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The Coast Guard Hercules aircraft had arrived overhead twenty minutes previously. The initial excitement among the passengers quickly subsided when they realized the plane could not land in the water to pick them up. Still, it was good news that they had been found, and the aircraft would linger to vector in the ships and other aircraft that could rescue them.
The appearance of the Coast Guard helicopter brought similar optimism, also quickly dashed when everyone realized it could pick up only a few of them at a time. Taylor could imagine that the conversation within the aircraft as it circled their position was some variation of “Holy Shit!” After two circles, it came to a hover about fifty yards away from Taylor’s raft and lowered a crewman into the water with its hoist cable. Even from this distance, the downdraft was noticeable—it would be a difficult situation if it had to hover directly over the rafts.
The crewman swam quickly to Taylor’s raft, took off and tossed his fins in, then climbed in using the ladder and pulled up his swim mask and snorkel. He was not a large man, but his short wetsuit made no secret of a highly athletic physique. He scanned the raft and, seeing the four stripes on Taylor’s uniform shirt, said, “Petty Officer Sean Moran, U.S. Coast Guard. Are you the pilot, ma’am?”
“Yes, Captain Emma Taylor.”
“Glad to meet you, ma’am,” the young petty officer said. “Can you tell me how many people you have here?”
“Yes, one hundred twenty-six.”
The young man grinned. “You got everyone off safe? That’s fantastic! Hell of a job, ma’am.”
“Thank you, petty officer.” She glanced at the helicopter circling the rafts. “Somehow, I don’t think we’ll all fit on your bird.”
“No, ma’am, we might get six or seven, depending on how large they are. But the good news is a cutter is headed this way balls-to-the-walls and should be here in about two hours.” He looked around in surprise when most of the people on the rafts started clapping and cheering. He struggled to make himself heard. “Ma’am, ma’am!” The crowd quieted down when he whistled. “As I was saying, ma’am, we can take a few earlier if we need to get them urgent medical attention. But it will be pretty rough on everybody if that H-60 has to do any hoists, so I wouldn’t recommend it unless we really have to.”
Taylor shook her head. There were two physicians and one registered nurse among the passengers who had checked the injured. The two with broken bones had those splinted, and the other eleven had only minor complaints. “We have thirteen injured, but none seriously. I think we can all wait two hours, petty officer. But several might have problems scrambling up ladders.”
“Got it covered, ma’am,” Moran said. “My crew will transfer the rescue basket to the cutter just before it gets here. They’re rigging a davit to hoist up anyone who can’t climb.”
Taylor smiled with relief. “I am glad to hear that.”
Moran nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I have to report in.” He drew a handheld radio, pressed the button, and said, “Six-Zero-One-Seven, swimmer.”
“Swimmer, One-Seven, go ahead,” said a voice from the radio.
“One-Seven, swimmer, all POB accounted for. Repeat, one-two-six survivors. Pilot says thirteen, that’s one-three injured, but none require medevac, sir.”
“Swimmer, One-Seven, roger. We’ll go with Plan A, then. Keep us posted if anything changes.
“WILCO, sir.” Moran tucked the radio back into his vest.
“Plan A?” Taylor asked.
“I wait here with you all, ma’am, and help with the on-loading. The helo will maintain contact for as long as possible.”
“Is he running short of fuel?”
“No, ma’am,” Moran answered and nodded to his left toward the weather building in the west. Lightning flashes were now clearly visible among the clouds.
“I see,” Taylor said. “Well, I’m sure you have plenty of interesting stories from your line of work. We would certainly be grateful if you could regale us with a few while we wait.”
“Really?”
“Yes, indeed. What do you say, folks?”
After a chorus of “yes,” “give it up, mate,” and the like, Moran nodded and said, “OK.” Then he adopted a fierce expression and said with a mock dramatic tone, “There I was....”
