Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  as anything aboard the amazing vessel could be. And

  there, plain as can be, was the Moroccan coastline. We

  were as on-time as a Swiss train, and as soon as 'the coast

  was clear' we'd facilitate the asset pick-up.

  "Right, Johnnie. Listen up everybody! Chief of the

  Boat; note the time, please..." the captain said.

  "Thirteen-fifteen local time, Captain Madge,"

  reported the chief.

  "Okay, Johnnie. It's all yours from now on. We're

  workin' for you. What's the plan?" asked Captain Madge.

  I handed him the true coordinates and said we'd

  need to get as close to the shoreline on a downward drift

  as possible. Rather than doing what is known as Station

  Keeping—the act of using the boat's engines to stay in one

  position—we would instead go about two nautical miles

  above our intended position and drift to it. That way we

  could maintain complete silence as we fetched our

  passengers from the shore.

  "Chief of the Boat, surface to the deck please."

  "Aye aye, Captain. Release ballast to thirty-three

  percent on my mark... Mark!" ordered the chief. Of course

  there was no way to actually feel what was going on. But

  these guys knew what they were doing. There are no hacks

  in the submarine service, I can promise.

  "Sail's breaking, sir," said the chief. That meant that

  the conning tower was coming out of the water. I'd often

  wondered what it must be like for a pleasure boater or

  fisherman out on a day trip to see the massive, black

  conning tower of a nuclear submarine break the surface.

  According to Thom, when a sub surfaces the way

  we were, as opposed to making forward progress

  underway, there is no advance activity that would even

  hint that a submarine is surfacing. No bubbles, broiling

  ocean; nothing. One minute there's an unbroken sea, the

  next there's five hundred feet of mean-ass sub sitting on

  the surface ready to take names and whatever else it

  wants.

  "We're at the deck, sir. Position and hold."

  "Thank you, chief. There ya go, Rascal. We're here,"

  said the captain. "Now what?"

  "We need to break out the Zodiac and go get 'em.

  Then beat cheeks back to Gibraltar," I told him.

  "You heard the man, chief. You and a couple of

  your boys will take Rascal for a boat ride, and we'll be

  waiting right here."

  "Aye, captain. Bleaker, Robertson, and Howell—

  with me. Stay below, Rascal, until we get the boat ready.

  We'll call for ya," ordered the chief. It seemed like only five

  minutes had passed before I found myself climbing the

  ladder to the deck and feeling the very warm sun against

  my face. The water was as still as a lake, and there was a

  muggy, grayish cast to both the sea and the shoreline.

  I told the chief where we needed to go—look for a

  pair of beach volleyball nets; a Volkswagen camper van

  should be parked opposite them—and pick up our

  travelers. The nets came into view almost immediately, but

  there was no camper van. There was a family of four

  sitting at a table. Perhaps it was them.

  We drove the Zodiac right onto the sand and I

  hopped out of the inflatable boat and walked straight

  toward the little family. When I got close enough, I could

  see that they were the wrong age and not of the pasty,

  English complexion that would mark them as my group.

  Shit! Looking both ways of the coast road failed to reveal

  anything close to a camper van.

  Then, thankfully, I caught sight of a couple of

  redheaded boys kicking sand at each other. They had

  appeared from behind a closed sundries shop about a

  hundred yards to my left. And guess what was parked

  behind it? It was the only place on the entire beach that

  could effectively block the required view of the van. Oh,

  well. I'd found my prey.

  "Hey guys!" I shouted up the strand. "Where's your

  folks?" The taller boy stopped and stared at me, then

  pointed behind the building. "Get them for me, and walk

  this way, okay?"

  Both kids scrambled behind the building as I stood

  waiting on the beach. And then I saw the group round the

  corner, luggage—and beagle—in hand. Oh, boy. I hoped

  the captain didn't have anything against dogs being on his

  boat.

  "Good afternoon, family. On an outing I see," I

  greeted them. "We'll have you aboard in no time, and

  you'll be home before you know it."

  "Excuse me, young man, but I was told we'd be

  traveling by sea. I don't see a ship," said the wife.

  "Yes. She's parked off shore a little ways. We're

  taking the inflatable and meeting up with her there," I

  explained.

  "Oh no. I'm afraid that just won't do at all. I don't

  do well in small boats, you see."

  "Come on, Mum! Give it a go," said Simon, the

  younger boy. "It'll be fun!"

  "It's not like we have a choice, dear. Buck up! Be

  brave," said her husband, a jolly fellow with an infectious,

  never-say-die attitude. "It's either that, or you'd better be

  an excellent swimmer!"

  "What if I get wet?" she said. (Seriously! She said

  that!)

  "Oh, you'll dry out," her husband retorted. "Now

  let's get the hell out of this bloody place."

  Soon we cast off, the powerful outboard motors

  backing us into the surf. (The lady got wet!) And the bosun

  swung the Zodiac around quick as you please and we

  were headed for the rendezvous with our ride home.

