(no subject)
Continued from Part 1.
Michael’s bag was packed and it lay heavy on his back as he left his house on Tuesday morning. Monday had been a busy day, running around making all kinds of preparations. Even his domestic tasks had had to be completed, like taking out the rubbish before he went. He had gone to bed early and had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He awoke before dawn and spent an hour showering, relishing the hot, fresh water. Submarine water would be very different. He wandered round the house, securing things, checking things, locking things, and finally left just after 7.30. It was a cool day but he walked to the docks in only a jacket. There would be no need of his heavy winter coat on the sub, so he left it at home.
He gave his house keys to Peter for safekeeping and met the other men down by the docks. 110 of them, 12 officers and 98 enlistees. A scant handful were women. Michael hadn’t served alongside many.
James was smoking a cigarette with a thin, tattooed man and Mike, who Michael had met at the party. He hadn’t expected to be invited to anything like that, but it had been welcome, and it had been a good opportunity to meet some of his new crewmates.
By 10am final checks were underway. Michael loved this part; the noise, the hustle and bustle, the orders being shouted every which way.
By noon the Philadelphia had set sail, heading north and east, and Michael was on first watch with, amongst others, James, a young enlistee named Siska and a conscript, Joe Trohman, who had wild hair and a crazy look in his eyes. Michael hoped that at least would calm down, otherwise they could really find themselves in trouble.
At 4pm their duty was relieved and Michael sent his men off to go and get food. As he walked down the sub William stopped him.
As a Commander, William had been a surprise to Michael. If he had ever imagined what the Commander of the remains of the US Navy looked like, it wouldn’t have been like that. Likewise, his personality wasn’t how Michael had expected. He seemed unsure of himself, and he seemed quiet. He was fairly uptight, and made sure everything was done to the letter. Michael had never been able to work like that, even back when they had thought the war would be over in a matter of months and that life would return to normal. He definitely couldn’t work like that now. James always said he had a healthy disrespect of authority even when he was the authority, and maybe it was true. Rules didn’t need following so strictly, not now. There was only so much life left to be lived.
“Anything to report?”
“Eight bells and nothing, sir,” Michael said. It was an outdated phrase but it was one that Michael liked.
“You can stop with the whole ‘sir’ thing.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“There you go again. There’s no need to call me sir.”
“You’re a Commander.”
“I’m a Captain who’s de facto Commander because there aren’t any other Americans left, Michael.”
“Of course. I just. I didn’t think about it.”
“We’re equals, okay? You’re a Captain too.”
“Yes.”
William was sitting at the periscope, fiddling with a pen in his fingers. He said nothing, but sighed, eyes on the equipment in front of him.
“Are you alright? Look, I’m just going to get something to eat. Come with me.” Michael said, frowning at William’s dark head.
“No, I’m fine. I have to…” He trailed off.
Michael knew perfectly well that William had nothing pressing to do. When a sub was running smoothly, it needed very little input from its Captain.
He just reached out and patted William’s shoulder. “Alright. See you later.”
“Bye,” William said absently, and Michael carried on to the mess deck.
James was sitting with Siska and the tattooed guy from earlier, so Michael picked up what passed as vegetarian food on a submarine and went to sit with them.
“What kept you?” James asked.
“Captain Beckett.”
The tattooed guy snorted. “Worrying about nothing, as usual?”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Siska swatted the tattooed guy.
“Sorry,” Michael said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Butcher,” he said easily, holding out a hand for Michael to shake.
“Michael,” Michael said. “Captain Chislett.”
“Shit, then I shouldn’t be saying things like that about Beckett to you, right?”
Michael shrugged. “He does seem kinda… uptight?”
“That’s the word I’d use, yeah.”
“That’s not fair,” Siska said. He was munching an apple. “Bill’s not that bad.”
“Just because you and he are all friendly,” Butcher said. He was drinking a can of Diet Coke and the condensation from it dripped on to the table in the warm canteen.
“I’ve been around him a long time.”
“How come?” Michael asked.
“He knew my brother in high school. Then he joined the Navy and I did too, partly because of him. I ended up on his ship straight out of training,” Siska explained.
“Your brother didn’t enlist?” Michael hoped his tone was gentle, since mentioning anybody’s family was a touchy subject, especially among Americans.
“My brother was teaching in the Virgin Islands when the war started,” Siska said. He stopped chewing and stared directly at Michael. “I have no idea when they went out.”
Michael racked his brains, trying to remember if he knew anything about the Islands’ fate, wanting to offer Siska something in the way of information. He couldn’t, though, so in the end he just said, “I’m sorry.”
Siska shrugged and went back to chewing his apple.
The chat went on. Michael finished what he was eating and James took their plates across to the clearing hatch. He came back with two cans of Coke and Michael took one and drank it gratefully.
“You got a bed this time, Sisk?” Butcher asked idly.
“No,” Siska said. “I do not.” He sounded angry about it.
“How do you mean?” Michael asked.
“There’s a hundred-and-ten of us, right? Well there are only ninety bunks. We’re hot-bunking again.”
Michael raised his eyebrows, surprised. “What?”
“It’s true,” Siska protested. “I’m sharing my bed with Brendon Urie, and Cash Colligan is sharing with John O’Callaghan.”
“That’s messed up,” Michael said. What the hell was up with that? They didn’t need a full complement of men. Why not just bring ninety men instead? He hadn’t known there were only ninety bunks. Hot-bunking happened in the Australian Navy too but he had assumed that since this wasn’t an official mission in normal circumstances that there were as many bunks as there were people.
Siska just shrugged again and sucked on his apple core.
Butcher stood up. “Back to work for me.”
“Work?” Michael asked.
“I’m a chef,” Butcher said. “That was my break.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Head chef is Alex. Suarez. You’ll like him, when you meet him. I’m just a lackey.”
“You’re like his bitch,” Siska said gleefully.
Butcher punched his arm good-naturedly. “Catch you later.”
Michael said goodbye to Butcher as the others did. He was glad James had changed his mind and decided to come. He said as much as they walked back to quarters.
“It’s alright,” James said. “It was Rachel. She said this might be the last chance I got.”
“She’s right,” Michael said quietly, pulling off his clothes by a bunk he had claimed as his own. There were men asleep in here, so he had to be quiet.
“I suppose.”
“Did you tell her? About the cyanide?”
“Yeah,” James said, in a tone that meant that was the end of the conversation. “You going to sleep?”
“Yeah, gonna get my head down for a bit.”
“Sleep well,” James said. “God bless.”
Michael smiled, reassured by the familiarity of James’ words. He slid into his bunk and pulled the curtain.
*
A submarine did not have to always sail deep underwater. Until they got a dangerous radiation reading from the air further north, they could float on the surface. It meant they could go faster, since they broke the water, and it also meant fresh oxygen could be pumped in straight from the surface.
It also meant the periscope had to be manned 24 hours a day. In a war situation this was vital, but even now, William had decided it had to be done. It was a job that he liked to do, too. For most of the time there was nothing to see except maybe a few birds or some driftwood. Closer to land they would switch the VDUs on so that many people could see the land at once, but that was pointless right now. All it needed was six men in rotation. William’s shift was 8am until noon on the fifth day of their voyage.