It had already started raining, cutting visibility in half and making deck activity more hazardous and unpleasant. Ben could see many heavy rain cells marching west to east across the screen displaying Kauai’s weather radar, each of which held the potential for heavy rain and lightning. It just couldn’t be easy, he thought ruefully.
The HC-130 had to pull back because of severe turbulence and was orbiting to the southeast. The MH-60T helicopter was doggedly hanging on over the rafts—it worked far lower, at levels not prone to turbulence—but it could not risk lingering much longer with the threat of lightning and wind shears building. The helicopter had ducked out briefly to rendezvous with Kauai to drop off the rescue basket before returning to the scene. The basket was necessary, being the only safe way to hoist untrained, infirmed people. The risks were too high to use a bosun’s chair or horse collar to lift people out of the rafts, particularly if they were injured.
Every crewmember that could be spared would be on deck, helping to get the survivors on board and safely tucked inside the shell of Kauai’s hull and superstructure. Only four would be on the Bridge: Sam, Hopkins as OOD, Williams handling the entire FC3 console, and Pickins on the helm. Ben would head down as soon as they had visual contact with the rafts to supervise the operation and provide an extra set of hands. Lee and Fireman Connally would be underway in the RHIB, stationed outside of the rafts, in a position to respond to anyone falling overboard. The remaining eight crew, including Ben, would work the operation on the main deck.
Speed was of the essence, given the thunderstorms in the area. The cutter was an inviting target for lightning, being the tallest object within 50 miles, but her hull would act as a Faraday cage and protect anything inside. The rub was that it was a deadly risk to anyone caught outside during a strike, and both the crew and survivors were highly vulnerable during the recovery operation.
“I’m picking up the scene on IR, sir,” Williams said, pointing at one of the display panels showing the output of the Infrared camera on Kauai’s mast. Something that looked like a tiny comet blazed horizontally across the screen. “See? There’s the H-60’s exhaust.”
“I got that. Still don’t see the rafts,” Ben said.
“Wait a sec for the helo to clear,” Williams said, then pointed at some hazy glows below the helicopter’s path. “See? There and there.”
“Roger that.” Ben plugged his headset into the radio console and selected the helicopter’s frequency. “Six Zero One Seven, Kauai, over.”
“Kauai, One Seven, go ahead.”
“Can we talk directly to your swimmer?”
“Affirmative. He’s on channel eighty-three.”
“Roger, out.” Ben switched his selector and dialed up channel 83 on the cutter’s VHF-FM radio. “Swimmer, Kauai, on channel 83.”
After a brief delay, Moran’s voice answered, “Kauai, Swimmer, got you Lima-Charlie.”
“Roger. We have you on infrared about three miles out. We should be alongside in about five minutes. We have two ladders and a davit rigged out on the starboard side with the basket. Do you feel comfortable working all three at once? Over.”
“Affirmative. I’ve briefed everyone on what to expect, and I have the flight crew plus two Royal Navy guys who will be assisting. We are in four rafts, all lashed together. I recommend we do one at a time and take people directly from their current raft rather than having them cross over. I’ll transfer to whichever raft we are working to supervise.”
“Sounds like a plan. Our RHIB will stand by to pick up any leakers. Explain to the survivors that we have to get everybody inside out of the weather, and it will be a tight fit. They must follow our crew’s instructions and be patient with the cramped quarters. Also, if there’s anyone with a serious claustrophobia problem, we’ll take them last.” Ben had a touch of claustrophobia and knew the cramped quarters they planned to pack everyone into could be a trigger. The last thing they needed was someone having a meltdown inside the ship. The nervous folks would go on the messdeck, a larger space with windows.
“WILCO.”
“Right. We’ll be standing by on this channel. Out.” Ben unplugged and turned to Sam. “Captain, request permission to lay below.”
Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Go. Please be quick and careful, XO.”
