communications Officer felt the warm trickle of blood run down his forehead and into his right eye. He started to wipe it away, but the feeling of a knife's steel edge being pressed against his throat made him freeze.

And if I don't, Seaview and all aboard her will be so much debris on the ocean floor. Our Navy will track us down and blow us out of the water.

Even if they don't, we won't have anything to go back to if these bastards have their way. And after having a hand in that, I couldn't look another American in the eyes ever again.

Even though he felt himself sweating, a shiver coursed through him. And I could never look Francis in the eyes ever again!

**
Captain Crane continued to meet the stares of the men who had turned out to be deadly enemies. "We thought you were trying to stop this-this madness. Why have you betrayed us?"

Captain Dhakti relaxed his stance, but still kept his weapon pointed at them. "Since you've got no choice but to help us with our plan, I may as well tell you," he stated. "You see, I'm not Captain Dhakti. These are not his men, either."

The enemy leader sneered, displaying several rotten teeth.

"You see, I'm really Mohammed Ali Amin Kayat. These are my men." Then, the tall, dark man emitted a laugh that chilled his blood. "Your friends have all been dispatched to Hell, where all Infidels belong."

He paused, his smile widening. "And their deaths were unpleasant, to say the least. Most unpleasant! Especially the leader, Captain Dhakti." Another wicked laugh escaped his lips. "In the end, he was whining to Allah, like a sniveling child at its mother's tit."

Whatever his ethnic origin or religious beliefs, this is one sick son of a bitch, Captain Crane thought.

The enemy leader picked up the hand mike. "This is Mohammed Ali Kayat. Have you transferred those warheads yet?"

Moans from several crewmen could be heard for a moment.

"Yes. We will have them ready in five minutes," a reply came over the intercom.

Suddenly, the boat rocked, throwing everyone off balance.

Several crewmen, led by Sharkey, flung themselves at the enemy men. As the men struggled, shots were fired. Sparks flew everywhere. Riley and several others left their stations to aid their fellow crewmen.

Crewmen had the two other men pinned down, but Amin Kayat proved to be very determined. He managed to get loose and fired, narrowly missing Captain Crane and Mister Morton.

Sparks flew from the sonar screen as the console exploded. The inactive radar station and the hydrophone also exploded as bullets found their targets.

Captain Crane dashed for the arms locker and withdrew a nine millimeter for himself and Mister Morton.

Suddenly, Sharkey doubled over as a rapidly expanding scarlet flower appeared a couple of inches above his belt on his left side. Two more shots rang out, followed by moans as Alan Gordon, a new man, and David Watson, who had been with the boat for several missions, fell to the deck. Another shot brought down Donald Denton, blood pouring from his throat.

Now in position, Captain Crane and Mister Morton opened fire. The two men who had entered the Radio Shack emerged and were quickly cut down by the two officers. Amin Kayat twitched and fell to the deck as several scarlet flowers appeared on the middle of his chest and rapidly spread. "Your men will pray for death," he hissed as pink froth, mixed with blood, trickled down his chin. Finally, Kayat lay still, his eyes open and unblinking.

Captain Crane grabbed the hand mike and keyed Sickbay. "Men down in the Control Room! Men down! Get up here quick!" he shouted.

"Aye aye, sir," responded the calm voice of Dr. Will Jamison.

**
"Come on, Pat!" Ski called as soon as they were out of the Control Room. "We've got to do something, and I've got a plan." Ski broke into a run, Pat close behind him.

"What do you have in mind?" asked Pat.

"We can shut down the power to the helm and planes controls for a few seconds. That will cause the boat to rock. They're not used to submarines, so that will scare them. Then, we'll shut down the power to the missile launch controls and the torpedo launching systems."

"But those men will still be aboard. They're armed."

"That's right. They're armed against us, but a couple of canisters with knockout gas in them will stop them cold."

They reached the Circuitry Room and quickly shut down the power to the boat's steering systems briefly. When it began to rock, Ski flipped the switch and turned it back on. Then, he shut down the power to the missile complexes and the torpedo launching systems.

"Let's head for the arms locker," Ski ordered.

Ski used his key to open the door and went to where the gas masks were kept and took two. He handed one to Pat, who put it on while he donned his. Then, they took two canisters of knockout gas. Ski relocked the door as they left.

They headed for the Missile Room. Pat opened the hatch, while Ski pulled the pins and tossed them in. Then, Pat ratcheted it closed.

The two men ran toward the Control Room. Ski stopped when he came to a wall mike. Snatching it from its wall bracket, he keyed it and held the button down. "Air Revitalization and Ventilation, this is Ski. Close the vents leading to the Missile Room. There is a gas problem there."

"This is Jones in ARV. Have closed the vents. The gas is contained."

Ski and Pat slowed to a brisk walk. "Whew! That was close!" exclaimed Pat.

'Yeah, I know," Ski said.

For a moment, they were silent. Then, Pat spoke again.

"That was easy. I thought we'd have a lot of trouble taking back the boat."

Despite the ease with which they had accomplished their objectives, Ski felt tentacles of uneasiness snake through him. "Too easy," he murmured, almost coming to a stop.

Pat laid a hand on his elbow and squeezed slightly, his blue eyes studying him. "You okay, Ski?"

Ski nodded, then smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood between them. Pat knows me like the back of his own hand. We've been best friends for years. Nearly a year and a half ago, it became a hell of a lot more than that. Sometimes, I think he knows what I'm going to say before I do. "I guess I keep remembering what my Grandmother Doroteya used to say."

"You've told me about a lot of things she said. Which one are you talking about?"

"She used to say, 'If you can win out over something too easy, you can expect trouble and heartache out of it later.' That woman was a Romany Gypsy from Russia. I used to think she was weird, but I found out that she was right almost all of the time."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Doc and his entire staff hurried past them.

His heart pounding, Ski and Pat followed them to the Control Room.

**

When Lt. Peter Colton regained consciousness, he felt hands turning him onto his back. "Sparks? Sparks? Can you hear me?" Mister Morton was saying.

He opened his eyes, but quickly closed them as a wave of nausea passed through him. "Yes, sir. Is-is it over? I didn't get to send a message, I don't think." Then, other thoughts stole into his mind. Francis! He's usually in the thick of the danger. God, please let him be all right! "Where's the Skipper? And Fr-Chief Sharkey? Are they okay?" he asked.

"I'm right here," said Captain Crane. The voice came from his left side. "I'm fine. Don't try to talk."

"Is-Is Chief Sharkey all right?"

No one said a word for a long time. Despite his pain and sickness, he was conscious of tension in the air. "Is Sharkey all right?" He tried to sit up, but as soon as he did so, everything began to fade away. His heart pounded, which increased the throbbing in his head.

"Chief Sharkey and some other men were wounded. The enemy men have been either killed or locked up in the brig. I'll let you know something as soon as I find out anything," Captain Crane said.

He heard other men moving around him. "Get Sparks to Sickbay."

Then, he felt himself being lifted. Mr. Morton supported him on one side; another crewman on the other. Suddenly, a bolt of pain shot through his head. Then, everything faded into oblivion.

Part 2

Dr. Will Jamison sighed and nodded to Frank Hanson and John Rogers, his corpsmen. "Have some men come and get Denton and put him in the reefer on C Deck,"" he ordered. He didn't have a chance. A bullet through the neck. Blew away his trachea and tore through the left carotid artery and the jugular vein. He was dead before we could get him down here.

"Aye aye, sir," Frank said quickly.

Joseph Pheerse, his Pharmacist's Mate, was hooking up the IV tubing of a "piggy-back" of antibiotics into the main tubing of Sharkey's IV. He had already hooked up similar units to the IVs of Watson and Gordon. "Pheerse, come into my office when you get through with that," Doc told him.

"Aye, sir," Pheerse said.

When they were alone in Doc's office, Pheerse shut the door.

He poured himself and Doc some coffee before he took his seat behind Doc's desk. As Pheerse sat down, Doc noticed his drawn expression.

"God, what a mess!" he sighed. "And it could've been a lot worse!"

"Yeah. Those Arabs could have launched those missiles at the United States. We think we've had disasters before. Multiple nuclear detonations would have demolished most of the country."

"I know. And more men could have been killed aboard Seaview trying to stop them." Pheerse turned to Doc and placed a hand on top of his, which sent a little rush of pleasure through him. "You were amazing, Will. You just handled it. You made it look like child's play."

Warmed by the compliment and the admiration in Pheerse's eyes, Doc turned to him, feeling his spirits lift considerably. Despite his rule about refraining from demonstrations of affection while on duty, he leaned over and quickly kissed Pheerse on the lips.

We won't have time to get together tonight. It's been a long day, and it'll be a long night, too.

**
Captain Crane picked up the receiver of the Vidphone. Punching buttons, he called the Radio Shack. "Amps, put through a call to Admiral Harriman Nelson at COMSUBPAC Headquarters," he ordered.

"Aye aye, sir." There was a brief pause. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"I've just come from Sickbay. Sparks is resting comfortably. Doc says he is doing all right, but he has a concussion. Doc is keeping a close eye on that," Captain Crane told him.

"Thank you, sir. I'm putting your call through now," said Amps before a click told him that he had closed his link.

In a few minutes, the face of Admiral Nelson filled the vidphone's screen. "Lee, I'm glad to hear from you. We've just gotten word that your contact and his men have fallen into enemy hands. Whatever you do, don't take anyone on board claiming to be Captain Dhakti and his men!"

"We already know. We found out too late. However, the situation is under control. Seaview is safe." Then, Captain Crane gave the Admiral a detailed account.

"Thank God you're okay," murmured Admiral Nelson, his expression becoming more solemn than it already was. "If-if." Pausing, he harrumphed several times.

"I'm fine, Admiral. There was one death. Seaman Donald Denton, one of the newer men was shot in the neck. Sharkey, Gordon, and Watson were shot, but are expected to make full recoveries. Sparks was struck in the head several times for trying to send a Mayday. He has a
concussion, but Doc expects him to be all right in a couple of weeks."

"I-I wish I'd been there. Maybe I could've spotted something before they made their move," Admiral Nelson said.

I've been going over everything in my mind. I-I should've spotted something, but I didn't, Captain Crane thought frantically.

"I've been telling myself the same thing."

"Lee, I'm returning to Seaview immediately." He paused.

"My best to you and the crew. Until later."

"My best to you, too, sir. Until later."

The screen went blank as the connection was broken. Despite the harrowing day, a warm feeling seeped into him. Thanks to the discreet code they had worked out, he and the Admiral could convey their love to each other. I needed that! I just wish he were here right now.

Being in Harri's arms would help ease his loneliness and anxiety. This has been a God-awful day."

**
A week later.

Doc paused by Chief Sharkey's bunk. "Chief, you're healing very nicely," Dr. Jamison told him. "If all goes well, I may release you and put you on light duty in a couple of days. You're still running a low-grade fever. We'll need to get that cleared up before I can release you."

Sharkey nodded. Doc moved to the next bunk. Finally, Doc finished and returned to his office.

He'll be back before I know it. I just get settled. Then, he comes back and checks the dressings and takes vital signs. It seems like the pain is worse every time I have to move. Normally, Sharkey hated the tedium of Sickbay as much as any man who wanted to be where the action was. Right now, all he wanted to do was to crawl into a dark, soft spot and never wake up. I've been shot before, but I didn't hurt all over like I am this time. I must be getting the flu.

As soon as Doc went into his office, a tall, muscular man with his head and right hand wrapped in bandages pulled up a chair from the corner and sat beside his bunk. Two blue eyes stared out of a face far paler than usual. His full lips parted in a warm smile. "Hey, Petey," he murmured, reaching out to Sparks.

Sparks' large uninjured hand wrapped around his. "Hi, Francis. I heard what Doc told you. I'm glad you're doing so well." He paused. His eyes suddenly brightened with excess moisture. "When I heard you were shot--." He paused again and cleared his throat.

Sharkey squeezed Sparks' hand, wincing at the pain it caused. "And when I saw those men force their way into the Radio Shack and begin beating you, I just wanted to kill every one of those sons of bitches."

Their gaze met and held. For several moments, they said nothing. It's so good to have Petey here with me, he thought.

Frank Hanson walked to stand beside Sparks. "Come on, Sparks. Back to bed. He needs his rest, and you do, too."

Sparks' lips pressed together as his eyes narrowed. Then, his expression relaxed. "Just a few more minutes. I-I just wanted to see him and talk to him."

Frank nodded. "Just five more minutes," said the corpsman, then walked away.

Sparks bent down. "I'll be glad when we reach port. I know what I want to do as soon as we get there."

Sharkey looked into Sparks' eyes. "Maybe by the time we get there, I'll be healed enough to wear you out first," he replied. He could not help grinning. Removing his hand from Sparks', he reached up and touched Sparks' cheek. "I love you, Petey. I don't know what I'd do if--." The lump that rose in his throat choked off the words.

Taking his hand again, Sparks quickly brushed it with his lips. He gazed into Petey's deep blue eyes. A tear spilled from Petey's right eye. Quickly, he wiped it away, then smiled broadly. "Same here, Francis. Same here."

**
Several days later.

I've never hurt like this! thought Sharkey. My back feels like someone smashed it. My arms and legs feel as if they've been broken in several places! My ribs hurt. It hurts to breathe! My neck and head and shoulders ache. If I open my eyes, the light might as well be knives stabbing into my brain. My arms ache! Even my fingers and toes are killing me!

"We'll transfer Sharkey and Gordon and Watson to gurneys. That way, we'll have better access to them," Sharkey heard Doc tell the corpsmen. "Sparks can stay in his assigned bunk."

Sharkey turned to face the wall as tears of pain began spilling down his cheeks. If anyone touches me right now, I'll punch them out! he thought, taking a ragged breath.

As Doc and the corpsmen moved the other men, their moans seemed to echo off the steel bulkheads. The corpsmen placed them on their assigned gurneys and hung bags of IV solution on poles. "We're going to give you something to help you rest," the corpsmen told the two men. Pheerse held three capped hypodermic needles in his left hand. He uncapped one syringe and stuck it into Gordon's IV. Slowly, he depressed the plunger. When he had injected the contents, he deposited the needle into the disposal unit on the wall and proceeded to Watson, where he repeated the procedure.

The two corpsmen and Doc approached. "It's your turn now. Just let us do the work," Doc instructed as he threw back the covers.

Quickly, the corpsmen dropped the height of the gurney to match the bunk on which he lay. As three pairs of arms slid under him and centered him in the middle of the gurney, a groan of torment forced its way past his lips. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

As the corpsmen raised the gurney's rails, Sharkey gripped them, grinding his teeth together in an attempt to bite back his screams and stop the tears from falling.

