Thursday, May 3, 2001

Clear
High—84°F
Low—59°F
Dew Point 55 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 10 mph (SW) Gusting to 15 mph
Sunrise 5:08 AM Sunset 6:55 PM
Moonrise 2:46 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 82% of the Moon is Illuminated

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Norfolk, Virginia, 11:21

As he accompanied the Executive Officer on this final pre-turnover inspection, the Captain's mind was not on finding fault or dirt. It rarely was on any inspection—the XO was too good at her job to let any remain hidden, and he'd already read the reports and approved and forwarded the final work package. Tomorrow, Friday morning, there would be a formal "Change of Command" and the CSS Robert E. Lee would become the property of the yardmaster for four and a half weeks.

Instead, Commander Robert Edward Yarborough (Bobby) Lee reflected (not for the first time) that a whole slew of Public Affairs Officers and flacks in the War Department were still getting their jollies from having "Captain Robert E. Lee" commanding the "Robert E. Lee." And he wasn't a direct descendant—at best they were umpteenth cousins incredibly removed. Not that his branch of the Lees of Virginia wasn't prestigious in its own right ... never mind. It was moot.

Bob did what good Captains do on inspections. He smiled, spoke familiarly to his crew, and let the XO steer him around. Everything that truly needed his attention, the XO had briefed him in private about. Some XOs might hide a thing or two, but he trusted Sam. Samantha Stuart-Forrest was the direct descendant of another hero, and married to yet another. She was driven by those expectations. She'd be a Commander and Captain of a ship younger than he had, and someday he'd be saluting her.

That was a primary reason he hadn't been tempted to break his policy of not dating within his command with Samantha. The fact she had shown no interest in anything but a professional relationship was another.

Another reason snapped to attention to present the torpedo room as they entered. Lieutenant (lower grade) Deborah Hubbard presented her domain ready for inspection. Bob only wanted to inspect Deborah. Crisp and starched in her dress grays, his acting Weapons Officer (Weps was on emergency leave to bury his husband and comfort their wives), she was still a very feminine woman. Deborah was the only woman for whom he had ever broken his policy.

That their date hadn't worked out had been neither of their faults. Deborah's wife had shown an instant dislike for Bob, and you don't date one wife without the other. To do so was tantamount to adultery, and Bob would never push a woman to that extreme.

Deborah was also Duty Officer today, and would not be relieved until the Change of Command ceremony. Bob had been planning to go ashore tonight, and spend the evening at the Bachelor Officer's Quarters working on his hobby. Maybe that would wait.

Norfolk Naval Shipyard Pier 26, 12:44

Caroline Stuart-Forrest waited on the pier with the other Navy Spouses, knowing that Samantha would be one of the last to disembark. She always was. Even money she'd wait until after the Captain had left. That trait was both a source of pride in her wife and an irritation, though the irritation never started until her fellow spouses dwindled down to the last few, and then it was just her and their daughter, Tiffany.

There she was, emerging from the torpedo loading hatch. She waved. Today, the Captain was on her heels. They did some sort of "after you" dance at the head of the brow, until Captain Bob folded his arms. Samantha evidently lost, and departed first, saluting the Officer of the Deck and then the ensign. As Bob performed the ritual, Caroline could hear the announcement, "Robert E. Lee, departing."

Caroline hugged and kissed her wife, who picked up their daughter. Turning to Bob, she said, "Need a ride, sailor?"

Bob laughed. "Could you drop me at the BOQ? It'd save me waiting on the shuttle or for the duty driver to return."

"Don't the Skippers rate their own cars and drivers?" Caroline wasn't well versed in nautical customs, but she recalled that Colonel Stuart, Sam's Uncle, had a car and a driver.

Bob shook his head. "A boat rates only one vehicle, and one duty driver. I could commandeer them, but I would never interfere with my ship's routine that way. She's on a guard mail run."

Bob forestalled another possible attempt at over-courtesy by walking straight to the back door of the car and climbing in. Tiffany joined him, and Sam sat with Caroline in the front. Caroline hid how pleased she was at this while catching up on three weeks' worth of inconsequentials. Tiffany monopolized Bob's attention in the back with a barrage of chatter.

