The Shores of Tripoli

by Fisher Samuels

  “It’ll work, sir. But I think Shiv’s right. We gotta have the e-drive on. I just have to reboot.”

  Williams looked at his crew. Marathyachi nodded, as did Smith and MacFarland.

  “I think we better, sir,” said Smith.

  “Reboot will only take about three minutes,” said MacFarland.

  Williams clicked the transmit button. “Go ahead, Boats. Make it quick.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  All of the displays went dark, including the emergency beacon locator.

  “Shit.” Smith looked out at the water and kept his focus on the center of the circular wake.

  Williams sat up in his chair. “We just lost the signal, didn’t we?”

  Smith nodded. “I got this.”

  “Dammit,” said Williams. He looked at his watch. “Five minutes.”

  ———————

  “Twenty seconds,” said MacFarland.

  “Keep your eyes open, folks.” Williams looked calm. He folded a piece of paper and wrapped it around his finger.

  Chavez had one hand on the throttles and the other on the wheel. He checked the display of the idling electric drive and everything was reporting normal. “Three point eight seconds,” he mumbled to himself. “Plenty of time. Plenty of time.” He gripped the knobs of the throttles and cracked his knuckles over them.

  MacFarland pressed her throat transducer. “Ten seconds. Call it when you see it.”

  “Cameras still recording, Shiv?”

  Marathyachi was watching his display panel. Both bow and stern gun cameras had been recording since the reboot completed just over a minute ago. “Yes sir.”

  “Come on, Tricky,” said Williams. “One last miracle from you is all we need.”

  “Five. Four.” MacFarland looked in her assigned direction. “Three. Two. One.”

  The crew stared out their windows, but they didn’t see anything.

  “Any second,” said Williams. He looked at his watch.

  Thirty long seconds passed, and none of them talked. The e-drive churned and the boat rocked in the gentle swells.

  “Keep your eyes open,” said Williams, calmly. “My watch might be a little off. We’re looking good.”

  Brewster’s breathing quickened.

  “It’s alright, Brew.” Smith patted him on the shoulder. “Any second.”

  Williams looked back and saw Smith’s hand on Brewster’s shoulder. He checked his watch again.

  “Dead astern!” Smith smacked his hands on the aft cabin window. “Right behind us, dead astern!”

  Brewster craned his neck through his assigned window to look aft. “I see it too! Dead astern!”

  Chavez spun the wheel to starboard and slammed the throttles forward. The e-drive screamed and the Dauntless heeled to starboard. Even though one of the water jets was extremely damaged, the Dauntless surged under the acceleration.

  “Go! Go! Go! Boats, go!” Williams gripped the arms of his chair and waited for the bubble to come into view.

  “Two seconds!” yelled MacFarland.

  “Come on, Boats! Get there!” Brewster clasped his hands tightly behind his neck. “Shit!”

  “There it is!” Chavez straightened the wheel. The green bubble was sizzling right in front of them, but even at top speed, the boat couldn’t get very far in 3.8 seconds.

  “Positions everyone,” barked Williams.

  Smith and Brewster dropped to the floor and each grabbed hold of one of the map table legs.

  “Please, please, please work. Fuck!” Brewster closed his eyes.

  As they got closer, the bubble got larger and seemed to be at least a hundred meters in diameter, but only the top half of the sparkling sphere was above the water. It was made of the same bright green filaments of electricity they’d seen just a day and a half ago.

  “Three seconds!”

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Chavez pushed on the already walled throttles.

  The bubble of green electric arcs grew as the bow of the Dauntless neared the sphere. Not knowing the bubble’s size made judging its distance nearly impossible.

  “We’re not going to make it!” Chavez leaned forward and strained against his seatbelt.

  ———————

  Williams heard someone groan. He didn’t remember what he was supposed to do next. It was bright out, and his eyes watered when he opened them.