He had nothing in particular to report until almost 11am, when something big came into view. Like, ridiculously big.
William gasped. It was a ship. A Navy ship. He wasn’t sure which Navy but it definitely wasn’t any kind of cruise ship.
He radioed for Ryland and told him to take a look.
“It’s British,” Ryland said after a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I recognise the insignia.”
“Fuck.”
Ryland grinned. “I can’t make out its name, but yes, I think it’s British.”
William put out a call to radio to the vessel, and they spent an hour waiting for a response. There was none, even though they were very close to it. They sailed close to it and then William collected his Captains in the Control Room.
“We need to go aboard,” he said.
“Why, sir?” Ryland asked.
“There may be survivors.”
“The radiation reading is nearly dangerous here, and she’s floating south,” Ryland said. “If she’s come from the North it’s unlikely there are survivors.”
“But it’s a possibility.”
“Everything’s a possibility,” Ryland said easily, shrugging.
“So someone goes aboard. In the radiation-proof suit and oxygen tanks we’ve got for going on land. They don’t need to be there long.”
“Then what?” Michael asked.
William looked at him. “If there are survivors, we tell your Commander and see what can be done.”
“If there are survivors, which I doubt, they’re not in a fit state to be sailing a ship, otherwise they’d be doing it, however rudimentarily.”
“So?” William heard the sharpness in his tone and didn’t care.
“So what’re you gonna do? Tether her to the sub and tow her back to Australia?” Michael said scornfully.
“We have to check, Captain Chislett. It’s in the fucking job description.”
Michael shrugged and looked away. He seemed to have such a problem with authority. William sort of admired that healthy disrespect, but on board it could only mean trouble. He needed Michael to back him up.
He ignored him for the time being and said, “Ryland. Who will go aboard?”
“I will, sir.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
William nodded. “Okay.” He checked his watch; it was a little after 1pm. “How soon can you get on?”
“Before nightfall. By 5pm, definitely.”
“Good, very good. Gather your men.”
Ryland nodded and left the Control Room. The others left too, except for Michael, who had been on watch in there anyway.
“I’ll thank you not to undermine me,” William said quietly.
“What?”
“I said we should go aboard, I wasn’t asking your opinion.”
“What the fuck?” Michael said, looking up.
William got that feeling again that he’d had a week ago, like Michael was sizing him up and found him lacking, for whatever reason. It was unsettling and it also pricked William’s interest. He wanted to prove himself as a person and as an officer to Michael, and he didn’t quite know why.
“Insubordination is still a crime, even in a crisis.” William fought to keep his tone calm.
“Equals, you said,” Michael said. “You said, you and I were equals. So I gave you my equal opinion, William! My opinion is that there are no survivors on that bloody ship and that you’re wasting your time thinking there are!”
“We have to see, we have to check! What if she suddenly starts putting out a signal?”
“What, round about Tasmania or something? Get real. Everyone on that ship is dead.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
Michael was silent.
Siska came back into the Control Room. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” William said. “If Ryland needs your help, I’ll tell him to ask.”
Siska nodded and took a look through the periscope. Clearly news had gotten out. He whistled. “Wow. She British?”
“Apparently.”
“Never thought we’d see one of those again,” Siska said.
“Me either,” Michael agreed.
William left them to it, still burning from his exchange with Michael. He seemed to be able to find William’s weak spots and get right to them. What unsettled William most was that he liked it; at least it was something to finally feel.
William didn’t have time to think about it, since the submarine needed to be closer to the ship and he needed to oversee that in the Control Room. By 3.30 Ryland was easing himself out of the escape hatch and was being watched by the vast majority of those awake on the VDUs.
He had taken a loudhailer onboard and they could hear him, sounding quite muffled, as he wandered through the ship. Close up, they could see she was the HMS Valiant.
Ryland returned shortly after 4pm, decontaminated himself with a shower, was declared to not be radioactive by Jon Walker, who was the technician for that kind of thing, and reported back to the Control Room. He looked visibly shaken. “There are a lot of dead.”
William sighed.
“I’d say they’d been dead for a good long while, too. God knows where she’s come from. All British, as far as I could see. Men still at their stations, congealed food still in the Mess. Awful. Really awful.”
William wondered what had happened that meant the ship hadn’t been able to get either back home to Britain or to Australia like they had. They hadn’t had any kind of contact with the Valiant. She hadn’t been hit. It seemed like the radioactivity had just killed the men slowly, through radiation sickness. It almost seemed like they had just accepted their fate and hadn’t tried to outrun the radiation. This wasn’t a thought that William voiced, though.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “Thank you, you did well.”
Ryland smiled tightly and rubbed his fingers through his hair.
“You’re excused until this time tomorrow,” William told him. “Take some time out.”
“Thanks,” Ryland said, and left the room.
William tried very hard to ignore the ‘I told you so’ look on Michael’s face.
In the end, there was nothing to do with the ship except let her float onwards. She might reach Australia but at her current rate it wasn’t fast enough for William to worry about. They’d all be dead by then anyway.
*
Michael took his regular seat in the Mess with James, Butcher and Siska. For the moment, they were on the same shifts and had got used to eating together. They were beginning to be friends. Michael liked it. He had never had many friends back home, except for James. He liked Sisky and Butcher a lot, but he was still in a bad mood when he sat down to eat.
“What’s eating you?” Siska asked.
“That bloody arse of a Commander.”
“What did he do?”
“Just. The whole ship thing.”
Butcher nodded. “Alex was going crazy in the kitchen because Ryland volunteered, even when he knew what he’d find.”
“They’re friends?”
Butcher looked sideways at him. “They’re married.”
Michael tried to not look shocked. Instead he just nodded. “I see.”
“Right after we arrived in Australia, right Sisk? Ryland said he’d had enough of pretending that they didn’t mean anything to each other, and that they didn’t have long left so they may as well be happy, so they had a ceremony thing and a huge party.”
“Wow. And here I thought Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was just a good name,” Michael said lightly.
“It’s a good policy that William abides by,” Butcher said, in a tone that Michael couldn’t understand.
“He doesn’t know,” Siska said helpfully.
“Oh,” Michael said, and then because he couldn’t think of anything helpful to say, he repeated it. “Oh.”
*
As they had thought, life went out round about the Equator. Peru was still largely inhabited, and the submarine stopped to replenish supplies and for everyone to have a day on dry land. Michael spent it with James, Butcher, Siska and some others, playing a rudimentary game of football. The Australians won, but Siska said it was only because they played football a lot, and it wasn’t football anyway, it was soccer, which Americans never played so really, they’d done well to score three.
Michael nodded and agreed with him. It was easier.
Back on board the sub, preparations were being made to dive into deeper water, because the radiation levels were rising. Michael and Mike spent a long time checking the ballasts. Ever since the episode on the Waller where Michael had repaired the damaged ballasts, he had found himself regarded as somewhat of an expert on the matter, although it wasn’t true.