"Cap'n Bob, an' you know what?" she'd ask then proceed without waiting for an answer, "I get to go to kiddiegarter this year! An' you know what?"

Bob would occasionally get in a few words, always with a delighted if tolerant smile. "No! What, Tiffy?"

"Mommy Caroline says I'm gonna have a new brother or sister! An' you know what?"

Caroline felt the blush on her cheeks. A glance told her that her wife was staring at her open-mouthed while "Cap'n Bob" looked at them both with one eyebrow raised, still smiling and answering Tiffany's prattle. This was not how she'd meant to make the announcement. Tonight at dinner with Nathan and Samantha both present ... too late now. She nodded.

In the back, Bob said, "Pull in ahead at the Base Exchange, and I'll treat you all to ice cream. Would you like that, Tiffy?"

"Yay!"

With Samantha's hand on her shoulder, Caroline pulled off the road.

Navy Housing, 12:51

Chief Alberto Nunez had been home long enough for a very private welcome by his wives and husband. Now he was at the grill, guiding flames to just the right height while his nine children cavorted about playing football. Jesus, the eldest, dribbled the ball with his foot in a nearly professional fashion. Alberto sighed for the many high school games his naval career had caused him to miss.

Maria, his senior wife, brought out a heaping platter of chicken parts slathered in marinade, accompanied now by Señorita Kylia O'Reilly. Kylia had become something of a fixture at their house the last several months. Alberto wondered which of his wives would propose her for marriage. Perhaps she would be forward enough to propose to them? Modern women, Alberto grinned, shaking his head.

Kylia was eight years younger than Maria, five younger than Madonna, his junior wife. That she had never married before was a story of some embarrassment which she had haltingly shared with the Nunez family one night. Discussing it later, none of the Nunezes found it at all an impediment to continuing to see her.

Alberto was certain that Maria approved of Kylia, and that would make her inclusion certain. He fondly recalled the days when he was a young man of Guantanamo. He had met Maria in a trip to Havana, and courted her despite the long distance relationship. It was Maria who had convinced him to add his brother, Juan, to their marriage; it was she who introduced them to Madonna. He could not recall who invited Kylia to dinner the first time—she was, after all, one of his husband's political volunteers.

And that was another thing. Juan was active in local politics wherever the Navy had stationed Alberto, had never complained about moving for Alberto's career. They had all decided together that with the chief's retirement, the family would return to Guantanamo, and Juan had renewed his contacts in the political parties there. He had ambitions to be one of the Representatives from Cuba. And who could tell? Senator Castro would someday retire, and someone must fill his seat in the Confederacy's Senate.

Such thoughts always brought a smile to Alberto's face. If Kylia thought the smile was for her, no harm was done, since he had such smiles as well.

Wives to love, children to cherish, and a future to plan and build. What more could a man desire? Life is good.

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 13:15

Nancy glanced at the clock, something she did not intend to allow to become a habit. Hours left to go, anyway, until her 15:00 quitting time. There were plenty of invoices to prepare, manifests to examine until then. She glanced again.

Damn it. She was normally more patient than this. If she and Deborah hadn't had that fight the night before Deborah went to sea, she'd be her usual patient self. But they had, and then Deborah was gone. Nancy had time to think, and much to think about.

It was all the Dick's fault. That's was how they'd taken to referring to Richard, their ex-husband. Not Richard, not Dick—"the" Dick. He had been a real prick if anyone was. Abusive, domineering, critical of everything and everything. The Dick.

Deborah had always been strong enough to stand up to him, but Deborah's career meant that she wasn't always there. Nancy wasn't that strong, not then, and she was always there. She'd borne the brunt of the Dick's abuse, been his whipping post when he needed to take out his frustrations from work.

When Deborah was home, things were tolerable, occasionally even pleasant. Nancy loved Deborah for that, as much as she had when they'd married the Dick together after college. But Deborah had been in NROTC, and wanted a military career. Nancy became a shipping manager at the Marine Terminal. The Dick tried to start a business as a contractor.

