The UTF Naval Guard Cutteran WHEC 723 EAGLE broke the monstrous surfs of the storm’s fury, crashing through the twenty foot swells and generating huge explosions of mist. The ship’s two prows cut through wave after wave as EAGLE skirted the furthest torrents of the hurricane. Standing on the forward parapet of the top tier of the EAGLE’s watch tower, the lookout diligently scanned the angry seas. Attempting to ignore the stinging pellets of freezing rain, Seaman Mikathon “Mike” Delahunt caught sight of the small distressed transport ship across the crest of a distant wave. Dropping his gyro-stabilized binoculars, his shrill voice squeaked out a panicked report to the Officer of the Deck through the tac-com, “Sir, contact bearing 045, range two nautical miles. She looks DIW sir!” The Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Junior Grade Cephus Angelus squinted with his hazel brown eyes through the salty coated viewport clouded with the sea spray and sleet. A moment after he spotted the vessel, a red blaze cut through the mist and Seaman Delahunt’s shrill voice came through the tac-com again, “Flare bearing 045, sir!”

 

     “Acknowledged. Good eyes Mike.” Lieutenant Angelus responded before quickly bounding across the mammoth bridge cluttered with radar and sonar consoles, navigation systems, communications arrays, and numerous seamen struggling to settle their stomachs, barking out engine and rudder orders along his way. He scooped up the Captain’s direct line, still mentally piecing together his report.

 

     “This is Captain Baldsmith.” The Captain responded.

 

     “G’morning skipper, this is the OOD.” Lieutenant Angelus began, “Time on deck is 09:30. I have a small transport vessel now bearing 355, range 1.5 nautical miles. She’s beam to and appears to be dead in the water. She just fired off a red distress flare, sir. Request permission to set the Rescue and Assistance bill.”

 

     “Permission granted. Are we in parameters to launch the bird?”

 

     Lieutenant Angelus shot a look to the Quartermaster who began blasting the R&A alarm over the ship’s internal communication system. “No sir,” Lieutenant Angelus then replied, “Outside parameters for seas, wind, and visibility. Nothing we haven’t launched in before though.”

 

     “Roger.” Captain Baldsmith paused for only a moment while making his decision. “Get a relief Angelus. I want you back on the flight deck to get that bird off safely.”

 

     “Aye-aye Captain.” Lieutenant Angelus hung up the phone and immediately put his watch team to work.

     

     “Quartermaster, set Flight Quarters. Then calculate a flight course and speed based off the fucking hurricane we’re in. AQ, call Ensign Nagost, tell her to report to the bridge on the double to assume the watch.”

 

     Ensign Nagost showed up a few moments later, out of breath and a bit green, “Ensign Lizany Nagost reporting for duty.”

 

     “Are you fit to assume the watch?” Lieutenant Angelus asked with genuine concern.

 

     “Yes sir. What’ve we got?” She replied, successfully concealing her grogginess.

 

     After a brief pass-down Lieutenant Angelus scurried back aft to the flight deck, stopping in his meager stateroom to grab his flight launch equipment. After throwing on his appropriate thermal wear—which fit a bit too snugly on his large frame—he began making his way through the corridors to the launch deck. As he was strapping on his well-used helmet, he could feel the vibrations of one of the cutteran’s launch bays opening, he was so attuned with the ship from spending countless hours aboard that he could easily tell that it was the port side launch bay opening. He finally made it to the deck hatch and swung open the outer hatch just as the pad locked into position exposing the awaiting R&A aircraft. Emerging from the hatch he spotted Aviation Petty Officer Mohamadi Kashvin, or “Kash” as he was known, organizing the launch equipment.

 

     “Where are we Kash?” Lieutenant Angelus asked, hoping the safety comb of the flight deck had already been completed.

 

     “Just finished the safety comb sir,” Kash smiled, exposing his flawless toothy white grin which contrasted his dark face. Not even a storm of this magnitude could dampen Kash’s spirits, “Launch pad locked in position Alpha. Flight crew manned and ready, sir.”

 

     “Good work Kash. Let’s get this bird off safe, you hear?”

 

     “You got it sir,” Kash replied again grinning with his pristine smile despite the stinging rain that pelted his face.

 

     Crewmen and launch staff scuttled to and fro, undoing mooring cables and removing engine covers completely liberating the awaiting R&A craft: a UTF Mk 33 Seahawk—a lighter variant of the Mk 44 Skyhawk—capable of operating from a ship. The Seahawk’s engines thundered to life as the last of the deck hands ran out of range and Lieutenant Angelus cleared the craft for take-off.