At 8am ten days after they had left Australia Ryland’s voice came clearly over the radio. “Rig for dive,” he said. “All sailors, rig for dive.”
Once past the Equator and north past Mexico and into the States, the mood on board became much sobered. A few men were from California and Michael couldn’t even imagine what he would feel like if he were watching his place of birth look like this. James was right; when they got close to shore they could see rabbits hopping about.
There were no survivors, and the radiation was too high for anyone to be allowed on land. Jon was in charge of that stuff, and he had told William in no uncertain terms that no one would be going on land. William hadn’t been happy about it. He had barked orders for the entire day, and Michael had tried to make things better by being extra nice to his men.
William hadn’t been happy about that, either.
When they came close to the Golden Gate Bridge a few people cried and shifts were swapped around so that no one had to do anything he didn’t want to. That was how it ended up that Siska was asleep on a table in the Mess shortly after dinnertime, while Butcher cleaned around him.
Michael had only gone for a drink, needing some caffeine to pep him up a little. But the sight of Siska leaning against the wall, head pillowed on a balled up t-shirt, was too much. Michael gave his coffee back to Butcher and said, “Right. Let me sort this out.”
Butcher didn’t say anything as he left the desk, just opened and shut his mouth like a fish. Michael stormed down the ship, opening doors and calling William’s name. He had to make William see why insisting on a full complement was completely fucking ridiculous, he had to tell William that he was wrong on this occasion. He was angry, and he hardly ever got angry. But the sight of Siska asleep in the middle of the noisiest space on ship had tipped him over the edge. And it was William’s fault.
He was in the Control Room with Saporta and Bryar. Michael asked them to leave and they did so, but it left William looking at him, confused. He was sitting at a desk and Michael leant down on it. William moved backwards, eyes wide.
“Can we talk about why Siska’s asleep in the Mess?”
William blinked. “What?”
“Siska. Is asleep. In the Mess. On a table. Because you have men hotbunking.”
“I don’t understand?”
“What isn’t there to understand, William?!” Michael snapped.
“Men always hotbunk. Three men, one bed, they sleep in shifts.”
“I’m aware of that! I just don’t think it’s useful now!”
“What do you mean?”
“I MEAN, Beckett, that this ship needs, what? Eighty-five men to function properly. So why not bring only eighty-five, and let everyone have a bed?”
“But. Full complement is 112. You know that.”
“So? What do you need full complement for, anyway?”
“Well, because, then it’s full.”
Michael frowned. “Are you seriously telling me that you brought every American you could and a fair chunk of Australians just because you wanted it to be full?”
“Well. That’s how it’s always been done, Michael. A ship goes to sea with as many men as it can hold.”
“In normal circumstances, yes! In case of attack! But who the fuck do you think is going to attack us, William? That ghost ship we found floating around?!”
“No, but - it’s just the way things have always been done-”
“Screw the way they’ve always been done! This isn’t normal circumstances and you don’t NEED a full crew and you definitely don’t need men hotbunking and Siska asleep in the bloody Mess just because you demanded it!”
William’s face had gone pale while Michael was speaking. He looked stricken, and Michael regretted losing his temper, but he didn’t regret saying what he had said. He was about to apologise for it when William said in a very tight, low voice,
“Well thank you for the input, Captain Chislett, but I will run this sub how I see fit and I will not be told how to run it, not by you or by anyone.”
Michael didn’t say anything, not trusting himself to not shout again.
“You’re dismissed,” William said.
Michael didn’t move.
“Captain,” William said, still in the same low, dangerous voice. “You’re dismissed.”
Michael turned and left the room, fuming silently. What could he do? William was impossible; he was a bloody nightmare to work with. Michael shouldn’t have ever been desperate enough to ask Commander Robertson to give him something to do. What was the point of bringing a full ship when you didn’t need it? Sheer bloodymindedness, that’s what it was.
Michael went all the way back to the Mess and woke Siska up. “Come on. My bed.”
“What?”
“Get in my bed.”
Michael pulled him up and walked with him to the bunk room. Siska was yawning but was mostly awake. “Get in my bed,” Michael said again.
“I can’t do that, sir.”
“What the hell?”
“You’re a superior, I can’t.”
“Captain’s orders, Siska. Get in the bed. And stay there until I come back for you.”
Siska looked very much like he wanted to, and Michael wondered for how long he had been without a bed. “Really?”
“Really,” Michael said.
“But aren’t you about to go off-shift?”
“Yes. But I hear tables in the Mess are comfortable enough.”
Siska smiled gratefully and started to pulls his boots off. Michael patted his arm and left him to sleep. He headed off back to the Mess and tried not to think about how much William infuriated him.
He and William barely spoke to each other for the remainder of the voyage, and in fact on two occasions, William sent a message through Ryland, who appeared in front of Michael looking suitably apologetic.
The second time, Michael asked him about Alex.
Ryland didn’t say anything.
“Butcher told me,” Michael said.
“Oh. So there’s no point denying it.”
“Not really, no.”
“I feel like I should. William wouldn’t approve.”
“What’s he gonna do with you? Separate you on a submarine? I’d like to see him try.”
Ryland smiled, his eyes on a point far beyond Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah, he at least has to take us back to Australia and discharge us there.”
Michael laughed.
“We were lucky to end up together. But I’m so grateful now. Can you imagine if all this had happened and we didn’t know what happened to each other?”
“You’re lucky,” Michael agreed.
“Sure. This way we get to die together.”
Michael shrugged, not sure of what to say. He hated it when anyone talked about the end.
“It’s true,” Ryland said. “When the time comes we’re going to take the cyanide and die together on the beach.”
“That’s a good plan.” Michael saw why people would take the cyanide, so that they could plan their deaths instead of waiting for it, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do himself.
“It’s more than a lot of guys here have. A lot people have lost wives and children and they’ll never know exactly what happened, you know?”
Michael nodded.
“You know, like Mikey Way? His partner, this guy called Pete? Well, he and Mikes broke up just before Mikey got deployed. It’s awful. Mikey hates himself for it.”
“That’s bad.”
Ryland nodded. “And don’t be hard on Beckett, huh? He lost his wife and kids.”
“He was married?”
“Yeah, she was a lovely woman. They were childhood sweethearts. Had two kids, too.”
“Wow.”
“Just. He tries, you know? He’s trying his best and I know sometimes it comes off wrong, but he means it, he thinks he’s doing the best for everyone.”
“Yeah. I get that, I suppose.”
“He’s a good person. A good Captain.”
Michael nodded.
Ryland stood to leave. “See you later, anyway.”
“Bye,” Michael said, and sat for a few moments thoughtfully, spinning a pen in his fingers.
*
William was glad to be back on dry land, even if it was a foreign land where he felt disconnected. Nothing had changed in his own house, but in others people had been hard at work while they had been away. Each house looked a little smarter. Someone had painted William’s house with a fresh coat of paint, but he couldn’t find out who. It simultaneously uplifted and depressed him; uplifted him because it just looked better and depressed him because what was the point in doing anything to anyone’s house when everyone would be dead within the year?
