Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars Ch. 03

He looked at the chart plotter again, checked their depth carefully as he motored slowly into Squirrel Cove, a convoluted inlet on the southeast side of Cortes Island – and deep inside Desolation Sound. It was almost seven-thirty, and while the sun was still up, somewhere up there behind the clouds, they'd been at it all day – setting sail at four in the morning and pushing-on through one heavy rainstorm after another. Now, with the end of their journey at hand, visibility was down to fifty feet and at ferocious wind, right out of the south at sixty knots, was pushing Altair towards the rocks on the right side of the narrow, westernmost inlet. Tracy looked terrified; Ted looked bored. He knew his father, knew he was enjoying this, the extra challenge at the end of a long, hard day...

A violent gust rocked the boat and he turned Altair into the wind a little, though she rolled more than thirty degrees right for a moment – and Tracy shrieked her displeasure then, now, suddenly, beyond terrified. Yet Altair stood up again and he added power, his eyes now fixed on the chart plotter...and the way ahead.

"Another hundred yards or so and we'll be out of this wind," he said for Tracy's benefit – just as another gust slammed into Altair, sending her almost on her beam.

"Jesus, Dad, the wind gauge hit ninety...!" Ted called out, but he was still focused on the rocky ledge about fifteen meters ahead – because these gusts were pushing him right for it...

He waited for the wind to settle a little, then slipped the transmission into reverse and backed down hard, his rudder to starboard a little, and as Altair's bow pointed away from the ledge he put the transmission in forward again and gunned the engine, kicking the old girl with his spurs on one more time. A minute later they were inside the sheltering cove, and the wind, just as he said it would, fell off to the gentlest breeze imaginable.

"Get the eighty pound ready first," he said, quietly, to his son, and Ted ran off to the bow to get the anchor ready to drop. "How you doin', kiddo?" he added, looking at the disbelief in Tracy's eyes.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Get us in here...?"

"Badly, I'm afraid. I should have anticipated those last two gusts."

"Badly?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that...that really could've gone smoother," he sighed, but his eyes were on the plotter again. He overlaid radar on the display and he could see the contours of the cove now, and every boat anchored inside, too, even though visibility in the heavy rain was still under fifty meters. He changed range scales and fiddled with the gain setting, knocking back the rain-clutter, then he saw a likely place near the far east end of the cove.

Ted had the eighty pounder on the roller now, ready to go, and he waved him back to the cockpit. "No reason for you to stand out there," he said as his cold, wet son clambered back into the cockpit.

"How far?"

"'Bout a half mile, and I don't think this rain is gonna let up anytime soon."

"What's the forecast look like?"

"More of the same, like maybe two, three more days."

"Swell," Ted grumbled. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"It's pretty here," Tracy sighed, peering into the murk. "Nothing but trees..."

"Oh," he said, grinning, "there's more here than meets the eye."

"Like?"

"You'll see," Ted added, though he was grinning now, too.

"What's the big mystery," she whined.

He looked at the plotter, confirmed there were no wayward currents pushing him around inside the cove, then he looked up, checked the radar against the boats he saw looming out of the mist and rain just ahead. "About three hundred yards, Ted."

"I'm gonna get another fleece, my gloves, too."

He powered back a little, turned away from a group of boats anchored along the south side of the cove, then noted several were rafted-up together, forming a sort of floating community out here in the middle of nowhere...then Ted was bounding out into the rain again. He picked his spot and throttled down, let Altair drift to a long, arcing stop, then he toggled the windlass and let the anchor down...slowly...and then, when Ted gave him the signal, he backed down until he felt the anchor set.

He shut down the engine, marveled at the quiet of this place once again – even as he listened to the wind through the pines and rain pelting the cockpit enclosure...then he noticed Tracy looking at him.

"Does anything bother you?" she asked.

"What?"

"That storm...the rocks...you could've lost your boat, maybe our lives, but it was like you were, well, on heroin. Nothing seems to upset you..."

"People get in trouble when they panic. When they stop thinking the problem through, when they just start acting. That's probably the first thing a student pilot learns, too, by the way."

"So, that's it? You run into things like this all the time, so it's like...just no big deal? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yup."

"What happens if you screw up?"

"People die."

