“What do you mean by the others. Homer? The rest of the crew?”
Homer looked confused and dumbfounded as he nodded yes, and brushed a tear off his cheek.
“You’re not going to sit there and tell me that you killed all one-hundred and forty members of the Lewis and Clark’s crew, are you, son?”
“But I did!” admitted Homer bluntly.
“I think that you’re lying to me. Seaman Morgan.
No one could kill that many men at one time.”
“Well, I did, by opening the TDU!”
Homer appeared flustered, and his inquisitor allowed him a moment to calm down and catch his breath before continuing.
“Now this is going to be the real hard part for you, Homer. Because I want you to describe in detail just how you managed to kill all of your shipmates, and then survive yourself. Why don’t you start off by telling me all about the TDU.”
Homer sat forward and thoughtfully replied with ever-increasing intensity.
“I guess you could say it all started when I went and shot the trash. I could have sworn that Chief Cunnetto gave me the authority to do it. But he said that I messed up, and that I caused the sea to come pourin’ in. As sure as rain in spring, we all would have drowned. And when the XO asked for volunteers to try to seal the TDU, I was the first in line.
“I went under a good five feet of water just like he instructed, and even managed to locate the hand crank and close up the sprung ball valve. Yet when I went to surface, all that weird shakin’ began. And when I popped my head out of the water, and saw what was happening’ to the chief and the rest of the guys, I knew then that I was too late. I tell you, I killed every single one of them!”
Homer’s eyes were wide with horror, like they were when he was first discovered back on the submarine, and the strained tone of his voice indicated that he was rapidly approaching his breaking point. Regardless of this fact. Lieutenant Weatherford knew that it was now or never.
“Don’t stop now. Homer. No matter how painful it is for you, you’ve got to tell me just what it was that you saw when you surfaced. What happened to the rest of your shipmates?”
“They just went and disappeared, that’s what happened!” screamed Homer with tears cascading down his flushed cheeks.
“I don’t know what the hell I did, but there was the chief fading away before my very eyes. I’ll never get his cries of pain out of my ears. It was like a pack of dogs was tearin’ him apart, and then the others started in. And before I could get myself out of the water to help them, they were gone, all of them vanished, right into thin air! Oh Lord, what did I do? What did I do?”
Homer began sobbing uncontrollably and Lieutenant Weatherford was forced to break him from his trance and administer a strong intravenous sedative. This signaled the end of the session, and both Moore and Stanton left the examination room even more confused than when the session first started.
“It sounds to me like that young man is totally insane,” offered the captain as he led the way back to the ship’s bridge.
“What do you think. Commander?”
Moore offered his own opinion while following his escort down a long passageway.
“You could very well be right. Captain. Though one thing that you can be sure of, is that he certainly believes his story. I could see it in his eyes.”
“But what about all that crap about his shipmates disappearing into thin air?” countered Stanton as he stepped through a hatch and began his way up a steep stairwell.
“To me, that sounds like the wild ramblings of a crazy man.”
Moore held back his reply until both of them had completed transiting the stairs, and were crossing yet another passageway.
“Right now, the only scenario that makes any real sense is your theory that the crew abandoned ship during an emergency, and Seaman Morgan was somehow left behind. Who knows, perhaps it was all precipitated when Homer shot the trash, and the TDU began flooding.”
“But why no distress call on the part of the crew?” returned Stanton.
“And better yet, why haven’t they shown up yet?”
Unable to answer any of these questions, Moore soon found himself entering the destroyer’s bridge.
The compartment was a buzz with activity. While the captain joined his XO beside the helm, Moore walked over to the wraparound observation window.
Though fog veiled any view of the ocean, he could readily see several lookouts on the exterior catwalk, with their binocular-amplified gazes focused out into the swirling mist. “I’ve got a visual on the sub!” cried one of these lookouts, his outstretched hand pointed out to sea.
“It’s off our port bow, range twenty yards.”
The XO alertly ordered the ship’s gas turbine engines cut to a crawl, and the Hewitt crept forward to make good its rendezvous. Behind him, a pair of ensigns were discussing how the tow line was to be attached, while the radar operator continually called out the range to their floating target.
“Commander Moore,” said the captain from the helm.
“It looks like you finally got some orders.”
Moore turned, and joined Stanton beside the digital annunciator.
“This just came in for you,” added the captain, as he handed Moore a folded dispatch.
The brief directive was from his superiors in the NIS. Without any mention of his current assignment, he was merely ordered back to Washington with all due haste.
“As soon as you can manage it. Captain, I’m going to need a lift to Sasebo,” requested Moore.
“So you’re leaving us just when all the fun is about to start,” said Stanton, who looked at his watch.
“I can have a Seahawk ready on the helipad in fifteen minutes.”
Moore checked his own watch, and as he folded his orders and put them in his pocket, his hand made contact with a stringy, alien substance that had been stored there. He was genuinely surprised when he pulled out the seaweed sample that he had previously taken from the Lewis and Clark’s sail.
“Captain, before I leave you, I’d like to try to identify this seaweed sample that I found tangled in the sub’s hydroplane. Is there a set of encyclopedias on board?”
Stanton’s attention was diverted by the latest range update from the Hewitt’s radar operator, and when he answered Moore, he appeared a bit distracted.
“Check Doc’s office, Commander. It’s on the way to the helipad. And good luck to you.”
Taking this as the extent of the captain’s goodbye, Thomas Moore hurriedly left the bridge and headed aft. A series of stairwells conveyed him below deck, and with the invaluable assistance of several members of the crew, he found his way back to the sick bay.
Lieutenant Weatherford was seated at his desk, when Moore entered the office. Pushing away his paperwork, the medical officer smiled and warmly welcomed this newcomer.
“Do have a seat, Commander. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No thanks. Doc,” returned Moore, who remained standing.
“I’m afraid that I’m in a bit of a rush. You see, I’m going to be catching a flight for the mainland in another couple of minutes, and I stopped by to see if you had an encyclopedia that I could take a quick look at.”
“May I ask what you need it for?” asked the curious physician.
Moore pulled out the seaweed sample and handed it to him, adding.
“I found this hanging from the Lewis and Clark’s sail, and I’d like to know just exactly what it is.”
“That should be easy enough,” returned Weatherford, who took a moment to study the greenish brown specimen under his halogen desk lamp.
“It looks like a type of brown algae,” he said.
“These hollow, berry-like objects that branch out from the central stern, appear to be air bladders of some sort. I know I’ve seen this type of sea plant before.