Petey immediately appeared at his side. A hand gently rested on his shoulder as another touched his side. Two blue eyes met his. "Take it easy, man. Easy," Petey said softly.

"Sparks, stand aside right now!" shouted John. "Can't you see we're trying to take care of this man?"

As John attempted to push Sparks back, Sharkey reached out and grabbed his lover's arm with his right hand as if it were a lifeline. "Let him stay," Sharkey grated through clenched teeth.

Pheerse hung an IV bag above him and inserted the tubing, took hold of his left wrist. "I have to start an IV. Then, I can give you something for pain," he declared, his tone gentle but firm.

Reluctantly, Sharkey loosened his grip on the gurney so that Pheerse could position his left hand. Sharkey felt a rubber tourniquet being tied on his upper arm, which caused it to ache even more. Pheerse then began mashing on the back of his hand. When will it end?

Sparks took his right hand and held it. "Take it easy, buddy," he coaxed.

"You'll feel a stick," said Pheerse.

There was a stick. Then, the feeling went away. "I'm just about done," Pheerse said, taping the IV in place. Then, he uncapped the last hypodermic syringe and slowly injected its contents into the port of Sharkey's IV line.

"What are you giving me?" asked Sharkey.

"Demerol," said Pheerse. "Just lie back and take it easy."

"You're going to be fine," Sparks said in his quiet voice. However, his solemn expression belied his reassurances.

Part 3

Three days later.

Heaving a deep sigh, Dr. Will Jamison looked up from the binocular eyepiece of his microscope for a moment, then stared into it again. I've felt helpless many times in the face of a medical unknown, but this is one of the worst times.

Pheerse stepped in, his expression somber. "Have you found out anything yet?" he asked.

Doc shook his head, feeling the tension draw his brows together. "Whatever this bug is, it sets up osteomyelitis, then invades the periosteum, and the joints of the body, especially the cartilage and the synovium. From there, it has spread to the ligaments. So far, it hasn't spread anywhere else. We've medicated the condition with Keflex, Cephalexin, Cipro, Floxin, Rocephine, Vibramycin-you name it. I've administered several NSAIDS, but with no discernable success. I don't dare administer steroids until we can successfully knock out the infection." Steroids decreased the body's natural immune system. If he did administer steroids, he could hinder the body's ability to fight the disease.

"What else can we do?" asked Pheerse. "Right now, I'd kill for a kilo of heroin. Hospice centers can get it if it's absolutely necessary. Sometimes, it provides relief from severe pain when nothing else will help. Right now, I'm willing to try anything. Nothing we've done seems to alleviate the pain. I've given those men sufficient doses of morphine to normally put them in a coma. It has very little effect.

Those men out there are hurting. I'm talking the kind of pain that patients in the last stages of bone cancer face. Nothing-I mean nothing-will help that. The patients' bodies are weakened anyway.

Finally, they go into shock and die." Most people outside the medical profession did not realize that in many cases, the main killer during the last stages of cancer was the intractable pain, not the disease itself.

"I know, Joe. Right now, they're lying with their heads and necks packed in ice. Ice bags have been placed under their armpits, in their groin regions, and at the elbow and knee joints. Despite the antibiotics and large dosages of ibuprophen and acetomenophin, they're running fever just over one hundred and five degrees." Doc felt his throat constrict with emotion. "If we don't find a remedy soon, we're going to lose those men."

**

The moans of Gordon, Watson, and Sharkey had lessened for the moment.

Sparks stood next to the gurney where Sharkey lay, his hand resting on Sharkey's right waist. His heart thudded for a moment in dismay as he felt the abnormal amount of heat in Sharkey's body. For the moment, he had stopped writhing, but his eyes were still glazed with pain and drugs. His white-knuckled fingers curled around the rails of the gurney. Occasionally, tears welled up in Sharkey's brown eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

With utmost gentleness, Sparks reached up and wiped them away with his other hand. This Sickbay has the latest equipment and drugs. Why doesn't Doc give them something that will work? Sparks raged silently. He's been sick like this for a week. Something's got to give or--.

Sparks was unable to complete the thought. Tears blurred his vision and threatened to spill down his face. He wiped them away quickly. Images of the good times they'd had together ran through his mind. It can't end like this. In all my adult life, I've never felt so loved and treasured until Francis and I got together. It's so strange.

I've always been attracted to men who were my size, or bigger. Francis is a lot shorter and less muscular than I am, but his big heart more than makes up what he lacks in stature.

He hurt me only once. Most men get turned on when a partner thrusts hard against their prostates, but it causes me pain. A lot of pain. It was his first time to penetrate me, and he didn't know that.

When he realized he was hurting me, he stopped right then. He pulled out and held me, saying he was sorry, over and over. When the pain subsided, I looked at his face. He was crying. When he went inside me again, he made sure not to pound into my prostate, just graze It as he went up in me. He made it so good.

An image of life without Sharkey stole into his mind, but he pushed it away. No! He can't die! I need for us to make love again; to hold each other and wake up in each other's arms again. I want him spooned against me and feel his back against my chest again.

Pheerse laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go lie down and get some rest. You look like you could use it," the Pharmacist's Mate said gently.

Sparks shook his head. "He's doing better, don't you think? I need to be here for him."

Pheerse shook his head. "He's exhausted, and so are you. You won't be able to be with him if you pass out and end up getting worse, yourself. Go lie down," he urged, his tone firmer.

Sparks nodded and went to his bunk. He lay down, then turned over and faced the bulkhead as tears began to spill down his cheeks.

**

Dr. Will Jamison had just finished taking the vital signs of the last man when Admiral Nelson pushed open the door and stepped in, followed by Captain Crane. They want another status report on these men. I wish I had some good news to tell them.

Doc nodded, acknowledging their presence, then motioned for them to go into his office. Once they were all inside, Doc shut the door and took his seat behind his desk.

"Has there been any improvement, Doc?" asked Admiral Nelson.

Doc shook his head. "No," Doc admitted. "If anything, Gordon and Watson are worse. Sharkey's condition hasn't deteriorated, but he's not gaining any ground."

"What the devil is wrong with them? Have you figured that out yet?" demanded Admiral Nelson.

"But there must be something you can do-make them comfortable, if nothing else," Captain Crane protested. "It sounds more like a torture chamber than a place where the sick are treated."

"Admiral, Captain," he began, nodding at each one in turn. "They're the victims of a mutant strain of bacterium. It's similar to the bacteria that produce severe cases of acne and those which produce spinal meningitis. It's resistant to all known antibiotics. The pain it produces is so bad that nothing can kill it. Thank God this disease hasn't affected the meninges. If it had, they'd all be dead by now," Doc told the two officers.

Captain Crane's eyes took on a cold, flinty appearance. His mouth formed a tight, grim line. "Thank you, Jamie," he said, rising to his feet.

Admiral Nelson looked at the Captain quizzically. Then, he turned his attention back to Doc. "I'll be checking back with you. Notify me if there is any change," he said, standing and walking out the door, Captain Crane a couple of paces behind him.

^**

Pheerse hung Sharkey's chart in its slot in the rack when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he saw Captain Crane standing next to him. Admiral Nelson stood nearby.

"Captain Crane, can I help you with anything?" asked Pheerse.

"Yes, you can. Get me a large hypo-the largest you have-and fill it with sterile water," he commanded.

Pheerse looked at Captain Crane a moment before responding. He thought about asking the Captain what he wanted it for, but the look on his face stopped him.

"Captain, I'll be in the lab if you should need me for anything," said Admiral Nelson as he turned and walked away, but not before Pheerse saw Nelson's eyes widen and a wry smile part his lips. "If you have anything that would add a reddish tinge to it, add a little of it, too."

"I'll check and see what we have," Pheerse said, going to the medical cabinet and taking out a large hypodermic syringe. He searched for a medicine with a reddish tinge to it and thrust the needle into the ampule. He withdrew half a centimeter of the substance and pulled the needle out. He filled the barrel with sterile water.

"Is there any medicine you can put in there that will burn and hurt?" asked the Captain.

"Rocephine burns like hell. Any time we administer it, we combine it with Xylocaine to lessen the pain," Pheerse said.

'Could you put some Rocephine in the syringe, too, but leave out the Xylocaine?" Captain Crane asked.

Pheerse paused for a moment, but the stony look on Captain Crane's face spurred him into action. He squirted out half of the water, then drew enough Rocephine to fill the barrel. Only the Lord knows what he's going to do with this, and the less anyone else knows about it, the better, Pheerse decided as he capped the needle.

A grim smile played on Captain Crane's lips. "I'll bring this back for disposal when I'm through," he said, striding from Sickbay.

**

Captain Crane strode into the Control Room. Mmm! He's one good-looking son of a bitch! Kowalski thought as he looked up from the sonar screen. He could not help smiling at some of the thoughts that raced through his mind. Pat and I made a vow to each other. I'd never really break that vow, but the Skipper is one man that could tempt me.

Patterson, who sat beside him at the hydrometer station, glanced at him. His eyes narrowed slightly. Kowalski turned back to the sonar screen.

Captain Crane walked to his station. Pausing behind him, Crane laid a hand on Kowalski's shoulder. "Ski, I need your help on a special detail," he whispered, then gestured to Malone, who was the relief man for the first Control Room watch. "Take over Ski's station."

Patterson turned his head toward them a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Ski felt his partner watching them intently. Pat's lips pulled back slightly as his jaw moved forward very slightly in that way it did when something displeased him.

Kowalski followed the Captain from the Control Room and down the passageways. "What is it, Skipper?" he asked, hoping his curious partner would not be too upset. He's been edgier than usual since those bastards tried to hijack the boat. Sharkey and the others being on the guarded condition list in Sickbay hasn't helped any.

"We're going to pay a call on the guests at the Seaview Hilton. I want you to do the interrogation." Captain Crane handed Kowalski a large hypodermic syringe.

Kowalski grinned. He fully understood the role he was to play. Oh, okay! I've helped the Skipper with this sort of thing before. I'm the bad guy who will hurt them-and I'm just the one to do it. Of course, I can't let myself get too carried away. I wouldn't want to leave any evidence. I can do some things it'd be hard for an officer to get by with. They're more limited in what they can do.

And I've been itching to get my hands on them after what's happened to Sharkey and Gordon and Watson. Oh, yeah! As the two men walked into the Detention Area, the three guards who were sitting around a desk stood at Attention. Normally, only one guard was posted, but due to the fact that their prisoners were enemies of the United States and had tried to commandeer Seaview and fire its nuclear missiles at American cities, extra guards had been assigned to the detail.

"At ease," said Captain Crane. "Ski and I are going to talk to our guests. Get out your nine millimeters and have them ready. If they try to escape, you know what to do," he told the guards.

Ski picked up a riot baton which stood in a corner of the small room. Grinning, the five men strode the short distance to the Brig. Through the bars of the occupied cells, several Arabs in bright orange coveralls with PRISONER stenciled across the back sat on bunks in the cells. They were not handcuffed, but they were wearing leg shackles. Their dark eyes and expressions showed their silent anger and bitter hatred.

Suddenly, Ski struck the bars of the cells several times with such force that even the metal deck vibrated. "Listen to me, you pig fuckers. We want to know who you're working for and what your mission is. Also, we know that you brought a-a plague aboard." Ski withdrew the capped hypo from the pocket of his red coveralls. "The medical staff has bred the disease in an-an incubating agent." Kowalski had heard Hanson or Pheerse use the term while he had been confined to Sickbay. He hoped he had used the term correctly. "What we want to know is how did you get the disease on board?"

"Infidel! Infidel submarine. Infidel country!" one man with a scar running the length of his right cheek shouted, spitting at him. "Die, Infidel, die!"

"Die, Infidel, die!" The other men took up the chant.

Scarface unzipped his coveralls and began to urinate through the bars. Several others did the same.

Rage surged through Kowalski. "I'm not a patient man, at best, but you decided to do things your way. Now, I'll do things mine." He turned to the guards. "Unlock the cell door. Get one of the men. I don't care which. Cuff him."

"Watch it, Ski," Captain Crane whispered a warning.

The guards unlocked the cell door and grabbed a man. Cuffing him, they flung him into a chair.

"Who are you fighting for?" demanded Kowalski.

"Allah," was the reply.

Kowalski viciously backhanded the man twice. "How did you bring that disease aboard? How is it spread? What is it? What will cure it?" he snarled.

"The destruction of Allah on the Infidel," replied the man.

Kowalski uncapped the syringe. The man's eyes widened; his jaw dropped. "If we have to die, we're going to take all of you out, too," Kowalski said, pulling his lips back from his teeth and drawing his brows together. I've been told I could scare the shit out of the Devil when I do that. I don't know if these men have enough sense to be afraid.

"Give each man an equal share of the injection," said Captain Crane.

Kowalski pulled down the man's coveralls and injected some of the contents into his right arm. Immediately, the man screamed words in another language as he held his left hand over the place where Kowalski had injected him.

Kowalski nodded to the guards, who uncuffed him and tossed him back into the cell. They pulled out another man, cuffed him, and sat him in the chair.

Kowalski squared off in front of him. "How is the disease spread? How did you bring it aboard? What is the disease? How is it cured?" demanded Kowalski.

The only reply was a sullen stare.

Kowalski quickly unzipped his coveralls so he could slip them down far enough to expose the man's upper arm. He injected a portion into the man's arm. Immediately, his face contorted in agony as he began screaming.

The routine was repeated until only one was left.

The last man sat in the chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. "No! No! Don't do it!" he pleaded.

Captain Crane stepped forward. "If you'll tell us what we want to know, we might not do it. First, you've got to tell us what we want to know."

"How did you get the disease aboard?" asked Kowalski, his tone less harsh than it had been.

"The-the bullets! They special made in lab. They bad!" the man said, his accent very heavy. "They have-ugh-little holes-ugh-pores-in them. That's where the sickness is kept. If someone is shot, disease makes them sick if bullets don't kill them."

"How can we cure it?" demanded Kowalski and Captain Crane almost as one voice.

The man began to shake. "No cure! No cure! If you get sick, you die!" he replied.

Kowalski felt a chill course through him. He started to unzip the man's coveralls to inject him, but the man leaned forward. "Don't kill me! I not want to do it! I not want to be here!"

Captain Crane placed a restraining hand on Kowalski's arm.

"Then, why are you here?" demanded the Captain.

"Because in my country-in my village-we are controlled by our religious leaders. If we don't do as they say, we will be killed. Our families, too. If I not go into guerilla unit, my family will be killed," he sobbed. "I know things. I hear things. I do things. I no like, but I have to, or my family will die."

"We have connections. If you help us, we can try to get your family out. If you don't, there's a good chance your family will die, anyway."

"How can you help?" the young Arab demanded.

"We can offer you asylum in exchange for whatever information you can give us. If you do this, we will help you. We will radio the CIA to dispatch a special unit and try to get your family out."