The first few years were good, at least for Deborah and Nancy. The Dick's business had a rocky start, but he'd landed a military contract, something about producing desalting equipment or distilling units, something every ship needed. Nancy moved up. Deborah got her first promotion and assignment to submarines, which she loved. But the Dick's contract was in jeopardy, something about failure to perform to specifications, and he turned sour.

Never mind. The Dick was gone, and although the divorce could have severed all bonds, Nancy and Deborah had decided to remain wives together. Nancy had needed that, still needed it. She loved Deborah, and found in her the strength and courage to move on.

They'd dated men since the divorce. It was always someone Deborah suggested. They'd never dated anyone twice, and that was Nancy's fault. And it had come to a head, just before the deployment.

"Damn it, Nancy, you can't keep doing this."

"I don't mean to," she'd replied, knowing it was only half true. The incipient tears were real enough.

"This one was important to me. I really like him," Deborah said. "Even if it doesn't go anywhere, I can't afford to alienate him—we'll be seeing him socially from time to time, whether you like him or not!"

"I said I was sorry," she'd cried. She had been.

"Are you?" Deborah had asked. "After last night, he might not ask again. And I want him to."

On that note, Deborah had gone to the ship, and the ship had gone to sea.

Three weeks was more than enough time for Nancy to regret her behavior. She'd looked at herself, and realized that she'd been possessive and jealous. Their dates brought out hostility toward any potential future husband with whom she'd have to share Deborah.

But Deborah's happiness was as important to her as her own. If it would make Deborah happy, Nancy would learn to contain her fears, to deal with them without driving anyone away—especially Deborah.

She could call her on the phone to apologize. But no, that wasn't their way. They'd argued face to face; they'd make up that way as well.

Perhaps she'd go to the ship. Deborah didn't encourage visits when she had duty to perform, but knowing that she was home, but not home, was hard on Nancy.

She glanced at the clock.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Wardroom, 13:16

Lieutenant(lg) Deborah Hubbard thanked the duty Yeoman and perused the Guard Mail. She signed, dated and timed the receipt, and the Yeoman went about the business of logging and distributing the mail. None of it was of immediate concern to the duty section.

In fact, there was little to concern the duty section. In another twenty hours, the entire ship would be turned over to the Bureau of Shipbuilding. The ship was clean, defueled, and disarmed. As far as the War Department was concerned, The CSS R. E. Lee (Deborah was careful never to let the nickname "Areolee" escape her lips aloud) was no longer a combat asset.

Duty required that she see to her vessel, regardless. As the Captain's representative, she was responsible for the ship and all government property therein. She would make routine rounds to verify the continued integrity (water tightness) of the ship, for fire and security, and to maintain good order and discipline. She would carry out the Captain's standing and supplementary night orders, which tonight said only, "Continue preparations for turnover per SubShips Inst. 4790.4."

The only item of concern this evening was the stream of crew members in varying states of inebriation to finish removing personal effects to their homes or temporary quarters on base. So far, there had been no incidents (or none had been reported); it was a quiet duty day.

With so little of military discipline to occupy her, Deborah could allow her personal thoughts to intrude. She was in port, less than thirty miles from her home and hearth. Her wife would be at work, but Deborah had little doubt that when that civilian workday ended, she would shortly afterwards receive a phone call. They had parted angry; neither would let that go on a moment longer than necessary.

For her part, the anger was gone but the cause still needed to be addressed. Deborah understood her wife's insecurities, worked hard to build her self-confidence back to its pre-marriage levels. She blamed herself for leading Nancy into marrying the Dick. Were her judgment, her character skills, always so poor? He had seemed so loving, kind, so chivalrous. Still, she had forgiven herself that mistake and corrected it. Why couldn't Nancy do the same?

Nancy hadn't forgiven herself, or hadn't forgiven Deborah, and that was a problem. Deborah loved Nancy, loved having her in her arms, loved waking up by her side, but ... There's always a "but." Deborah craved the kind of male companionship a husband could provide. Nancy had, too, and would again with the right man.

Nancy never actively objected to dating; she displayed her objections on the dates, with passive-aggressive behavior or overt hostility toward the gentleman caller. The overt behavior had all but subsided until Deborah had accepted a date with a man whom she truly liked and hoped to see more of. It didn't help that the man was her commanding officer.

