Miles gestured at the big flat-screen at the North End of the Conference Room.
“OK. We have conflict in progress overseas and it is International Woman’s Day. Vic had a story about a miscalculation he made in writing an official message with a reference to how the Soviets observed the day 45 years ago. It is part of those papers he saved under the bed he is using in the 6th Floor transient area.”

He waved a thumb over his shoulder at the glowing image of the Torii Gate imposed on the view of Mount Fuji.

“He claims this one was done in 1978 as they prepared to get organized to leave Japan for operations in the South China Sea from their Home Port in Yokosuka.”

He turned back to his Flat Yank coffee. “So, that started a deployment from Japan that went to the Philippines and Thailand.”

He clicked the remote to a bright slide that seemed to be of a scene in Bangkok.

“Apparently the cruise continued as scheduled—through the Malacca Strait past Singapore and down to Perth, Western Australia.”

Vic appeared from the Galley where he had been helping Dee load up a tray with pastries and bagels arrayed around tubs of spread stuck with serving spoons.

“The schedule had been to return north and east after that,” he said.
“But there was a problem when a merchant ship rammed the Ranger, our relief, when she was entering the I.O. It was 1979 by then and the Shah got overthrown and our Embassy was seized with hostages. 47 years ago.”

“Funny that it might be getting resolved after all that time.”

Vic nodded.

“There has been a lot of stuff in those years.”

Miles clicked the remote and a pair of rectangular slides appeared.

“Yeah. We were lucky. This was one of those mornings SE of Diego Garcia.”

The Zoomers gaped at the bright colors on old slightly yellow foolscap pages.

“The strokes get better as we reconstruct the notebook,” he said.
“But that is another story that involves adventures in East Africa.”

The remote clicked again.

“That is Kilimanjaro out the window of East African Rail. 47 years ago.”

There was a burst of laughter from the Zoomers at the south end of the table and a look out the big glass on the right side of the room, peering to see if the clean-up operations on the Potomac were visible. It was supposed to be warmer later and maybe clear. But not yet, though memories of the warmth of the Equator made the Old Salts smile in anticipation of Spring on this East Coast.

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