Finally, “Well, well. All I can say is there’ll certainly be some interesting times ahead.”
“Yeah, maybe for the rest of our lives, Padre,” said Blizzard. “I've got a wife and three kids I'd like to see again. However, that is only one of a beaucoup number of problems we’re facing at the moment, but the biggest is this: How do we find the way back to our own time if we really are stuck in the middle of some earlier century?”
“Those photos seem to prove we’ve gone somewhere, Skipper,” replied the priest.
“OK, we’ll grant you that,” said Taylor, “But because of the slight tilt of that tower in Pisa which we’ve all just seen, we can be fairly sure this is the Fifteenth century.” He got up to pace, then began rattling off orders. “Miles, I want you to put together a team of tech-reps from IBM, Westinghouse, Bechtel, Boeing, and your department heads. They are to go over everything that's happened to the ship and crew since we weighed anchor. Look to things like our course, speed, weather, longitude, latitude, time, and date; in other words, everything of significance leading up to that moment the LBJ went over to whatever time we’re in now. I have a gut feeling that if we don’t manage to get back home soon, we’ll be trapped in the Middle Ages forever. And lastly, they must know their work is top secret.”
Each man listening to the admiral had no trouble creating a mental picture of the consequences. Their reverie was broken by a ringing phone. Blizzard took the instrument from a sailor, listened for thirty seconds, then ordered the individual to report to the bridge.
“It seems that something else has shown up on the digitalized copy of the film,” he said. “It's on the way up now.”
Three minutes later a lieutenant j.g., from the air wing intelligence office entered, saluted, and handed three prints to the admiral. He immediately went to work explaining the significance of each.
“That top one, Sir, it’s the harbor at Livorno, just thirty miles south of Pisa, and as you can see, it’s a pretty busy place. The second one is a closeup of the north end of the harbor.”
By now the others were queued up behind Taylor, looking over his shoulders.
The lieutenant continued. “And the last picture is a blow-up of the area in question. I direct your attention, Admiral, to the vessel tied up at the wooden jetty away from all the other boats.”
Everyone stared in disbelief. It was a modern pleasure cruiser!
“She's about sixty-five feet in length, and fully equipped with the latest satellite nav-aids and radar,” the photo-intel officer said. “At least that's our conclusion from the looks and size of her antennae farm. In all likelihood she’s a twin-screw, capable of doing about twenty-five knots.”
Blizzard exhaled loudly and was the first to speak. “Now, how in the hell did this frigging boat end up in Livorno?”
“Better yet, how long has she been there?” said the admiral.
“Well, at least we're not alone,” declared Paige, picking up the last photo and studying it closely. “Can you identify the make?”
“We're working on that now, Sir. We suspect she was built in this part of the world because of her low profile and sleek lines, but we'll have a positive ident shortly. You'll note her tender is still aboard, which suggests the crew and passengers are close by.”
“Admiral, we need to get some better shots of this boat right away,” said Blizzard, taking the photo from Paige. “If we can have a plane come in from the east, we stand a good chance of picking her name off of the bow; or we can make a pass from out over the water and get it off her transom. There's no flag flying, so we do need those pictures to figure out where she came from.”
Taylor glanced at his watch. ''There's plenty enough daylight to make a run today.” He turned to Gowdy. “You up for another flight?”
“Absolutely. I didn't see this when I flicked on the cameras for my approach to Pisa. Livorno was just south of that when I made my turn and headed back to the carrier. I can be airborne in fifteen minutes, Admiral.”
Not a word was mentioned of his earlier near-disastrous flight.
CHAPTER 13
Tuesday afternoon to evening – June 22nd
The rain stopped shortly before noon. Fleming had decided it would be safe to start a fire, heat coffee, and prepare some food from their survival packs. He was elated they had finally made contact with the carrier and that his request for a night pick-up had been approved by the admiral.
The only injury suffered by either was a cut on the bridge of Lafayette's nose. It had happened when he pulled off his helmet without first raising the plastic visor. The wound had barely bled, but he now sported a band-aid over his self-inflicted battle injury.