“Will do, sir.” Ben turned and hurried to the port-side door in the rear of the Bridge, then down the ladders to the main deck. The rain had already soaked him to the skin by the time he arrived. The RHIB was at the port rail, ready for Lee and Connally to jump in and launch—they would do so when Hopkins slowed down to approach the rafts. It was only a six-foot climb from the water level up to the main deck, which all but the infirm should be able to manage. Bondurant already had the two Jacob’s ladders attached to cleats on the deck and a small davit rigged with a block and tackle and the rescue basket. He and Machinery Technician Brown would work the davit while Ben oversaw the ladders during the onload. The other five crew were standing by, ready to lead people to the interior spaces where they would wait out the storm.
Although it was still twenty minutes to sunset, the clouds and rain made it seem more like twilight. “Conn, Main Deck, could we get the deck lights on, please?” Ben asked over the intra-ship radio. Within seconds, the white deck lighting along the sides of the ship and the large red floodlight on the mast came on, compensating for the fading daylight.
“Kauai, Swimmer, we have you in sight. You’re getting a big applause over here, sir!”
Yeah? We’ll see how much they love us after they’re stuffed inside like sardines in a can! “Roger. Just a couple of minutes now,” Ben replied on the radio. The diesel engines slowed a few seconds afterward, and Kauai settled into the water from planing to displacement mode. “Boats, let’s get the RHIB ready,” Ben said.
As Lee and Connally jumped into the boat, Ben transmitted, “Conn, Main Deck, RHIB ready for launch.”
“Main Deck, Conn, cleared to launch,” Williams’s voice replied.
Ben leaned over to Lee and said, “OK, keep it tight, Shelley. Any questions?”
“No, sir!”
“Right. Good luck!” Ben turned and gave Boatswain’s Mate Third Class Jenkins on the crane a thumbs-up, and the RHIB was motoring twenty yards off the starboard quarter ten seconds later. Ben could barely make out rafts now through the fading light and rain about a quarter-mile distant. Hopkins was maneuvering to put the rafts alongside to starboard in Kauai’s lee, a challenging task given the visibility and variable, gusty winds. At least they didn’t have to contend with heavy seas—that would be a nightmare. Ben could make out individuals on the rafts now and see an individual standing in one of them. That must be Moran. Ben keyed his radio microphone and said, “Swimmer, Kauai, is that you standing?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Moran replied.
“OK, we will take your raft first. Stand by for a heaving line. We’ll be passing a sea painter, but I want you to pull to us and hold the raft to our side—don’t tie off the line. That way, we cut the risks of dragging the raft, and you can just carry it to the next one. Got it?”
“WILCO, sir.”
Ben turned to the other crewmembers on deck. “OK, put over the ladders. Jenkins, come over here and bring the heaving line,” he said.
The young boatswain stepped forward as the crew hung the ladders off the side. “Yes, sir.”
“OK, you see that raft with the guy standing?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got him.”
“Good. When you’re confident you can reach him, let fly with the line.”
“Yes, sir!”
The rafts slid closer as Hopkins used rudder and asymmetric thrust from the engines to walk Kauai sideways. Jenkins was staring intently at Moran’s raft, unconsciously bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Finally, he nodded and cast the line with a sidearm throw. The line stretched out and draped across the raft just to Moran’s left, and he grabbed it and started pulling in.
“That was a beauty of a throw, Brian. Nice job,” Ben said.
“Thanks, sir,” Jenkins replied as he fed out the line.
The end was tied to a thicker line better for handling and supporting the raft’s weight. Soon Moran had the line, and he and two large men Ben presumed were Royal Navy sailors pulled it until the raft was snug against Kauai’s side with the ladders dangling inside. A woman wearing a white shirt, tie, and epaulets with four stripes was first up the ladder, and Ben took her hand to help her on deck.
“Captain Emma Taylor,” she said with a smile.
“Lieutenant J.G. Ben Wyporek, ma’am,” Ben replied. “Would you care to stay and observe?” he added as more survivors followed up the ladder, helped by other crewmembers.