He gave everyone a week off, had a small debrief with Commander Robertson, and settled down for some time off himself. Not that there was much to do; entertainment was thin on the ground and William just didn’t have the amounts of money that was needed to procure anything like a DVD player. Unless he wanted to go looting for one, which didn’t really appeal. Instead he ended up watching Australian sport, or what there was left of it. Rugby matches were being played with either only six men on a side or with non-professionals playing.
William didn’t really understand the rules so he switched channels and watched a motor race. Bits of cars kept flying off everywhere, and one car ran out of gas halfway through and couldn’t complete. There was an attitude of complete nihilism to it, but also a feeling of normality. It went on because people craved the normality of entertainment.
He had been thinking about Michael and what he had said on board the Philadelphia. Maybe Michael was right, maybe there had been no good reason for William to insist on a full ship just because he could. He just hadn’t even thought about it before they had gone; he had taken a full ship because that’s what he always did. But Michael was right, he hadn’t needed to. He just had, because he always had, and he craved normality. 110 men and a few of them hot-bunking was normality.
William bit at the skin around his thumbnail. Michael had been so angry, so righteously angry, and William couldn’t honestly blame him. He needed to apologize.
He also needed to apologize to Siska. He picked up his jacket, wallet and keys and left the house. Over at Siska’s, Nate answered the door. Inside, Butcher was cooking in the kitchen.
Siska grinned. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Look, I need to say I’m sorry. It was brought to my attention that I shouldn’t have taken so many men that you had to share bunks.”
Butcher stood in the kitchen doorway watching him and William felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Siska just looked at him.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” William said. “Just that I’m sorry.”
“Who brought it to your attention?” Butcher asked.
“Captain Chislett.” There was no point lying. They’d probably have worked it out anyway.
Butcher just nodded.
“You’re forgiven,” Siska said. “Thank you for the apology.”
William smiled. Butcher still looked ready to kill him so William made his excuses to leave.
Siska showed him to the door.
“Next time,” William promised. “The next voyage, if we go, I’ll only take the minimum.”
“But I can still come, right?”
“Of course. Thank you for volunteering.”
Siska smiled, thanked him again and he left, back into the spring air.
He had no idea where Michael lived but he knew he could find out from his office. That achieved, he borrowed a bicycle from Gabe Saporta, and set off, following Peter’s rudimentary instructions. If Peter had been intrigued as to why William needed to know how to get to Michael’s, he hadn’t shown it. William was pleased about that, and he was happy to be riding a bike again. It had been a long time since he had.
He got to Michael’s street and got off the bike to count down the numbers on the houses. When he finally got to the house, he stood in front of it nervously. The windows were black and blank, and he wasn’t sure if he could be seen. He laid the bicycle down on the lawn and walked up to the door.
Michael answered his knock and frowned. “Captain Beckett.”
“Yes. Hello. May I come in?”
“Of course.” Michael stepped back and then William followed him into a bright kitchen that faced the street. “You want a drink or something? Tea?”
“You have tea?”
“Yes?” Michael seemed confused.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t remember the last time I had tea.” It was true. There were still Navy rations of coffee left, but the tea had gone far too quickly,
“I had a lot stockpiled.” Michael switched on the kettle and stood the other side of his counter. He didn’t smile.
William wanted to make him smile, like he had at the party before they had sailed. He tried to joke. “You got coffee, too?”
“Yeah, it’s crap actually, but it does the job.”
William smiled. “Tea would be lovely.”
Michael nodded and started pulling out cups. He was somehow less angry when his back was turned so William took the opportunity to speak.
“Listen, I came to say I’m sorry. You were right about my taking a full complement. I made a mistake.”
Michael turned. “Yeah, you did.”
“I’m apologizing here.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” Michael asked.
“Defensive.”
“Am I?”
“You seem it. I’m trying to apologize, I made a mistake. Thank you for saying it.”
“Captain Beckett-”
“William, please.”
“William.” Michael started to say something then shook his head and busied himself with the kettle, which had boiled. “Okay, apology accepted.”
“Thanks. And if I go back to sea, I’ll only take the minimum needed, okay?” William could see that it didn’t matter. As long as they had enough men to run the ship, it was enough. William thought that Michael had made too much of the whole thing, but he had apologised anyway. He wanted Michael to like him. Michael was funny and interesting and it mattered that he wasn’t pissed.
“Did you and the Commander talk about it?”
“Yes. There’s still that radio signal in Florida. I know that there’s got to be a rational explanation for it, it’s just-”
“That there might be survivors.”
William nodded.
“They’d be so sick, though. If they are alive, they either can’t operate a radio or they’re too sick to.”
“I know, I know that. I do.”
“But you still want to check.”
“Yes. I do.”
Michael just sighed and poured tea into mugs. He passed milk over to William, but William shook his head and took his tea.
“Come through here,” Michael offered, and William followed him into a pleasant living room, painted duck-egg blue. Michael sat in a cane chair, but William couldn’t resist walking around, exploring things, reliving the memories of living in a home, of being part of a proper house in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he had left America.
“Do you mind if I…?” he asked.
Michael shook his head.
William wandered around the room, picking things up here and there. There was a photo of Michael and other people who looked very much like his siblings.
“Yeah, I’m one of seven,” Michael said when William picked it up and asked.
“Wow.”
“The one next to me is my brother Alexander. He lived here, but he got married when I was away.”
“You’re not married yourself?”
“No.” His tone was defensive.
William sighed inwardly; he had felt like they were getting somewhere. “I was,” he said, hoping that if he was more open Michael would be too. “I am, I mean. I don’t know. I don’t know how to refer to her. I know she’s dead and yet-”
“Your heart doesn’t accept it.”
“Exactly. That’s it exactly. I can pretend that she and the kids are still living their lives in Chicago, you know?”
Michael nodded. “Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes. Born and bred.”
“Chicago was badly hit, right?”
“Yes. Because it was liberal. It was a liberal stronghold so when the war broke out it got hit right after DC and New York.” William found this hard to say because it meant that in all probability his family had died in the nuclear explosions.
Michael nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
William couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Thank you.”
Silence drifted over the room. There was a large cabinet in Michael’s lounge filled with CDs and DVDs. William ran his fingers over them reverentially. He had had quite a collection back in the US. He liked movies and music. He and Michael had similar tastes. He pulled out a few familiar CDs and opened their inlays. He missed this. He missed music and the physicality of a CD. The radio still played but it wasn’t the same.
Michael didn’t seem to mind so William indulged himself, sat down with the CDs and looked at them.
After a few minutes Michael came over and opened another cabinet to reveal an old stereo system. “I think it still works, if you want to try?”
“Really?” William blinked. The system was huge, like one he’d had as a kid.
“Yes.” Michael pressed buttons, picked up a CD from the pile William had made, and slipped it into the machine. The music started moments later, crackling slightly over the old speakers but still there, still everything that William remembered it to be.
He couldn’t do anything except smile.
Michael sat down near him and started rifling through his CDs too. “It’s been a while since I went through all these.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
Michael looked up, briefly, and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
(Continued in Part 3.)