"I tired. I tired of running. I tired of hiding. I tired of killing. I tired of fear. Before the leaders we have now came to power, Allah did not teach these things. They're not men of Allah. I will help you."

"And we shall help you," Captain Crane promised. "Kowalski, put the syringe away." The Captain turned to the guards. "Put this man in the other cell block. "

Something about the manner of the Arab touched him. He wasn't too disappointed that he would not be allowed to inject him.

Maybe war is hell, even for some followers of Allah, Kowalski realized. But Chief Sharkey and the other can still die, he reminded himself. If they do, it isn't going to make a damn bit of difference that one man was reluctant to go along with it. He's still the enemy, and must be stopped.

**
Doc forced the bite stick between Watson's jaws as the seizure began again. He had already administered all the drugs he could.

Doc saw Gordon's body began to jerk violently again. "Get me that bite stick again!" Doc heard Frank demand as he and John worked with him.

Doc glanced at Watson's EKG, then at Gordon's. Both men's hearts were throwing atrial and ventricular arrythmias like crazy.

Watson's temp jumped up to 108.2 degrees about four hours ago, and I can't bring it down. Gordon's temp is 107.8, and has been for almost that long.

"The anti-seizure drugs haven't helped at all this time," commented Pheerse, a worried look on his face.

"I don't look for them to," Doc said. When a human's temp reaches 106 degrees, it is usually fatal. If a patient does survive, he's usually left brain damaged.

"V-fib!" yelled Frank as he and John grabbed the defibrillator. Frank pulled back the sheet and quickly removed the hospital gown that Gordon was wearing.

John squirted some gel on the paddles and rubbed them together, then turned on the machine. "Five hundred watt seconds. Clear!"

Frank stepped back as John placed the paddles on the man's chest and sent a charge through his heart. There was no response.

An ominous wail came from the EKG. A flat line ran across the screen.

"Hit him again," Frank ordered.

John shocked him again, but it was no use.

Frank grabbed an Ambu-bag as John stood on the bottom rail of the gurney and began doing chest compressions. After several sets of compressions, John paused for a pulse check. Frank pressed his fingers against Gordon's carotid artery. "Continue CPR," he said.

Doc and Pheerse worked with Watson while Frank and John cared for Gordon. After almost an hour, Doc turned to Gordon's gurney and placed his stethoscope in his ears. He listened intently for any sound of life. There was none.

"Time of death: 0948 hours," Doc said, removing the stethoscope from his ears and placing the earpieces around his neck. Solemnly, he covered Gordon's face with the sheet.

Doc turned back to Watson. Suddenly, Watson's EKG showed a galloping heartbeat that indicated bleeding into the heart muscle itself. His heart has had so much strain on it, it's giving out. Doc knew there was nothing more he could do.

The EKG began to show fainter and fainter heart action. Then, the familiar ominous wail reached his ears as the EKG flatlined. Doc grabbed another Ambu-bag while Pheerse did chest compressions.

After several sets of compressions, Doc called a pause for a pulse check. As he touched the carotid artery, he felt no sign of life.

Although Doc knew it was no use, something would not let him quit at this point. "Continue CPR," he called.

Almost an hour later, Doc issued the order to stop CPR. He listened with his stethoscope for sounds of air exchange or sounds of circulation. The eerie, stillness of Death remained.

Sometimes, silence is not golden, Doc thought bitterly. "Time of death: 1038 hours," Doc announced, covering Watson's body.

Dreading what he would find, Doc went to the gurney where Sharkey lay and examined him. His heart rate is one hundred two beats per minute.

His blood pressure is one sixty over ninety four. It's high, but it could be a lot worse. Hmm! His temp is 104.8! It's actually dropped!

Doc walked to the small sink and splashed his face with cold water.

Then, he went into his office. Doc stood behind his desk, staring at his medical degree. The writing blurred together as his eyes began to burn. He bit his lower lip as a lump formed in his throat.

The door opened, then closed softly. "Are you all right, Will?" asked Pheerse.

Doc did not dare say anything, due to the emotion that threatened to burst forth. He shrugged, his eyes bright with excess moisture.

Pheerse said nothing. He laid a hand on his shoulder as he leaned to kiss his cheek.

Finally, Doc cleared his throat. "I fight an enemy that we can't see, but we damn sure know it's there. That enemy is death."

"And you're damn good at what you do," Pheerse told him, placing a hand on Doc's upper arm and squeezing gently.

Grunting, Doc shook his head. "It's a hard fight, at best." The despair lifted a little, due to Pheerse's moral support. "Usually, though, I'm allowed weapons to fight with. But this time, all the weapons I use have been taken away from me and I've got to go up against Death barehanded."

"You'll come up with something," Pheerse reassured him matter-of-factly.

"I hope to God I can. It's too late for two men. If I don't come up with something pretty damn quick, we're going to lose Sharkey, too."

Part 4

Captain Crane knocked on Admiral Nelson's cabin door.

"Come in," came the rich voice of the Admiral.

Captain Crane entered the office and closed the door.

Admiral Nelson rose from his desk and met him. They embraced, clinging to each other and drawing strength from the contact.

"It seems like forever," murmured Admiral Nelson against Crane's chest.

"Umm hmm," agreed Crane as he pulled Nelson close and kissed his red hair. As he did so, he felt the reaction to Nelson's nearness in his loins.

Their lips met. As their kiss deepened, the intercom buzzed. "Admiral Nelson, I need to speak to you and Captain Crane as soon as possible," Doc's voice came through the speaker.

Captain Crane groaned softly. It had been the first time in several days that they had had the opportunity to be alone together.

They had planned to eat lunch; if they were extremely lucky, perhaps they would have time to do more than that.

The somber tone of Doc's voice worried Captain Crane. A chill of foreboding coursed through him. He picked up the hand mike and keyed it. "I'll be right there," he told Dr. Jamison.

"I'm coming with you," Admiral Nelson declared as he opened the door and stepped into the passageway. Captain Crane followed closely behind him.

In Sickbay, Frank and John were placing the first man in a standard triple-zippered body bag. The second body lay on a gurney beside the first one, draped with a white sheet.

Sparks stood by Sharkey's gurney, his expression very strained. He leaned close to Sharkey's head and said something, but his voice was so low that he could not hear. Dark circles stood out against Sparks' too-pale complexion.

Doc turned to Frank and John. "Draw blood samples for a full tox and pathological workup," he ordered. "Do the same for Sharkey, as well."

"Aye, sir," was Frank's immediate response.

Pheerse immediately began removing syringes and vaccutainor tubes from the racks and drawers and laying them out on trays.

Doc looked up. "Admiral, Captain," he acknowledged them, nodding to each man. "I wanted to let to you know that Watson and Gordon didn't make it."

Captain Crane nodded. The sad helplessness that he always felt when one of his men died washed through him. Damn! "How is Sharkey?" he asked.

"He's still in extremely guarded condition. His fever has dropped slightly, though. I don't know how he's held on this long."

**

Doc completed checking Sharkey's vital signs. His heart, although still in sinus rhythm, was beating very rapidly. His fever was still 104.8. However, his pulse was weak. Sharkey moaned in agony; he stared through half-closed eyelids. His brown eyes and black hair stood out against his very pale skin.

Pheerse and Frank emerged form the laboratory. In Pheerse's hand were some papers. He handed them to Doc. He studied the printout of the results of the blood work. The results from Watson and Gordon were almost identical. However, Sharkey's results showed a strange substance. I don't understand this. These men have all been together for the past two years. What did Sharkey get into that Gordon and Watson didn't?

John closed the drawer he had been looking into and came over to join them.

"Pheerse, did you know Sharkey's blood work showed he had an unusual substance?"

"Yes, sir," Pheerse said. "It's hardly more than a trace. I don't know what it is."

"Run further tests. I've got to know what it is. It may make all the difference in the world."

Pheerse and Frank strode back to the lab, followed by John.

*

Sparks, who had been sleeping, rose from his bunk. He walked the short distance to the Sharkey's side and stood there, staring down at him. For a moment, Sharkey's eyes focused and met Sparks' concerned gaze. "I'm here, man. I'm not going anywhere," Sparks promised gently.

Doc thought he saw Sharkey's lips twitch as if he were trying to smile.

Sparks backed away and motioned for Doc to follow him. When they were a few feet away, Sparks turned to him. "Why don't you do something for him? You can't let him die! You just can't!" Sparks' voice, which was vibrating with suppressed anger, suddenly broke. He looked away.

"Sparks, we're doing all we can," Doc assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. As he did so, Sparks turned to face him. The ravages of Sharkey's fight for life were mirrored in Sparks' too-moist eyes, which were underlined by dark circles.

Suddenly, voices erupted from the general direction of the lab. Pheerse stepped through the door with a paper in his hand, followed by Frank and John. "Doc, we have the results of the tests. You're not going to believe this."

"What did the tests show?"

"That strange element is--." Pheerse cleared his throat. "As hard to believe, tests show it to be arsenic."

"Arsenic!" Doc exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"The Marsh test shows it," Pheerse declared.

"But where? How? Who could have given it to him?" Doc walked back to the gurney and studied the tips of Sharkey's fingers. There were a couple of white blotches on two fingernails. Hmm! He didn't receive it recently.

Otherwise, all his fingernails would be striated. But when did he get it?

That could explain why the strange disease had not proven fatal for Sharkey yet!

"I've got to know exactly how much he has in his bloodstream, " Doc told his staff. "It's critical that I know."

"I don't have the information about the where and how, but I've got the data on how much is showing in his system." Pheerse handed Doc the sheet.

Doc studied it for several moments. Suddenly, a plan began to form in his mind. It's a big risk. Vomiting and diarrhea are hard on a strong person, but Sharkey is very weak right now. It might shut his liver down or cause seizures and send him into shock. As weak as he is, a couple of hard seizures could kill him. His kidneys can shut down, as well, if I even slightly miscalculate the dosage. But nothing else has worked. "I think it's worth a try," Doc decided.

Sparks strode around the gurney to where Doc was standing.

He grabbed Doc's arms hard. "Doc, have you lost your mind?" he shouted. "Arsenic is a poison! You'll kill him!"

Doc looked into Spark's eyes. He's on the edge right now.

He knew he had to watch what he said, as well as how he said it. He nodded. "I won't lie to you, Sparks. There's risk involved. However, I can control the dosage of the arsenic. I can't stop the onslaught of this disease or manage his pain. If something doesn't give, Sharkey is going to die, anyway. I think it's worth a try." He paused, the continued. "But I also believe your moral support has done as much good as anything else, probably more. I believe you want him to have every chance to beat this thing that he can have."

Slowly, Sparks nodded, then released Doc. He took his usual place beside Sharkey's gurney. "Hey, Doc has come up with a plan. He's found a way to knock out this disease. Don't worry. You'll be as good as new in no time." Although Sparks' voice was reasonably steady, tears rolled down his cheeks.

Doc went to his office. First, he called Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane and advised them of the latest turn of events. Then, he took an old volume from the top shelf. I've kept this old medical book more for a conversation piece than anything else. He flipped through the pages until he came to the information he sought.

He went back into Sickbay. With utmost care, he prepared the needed injection. Solemnly, he nodded to Pheerse, who administered it in Sharkey's hip.

God, let this be the right thing to do! Doc prayed silently.

**

Through a heavy haze of fatigue, Doc monitored Sharkey's condition.

Suddenly, Doc felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around to find his Pharmacist's Mate standing there, a concerned look on his tired features.

"Doc, I'll watch Sharkey for a couple of hours while you rack out. You're out on your feet."

"I know, but Sharkey has been gagging off and on for over an hour. He doesn't have anything in his stomach. That is making it worse on him. I can't leave him now."

"Right now, his white count has dropped slightly. Even his fever has decreased a bit," Pheerse declared.

"But in the labs we ran two hours ago, his liver profile has changed, too. It's beginning to show effects of the arsenic," Doc reminded him. "His liver is beginning to throw bilirubin and other impurities into his bloodstream."

Sharkey moaned loudly for a moment, but it faded to a mere whimper. His breaths came in varied, ragged gasps. His arms and legs stiffened slightly. He moaned again, more loudly this time.

On the other side of the gurney, Sparks sat on a stool. His head rested on the gurney's rail. One hand rested on Sharkey's chest.

Sparks raised his head and looked at Sharkey. A tear trickled down each pale cheek. His mouth was twisted with strain.

"Easy, Francis. Just take it easy," Sparks said softly.

His voice trembled slightly. "I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Sharkey seemed to relax a little, but Sparks looked even more worried.

In a few hours, I'll give him another dose. Hopefully, Sharkey's body will be able to cope with the arsenic. Right now, it's still a toss-up. Which will give out first? Sharkey's body, or the disease.

**

Sharkey slowly opened his eyes a millimeter at a time. As the bright overhead lights of Sickbay seemed to bombard eyes, it felt as if shrapnel grenades were going off in his head. A dull, intense ache possessed his entire body. Every time he moved or breathed, shards of fiery agony shot through him.

He narrowed his eyes to mere slits as he felt tears trickle from his eyes. He remained still, not wanting to cause himself any more agony.

His stomach twisted. He felt he would vomit at any minute. His intestines churned, as if they wanted to force themselves from his body.

Through a haze of reddish-gray, Sparks' face seemed to float above him. "Take it easy, Francis. I'm right here. Hang in there, buddy," his mellow voice urged.

Petey! Oh, Petey! My lover! Despite the anguish even that slight movement caused, he could not help smiling slightly. I never thought I'd find someone I could be really happy with. It was a long shot that we got together. I was involved with a couple of men before I was twenty. Then, I settled down and got married. Sharkey broke off thoughts of the next twenty-plus years of his life. I wasted a lot of my life trying to be normal. If I hadn't gotten involved with Petey, my whole life would have been wasted time.

When I think of how close I came to turning away from him--. Sharkey found that thought even more painful than all the memories of his three marriages. I was too worried about what others would think if they knew I was in a same-sex relationship. But I got my head set on straight, and we lasted anyway. Petey's love for me is all that matters. I saw that before I lost him. At least, I can say I've known true happiness before I die.

**

Dr. Jamison finished checking Sharkey's vital signs. With a long, heavy sigh, he noted his findings on Sharkey's chart. Sparks, who had moved away from Sharkey's side long enough for Doc to conduct his examination, took his place beside Sharkey once more.

Frank entered the main sickbay. "Sir, I've just finished testing the latest blood sample." With an unusually grim look on his face, he handed the printout of the results to him. "Sharkey's liver profile is really out of whack. Blood tox levels are dangerous. His kidneys aren't filtering his blood properly."

