In last week’s episode, the St. Paul rendezvoused with the freighter Galeka in the port at Gran Canaria. In this week’s episode, the enemy prepares to strike again…
By the time David returned to the St. Paul, the extra fuel tank had been dismantled and stowed, and they discovered some minor damage to a tailfin. a guy wire had been torn out when the St. Paul’s tailfin impacted with a wave at 120 knots. Fortunately, the damage was easily repaired. The team that Ranell had flown in was still on-site, conducting some additional inspections to ensure the airship was in serviceable condition. Also, a large crane had set a shipping container box from the Galeka onto the nearby gravel pad, and one of the numerous cargo handling service companies busily prepared a forklift to transfer pallets of BarrelSafe Shelter tents into the airship’s hold.
“This is my area of special expertise,” Ranell said, pointing to the cargo bay of the St. Paul. “I’d better get in there and supervise. Mr. Wilson, would you be so kind as to stow all the fresh produce we picked up in the galley?”
“Sure thing, Doc.” David was happy to finally be out of the tiny pickup truck that drove so recklessly through the city streets.
Ranell paid the driver who helped David lug the bags of groceries up the ramp of the St. Paul and forward into the galley. They had to make several trips. David’s plan was to just get the bags into the galley and then get out of the way of the forklift drivers and other personnel who were now securing tall pallets of BarrelSafe disaster relief tents to the mounting rings on the St. Paul’s aluminum deck and ratcheting them tightly in place. It was getting crowded inside, and he estimated that once the groceries were aboard, he could sort them and stow them out of the way in the galley.
On David’s last trip inside, while concentrating so that one of the bags he was carrying would not rip, he bumped into one of the cargo handlers heading the other direction.
“Sorry,” David said. Fortunately, the bag did not rip open and spill its contents.
“Lo siento,” came Carlos Cubillo’s mumbled apology.
David might have noticed Cubillo, who was trying to leave the St. Paul as inconspicuously as possible, except that Lieutenant Singh was waiting for him in the galley, hands on hips and anger flashing in his eyes.
“Where have you been?” Singh demanded.
“I’ve been with the Doc getting supplies” David replied innocuously.
“While you were off sight-seeing, I’ve been missing valuable hours in flight prep doing your work back here!” Singh looked livid.
Because of Singh’s outburst, David didn’t notice the way Cubillo whirled around to find the source of the sharp exchange.
“Doc told me to get in the pickup…” David said.
Don’t waste your breath, Lieutenant Rodriguez counseled. He’s not listening. Just when you begin to think they’re OK, they turn on you again.
Aside from the few precious moments of silence David had experienced back in the ship’s galley, the voice of Lieutenant Rodriguez continued to haunt him. But as expected, David found that, when he concentrated on his work, the voice was manageable, although sometimes he still had trouble distinguishing the LT’s voice from his own thoughts.
Bite your tongue, David thought. Just take it and get back to work. If you don’t work, you don’t live. David found strength in that thought. When put in perspective against madness and death, the lieutenant’s unwarranted scolding seemed easier to endure.
David stood rigid and silent while Lieutenant Singh continued to berate him. Neither man noticed the saboteur slip away from the doomed airship to contact Hétóng Rén and inform him that that mission was now complete.
David stopped trying to explain that Ranell had asked him to accompany him into town. He’s not listening to you, David. They never do. He just kept his mouth shut.
This petty tyrant abuses his position authority by belittling me. David was relieved when Singh finally returned to the flight deck. I’m sure not looking forward to the rest of this trip with him around.
David’s feeling was the exact opposite of Cubillo’s, who was very much looking forward to receiving the second installment of his cryptocurrency payment.
Father, this is wrong.
Unseen by any human aboard, Abdiel observed the activity from his vantage point at the forward end of the St. Paul’s cargo hold. He’d watched Cubillo slip through an access hatch that led down towards the electronics control station.