(Master post here.)
Michael’s bag was packed and it lay heavy on his back as he left his house on Tuesday morning. Monday had been a busy day, running around making all kinds of preparations. Even his domestic tasks had had to be completed, like taking out the rubbish before he went. He had gone to bed early and had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He awoke before dawn and spent an hour showering, relishing the hot, fresh water. Submarine water would be very different. He wandered round the house, securing things, checking things, locking things, and finally left just after 7.30. It was a cool day but he walked to the docks in only a jacket. There would be no need of his heavy winter coat on the sub, so he left it at home.
He gave his house keys to Peter for safekeeping and met the other men down by the docks. 110 of them, 12 officers and 98 enlistees. A scant handful were women. Michael hadn’t served alongside many.
James was smoking a cigarette with a thin, tattooed man and Mike, who Michael had met at the party. He hadn’t expected to be invited to anything like that, but it had been welcome, and it had been a good opportunity to meet some of his new crewmates.
By 10am final checks were underway. Michael loved this part; the noise, the hustle and bustle, the orders being shouted every which way.
By noon the Philadelphia had set sail, heading north and east, and Michael was on first watch with, amongst others, James, a young enlistee named Siska and a conscript, Joe Trohman, who had wild hair and a crazy look in his eyes. Michael hoped that at least would calm down, otherwise they could really find themselves in trouble.
At 4pm their duty was relieved and Michael sent his men off to go and get food. As he walked down the sub William stopped him.
As a Commander, William had been a surprise to Michael. If he had ever imagined what the Commander of the remains of the US Navy looked like, it wouldn’t have been like that. Likewise, his personality wasn’t how Michael had expected. He seemed unsure of himself, and he seemed quiet. He was fairly uptight, and made sure everything was done to the letter. Michael had never been able to work like that, even back when they had thought the war would be over in a matter of months and that life would return to normal. He definitely couldn’t work like that now. James always said he had a healthy disrespect of authority even when he was the authority, and maybe it was true. Rules didn’t need following so strictly, not now. There was only so much life left to be lived.
“Anything to report?”
“Eight bells and nothing, sir,” Michael said. It was an outdated phrase but it was one that Michael liked.
“You can stop with the whole ‘sir’ thing.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“There you go again. There’s no need to call me sir.”
“You’re a Commander.”
“I’m a Captain who’s de facto Commander because there aren’t any other Americans left, Michael.”
“Of course. I just. I didn’t think about it.”
“We’re equals, okay? You’re a Captain too.”
“Yes.”
William was sitting at the periscope, fiddling with a pen in his fingers. He said nothing, but sighed, eyes on the equipment in front of him.
“Are you alright? Look, I’m just going to get something to eat. Come with me.” Michael said, frowning at William’s dark head.
“No, I’m fine. I have to…” He trailed off.
Michael knew perfectly well that William had nothing pressing to do. When a sub was running smoothly, it needed very little input from its Captain.
He just reached out and patted William’s shoulder. “Alright. See you later.”
“Bye,” William said absently, and Michael carried on to the mess deck.
James was sitting with Siska and the tattooed guy from earlier, so Michael picked up what passed as vegetarian food on a submarine and went to sit with them.
“What kept you?” James asked.
“Captain Beckett.”
The tattooed guy snorted. “Worrying about nothing, as usual?”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Siska swatted the tattooed guy.
“Sorry,” Michael said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Butcher,” he said easily, holding out a hand for Michael to shake.
“Michael,” Michael said. “Captain Chislett.”
“Shit, then I shouldn’t be saying things like that about Beckett to you, right?”
Michael shrugged. “He does seem kinda… uptight?”
“That’s the word I’d use, yeah.”
“That’s not fair,” Siska said. He was munching an apple. “Bill’s not that bad.”
“Just because you and he are all friendly,” Butcher said. He was drinking a can of Diet Coke and the condensation from it dripped on to the table in the warm canteen.
“I’ve been around him a long time.”
“How come?” Michael asked.
“He knew my brother in high school. Then he joined the Navy and I did too, partly because of him. I ended up on his ship straight out of training,” Siska explained.
“Your brother didn’t enlist?” Michael hoped his tone was gentle, since mentioning anybody’s family was a touchy subject, especially among Americans.
“My brother was teaching in the Virgin Islands when the war started,” Siska said. He stopped chewing and stared directly at Michael. “I have no idea when they went out.”
Michael racked his brains, trying to remember if he knew anything about the Islands’ fate, wanting to offer Siska something in the way of information. He couldn’t, though, so in the end he just said, “I’m sorry.”
Siska shrugged and went back to chewing his apple.
The chat went on. Michael finished what he was eating and James took their plates across to the clearing hatch. He came back with two cans of Coke and Michael took one and drank it gratefully.
“You got a bed this time, Sisk?” Butcher asked idly.
“No,” Siska said. “I do not.” He sounded angry about it.
“How do you mean?” Michael asked.
“There’s a hundred-and-ten of us, right? Well there are only ninety bunks. We’re hot-bunking again.”
Michael raised his eyebrows, surprised. “What?”
“It’s true,” Siska protested. “I’m sharing my bed with Brendon Urie, and Cash Colligan is sharing with John O’Callaghan.”
“That’s messed up,” Michael said. What the hell was up with that? They didn’t need a full complement of men. Why not just bring ninety men instead? He hadn’t known there were only ninety bunks. Hot-bunking happened in the Australian Navy too but he had assumed that since this wasn’t an official mission in normal circumstances that there were as many bunks as there were people.
Siska just shrugged again and sucked on his apple core.
Butcher stood up. “Back to work for me.”
“Work?” Michael asked.
“I’m a chef,” Butcher said. “That was my break.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Head chef is Alex. Suarez. You’ll like him, when you meet him. I’m just a lackey.”
“You’re like his bitch,” Siska said gleefully.
Butcher punched his arm good-naturedly. “Catch you later.”
Michael said goodbye to Butcher as the others did. He was glad James had changed his mind and decided to come. He said as much as they walked back to quarters.
“It’s alright,” James said. “It was Rachel. She said this might be the last chance I got.”
“She’s right,” Michael said quietly, pulling off his clothes by a bunk he had claimed as his own. There were men asleep in here, so he had to be quiet.
“I suppose.”
“Did you tell her? About the cyanide?”
“Yeah,” James said, in a tone that meant that was the end of the conversation. “You going to sleep?”
“Yeah, gonna get my head down for a bit.”
“Sleep well,” James said. “God bless.”
Michael smiled, reassured by the familiarity of James’ words. He slid into his bunk and pulled the curtain.
*
A submarine did not have to always sail deep underwater. Until they got a dangerous radiation reading from the air further north, they could float on the surface. It meant they could go faster, since they broke the water, and it also meant fresh oxygen could be pumped in straight from the surface.
It also meant the periscope had to be manned 24 hours a day. In a war situation this was vital, but even now, William had decided it had to be done. It was a job that he liked to do, too. For most of the time there was nothing to see except maybe a few birds or some driftwood. Closer to land they would switch the VDUs on so that many people could see the land at once, but that was pointless right now. All it needed was six men in rotation. William’s shift was 8am until noon on the fifth day of their voyage.
