road, by the way—into town. Winston Churchill Avenue
actually intersects with the main runway and is closed by a
series of gates and traffic lights, much like a railway
crossing, every time a plane takes off or lands.
So it was kind of cool, looking out the small
portholes of our plane, to see the cars backed up waiting
for us to get our butts on the ground so their occupants
could go about their day. Since the airport is shared by the
Royal Air Force, and is known as RAF Gibraltar, we taxied
over to a military ramp where we were met by a staff car
that would drive us to the pier.
Our waterborne conveyance would be waiting for
us at the pier, and the actual extraction part of the
assignment would begin the moment the vessel was
boarded.
Ah yes, the vessel...
Within minutes we arrived at the embarcadero, the
main pier for the ferries, cruise liners, and even a mix of
military gunboats, working tugs, and small cargo ships.
"I don't see it," Foutsey said when we pulled up to
the gate.
"I did. It's here. Across from the cruise ship. I saw it
when we landed," I told him. I was as excited as I had ever
been. This was going to be freaking amazing.
"Glad you did, because I'm rather at a loss,"
Foutsey said. "Lead the way, then!"
As we walked along the pier, towards the end and
to the right, there was the most beautiful white cruise ship.
It was a Costa liner, decked out in a gorgeous array of
colorful flags, with fat-happy tourists lining its rails. A
sharp crew in dress whites was busily crisscrossing the
decks, and its stoic captain stood out on the starboard
bridge wing preparing to put to sea. It's like they were
awaiting our arrival.
Only they weren't.
Because our boat lay directly across from theirs:
ours was a nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine
called HMS Vigilant. That's right, kids! We're riding on a
submarine!
"My God, will you look at her," Foutsey marveled.
"She's a mean looking little bitch, isn't she?"
"Yep. And there's nothing little about her. Check it
out!" I said, pointing to the huge length of the boat that
was obscured by the water. "That part with the conning
tower and that short deck is maybe only a quarter of how
long she really is. Look under the water there."
It was almost shocking to see the stealth black hull
running to the end of the pier, and if you focused on the
water aft of the flag staff, whenever the wavelets would go
still for a moment you could see the outlines of the missile
doors just below the surface.
"Hey, Foutsey, did you hear the one about the gay
whale?" I asked him.
"Can't say as I have."
"He went around biting off the ends of submarines
and sucking out the seamen."
"Droll. Just droll, Mister Allen. Now I know how
you got your code name. You are the rascal," he said,
laughing at my dumb joke. "So is there a doorbell? How do
we get you aboard?"
"What? Aren't you coming?"
"Oh, as much as I'd love to, I shall be here, holding
down the fort, as it were. But I expect to hear all about it,
my boy," he said. A car pulled up to the gangway where
we were standing, and three crewmen piled out and
approached us.
"May we help you?"
"I'm booked on your cruise today! Where's the
squash court?" I joked. Not smart. No ensuing laughter.
"Uhm, sorry. I'm part of the—uh, is there a Commander
Madge here?"
"He's the captain. He expecting you?" the petty
officer asked, not in the friendliest of voices.
"Yes he is."
"And whom shall I say is calling?"
"Uh... Rascal," I said, sheepishly. "Just tell him it's...
"Rascal. Right. Won't be a moment," he said,
boarding the boat and disappearing down a hatch. The
other two stood warily by, eyeing me from the side.
Within seconds, Seaman Friendly popped his head out of
the hatch.
"Do you have a cracker?" he asked.
Yes, I did. It's a plastic key, a little bigger than a
credit card, that carries an encrypted Eyes Only message. I
pulled it from my pouch.
"Rob! Bring it here," he ordered his mate. I passed
the cracker to him and stood by. "Won't be a moment!" he
said, whack-a-moling himself back down the hatch.
Moments later, and I was in with the cool crowd.
"Sir, welcome aboard HMS Vigilant. Follow me,
please."
I managed to turn and wave to Foutsey as I walked
across the gangplank, and the crewman— Thom Bleaker, I
would learn—pointed for me to enter the boat first. I
climbed down the ladder and landed in a place they called
Piccadilly Circus, a central part of the boat where the mess
room, the lounge, and a row of lockers stood off of the
main corridor. I'm telling you, it was Star Trek. Everywhere
I looked there was something interesting to see and to
marvel at.
"Excuse us, Rascal! Make way! Head's up!" My new
buddies were trying to get aboard and I was clumsily
blocking the ladder.
"Sorry!" I apologized, as I stepped aside, nearly
colliding with two crewmen heading forward to begin
their watch. "Sorry! Excuse me!" That one was for the
crewmen.
"Follow me please, Rrrr ascal," he smiled, obviously
having fun with my codename. "I'll take you to the captain.
You lot make ready," he said to his mates.
