The SEALs met at 2300 as planned
“We’ll change into our fatigues back at the boat,” Conroy said. “Grab any other piece of clothing you can find on the shelves. Something tells me we may need a change of outfits down the road. Also bring ladies’ garments. Captain Patterson or another of our female crew may visit the shore at some point. It will be tight but I want to bring as much stuff as we can fit on the Zodiac. Anything that doesn’t fit we’ll stash in the bushes and pick up later. I hope Mr. Morton has insurance.”
“We’ve accomplished our mission,” Conroy said. “The boat is about a 20 minute walk from here. On our way to the boat I want everyone to take as many photos as you can. Let’s empty the shelves and move out.”
On their way back to the ship they noticed much heavier boat traffic in the harbor. “Carbines ready, lock and load.” Conroy didn’t want any trouble with “reenactors.” He decided to break radio silence, as was his option. He didn’t worry about anyone in this strange place intercepting a radio transmission. “Lima Juliette, Lima Juliette (The radio call sign of the USS California) this is Tango Xray.”
“This is Lima Juliette, go ahead Tango Xray.”
“Please advise the Captain that we’re returning to the ship, ETA 20 minutes”
“Roger, Tango Xray, Lima Juliette out.”
They knew they were heading for a debriefing. A debriefing that may change history, Conroy thought.
Chapter 7
When they returned to the ship, Conroy and his fellow SEALs were ordered to report to the Captain’s office. Besides the SEALs and Captain Patterson, the others present were Executive Officer Phil Bradley and all department heads. Captain Patterson also invited Commander Rick Sampson, the ship’s chaplain. Ashley and Chaplain Sampson were long-time friends. He was a history buff, like her, and she wanted his input into the bizarre events of the last few hours.
“Lieutenant Conroy, please proceed and tell us about your findings ashore.”
“Captain, I’ve assembled my notes and will write out a more detailed report, but we can give you a good idea of what happened now while it’s fresh in our minds. I’m going to ask my men to jump in and add anything that I may have missed.”
Conroy reviewed their few hours ashore. He discussed the period costumes, the lack of anything electrical or electronic, the absence of motor vehicles, and the architecture, which was nothing like modern photos of Charleston. He reported the burglary of the clothing which he deemed a mission necessity. Conroy then handed Captain Patterson the newspaper that Juarez found, with the headline, “War Talks Grow Louder.”
“Petty Officer Smith was here in Charleston five months ago to visit his cousin,” Conroy said. “I believe I mentioned that before we left. I’ll ask Smitty to fill you in on what he saw today and what he saw five months ago.”
Smith recounted his futile search for his cousin’s apartment, telling them about the familiar building that was a condo complex five months ago and is now a warehouse. He also discussed the Cooper River Bridge, the most prominent structure in Charleston, which had simply disappeared.
“Lieutenant Conroy, please give us a one sentence conclusion of your findings,” Captain Patterson said.
Conroy took a deep breath and came right to the point. “Captain, today is not April 11, 2013, but April 11, 1861.” Every SEAL in the room nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Frank,” the Captain said to Conroy, “I’m sure that you and your guys realize that what you just said is absurd. Science fiction is just that, fiction. We live in a real world that wants real explanations. Please defend your conclusion.”
“Captain, we talked about this on our way back to the ship. We all agreed that the people we saw and met are either the greatest actors in the world, or they’re for real. We wondered if we just witnessed a big conspiracy or practical joke, with everyone in on the joke except us. But one thing is beyond a doubt and has nothing to do with our opinions: those buildings that we saw in the photos of modern Charleston, which I can verify from my previous visits here, and which Petty Officer Smith confirmed from his visit five months ago, did not tear themselves down and somehow get rebuilt as nineteenth-century structures. That beautiful new bridge is nowhere to be seen. We have plenty of photos and video clips from our phones. It’s simply unbelievable that the ‘reenactors’ could have hidden all evidence of electrical outlets and electric gear. Also, when Petty Officer Giordano and I were talking to that guy I mentioned, he had never heard of President Barack Obama. He wasn’t acting; he never heard of the president.”