After they had eaten and were on their second cup of coffee, they built-up the fire to warm themselves and to dry out their clothes.
“All we’d need now would be for our flightsuits to catch on fire and have the chopper pick-up a couple of near-naked jaybirds,” said Fleming. Both were huddled close to the heat and remarking on their good fortune.
“You know, what’s happening to us is like some kind of a macabre hoax,” said Lafayette, gazing into the flames, face somber, tone serious. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve thought that time-travel made for great science fiction stories and even better movies, and now here we are with everything indicating that we’ve somehow crossed that impossible barrier. What’s to become of us, Dave?” he asked in a mournful tone.
“Chuck, let's take it one step at a time, OK?” Fleming stood and examined their clothes. ''They're dry. How about we get dressed and take a stroll around our new home. We'll douse the fire and leave everything here except for our weapons, compasses, binoculars, and radios. We’ll make sure to keep this large oak in our sight at all times as a landmark for our campsite.” Ten minutes later they set out, heading east. The land was rolling hillside with few trees and fewer bushes and shrubs. Small rocks and shale shards were strewn everywhere, and Fleming could not help but comment on the sizable rabbit population.
Something had been nagging at his mind, and as he studied a small clump of wildflowers, the answer hit him. He bent low to examine what he thought to be wildflowers. Many had still-unopened buds, while others were beginning to bloom. “Here's a new twist for us to think about,” he said, snapping a bud from its stem. He rose and faced Lafayette. “Take a look around you, Chuck. Go on, take a good look, then tell me what you see.”
Lafayette slowly turned in a complete circle, looked all around as directed, then shrugged his shoulders. “Grass, flowers, and tons of rabbit stew.” He concentrated his gaze on the bud Fleming was twirling in his fingers. “So what do you see?”
“I see springtime. It adds up. The cold weather with lots of drizzle; flowers just beginning to bloom, the fresh greening of the landscape, even the new growth on the trees and bushes. Last night it was summertime, but today sure isn’t summer. I'd say it’s more like late March, maybe April, but definitely not June.”
Lafayette took another, longer look around. “I think you're right. I would have thought that if we’ve gone back in time we’d have stayed in the same month.” He let loose a small, mirthless laugh. “At least that's how it happens in all the sci-fi flicks.”
They continued walking, making a large circle, all the while keeping their campsite’s oak tree in view. Turning in a westerly direction, then climbing a small hill, they spotted a stone hut with a thatched roof a couple of hundred yards away. They studied it in silence with their binoculars for a few minutes, and seeing no sign of life, Fleming decided they take a closer look.
The hovel was rough and old. Fleming guessed it at twelve feet by fifteen feet, and six feet in height. He pronounced the roof to be beyond repair. There were no windows, and one entrance on the southside. Peering inside, he spotted a pallet of leaves and twigs on the dirt floor. There was no furniture, and the place emitted a really foul odor. In one corner he saw a small cluster of mushrooms struggling to grow. “Must be a shep
herd's hut,” he murmured, turning his face towards some welcomed fresh air.
“Glad that isn’t my permanent address,” added Lafayette as they backed away.
The rest of the journey held no additional surprises, other than observing several plumes of black smoke dotting the horizon, evidence of human habitation somewhere off in the distance. A half-hour later they were back in camp with the sun getting low. Fleming looked at his watch. Almost six. He called the carrier, and his signal was picked up immediately.
“Fleming, this is CAG, are you reading me OK?”
The air was filled with static, but Gowdy’s voice was clear.
“Roger, CAG, five by five.”
“Here's the plan. We’ll make the pick-up at nineteen hundred, one hour from now, and you’ll be back on board in two. Anything new to report?”
“Negative, CAG. No signs of habitation within five miles of our position. Should be fine for the extraction. As soon as we hear the chopper coming we'll light a flare. The wind is zero at the moment, but if it changes dramatically, we'll provide smoke. Over.”
“Roger. Continue to call every fifteen minutes. Will you need a flight surgeon on board?”
“Negative, CAG. We're good. Just need a shower.”
“Keep the faith. CAG out.”
