“Oh, God!” gasped Chief Francis Sharkey. His voice was lost in the screams of his shipmates as he watched in horror as the incoming missile arced in low and fast..
His captain’s voice cut through the din, “Dive, Chip, Dive!!!”
Sharkey saw the Exec plunge forward in a death defying dive in a heroic attempt to reach the bomb that would destroy all of their hopes. As impossible as it seemed, Mr. Morton made it! With the bare tips of his fingers, he prevented the enemies’ projectile from ever reaching the deck. Still sliding, he lobbed it high into the air, where Captain Crane spiked it viciously down on the startled head of his foe. The bomb, a volleyball, went flying out of bounds.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Sharkey capered around while his crewmates groaned in disgust. Sharkey was amazed that after all these years, all these company picnics, his knuckleheaded friends would still bet against Crane and Morton. Every year it was the same thing, a round robin two man volleyball tournament with the top two teams winning the opportunity to play the reigning Champs. Every year, half the crew would sign up scrambling for the chance to whup the Seaview’s top officers. Every year, the crew teams would go down in bloody defeat. Yet still, most of the money that Sharkey was holding had been bet on the crew. This year was different, though, because Sharkey had finally wised up and put his money squarely on Crane and Morton.
Now, as Learner and Warner limped off the court to lick their wounds, and Kowalski and Riley took their place, Sharkey felt his elation freeze in his throat. Mr. Morton was still lying in the sand. He’d rolled over onto his back, thrown his arm across his eyes, and was lying gasping for breath. Captain Crane had crouched down beside him, talking to him in a low voice. Sharkey frowned. The last thing anyone wanted was for Mr. Morton to be hurt, especially with the upcoming research trip. As he watched in silence, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Chief. He’s faking it.” declared Patterson, skepticism plain on his face. Several nearby crewmen shifted uncomfortably away, eyes still on the drama unfolding on the court. Doc Jamieson had arrived and was crouching on the Exec’s other side, effectively cutting off the view of all the spectators. The people on the sidelines grew restive, as the Exec’s distress did not abate.
“No, I don’t think so, Pat,” replied Sharkey.
. One of the newer members of the crew called out, “Hey Chief, it looks like they’re gonna forfeit. How about giving me my winnings?"
Sharkey spun around and speared the crewman with a glare. “What the heck are you talking about? Mr. Morton will be fine, you just watch.” Sharkey sent a silent prayer up to heaven. Time stretched out, and still the Exec lay there. When Doc’s assistants approached, Doc waved them off, but Morton still wasn’t moving. Sharkey was becoming seriously concerned, when a quiet voice at his shoulder said, “Chief?” Sharkey tore his eyes from the Exec’s still form, and turned to see Admiral Nelson standing there.
“Sir?”
“Chief, I understand you’ve been running a betting pool on this game.”
“Uh, well Sir, um......Well you see, Sir, I........”
“Relax, Francis. I simply came over to place a bet. I feel it’s important that I support Captain Crane and Cmdr. Morton. Now, how much ?”
“Uh, well Sir, it’s five dollars. Are you sure, Sir?”
“Of course I’m sure!” The Admiral handed over a five dollar bill. Then pausing in thought asked, “Chief, did Crane or Morton bet? No? Well, here take this ten dollars and put them down.”
“Okay, Sir, sure. You really think Mr. Morton’s going to be able to play?”
Admiral Nelson gazed out over the volleyball court, where at last Cmdr. Morton was sitting up, albeit with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. His worried face belied his hearty response, “Of course he will, Chief. He’s tough, he’ll be okay.”
The Captain and Doc were still crouched low, solicitous hands supporting the obviously exhausted man, when Lt. O’Brien called out from the sidelines, “Hey, Mr. Morton, if you stay in the game, I’ll take your turn at the barbecue! Okay?”
Morton glanced wearily at the lieutenant, and nodded weakly. Crane looked over and asked, “What about me, Bob? Who’s going to take MY turn?”
“I’ll do it, Sir” piped up Sparks.
“Good man!” the Captain nodded thoughtfully. His gaze scanned the spectators, until he spotted Admiral Nelson. “Admiral, is the bet down?”
“Yes, Lee.”
“Okay, Chip, break’s over!” Captain Crane popped up like a jack-in-the-box, and extending a hand, pulled Morton to his feet. With a high five, they both turned identical predatory grins on their opponents across the net. Laughing, Doc left the court, and throwing a pitying look at O’Brien and Sparks, said, “You two never had a chance.”
Chief Sharkey grinned, shaking his head in amazement. Kowalski and Riley had about as much chance as mackerel in a shark tank. He turned away, leaving the court. The outcome was pre-ordained. When would they learn?