Deborah had dreaded serving three weeks at sea with Captain Lee in the aftermath of that date. But he had continued to be the personable, professional officer he had been before the date, no more and no less cordial.

Her own embarrassment about the date might have abated had she not been approached by some of the other female officers. The Captain was discretion incarnate—the details of their date might as well have been stamped top secret. Their inquisitiveness was how she had learned of the Captain's policy of not dating within his command—several had been politely turned down. They all wanted to know how she had changed his mind.

She honored his silence with her own, except to divulge that it was he who had asked her, and not the other way around. Even the Executive Officer had called Deborah to her stateroom to discuss it. As it turned out, the XO wanted no details, nor personal secrets. She only wanted to reiterate naval policy regarding not letting personal relationships affect performance or preference. The XO said she agreed with the Skipper's personal policy, but, "between us girls? He's one of the good ones. Sink your hooks in, and don't let go."

His behavior and attitude hadn't changed, but neither had he asked her and Nancy out again. When her leave started tomorrow, she planned to have a long talk with her wife. Then, perhaps, she could work up the nerve to ask him out herself.

None of which was pertinent to her duties of the moment, she reminded herself. She left the wardroom for a tour of the ship.

Base Exchange, 13:20

Bob was utterly fascinated at the way Tiffany ate her ice cream cone. So far, despite the warmth of the first week of May, not a single drop of the chocolaty confection had dripped below the rim of the cone. Tiffany was an expert, keeping the cone in motion, her tongue nearly always in contact. His own nephews would have been covered by now, hands and shirts, and likely knees or pants.

Minding Tiffany gave Samantha and Caroline time to hug, and cry, and do feminine things he'd long suspected his XO capable of (but never seen displayed.) She'd asked the due date and Bob could tell she was picturing their projected deployment schedule with concern.

Caroline went straight to the heart of the matter. "Will you be able to take leave when the time comes?"

Samantha hemmed and hawed, until Bob pointed out a quiet place by some trees and said, "Go over there and talk quietly. The spouses' grapevine knows our schedule as well as we do." Bob knew his exec would be reluctant to speak of specific dates. She was more security conscious than even he.

They did, and Bob could tell from the frustration and disappointment on Caroline's face what her answer was. Not that he'd expected anything else from his career-oriented First Officer. The due date would fall toward the end of a joint international exercise lasting eight weeks—far too long for Bob to excuse a crew member without replacement.

Caroline might argue that no one was indispensable, but Samantha would rightly argue that any replacement of a senior officer for that long a period would be permanent. After her absence, Samantha would be placed at another command, possibly still as an XO, but with an invisible mark next to her name. A command of her own would be much longer in arriving.

By the time they returned to the table, Tiffany's cone had accomplished what the scoop had not. Still without a drop on her sundress, Tiffany sported a chocolate smile twice as wide as her mouth, and sticky fingers held up and apart.

Caroline spat on a handkerchief and would have applied it had not Samantha harrumphed, and told Tiffany to go with her to the ladies'. Bob found himself alone with Caroline.

Bob watched them go. "She's a real cutie," he smiled.

"So's Tiffany," Caroline replied.

Bob turned to say he was talking about Tiffany, but the twinkling in Caroline's eyes told him he'd just been teased.

"I know all about your policy," she said. "For the record, Sam agrees with it and has embraced it as her own." Bob relaxed.

"Also for the record, Cap'n Bob," she continued, "I'm not a member of your crew, and I think you'd make a dandy addition to the family."

Startled only for a moment, Bob grinned back evilly. "Tell you what. I'll have Sam transferred so it won't be a problem, and we can see what develops."

Caroline blinked. "You wouldn't!" She watched Bob's face, concerned. Bob waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn't," she laughed, reassured.

"Caroline, I'm not oblivious to Samantha's charms," Bob soothed. "Nor yours," he added, touching her hand lightly. "I'm also not unmindful of the pressure Samantha feels to live up to her family name." He looked in the general direction Sam and Tiffy had taken. "She's more aware of the pressure than you or I. She'll be the youngest Submarine Commander and one of the youngest admirals if she keeps her present pace."

