Blindfold Game

JANUARY

CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE.“

Captain Lowe climbed up into his chair. “Report.” “We’ve got the fishing vessel Lee Side off our starboard bow, sir. She’s a hundred-and-eighty-foot longliner working p-cod.” Sara nodded at Ops, who was talking on the radio. “Their first mate just called and said their skipper has gone berserk.”

“Berserk?” the captain said. “Berserk how?”

“They say he has armed himself and is chasing the crew around, threatening to shoot them.”

The captain digested this in silence.

“The crew is asking us to board and take the captain into custody,” Sara said.

“With what is their captain armed?” Captain Lowe said.

“They say an automatic pistol, sir,” Ops said.

“Has he fired it?”

“The mate says not yet, sir,” Ops said, and broke off when an excited voice came on the air.

“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, he’s shooting at us, I repeat, he’s shooting at us!”

Everyone peered through the windows as the Lee Side vanished into the bottom of a swell and then materialized again at the top of another.

“He’s not going to hit anything in these seas,” the captain said, not noticeably excited at the prospect one way or another.

“We’ve got a monster of a low blowing in from the southeast,” Sara said, clinging to a hatch handle. “It’s only going to get worse, sir.”

The captain nodded. “Prepare to launch a boarding team. I want Ensign Ryan to lead it.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Sara said. She nodded at the chief, and he made the pipe.

Five minutes later the VHF radio came to life again. This time it was a different voice, much calmer. “U.S. Coast Guard cutter, U.S. Coast Guard cutter, this is the fishing vessel Terra Dawn, mayday, mayday, mayday.”

Ops keyed the mike. “Fishing vessel Terra Dawn, this is cutter Sojourner Truth, go ahead.”

“Coast Guard, we are taking water and we’re down by the stern.”

“Terra Dawn, cutter Sojourner Truth, copy that, you’re taking water and going down by the stern. Give us your lat and long.”

The Terra Dawn’s skipper read out the lat and long numbers in a clear, calm voice, and Sara went to the radar console and looked over Tommy Penn’s shoulder. “Got him, Tommy?”

“Got him, XO,” Penn said, rolling the cursor across the screen to a green X off the south shore of St. George Island.

“Set a course,” the captain said, “all ahead full.”

“All ahead full, aye,” the helmsman said.

“Terra Dawn, cutter Sojourner Truth, we are en route, I say again, we are en route.”

“Yeah, Coast Guard, you’re not going to get here in time. I’m ordering the crew into survival suits and launching the life rafts.”

Everyone looked at the almost black horizon. “Anyone else out there close enough to get to them before they go in?”

Tommy scrolled back and forth on the radar screen. “No, Captain, it looks like everyone else is up here with us.”

Tommy was right; everywhere she looked, Sara could see the lights of at least six other vessels appearing and disappearing as they and the Sojourner Truth wallowed through the heavy seas. The Lee Side was beginning to fall perceptibly aft as all four engines came on line and thrust the Sojourner Truth forward through the waves breaking across her bow.

“Must have been hot on the cod,” the chief said in a low voice.

Sara nodded. “Hard to walk away from that kind of money, no matter if you are staring down the throat of a hurricane.” She should know. Her father had risked ship and crew too many times to count in pursuit of the almighty king crab. The only difference between him and the skipper of the Terra Dawn was he had been lucky as well as smart.

The aviators arrived on the bridge, as usual looking ready to argue their way into the air. As usual the captain heard them out with a taciturn expression. “I see no need to launch, gentlemen, especially not in these seas. The Terra Dawn’s captain seems to have things well in hand. The crew is in survival suits, the captain is launching the life rafts. We have a fix on their position. They should be safe enough until we get there.”

Lieutenants Laird and Sams looked frustrated.

“Coast Guard, this is Terra Dawn,” their skipper said on the radio, sounding as if he were trying to stifle a yawn. “Our deck is awash. She’s going down. We are abandoning ship.”

“Gosh, he’s real excited, isn’t he,” Chief Edelen said to Sara in a low voice.