  "I still don't see a boat," the lady commented. "Just

  how far away is it?" The bosun slowed the inflatable to a

  crawl and soon drifted to a stop. And then the show

  began.

  "Black lady, black lady, trolley is topside," the

  bosun spoke into his radio. The passengers appeared

  confused, but the bosun just smiled at them. Then the

  beagle let everyone know that something was definitely

  up. "Here we go," said the bosun. And the antennae array

  broke the surface, quickly followed by the massive

  conning tower.

  "Bloody hell!" said the younger boy. "Do you see

  that?!"

  "Bloody hell, indeed!" said the dad. "Don't see this

  every day, do ya, boys?!"

  "Ronald? Is that safe?" she asked her husband.

  "I should bloody well think so. Safest place in the

  world, I'd say!"

  Captain Madge, accompanied by a rated seaman,

  appeared on the flying bridge atop the conning tower.

  "Bring the boys on first, along with the dog," he ordered,

  "Mum next, and then Dad." The deck hatch opened and

  out popped two seamen poised to help the new additions

  aboard. The kids were in heaven, and Scruffy the beagle

  seemed just as excited.

  The spanner in the works came when the mom

  refused to board, fearing the deck was too high up. She

  was scared.

  "No worries ma'am," said the captain. "Let us come

  to you!" Whereby he gave an order to the seaman standing


  next to him and suddenly the sub began to sink further

  into the water. "Hold there!" the captain said. "Is that

  better, ma'am?" he asked her. And it was. She simply

  stepped from the inflatable right onto Vigilant's deck.

  "There you go, dear! Down the hatch!" the husband

  teased.

  "Oh, Ronald! Do you ever stop?" She was in no

  mood.

  "There's a lady," the bosun said, taking her hand as

  she placed her feet on the ladder. "Easy does it; one foot at

  a time." And soon the boarding process was completed,

  and the Zodiac was stowed in its large deck locker.

  "Welcome, welcome!" the steward said, as each

  member of the family emerged from the hatch tunnel.

  "We'll get you all situated shortly. Boys, there's pie on the

  table in the mess room right behind you. Here you come,

  ma'am! I've got you!"

  Hands down this was the most together, and most

  professional crew I'd ever seen aboard any seagoing

  vessel. To say they were impressive does them an injustice.

  And I firmly believe that their cohesiveness came from the

  top down.

  Half an hour after I'd first made their acquaintance

  on the beach, the family was tucked

  away and safely bound for home.

  Early the next morning—it was still dark out—

  HMS Vigilant tied up at the pier we had sailed from a day

  and a half earlier. Waiting ashore was the prim form of my

  friend, Foutsey. He was ready with a van large enough for

  all of us, including the pup and the luggage. And we were

  wheels up within the hour.

  The boys conked out on the flight, and even the

  beagle caught a nap while I regaled Fouts with tales of the

  sea.

  I just love it when a plan comes together!

  Part Four

  Chapter 27

  e have a cute little railway station in our town, but

  whenever I come home from an assignment Sander

  W always meets me in Odense. It guarantees us a few

  hours alone, we enjoy the drive the rest of the way home

  together, and depending on my arrival time he's usually

  got a great place picked out for us to get a bite to eat.

  It feels so good when I look out of the train

  window and see his car parked in the lot. I know he's here.

  I know that in a couple of minutes I'll have him in my

  embrace, and we'll be together until the next time.

  Whoever wrote that absence makes the heart grow fonder

  sure got that one right.

  "Hey, guy, you come here often?" I greeted him, as

  he looked back at me with his beautiful smile.

  "How many times will you say that stupid thing

  when I come to collect you?" he laughed.

  "I missed you so much," I said, giving him a kiss

  that I'd been wishing for since I left. "I love you!"

  "I love you, too. Ready?" he asked, grabbing my

  bag and playfully pushing me to the exit. "I'm parked in

  the ten minute. It's already been twenty. So it's you that

  gets the present from the Queen, Johnnie Bond!"

  No parking tickets today! Yay! "I'm driving,"

  Sander announced. "You are my prisoner tonight!"

  "Oooo... Tie me up and call me Sally!"

  "Maybe later! Right now I'm taking you someplace

  special. I hope you didn't eat any candy bars on the train,"

  he said.

  "Well..."

  "Save it! Doesn't matter anyway. When you see,

  you'll be hungry again!"

  "Can't wait! Are we going to Målet?" I asked.

  "Nope!"

  "Mamma's Pizza?"

  "Nyet!"

  "Biografen?"

  "Nein!"

  "Uhmm... McDonald's?"

  "Fuck you!" he laughed. We drove another ten

  minutes or so and pulled up to the prettiest inn in all of

  Fyn: Frederik VI's Hotel. Their restaurant is one of the best

  anywhere, and Sander's taste in anything is impeccable. So

  I knew I was in for a treat. But we didn't go to the

  restaurant.