"So? Is ambition necessarily a bad thing?"

Bob shook his head. "Not necessarily. But will she take the time to carry on the family name, or will you provide all the Stuart-Forrests?"

Caroline didn't answer, a frown creasing her forehead.

"Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the children of a Stuart-Forrest-Lee union would suffer?"

"We're not putting any pressure on our kids!" Caroline was defensive.

"Of course not. The pressure comes from the expectations of others. Sam actually handles it quite well."

"Nat opted out completely. Went into business instead." The lioness defended her cubs.

Bob sighed. "You don't think he's driven to succeed in business? Nathan Bedford Forrest was one of our most famous tacticians. Everyone expects Nat to be a brilliant businessman, just like his great to the nth grandfather. Anything less is failure. Keep that in mind when Nat has a bad day."

"Fine," Caroline relented. "You've made your point." Still, she took Bob's hand. "Don't you think there is anyone out there for you, Bob?"

Bob laughed. "Yes, I do. Look, I've seen the stats from the 2000 Census. Average family, 2.4 husbands, 3.1 wives, 7.7 kids, a kennel of dogs and a passel of cats. I know I'm an anomaly, not even one spouse. That's pressure, too. But I have hopes."

Caroline perked up. "Do tell!"

"Can't. Too soon. Besides, I wouldn't want to cheat Sam out of a chance to play gossipy woman for a change."

"Ah, it's like that, is it?" Caroline said, laughing. "Policy made to be broken?"

"My lips are sealed."

University of Virginia, Norfolk Campus, 14:01

"Let's resume our review for the finals with a comparison not of the religions within our own national boundaries, but between our own and those of our brethren to the north." Professor Warfield ignored the collective groan. Comparative Religion 101 was an elective. Nobody forced these students to choose his class, but he saw to it that it wasn't the skate class they'd all hoped for.

He picked one of the Latter Day Saints from his seating chart. "Mister Grace, explain the difference, if any, between religious tolerance in the Confederate States and in the United States."

"Sir, at the constitutional level, both nations guarantee freedom of religion, and separation of church and state. But as practical application, the United States are tolerant only of certain Christian Religions, while the Confederate states make no laws restricting religious freedoms and practices."

"True in the broad sense, Mr. Grace, if somewhat overstated. The Confederate States do restrict some areas of religion with regard to human or animal sacrifice, and also in the matter of hallucinogens."

Mr. Grace nodded. "That's true, sir. But they don't, in the case of hallucinogens, prevent their use; they merely require that such substances be used in a manner in accord with civil law."

"And that is?"

"Use of a hallucinogen shall not be deemed an excuse for civil disorder or criminal behavior, since such use is at the discretion of the user. The United States prohibit any use of hallucinogens, euphoriants, or the like."

"Very good, Mister Grace. Strangely enough, you didn't point out one of the historical differences owed primarily to your own faith."

There was a chuckle throughout the class. "No, sir," he said, smiling. "Polygamy hasn't been an issue in the Confederate States for nearly a hundred years, since the Southern Baptist Convention of 1903 voted to allow it. Even the pope in Rome decreed a dispensation for American Catholics earlier than that."

"A dispensation which our brothers in the United States avail themselves not of." Another group chuckle, no doubt for the professor's dangling participle. "The Confederate States were no more tolerant of 'aberrant' marriage laws at the time of the War of Secession than the United States were, despite the presence of the Acadians in Louisiana. What we were more conscious of was the rights of states.

"The Law of Unforeseen Consequences was invoked. Having passed a law allowing polygamy—'the Confederate States shall make no law prohibiting polygamous marriage'—it should have been obvious that the practice would not be confined to the practitioners of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. There were a great many war widows who became brides of their husband's kin or their kin's husbands. Civil marriage stirred religious debate and found eventual acceptance."

Professor Warfield consulted his seating chart. "Miss Cushman, since Mister Grace mentioned the pope, can you elaborate on the differences between northern and southern American Catholics?"