Sara nodded. She’d been wondering what the Terra Dawn’s skipper had been smoking herself. The handheld crackled into life. “Boarding team ready to launch, Captain.”

“Thank you, XO. Let’s give them a lee, Chief.”

“Aye aye, Captain. Helm, come to course heading one-eight-zero.”

“One-eight-zero, aye.”

The cutter took the change of course with attitude, rolling heavily into the trough of a swell, heeling to starboard, and then rolling to port down the opposite side. She nosed through the wind and steadied.

“XO?” Even over the handheld Ryan’s voice betrayed his youth and excitement. Sara couldn’t blame him, she could only envy him.

“Ensign, your orders are to disarm and detain the captain and remain on board the Lee Side until we return. Understood?”

“Understood, XO,” Ryan said.

“What arms are you carrying?”

“Sidearms and shotguns, XO.”

“Good. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to, but don’t get shot, either.”

“Understood, XO,” Ryan repeated, much more soberly this time.

Sara looked at the captain. He got out of his chair and walked to the hatch leading onto the port wing and stepped into the wind. “Launch when ready,” Sara said into the mike.

“Aye aye, XO, launching,” Ryan said, and Sara followed the captain out onto the wing. They stood in silence because to speak would have necessitated screaming above the wind, and they held on like grim death to the railing because otherwise the Sojourner Truth would have tossed them into the inflatable casting off below. The coxswain hit the throttle-all coxswains were speed demons; Sara thought it must be in the job description-and the small boat powered up and in spite of the heavy seas fell smoothly off the side of the ship and into a curving course toward the Lee Side.

“Who’s the coxswain?” the captain said.

“PO Mathis, sir,” Sara said.

The captain watched the small boat maneuver up a swell and down its backside and tackle the next without hesitation. The wind paused long enough for them to hear the sound of the engine throttling up and back and up again. “Nicely done,” the captain said.

“Yes, sir,” Sara said in complete agreement. The Sojourner Truth was lucky in its boat handlers. Coxswain Duane Mathis was as good as the chief in that respect. She watched the small boat labor up another wave. That was one hell of a boat ride she was missing out on.

The captain returned to the bridge, Sara following. “Resume course and speed, Chief.”

“Helm, resume course and speed,” Chief Edelen said.

“Resuming course and speed, aye.”

Inside, every available pair of binoculars was focused on the small boat as it approached the Lee Side, once more retreating astern. Everyone swayed shoulder to shoulder with the heave and fall of the deck. Sara, straining her eyes like everyone else, saw the orange blur against the dark hull start to move off. The radio blared into life. “Sojourner Truth, this is the boarding team. Boarding accomplished safely, all members on board.”

“Understood, boarding team.” Sara resisted the urge to ask questions, like where was the captain of the Lee Side and had he shot any of her BTMs yet.

The VHF chose this moment to erupt. “U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Coast Guard, this is the fishing vessel Chugiak Rose, come in, Coast Guard, Coast Guard, come in.”

This skipper sounded considerably more excited than had the skipper of the Terra Dawn, and Ops replied in his most soothing voice, “Chugiak Rose, cutter Sojourner Truth, reading you five-by, go up to two-two.”

The skipper either didn’t hear Ops’ request or ignored him. “Coast Guard, Chugiak Rose, I’ve got an injured crewman who needs an immediate emergency medevac, I say again, I’ve got an injured crewman who needs an immediate emergency medevac.”

The aviators, standing in glum silence at the captain’s right hand, brightened.

“I don’t fucking believe this,” someone said.

“Belay that!” the captain barked.

The aviators looked at him, mute with longing.

“Chugiak Rose, cutter Sojourner Truth, what is the nature of the injury, I say again, what is the nature of the injury?”

“His right arm is hanging by a one-inch strip of skin.”

“Oh Christ,” someone said, and this time the captain let it slide.

“I’ve got a tourniquet around his upper arm but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s unconscious and I think he’s in shock. Can you help us?”

“Chugiak Rose, Coast Guard, give us your lat and long,” Ops said. He had to ask for them again when the skipper’s voice stumbled so badly over the numbers the first time no one could understand what he was saying.