+++++

He opened his eyes, looked around. Navy gray everywhere, and ductwork...the thrum of air conditioning and heavy machinery buried deep within the bowels of the living, breathing ship. A medic of some sort fiddling with his bandaged leg, then adjusting an IV hanging from a tree over his face.

"Oh...you're awake..."

"If this isn't a dream," he replied, "I am."

"No, sir, Lieutenant, no dreams allowed in here."

"Where am I?"

"Back on the Roosevelt, sir. Docs operated on both legs, and turned out that snake's venom was pretty mild, like maybe he didn't get a good strike or somethin', but I'll go get the doc..."

He nodded, then looked down at his legs and shook his head. "Fuck," was about all he could think to say, then he just stared ahead until a man in blood-splattered green scrubs came up to his gurney.

"Guess you had a helluva night, Lieutenant."

"What happened?"

"Beats me. By the time the Seals got to you, well, you were out cold and seriously fucked up. Good thing you powdered that wound on your right leg...that shard got close to, well, let's just say you had a close call and we'll leave it at that."

"And?"

"We still don't know what kind of snake got you. One of the Seals got it with an M16, brought back some pieces so we could ID the thing. I think what saved you was, well, your vascular network down there was already pretty compromised, so the venom just couldn't spread. It's responding to anti-histamines so it's probably a hemotoxin, so it wasn't a cobra or something like that."

"When can I get back to flight status?"

"Well, that's the good part. No fractures and no major muscle damage, so assuming no infection I'd give it about two months..."

"Two...MONTHS?"

"Believe me, Lieutenant, when you get on your feet again you'll realize how close a call you really had..."

"Can I go back to my quarters now..." he asked, clearly perturbed.

"You're leaving for Germany on the next COD," the physician added, "then stateside."

The squad CO, Dan Green, came in a few minutes after the doc left, and Green looked at his leg for a while, then came closer. "Close one, Jim. You remember what happened?"

"First SAM – went wide right, the second went just aft. What about the Sukhois? Did I get 'em?"

"Yeah, you sure did. Nothing got airborne, and the base is history. We got some Seals in there to secure the place this morning. It's a done deal now, anyway. Saddam's people are bugging out, disappearing into the hills, and their air force is, well, they split too, flew to Iran."

"Iran? I thought..."

"Everyone thought they'd go to Jordan. They didn't."

"So, what? They're just going to sit this one out?"

"Guess none of them felt like being martyred this week, if you know what I mean."

"I guess, yeah."

"So, they tell me you're headed to Wiesbaden?"

"Can you talk to someone, Dan? No broken bones...shit...I ought to be ready to fly in a few days."

Green laughed at that. "Hell, Jim, this thing is going to be over in a few days, for us, anyway. They're already talking about moving a couple of the carriers back out to the Indian Ocean, maybe to the Med. Seems like Saddam is getting ready to shoot off some Scuds, and the thinking is he might try to hit Israel."

"Too bad for him if he does."

"Yeah, anyway, by the time they get that leg fit for duty we'll probably be back at Pearl. I wouldn't sweat it, but if it heats up again you'll be ready to go. You're a short-timer, aren't you? You weren't thinking of extending?"

"I wasn't, until this thing. My hitch is up in June."

"Call it four months, then? Well, who knows. If we're still here in a few weeks I'll put in a request. About all I can do, Jim."

"Thanks, Skip."

"Yeah. Well, some of the ground-pounders wanted to talk to you..."

"The Seals? Great...!"

And with that, five men came into the compartment.

"Hey, L-T!" their CO said as he led his men into the little compartment. That was some mean shootin' you did out there..."

"Shooting?"

"That cat. You nailed it, right in the throat. Dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Pretty good for a 1911 – at that range, anyway."

"Cat?"

"Yeah, that spotted thing. Looks like a leopard, only it's not. Some kind of swamp-cat...but man, you got him..."

"All I remember is the snake...coiled up by my feet..."

"Yeah, he was still there when we got to you. Hernandez got him, emptied a whole fuckin' magazine into his fat ass, too."

He looked around at the Seal team and nodded. "Thanks, men. Appreciate your laying it out there for me."

He heard their chorus of "You bets..." and "No problemos," then they were gone, Green too, and he felt himself coming down hard and fast now.

"Germany...?" he sighed. "Well, at least I can call the folks from there, and Babs, let 'em know I'm okay..."

Then the throbbing started.

