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.
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."
"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.