Pi Day Doomsday

SHORE LEAVE

Excitement gripped the crew as they waited in the long line, an hour before the first scheduled tender arrival. There were five coming for them but the first ones were always the newest, nicest ships with the best amenities for the one-hour cruise. With their duffels and backpacks slung over their shoulders, the crew stood talking about their plans, nicest places to eat, and, of course, the best clubs to visit. As always, there were those crewmen who had to be the first to step off the ship and onto land. They were there, in line, before reveille.

Cross was up, folding his bunk, by eight. Briscoe heard him, rolled over, one eye open, and mumbled, “It’s gonna be a late morning for me, Marker. Every muscle in my body aches today. Go on to Mess without me. I’ll drag my ass in when I can move again. That may not be until tomorrow.” He grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the overhead shelf, poured three out into his hand, chewed them, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Ready for a week of quiet relaxation, Cross stopped by the library after Mess, picked a book and took it topside; sitting on the deck, leaning against a large vent pipe, he was lost in the words of Tom Clancy again. He had picked The Hunt for Red October: his fourth time to read it. The morning sun warming his face against the cool sea breeze, the ship’s rocking took him aboard the HMS Invincible with Admiral White at the helm.

Hitting the Long Beach dock, the crew spread through the streets of Los Angeles like ants over sugar. They worked hard and played hard, enjoying every minute of their leave. Unknown to them it was to be a short week.