“Find them for us, Tommy,” Sara said.

“Aye aye, XO,” Tommy said, and bent over the radar screen. As usual, Tommy was so calm Sara had to quell the impulse to take her pulse to see if she was still breathing.

“Here they are,” Tommy said, straightening up so everyone crowded around could see the screen. Everyone moved when the captain came to take a look. The Chugiak Rose was three boats away in the opposite direction.

Sara looked at the captain. “Flight ops, Captain?”

He pressed his lips together, looked out the windows at the seas, and gave a reluctant nod. The aviators faces lit up like it was Christmas, and they vacated the bridge at speed. The captain nodded at Ops.

“Chugiak Rose, Coast Guard cutter Sojourner Truth, we are preparing to launch our helicopter to come to your aid. We will lower a basket for you to load your crewman into. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Sojourner, you are sending your helicopter to hoist off my crewman. Please get here as quick as you can.”

“Understood, Chugiak Rose. Tell me about your ship, length, masts, wires.”

Ensign Bob Ostlund at Helo Control piped flight ops over the loudspeaker and everyone’s hats came off.

“Boarding team to Sojourner Truth.”

“Go ahead, boarding team,” Sara said into the handheld.

“Yeah, XO, we’ve got the situation here contained.”

“Good to know. Everybody okay?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Ryan sounded very casual, almost too much so, like he’d been smoking the same stuff the skipper of the Terra Dawn had. Sara looked at the captain and raised an eyebrow. He shook his head once, very slightly.

“Roger that, boarding team, we just got a SAR case off the third vessel northeast of you, personnel injury. How do you want to handle things there?”

“Sojourner Truth, boarding team, yeah, we noticed the change of course. The mate here is capable of taking the vessel back to Dutch. They say they’ll take the captain with them, under restraint.”

“Roger that, boarding team, stand by one.” Sara clicked off the mike and looked at the captain.

“We’ll launch the helo first, then pick up the boarding team,” Lowe said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Sara said, and relayed this information to Ryan.

“Aye aye, XO, standing by.”

“Stay sharp, we’ll be operating on the fly. A boat went down on the south side of St. George and their crew is in the water in life rafts.”

A burst of static was the answer. Sara thought it was probably just as well. She looked up at the video monitor and saw that the hangar had been rolled back and the deck crew was in the process of a heavy weather traverse. It was too rough to just roll it out. Every deck officer’s nightmare was that they’d lose the helo over the side, so they’d move the helo a foot, detach the forward two tie-downs, move it out another foot, reattach the forward tie-downs, detach the aft tie-downs, move it, reattach the aft tie-downs, and start the process all over again.

They were also taking spray over the starboard side. “Can you nose her a little more into the wind, Chief?”

“Can do, XO,” Mark said. “Helm, bring her around to one-two-five.”

“One-two-five, aye.”

The Sojourner Truth, great ride that she was, responded instantly to the new course, water from both propellers hitting the rudder full force, bow pulling to port, slicing neatly through the heavy seas. With the bow taking the brunt of the southeast gale, the deck immediately aft of the hangar had a little more shelter. It helped, but it was still going to take another thirty minutes to get the helo ready for launch.

There was another potential problem, Sara thought, watching the salt spray hit the foredeck. She turned her head to look at the status board, where Tommy was marking their new course and speed. Barometric pressure was 99.2 and falling. She looked out on deck.

The chief followed her gaze. “We making ice?”

“Not yet,” Sara said.

A half hour later the aviators were buttoned into the helo, the captain gave the go, and they were up and off a few minutes later. The Sojourner Truth resumed her former course, all ahead full for the south shore of St. George. “How long before we get there, Tommy? Sara said.

Tom’s eyes went out of focus as she calculated. “It’s about a hundred miles to the location of the sinking, we’re doing”-she glanced up at the Transas screen-“fifteen knots.” She looked at Sara. “A little under six hours, XO.”

“Thanks,” Sara said, and went to stand next to the captain’s chair, feet spread to ride out the plunging motion of the ship. No one was taking a step without holding on to or leaning up against something.