Giordano chimed in and said that the expression on the man’s face was simple honesty, not an act. Others talked about the chatter they heard referring to Abraham Lincoln.
“Captain,” Conroy concluded, “tomorrow is April 12, 1861. Fort Sumter will be bombarded, and the Civil War will begin.”
***
Ashley knew that she had to communicate to the entire crew. Scuttlebutt is the Navy term for gossip. The word is derived from the cask of drinking water on old ships, around which sailors gathered to sip water and exchange information. Unless she talked directly to the crew there would soon be scuttlebutt that the ship went through a nuclear event or worse. She would address the crew at 0800.
The salty shrill tweet of the boatswain’s pipe rang through every compartment on the ship. “Attention all hands, attention all hands, stand by for Captain Ashley Patterson.”
Ashley leaned into the microphone. “Good morning. By now every crew member of the California has heard about the strange event that occurred early yesterday morning. You are aware that we have no Internet access or cell phone service. We’ve also lost satellite navigation, ship-to-ship as well as ship-to-shore communications, except for two-way radio. All other shipboard systems are operational, including radar and sonar. A few hours ago I sent a SEAL reconnaissance team ashore to investigate and report their findings. They have reported back. Based on their report, including photographic evidence, I have come to a conclusion and the heads of all departments agree: In some way that we don’t understand, we find ourselves in April 11, 1861. We have gone back in time 152 years. If our conclusion is correct, tomorrow Fort Sumter will be fired on, and the Civil War will begin. I will update you as we learn more. That is all.”
The ship was silent, as if in prayer.
Chapter 8
The Chaplain of the USS California, Father Rick Sampson, graduated from The University of Michigan in 1989, and received a doctorate from Yale Divinity School. As an Episcopal priest he had looked forward to a parish assignment where he would enjoy a career tending to a flock in his home state of Iowa. A friend from Yale suggested that a flock that always needs tending is the one aboard a Navy ship. Father Rick decided to give it a try and first reported for duty aboard the USS Independence in July of 1993. He loved the Navy from the start, and agreed with his friend that sailors were a flock in need of spiritual care. Like many a Navy chaplain, Father Rick was a hit with the crew. Most of them call him Padre when addressing him, the traditional Navy term for chaplain. Among his many talents he plays a great guitar, and loves nothing more than jamming with the crew. Besides his friendliness, what crewmembers especially like about Father Rick is that he’s a man they can confide in when they need help, that special kind of help that’s needed on long tours of sea duty. He’s tall, broad shouldered, burly, and has a galvanic laugh. The normal expression on his face is a smile. His rank is commander, but his personality is that of a friendly neighbor, one you can turn to. According to people who know him, Father Rick is also a student of almost everything. He doesn’t so much read as devour books. His special love is history, specifically the American Civil War. He wrote two books on religious observances during the Civil War, and he’s appeared as a consultant in the credits of dozens of history books.
Father Rick is also good friends with his commanding officer, Ashley Patterson. Both Episcopalians, the two officers hit it off since they first met at the Pensacola Naval
Air Station in 1999. Ashley and her late husband Felix dined often with Father Rick and his wife Janet. They all shared a love of history. When Ashley Patterson took command of the California, she was happy to find that her long-time friend was the ship’s chaplain.
***
“So, my spiritual advisor, friend, and Civil War maven, please tell me that God spoke to you during the night, and wants you to tell your commanding officer that everything is just hunky dory.”
Father Rick let out one of his famous belly laughs and said, “Hey, Captain Ashley, just because we suddenly find ourselves 152 years in the past doesn’t mean it should ruin our day.”
Ashley cracked up. She hadn’t laughed in many an hour, and it felt strange. “Whatever you eat to get such a positive attitude, I want the recipe.”
“I just eat what’s there and let God handle my attitude.”
***
“Have you ever heard of The Black Swan Theory?” asked Father Rick.