Doc scanned the printout. His spleen and lymph nodes are very swollen. He has developed jaundice. His urine output has dropped significantly. It shows a lot of abnormal toxicity. It's characteristic of the beginning of renal shutdown. I really didn't need a lab report to tell me that. Sharkey is still running fever. Right now, it's hard to tell at this point which is causing him more problems: the disease or the arsenic. I need to start him on dimercaporal to counteract the effects of the arsenic, but if I do, Sharkey won't have any chance to beat the disease.

Shit! Talk about a rock and a hard place!

He's still restless and uncomfortable. You can see it in the way he holds his body, and his expression. But his level of consciousness is dropping. He's becoming stuporous. Doc sighed again. Perhaps it's more merciful this way. At least, he isn't screaming in agony.

Pheerse stood at the medicine cabinet, preparing another injection. His gray-green eyes met Doc's. Doc shook his head. "Another injection will kill him for sure," he stated, unable to keep his voice from trembling slightly.

Sparks looked in Doc's direction. His lips moved for a couple of moments, but no sound came forth.

"You don't have to stay here. We'll look out for him. Go lie down and get some sleep," Doc advised.

Sparks shook his head, glaring at him. Then, he faced Sharkey. "Come on, Francis. Listen to me. I know you're tired. I know you're hurting! But you can make it! I know you! Just hang on,
Francis. You've got to! Just hang on! You've got to! You've got to!" Sparks pleaded, his voice breaking as he repeated the words over and over. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he did not bother to wipe them away.

Doc replaced the chart in the rack on Sharkey's gurney. At moments like this, I wish I'd taken up another line of work, Doc thought as his throat constricted with emotion.

Part 5

The pain faded. Tingling alternated with numbness in various parts of his body. Serenity and darkness settled around him. He began to feel as if he were floating-floating away from the pain and the fatigue.

So tired! So very tired! Thank God. The pain's gone.

As the peaceful darkness settled around him, a voice called to him. Petey's voice! "Come on, Francis. Listen to me. I know you're tired. I know you're hurting! But you can make it! I know you! Just hang on, Francis. You've got to! Just hang on! You've got to! You've got to!"

Summoning every ounce of determination, he homed in on the voice and the pain. If he didn't, he knew he would die. I may not make it out of this, Sharkey thought, but it won't be without a fight! Keep talking, Petey! An image of being at the controls of the FS-1 floated through his mind. He was coming in on his final approach on a carrier. Lightning zipped through the black sky and reflected off the inky black water. On the carrier deck stood a man, holding a powerful flashlight in each hand. The man was beckoning for him to land.

The man was familiar-tall and muscular, with dark brown hair and clear blue eyes. As he neared, the man's full lips parted in a grin. Sharkey's heart leaped. Just a few feet away! There's safety-and Petey!

Suddenly, the controls froze as the craft nosed over. He was going to crash!

**

Doc stood beside Sharkey's gurney. Deepening of the yellowing of his skin and the white part of his eyes indicated that the jaundice had worsened slightly. He had developed diaphoresis due to the arsenic, but his skin temp was still very warm. His sweat had a metallic, sickly, pungent smell, indicative of severe kidney malfunction.

Pheerse joined him. He shook his head sadly.

On the other side of the gurney, Sparks began to sway. Doc and Pheerse ran to his side. "Come on, Sparks. We're putting you in your bunk."

Sparks protested feebly, but Doc and Pheerse led him the short distance and gently laid him down, then covered him. "Get some rest, Sparks. You need it," Doc said, covering him with a sheet and a blanket.

Pheerse's gaze locked with Doc's for a moment. His own feelings were reflected in his Pharmacist's Mate's wide, too-moist eyes.

They returned to their vigil beside Sharkey.

**

With his right hand, Abdul al Besuol unzipped his orange coveralls and let them fall around his ankles. He squatted, then reached back and inserted two fingers of his left hand into his rectum.

Anxiety gripped him. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then, he pushed as if he were defecating. The thin six-inch object, encased in plastic, slipped into his grasp. Abdul pulled it out.

Beside him, Rasheed bin Samir did the same, stifling a moan as a cylinder two inches in diameter and seven inches long slipped from his body. That done, he peeled off the plastic and thrust it under his mattress. Opening the cylinder, he handed it to Hassan Jakim.

Hassan's eyes closed as he pried open what looked like a cut made by a razor blade and pushed down. A small round wafer with several tiny wires attached to it emerged from the gash.

Quickly, the men assembled the various components and hooked up the powerful, yet tiny photocell to the device. Abdul hooked up the antenna and pulled it to its entire two-foot length.

Damn pig-shit Infidels! Abdul thought as he took the tiny microphone and inserted the receiver unit in his ear. They're clever, but not as clever as they think they are.

And to think that Dawud al din Qadir turned away from Allah! He's aided those Infidels. He who turns away from the true path and aids the Infidel is worse than the Infidel. Does he really think the American Capitan can save him? He really expects the Capitan to rescue his family somehow?

Abul Kayat had brought in din Qadir and several other young men from their village. Dawud had been a new conscript-a reluctant conscript on top of that. Because of that, there were several details about our plans that he was not told. Praise Allah for that! But he knows enough to do our cause great harm if he talks. Their plans to hijack the USSRN Seaview and fire those nuclear warheads on important cities in the United States had failed. So be it. Could the Infidel think he could defeat Allah and his disciples so easily?

Abdul looked for a way to affix the long, thin antenna to the ceiling of the cell. The wire would then be secured into the corner. He smiled.

Some prisoners who had previously been kept there had left a wad of gum on the wall about three inches from the floor. Praise Allah, who has provided for his Divine Purposes!

As inconspicuous as the device was, it would not be discovered before the Infidel submarine and all its crew had been dispatched to Hell, to be tormented by all manners of Djinn.

But first, he would make sure that every member of Dawud al din Qadir's family died the agony of a traitor's death.

With a fingernail, he pressed the tiny transmit key. "Abdul al Besoul to El Naya Mohammed Ali," he said in his native language.

"Transmit your message," came the harsh voice of Erfouad Tamir, one of El Naya Mohammed Ali's key men. "You were not successful in launching Seaview's missiles."

"No. We have a traitor among us who has caused our plans to fail. Dawud al din Qadir has sided with the Infidel. Wants them to take his people from the village and give them a home in the United States."

If everyone had been pure in heart, we would have been blessed with victory and lived to see Allah prevail over the Infidel, Abul raged silently.

"No member of his family will live another day," promised Erfouad Tamir. "You know that Allah's will must be carried out?"

Abul knew and accepted it without hesitation, as he knew the other men did, also. Since they had been unable to commandeer Seaview and use her for their purposes, she must be destroyed. If we, too, have to die, it means that we will be with Allah sooner! "Yes. When next we meet, it will be in Heaven." Abdul broke the connection.

When the lights were turned off, he would turn the device back on. It would take about four hours for the submarine to intercept Seaview. Then--.

As Abdul thought of the delights that Heaven held for him, he settled back and smiled.

**

Lieutenant JG Ray Fenton was rubbed his heavy, burning eyes.

He ran his fingers through his short, light brown hair. "God, I'm tired of these long shifts," he muttered. I'll be glad when Sparks gets off the sick list. We don't have much radio traffic, but sitting at this console for twelve hours at a stretch is about as exciting as watching paint dry, he finished silently.

He had been with Seaview almost two years. When he had been on active duty in the Navy aboard the aircraft carrier, the USS Hornet, his nickname had been Amps. His Naval Reserve unit still knew him by it.

The door to the Radio Shack opened. Amps turned as Riley stuck his head in. In his hand was a large Styrofoam cup with a lid on it. "Brought you some java. I didn't know what you liked in it, so it's black."

I usually put a tiny bit of sugar in it, but I'll drink it anyway. I hope it's strong. Another four hours before my watch ends and I'm already about to z out!

"Thanks, Riley," Amps said, smiling.

Riley left, closing the door behind him.

Amps turned around just in time to see a red light that he was sure had not been on before go out.

Strange! When I first came on watch, I checked out the units. All were functioning as they should be for the most part. Still, some of the lights that are supposed to come on do not. Others flicker on and off for no reason. Ever since those Arabs came in here and roughed up Sparks, this console hasn't been the same. Sometimes, this equipment is temperamental, anyhow. Maybe it just misses Sparks.

Amps stared intently at the console. When the light did not come back on immediately, he stretched and settled back in his seat. Seaview received no messages. Without radio traffic to distract him, it was all Amps could do not to fall asleep. Damn, this has got to be the longest shift I've ever pulled, Amps thought as he fought to stay awake.

**

Captain Ivor Sikorsky stood on the periscope island of the Novodnikov. The men attentively manned their various stations in silence. There were no problems to distract him from his dour thoughts.

If I were a religious man, I'd swear that the Devil was creating his usual havoc in the world. What is it coming to? When the Motherland was whole, we were a proud people. Captain Sikorsky's stomach knotted again with a vengeance. Now, the Motherland is in pieces, and the government I serve must sell its military and Naval skills to the highest bidder.

Yes, Capitalism seemed to benefit the United States.

However, with the collapse of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, many of the states had once again become independent nations. Many had elected to try Capitalism. What has Capitalism done for us?

It destroyed our government. It took away jobs, it rendered people homeless, that's what! It took away medical care from those who could not afford to pay for it. Granted, medical facilities in the United States were more modern, but at least the facilities were there for
everyone over here.

Two of the states of the old USSR had formed the Black Sea States. To support the government of the newly-found countries, its leaders decided to exploit one of the things that had made its former Motherland such a great nation, its military and naval might. The President, Vodgolov Ikbarev, had quickly rallied the military and naval forces within his borders. Thanks to that decision, the farms and factories did not stay idle very long. But when a nation has to prostitute its military might--. Sikorsky's thoughts continued on their downward spiral.

If the United States had not interfered, the Motherland would still be enjoying life as it was meant to be. If people faithfully served the Communist party and did not cause any trouble, they would lead a reasonably comfortable life. If they didn't or if they decided to cause trouble, they brought problems upon themselves. Plain and simple!

In rare instances, people in the West saw the light and change sides.

But those people are looking for something for themselves, usually publicity. Sometimes, it is only to corrupt our way of life from within. After all, if a person will sell out the country of his birth, wouldn't he sell out an adopted country even more readily?

Only a handful of Americans who had defected toward the Eastern European Bloc countries had ever impressed him as being sincere. One such man, Kenneth Wilkins, stood beside the sonar station. "The tests have gone well," Wilkins stated calmly. "The new sonar jamming equipment is in readiness for when we meet with Seaview."

In the forward torpedo room, another American, David Deese, a former United States Navy captain, was supervising the modification of their weapons systems. "Deese, are your systems in readiness?" asked Sikorsky.

"Yes," Deese replied. Deese had converted to the Islam religion several years ago. After the terrorism of the United States began, he left his native land and joined a roving band of terrorists located in the Rabat Republic under a man who called himself El Naya Mohammed Ali.

Of all the submarines and surface craft, Seaview is the last one I'd choose to do battle with, Captain Sikorsky thought. Thanks to the two American defectors and the secret information they have provided and the modifications they've made, we might stand a chance. But if we do sink Seaview, we'll have done what many have tried and failed to do.

Despite the grimness of his thoughts and the situation, Captain Sikorsky laughed softly. Here I am, helping some Arab country fight a holy war, and I'm an atheist!

Part 6

Captain Crane knotted his tie and pushed the knot against his Adam's apple. Despite the comfortable temperature of his cabin, a chill ran through him.

Everything is going as scheduled. We're due back in Maryland in eleven days.

Sharkey is still in extremely guarded condition. However, Doc hasn't given up. Sparks is still pulling for him. Hell, we all are!

Captain Crane took a deep breath and let it out in an attempt to ease his anxiety. He left his cabin with the intention of going to the Galley for some breakfast and a cup of coffee.

I'll never eat while I'm like this, thought Crane, as he headed for the Control Room.

**
Kowalski cast a sideways glance at Patterson, who sat beside him at the hydrometer station. Their eyes met briefly. Kowalski winked at him; Pat winked back. Both men turned their attentions back to their stations.

Pat sure asked enough questions when I got back from interrogating those prisoners. It's not like the Skipper's available.

No way! First, I love Pat, and wouldn't want to do anything to mess that up. Second, I wouldn't want to even think about what the Admiral would do if he thought someone was invading his domain.

Come to think about it, Admiral Nelson and Pat sometimes spend more time together than I'd like. The designs of some ultra-high-tech plans and computer programs throw them together. I can tell that Pat's attracted to him a little. Oh, it's nothing anyone else would spot, but I know Pat-in the Biblical sense. His eyes sparkle just a bit more than usual. He smiles a little more than usual. His facial features become more boyish looking, and slightly flushed. When he catches me looking, he suddenly looks very embarrassed. Not that the Admiral is a serious contender for Pat's affections. He isn't. I'm it.

Last night, I was going to wake him up after everything was quiet. Instead, he saw me and silently mouthed, "Bivouac gear stores."

I went there. I needed him bad. When he got there, it turned out he needed me a lot worse. He pushed me against the bulkhead and began to undress me as he kissed me. Whew, his lips and tongue and hands were so urgent and demanding. Usually, we just kiss and do oral sex when we're on the boat, but he insisted on going up my ass. I came at the same time he did. Then, he wanted me to take him like that. I did. It didn't take us long to climax again. He was still wanting it when I insisted we go back. I don't know what got him so hot. Whatever it is, I hope it hits him when we reach Santa Barbara! Pat, although quite passionate and responsive, did not initiate their lovemaking very often. When he did--. Kowalski felt the stirring in his loins at the thought.

Kowalski heard the Skipper's familiar steps on the deck.

Captain Crane made yet another round through the Control Room. Unless there was a problem, the Skipper usually spent more time in the Observation Nose or in other areas of the boat. Captain Crane is thorough, but he's not some harping, compulsive worry wart.

Something must be up, thought Kowalski as tendrils of anxiety burrowed through him.
Kowalski and Patterson turned and looked at each other. He wished he could reassure his friend, but Pat's too-wide blue eyes and clenched jaw mirrored the alarm he felt.

**

Captain Crane walked to the plot table and stood beside Mister Morton.

"What's wrong, Lee?" asked Chip, his blue eyes scrutinizing him.

"I can't help feeling there's more to those Arabs in the brig than what there appears to be."

"I'll be a lot happier when we get them to Fort Meade, too," Chip agreed. "But they're locked up, Lee. The men know to handle them with utmost caution. What harm can they do?"

Captain Crane felt a slight warmth creep into his face. "You're right, Chip," he laughed, feeling abashed at his anxiety. This worry is uncalled for, he chided himself. If I keep this up, the men will pick up on it, if they haven't already.

"Good morning, Captain, Mister Morton," came the rich voice of Admiral Nelson from the spiral stairway. He descended and joined Lee and Chip at the plot table.