He had nothing in particular to report until almost 11am, when something big came into view. Like, ridiculously big.
William gasped. It was a ship. A Navy ship. He wasn’t sure which Navy but it definitely wasn’t any kind of cruise ship.
He radioed for Ryland and told him to take a look.
“It’s British,” Ryland said after a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I recognise the insignia.”
“Fuck.”
Ryland grinned. “I can’t make out its name, but yes, I think it’s British.”
William put out a call to radio to the vessel, and they spent an hour waiting for a response. There was none, even though they were very close to it. They sailed close to it and then William collected his Captains in the Control Room.
“We need to go aboard,” he said.
“Why, sir?” Ryland asked.
“There may be survivors.”
“The radiation reading is nearly dangerous here, and she’s floating south,” Ryland said. “If she’s come from the North it’s unlikely there are survivors.”
“But it’s a possibility.”
“Everything’s a possibility,” Ryland said easily, shrugging.
“So someone goes aboard. In the radiation-proof suit and oxygen tanks we’ve got for going on land. They don’t need to be there long.”
“Then what?” Michael asked.
William looked at him. “If there are survivors, we tell your Commander and see what can be done.”
“If there are survivors, which I doubt, they’re not in a fit state to be sailing a ship, otherwise they’d be doing it, however rudimentarily.”
“So?” William heard the sharpness in his tone and didn’t care.
“So what’re you gonna do? Tether her to the sub and tow her back to Australia?” Michael said scornfully.
“We have to check, Captain Chislett. It’s in the fucking job description.”
Michael shrugged and looked away. He seemed to have such a problem with authority. William sort of admired that healthy disrespect, but on board it could only mean trouble. He needed Michael to back him up.
He ignored him for the time being and said, “Ryland. Who will go aboard?”
“I will, sir.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
William nodded. “Okay.” He checked his watch; it was a little after 1pm. “How soon can you get on?”
“Before nightfall. By 5pm, definitely.”
“Good, very good. Gather your men.”
Ryland nodded and left the Control Room. The others left too, except for Michael, who had been on watch in there anyway.
“I’ll thank you not to undermine me,” William said quietly.
“What?”
“I said we should go aboard, I wasn’t asking your opinion.”
“What the fuck?” Michael said, looking up.
William got that feeling again that he’d had a week ago, like Michael was sizing him up and found him lacking, for whatever reason. It was unsettling and it also pricked William’s interest. He wanted to prove himself as a person and as an officer to Michael, and he didn’t quite know why.
“Insubordination is still a crime, even in a crisis.” William fought to keep his tone calm.
“Equals, you said,” Michael said. “You said, you and I were equals. So I gave you my equal opinion, William! My opinion is that there are no survivors on that bloody ship and that you’re wasting your time thinking there are!”
“We have to see, we have to check! What if she suddenly starts putting out a signal?”
“What, round about Tasmania or something? Get real. Everyone on that ship is dead.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
Michael was silent.
Siska came back into the Control Room. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” William said. “If Ryland needs your help, I’ll tell him to ask.”
Siska nodded and took a look through the periscope. Clearly news had gotten out. He whistled. “Wow. She British?”
“Apparently.”
“Never thought we’d see one of those again,” Siska said.
“Me either,” Michael agreed.
William left them to it, still burning from his exchange with Michael. He seemed to be able to find William’s weak spots and get right to them. What unsettled William most was that he liked it; at least it was something to finally feel.
William didn’t have time to think about it, since the submarine needed to be closer to the ship and he needed to oversee that in the Control Room. By 3.30 Ryland was easing himself out of the escape hatch and was being watched by the vast majority of those awake on the VDUs.
He had taken a loudhailer onboard and they could hear him, sounding quite muffled, as he wandered through the ship. Close up, they could see she was the HMS Valiant.
Ryland returned shortly after 4pm, decontaminated himself with a shower, was declared to not be radioactive by Jon Walker, who was the technician for that kind of thing, and reported back to the Control Room. He looked visibly shaken. “There are a lot of dead.”
William sighed.
“I’d say they’d been dead for a good long while, too. God knows where she’s come from. All British, as far as I could see. Men still at their stations, congealed food still in the Mess. Awful. Really awful.”
William wondered what had happened that meant the ship hadn’t been able to get either back home to Britain or to Australia like they had. They hadn’t had any kind of contact with the Valiant. She hadn’t been hit. It seemed like the radioactivity had just killed the men slowly, through radiation sickness. It almost seemed like they had just accepted their fate and hadn’t tried to outrun the radiation. This wasn’t a thought that William voiced, though.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “Thank you, you did well.”
Ryland smiled tightly and rubbed his fingers through his hair.
“You’re excused until this time tomorrow,” William told him. “Take some time out.”
“Thanks,” Ryland said, and left the room.
William tried very hard to ignore the ‘I told you so’ look on Michael’s face.
In the end, there was nothing to do with the ship except let her float onwards. She might reach Australia but at her current rate it wasn’t fast enough for William to worry about. They’d all be dead by then anyway.
*
Michael took his regular seat in the Mess with James, Butcher and Siska. For the moment, they were on the same shifts and had got used to eating together. They were beginning to be friends. Michael liked it. He had never had many friends back home, except for James. He liked Sisky and Butcher a lot, but he was still in a bad mood when he sat down to eat.
“What’s eating you?” Siska asked.
“That bloody arse of a Commander.”
“What did he do?”
“Just. The whole ship thing.”
Butcher nodded. “Alex was going crazy in the kitchen because Ryland volunteered, even when he knew what he’d find.”
“They’re friends?”
Butcher looked sideways at him. “They’re married.”
Michael tried to not look shocked. Instead he just nodded. “I see.”
“Right after we arrived in Australia, right Sisk? Ryland said he’d had enough of pretending that they didn’t mean anything to each other, and that they didn’t have long left so they may as well be happy, so they had a ceremony thing and a huge party.”
“Wow. And here I thought Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was just a good name,” Michael said lightly.
“It’s a good policy that William abides by,” Butcher said, in a tone that Michael couldn’t understand.
“He doesn’t know,” Siska said helpfully.
“Oh,” Michael said, and then because he couldn’t think of anything helpful to say, he repeated it. “Oh.”
*
As they had thought, life went out round about the Equator. Peru was still largely inhabited, and the submarine stopped to replenish supplies and for everyone to have a day on dry land. Michael spent it with James, Butcher, Siska and some others, playing a rudimentary game of football. The Australians won, but Siska said it was only because they played football a lot, and it wasn’t football anyway, it was soccer, which Americans never played so really, they’d done well to score three.
Michael nodded and agreed with him. It was easier.
Back on board the sub, preparations were being made to dive into deeper water, because the radiation levels were rising. Michael and Mike spent a long time checking the ballasts. Ever since the episode on the Waller where Michael had repaired the damaged ballasts, he had found himself regarded as somewhat of an expert on the matter, although it wasn’t true.