“Yes,” said Ashley. “Some economist came up with it. It means something big, surprising, and unpredictable that changes the shape of things. He called these things black swans because they’re so rare. I remember he used it to describe the economic meltdown in 2008.”
“Exactly, Captain. And what these events have in common is that they can’t be predicted easily, and some not at all. There are bad Black Swans, like the Tambora Volcano eruption in Indonesia in 1815, the Tunguska Siberia asteroid hit in 1808, the terror attacks of 9/11, the Great Japanese tsunami, and the perfect financial storm of 2008. There are also positive Black Swans such as the discovery of the transistor, the microchip, or the launch of Google.”
“What we have here Captain is a Black Swan, the Daylight Event. None of us saw it coming and we certainly couldn’t have predicted it. It could have a long term impact on history, although to predict that we’d be soothsayers. So we find ourselves in the middle of the biggest Black Swan we could ever have imagined. Because we couldn’t predict it, we have no idea how to handle it.”
Ashley put her face close to her friend’s and looked into his eyes.
“Rick. Help me, help my crew, help my country. Tell me something to point me in the right direction.”
“Seaman Jack,” said Father Rick.
“Who’s he?”
“Seaman Jack is one of the most interesting sailors on this ship. He holds the low rank of Seaman, having recently joined the Navy, but he’s about your age. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and he’s written a slew of books. And there’s another thing about him that I think you’ll find interesting.”
“And just what kind of interesting information could this seaman have for me, Father?”
“Seaman Jack can explain the Daylight Event.”
Chapter 9
Ashley called Lt. Commander Karen Sobel, the ship’s personnel officer, and asked for the file on Seaman John Thurber. She wanted to learn about this sailor before she met with him. In what seemed like another lifetime she would have just Googled his name, but now she would have to settle for a paper file. She sat at her desk with a cup of coffee and opened the file of the sailor who so impressed Father Rick. It was not what she expected to see for a man who holds the rank of Seaman. John Thurber, or Seaman Jack as Father Rick calls him, graduated from Yale at the top of his class with a degree in history, after which he received a master’s degree from the Columbia School of Journalism. He’s a widower, his wife Nancy having died in a car accident in 2008. He has no children. His most recent job, prior to joining the Navy, was Feature Articles Editor for The New York Times. He’s the author of ten non-fiction books and three novels. He won a Pulitzer Prize for a feature article in the Los Angeles Times entitled, “The Tonkin Gulf Affair: The Real Story.”
Among his long list of accomplishments, a particular entry jumped out at Ashley. One of his non-fiction books, Living History – Stories of Time Travel Through the Ages, was on The New York Times Best Seller list for 48 weeks. This page of his personnel file would forever be marked by a dark liquid stain, a result of Ashley Patterson spitting coffee all over it.
Ashley called Corporal Arnold Nesbitt, her Marine aide, and ordered him to bring Seaman Jack to her office.
Seaman Jack Thurber entered the Captain’s office wearing standard fatigues, the uniform of the day. Jack was about 6’2” with broad shoulders and an athletic build. His eyes were the color of the Caribbean on a sunny day. His eyes are beautiful, Ashley thought, but they also have a certain sadness about them. He has close cropped sandy brown hair. Ashley thought that this guy is one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, quickly reminding herself that such a thought is completely irrelevant to this meeting.
“Please have a seat, Seaman. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No thank you, Captain.”
Ashley skipped over small talk, the usual way to start a meeting. She hated small talk, wasn’t good at it, so why bother.
“Seaman Thurber, Chaplain Sampson said that I should talk to you, that you may have some information that can help us understand the strange event we’ve experienced. But first, I need to know something. I’ve read through your personnel file and noticed that you’re quite an accomplished guy, to say the least. You’ve gotten a bachelor’s and master’s degree from two great universities, and you’ve written a lot of books and articles. You even won a Pulitzer Prize. I see that you’ve also served in senior editorial posts at major newspapers. Quite a distinguished career in journalism, I’d say. But what jumps from your personnel file is that you enlisted in the Navy last year at the age of 34, the maximum age permissible. I love my Navy and I don’t question anyone’s reasons for joining, but with your education you could have enrolled in Officer’s Candidate School and joined the Navy as a commissioned officer. Why join as an enlisted man?”