Abdiel observed him remove the incendiary device from his jacket and place it carefully behind the fuel juncture that enabled the pilots to transfer fuel between the six different tanks that helped trim the craft. The device was small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, but the explosive force was sufficient to rupture the fuel lines and set the St. Paul ablaze, and the pressure-sensitive fuse would ensure that it detonated when the airship reached cruising altitude far out to sea.
Abdiel studied the bomb for a long time. He was accustomed to the violent fusion reactions that fueled the great stars and warmed entire solar systems, so this tiny delicate device perplexed him. Why had Cubillo placed it here? Abdiel could see the atomic structure of the various elements that comprised the crude explosive.
He could imagine in great detail what the effects and consequences would be when the reduction in air pressure caused the fuse to send the electrical charge to the blasting cap. He visualized shock waves and pressure waves shattering the fuel lines and the incendiary material igniting the fuel. He mentally mapped the routes of damage that would occur to the St. Paul when the superheated fluid transformed into burning plasma beneath her decks. He imagined the searing pain in the bodies of the five beloved souls he was assigned to look after, and he visualized them plummeting into the sea. Abdiel was wroth with Cubillo.
What is your will, Father? Abdiel asked, Shall I disable this?
No, God replied, the device will explode.
Abdiel accepted this judgment with sadness. The St. Paul would be destroyed.
God knew Abdiel’s thoughts. Do not be downcast, He said. The ship will not be destroyed. I have plans that you do not know.
Relief flooded through Abdiel, and with a smile he asked, what shall I do?
God only answered, Wait for the right moment.
Normally, the whine of the turbines inflating the ACLS pads caused David’s heart to race with excitement. Today, however, so soon after his confrontation with Singh, all David could feel was the bitter resentment he felt towards the navigator. He stood for a while, one hand braced against the sill of a large window in the main cabin. He watched the revelers in their boats celebrating the St. Paul’s departure with blaring horns, cheers, and the joyous clamor of rhythmic Latin music.
As the St. Paul lifted off in stately majesty, David longed to feel that same kind of joy. Instead, he glanced towards the cockpit to find Singh staring back at him with an odd expression. I’d love to slap that smirk off his face.
Rather than risk another confrontation, David elected to return to the galley.
That’s right, David. Go slink back to your hole.
He busied himself with meal preparation, but the tasks were complete too soon for David’s liking. The St. Paul was miles out to sea when David started wiping down the galley a second time. Ranell asked him what was wrong, but David only mumbled an evasive reply. He didn’t want to talk about it.
Concern was evident on Ranell’s face. “Did you have another argument with Lieutenant Singh?”
David still didn’t answer, but the glare on his face confirmed Ranell’s suspicions.
“What was it about?”
David stopped cleaning. He kept his head down, looking at nothing. “He was upset that I went into town. He said he had to do my work.”
“Didn’t you tell him you were with me?”
“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“So, you bottled it up and said nothing.” It wasn’t a question. Ranell was making an observation.
Head still down, David resumed angrily cleaning the countertops.
Ranell pursed his lips. “Maybe your military training has conditioned you to believe you always have to obey those in authority. But I can assure you, Mr. Wilson, that sometimes you must challenge a leader’s actions when they’re wrong. You’ve got to be willing to stand up, risk rejection and initiate conflict when appropriate.”
David stubbornly gave no indication that he heard Ranell’s advice. He turned away from the quartermaster and started running the disinfecting pad across the surface of the refrigerator, paying particular attention to cleaning the handles.
“Do you want me to speak to him?” Ranell asked at last.
“No.” David threw the cloth wipe in the trash and looked again at Ranell. “That’s OK Doc. I got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm…” It seemed as if Ranell had something more to add. “We talked about service once before. Remember, the more you stand up for a leader, the easier it will be to stand up to a leader when the time comes. Understand?”
David didn’t understand, but he also didn’t want to continue the conversation, so he said nothing. What did Ranell mean? Does he expect me to confront Singh or support him? How could I possibly stand up for someone like that? Maybe I could support the other officers, but never him.
“Mr. Wilson?” Ranell asked, with just a hint of impatience at being ignored. “I asked if you understood what I said.”