At three minutes past seven Fleming heard the first thump, thump, thump of the helicopter’s blades as it beat its way through the air. A minute later Lafayette fired a flare. The pilot acknowledged by flicking his landing light on and off a couple of times.
Fleming and Lafayette tossed their gear into the helicopter, huge grins lighting up their faces beneath helmets. Both gave a thumbs up signal to the pararescue sailor, then climbed aboard.
A fastidious Fleming had made sure their campsite was scrubbed of all signs of their ever having been there. The fire had been extinguished and its ashes scattered; empty food packages had been secured inside zippered flightsuit pockets.
Fifty minutes later they were greeted with hoots and hollers and slaps on their backs by scores of jubilant Tiger Sharks squadron members.
CHAPTER 14
Tuesday Evening, later – June 22nd
Fleming's mind began to wander, blocking out the sound of droning voices. He was sitting in conference with Admiral Taylor, Captain Blizzard, CAG, and Lafayette. Both flyers had been given a perfunctory physical once-over by Dr. Potter, and now, ninety minutes later, his tiredness was beginning to tell. The three senior officers were discussing a plan of action and had asked Fleming for any input he considered important. He now mentally detached himself from the group and willed his thoughts to turn to his wife. Would he ever see Susan again? The realist inside said probably not. To escape such dark thoughts, he harkened back to their early days.
* * * * *
Their first date had been an outing on the water with two other couples. He remembered how she had cancelled an earlier one for dinner in the middle of the week by telling him she had a sore throat. It was only much later she confessed that although her throat had indeed been sore, her reticence was more of a case of cold feet. But when he called and asked her to go boating with two other couples for the following Sunday, she enthusiastically agreed. Safety in numbers was how she phrased it when reminiscing about their early dating, as starstruck lovers often do.
Throughout the month of May he saw her as many times as he could, and then the school term was over. She had not signed a contract for the following year although the school principal had let her know she would be most welcome to return. He had gone out of his way to persuade her to come back, telling her he would wait until the middle of August before signing a contract with her replacement. Her roommate also begged her to reconsider, telling her that she too would keep the apartment open for her. And, of course, Fleming added his two cents' worth. Susan Renninger made no promises to any of them.
“Dave, I'm going to Indianapolis at the end of the week,” she announced in the first week of June, “and then to Chicago to see my mother.” They were lying on the living room floor in her apartment after she had cooked a fantastic Mexican dinner. The roommate had gone to Las Vegas for a long weekend with her boyfriend.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked, dreading the answer.
She raised herself onto one elbow, rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared into his eyes. “I don't know,” she replied softly, “I haven't seen mother in a while, and I know she would really enjoy the visit.”
Susan had not volunteered him much information about her family. He knew her father was dead, that she was an only child, and her mother worked long hours. He had suspected her childhood had been financially precarious, and that her single mother had often struggled to make ends meet.
“Would it be possible to visit you in Chicago? I have a ton of leave time built up and need to burn off some days.”
“We'll see. But of course, we can talk and text whenever we want, so that’ll be nice.” She smiled, squeezed his hand, and offered her lips for a kiss.
She drove away the following weekend in her five-year-old Toyota. David Fleming’s social life slipped into slow gear, then into neutral. He soon found he was miserable without her and took little joy in joining his squadron buddies in an off-base bar-and-grill after a day's flying.
They spoke a couple of times each day and texted often, sometimes well into the night.
In the middle of the third week, he received a letter from her. Yes, she was in Chicago, yes, her mother was delighted to have her home, and she ended with the admission she missed him. She had also jotted down her mother’s home phone number and suggested that she would like to see him very much. He never stopped to think that he could have just called her cellphone to say yes, but instead, he called Susan on her mother’s home phone to tell her yes, yes, yes!
Ten days later she met him at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, along with a woman who appeared to be in her early fifties. One glance, and Fleming understood where Susan had gotten her fabulous looks.
Susan ran to him as soon as she spotted him and throwing her arms around his neck breathed deeply into his ear, “Oh, how I’ve missed you. It's seemed like forever.”