“The answer is very simple, Captain. I’m writing a book about life in the Navy from an enlisted person’s perspective. As a journalist I like to do research from an insider’s point of view. I enlisted in the Navy to do research for my book – after hours, of course.”
This explanation was one of the more interesting reasons Ashley ever heard for joining the Navy, but it made perfect sense. “I always like a straight answer to a question. Thank you, Seaman.”
“I guess you’ve figured out that I didn’t call you here to talk about your career.”
Jack chuckled. “No, ma’am, I didn’t think that was the reason.”
“Let me lay out the situation for you, Seaman Thurber. Father Rick seems to think that you will have some insights that may help us. Take a look at these.”
Ashley laid out the photographs of the Charleston waterfront taken a few months ago. They were the typical pictures of a modern city, with gleaming buildings, a modern bridge and a bustling waterfront. She then showed him the photos taken by the SEALs. Instead of glass enshrouded buildings, the structures were all masonry, no taller than four stories. She then showed him photos of the street scene with people dressed in mid-nineteenth-century garb. Referring to her notes, Ashley gave him a synopsis of the debriefing from the SEALs, including their observations about the lack of electricity, modern equipment, and motor vehicles. She also discussed Petty Officer Smith’s comparison of the city he visited five months ago to the way it is now.
“Here’s the bottom line, Seaman Thurber, if there is a bottom line to this craziness. Lt. Conroy and every one of the SEALs on the recon squad came to the same conclusion: Today is April 11, 1861, not April 11, 2013. As I said in my announcement to the crew, we are living 152 years in the past.”
Jack rubbed his face, stared at the desk, and then looked into Ashley’s eyes. “I guess you want to talk to me about my book, Living History.”
“That would be a good guess, Seaman. When I read about it in your file I immediately went to download it onto my Kindle, but, of course, that plan didn’t go too far.”
“Don’t worry Captain, I always carry a few copies with me. I’ll be happy to
give you an autographed edition.”
***
The squawk box squawked. “Captain Patterson this is Lt. Tomlinson, the Officer of the Deck on the bridge. Pick up please.”
“This is the Captain, go ahead Lieutenant.”
“Ma’am, the XO told me to report any suspicious sea traffic activity directly to you. There is a small fast paddle-wheel boat that’s been trailing us for a few minutes. He seems very curious.”
“Can you blame him Lieutenant?” said Ashley. “Keep me apprised if there’s any sign of hostile intent.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Ashley turned back to Seaman Jack. “Just a sample of the strange things that have been happening.”
“Jack, (it’s frowned upon for officers to address enlisted sailors by their first names, but Ashley was beginning to feel very comfortable with this man) tell me about time travel. Tell me how the impossible is possible.”
“Actually, Captain, time travel is theoretically possible. It just seems impossible to our human senses. In physics there’s a theory called the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, also known as a wormhole. It’s derived from Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. Wormholes, or time portals as some call them, appear throughout the literature of time travel. I’m no scientist, but I’ve read a lot about this. I’ve also discussed it with at least five physicists who are listed in the credits to my book. To sum it up, if E=MC², then it’s possible for a portal or wormhole to exist in space and time. I can’t say that I understand all the math, but physicists love playing with this stuff.”
***
Although his book was 650 pages long, Jack summarized it, a talent acquired after many years of pitching manuscripts to literary agents. He told Ashley that the book had two main parts. The first part is a review of the fictional literature of time travel over the years. The second part of the book consists of interviews with people who claimed to have travelled through time. He began with the classic, The Time Machine by H.G. Wells written in 1894, the first book to use the term time machine. He also talked about A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Mark Twain’s time travel classic written in 1889. He synopsized dozens of other time travel novels, as well as movies such as the comedy Back to the Future. Almost all of the works have one subtext in common: Don’t change the past because the future may surprise you.
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 4