By the time he arrived in Germany his right leg was splotchy blue and the docs told him some kind of bug had gotten into the tissues of his lower leg...something from that swampy marsh...

"A bug?"

"Yeah. They get in through the wound, find their way into the space between the muscle and your skin. They multiply like crazy in there."

"And?"

"We try antibiotics, three or four of 'em, over the next 24 hours."

"We try? And what happens if they don't work?"

And the doc shook his head. "Let's not go there right now...okay?"

+++++

Tracy was shivering and Ted was almost as white as snow when they came in from setting the anchors, so, as much as he didn't want to, he fired up the generator then turned on the cabin heaters. He set about making dinner then, though he kept his eyes on the weather every few minutes. The forecast was for almost freezing temps overnight, the mid-30s, anyway – and that was for Vancouver! – yet three days from now sunny and in the 70s.

"What a roller coaster..." he sighed as he turned to the chicken in the skillet.

"What's for chow?" Ted asked as he came out of the aft cabin.

"Lettuce wraps and that coconut soup you like."

"Ah...nothing like Thai on a rainy night."

"You're cooking Thai food?" Tracy asked. "On a boat?"

"Why not?" he replied. "It's not that difficult, and it doesn't take long."

"Lettuce wraps?" she added. "Really?"

"Sure. I washed the lettuce and made the soup this afternoon. All I have to do is grind the chicken and put the soup in the microwave."

"The microwave? You have one of those, too?"

He shook his head – again – then turned to the stove – again. He added lemongrass and basil, and finally one crushed cardamom pod, then he turned down the heat and let the chicken simmer for a while. "Tea's ready, if anyone wants some."

"Don't tell me," Tracy sneered. "Fresh chai?"

"Yup."

"This is ridiculous," she sighed. "This is like a floating restaurant..."

"You'd rather I opened a can of dog food for you?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

"I just don't get it," the girl said. "Getting away from it all..."

"Doesn't mean I have to deprive myself of the things I like to eat, Tracy. You forget. This is my home, and the idea of living like a backpacker doesn't appeal to me all that much."

She nodded. "Yeah...I get that..."

Ted was rummaging through a pantry about then, and he stood up, beaming, holding forth a can: "Dad! Look! Pork and beans, with weenies, even! Trace? Want some?"

She sneered again. "No thanks."

Ted looked at his old man – and winked.

+

She helped with the dishes, and he let her know he appreciated the help, then he went to the chart table and looked over the batteries.

"Gonna have to run the generator all night?" Ted asked.

"With this water temp the fridge and freezer won't draw too much, but the heater? That won't run off batteries."

"So? We've got good blankets..."

"Yeah? At 36 degrees and with three bodies in here there will be enough condensation on the ceiling in the morning to take a shower with..."

"Dad? We're like, ya know, laying down a smoke-screen out there. The fumes are overwhelming."

"So?"

"Well, do the words 'pristine' and 'wilderness' ring any bells?"

"Does freezing your ass off all night mean anything to you? Then dealing with an unholy mess in the morning?"

"I vote for warm," Tracy said, tossing her two cents into the up. "I kind of like warm."

"Me too," he said. "Don't you just love democratic systems of governance, Paco?"

Ted sighed, shook his head. "I like warm, too. I also hate turning this harbor into a cesspool. Like, we came here to get away from all that crap?"

"Right, Paco. Who's up for a movie?"

"Movies?" Tracy said...and he sighed – then turned the generator to AUTO and flipped the heater to STAND-BY – and complete silence enveloped Altair...and the entire cove, for that matter.

And moments later he heard cheers and applause coming from all the boats anchored around Altair, and he shook his head as he retreated into his cabin.

+

He slept late – 'til three a.m., anyway – then he got up – shivering – and turned on the generator, then the heater. He put on coffee and took his shower, then fired up the chart table and looked over the current weather. "Wind still out of the south, at forty, forty-five, and rain all day. A high of fifty-five? Well, well, well...sounds like a good day to read."

He decided to check on Ted and poked his head in the aft cabin – and saw Tracy curled up by his son's side.

He closed the door gently and tip-toed to the galley, trying not to grin, then he put on some hot water to make that tea-like crud Tracy was using to help back off the heroin. He got out "her" cup and added the recommended amount and let it steep for a while, then he went back to her room and woke her.

"Is it time already?" she asked, and he nodded.