  The Dauntless was silently rocking in the chop. The diesels were off, and so was the electric drive, and Williams thought that was good for some reason. He found the paper wrapped around his finger, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He unfolded it and saw the note he’d left for himself, but he couldn’t focus.

  “Wake up,” he mumbled. His tongue was bone dry, like he’d been sleeping with his mouth open. “Ensign?” He coughed. “Where are we? Ensign?!”

  Ensign MacFarland woke in a jolt. She was breathing quickly and looked around. “Hmm?”

  “Where are we?” Williams looked ahead and saw open water, and no other ships around. He looked at the note again.

  All batteries are dead

  1. Manually start diesels

  2. Gash in hull - start bilge

  MacFarland looked at her console, but it was powered off. “Did it—did it work?”

  “Don’t know.” Williams unbuckled and nudged Chavez’s shoulder. “Get up, Boats. Boats, get up.”

  Chavez slowly came to. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know. Start the diesels. Manually.”

  Chavez started toward the aft ladder but knelt down to shake Smith and Brewster by the shoulder as he passed. “Get up, sir. We’re out.”

  Brewster jumped up and looked at the cabin windows. “Where the hell are they? Why didn’t we pop back where we left?”

  “Keep looking,” said MacFarland. “Maybe they just moved.”

  “Where are we?” asked Williams.

  “Systems are all off line, skipper,” said Smith. “Killed all the batteries again.”

  “Someone give us a heading. Where’s Tripoli?” Williams pointed at MacFarland.

  She grabbed her binoculars and started scanning the horizon.

  “What’s that?” Brewster pointed out the aft window.

  “That’s Tripoli! There’s a freighter over there,” pointed Smith. “And another one over there!” He smiled. They were modern cargo ships.

  “What year is it?!” Brewster smacked his hands on the aft window. “We’re back! Right where we—when we left! Right?”

  Williams nodded. “I think so.” His watch said it was either 06:15 or 18:15, but neither matched what he saw outside. He couldn’t remember what it looked like outside when they left just over two days ago. “I think we’re good.” Williams nearly collapsed in his chair. “Go on, Boats. Start the diesels. We got to get to port. We’re sinking, remember?”

  Chapter 23

  Debrief

  “I know you don’t understand it now, but you will,” said Williams “But sir, he’s a goddam traitor,” said Smith. “He stole your boat, and was responsible for killing two of your crew.”

  Williams nodded. “That’s right. But he’s dead now, so what good will it do to tell that story?”

  “Story!?” Smith raised his arms. “It’s not a story, it’s the truth.”

  “We all know that, LT.” Williams looked around the table. “And all of us have to agree to this.”

  “You can count me out, too.” Watts’s arm was in a new sling, but he clearly looked like he was still suffering from the infection. “He got Robber and Tricky killed.”

  “I know that,” replied Williams. “But think about it.” He looked around the table again. “How many of y’all have kids?” He waited as four of the survivors raised their hands. “Grassley has kids, too. Is it worth their pain to tell the truth, or can we help ease their pain by leaving out some of the bad stuff?”

  MacFarland looked at Williams, but he shook his head at her.

  Williams leaned on the table. “Di
d you guys ever hand out candy and toys in Iraq, or Afghanistan?”

  Watts and Smith nodded.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Williams.

  Smith shrugged his shoulders. “Because kids are innocent. They’re victims.”

  Williams nodded. “Exactly. And so are Grassley’s kids.”

  Watts looked down at his crossed legs and started picking at his boot.

  “He’s not going down a hero, guys. Just a casualty. Graves and Childress, though? They got us back where we belong.”

  Smith took a deep breath. “How are you going to do it?”

  Williams got up from the conference table. “I’ll tell them everything just as it happened. Even the part where the pirates used Grassley and Watts against us. They killed Graves during the takeover, and then they killed Grassley when they took control of the ship. Childress died in the process of getting the boat back in our hands.”

  Watts slapped the heel of his boot. “What else are you going to say about Graves and Childress?”