  "Hansen, please. There's a reservation," he told the

  desk clerk. She took a swipe of his card and gave us the

  keys and soon we found ourselves in the most charming

  room overlooking the garden. Even though most

  everything had gone dormant, they still maintained and

  groomed the whole area and it just spoke of getting ready

  to go to sleep for the coming winter.

  "I thought I'd take you to dinner," Sander said

  when he opened the door to our room. "Take off your

  shoes and relax for a little bit. Tell me all about your trip,"

  he smiled, turning me around and taking off my coat. "We

  missed you so much," he said, giving me a surprise hug

  from behind.

  "I was just gone for three days, Pokey," I chuckled.

  "But I'm really happy to be home now."

  "Might as well be three years. You don't know how

  awful it is when you're away. I can hardly get to sleep

  because you're not there. And every night Jannik sneaks

  in, and by morning time I've got razor cuts all up and

  down my legs from his toe nails!" he complained. "But

  then you come back and everything's good again.

  We spent some quiet time in opposite chairs just

  looking at one another. And I want to confess something

  that you may find odd, but it's true. Sometimes I get more

  turned on by him when he's got his clothes on, than the

  hundreds of times I see him naked during any given week.

  Seeing him sitting across from me, with the outline

  of his bulge pushing his pants out, and gazing longingly at

  the form of his hip leading to his thighs took me back to

  those early days of our friendship when we rode the train

  together to Copenhagen. I guess you could say that it just

  made me appreciate him all the more, if that's even

  possible.

  A soft knock on the door brought Sander to his feet,

  and he skipped excitedly to the little foyer and opened it.

  Two uniformed staff wheeled in a couple of catering carts,

  and a third carried a bucket with a green, golden foiled

  bottle and two tall flutes—those really fancy glasses that

  sound like a bell when you flick them with your fingernail.

  "Hello, gentlemen, we have your dinner just as you

  ordered," said the senior member. "Shall we open and pour

  for you before we leave you to it?"

  "If you like your carpet how it is, then definitely

  yes," Sander joked. They smiled back, and while the senior

  popped the cork and poured the very expensive

  champagne, the other two turned the carts into a gorgeous

  table spread with white linen and silverware. They pulled

  two luxurious chairs from the hallway, and classily bid us

  a good evening and backed from the room. They actually

  backed out!

  "Nice place you picked, Pokey! I can get used to

  this!" I told him.

  "I figured this will be the last time for awhile, you

  know, when we won't have gobs of people to deal with.

  Ever done a wedding?" He smiled.

  "Nope. Can't say as I have."

  "Ever seen my mom throw a party?"

  "Unh-unh."<
br />
  "Ever ride a roller coaster?" he laughed.

  "That bad?"

  "Worse. Roller coasters are fun! So let's eat! It not is

  getting any warmer!"

  The meal he had put together was simply beautiful,

  and so thoughtful. The kitchen staff must have thought he

  was crazy when he'd called it in earlier that afternoon, but

  I recognized exactly what he'd done.

  There were items from every dinner we'd had

  together since we first were friends. There was a pizza, hot

  dogs like the ones he used to sell in front of the train

  station, two huge beefsteaks like we'd had that night in

  Tivoli, and bottles of Coke, when we had one of the most

  expensive champagnes in Denmark sitting right there in a

  bucket. But that's not what made me cry. And I did cry.

  What brought me to inescapable tears of happiness

  was when he grabbed his little backpack. "Just a minute!"

  he said. "I haven't forgot the dessert!"

  No, he broke

  the Hoover Dam of tears when he pulled out two hot apple

  pies from Burger King. It was our special thing we always

  did whenever we'd leave Copenhagen on the train to

  home. We'd always grab five or six pies and just be obese

  little Americans touring the countryside.

  There were more good memories attached to those

  foul little grease cakes than I could ever list, and he'd

  remembered that and brought them to our special dinner.

  We both felt as if we were a million miles away,

  just the two of us. And he had truly, and awesomely,

  surprised me. And true to form, he acted like it was just

  nothing but a thing. I totally suck at math, but there's one

  equation that I can tell you is completely true: Love Is

  Infinite. And it resided tonight in room seventeen of

  Frederik VI's Hotel in Odense, Denmark.

  WE ATE LIKE LITTLE PIGGIES and then fell asleep in

  each others' arms with our favorite music playing on

  Sander's phone. He'd bought this cool little Bang &

  Olufsen speaker system that plugs right into it and sounds

  better than any stereo I ever owned.

  It was hard, deep sleep. The kind that truly

  refreshes your batteries. When I woke up I found him

  sitting on the bed cross-legged, just smiling down at me.

  What a beautiful sight to wake up to.

  "Hi, tall man with yellow hair. Can I have a kiss?"

  "No. You're too good looking for me. I might break

  you," I teased.

  "I take that big risk for such a man as you," he said.