The walk forward was quick enough, and my heart
skipped a beat when we passed through the bridge. It was
even doused in red light, just like in the submarine movies.
Just forward of the bridge we joined a circular
staircase that took us down one deck, and then we headed
aft again. In a few steps, he stopped outside of a sliding
door that was to our left. Which meant that it was on the
right side of the boat. The name on the pier panel to the
side of the door read: Cdr. Dennis Madge, R.N., Captain.
Impressive.
Three quick knocks: "Come."
Thom slid the door open. "Captain, I have our
contact with me. Johnnie Allen, codenamed Rascal. All of
his bona-fides check out, sir."
"Thank you, Bleaker. Let's meet this Rascal," he
chuckled. Thom turned to me and nodded in the direction
of the captain's cabin. He took a step back so I could enter,
and there he was. The most impressive specimen of a
Royal Navy captain one could ever imagine. It was like he
stepped out of the books at Central Casting. Fit, in his mid-
forties, very handsome, with a perfectly trimmed salt-and-
pepper beard, and wearing a neatly pressed day uniform
that didn't reveal a single wrinkle.
"So you're the Rascal," he grinned, firmly shaking
my hand. "Welcome aboard HMS Vigilant. Your first trip
on a sub?" he asked.
"First time I've ever seen a sub! Up cl
ose, anyways,"
I told him. "This boat is fierce!"
"Oh, laddie, you don't know the half of it," he said.
Wow! If he wasn't already a kid's perfect example of a
submariner, I caught his Scottish brogue when he spoke to
me. I think that's why they make whiskey up there in
Scotland. It's so everybody can talk like Captain Madge.
He was awesome!
"It's quite a trip we've planned, I hear," he said. "Fill
me in. All I know is we're headed to Morocco to pick up
some poncie embassy babies who don't know how to
hitchhike their way home."
"Yeah, something like that," I said.
"Da ya mind tellin' me why there's a yank doin' the
job here? Not that it matters, mind, but I'm a curious sort,
if ya know what I mean," he said.
"Your guys are playing decoy. The DST will follow
the Brits while the yank sneaks in with Her Majesty's
yellow submarine and snatches the prize. Fun, yeah?" I
smiled. He shot me a thumbs up and reached into the
metal drawer to the side of his desk.
"Ya fancy a wee dram, Johnnie?" he grinned,
producing a bottle of twelve-year-old Glenlivet and a
couple of glasses. "We'll have us an angels' share, yeah?"
"You're the captain!" I smiled.
"That I am, lad. Here, a little kiss from the land of
Moray. I've got kids younger than this scotch!" he said,
cheerily pouring the amber nectar in glasses stamped with
the HMS Vigilant logo. I was gonna have to find a way to
lighten the boat's load a bit by procuring one of these
glasses for my own personal use.
"Cheers, mate!" and we clinked glasses and sniffed
and swallowed one of the most distinct pleasures in this,
or any world. Straight. Neat. Soulful.
"After I get a complete briefing from ya, I want to
see that you've settled in to your quarters, and after you've
ate some supper we'll have a little fun. Maybe I'll even let
ya have a glance through the periscope! When it's night
we'll go up the sail and out onto the flying bridge. Lotsa
fun things to do on a sub!" Captain Madge said. "Do ya
know we get Netflix? Net-fucken-flix! Right bloody here
on a goddamned submarine. Can ya beat that?"
"No way! And I thought it was a big deal that we
had a DVD player on the ships I worked," I told him.
"You a seaman?" He lit up. Now we had something
in common other than our love for the distillers at
Glenlivet.
"U.S. Merchant Marine. Worked for Limerick,
Matson, APL. We were contracted to the Military Sealift
Command, and I worked in the steward's department. Did
it for two years, and then I got this job," I explained.
"How'd you get your job, anyway? All that secret
agent stuff tends to go over me wee head, ya know?" he
said.
"My captain on the Stargazer was a company
employee, and he basically recruited me. I passed. And
here I am, drinking heaven with a Royal Navy sub captain.
Don't get no better than this!" I smiled, saluting him with
my glass.
"That's great, lad. Proud ta be workin' with ya.
Vigilant will do ya proud, too" he said, returning the salute.
"So can I ask? When will we get underway?"
"About twenty minutes ago," the captain chuckled.
"And when we go under, ya really won't know we're
moving. But, yeah, she's really a stout boat, even topside.
Mind you, it's a calm day and all, but to my mind she rides
better than any surface vessel."
"I'll say. Damn! So when do we dive? And does it
make that oogah oogah sound when we do?" I asked,
barely containing my fanboy joy.
"Let's do it now!" He popped the intercom and the
response was instant.
"Yes, Captain, Falk here," came the voice.