He went back to the galley and a few minutes later she came out, looked at him getting ready to cook breakfast and she walked up behind him, put her arms around him.

"Good morning," she said, then she disengaged and walked to the main table in the saloon and sat – as usual, tucking her bare feet under her thighs.

"Sleep well?" he asked, handing her the mug.

She looked at him and grinned. "I wish I'd known he was a virgin," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "I'd have baked him a cake or something..."

He shrugged. "All things being equal, I'm kind of glad it was you."

She teared up at that, then turned away. "Me?" she said a minute later. "The lying heroin addict?"

"Sorry. That's not the girl I know. I know this girl named Tracy, the one who meets problems head-on, and doesn't quit."

"That's not the girl I know."

He shrugged again, then smiled at her. "Looks like were in for a long, rainy day. You like to read?"

"Depends..."

"Well, I've got a few books stowed for a rainy day..."

"You said you have movies?"

"Yup. On my laptop. Play 'em through that iMac over there," he said, pointing.

"Do you have any oldies?"

"Oldies? How old does a movie have to be before it's an oldie? The first Star Wars, maybe?"

She grinned at that. "No, I mean old...like Elvis kind of old."

"Ah. Well, I do have Paradise, Hawaii Style, if that counts?"

"Which one's that?"

"He plays the fired airline pilot who comes home..."

"That figures," she said, grinning. "I bet you have The High and The Mighty, too." And he started whistling John Wayne's iconic theme at that, and she broke out laughing. "My God, you do have a one-track mind, don't you?"

"You could say that."

"I've been meaning to ask...what happened to your leg? The right one, there?" she said, pointing.

He turned away from her question, went back to the galley. "Just a bad night," he said as he pulled out a skillet. "A bad night, a long time ago."

"Was it serious?"

"No, not really."

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"No, not really."

"Okay. Can I help?"

"I'm just gonna whip up some breakfast. You hungry?"

"Actually, yes. Want me to wake up Ted?"

"Just see if he wants to get up yet..."

She walked past, brushed up against his back as she passed and a chill went up his back, and he leaned forward, put his outstretched hands on the counter and closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he'd been so attracted to another human being...

+++++

"Hey, Pumpkin," he said as he came into their apartment. He was carrying his flight bag in one hand, his car keys in the other, and he could hear Barbara working away in the apartment's tiny kitchen, so he put his bag down and walked in. He could smell bourbon and the realization unsettled him – if only because it was not quite lunch time.

"How was your night?" she asked.

"Long."

"Ben Chambers called this morning. He wants you to call-in as soon as you get settled."

"Oh? Did he say anything?"

"Nope. You want to grab a shower? Lunch will be ready in about ten minutes..."

"Yeah. I'd better," he said, thinking he might have to run back out to the training center after lunch. He walked into the bedroom and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Something didn't feel right, he thought. Something was – off.

He shook it off and hopped in the shower, washing away the night – and the sudden panicky vibration gripped him again, then he dried and got dressed...in a hurry. She had huevos rancheros and fresh guacamole on the table and he dug in. "Jeez, darlin' – you're getting better and better at these..."

"Thanks, Jim. Glad you like 'em."

"Well, I love you, Pumpkin. It's sweet of you to do this for me. When do you go in?"

"Three to midnight again. You off tomorrow?"

"Three days off, then I start Atlanta to CDG – for three months, anyway."

"Paris...? Think we could spend a long weekend there?"

"You know it, babe."

She sat beside him, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then she smiled. "That could be fun," she added...a little too suggestively.

"Where would you like to stay?"

"I don't care...somewhere old, away from... No. Maybe by Notre Dame. Are there any hotels over by that part of town?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can ask one of the guys when I start..."

"Could you?"

"Sure. You need help with the dishes?"

"No...you'd better go make your call," she said, and he nodded, went to their bedroom again, and again, the hair on the back of his neck shot up in electric warning.

He shook it off, called Chambers' office at the training center and held while someone went to find him.

"Jim? You haven't put on your pajamas yet, have you?"

"No, sir. What's up?"

"An opportunity, I think, if you're up to it?"

"Oh?"

"Listen up. Word is headquarters is dead set on unloading most of our widebodies, including the L-1011s. I don't know what the timeline is yet, but even if we keep the TriStars around you're way back on the seniority list. It could be ten years before you get to the left seat, and then what? You make it just as we dump the type? Then what?"