Lee's eyes met Harri's. His heart thudded; his pulse quickened. With all the effort he could muster, he looked down at the navigation charts. If he did not distract himself somehow, he would get an erection. This was not the time, nor the place to let his thoughts run wild.

"Captain, bogey off the aft starboard beam! Range, fifteen thousand yards!" Kowalski shouted.

Captain Crane and Mister Morton arrived at Kowalski's station at almost the same moment.

This is serious! All United States submarines that carried ballistic missiles were deployed so that they would never encounter one another.

Therefore, any other submarine was automatically considered as hostile. "I'm picking up a reading on the hydrophone, too. Sounds like a submarine-a nuke boat," said Patterson.

"What do you make of it, Kowalski?" asked Captain Crane.

Kowalski studied the screen. If this had to happen, I'm glad Kowalski's on sonar. He's one of the best sonar men I've ever seen, Crane thought.

"It's a submarine, all right," Kowalski replied without hesitation. "I'd say a Soviet 'Uniform' Class nuclear sub. However, it's traveling at forty knots. The 'Uniform' Class subs can only go thirty knots, max."

"Could it be another type of vessel?" asked Crane.

"It might be. That's the closest profile to the bogey, sir."

Captain Crane bounded to the chart table. The Aaaooooga of the Klaxon reverberated throughout the boat. Crane grabbed the hand mike. "Attention, all hands! Battle stations! Battle stations! Rig for silent running! Rig for red!"

A moment later, all unnecessary noise and talking ceased. The normal bright lights were replaced by an eerie red glow.

Suddenly, the screen filled with swirling greenish-white light. "What the hell--!" Kowalski exploded. "I've got light all over the screen! Our sonar is being jammed!"

Captain Crane looked at the sonar screen. It had gone totally crazy. "Go to inactive," he ordered.

"Aye, sir." Kowalski immediately turned the sonar off active mode. The cloud of light decreased in size and dimmed slightly.

Three bright specks appeared on the screen.

"Captain, three torpedoes off our aft starboard. Range, five thousand yards and closing fast!" Kowalski shouted.

A Uniform Class boat isn't supposed to be armed! These smaller nuke boats are mostly used for research! Evidently, they've been modified.

In that case, there's no telling what we're up against.

"They're definitely torpedoes, sir. I can hear the screws!" Patterson responded. Torpedo propellers were much smaller than those of submarine. They had a distinct whine all their own. Patterson knew his business. He had proven that too many times in the past Crane grabbed the hand mike from the bracket on the chart table. "Torpedo room, ready three anti-torpedo missiles." I wish to hell that Sharkey was in there, thought Captain Crane.

"Aye, Captain," came the reply. A moment later, "Torpedo room. Anti-torpedo missiles armed and ready," came through the boat's speaker system.

"Fire!" commanded Captain Crane.

The ATMs launched from their tubes.

In the Control Room, no one spoke. Suddenly, there were three horrific BOOMs, as if a giant fist were banging on the hull. Seaview rocked to and fro as the shock waves slammed into her hull.

Captain Crane grabbed the plot table in an effort to stay on his feet.

As soon as the shock waves abated, Admiral Nelson stared at the screen. "Lee, do you think we can out-dive it?"

It's worth a shot, Crane thought as he keyed the mike again. "Captain to Helm. Dive! Dive! Dive!" he ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir," said the planesman's steady voice.

Captain Crane felt the bow tilt slightly downward as Seaview plunged toward the abyss.

"One-five-zero feet," stated Riley. A minute later, he called, "Two-zero-zero!"

"Captain, the unit's reflecting even our passive signals now. I can't maintain a fix on our bogey," Kowalski reported. "Signals seem to be coming from everywhere," Kowalski called.

Crane, followed closely by Admiral Nelson, bounded to the sonar screen.

Both men stared at the screen, unable to discern the location of their foe.

Admiral Nelson leaned over Kowalski's shoulder and pointed to the screen. "See that? The reflection seems to be very slightly stronger right there," he said, jabbing his large, thick index finger at a patch of light on the screen.

As Crane stared to where the Admiral was pointing, he could see that one place appeared to be very slightly brighter than the rest of the screen. "Yes. It's to our starboard aft," he corroborated.

"That's where it should be coming from, but with whatever he's using to reflect our signals, that may not be the case," said Admiral Nelson.

Shit! We're like a championship fighter with his eyes put out, Crane thought as he fought down panic.

**
Capitan Sikorsky studied the instrumentation. Although the air inside the Novodnikov was chilly, sweat oozed from every pore.

"Depth?" he called.

"Four thousand feet, Capitan," stated the Diving Officer.

"Seaview is still diving."

We're at our crush depth now. If we continue to follow Seaview, we're apt to implode. He knew he had to make a decisive move now. He picked up the receiver to the interphone and rang the Forward Torpedo Room. "Load heat-seeking torpedoes. Be ready to fire on my orders."

"Da, Capitan," responded the young officer in the Forward Torpedo Room. After a very brief pause, the officer came back on the interphone. "Heat-seeking torpedoes ready, Capitan."

At this extreme depth, it would take more fuel to propel it through the waters. My boat is a valuable vessel. It seems a shame to risk it and my life The Black Sea States aren't at war with the United States. Some rich Arab terrorist movement contacted our military officials. They asked for the services of one of our nation's top Naval vessel to Sink the Seaview. I suppose I should be flattered that my boat and crew were selected. I must succeed at all costs. I have the reputation of always carrying out my mission, no matter what it is or what the cost. I do not want to tarnish that reputation now. Capitan Sikorsky knew that if they were to destroy Seaview, he would have to make a move before she went deeper.

"Fire!"

The torpedoes shook the submarine more than usual as they swhished from their tubes.

"Course and speed of torpedoes," demanded Capitan Sikorsky.

"All are on course for target," replied the sonar man.

Admiral Nelson, you're a worthy opponent. I'll give you that. But in the end, I'm going to win!

Part 7

Captain Crane and Admiral Nelson continued to stare at the sonar screen. Despite the temperate atmosphere, he felt his uniform shirt sticking to his back. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Quickly, he wiped it with his sleeve. "We've got to get a fix on that bogey," Crane snapped.

Frantically, Kowalski turned dials and pushed buttons in a vain attempt to get a clear picture. "Damn!" Kowalski shouted. "The picture won't clear up!"

"Are they still diving?" asked Captain Crane.

"I think so, sir," Kowalski replied. "That brighter spot of light shows that something is behind and slightly above us. I think it must be the enemy sub."

"You're probably right, Kowalski," said Admiral Nelson.

Suddenly, Patterson sat bolt upright in his chair and pressed his hands against his headphones. "Skipper, torpedoes heading toward us!" he shouted.

Captain Crane bounded for the plot table. Picking up the hand mike, he keyed it. "Torpedo Room, prepare anti-torpedo missiles for firing," he ordered.

There was a moment's pause. "Captain, anti-torpedo missiles are ready to fire," declared Chief Hankins.

"Fire!" yelled Captain Crane into the hand mike.

Captain Crane felt a barely perceptible shudder run through the deck as the torpedoes rushed from their tubes. Suddenly, the simultaneous explosions of the anti-torpedo missiles at extremely close range rocked Seaview. The red lights flickered, then went out.

Captain Crane fought against a wave of panic as the complete darkness seemed to cling to him. Suddenly, a water line broke, spraying water over men and equipment. Exclamations of fear and pain erupted from the men around him. There was a lot of clamoring and clanging.

Finally, the spraying stopped. Under his feet, the deck listed slightly starboard and aft, sending a chill along his spine.

Captain Crane keyed the hand mike, which, thankfully, he still had in his hand. "Damage Control, report!" For almost a full minute, there was no reply. Crane was about to try again when the voice of the Damage Control Officer came on the line. "Damage to Tr ansverse Frames Seventy-one and Seventy-Two on A Deck. Several pipes burst in that area. We've sustained major damage to the circuits in the torpedo room.

Air Revitalization is down due to water damage to the controls. The Reactor Control Room reports electrical damage to several of its consoles. The reactor is off-line. One of the generators is down, too.

Helm reports that controls are sluggish. The starboard ballast pump has been damaged, too. Also, the compressors are off-line because of shorts in their wiring consoles."

"How long until the damaged areas are operational?" asked Captain Crane.

"Stand by, sir." There was silence on the intercom for several moments.

Then, the Damage Control Officer's voice came over the speaker. "Torpedo fire control panel circuits will take a minimum of twelve hours. Helm reports controls are becoming increasingly sluggish. The generator should be on line in about an hour. The wiring in the Compressor Room will take several hours, sir."

Upon hearing the report from the Damage Control Officer, the darkness seemed to crawl against his skin. His heart pounded, making his head throb even worse than it already was. If we can't repair this boat and get to the surface, she'll be our tomb! He held his breath for several seconds. Using all his willpower, he forced back the panic.

After several moments, the red lights flickered and came on again.

Damn! We're a sitting duck! Without firepower, all he has to do finish us off at his leisure. Both Admiral Nelson and Mister Morton looked at him expectantly.

He spoke into the mike again. "Organize repair crews. Get that torpedo fire control panel repaired ASAP! We've got to have firepower. Get crews working on the Air Revitalization equipment. We may be down here a while."

Mister Morton's lips were drawn tightly together and pulled back over his teeth as he shook his head. "At most, we've only got forty hours of air. Considering the amount of activity that will be required to try to make repairs, it will probably be thirty-four to thirty-six hours."

The lines in Admiral Nelson's brow seemed to have deepened in the last few minutes. "I'd suggest we contact COMSUBPAC and advise them of our current situation if possible. We're too deep to send up a rescue buoy."

Captain Crane strode to the Radio Shack and opened the door. Amps turned to look at him, his eyes bloodshot. He sat up straighter. "Send a message to COMSUBPAC," ordered Captain Crane. He gave Amps their location, which he wrote down in a small notebook.

"I'll try, sir. I've had to troubleshoot this console almost non-stop. Ever since those Arabs banged it up, it hasn't worked right. Over the last few hours, it has given me nothing but trouble. I've included it in my report for the record." Amps pressed the TRANSMIT button, which remained dark. "COMSUBPAC, this is USSRN Seaview. Come in. Over." He pressed the TRANSMIT button again, which turned off the microphone. The button should have gone dark, but instead it flickered and shone the way it should have when he was transmitting.

"USSRN Seaview, this is COMSUBPAC. Go ahead. Over," came the voice of a woman amid bursts of static.

Amps gave the woman Seaview's location and advised them of her condition.

"Say again. Your transmission is garbled," she told Amps.

He pressed the TRANSMIT button. "I repeat. Gray Lady down. USSRN Seaview is down--." Again, Amps gave their location. When he released the TRANSMIT button that time, the only reply was a burst of static.

Suddenly, several other lights flickered and began to shine steadily. As Captain Crane leaned closer, icy tendrils of alarm burrowed into him.

"Amps, have these lights been on before now?" he snapped.

"Sometimes, sir, but they'd go right back off again," replied Amps, his lips pressing together slightly. As if on cue, they went out again. "See what I mean, sir?"

Captain Crane nodded grimly. "Our radio and sonar are being jammed.

Your console problems may be the result of interference. That interference may be coming from inside this boat!" he shouted.

Returning to the Control Room, he signaled to Bledsoe, who was manning the fathometer and Delgados, who was monitoring the environmental control console. "Go to the Armory and pick up some radio frequency detectors. Comb this boat from stem to stern. I want that transmitter found!"

The two men hurried from the Control Room.

**
Capitan Sikorsky and his Executive Officer, Cheslav Nechevol watched the sonar and the other instruments intently.

"We hit her!" stated the sonar man. "No doubt about it! The readings of our infrared heat sensors and our electronic detectors indicate that heat and power emanating from the Seaview have dropped to zero."

Capitan and XO gazed at each other at length. "They're dead in the water," declared the XO after more time had passed. "She has no propulsion. She cannot launch a counterattack."

Nechevol reached for the intercom. "With your permission, Capitan, I'll order another round of torpedoes. One more round of torpedoes and Seaview and her crew will be fish food.

Capitan Sikorsky smiled, a glow of satisfaction spreading through him. "Fire the torpedoes, but don't hit them. Just come close to them," he ordered. "I'm sure men are still alive in there." He paused, taking a deep breath and allowing his chest to swell with pride for a moment.

"We now have the Great Admiral Nelson and his mighty, invincible Seaview right where we want them. Before I finish them off, I want to toy with her and her crew like a cat plays with a mouse before he eats it."

Part 8

"Captain, this is Damage Control," came a voice over the speaker.

Crane felt his heart pound even harder. He keyed his hand mike. "Go ahead."

"Helm reports that steering has become increasingly sluggish. They're unable to hold trim."

A faint ssswisshhing sound became audible, then grew louder with each second.

"Torpedoes!" cried several men almost as one voice.

Captain Crane stiffened as he closed his eyes. A shoulder brushed his upper arm. Recognizing the feel of Admiral Nelson, he leaned slightly into it.

Any time now! An explosion; the hull will be punctured. An implosion, and it will all be over. Is death instantaneous-I've always thought it would be-or will there be a few seconds of crushing pain like no one can begin to imagine?

The swishing whine became fainter. Captain Crane exhaled. It was then that he realized that he had been holding his breath. Long sighs could be heard from the Control Room crew.

"I thought we were history for a minute," said Riley.

"Me, too," said Ski.

"It's a miracle those torpedoes missed us," said Mister Morton.

Captain Crane thought for a moment. "I think it was by design. They could have easily taken us out if they'd wanted to," he stated.

The speaker system crackled into life. "Captain, this is Delgados," he said, his Hispanic accent quite thick. "You'll never believe this, but we've found the source of the transmission."

"Where is it coming from?" demanded Captain Crane.

"The brig, sir," was Delgados' reply.

I should have known! I had a feeling those prisoners could be trouble.

I was right! Captain Crane berated himself.

The speaker system crackled. "Captain, this is Damage Control."

"Go ahead."

"Captain, we have found several large leaks in the hydraulic lines. My men have repaired them," the Damage Control officer stated. "The problem is that the hydraulic system governing the helm controls is still dangerously low on fluid. We recovered what we could that wasn't mixed with water and returned it to the reservoir. We used the all the fluid that was in stores. It isn't enough."

"Then pump the contaminated fluid into the system. Pee in it if you have to. Just get that system working!" Captain Crane snapped. We'll have to overhaul the entire hydraulic system when we reach Santa Barbara-if we reach Santa Barbara, he finished silently. He clicked the microphone on the side of the mike. "Captain Crane to Generator Room.

"This is Seaman Marks, sir."

"How soon can the generators be back on line?"

"I can have one on line in about ten minutes. I'm not sure the other one can be repaired."