At 8am ten days after they had left Australia Ryland’s voice came clearly over the radio. “Rig for dive,” he said. “All sailors, rig for dive.”
Once past the Equator and north past Mexico and into the States, the mood on board became much sobered. A few men were from California and Michael couldn’t even imagine what he would feel like if he were watching his place of birth look like this. James was right; when they got close to shore they could see rabbits hopping about.
There were no survivors, and the radiation was too high for anyone to be allowed on land. Jon was in charge of that stuff, and he had told William in no uncertain terms that no one would be going on land. William hadn’t been happy about it. He had barked orders for the entire day, and Michael had tried to make things better by being extra nice to his men.
William hadn’t been happy about that, either.
When they came close to the Golden Gate Bridge a few people cried and shifts were swapped around so that no one had to do anything he didn’t want to. That was how it ended up that Siska was asleep on a table in the Mess shortly after dinnertime, while Butcher cleaned around him.
Michael had only gone for a drink, needing some caffeine to pep him up a little. But the sight of Siska leaning against the wall, head pillowed on a balled up t-shirt, was too much. Michael gave his coffee back to Butcher and said, “Right. Let me sort this out.”
Butcher didn’t say anything as he left the desk, just opened and shut his mouth like a fish. Michael stormed down the ship, opening doors and calling William’s name. He had to make William see why insisting on a full complement was completely fucking ridiculous, he had to tell William that he was wrong on this occasion. He was angry, and he hardly ever got angry. But the sight of Siska asleep in the middle of the noisiest space on ship had tipped him over the edge. And it was William’s fault.
He was in the Control Room with Saporta and Bryar. Michael asked them to leave and they did so, but it left William looking at him, confused. He was sitting at a desk and Michael leant down on it. William moved backwards, eyes wide.
“Can we talk about why Siska’s asleep in the Mess?”
William blinked. “What?”
“Siska. Is asleep. In the Mess. On a table. Because you have men hotbunking.”
“I don’t understand?”
“What isn’t there to understand, William?!” Michael snapped.
“Men always hotbunk. Three men, one bed, they sleep in shifts.”
“I’m aware of that! I just don’t think it’s useful now!”
“What do you mean?”
“I MEAN, Beckett, that this ship needs, what? Eighty-five men to function properly. So why not bring only eighty-five, and let everyone have a bed?”
“But. Full complement is 112. You know that.”
“So? What do you need full complement for, anyway?”
“Well, because, then it’s full.”
Michael frowned. “Are you seriously telling me that you brought every American you could and a fair chunk of Australians just because you wanted it to be full?”
“Well. That’s how it’s always been done, Michael. A ship goes to sea with as many men as it can hold.”
“In normal circumstances, yes! In case of attack! But who the fuck do you think is going to attack us, William? That ghost ship we found floating around?!”
“No, but - it’s just the way things have always been done-”
“Screw the way they’ve always been done! This isn’t normal circumstances and you don’t NEED a full crew and you definitely don’t need men hotbunking and Siska asleep in the bloody Mess just because you demanded it!”
William’s face had gone pale while Michael was speaking. He looked stricken, and Michael regretted losing his temper, but he didn’t regret saying what he had said. He was about to apologise for it when William said in a very tight, low voice,
“Well thank you for the input, Captain Chislett, but I will run this sub how I see fit and I will not be told how to run it, not by you or by anyone.”
Michael didn’t say anything, not trusting himself to not shout again.
“You’re dismissed,” William said.
Michael didn’t move.
“Captain,” William said, still in the same low, dangerous voice. “You’re dismissed.”
Michael turned and left the room, fuming silently. What could he do? William was impossible; he was a bloody nightmare to work with. Michael shouldn’t have ever been desperate enough to ask Commander Robertson to give him something to do. What was the point of bringing a full ship when you didn’t need it? Sheer bloodymindedness, that’s what it was.
Michael went all the way back to the Mess and woke Siska up. “Come on. My bed.”
“What?”
“Get in my bed.”
Michael pulled him up and walked with him to the bunk room. Siska was yawning but was mostly awake. “Get in my bed,” Michael said again.
“I can’t do that, sir.”
“What the hell?”
“You’re a superior, I can’t.”
“Captain’s orders, Siska. Get in the bed. And stay there until I come back for you.”
Siska looked very much like he wanted to, and Michael wondered for how long he had been without a bed. “Really?”
“Really,” Michael said.
“But aren’t you about to go off-shift?”
“Yes. But I hear tables in the Mess are comfortable enough.”
Siska smiled gratefully and started to pulls his boots off. Michael patted his arm and left him to sleep. He headed off back to the Mess and tried not to think about how much William infuriated him.
He and William barely spoke to each other for the remainder of the voyage, and in fact on two occasions, William sent a message through Ryland, who appeared in front of Michael looking suitably apologetic.
The second time, Michael asked him about Alex.
Ryland didn’t say anything.
“Butcher told me,” Michael said.
“Oh. So there’s no point denying it.”
“Not really, no.”
“I feel like I should. William wouldn’t approve.”
“What’s he gonna do with you? Separate you on a submarine? I’d like to see him try.”
Ryland smiled, his eyes on a point far beyond Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah, he at least has to take us back to Australia and discharge us there.”
Michael laughed.
“We were lucky to end up together. But I’m so grateful now. Can you imagine if all this had happened and we didn’t know what happened to each other?”
“You’re lucky,” Michael agreed.
“Sure. This way we get to die together.”
Michael shrugged, not sure of what to say. He hated it when anyone talked about the end.
“It’s true,” Ryland said. “When the time comes we’re going to take the cyanide and die together on the beach.”
“That’s a good plan.” Michael saw why people would take the cyanide, so that they could plan their deaths instead of waiting for it, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do himself.
“It’s more than a lot of guys here have. A lot people have lost wives and children and they’ll never know exactly what happened, you know?”
Michael nodded.
“You know, like Mikey Way? His partner, this guy called Pete? Well, he and Mikes broke up just before Mikey got deployed. It’s awful. Mikey hates himself for it.”
“That’s bad.”
Ryland nodded. “And don’t be hard on Beckett, huh? He lost his wife and kids.”
“He was married?”
“Yeah, she was a lovely woman. They were childhood sweethearts. Had two kids, too.”
“Wow.”
“Just. He tries, you know? He’s trying his best and I know sometimes it comes off wrong, but he means it, he thinks he’s doing the best for everyone.”
“Yeah. I get that, I suppose.”
“He’s a good person. A good Captain.”
Michael nodded.
Ryland stood to leave. “See you later, anyway.”
“Bye,” Michael said, and sat for a few moments thoughtfully, spinning a pen in his fingers.
*
William was glad to be back on dry land, even if it was a foreign land where he felt disconnected. Nothing had changed in his own house, but in others people had been hard at work while they had been away. Each house looked a little smarter. Someone had painted William’s house with a fresh coat of paint, but he couldn’t find out who. It simultaneously uplifted and depressed him; uplifted him because it just looked better and depressed him because what was the point in doing anything to anyone’s house when everyone would be dead within the year?