He looked at her. “All assholes and elbows today, eh, XO?”

She was slightly shocked at the use of profanity, but recovered enough to say reproachfully, “I thought that was an aviator’s expression, sir, unbecoming a sailor.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. She saw it, and dared to smile. “I just hope we don’t get something else thrown at us today, XO.”

Ostlund touched his headset, listened, and spoke into the mike around his neck. “Captain, the helo has their man and is on its way to the St. Paul clinic.”

Everyone raised binoculars. The hull of the Chugiak Rose was by now the barest line appearing and reappearing on a violent green horizon, but the bright orange of the helicopter showed briefly as it sped toward the island, which also kept appearing and reappearing in the mist and the sleet. It was getting dark, too.

“Lieutenant Sams says the guy’s in a bad way. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Best speed for the clinic,” the captain said, “all they’ve got.”

“Aye aye, sir. Lieutenant Sams wants to know if they should refuel when they get to the island and then go look for the Terra Dawns crew.”

The captain looked again at the southeastern horizon. It looked not just dark, Sara thought, but black with ill-tempered weather. “Tell them yes. Tell them to take a run right after they deliver the injured man to the clinic, see if they can get some idea of what direction the rafts are drifting.”

Probably onshore, Sara thought, as the wind was blowing from the southeast. It would depend on how far to the west off the coast of St. George they had foundered, though.

“After which they are to return to base, refuel again, and stand by. We’ll recover them when the weather eases up.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

They came abeam of the Lee Side, the inflatable bobbing between them, and pulled the bow around enough to give the small boat as much shelter as could be found in seas like these. Shortly afterward Hank Ryan was on the bridge, making his report to the captain. The ensign was not pleased. “They could have handled it themselves, sir. There were five of them and one of him.”

“He had a weapon, they said.”

“Yes, sir, but not a nine-millimeter automatic.”

“What was it, then?”

“A twenty-two pistol that hadn’t been cleaned in twenty years. If he’d tried to fire, it would have blown up in his hand. Always assuming he’d thought to load it first.”

“I thought that they said he was firing at them.”

Ryan shook his head. “They were mistaken, sir.”

“We sent ten men and a small boat in twelve-foot seas to go to the rescue of a ship’s crew held hostage at the point of an old, unloaded twenty-two pistol?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a long, thoughtful silence on the bridge, which lasted through a complete swing of the pendulum, all the way to port, all the way to starboard.

“Maybe we could bill them,” Sara said.

Nobody laughed, but then Sara hadn’t been joking.

The door to the bridge opened and closed, and a seaman brought a slip of paper to Ops. He read it, and read it again. Sara, watching him, caught his eye. He held out the slip of paper. She read it. She, too, read it twice. She returned it to Ops and took an unobtrusive step back, she hoped far enough out of range.

Ops gave her a look of burning reproach, waited for the tilt of the deck to be right, and then stepped up to take Sara’s place next to the captain’s chair. “Captain, we’ve just received a message from District.”

The captain swiveled to give Ops a quizzical look. “Do not tell me what I don’t want to hear, Ops.”

“Sorry, sir. District says a Here on the last patrol found a fishing vessel over the line. They want us back up there.”

Captain Lowe was not a man given to public invective, but Sara, standing a little behind him, did notice his ears begin to redden. He slid to the deck and said curtly, “I’ll be in my cabin.”

“Aye aye, sir,” she said smartly.

The door closed behind him.

“Cap’n below,” Tommy said.

Ops looked at Sara. “Think he can talk them out of it?”

“Whoever talked District out of anything?” If Sara hated anything about the Coast Guard, it was that operational decisions were made on shore. The job was difficult enough without someone looking over your shoulder from Juneau.

It didn’t help to know that the fishing vessel in question would be long gone by the time they got there. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have seen the Here and known what that meant.

Ops said tentatively, “He could always just say no.”

“He could,” Sara said, and left it at that.

Lowe wouldn’t, and they both knew it. “Get me a weather report for the Maritime Boundary Line,” she told Ops, and followed the captain below.