When First We Practice To Deceive

Having received grief on another site, I wish to take this opportunity to say this story was INSPIRED BY RichardGerald's "Another Love". The set up to each is similar but as you will see, my PLOT walks into a whole other realm. No text was copied nor characters reused. I do not want to get into a pissing contest but if we say you can't do that because someone else did something like that first, then we are lost. How many stories have we seen that begin, "I came home early from a trip and saw a strange car in the driveway?" or "My wife was a virgin when she married me and was curious about other men?" When you start down the road of that kind of censorship, you are insisting that we find them ALL examples and erase EVERYTHING written on the subject except the first of each style. With that said... Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!" OMG I did it again... I STOLE a line from William Shakespeare, oh my God I will burn in hell for all eternity.

+++++++

Joe Price sat at his desk and for the third time in a row tried to lift his coffee mug without spilling. The shaking of his right hand was almost unnoticeable until he had to grip the mug's handle, then it was as if his mug had a vibrator attached. The coffee started to slosh around in the mug and once again threatened to come over the rim. With a clatter and a sigh, he put the mug back onto the now wet surface of his desk and sat back into his chair.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. All that did was bring the memories back, like an old-style movie; sort of jerky, no color and with the sound out of sync.

+++

"... Congratulations!" came the voice over the loudspeaker as the crowd broke into cheers and applause.

Joseph A. Price, LT(jg) stood at attention. He was now a fully qualified Engineering Duty Officer, an EDO, who was on his way to becoming Commander Philadelphia Ship Yard; at least at the end of the next twenty years. In the old days that slot would have carried the title of Shipwright but as with a lot of things in the Navy, traditions were lost along with old technologies. At his young age, Joe was the last EDO to qualify on steam, the next in precedence qualified on Jet Turbine. To Joe's thinking a major step backward in reliability but who was asking his opinion anyway.

+++

His Lieutenant at Sea Duty tour was slotted for PHIBRON SIX embarked upon USS Saipan. He was assigned as the PHIBRON N4 (Logistics) but due to his 1440 Designator, he was being seconded to Saipan's Engineering Department. Flying in the face of the perverse US Navy naming conventions, the ship's Engineering Department actually operated the ship's engines; in this case the two 600psi steam boiler / geared turbine sets that produced over 60,000 shaft horse power to propel the hull through the water. But in staying with tradition, the Boiler Tenders, the men and now women that stood watch and operated the demons known as boilers, were called the "Black Gang." Not as a racist label but in acknowledgement to the old days when coal was king and everything, including the men, were ingrained with coal dust and soot. It was one of Joe's proudest moments when the Department Chief asked if he wanted to "walk the tank." This was Joe's rite of passage and meant he was truly accepted by the "gang." One of the deep well tanks of Bunker-C fuel oil was allowed to cool from its normal 200+F temperature to ambient. The oil assumed the texture of a tar roof in summer; you could walk on it, but if you stopped, you would sink. Joe entered the tank by climbing down one of the entry-well inspection ladders, walked across the surface of the oil, a distance of about sixty feet, and climbed out of the tank using a Jacob's Ladder hanging down from the emergency inspection port. The entire evolution took place in a matter of minutes, but between the fumes, the lack of oxygen and the absence of a safety harness / rope it seemed to Joe that it was a journey of forever. Having performed the feat, Joe was now accepted as a peer, an equal within the brotherhood of the "Black Gang". The fact that as an Officer it was almost unheard of to be invited made his acceptance even sweeter.

+++

"At sea underway replenishment" or unrep in Navy jargon. A few simple words to describe one of the most dangerous and at the same time tedious evolutions ever practiced by the US Navy. Imagine, two or sometimes three vessels, each weighing tens of thousands of tons, running parallel to each other, a few dozen yards apart. Now imagine massive fuel lines stretching between one vessel and the next. Add to this, breeches buoy lines moving cargo and dry goods from the deck of one ship to the next. This organized chaos is underway replenishment.