  “They’re heroes,” said Williams. “I’m going to say exactly what they did and how they sacrificed themselves to save the boat. But Grassley died before he could do anything, good or bad. That’s all I’m saying about Grassley. And I’m only saying it for the kids.”

  The door opened and a Lieutenant Junior Grade entered. “Lieutenant Commander Williams? They’re ready for you, sir.”

  Williams looked at Smith and Watts. “After all, his kids are innocent.”

  ———————

  Williams took a break from the laptop in the only remaining guest quarters. He looked at the scratched picture of his wife and daughters that he’d pulled from the frame that he kept on the Dauntless. He’d tried three times to video-chat with them, but had yet to get through. He wouldn’t be home for another week or two, depending on how many more debriefs he’d have to go through.

  As far as he knew, the military didn’t have many time travelers in the ranks, so he knew he’d have to prepare his wife for a late return using the cover story they’d all been given.

  LT Smith entered after a roommate courtesy knock.

  “How’d it go, LT?” Williams put the picture back down on the desk.

  Smith nodded. “We decided not to drag Grassley down.”

  Williams pushed away from the desk. “And you’re okay with that, right?”

  Smith sat on his berth. “We talked while you were in your interview. Ensign MacFarland made a pretty good case for him.”

  Williams raised his brow. “Really?”

  Smith laid flat without taking off his uniform or boots. “Man this feels good. I always thought she hated Grassley. She must have liked his kids, though.”

  “Guess so.”

  “What’re you working on?”

  “Decorations. They’ve got to be unclassified, but they’ve compartmentalized just about everything we did.”

  “Think I’m gonna crash, sir. Typing won’t bug me though.”

  “Roger.” Williams looked at the writeup that he’d drafted.

  Every single member of crew—besides Grassley—had done amazing work to get them back home, and two paid with their lives. Three if he was going to stick with his story that Grassley was only a victim.

  He wanted to recommend Graves and Childress for the Navy Cross, and based on his interview, fleet leadership would support his recommendation. But there were a lot of decision makers between him and Washington, D.C., and this was no ordinary mission.

  He’d recommend the rest of his crew for Navy Distinguished Service Medals, even though each of them deserved so much more for not destroying the timeline, or whatever Childress had cautioned them about. He thought about Childress.

  Childress the Marine. The jar-head. The infantryman who read sci-fi, and figured out the frequency of whatever time-bubble had been created by the non-lethal emitter. If it wasn’t for Childress, Williams probably wouldn’t be here. Now, he thought. In the present. He shook his head and shut his laptop.

  Smith was already snoring.

  Williams thought he could be asleep just as quickly.

  As soon as he started walking toward his berth, he heard a knock at the door.

  Williams went into the hallway and shut the door.

  “Lieutenant Commander Williams? I’m Commander Mark Sylvester. Ship’s N2.” The thin officer extended his hand.

  Williams shook his hand. “Yeah. I saw you in the last debrief.”

  “Yeah. You seemed kind of out of it.” Williams didn’t react. “Anyways. I got a VTC up in the SCIF. They need you in there right away.”

  Williams laughed. “Come on, I haven’t slept in two days. Can’t they wait?”

  “It’s from DC. So, no. They won’t wait. Right this way.”

  ———————

  Sylvester swiped his badge across the lock and led Williams into the SCIF—the Special Compartmentalized Information Facility—and shut the door behind him. “Can you sign in right there?”

  Williams had been in plenty of SCIFs before, and there wasn’t anything unusual about this one. A handful of intelligence specialists hammered away on secure computers, and large monitors were mounted on every square inch of available wall space.

  “VTC’s right in here,” said Sylvester. “They’re already up waiting for you.”

  Williams followed Sylvester into the VTC room and sat at the head of the table. Sylvester slid a piece of paper and pen in front of him.

  Williams looked at the screen and saw two Navy officers and one Marine officer on the other end of the video conference. “Good afternoon, sir, ma’am.”

  “Good morning from the Pentagon, Lieutenant Commander Williams.”