Unable to hide behind his wall of silence any longer, David answered curtly, “I heard you, Doc! But no, I don’t understand how I’m supposed to stand up for a guy who’s always belittling me. You might not know this, but being a staff sergeant in the Army is kind of a big deal. I’m an NCO, and I’ve pushed troops in combat. I’m a leader, not some damn servant to be pushed around!”
“Hmm…” Ranell leaned back against the sink and folded his arms across his chest, brow furrowed in concentration. “I think I understand. Let me read it back to you to see if I got it right, OK?”
David sighed, “More RLV, Doc?”
Ranell just smiled and said, “Won’t you just humor an old man for a minute, Mr. Wilson?”
With a display of sullenness worthy of a high-school student, David said, “Sure.”
Ranell forged ahead. “You said you were a leader in the Army, but that here you feel like a servant, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I am wondering about your definition of servant. What does that word mean to you, Mr. Wilson?”
“What does a servant mean to me?” David was incredulous. “The servant is the guy who follows orders. Who shuts up and does what he’s told or else.”
“Or else what?” Ranell cocked his head to the side, listening intently.
“Or else…” David wanted to say, You go crazy and kill yourself. But instead he said, “Or else you get fired. What else could a servant be?”
“OK. Well, since you asked, I have a much different definition of servant. I have several definitions, in fact.” Ranell said. “Would you allow me to share these with you? I think my perspective may really help you navigate your relationship with Lieutenant Singh.”
“Go ahead and shoot, Doc.” David hung his head and made a show of wiping down a table that had already been wiped, but he could not hide his interest in Ranell’s words.
“To me, a servant is much more than a person who shuts up and follows orders.” Ranell smiled gently. “To me, service is a high calling that may even culminate in servant leadership.”
“What’s that?”
“That is where the leader influences subordinates by placing their needs above his own. By helping subordinates fulfill their highest potential, the leader accomplishes the mission.”
“That just sounds like weak leadership to me, Doc.” David shook his head.
“I understand. As I said, servant leadership is a high calling that takes years to cultivate. Perhaps that is a conversation best saved for another day. I have two additional definitions of servant that may be of more immediate interest to you now.”
“OK.”
“From my Christian faith, I have the concept of discipleship. Have you ever heard of that, Mr. Wilson?”
“Yeah, the guys who followed Jesus were disciples.”
“Very good! Exactly right.” Ranell beamed. “When we want to become more like Christ, we align ourselves with teachers and mentors who help us to understand the path.”
David tensed with suspicion. He saw where this line of conversation was heading, and he wanted no part of it. “Yeah, but I’m not a Christian, Doc. You know that. I’m not looking to be converted, either.”
Ranell continued, “I know you’re not looking to be converted, Mr. Wilson.”
Was that a shadow of sadness David saw in Ranell’s eyes?
“My point is that a disciple is a type of servant whose purpose is to learn and grow in faith,” Ranell explained." “Not just ‘shut up and follow orders, or else.’ Can you see the difference?”
David was beginning to understand that there was a lot more to the subject than he knew. Doc always has a way of explaining things to me. But he still didn’t understand how all this applied to him, and he said so. “I can see the difference now, Doc. But I’m not a servant leader, and I’m sure not going to be a disciple to Lieutenant Singh. How’s all this supposed to help me with him?”
“Ah.” Ranell raised a finger to the sky as if David had finally come to the point. “My last definition of servant is the one that applies to you. Let me introduce the concept to you by asking a question. Generally speaking, are there more leaders, or more followers?”
David squinted his eyes and leaned forward to look more closely at Ranell. “Is this a trick question, Doc? It’s obvious that there are more followers than leaders. Am I missing something?”
“Not at all, Mr. Wilson.” Ranell pursed his lips and nodded approvingly at David’s assessment. “I agree completely with the statement that there are more followers than leaders. In fact, I would expand the idea to include the leaders themselves as followers. Don’t even generals in the Army have to answer to someone?”
“Yeah, the President. The Commander in Chief.”
“What about her? Does President Owens have to answer to anybody?”
David thought about Congress and the Supreme Court, but he finally decided, “Ultimately, she has to answer to the people.”