Joe Price was standing as Deck Safety Officer during an underway replenishment evolution. Saipan was transferring jet fuel to USS Arleigh Burke. Normally, Burke would perform this function with one of the fleets AOE ships. It seemed however that the powers that be wanted to watch the fun of Saipan doing the work. As things were progressing smoothly, there wasn't much for Joe to do, except be vigilant and to sense the things going on around him. It took about an hour for Joe's subconscious to bring to his conscious mind something that he had been sensing all morning; Saipan was straining. Her normal vibration was off. As she had come up to speed for the unrep she seemed to stagger and strain. There was no easy way to explain what Joe was feeling through the soles of his shoes. She just was not right!

+++

After the hot wash-up following the evolution, Price went down into Engine 1 before going back to his quarters for a shower. Looking around he saw where the duty section was clustered at the Steam Turbine Control Valve Station, traditionally known as the Steam Chest from days gone by, and walked over to Petty Officer Smith where she stood with her arms halfway inside one of the many outboard panels. "Hey, Smith," he shouted to get her attention, "You need to look at the counter-balance valve on the Reversing Blades. It stutters when you're ramping up the Forward set and you are losing power with the backpressure. I think the seat is shot and needs to be replaced.

"OK, Sir, I will give it a look-see just as soon as I get this Tacho sender replaced."

With a grin and an "Okey dokey," Price walked away from the sailor and took off for the Hollywood shower waiting for him up in Officers' Berthing.

Later that night, Machinist Mate, First Class (MM1) Amanda Smith stood there shaking her head. How the fuck Mr. Price guessed the problem with the valve was beyond her. The rumors in the Division were that Mr. Price had some sort of voodoo hoodoo going on when it came to the steam plant. They say he could walk past a gaping hole in the hull and not notice it but if a boiler or turbine had even a little something off, he would fuss about it until the problem was resolved.

+++

He heard the 1MC calling for the Flight Deck to be cleared, an F18C Hornet "plastic bug" was coming in with damage. It had been recommended to the pilot to ditch but he was determined to save his ship. Joe left his office on 3 Deck and quickly went up the outside ladder-way to the Flight Deck. Joe watched the F18 on final approach; it was coming in low, trailing smoke and it looked like the portside engine was on fire. The firefighting team was assembled and crouching down in the 'pit', waiting to be called but hoping they would not be needed.

The F18 missed the first two wires but the tail hook bit onto the third and the bug hit the deck hard. Suddenly, the fuselage broke and burning fuel along with pieces of the jet were flung everywhere. Joe heard screams as a piece of the port wing along with a large amount of burning jet fuel, landed on the firefighting team hunkering down in the 'pit'. At the same time, Joe saw the cockpit with the pilot still inside had skittered across the steel deck and come to a stop almost right in front of him. He ignored the flames as he jumped up and pulled the Emergency Trip on the fuselage under the canopy.

+++

Joe woke up disoriented and hurting. It took him some time to realize he was in Sickbay. His return to consciousness was noticed and a Corpsman was at his side asking the usual bullshit and making notes. The Corpsman adjusted the morphine drip going into Joe's IV and he drifted off to sleepy time again.

+++++++

"Mr. Price," his secretary Joan Wentworth said, "Mr. Price, a delivery is here for you and he requires a signature."

Joe stood up.; at least the shakes didn't affect his walking. As he left his office and entered that of his secretary, he paused for a moment to touch the ragged, burnt piece of metal affixed to his "Me" wall. It was a habit, but one that gave him a modicum of peace. His eyes scanned the other, familiar, things on the wall; his "Shellback" certificate, his sidearm sword, the photographs of the PIBRON Staff and the entire "Black Gang" on the Saipan, signed by every single one, from unrated Seaman to Master Chief Boiler Technician (MCBT) Humphries and many more exhibits from his past life. The photo from Saipan was both his most cherished memento as well as the one that brought back the shakes the fastest. It was a "get well" card from the time he was in Sickbay after the fire. The Captain himself brought it in and presented it to him, along with the Navy Commendation and Purple Heart, just before he was sent off to Bethesda for further surgeries and rehabilitation.

Joe shook his head to clear his mind and continued out into his outer office. Joan was standing by the outer door with a youngish man who was holding one of those metal clipboard boxes that seemed to be standard issue to all couriers.