“Yes, indeed. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Our pleasure.”
The unloading of the rafts proceeded quickly. A line of wet and bedraggled people rapidly formed into the door leading inside as Kauai’s crew tucked them wherever there was space. They were about one-third of the way through the on-load when lightning struck close by on the starboard beam with a bright flash, followed by a loud boom a second later. Almost everyone instinctively ducked, and several people on the rafts started screaming and scrambling toward the ladders. It was what Ben feared—a contagious panic that would kill dozens while they were helpless to stop it.
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Bondurant bellowed from his position at the davit, shocking everyone into motionless silence. He then nodded to Ben. “All yours, sir.”
“Thanks, Boats,” Ben whispered and then shouted, “We’re OK! One spot’s as good as another out here! Just stay calm, wait your turn, and we’ll wrap this up quicker!”
The procession up the ladders from the rafts resumed, and Taylor whispered to Ben, “This spot includes a rather tall object, Leftenant.”
“You’ll be safer inside, ma’am, if you’d like,” Ben whispered back.
“No, I’ll stay and grin like an idiot. ‘Keep calm and carry on,’ as they say.”
“That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” Ben said with a smile.
An older woman stepped up and embraced Ben. “Thank you, sir!”
“Our pleasure,” Ben repeated, patting her on the back. “Please move along, ma’am.”
The woman rejoined the line leading into the ship. It took around thirty minutes before the last passenger climbed the ladder to the main deck, followed by Patel, Burgess, and Moran. There were several more lightning strikes, but none were as close as the first nor caused any pause in the operation.
Ben gripped Moran’s hand as he came up and said, “Nice job, Petty Officer Moran.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Head inside. If you need anything, just grab one of the guys.”
“Roger that. See you at the other end, sir.”
As Moran walked off toward the door, Ben turned to Taylor. “Would you follow me to the Bridge, ma’am?”
“Of course.” They had climbed the ladder and nearly reached the bridge door when a second close lightning strike shook the ship. “Bloody Hell!”
Ben smiled as he held the door for her. “I couldn’t have said it better, ma’am!”
Bondurant’s voice came over Ben’s headset on the intra-ship radio as they stepped into the Bridge. “Conn, Main Deck, RHIB cradled and secure, ready for maneuvers.”
“Conn, aye,” Hopkins replied. “Left full rudder,” she said as she pushed the thrust levers forward. “Steady on two-one-three.”
“My rudder is left full, coming to two one three, Chief,” Pickens repeated.
As Ben and Taylor stepped up to the command chair, Ben said, “Captain, this is the pilot, Captain Emma Taylor.”
Sam climbed from his chair and shook Taylor’s hand. “I’m sorry about your bad luck, Captain.”
“Thank you. It turned out to the good in the end, I’m happy to say, thanks to you and your crew.”
“Part of the job. Is there anything we can get for you?”
“A large Tanqueray gimlet would go well about now.”
“I’d keep you company. Unfortunately, we’re as dry as the Navy here, and water or some pretty bitter coffee is the best I can do.”
“A coffee is second in the heavenly queue, Captain. May I ask where we are heading?”
“Nassau. It’s the closest port.”
“Well, that’s convenient for everyone. Do you have an ETA?”
“We are figuring that out right now. Our maximum sustainable speed is twenty-eight knots, but I need to make sure I don’t have over a hundred people throwing up on each other down below.”
“I’m grateful for that, Captain. I’m no stranger to mal de mer myself.”
“Same can be said for anyone assigned to a patrol boat. Chief Hopkins will find a sweet spot for us, and we’ll make as quick a trip as possible.”
“Thank you, Captain. Now, if practicable, I need to rejoin my crew and passengers.”
“Sure. XO, can you handle that, please?”
“Absolutely, Captain,” Ben replied. “Would you follow me, ma’am?”