He gave everyone a week off, had a small debrief with Commander Robertson, and settled down for some time off himself. Not that there was much to do; entertainment was thin on the ground and William just didn’t have the amounts of money that was needed to procure anything like a DVD player. Unless he wanted to go looting for one, which didn’t really appeal. Instead he ended up watching Australian sport, or what there was left of it. Rugby matches were being played with either only six men on a side or with non-professionals playing.
William didn’t really understand the rules so he switched channels and watched a motor race. Bits of cars kept flying off everywhere, and one car ran out of gas halfway through and couldn’t complete. There was an attitude of complete nihilism to it, but also a feeling of normality. It went on because people craved the normality of entertainment.
He had been thinking about Michael and what he had said on board the Philadelphia. Maybe Michael was right, maybe there had been no good reason for William to insist on a full ship just because he could. He just hadn’t even thought about it before they had gone; he had taken a full ship because that’s what he always did. But Michael was right, he hadn’t needed to. He just had, because he always had, and he craved normality. 110 men and a few of them hot-bunking was normality.
William bit at the skin around his thumbnail. Michael had been so angry, so righteously angry, and William couldn’t honestly blame him. He needed to apologize.
He also needed to apologize to Siska. He picked up his jacket, wallet and keys and left the house. Over at Siska’s, Nate answered the door. Inside, Butcher was cooking in the kitchen.
Siska grinned. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Look, I need to say I’m sorry. It was brought to my attention that I shouldn’t have taken so many men that you had to share bunks.”
Butcher stood in the kitchen doorway watching him and William felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Siska just looked at him.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” William said. “Just that I’m sorry.”
“Who brought it to your attention?” Butcher asked.
“Captain Chislett.” There was no point lying. They’d probably have worked it out anyway.
Butcher just nodded.
“You’re forgiven,” Siska said. “Thank you for the apology.”
William smiled. Butcher still looked ready to kill him so William made his excuses to leave.
Siska showed him to the door.
“Next time,” William promised. “The next voyage, if we go, I’ll only take the minimum.”
“But I can still come, right?”
“Of course. Thank you for volunteering.”
Siska smiled, thanked him again and he left, back into the spring air.
He had no idea where Michael lived but he knew he could find out from his office. That achieved, he borrowed a bicycle from Gabe Saporta, and set off, following Peter’s rudimentary instructions. If Peter had been intrigued as to why William needed to know how to get to Michael’s, he hadn’t shown it. William was pleased about that, and he was happy to be riding a bike again. It had been a long time since he had.
He got to Michael’s street and got off the bike to count down the numbers on the houses. When he finally got to the house, he stood in front of it nervously. The windows were black and blank, and he wasn’t sure if he could be seen. He laid the bicycle down on the lawn and walked up to the door.
Michael answered his knock and frowned. “Captain Beckett.”
“Yes. Hello. May I come in?”
“Of course.” Michael stepped back and then William followed him into a bright kitchen that faced the street. “You want a drink or something? Tea?”
“You have tea?”
“Yes?” Michael seemed confused.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t remember the last time I had tea.” It was true. There were still Navy rations of coffee left, but the tea had gone far too quickly,
“I had a lot stockpiled.” Michael switched on the kettle and stood the other side of his counter. He didn’t smile.
William wanted to make him smile, like he had at the party before they had sailed. He tried to joke. “You got coffee, too?”
“Yeah, it’s crap actually, but it does the job.”
William smiled. “Tea would be lovely.”
Michael nodded and started pulling out cups. He was somehow less angry when his back was turned so William took the opportunity to speak.
“Listen, I came to say I’m sorry. You were right about my taking a full complement. I made a mistake.”
Michael turned. “Yeah, you did.”
“I’m apologizing here.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” Michael asked.
“Defensive.”
“Am I?”
“You seem it. I’m trying to apologize, I made a mistake. Thank you for saying it.”
“Captain Beckett-”
“William, please.”
“William.” Michael started to say something then shook his head and busied himself with the kettle, which had boiled. “Okay, apology accepted.”
“Thanks. And if I go back to sea, I’ll only take the minimum needed, okay?” William could see that it didn’t matter. As long as they had enough men to run the ship, it was enough. William thought that Michael had made too much of the whole thing, but he had apologised anyway. He wanted Michael to like him. Michael was funny and interesting and it mattered that he wasn’t pissed.
“Did you and the Commander talk about it?”
“Yes. There’s still that radio signal in Florida. I know that there’s got to be a rational explanation for it, it’s just-”
“That there might be survivors.”
William nodded.
“They’d be so sick, though. If they are alive, they either can’t operate a radio or they’re too sick to.”
“I know, I know that. I do.”
“But you still want to check.”
“Yes. I do.”
Michael just sighed and poured tea into mugs. He passed milk over to William, but William shook his head and took his tea.
“Come through here,” Michael offered, and William followed him into a pleasant living room, painted duck-egg blue. Michael sat in a cane chair, but William couldn’t resist walking around, exploring things, reliving the memories of living in a home, of being part of a proper house in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he had left America.
“Do you mind if I…?” he asked.
Michael shook his head.
William wandered around the room, picking things up here and there. There was a photo of Michael and other people who looked very much like his siblings.
“Yeah, I’m one of seven,” Michael said when William picked it up and asked.
“Wow.”
“The one next to me is my brother Alexander. He lived here, but he got married when I was away.”
“You’re not married yourself?”
“No.” His tone was defensive.
William sighed inwardly; he had felt like they were getting somewhere. “I was,” he said, hoping that if he was more open Michael would be too. “I am, I mean. I don’t know. I don’t know how to refer to her. I know she’s dead and yet-”
“Your heart doesn’t accept it.”
“Exactly. That’s it exactly. I can pretend that she and the kids are still living their lives in Chicago, you know?”
Michael nodded. “Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes. Born and bred.”
“Chicago was badly hit, right?”
“Yes. Because it was liberal. It was a liberal stronghold so when the war broke out it got hit right after DC and New York.” William found this hard to say because it meant that in all probability his family had died in the nuclear explosions.
Michael nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
William couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Thank you.”
Silence drifted over the room. There was a large cabinet in Michael’s lounge filled with CDs and DVDs. William ran his fingers over them reverentially. He had had quite a collection back in the US. He liked movies and music. He and Michael had similar tastes. He pulled out a few familiar CDs and opened their inlays. He missed this. He missed music and the physicality of a CD. The radio still played but it wasn’t the same.
Michael didn’t seem to mind so William indulged himself, sat down with the CDs and looked at them.
After a few minutes Michael came over and opened another cabinet to reveal an old stereo system. “I think it still works, if you want to try?”
“Really?” William blinked. The system was huge, like one he’d had as a kid.
“Yes.” Michael pressed buttons, picked up a CD from the pile William had made, and slipped it into the machine. The music started moments later, crackling slightly over the old speakers but still there, still everything that William remembered it to be.
He couldn’t do anything except smile.
Michael sat down near him and started rifling through his CDs too. “It’s been a while since I went through all these.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
Michael looked up, briefly, and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
(Continued in Part 3.)
(Master post here.)