"J. Price?" the man asked as he pushed the clip-box forward to Joe, "Please sign on line four."

"What am I signing for?" Joe asked as he absentmindedly took the proffered device.

"I'm not sure," the deliveryman said, "All I know is I have had one hell of a time getting this delivered today. It has put me a couple of hours behind already."

"How so?" Joe asked as he signed his name on the line indicated, "I've been in this office at this plant for years."

"Well, the original shipping document said it was to go to J. Price at 352 Eagle Street in Albany but when I got there it was a parking lot. I had to call my dispatcher and wasted a lot of time before we found you were over here on Eagle Street in Schenectady. Believe me, driving across both cities, against the lunch crowd traffic, was no picnic!" said the deliveryman as he took back his clip-box and turned out into the hall.

He appeared a moment latter pushing a dolly which carried a medium sized wood crate. The crate looked like something out of one of those "Indiana Jones" movies; old style boards and slats all nailed together.

"Where do you want it?" asked the man, clearly in a hurry now to get back to his scheduled deliveries.

"Put it in my office, if you don't mind," Joe said. He followed behind and indicated a spot off to one side of his desk.

"Thanks, and I'm sorry for your trouble," Joe said.

+++++++

Opening the crate took more than a few minutes; it was extremely well constructed. Finally getting the lid off, Joe was able to see the contents; three objects wrapped in bubble plastic were nestled inside the wood sides and the voids were filled with plastic peanuts. Pulling the three objects out one at a time, Joe found a manila envelope between the second and third object.

Assuming the envelope contained a shipping manifest, Joe looked at it first. The mystery of the crate was solved as he saw his wife's name, Jennifer, printed on the outside. Now the address the deliveryman mentioned came back to him! It was his wife's old studio address. She was a painter and had rented space in the older storefront for a few years after they had been married; using it as her studio and gallery space. She was known for her watercolors on both a local and national level. She was a much sought-after person for portraits, especially of children for the upper class, hoity toity set. In fact, for quite a number of years after he retired from the Navy, she maintained her practice and would travel several times a year for a week or more to locations around the country. When their daughter, Isabel, was younger, Jen would take her along for company. It was an ideal bonding for the two and Joe always enjoyed the "return home" sex he and Jen had at the end of the assignments.

Being more than slightly embarrassed, he realized that he was already in for a penny and would have to take his lumps for opening his wife's shipment, so he figured he might as well be in for a pound by examining the contents more closely.

Getting the bubble wrap off the first picture was easy after he found the taped end of the wrap. Once it was off, he found he was holding a very elegant wood frame and was looking at the back! Flipping it over he discovered the frame held a large format photograph of a young woman wearing a wedding dress. She was holding a floral bouquet up to her face while looking at the camera. Her beauty was evident and the lighting and framing were perfect. The photograph had been printed in sepia with a soft filter. It was breath taking. Joe's eyes went up to his desk where in a smaller frame, its twin, only this time in full color, sat in its place of honor on his desk. This picture of his bride, his Jennifer had traveled with him since the day of their wedding. He smiled as he remembered; the photograph had been sent by his shipmates to Bethesda a few days after he got there. It was always within his sight and was his anchor against the physical and emotional pain that ensued over the months he was in rehab. Pulling his mind back to the present, he saw the brass plate attached to the bottom of the frame said "Bride."

Unwrapping the second photograph revealed a similarly framed sepia picture only this one of his wife sitting holding an infant with an older child standing next to her. She was wearing a light flowing dress, the sunlight was coming in through the windows of the sunroom of his house, lighting her from behind, making the dress gauzy and almost transparent; ethereal as it were. The boy, obviously his son Robert, was looking at the camera with a happy smile on his face. He was relaxed and you could see the laughter and even a little mischief in his eyes as he stood beside his Mom and younger sibling. The infant would have to be his daughter Isabel. This picture would have been taken in the spring after Izzy's birth. She would have been only five or six months old and Robert would have been just five years old himself. This frame too had a brass plate only this one said "Mother." Joe, looking at the photograph, wondered why he had never seen it before. It was beautiful! From the age of the children, he knew it would have to have been taken during his last deployment and that it was clearly not a 'snap shot' but rather a formal sitting for a professional photographer. He knew he had never seen this before and wondered why if Jen had gone to such trouble she had not shared it with him.

