Larry Bond - Exit Plan

“The only trick is that Michigan will have to stay at periscope depth and guide the UAV to us. If the patrol boat activity is still heavy, this could seriously complicate matters.”

Now it was Lapointe’s turn to look cocky. “Michigan won’t have to, XO. I have the portable remote control terminal in my pack. I can guide the UAV straight to us and then send it back on a different preprogrammed course. All Michigan has to do is launch and then retrieve the UAV. We just have to be careful how long we use the terminal. It uses a low power, frequency-hopping signal, but it is an omnidirectional transmission and is more detectable than the 117 SATCOM radio.”

“Okay. We’ll contact Michigan tonight and give them our shopping list, which needs to include more blankets and a SCAR for the XO, as well as food and water. We can arrange a drop location once we have a better idea of how long it will take for the weather to clear,” concluded Ramey. “Now, I strongly suggest you guys get some rest. I’ll take the first watch with Doc.”

As Jerry laid down his head on a pile of boxes, he realized just how exhausted he really was. In that fuzzy state between consciousness and sleep, Jerry looked at the Iranian couple. Both were sound asleep, with Yousef holding Shirin close to keep her warm and to reassure her that, for now, everything was all right. As Jerry finally drifted off, his last thought was, I miss you, too, Emily.

28 September 2009 0745 Local Time

Naval Postgraduate School

Monterey, California

It was the first day of class, and he was going to be late. Jerry grumbled to himself as he walked as fast as he could, given the deep mist. The day had not started out well. It had been a very long weekend, with late nights on both Saturday and Sunday to unpack his household goods, and he had overslept. Then there was the fog. Jerry had been warned about Monterey’s bumper crop of fog days, but this was ridiculous. Visibility was a quarter mile at the very best, usually less, and it made the commute painfully slow. He was fortunate to find a parking spot along the fence line, but he still had a short hike to the nearest gate.

Jerry flashed his military ID as he entered the gate and began walking in the general direction of Spanagel Hall. He had spent most of the previous week getting acquainted with the Naval Postgraduate School campus, locating all his classrooms and getting to know the general lay of the land. But all his landmarks were now totally obscured by the pea soup the Pacific Ocean had served up for breakfast. A faint dull shadow was all Jerry could discern of a building in the swirling gray around him, and he made a beeline toward it.

He bounded up the steps and flew through the front doors. He paused momentarily in the foyer to gain his bearings, left stairwell or right? Right! Again he took off, taking two stairs at a time. As he approached the second floor, Jerry glanced at his watch — 8:03. Damn! He had just reached the top of the flight of stairs when suddenly, POW!

He had run into something, and hard. Jerry reeled to his left following the collision. Papers were strewn in the air and he heard a body hit the floor. A woman’s voice squeaked out a surprised “Ohh!” followed immediately by a more guttural “ Umph .”

Jerry steadied himself against the wall, cursing his stupidity. He looked down and saw a small woman sitting on the floor, her papers and books scattered around her. Mortified, Jerry got down to help her pick them up and began apologizing, “I am so sorry. I didn’t see you at all. Are you all right?”

The young woman seemed shocked when she heard his voice, and then spun her head about quickly. When Jerry saw her face, his heart stopped.

“Jerry?”

“Emily?”

“What are you doing here?” they both said simultaneously. Dr. Emily Davis laughed, obviously pleased to see him; Jerry felt awkward.

“I work here, Jerry. I’m the Deputy Director of the Center for Autonomous Vehicle Research,” she said with a huge smile.

“I’m just a lowly student,” replied Jerry, stunned, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. “Who happens to be late for his first class.”

“Can we meet for lunch? I’d love to talk to you,” asked Emily. It was more of a plea than a request. “I’m free at eleven o’clock.”

Jerry pulled out his schedule and saw he had a conflict. “Can’t, I have physics at eleven. How about one o’clock?”

Emily sighed. “Can’t, I’m teaching Intro to Unmanned Systems and then I have office hours at the lab.”

Jerry shook his head. Here we go again , he thought. Then trying not to sound too interested, he asked, “Since our schedules aren’t cooperating, how about dinner?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Fisherman’s Wharf, say six-thirty?”

“Absolutely. Where should we go?” she asked. Jerry was sure he saw her eyes welling up.

“How about Crabby Jim’s?”

“My favorite! It’s a date!” Her face darkened immediately after she spoke, as if she regretted that last sentence.

There was an awkward silence as Jerry helped Emily collect the rest of her papers and books. His stomach was doing barrel rolls.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered. “It’s good to see you.” Those eyes again.

Jerry nodded his head. “I’m sorry that I bowled you over. Not very gentlemanly of me.”

Emily hesitated, then leaned over and gave Jerry a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you this evening. Now, you’d better get to class, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a mock salute. Jerry watched as she walked down the stairs. Dazed and confused he wandered off to class.

Jerry was hard-pressed to remember anything from that first day. His class notes were minimal, little more than the contact data for the instructor and a few scribbles on the syllabus. His thoughts were elsewhere — in the past — and they were haunting him.

At his apartment that afternoon, he struggled through his homework and reading assignments, but managed to complete them, sort of. He still had an hour before his dinner with Emily, so he plopped down in a lawn chair on the apartment’s balcony and forced open Pandora’s box.

Everything had seemed to be going so well between them. Emily Davis and Joanna Patterson were on the pier when USS Memphis returned to New London in July 2005. And after unloading Davis’s precious remote operating vehicles, they stayed for Jerry’s dolphin pinning ceremony and the party afterward. With Memphis in the dry dock for repairs, Jerry had plenty of opportunities to drive up to Boston and spend time with Emily. Those were good times.

The cracks in the relationship first showed up at Patterson’s and Hardy’s wedding that October. Emily was the maid of honor, and that seemed to throw a switch in her head. She began to talk about the two of them being more than just a couple, and even though she didn’t mention the word marriage, it was abundantly clear that was what she had in mind. Initially, Jerry didn’t see any harm in her talking about the idea. He wasn’t against the concept in principle; he just felt it was a bit premature. The two of them needed more time to figure out who they were as individuals, before trying to make a marriage work where the priorities weren’t necessarily about oneself.

The following year was more turbulent, with more than the occasional hard conversation about the future. Jerry was trying to figure out where he wanted to go next in his submarine career, while Emily gave mixed signals about moving on to academia or the corporate sector. She wanted them to be together, but she also wanted to keep her highly successful career going. Jerry appreciated her desires, but made the mistake of being blunt in telling her that he didn’t see how they could work all of the “wants” out.