  “Call me Robert, please. I’ve, uh, already given an out brief. Is there something I didn’t cover?”

  “Robert, I’m Admiral Chuck Peters, N23. Here with me are Captain Sue Stevens and Colonel Greg Dudgeon.” The other officers, one a Navy Captain and the other a Marine Colonel, nodded at the camera. “First things first. Need to get you read in. Please read the statement that we’ve got there for you, then sign your consent and give it to Sylvester.”

  Williams reviewed the standard non-disclosure agreement that provided a paper trail for special access programs. He signed it and handed it to Commander Sylvester.

  “Thank you, Robert,” said Admiral Peters. “Commander, we won’t be needing you any more. Please email a copy of that to us. Thank you.”

  Sylvester looked confused, but left the room after a moment and shut the door.

  “Lieutenant Commander Williams, we’ve read statements from you and your crew, seen the gun camera footage, and talked with the medical team.”

  “Medical team?”

  “Yes. One of your men, Watts, had a two-day old wound?”

  Williams nodded and shifted in his seat. “I see you don’t waste any time.”

  “Time is a luxury, commander.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. You said you’re from Naval Intelligence. Who are the other two officers with?”

  The three looked at each other, and the admiral hit a button on the remote to mute their microphone. After a brief conversation, he hit the button again. “They’re both from an unlabeled special access program. You’ll learn more about them when you get to DC.”

  Williams leaned on the table. “DC?”

  The admiral nodded. “Yes. We’ve decided that you and your crew are being transferred to Norfolk. But we need you in DC right away.”

  Williams smiled. “Just like that, huh? Guess I expected this, but, just not so soon.”

  The admiral nodded. “Given how you handled your team, I knew you’d understand.”

  “Do you trust your team, commander?” asked Colonel Dudgeon.

  Williams nodded. “Of course. Why?”

  “You’ve only been their commander for a few weeks. You trust them completely?”

  “Sir, I think you’d appreciate how well you get to know a team in combat.”
>
  The Marine nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know. Thanks.”

  “So here’s your task, Robert,” said the Admiral. “We’re taking you and your crew to NAS Norfolk. Colonel Dudgeon will meet with you on Friday.”

  Williams nodded. “Yessir. Uh, wait. What day is it?”

  The admiral smiled. “It’s Tuesday. We’re shipping your boat to Norfolk, too.”

  Williams nodded then looked down at the table. “We lost three guys from the team.” He paused and looked at them on the monitor. “We’re going to need time for funerals. Maybe a little leave.”

  “Of course. But only after we get you all in-processed. Fair?”

  Williams sat for a few moments. “Aye, sir.”

  “We’re already prepping the Dauntless for shipping, so you’ve got nothing to do until tomorrow.”

  “Like I said, you guys don’t waste any time.”

  “We’re not like your ship, Robert. We can’t just skip through time. Yet.”

  The three officers smiled at one another, then looked back at the camera.

  Williams smiled, uncomfortably.

  “And one more thing, Robert. You can’t tell anyone what we talked about. You and your team will get the full in-brief when you arrive. Any questions?”

  Williams shook his head. “No, sir. See you Fri—”

  The screen went blank before he could finish.

  ———————

  “You know why they’re transferring us,” said Smith.

  “Of course I do. Can you blame them?” asked Williams.

  MacFarland shook her head. “I don’t want to do that again.”

  “Neither do I,” said Williams. “We don’t know what they’re going to ask of us yet. But it’s done. We’re going. We’ll probably have orders tomorrow.”

  Smith laughed. “Sure. Why the hell not.”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice,” said MacFarland.

  “I need you to watch our team. I’m telling them we’re getting debriefed again in Norfolk, and that we’ll take care of the leave and burials as soon as we’re done there.”

  “Is that true?” asked MacFarland. “That we’ll be able to take leave?”

  “That’s what they told me. They want to give us an in-brief first. Then we can take leave.”