The third photograph was soon unwrapped. This sepia picture was again of his wife, only this time she was naked! She was standing at the foot of their bed, the bedclothes rumpled and disheveled; obviously she had just arisen. One hand was holding the bedpost and the other was extended, pleading to the camera to come back to her. Her face, radiant with a smile; one side of her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. The entire scene screamed here was a woman freshly fucked and trying to lure her lover back to her bed. This frame's plate said "Lover." The frame almost slipped from his deadened fingers.

Joe's PTSD was getting the better of him. His hands were shaking so badly he had to put the final picture down before he dropped it. His head was swimming and the next he knew, he was coming to lying on the floor.

Reaching for the envelope he ripped it open. Inside were several pieces of paper, one which looked like a manifest, one that looked like a title document (it even said title on the top) and the last was simply a letter. Picking up the letter first, Joe was resolved to discover the mystery of the crate. With trembling hands, Joe picked up the letter and began reading...

+++++++

My Dearest Jennifer,

It was with great sadness that I informed you of Carlos' passing away last week. As I explained to you over the phone, his passing was quick and I am told painless. The massive aneurism took our beloved from us in a few moments. I am looking forward to seeing you all next week for the funeral. I understand if Robert will not come, but I am truly looking forward to seeing our Izzy again. She is growing up so fast. She has your hair and Carlos' eyes. I just wish you lived closer and were able to get away more often so that Izzy could spend more time with her "Other Mother" and the rest of our family here in Terrebonne.

I am sending the photographs Carlos' set aside for you in his will. The series was always proudly displayed in our home. Carlos and I missed the times gone by when we were all together here. Robert was happier then, before he began to grow up and seemed to withdraw from us.

All my love,

Morgana

+++++++

Who the fuck was Morgana and what was this about Izzy? Joe thought. He remembered he was deployed on the Saipan to the Med for the Bosnian Conflict when Jen managed a radio relay lash-up to tell him he was to be a father again. Jen had been so happy, so excited when she gave him the good news. She said it had to have been the last night of his pre-deployment leave, just over two months prior, when she had caught the silver bullet. He was ecstatic. Jen wrote every week and sent him "progress photos" as her tummy grew with the life they had created together. He remembered the heart stopping panic that hit him when he got the radio message sent from the Navy's Family Crisis Center saying that Jennifer's water had broken and Izzy had been born five weeks early. Using emergency family medical leave, he was able to get nine days to return home to be with her. He was so distracted that he simply accepted the story the Carrier Battle Group CAG gave him about putting him on a Tomcat that needed to go to Naples for maintenance rather than on the usual COD flight. He was happy the change would save him almost four hours. It actually saved him more than that because as soon as his pilot got airborne, he climbed to 30,000 feet and pushed the 'cat up past 700knots. In Naples, he found that a MATS flight was being held so that he could get on it for a direct flight to Rome Airforce Base just north east of his home in Saratoga, NY.

He was given one of the base's cars as soon as he disembarked the C5A Galaxy and was driving to Tri City Medical Center, between Troy and Schenectady, within an hour of landing. When he got to the hospital he was surprised to find that both Jen and Izzy had been released earlier that day and were most likely at his home. He had thought a 5-week preemie would need to stay in the hospital longer than a few days. He begged a nurse to let him use a phone to call his wife. She smiled a kindly smile and pointed to a desk set behind the Nurses' Station. Joe quickly called his house and was overjoyed when Jen answered. "Honey! It's me. I'm at the hospital but seem to have missed you," he said, "I'll be home in about 40 minutes!"

"Joe? Hospital?" Jen croaked, her voice sounded like she had just woken up and was distracted.

"Yes, babe," Joe responded, "I got family leave and came home to be with you and Izzy."

"Your home? In Saratoga?" Jen questioned again.