"Well, Falk you! It's your great and powerful
captain speakin'," he grinned. "What say we take her down
to the third floor?"
"Ladies lingerie?" he laughed.
"And bloody house wares!"
"Are you being served?"
"Falk you again!" he laughed, and almost
immediately came two blasts of the dive horn. "Is that
aoogahie enough for ya, laddie buck?" he chuckled.
"Oh my God, I can't believe this! If they could see
me now!" I replied.
"Let's go ta work, yeah?" he said, stowing the
precious Glenlivet in the file drawer. "Let's see what she
can do. We're Morocco bound!"
Chapter 24
'm going to marry Johnnie Paul Allen. I can't even
believe it sometimes, but I am. He will be in my life
I until I die. I will be away from this world, my eyes
closed forever, and he will have been with me every day of
that life.
I know that he loves me. I know that he's loved me
since the day we met. What I don't know is if I'm capable
of giving so much love back to him. Is it possible? My
heart is full of love for him. I cannot stand being apart
from him for even an afternoon. Time seems to stop when
I'm with him. Is that even healthy?
But I once thought I loved Torben the same way. I
really did. I would have done as much for him as I know I
would for Johnnie now. Do I even know how he really
thinks? Because our languages are so very different.
What if we get married and he ends up realizing
that I'm stupid? That I think like a kid, or that maybe I'm
not so smart? What if he just gets tired of me and gets on a
plane and goes back to the
States?
Did this go too fast?
Does my family really like him as much as they act
like they do? I know that Jannik does. Hell, I think Jannik
loves Johnnie even more than he loves me.
But we've already been through so much together;
that's got to count for something, right? I mean, we both
got hurt on that trip to Belgium.
Okay, stop it!
You know how much he loves you, idiot! There's
just so much going on right now. Jannik won't leave us
alone! He's like having a kid to raise. He relies on us so
much, and I know Mama and Pop have got to be feeling
bad about that. He barely even talks to Ingrid. And now
he's fucking spying on us?
God, what did he see? What did he hear? And he
was fucking playing with himself while he did it! Fuck!
And now Johnnie's who-the-fuck-knows-where,
doing what-the-fuck for a country he says he doesn't even
like anymore.
How am I supposed to do this? Nobody tells you
how this shit's supposed to work. If life just consisted of
dick sucking and butt fucking that'd be one thing, but it
doesn't! It just goddamn doesn't! And who am I supposed
to ask for advice? I don't have anybody for that.
Mama, please make it better for me. I'm so dark
inside right now. I'm hurting so badly because I don't
know if I'm doing the right thing. You've always held me,
and made me feel safe. You make us feel important; like
we matter. And I know you wanted grandchildren. I know
&
nbsp; you wanted a wife for me. You love me; I know that you
do. But I know you never wanted a boy that loves other
boys. I know you wanted me to be normal, and to load the
house up with babies for you to love.
I feel so bad. And I'm sorry, but I feel like I was
raped by my brother. He was so selfish and cruel to do
what he did. I've loved him since I saw him the first time
at Mor-Mor's house, when he came home from the
hospital. He was my friend. Always. My very best friend.
And he is in our home and sneaks like a creeper and
watches me in my most private and intimate moments
with the man I love.
What will Johnnie do when he finds out about it? I
can't not tell him. We've always been a hundred percent
open about everything with each other, and that's why it
all works for us. But what will he think when I tell him
what Jannik did? The boy that he risked his life in Russia
to save has committed the most unspeakable violation of
our personal lives, and he's just supposed to ignore it?
How can he? And how will he ever look at Jannik the same
way ever again?
I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about it! But
I have to do the laundry. And dinner has to be made, and
breakfast after that, and the bathroom needs cleaning. I
promised Johnnie I would change the oil in his car and do
a lube while he's away. And Jannik has another
appointment with the doctor in three days. Is that even
helping him, especially after the revelations from the last
meeting?
Bo and Per called. They want to go out for beers.
Maybe Tobias, too. Should I invite Torben? I know I'd feel
horrible if everybody went out and left me behind. I'm
short of breath!
Ingrid hasn't been back to see Torben! I'd better sit
down. The couch is so deep. I fall into it and I'm afraid I
can't get back up again. The water is so far away in the
fridge, and I should have some.
Why can't I stop crying? Johnnie, when will you be
home again?
Chapter 25
ere's something that is a take-it-to-the-bank fact:
There is no better food in the world than that
H served aboard a ship. And this Royal Navy sub
was no different. Piles of it, all you want, and so tasty and
satisfying.
Dinner was a crisp, fresh salad; homemade
dressing; two kinds of soup; fish; steak; potatoes au gratin;
lots of fresh cooked vegetables; pies and ice cream. I'm
telling you, it rivaled anything than that big white cruise
Sander's Courage Page 16