“Certainly.” As they stepped to the rear of the Bridge and headed down, Taylor said quietly, “I’m afraid we are likely to have some motion sickness issues, based on my experience with air travelers.”
“I know, ma’am,” Ben replied. “We have trash cans in every room, and our Health Services Technician can administer Dramamine in severe cases.”
Taylor sighed. “It’s going to be a long night, Leftenant.”
“Yea verily, ma’am.”
Ben was exhausted, his eyes burning and legs aching with fatigue as he scanned the dock. It was crowded with news crews and other people striding purposefully among the milling passengers. Probably scum-sucking ambulance-chasers looking for a payday, Ben thought with disgust. Kauai was almost surrounded by towering cruise ships in the busy port, and a port authority official had already paid a call to inquire when they would be sailing so he could clear the dock for more arrivals. The last survivors were moving ashore to the waiting buses the airline had chartered to take them to hotels. Soon after they departed, Kauai would resume her journey to AUTEC.
The trip had been mercifully uneventful, with no serious illness or injuries. Ben had spent six hours moving among the survivors, consciously suppressing his claustrophobia while inquiring about their health and jotting down their names for the report. Taylor accompanied him and proved to be a very calming influence on the crowd throughout the journey. Their joy at being pulled from the water and delivered to their original destination certainly helped. The conversation snippets with the pilot were also interesting and reminded Ben of his many aviation discussions with his father growing up.
Ben had tremendous sympathy for Taylor, whose ordeal was only beginning. A one-hundred-thirty-million-dollar aircraft entrusted to her care now lay at the bottom of the Atlantic. The reckoning for that was likely to be severe, regardless of the circumstances. When the last passenger departed, Taylor turned to Ben and said, “I guess this is goodbye, Ben.”
“You have a hotel room, ma’am?”
“Yes, indeed, checking in a bit later than planned. Later still, if I can find an open pub to get legless in.”
“I’d love to join you,” Ben said. Then, sadly added, “Captain, I wish you the best of luck. Please get in touch with me if there is anything I can do to help.”
Taylor stepped forward and hugged him warmly. Then she stepped back and said, “That’s from all of us. Please take care.” She turned and walked off the ship, then disappeared into a swarm of media people.
Ben had turned to walk to the Bridge when Bondurant called out, “XO, there’s a gentleman from the embassy here to see you.”
Ben sighed, turned, and followed the big boatswain to a thin, average-sized, balding man wearing a suit and tie standing on the quarterdeck. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Wyporek, Executive Officer, how can I help you, sir?”
“Hello, Lieutenant Junior Grade. I’m Frederick Gianni, the ambassador’s deputy for public affairs. I would like to speak to the captain.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not available. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
“When will he be available?”
“Not today. The Port Authority has requested we vacate this berth as soon as practicable, and he is engaged in sailing preps.”
“Oh, well, I guess you’ll do,” he said, oblivious to Ben’s icy stare. “Several camera crews from the major networks are here and would like to do some interviews.”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said no. As I told you, we have been asked to depart, and all of us will be heavily engaged in making that happen.”
“Well, perhaps one or two of the crews could ride with you....”
“Are you serious? Absolutely not.”
“Well, what’s your next port? They can meet you there.”
“Ship movements are classified, Mr. Gianni. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“You are being most uncooperative, Lieutenant Junior Grade. That will not reflect well on you in my report.”
“I am doing my job, sir. Speaking of which, all of us are pretty busy right now, and I am sure the news networks can get all the information they need from the Seventh District Public Affairs Office. So, if you don’t mind, please leave the ship.”
“And what am I supposed to tell the news crews?”
“Tell them to go to Hell.”
After Gianni turned and stormed off the ship, Bondurant said, “Missed opportunity, XO. Wouldn’t your folks like to see you on TV?”
“My mom would be pretty upset hearing me using the kind of language I would direct at those bastards, Boats.”
As they turned and headed for the Bridge, Bondurant chuckled and said, “Your stock just keeps going up, sir!”