"Make it five on the one that is near being ready." Without waiting for Seaman Marks' reply, he turned to Admiral Nelson. "I hope he can get the other generator running. We may not be able to blow ballast even if we can get the trouble with the starboard ballast tank repaired."

The swishing whine of torpedoes again echoed through the quiet Control Room. Crane and some of the other men stared wide-eyed in the direction of the approaching danger. Others closed their eyes briefly. Would the fish go by them again, or would one or more explode? As the sounds grew fainter, Ski raised his fist, middle finger extended. An angry buzz filled the Control Room.

Admiral Nelson tossed his pencil onto the plot table. It bounced and would have struck Crane in the face if he had not caught it.

"Admiral, I'd like to send someone out in the Flying Sub. We could try to blast that enemy sub with its laser."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," said the Admiral.

"Kowalski, get the FS-1 ready for immediate launch, ordered Captain Crane, a tight smile on his face as he handed the Admiral his pencil.

"Aye, sir." Kowalski left the sonar station and walked toward the hatch which led down to the Flying Sub's berthing area. A young black-haired man named Malone replaced Kowalski at the sonar station.

Kowalski returned, looking somber. "Captain, the FS-1 is ready for launch, but the gears that operate the keel hatch are jammed and not meshing. It will take at least five hours in dry dock to repair them.

It would take twelve hours running on the surface if we had the replacement gears," he reported.

"Captain, this is Damage Control. Helm and planes controls are now fully operational," the Damage Control officer said.

Captain Crane closed his eyes for a moment. "Very well. Return to your sonar station." God, save my boat and my crew, even if you don't save me, he prayed. He ran his hand through his thick black hair and across the right side of his head. Admiral, we're running out of options fast!" he murmured.

Captain Crane's eyes were suddenly drawn to the Admiral's face. He smiled grimly, yet triumphantly. His blue eyes sparkled with a look of victory. "Not necessarily," he stated, his voice low and menacing. .

If there's another way, he'll find it. He built this gray lady. He can make her work no matter what. "What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"Patterson, come with me," Admiral Nelson commanded. "Malone, take his place."

Patterson stood and was immediately relieved by Malone.

"That transmitter is what got us into this trouble in the first place, but it just may be our way out," said the Admiral as he strode from the Control Room, Patterson in his wake.

**
In the brig, the prisoners had all been transferred to the adjoining cell. Delgados and Bledsoe hurriedly cut into the mattresses and sifted through the contents. There were several hardened clumps of stuffing, but nothing that resembled anything electronic. "Where the hell did you hide the damn thing?" Bledsoe demanded of the sullen prisoners.

"What damn thing?" asked one man, staring blankly at them.

"We haven't gotten sick from what your other men gave us. Allah is watching over us."

Delgados glared at the man who had spoken. "Do you want me to have the Master at Arms unlock the cell so I can come in there?" he said menacingly. Then, he exploded in a tirade of Spanish.

Bledsoe placed a restraining hand on Delgados' arm. "That won't help. We've got to find that transmitter."

At that moment, Admiral Nelson and Patterson stepped through the door. Bledsoe and Delgados stood still.

"Have you found the transmitter yet?" asked Admiral Nelson.

"No, sir," replied Bledsoe.

"And those son of bitches won't tell us where they've put it," Delgados added, his accent very thick. Then, he began another tirade in Spanish.

Admiral Nelson turned to Patterson. "Give them a hand."

Patterson picked up the radio frequency detector. "It's coming from inside this cell, all right," he stated. "But we're so close that I can't pinpoint where it is."

"Search the bed frame. Search the bulkheads. Just find that transmitter!" shouted Admiral Nelson as he strode from the cell.

**

Admiral Nelson went into the cubicle where the Master at Arms sat. Picking up the wall mike, he keyed it. "Sonar, this is Admiral Nelson. Do you read me?"

"Barely, sir," came Kowalski's voice, almost obliterated by static over the tiny wall speaker.

"Can you identify the frequency that the enemy vessel is using for its sonar?" asked Admiral Nelson.

"Yes, sir." Kowalski gave him the frequency. Admiral Nelson took a sheet from the Post-It pad in the Master at Arms' desk and wrote it down. Then, he headed toward the detention area.

"Have you found the transmitter yet?" asked Admiral Nelson.

"No, sir," said Delgados..

Patterson was searching the bars. He stepped back, sighing.

"The radio frequency detector says it's in this cell, but I can't find anything that even closely resembles anything electronic."

"Well, it's here! We have to find it. Our lives depend on it!" shouted Admiral Nelson.

The three men looked around the cell. Then, Patterson strode to the corner where some small pieces of old chewing gum were stuck in the corner where the two bulkheads intersected. A slow smile parted his lips. "See it, sir?" he asked, pointing to the chewing gum.

Admiral Nelson noted that the gum was spaced at regular intervals.

"There's an antenna there. It's very thin, a little thicker than that of a human hair."

"Yes, you're right, Patterson," Admiral Nelson agreed as he spotted the fine silvery wire. "I see it now."

Patterson followed the wire until it stopped at a square about an inch in diameter which rested on the deck and touched the bulkhead. "It is hooked up to this unit. It's tiny, too, but don't let its size fool you. It's powerful," Patterson stated. "And with this antenna fastened to the metal bulkhead, Seaview, herself, became a giant antenna."

With the bunks in place, you'd never know it was there, thought Admiral Nelson. "Let's get this to the lab!" commanded Admiral Nelson.

**
.
Kowalski stared into the sonar screen, wishing vainly that the signals would be readable once more. It's bad enough to have a bogey after you, but to be unable to track it makes it a helluva lot worse! he thought, glancing at the hydrometer station. Malone was still there.

I wonder what the Admiral's got Pat doing. I wish he were here with me. Even though the circumstances precluded any intimate contact, it was reassuring just to have him nearby.

Suddenly, the bright light on his screen was gone. The enemy sub was where it had been all along. Ugh oh! Three small blips emerged from the submarine and fanned out. Jesus, not again!

"Skipper, torpedoes at fifteen thousand yards!" Kowalski announced.

Part 9

In the electronics section of Admiral Nelson's laboratory, Patterson and the Admiral stood shoulder to shoulder as they studied the tiny radio. The Admiral was glad to have Patterson assisting him. When it came to high-tech electronic hardware, Patterson was probably the best in the business. "This is the latest in spy hardware. You can track, transmit, and receive on this little thing. You can also use it to jam radio, radar, and sonar signals, as we well know," Patterson stated. "What is the sonar frequency?

Admiral Nelson gave him the frequency; Patterson quickly made adjustments in the tiny unit."

"But how could they have gotten this aboard without our finding it?"

"We took the weapons we could see away from them," said the Admiral. "We didn't do an X-ray or a body cavity search. If we had, we'd probably have found it and been able to avoid all these problems."

"Admiral, sonar has picked up torpedoes heading toward us," came the voice of the Captain over the lab's loudspeaker.

"Patterson, can you change the frequency of that device to match that of the torpedoes?" asked Admiral Nelson.

"Yes, sir. If someone can give me the frequency of the enemy submarine's sonar and its coordinates, I can program the torpedoes to lock onto it." A trace of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Quickly, Patterson grabbed a small monitor screen and pulled open a drawer. He found a jack had a very large female end and a tiny male end.

He plugged it into the tiny unit and the other end into a monitor cable, which he detached from a computer on the laboratory counter. Then, he unplugged the keyboard and found a suitable adapter in another drawer.

After plugging it in, Patterson began punching some keys. An alphabet closely resembling English came onto the screen, but there were also some other characters. "Sir, I can't read this," Patterson said.

"Is any of it familiar to you?" asked Admiral Nelson, a sinking feeling in his heart.

"It resembles some things I've seen Ski read. He's fluent in Russian," Patterson replied.

Admiral Nelson grabbed the mike again, keying it for the Control Room. "This is Admiral Nelson. Send Kowalski to the Electronics Lab," he ordered.

In a very short time, Kowalski arrived.

"Kowalski, can you make any sense of what is on this screen?" demanded Admiral Nelson.

"Yes, sir. It's Russian," he replied.

As if on cue, Patterson stood aside. Kowalski took his place behind the keyboard. "Our sonar is fully operational again. We have torpedoes coming toward us," Kowalski stated.

"Patterson and I have already jammed the enemy sub's sonar. Can you also program this to instruct the torpedoes to turn on the enemy sub?"

"If I have time to make the changes in the programming of the torpedoes," replied Kowalski.

At that moment, a faint thrum-whine could be heard coming from outside the pressure hull.

**
In the Control Room, Captain Crane battled the waves of panic that threatened to wash over him. His heart pounded; his shirt stuck to his torso as if he had been splashed with water. Sweat beaded on his brow.

Around the Control Room, men shouted and cursed.

"Settle down, men!" barked Captain Crane. "Just do your jobs!"

Damn! It's just as frustrating and scary for them as it is for me. If only we could fire back, Crane ranted silently. It's like being staked out with a herd of cattle stampeding in our direction!

I always knew I could die at the conn, but I always thought I'd be able to fight back, Crane thought as the swish of the torpedoes grew louder.

"Captain, sonar shows torpedoes heading straight for us!" Malone shouted.

Captain Crane looked at the screen, his stomach forming a knot as a cold sweat formed on his skin. There's no way in hell they're going to miss us! he realized.

**

In the lab, Kowalski continued to type information into the keyboard.

"I've used the source codes we learned about from our intelligence guys," he told Admiral Nelson. "Let's hope they still work. I haven't got time to override them."

Although his skin had goose bumps on it as if he were cold, sweat oozed from his skin.

Admiral Nelson watched from a short distance, but Patterson stood close enough to him that their shoulders touched. He could feel the faint tremors that occasionally went through Pat's body.

There's only one good thing about this situation. If it's our time to go, Pat and I will go together.

**
"Captain Crane, this is Damage Control," came the familiar voice over the loudspeaker of the Control Room.

"This is the Captain. Go ahead."

"Sir, the indicators show that the valves in the starboard ballast tank are jammed shut. We will have to send men into the tank to check them out."

"I'll go," said Mister Morton, heading toward the hatch leading aft.

"Wait!" called Captain Crane. I can't ask a man to go in there. It's so risky, especially at this depth. Then, he stopped himself. I can't leave the conn now. My place is here.

"Go ahead, Chip," he consented.

Captain Crane watched him go. The one man who knows those ballast tanks inside and out is Sharkey, and he's close to death; that is, if he hasn't died already.

**

As Chip Morton descended into the depths of the ballast tank, fear clutched at him. His pulse hammered in his ears. I wish Sharkey were here, he thought. Sometimes, he can worry the scales off a fish, but the man knows submarines. Ballast tanks are his specialty.

Chip broke off the futile thoughts. Shining his light at the mechanisms, he frantically tried to locate the source of the trouble. His sinuses and eardrums ached from the pressure, making it hard to concentrate.

He would not have long, even if he found the trouble immediately. The pressure was dangerously high. With power output critically low, there would not be enough power to run the decompression chamber.

Chip examined the lines and valves. It did not take long to spot the trouble. As he did so, cold tendrils of terror clutched at his heart.

Several lines leading to valves in the outside hull had become twisted when the enemy's torpedoes had exploded so close to them. The curvature of the outside hull was slightly less concave than usual.

The ache in his head and body had become unbearable. He pulled himself to the tank's hatch and climbed out, stretching out on the cold steel deck. Several men helped him sit up and remove his air tanks. He stood and walked to the mike which rested in its bracket on the bulkhead and keyed it.

"Captain, this is Mister Morton." Between deep breaths, he quickly told the Captain what he had discovered. "All in all, I suppose we could say we were lucky! Just a little more force and the hull would have given way."

"How long will it take to make repairs?" asked Captain Crane.

"It's going to take a while to fix this," Chip replied. That is, if we can fix it, he added silently.

**
Captain Crane stood at the plot table. Mister O'Brien, who had been making a walk-through of the Control Room, had come to stand beside him when Chip's voice had come through the Control Room speaker.

"We've had odds stacked against us before, but never like this," Crane muttered.

As if to emphasize the peril, the loud thrum-whine of the oncoming torpedoes rapidly grew louder.

Mister O'Brien's face was drawn into a deep frown. "I know. If the Admiral doesn't do something soon, we'd better start praying," he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

Captain Crane nodded. "I already have."

**

Kowalski continued to type on the keyboard. Suddenly, the screen indicated that he had been granted access. "Thank you, Jesus," Kowalski breathed.

Quickly, he made the changes in the torpedoes' programming. "Let's hope this works," Admiral Nelson said solemnly.

If it doesn't, we won't have very damn long to sweat it.

Part 10

As Capitan Sikorsky issued the orders to fire the round of torpedoes at Seaview that would destroy it, the sonar man stood, banging the sides of the sonar scope with his fists. "Sir, we have lost the fix on Seaview," said the sonar man. "Our sonar cannot focus on anything."

Immediately, Capitan Sikorsky activated the alarm bells. Those who were off duty came into the Control Room to their battle stations. This was also taking place all over the vessel.

"Status report!" yelled Capitan Sikorsky over the clanging of alarm bells.

"We have taken no hits," came the voices of his officers in various areas of the boat.

"Of course not! They cannot fire at us," Sikorsky yelled into the mike. Then, he strode to the sonar screen and grabbed the young sonar operator by the collar and shook him violently. "Get that sonar working!" he ordered.

"Of course, Capitan!" he stammered, his eyes wide with fear.

Destroying Seaview is the high-water mark of my career. Of course, we will still be able to feel the impact of the torpedoes when they blow it up. Still, that doesn't give the same satisfaction as watching the spot of light that represents the enemy craft break up and disappear.

**

Captain Crane scanned the faces of the Control Room crew.

All was quiet except for the heavy breathing of himself and his men as the thrum-whine of the enemy torpedoes grew louder by the second. The men gripped the consoles of their work stations. Their eyes were wide, mirroring the terror that he felt.

Suddenly, the thrum-whine of the torpedoes began to fade.

Then, they again became louder before once more fading away.

"Captain, the enemy torpedoes have reversed course and are heading toward the enemy vessel," announced Malone.

**
Capitan Sikorsky turned to his sonar operator. "Have you gotten that unit repaired?" he demanded.

"No, Capitan," he replied, his eyes wide with fear.

"Everything checks out normally, but the unit will not work."

Capitan Sikorsky raised his hand to backhand the incompetent wretch in the face when he heard a loud, whining thrum-thrum over the pandemonium around him.

His bowels roiled. It took all his willpower to keep their contents in their place. He picked up the interphone, but it slipped from his damp hands. What is wrong? Was Seaview able to launch torpedoes at them? Our instruments show that they do not have sufficient power. What is the matter with our instruments?

"Helm, come to heading zero-zero-zero," commanded Sikorsky.

