Nelson had often read about mind control. Eventually he decided his unusual talents were akin to yoga, that age-old method of relieving tension and stretching one’s mental capacity. He said nothing about it to anyone because he knew Navy doctors, especially those who constantly evaluated the captains of boomers, might determine he was unstable.
He found time to read only when he was at sea. It was a method of confronting that final stage of physical exhaustion that prevents one from sleeping. It was also an opportunity to absorb the fantasies of an author’s mind while relaxing his own. The concept of man’s limitless mental capacity especially appealed to him. It drew him back to memories of his childhood, to those special times after he was tucked into bed and the lights were turned out. There were moments when he was consciously aware of that netherworld between wakefulness and sleep, when his mind was somnolent — yet alert. He could withdraw to an imaginary world where he was sure he was capable of far greater understanding of the universe around him. It was a game for a child with a brilliant mind like Buck Nelson’s, one to be cherished and kept to himself.
As he grew older and immersed himself in the things that most normal boys do, this unique talent gradually receded into his subconscious. It was a lost ability until he found himself on those long, lonely patrols at sea. At first he experimented with once again projecting his mind, and teamed that he couldn’t force himself to achieve the same experience. But eventually, once he decided it was a matter of self-discipline, it returned to him. It was mind expanding and harmless and Buck Nelson found that he was gaining an improved understanding of himself in relation to the submarines he loved so much.
When he took command of Florida, the responsibility was mind boggling. The ship was so huge — at 560 feet, longer than the Washington Monument, four decks deep, close to nineteen thousand tons submerged — that he at first had trouble conceiving of himself as an integral, operating unit of that vessel along with one hundred sixty other men — yet totally in command. It became necessary to withdraw mentally in order to enlarge his understanding of his ship.
As he lay in his bunk one night, too tired to sleep, he remembered standing under the giant hoop constructed outside the Submarine Force Museum in Groton. Its purpose was to provide a graphic display of the circumference of the Ohio-class Trident submarine, yet it was also a symbol to Buck Nelson of the creative power of man’s mind in relation to his physical size.
With that impression in his mind one exhausted night, Buck Nelson closed his eyes and projected himself into the epicenter of Florida. He was floating — or rather, his mind was — through his submarine. Now he was able to comprehend what it had taken so many hundreds of marine designers so many years to build. He saw how each of her thousands of complex components became a whole, a vast ship capable of providing a deterrent that likely was saving man from himself. Florida became an integral part of Buck Nelson.
While the Navy provided highly skilled individuals to operate this technical marvel, Buck Nelson understood Florida completely in a period of time he could not measure. If his brain had been capable of controlling the vital machines and electronic suites that made the submarine what she was, there would have been no further need for the other one hundred fifty-nine men. His mind was in each of the spaces throughout the ship at the same time. He could have handled her as easily as a pilot wheeling a jet fighter toward an enemy at supersonic speeds.
It was seemingly an out-of-body experience when he considered his enhanced understanding of Florida. He desperately wished he could somehow convey these powers, even transfer them to other commanding officers, for he was sure it might someday save their lives. But Buck Nelson was also a rational man, and he could imagine the field day the Navy shrinks would have if he so much as uttered a word about his oneness with his complex and powerful submarine.
He was stretched out on his bunk, the lights out in his stateroom, once again attempting to project himself within Florida, when the phone buzzed on the bulkhead. “Captain here.”
“Captain, this is Mr. Sones.” The OOD’s voice was soft and calm in his ear. “No problems in control. Sonar has an intermittent contact they thought you should know about. Appears to be manmade, probably not a surface contact.”
“Have they contacted Mr. Mundy yet?” The sonar officer loved these games.
“Yes, sir. He’s on his way.”
“Do we have a convergence zone that would allow us to hear something from another submarine op area?”
“The chief says anything’s possible, Captain. But he doubts there’s anything that could be one of ours unless it’s time to rewrite the laws of physics.”
That would be Chief Delaney’s response. He could be expected to qualify every answer with a word game. “Very well. I’ll be there in a few moments. Please inform the XO, too.”
Nelson flipped on the light switch over his head and blinked at the sudden brightness. Then he made a fist and rubbed his eyes. There was still sleep in them, and he could sense his muscles lagging behind the messages the brain was sending as he swung his feet out of the bunk and stood up. Cold water was the answer. He ran a sinkful, tested it with a finger and found what he already knew — the water produced by a submarine was never ice cold — but it would still wake him up.
After rubbing his face with a rough towel, he pulled night goggles over his eyes to accustom them to the dimmer light in the control room and sonar. Peering in the mirror, he decided to run a comb through his thin hair, then smoothed his mustache with his fingers. A clean shirt and freshly pressed trousers helped to give him a more commanding appearance, but he knew it was the captain’s eagles on his collar and not a rough and ready appearance that made the difference. What the hell, Captain, he said to himself, looks don’t make the man. Then he smiled at his image — but silver eagles sure do!
There was a comforting sensation, almost one of self-satisfaction, as Nelson moved toward the control room. He knew innately that he was perceiving the entirety of Florida — they were a part of each other — as she continued her tedious mission.
It was equally important that he sense Florida’s position in her sector, just as he understood his own within the giant vessel. The picture formed in his mind was similar to holographic imagery. Now he could withdraw to a position where he could see Florida in relation to her sector, yet he was also an integral part of that picture. A complete grasp of everything was critical to relating to this unidentified sound that sonar had isolated.
“Good morning, Jeffrey … or good evening, or whatever the hell it is,” Nelson said to the OOD as he entered control. “I never looked at my watch,” he added, glancing at his wrist. It was easy to lose the sensation of day and night after an extended period under the surface. When one’s existence was based on six-hour watch sections separated in time by sleep or paperwork, light and dark had no bearing on the system.
“Morning, Captain. Still dark on the surface, but they tell me the sun’s going to take another turn shortly,” Lieutenant Sones answered pleasantly.
“Where are we this fine morning, Jeff?” Nelson moved around the periscopes to the chart table toward the rear of the control room. “Someplace new and exciting?”