“Precisely!” Ranell said enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t you agree that at some level we are all followers?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Then why is the emphasis always on leadership? In my third definition of servant, I include the concept of the follower, and of followership. In my view, this is a vital skill that is no less important than the skill of being a leader. I believe that if you can develop your skill as a follower, then you will find that there can be dramatic breakthroughs in your relationship with the LT.”
“What kind of skill does it really take to be a follower?” David was still suspicious.
Ranell took a deep, slow breath, and responded softly. “Mr. Wilson, these three men, the captain, the FO, and the LT, have been placed in our care. It’s our job to take care of them, to help them in the work they have to do in any way we can.”
“I know these guys, David.” It always caught David by surprise when Ranell used his first name. “And I can assure you that each of them faces their own unique challenges and personal struggles. You have to show them that you support them through both your actions and your attitude. Trust me, once they know you have their back, they are going to do a better job of hearing you when you disagree with their decisions.”
A wave of some emotion David couldn’t identify washed over him. Maybe it was regret, maybe it was embarrassment, he didn’t know. But he had to take a moment to compose himself before he spoke again.
“Doc, I love working for you. And anyone can see that the captain knows his business. Even the FO treats me with respect. But the LT treats me like a piece of… well, like dirt. I just don’t see how I can respect a guy who doesn’t respect me.”
“The LT is bright and talented and progressing rapidly up the ladder of success. He is one of the youngest navigators to ever work for PIRA, and GML is already grooming him for positions of increased responsibility in their fleet. By serving him, and helping him to realize his goals, you may even teach him something about the humility he desperately needs to mature.”
“I’m not a babysitter, Doc. I’d rather punch him in the nose.”
“Just promise me you’ll have his back,” Ranell’s gaze was penetrating.
David pondered Ranell’s request. He took his promises seriously and he didn’t give his word easily. “I don’t think I can promise you that, Doc. I can’t stand the guy.”
Ranell frowned and looked downcast. He sighed and poured two cups of coffee in silence. Finally, he said, “I usually don’t say this, Mr. Wilson, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about Lieutenant Singh. Would you consider at least trying to support him?”
David felt guilty for his stubbornness, he hated for Ranell to be disappointed with him. So he said, “I don’t know if I can do it, but I can promise to try to have the LT’s back.”
“That’s enough for me.” Ranell said. “You won’t regret it.”
Abdiel waited patiently in the electronics control station. He could tell they were running the engines hard, searching for the best headwind to give them some extra lift to carry the fully loaded St. Paul up to cruising altitude before beginning the long tack to the southeast.
His attention was fixed on the pressure-sensitive trigger connected to the incendiary device behind the fuel exchange system. As the air pressure decreased with each foot of altitude, the trigger moved inexorably closer to sending the fatal burst of electronic energy that would signal the detonation.
The St. Paul was bearing due north, taking advantage of an updraft to gain altitude. The plan was to level off below the cloud ceiling and start the cruise around 2,600 feet. In the cockpit, the altimeter was slowly rolling up towards the 2,000-foot mark.
Abdiel adjusted his gaze closer and closer to the device and its trigger. The St. Paul was already fifteen miles out to sea, and as the altimeter passed 2,400 feet, the increment between inert and explosive was minuscule now. The trigger was set to detonate the explosive at 2,500 feet. Any slight disturbance would set it off.
The St. Paul hit a patch of turbulence. It caused the airship to lift and then drop a few feet momentarily; it was a bump so small and routine as to hardly be noticed by the crew. But Abdiel noticed. He saw the bomb wobble slightly and rise slightly from its hidden location. The pressure changed. The precise moment came, and Abdiel pushed the device a few feet into the air where it detonated with a thunderous boom and an expanding shockwave of fire that engulfed him. The explosion over-pressured the tiny compartment until it blew out an external access hatch. The pressure dissipated in a millisecond and helium from the ruptured bag above extinguished the residual fire.
Perfect. He was satisfied he’d accomplished God’s will. Abdiel had been sent to protect.