"Sir, one of the differences is a matter of Orders. The vast majority of northern Catholics follow priests of one of the monastic orders that forbid marriage. They take vows of celibacy or chastity, and view plural marriage as a sinful state, even though the popes permit it. In my reading, I saw that the majority of priests in the north come from Irish or Northern European roots. They try to be more Catholic than the pope."

The professor joined in the laughter. Miss Cushman continued. "There were always some orders which permitted marriage, mostly in the eastern rite. The Greek Catholics had no problem with it, although plural marriage was less easily accepted. The great influx of Moslem and south-eastern European and Asian immigrants following the Great War felt quite at home."

"Quite true. As did a great many Jewish immigrants both from overseas and from the United States when they began to persecute their Jewish minorities. But we were speaking of Catholicism. Mister Schultz, please continue where Miss Cushman left off."

Professor Warfield glanced at the clock. Plenty of time left to get to the various Wiccan religions and the Tribal faiths of the American Aborigines. He returned his attention to Mister Schultz.

CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507, Mess Decks, 14:11

Deborah paused in the door to the crew's mess. One of her weaponeers was good-naturedly joking with one of the "nukes" from the engineering department. She listened and watched.

"Ever seen a Nuke wind-up toy, Roy?" asked TM1/SS (Torpedo Mech First Class/Submarine Qualified) Douglas Whalen.

"No," replied MK2 (Mechanical Technician Second Class) Roy Ingalls. "I suppose you'll show me?"

Grinning, Doug extended his right hand, fingers together and thumb up, setting the edge on the table. He wrapped his left fist around the thumb and made "winding" motions clockwise, repeating six times. Then he used his left index finger to "push" the thumb down to meet the fingers.

Immediately, he flopped his right hand back and forth on the table top, palm down to palm up, beginning rapidly and then slowing down.

Laughter erupted all around Doug, including from Roy. Deborah smiled, knowing that the joke would be repeated all over the ship before the next duty section arrived. She hoped she could show it to the Chief Engineer and his assistants before they got it from someone else.

She resumed her tour of the ship.

Portsmouth Marine Terminal Offices, 14:45

Nancy glanced at the clock, thinking she might as well make a day of it. She wasn't getting anything productive done, anyway; hadn't the past hour.

Her intercom buzzed. She answered, "Yes, Amy?"

"I have Robert E. Lee on line one, ma'am," her secretary said crisply. Will you take the call, or shall I give your regrets?"

Nancy's face lit up. "I've got it, Amy!" She depressed the numbered button on her phone. "Deborah, I'm so glad you called! I've wanted to apologize for screwing up the date with that guy you like so much for three weeks and I'm sorry and if he asks again you can say yes for us and I'm so sorry forgive me pl...

A masculine voice interrupted with, "Thank you, Nancy! Would you like the details of the date you just accepted?"

Nancy froze.

After an extended silence, Bob said, "Nancy? Are you still there?"

Nancy managed to squeak out, "My secretary said it was Robert E. Lee, and I thought ... I thought..."

Bob's laughter was soft, somehow, rather than the nasty snickers she halfway expected. The Dick would have teased her unmercifully. He said, "It's my fault. I should have given my name as Bob Lee. Please don't be angry with your secretary."

He was apologizing? He was asking her not to blame Amy for her own error, and for making a fool of herself? He was apologizing? To her?

"Nancy?

"Mrs. Hubbard? Will you please forgive me?" His tone was almost pleading.

Nancy managed to find her voice, "Of course." She coughed. "Of course, no harm was meant, no need to apologize. It was my assumptions that caused the misunderstanding." She calmed down, though her heart was still pounding. "Why were you ... How may I help you, C-Captain."

"Mrs. Hubbard ... may I call you Nancy?" She assented. "Nancy, would you do me the honor of dining with me aboard my ship this evening? I realize this is short notice, and despite your impassioned opening speech, you might wish more time to consider, but nothing would please me more than if you accept."

Nancy's mind was reeling. What had she said? Oh Lord, she had said it to him. She had said it to him. She tried to recover. "H-have you asked Deborah?"

"No, ma'am. I will if you wish, but given your opinion that I am 'that guy she likes so much', might we let that be a surprise?"