However, even though they changed course, the sounds of torpedoes bearing down on them became louder.

"Torpedo rooms, prepare to fire the anti-torpedo missiles," ordered Sikorsky.

"Forward torpedo room cannot fire because of electronic interference," came the reply.

"Sir, aft torpedo room is experiencing electromagnetic interference. We cannot program the courses of our anti-torpedo missiles," said the young man in the aft torpedo room.

Capitan Sikorsky could feel the eyes of the Control Room crew on him. He stared straight ahead, his eyes half-closed. His heart pounded so loudly he thought that those nearest him could probably hear it.

"Any orders, Capitan?" asked his Executive Officer.

"No."

The end is at hand. There's no point, Capitan Sikorsky's thought.

An instant later, the torpedoes ruptured the Novodnik's hull. Capitan Sikorsky did not have time to react as tons of icy water claimed his boat and crew.

**

As the sounds of the enemy torpedoes faded away, Captain Crane positioned himself so that he could see the sonar screen. Small blips were moving toward the enemy vessel.

Malone continued to stare at the sonar screen. Captain Crane noted the death-grip his hands had on the edges of the console, but his composure remained constant. He's been aboard Seaview slightly less than a year, but he's been through several rough missions. He can keep his head in a crisis.

Suddenly, Malone leaned forward slightly. "Sir, the enemy sub has received direct torpedo hit!" he reported as the blip representing the enemy submarine broke into fragments and isappeared.

"No more bogey," he proclaimed.

As if to underscore Malone's last statement a tremendous boom and several shock waves tossed Seaview around violently. Each man clung to whatever he could in order to prevent himself from being injured.

As soon as the shock waves subsided, the Control Room crew cheered, then began slapping each other on the back and high-fiving each other.

Captain Crane allowed himself the barest smile, but the tension within him did not lessen.

Crane keyed the hand mike. "This is the Captain. Secure from battle stations," he ordered.

We've bought some time, but we'd better be able to make damn good use of it, Crane thought. Seaview isn't out of danger yet. If we can't repair enough of her damage and be able to generate enough power to make it to the surface before our oxygen runs out, we'll die, too. Compared to the death we'll be facing, the men on that enemy sub met a far more merciful end.

**

Admiral Nelson grabbed the cabinet as the shock waves rocked Seaview. Patterson and Kowalski did the same, but the Admiral got the impression that Kowalski seemed as intent on preventing Patterson from being thrown about as he was in steadying himself.

At length, the shock waves subsided.

Patterson disengaged himself from Kowalski's grip and extended his hand. "Admiral, sir, you did it! You prevented that enemy sub from destroying us!"

Admiral Nelson shook Patterson's hand. His eyes met the young seaman's. He felt a warmth come into his face as he saw the unadulterated admiration in Patterson's expression. Ever since Patterson had come aboard, he and the young man had worked together well. However, when Patterson's father had been killed, his admiration of him had grown by leaps and bounds. Then, their relationship had taken on a closeness that was more than merely working and serving together. It was a combination father-figure, hero worship, and mentor.

Sometimes, Admiral Nelson thought he picked up nuances of other feelings, too.

On the conscious level, Admiral Nelson was only vaguely aware of those "other feelings", but on a visceral level, he knew what they were. He would never consider encouraging such a thing. To do so would render him the antithesis of all he believed in and stood for. A command officer who would touch one of his crewmen is as bad as a parent who would have sex with his own child. Patterson is hardly more than a boy.

How many years did I struggle with my conscience before I let Lee know how I felt about him? Many times, I thought the situation would tear me to pieces. But Lee is my one true love; the great love of my life. If we hadn't finally gotten together, I think the torment would have become unbearable.

That brings me to the other reason why nothing would ever happen: Lee. I truly love him and would not do anything to put his love for me at risk. God knows, I don't know what I'd do without him.

He's everything I've ever wanted, loved, or needed. We are in a committed relationship. There's no way I'd want to be unfaithful to him.

Kowalski stared at Patterson, who flushed and looked at the deck a moment.

Kowalski's lips parted in a smile, but the smile did not make it to his eyes. "If it weren't for you, Admiral, we'd all be dead by now," he declared.

"As Pat said, you did it!" Kowalski held out his hand.

Admiral Nelson then shook hands with Kowalski. Kowalski's manner was polite and correct. After being snatched from the very hand of death, he should be in a more jubilant mood.

Perhaps Kowalski felt that he should work on the important projects, too. After all, he had been aboard Seaview a long time, too.

Something instinctive told him that was not the crux of the matter.

"No, Kowalski," corrected Admiral Nelson. "We did it. The three of us."

Briefly, he stood between the two men and flung an arm about their shoulders.

"Kowalski, I've been thinking. Would you be willing to work on some of the special projects that I have Patterson working on? We could use the help."

Kowalski grinned broadly. A pleased sparkle was in his eyes. "It'd be a privilege, sir. Just call on me whenever you need me, Admiral," he said.

"Let's head back to the Control Room," said Admiral Nelson.

As the three men walked out of the lab, the Admiral noticed the tension that had been in Kowalski's demeanor was gone.

**

As Captain Crane checked the progress of the repairs of the generator and the reactor controls, despair began to replace hope. The hours were going by; the progress of the repairs was very slow. Due to the increasingly foul air, the men easily became fatigued. Humidity hung in the air, making it more difficult to breathe.

Captain Crane felt as if Doc had given him a powerful sedative. He walked to the nearest mike and keyed it. "Now hear this. This is the Captain. There will be no unnecessary talking or moving about. Those who are not actually working will sit or lie still. Of course, there will be no smoking." He replaced the mike in its bracket. He leaned against the bulkhead, suddenly light-headed.

The men could work only a few minutes at a time. When one became toospent to continue, he moved out of the way and lay down on the deck, gasping for breath. Another seaman took his place.

Carbon dioxide is way up. Oxygen is fourteen percent. Carbon dioxide is ten times what it should be. No wonder I'm feeling so awful.

Captain Crane checked the environmental monitoring equipment. Although the temperature of the air had dropped to almost fifty degrees, it felt as if they were in a steam bath. The men had unzipped their jumpsuits and slipped the upper section off their shoulders and tied it around their waists. Even so, sweat trickled in rivulets on their faces. They often stopped to wipe them. Sweat darkened their tee shirts and any parts of their jumpsuits that touched their bodies.

Captain Crane undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Suddenly, there was a clatter. Turning, Captain Crane saw a wrench strike the deck. A young brown-haired crewman named Kevin Thorne collapsed on the deck. Several men pulled him out of the way. Two of them stayed with him, trying to bring him around. The other men went back to their jobs.

Captain Crane took out a cylinder of emergency oxygen from one of the cabinets. Kneeling beside the young man, he placed the mask over his face and opened the small valve. In a few moments, Thorne's eyes fluttered open.

"Take it easy, man," Captain Crane said gently. "You're going to be all right. He removed the oxygen mask and closed the valve.

Thorne's eyes filled with tears as his lower lip began to tremble. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'm s-sorry!" he stammered.

"It isn't your fault. The air is going bad. Just take it easy a minute. Then, join the others."

Thorne wiped his eyes, then looked away as if ashamed of showing such weakness. Captain Crane patted his shoulder and moved on.

As he stepped into the passageway, Admiral Nelson and Mister Morton approached him. "Lee, the compressors still aren't working right.

Without full power, they aren't going to." Admiral Nelson paused. "We can blow the reserve air back into the boat. It will give us longer.

Maybe the men will be able to work better if the quality of the air is improved."

Captain Crane considered. Yes, we can do that. Then, we can't blow ballast if we get the valves and pipes in the starboard ballast tank repaired. Captain Crane shook his head. "We've got to concentrate on getting the damage in the ballast tanks repaired. We'll need that reserve air to blow ballast."

Mister Morton wiped his brow with his hand. "And if we can't repair the damage? The men are starting to pass out from the bad air. They can't take much more," he protested. His blue eyes, normally impassive, showed a trace of fear.

Captain Crane's eyes met those of his superior officer's and his XO. He had never been one to beat around the bush. He was not going to start. "In that case, we'll only be postponing the inevitable."

Part 11

Captain Crane and Mister Morton slowly and carefully attached the come-alongs to the air lines, making sure they were in the exact positions they should be. If they bent in the wrong places, they would have even more obstructions in the lines. If they exerted too little force, the lines would not budge. Therefore, they would still be almost totally crimped in places. If the lines were broken due to applying excessive force, there would be no hope of repairing them.

In the semi-darkness, everything took on a sinister, surreal look. The Captain's head, sinuses, and ears ached so badly that he felt like screaming. Captain Crane looked at Mister Morton, who nodded. They began slowly winching the cable, shining their lights on the lines to check them. Very slowly, the lines began to straighten.

Finally, Captain Crane stopped winching and held up his hand for Mister Morton to stop.

As Captain Crane checked, he saw that the rest of the lines had straightened better than he had expected. However, one of the larger lines was still badly crimped. The line could build up too much pressure and blow. However, if he applied too much more pressure on the line, he could break it or bend it in another place, causing even more obstruction.

Carefully, he applied more pressure, watching as much of the line as he could. There was marginal improvement in the crimped section. The surrounding line began to bow. I wish we could straighten this line more, This is as much as I dare to force it. If the line breaks, we're going to be SOL.

Captain Crane and Mister Morton released the winches and removed them.

Then, they made their way slowly to the open hatch. He gestured for Mister Morton to climb out first. Once he was out, the Captain hauled himself out and closed the hatch.

Several men helped them removed their air tanks and wet suits. Quickly, they dried themselves and changed into their uniforms, then headed for the Control Room. Several men lay on their sides in the passageway, their faces very pale; their lips were cyanotic. Their open eyes were glazed, but when Captain turned them onto their backs, their pupils constricted very slightly. They're still alive, but it won't be for long if something isn't done fast.

"Break out the emergency oxygen," Captain Crane ordered.

He and Mister Morton rushed to the nearest cabinet where the small oxygen canisters were kept and got enough to put on the men they had found. Soon, they regained consciousness and sat up.

"Get all the emergency oxygen canisters you can. Distribute them to your fellow crew members."

The men nodded in response, then stood and began carrying out his instructions..

Captain Crane and Mister Morton entered the Control Room.

The sight was almost as grim as the one in the passageway. Gasping, cyanotic men lay on the deck near their assigned stations. Admiral Nelson was slumped against the bottom railing that surrounded the periscope island. His glassy eyes stared at some indistinct point as his dusky lips moved very slightly.

He picked up the mike and keyed it so that the entire boat could hear him. "All hands, this is the Captain. Go on emergency oxygen," he ordered.

Opening the cabinet beside the arms locker, he and Mister Morton gave everyone a cylinder of the precious oxygen. Each man kept a cylinder for himself. He knelt beside Admiral Nelson and placed the mask over his mouth and nose, then turned on the valve. Soon, those beautiful blues focused on him.

"Lee," he whispered, struggling to a sitting position.

"Admiral, I've broken out the emergency oxygen for all hands," Crane told him. "We've done all we can do. I'm going to order Engineering to blow ballast."

Captain Crane stood, then helped the Admiral to his feet. Mister Morton joined them as Captain Crane picked up the mike. "Captain toEngineering. Blow ballast. Surface! Surface!"

For several long moments, the depth gauge hung exactly where it was. Then, it began to slowly unwind. With ever-increasing speed, the depth gauge counted down the feet.

Our emergency oxygen will all be exhausted soon. If we can make it to one hundred feet, we can deploy the snorkels and draw in outside air. It will help to revive us. The CO2 level will be high, but the Admiral and I may be able to jury-rig some portable scrubbers to deal with enough of it to keep the air breathable.

"Five zero-zero. Four five zero. Four zero-zero,"

Patterson counted down. Three five zero feet. Two five zero feet."

The needle on the depth gauge began to crawl with agonizing slowness.

As Captain Crane watched, his heart began to pound anew.

"Two three five, Two three zero, two two five, two two zero." Patterson continued to read.

Finally, the depth gauge stopped.

"Stopped at one two four feet, Captain," he stated, his voice trembling slightly.

Come on! Just twenty-four more feet and we can deploy our snorkel. Just twenty-four more feet and we can live! He raged silently.

The depth gauge continued to hover a one hundred twenty-four feet.

Captain Crane keyed the mike again. "Compressor room, when the pressure builds up, divert all air to the ballast tank lines. We've got to blow ballast again."

"Sir, the compressors have gone out again. I can have them on line in about two hours."

"Sailor, you've got to get those compressors back on line now!" Crane yelled into the mike.

"There's no way, sir. The emergency wiring has caught fire. We'll have to repair sections of the actual motors this time."

Captain turned to the periscope island. Cradling his forehead on his left hand, he leaned on the rail. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Silent sobs caused him to tremble slightly.

Jesus wept! I've tried so hard! Granted the odds were against me. Still, I've always been able to give my boat and her crew a second chance. It's bad enough that I failed and have to die, but I
have a crew who will die just because I screwed up, not to mention Harri.

That thought caused a violent tremor to surge through him.

He sank down and sat on the lower railing of the periscope island to keep from falling.

Not only did he trust me with his boat and crew, he loved me. He sometimes seemed to worship me as much as I did him.

I should have ordered the reserve air released into the boat. If I had done that--. He broke off the thought. The answer was obvious. They would still be unable to surface. The reserve air would have eventually gone bad. They would still have had to go on emergency oxygen. It would still eventually run out. We'd still be right where we are-about to die of suffocation.

Captain Crane checked his gauge on his small oxygen tank.

Four minutes of oxygen left. When I breathe it dry, the end will come, but not immediately.

A hand rested on his shoulder. Looking over his fingers, he was astonished to see Admiral Nelson kneeling in front of him. "Lee," he whispered, removing his oxygen mask and turning off the flow. "I have to talk to you."

"I'm sorry, Harri," Lee moaned softly.

"You haven't done anything to be sorry for. Just listen to me!" snapped the Admiral, his tone a bit louder.

Lee looked down at his shoes, which looked as dull and soiled as he felt inside.

A hand gently tilted his chin so that their eyes met. "I wanted to say that loving you has been the greatest joy of my life. I thought I had it all-money, power, prestige, fame. Then, you came along and made me realize that I needed something more, someone to love. And you gave me your love in return. Without it, I would have never known what it meant to really live."

"But--," Lee choked, but Harri shook his head while holding up his other hand for silence.

"No buts. If I could go back and do it all over, I'd choose you again to be Seaview's captain, even if I knew that this was how it was going to end. That's just the way it is, Lee."

"Harri!" he murmured, unable to continue.

Suddenly, static began to emanate from the Radio Shack.

Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane stood and walked to the tiny cubicle and pushed open the door. Lieutenant (jg) Matthew Hawkins, commonly known as Static, was slumped over the console. The mask of a canister of emergency oxygen was strapped to his face. The gauge registered that it was empty.

Captain Crane removed the mask of the empty oxygen canister from the man's face and gave him a breath from his own air supply.

"USS Shark to Seaview," came a voice through the radio's speaker. "Do you copy? Over."

Captain Crane pressed the TRANSMIT button. "This is Seaview. We read you loud and clear. Over."

Another voice came over the radio this time. The voice was very familiar. "Captain Crane, what is your status?"

Admiral Starke! "Sir, we were unable to surface. We have been on emergency oxygen. It is almost depleted," Captain Crane stated.

"What is your depth?"

"One hundred twenty-four feet," replied Captain Crane.

There was silence for what seemed the better part of an hour, but had to be only a minute or two.

"Divers are on the way with more emergency O2 canisters. They should be reaching you at any second," said Admiral Starke. I'm also sending down several portable air scrubbers."

"We're glad to hear that, sir. Mighty glad," said Captain Crane.

Part 12

Teams of divers soon brought enough emergency oxygen canisters for everyone. As soon as a man received his new canister, he was given several to hand out and orders to assist any crewman who might need it.

The air scrubbers were also brought aboard, unbattened and hooked into the power supply. Although they could not reduce the carbon dioxide to normal levels, they were able to significantly reduce the amount of carbon dioxide in the air. This bought the crew the extra time they needed to get the compressor going once more.

Captain Crane took the conn. Grabbing the microphone, he keyed it. "Engineering, this is the Captain. Surface! Surface! Surface!" he ordered.

"One one zero. One zero zero feet. Nine zero--," read Patterson.

The depth gauge unwound steadily until it stopped at zero.

A tumultuous cheer erupted from all hands as the hatches were opened.

This time, the Admiral and the Captain joined in, too.

**

Dr. Jamison slowly became aware of something being held over his nose and mouth. Bright lights were shining in his eyes. His entire body felt like lead. He tried to focus on the man kneeling above him, but could not do so. He lay still, gasping.

Then, the face became clear. "Riley? What's going on?"

"Take it easy, sir. You and your corpsmen passed out. You'll be all right in a minute," Riley assured him.

Doc turned his head. A young man with short black hair, just beginning to curl on top of his head, lay a short distance from him. Joe! Joseph Pheerse! His heart began to pound.

Doc struggled to his knees and crawled to where his Pharmacist's Mate lay. An empty emergency oxygen canister lay nearby.

Joe's mouth was open. His chest heaved. There was a dusky tinge to his lips. He shook the young man. "Joe, can you hear me? Joe!"

Riley gave Doc another small canister of oxygen. Doc placed it over Pheerse's face and opened the valve.

Pheerse opened his eyes. He stirred, moaning softly. "God, I feel awful. We've been up for a long time. I guess I passed out."

He tried to sit up, but failed on the first attempt.

"We both did. Remember? There were some explosions. We were trapped deep under the ocean. Our breathable air was exhausted. We went on emergency oxygen. I gave Sparks and Sharkey full tanks of oxygen. Then, our emergency canisters ran out."

"Yeah." Pheerse's brows drew together. "But if we ran out of air, how come we're alive?" he asked, his voice slurred a bit.

"I don't know. Right now, we need to check our patients," said Doc, getting to his feet. Pheerse did the same.

Malone was kneeling beside Frank Hanson and John Rogers.

They were taking breaths from emergency canisters that Malone handed to them.

"We were all about gone. Turned out that the Skipper had Amps radio our position to COMSUBPAC when we were damaged by those torpedo explosions. We didn't think COMSUBPAC heard us, but they did.

They sent two cruisers with emergency equipment, even a DSRV. They got divers with extra oxygen down here to us, just in time," Riley explained.

Sparks was sitting in a chair beside Sharkey's gurney. His head rested beside Sharkey's right hand. His hand covered Sharkey's. Sharkey was breathing oxygen from a large green tank attached to the head of his gurney.

Doc approached the gurney, dreading what he would find.

Sharkey's chest rose and fell rhythmically. He's still breathing, Doc noted.

Pheerse grabbed a BP cuff. Usually they used computerized cuffs that monitored a patient's blood pressure at preset intervals. When the reactor had gone off-line and the generator was down, they had begun using manual BP cuffs.

Pheerse wrapped the cuff around Sharkey's arm and pulled it snug. His eyes widened slightly. "Hey, Doc! His skin temp's cool and damp!"

Doc touched Sharkey's forehead. To his amazement, Sharkey's forehead was covered with droplets sweat and was cool. Immediately, Doc took his patient's temperature. My God! It's normal!

Doc pressed his fingertips gently against Sharkey's wrist.

"He's still tachycardic." He continued to check Sharkey's vital signs. "Draw blood and urine samples. I have to know what's going on."

Pheerse immediately drew blood and urine samples. In their lab, they quickly flipped the switches to DC and turned on the equipment. There was not a moment to waste. They did not know how long the main power would be out and the battery packs were not made to last indefinitely.

As Doc studied the leucocytes, he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God! The white blood count was still elevated slightly, but it had dropped markedly from what it had been before. The results of his urinalysis revealed that his kidney functions were significantly impaired.

"Should we put him on hemodialysis?" asked Pheerse, pressing the OFF buttons of the various pieces of equipment.

Dr. Jamison thought for a moment. "Not now. I'm going to start him on dimercaporal. Also, I want to increase his IV drip. When his fluid volume is adequate, I'll administer dopamine and norepinephrine."

Both men were silent for several moments. Dr. Jamison became aware of Pheerse's intense gaze. "What is it?"

Pheerse's lips parted in a slight smile. Admiration and love shone in his eyes. "You remember when I told you that you'd come with something? Well, you did it again. It looks as if Sharkey's going to make it."

Although part of him would have liked to claim all the credit, Dr. Jamison knew better. "No, somebody bigger and smarter and a lot more powerful than I am is looking out for Sharkey. He just showed me how to help Him out a little."

**
Several hours later, Admiral Jiggs Starke was brought over to Seaview in the Shark captain's dinghy. The two admirals and Captain Crane adjourned to the Observation Nose where they could talk in private.

The fluorescent lights were dimmed to their lowest settings in order to conserve power. Waves lapped against the Herculite panels as the boat rocked with the rhythm of ocean. A full moon reflected off the black water; a generous dusting of stars in the clear night sky completed the serene picture.

Captain Crane poured coffee for Admirals Starke and Nelson, then a cup for himself. Instead of his customary perch on the left side of the Admiral's work table, he sat in a chair beside Admiral Starke.

"How did you know where to find us?" asked Admiral Nelson.

"We tried to send a distress message, but our radio equipment was being jammed. Hell, even our sonar wasn't working."

"COMSUBPAC received your message. It was full of static, but Lieutenant Miller has better hearing than most. She understood enough to know where to start looking. Several cruisers were dispatched to search for you with sonar equipment. They picked up your ping about forty minutes before we reached you by radio," replied Admiral Starke.

Conversation halted for several moments.

Finally, Captain Crane's lips parted in a smile.

Admiral Starke's eyebrows rose slightly. "Captain, am I correct when I think you're amused?" asked Admiral Starke Captain Crane shook his head, the smile turning to a more pensive expression. "Not at all! I remember praying for God to spare my boat and crew, even if He didn't save me." He studied the contents of his coffee cup. "By all rights, we shouldn't be here, but we are. I guess it means that the Man Upstairs has more plans for us." He looked up, his eyes brighter than usual. "And I hope He keeps right on finding uses for us in His divine plans."

"Amen to that," Admiral Nelson murmured solemnly.

Admiral Starke cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. "I hope He will, too" he stated, his gruff manner much more muted than usual.

**
The next morning, Admiral Nelson was awakened at 0500 by an urgent call. "Admiral Nelson, there's a top priority message from Admiral Lowell Stanton," came the voice of Static on his intercom speaker.

Admiral Nelson stirred and got to his feet. Stumbling to his desk, he wiped his eyes with one hand as he pressed the interphone button with the other. "Put him through," he instructed.

Admiral Stanton was head of ONI. What could he want? We're on our way back to the States with the Arab prisoners. I hope he doesn't want Lee to go on a mission right now. He's been through hell and back these last few days. "Admiral Stanton, this is Admiral Nelson."

"Nelson, I'll come right to the point. We've received word that Bashari Fouad Dhakti and his men have been replaced by men or the El Naya Mohammed Ali terrorist group. It is imperative that you use extreme caution when you deal with them. At the first sign of suspicious behavior, place these men under arrest immediately."

You're way too late! "Sir, they are in our brig as we speak," Admiral Nelson stated, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

"I've heard from Admiral Starke that Seaview was down," said Admiral Stanton. "If that is the case, can you debrief the prisoners and give us the transcripts of the sessions?"

"Sir, we're on our way back to the United States. We're running on the surface and on generators at this time, so it will take us almost eleven more days to reach you."

"Admiral, can you bring them to Fort Mead in your Flying Sub, then?" asked Admiral Stanton. "We need to interrogate them as soon as possible. We have information that another terrorist group is planning attacks on various cities in the United States. The men aboard Seaview may have information about these activities. If we can get the information, it could save thousands of lives."

"We have sustained damage in an attack and are unable to launch the Flying Sub."

"I will arrange to have the prisoners picked up and transported to Fort Meade," stated Admiral Stanton. Then, the connection was broken.

At 1000 hours, Admiral Starke was picked up by the Shark captain's dinghy and carried back to the Shark. Then, three Marines, armed with M-16s returned in the dinghy and picked up the manacled prisoners and took them to the Shark.

Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane watched the dinghy departing. Captain Crane took a deep breath and blew it out. "I'm glad those bastards are off this boat," he declared.

Admiral Nelson's eyes met his for several moments. "Me, too." He laid his hand on Crane's shoulder. "When we reach King's Bay, we'll have to arrange for some repairs to tide us over till we get back to Santa Barbara. When we get back to SB, I want us to go out to a fine restaurant and get a room at a nice hotel."

"Sounds like an excellent plan to me," agreed Captain Crane.

**
Nearly five weeks later, USSRN Seaview arrived in Santa Barbara.

Although Sparks had been returned to active duty, Chief Sharkey was not so fortunate. As soon as Seaview was in port, Chief Sharkey was transferred to the NIMR infirmary. Within thirty minutes of getting him settled in a room, Sparks arrived, carrying a portable stereo unit and a CD wallet. Sparks plugged in the small unit and inserted a CD.

Soon, the strains of Elton John's rendition of "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" drifted from the boom box. As Sparks listened to the tender strains, a lump welled up in his throat. I almost lost him, he thought.

He took Francis' hands in his and kissed the palms.

Francis smiled weakly. Then, his features twisted. He looked away.

Upon seeing his lover break down, dismay coursed through him. It's not like him to be like this. "Francis? Lover, what's wrong?" he whispered, laying a hand on Sharkey's chest. Simply touching his lover's body caused his desire to stir.

For several moments, Francis fought for control. Finally, he wiped his eyes on the sheet and looked up at him. "Oh, Petey, I'd planned for this shore leave to be really great. Instead, I'm lying here in a hospital bed. I can't-. I can't-." Francis broke off in mid-sentence.

"You don't need this. You need to be with someone who can-."

Peter leaned over and silenced Francis with a thorough, yet tender kiss.

"I need to be with the man I love," he whispered. "And that man is you."

"Doc says I'll recover completely, but it won't be overnight. He says I'll have to have physical therapy." Sharkey said, his voice uncharacteristically weak and shaky.

For several moments, Sparks caressed Sharkey's face and hair. "I love you, Francis, and I'll be here, however long it takes," he promised.

"I love you, Petey," murmured Sharkey.

With a gentleness that he usually reserved for newborns, Sparks gathered Sharkey in his arms.

**
Kowalski and Patterson stowed their gear in the trunk of Kowalski's car. Then, they drove to the security gate and showed their badges. The guard motioned for them to proceed and they headed for the apartment they had shared for the past seven years.

They did not have to be back at Seaview for a whole week. As they sped down the road, Patterson place his hand on the inside of Kowalski's right thigh and rubbed it gently. Desire surged to his loins. His briefs soon became uncomfortably tight. Judging by the impish smile that played on Patterson's lips and the dilation of his blue eyes, Kowalski knew where they would spend the rest of the day, and probably the next.

**

In the weeks that followed, Seaview underwent extensive repairs. Finally, the repairs were complete. The day after the work had been completed and the final checks on all the equipment except the navigation gyros and computers had been done, Admiral Nelson sat in the Observation Nose signing off the paperwork. Mister Morton was supervising the resetting of the gyroscopes and the programming of the navigation computers. He would be in to sign off his part of the paperwork when he could sign off on the navigation equipment, too.

Admiral Nelson looked at his watch. Lee was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago. He laid aside his pen and stared out the Herculite panels. The bright sun, still high in the azure blue sky, turned the calm blue water of the Pacific Ocean into a shimmering sheet of golden yellow. I wonder what's keeping him, Admiral Nelson wondered.

As the Admiral thought of Crane, his pulse quickened. Lee's such a remarkable man! Most submarine commanders would have released the reserve air into the boat. That would have bought them some more time, but then we couldn't have blown our ballast tanks. At the depth we had traveled to, no divers could have reached us. The DSRV's that were on board the Shark couldn't have gone beyond four thousand feet because that was the length of the cable they were equipped with. Lee made the right decision. Thanks to that, we were rescued.

The clang of footsteps in the direction of the Control Room caused him to look around. Captain Crane entered the Nose, a smile on his handsome face.

"You're mighty happy this morning, Lee," Admiral Nelson observed.

"I ran into Jamie in the cafeteria. He said that Sharkey's therapy is going well, and it looks as if he will make a full recovery."

"That's good news," said Admiral Nelson.

Captain Crane took his customary place, perching himself on the left side of Admiral Nelson's worktable. Admiral Nelson took Captain Crane's hand. Their fingers entwined. Like our lives, he thought. Admiral Nelson stood and slipped his arms around Captain Crane. Their lips met in a brief, gentle kiss; then another.

"When we get our work done, what would you think of going on a picnic up on Gull Bay?" asked Lee.

"Sounds great to me. We'll take some sandwiches and some wine, and a blanket," Admiral Nelson said, punctuating each phrase with a kiss. And a new tube of lubricant, he finished silently.

The two men backed up slightly and looked at each other. "I have everything I could ever want, love, or need. It may all end tomorrow, but if it does, I've had the best life anybody could ever dream of," Admiral Nelson declared.

Captain Crane's eyes burned into his as he gently brushed his cheek with his fingertips. A tremor of desire and anticipation coursed through Admiral Nelson. "Whatever the future brings to us, we'll face it together."


The End