He held her tight for several long seconds then kissed her. Passengers smiled as they walked past the happy couple.
Susan introduced her mother. “Dave, this is the best mother in the whole world, Theresa Renninger. Mom, this is Dave Fleming.”
“Welcome to the Windy City, Dave,” Theresa Renninger said, smiling warmly as she shook his outstretched hand. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you. All I’ve heard for the past few weeks is Dave this, Dave that, or Dave says.” She ended with a full-throated laugh.
“Mother!” said the shocked daughter, turning crimson with embarrassment, but within moments was laughing alongside her mother and Fleming.
With a beautiful woman gracing each arm, Fleming floated through baggage claims and out to the terminal curbside parking zone. It was here that he received his first surprise. Waiting for them was a chauffeured Bentley Flying Spur. Forty-five minutes later came the second surprise as the limousine glided up a long paved driveway to a stately mansion gracing the shore of Lake Michigan.
A butler greeted them at the front door. Fleming was now thoroughly stunned and knew that it showed. He turned to face Susan and managed a disbelieving shake of his head.
“I never told you,” she said quietly, coming to stand close to his side. “I had to be sure.” She squeezed his arm and led him inside.
It was during this week that he learned of Susan's family and upbringing, and it was also when they made love for the first time.
He discovered that this working mother was the Chairman of the Board and sole stockholder of Rentran Industries. Had it been a publicly traded company, Rentran would have appeared on the Fortune 500 List with its annual revenues of twenty billion dollars. The company made the transmissions and industrial gearboxes used in large
electrical trucks and buses for automotive manufacturers in a dozen countries. Paul Renninger had started the company at twenty-two years of age with a stake of one hundred eighteen thousand dollars borrowed from his father. It was at a time when only a handful of visionaries foresaw a future that included large numbers of Electrical Vehicles (EVs). Twelve years later, Rentran was becoming a major force to be reckoned with in the specialized world of EV transmission manufacturers, but two days shy of his thirty-fifth birthday, Paul Renninger collapsed from a cerebral hemorrhage. He was dead before his body hit the floor.
Theresa Renninger refused all buyout offers, and soon after the funeral, announced that she would run the company. The competition bet among themselves that Rentran Industries would flounder and go under in no time, but she fooled the skeptics. The woman worked sixteen hours a day, sometimes seven days a week, year after year. Five years later the competition grudgingly agreed on one thing: Theresa Renninger had indeed fooled them all.
Susan spoke of a lonely childhood. She had attended private schools in Chicago and described herself in those early years as being an all-legs, skinny kid adorned with a mouthful of braces. Yes, she had friends, but spent most of her time in lonely pursuits. It troubled her mother to see her child pass the days in such solitude, but, to her credit, she tried everything to make the daughter's life as normal as possible. School friends were invited for weekends to the huge home, yet nothing could pry Susan from the shell she had ensconced herself. Finally, in desperation, Theresa had Susan visit a psychiatrist to determine if there was some deep-rooted flaw in the girl's character, but after a few consultations he assured the mother there was nothing wrong with her child. He recommended she attend a university away from home when the time came, and upon graduation from high school, Susan was accepted to the University of Arizona.
Four years later she graduated cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in Primary Education, then spent the following year at UCLA where she received her master’s degree, again graduating cum laude. She was now twenty-two-years of age and had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. The braces she had so hated were long-gone, and although she was still very much a private person, she had at last come out of her shell. There was no special man in her life, and with nothing to tie her to Los Angeles, she accepted a teaching post in Indianapolis. She stayed there three years, fell in love, and became engaged to an up-and-coming attorney with the city's most prestigious law firm. Then, inexplicably, just one week before the wedding she called the whole thing off. Her mother was justifiably upset and acutely embarrassed by the sudden turn of events, yet no amount of questioning would pry from her daughter the reason for her decision. The local society mavens now dubbed her the “runaway bride” behind her back. Susan Renninger returned the engagement ring to the now heartbroken attorney and quietly left town.
POINT OPTION: A Time-Travel Military Thriller Page 12