 

     “Tower, R&A Seahawk Echo One, pre take-off checks complete, request for take-off to port.” shouted the Seahawk pilot Lieutenant Commander Nicoy as he anxiously awaited the go for launch. Nicoy’s green eyes darted to the deck to see Angelus as he waited for the go ahead. His pale, freckled skin was exceptionally pale at the moment, as he was not too keen on launching in the middle of a hurricane, but he knew what had to be done, and he was ready and committed to doing it.  

 

     “Roger that Echo One,” Responded Lieutenant Angelus. “Big Bird you are clear for launch!”

 

     “Very well.” Nicoy keenly responded.

 

     After Lieutenant Angelus gave the take-off signal, Nicoy pitched the controls back and the Seahawk lifted off, banking sharply to port immediately after earning a few hard-fought feet of elevation off the flight deck. The Seahawk dipped dangerously low after clearing the flight deck, but Nicoy expertly wrestled the craft back to a safe attitude and raced toward the distressed ship. The search and rescue had officially begun and all Lieutenant Angelus could do was watch in anticipation, gripping the parapet railing ever tighter. Despite this being the last two weeks of his three year tour of duty—and thus his mandated 6 year obligation—he realized it wasn’t going to wind down as slowly as he’d hoped, it would smash to a halt like the crushing waves currently hammering the ship’s double hulls. Grabbing hold of the deck mounted visor, Lieutenant Angelus observed the R&A mission from afar, wishing for the best for the mission and the ease of the remainder of his tour; ultimately knowing little of how tumultuous his final two weeks of duty would be.

               

 

 

The Seahawk’s engines roared through the fury of the hurricane winds as it sped toward the distressed vessel Daring Nomad.  Lieutenant Nicoy maneuvered the controls to get his Seahawk to the ship as quickly as possible. Nicoy’s First Officer Lt. Jansen—a short, black-haired, scrappy fellow from a Northeast Amassian fishing town—manned the co-pilot’s seat and operated auxiliary flight programs. Only through their night-vision goggles could the two navigate the craft through the darkening whirl of the storm. As Nicoy and Jansen managed the flight to the distressed ship, the remaining four crew members, Flight Officer Lt. JG Banim and the diver team—comprised of Ensign Kustig, Ensign Baumerodden “Baumer” and Ensign O’Bannoch—waited in the rear compartment ready for their part of the mission, the physical rescue.

 

     Nicoy broke over the Seahawk’s com line. “Dive team prep for deployment. Two minutes. Copy?”

 

     “Roger sir!” Banim responded holding up two fingers to the divers. The three immediately recognized the gesture and rechecked their harnesses, oxygen tanks, and the rest of their gear. Their dive tanks were conveniently concealed in backpack harnesses that contained two ten minute tanks and an individual-rebreathing tank designed to allow an extra five minutes after the main tanks were emptied. Banim first checked Baumer’s, patting his back and showing thumbs-up, followed by Kustig’s and O’Bannoch’s repeating the gesture. 

 

     As the Seahawk continued its approach to the distressed ship, Nicoy and Jansen looked on as wave after wave came down on the small ship pummeling it into submission. Jansen then cut in over the tac-com, “We’re coming up on the ship. She’s gettin’ pounded somethin’ fierce boys. Looks like you gotta’ step in and rescue this distressed damsel before the sea has its way with her. We’re looking at twenty footers at least. This is gonna’ have to be one helluva quick op. She doesn’t have much time.”

 

     “Dive team stand-by. One minute.” Nicoy added stoically, as he maneuvered the Seahawk over the suffering Daring Nomad, circling it to take in the full view of its damage. 

 

     “Daring Nomad this is Naval Guard Rescue and Assistance Seahawk Big Bird,” Jansen began over an open channel, “does anyone read me? Daring Nomad do you read me?”

 

     “We read you B** Bird!” The ship’s radioman quipped. “We’re ta**** on lots of **ter. We **ed evac now!”

 

     “Roger that Daring Nomad,” Jansen responded, “we have you listed for eight crewmen, that’ll take a few. We need you to make your way off the ship with what life-vests you have so our divers can ready you for pickup.” The Seahawk slewed into a holding pattern as it prepared to deploy the dive team on standby in the rear compartment.

 

     “Negative Big B**d. We *ave **leven. Repeat we have el**** that need *vac!” the radioman shouted.

 

     “What the hell?!” Nicoy blustered, “Tell me that’s the storm interfering with the coms! He didn’t just say they had eleven, did he?!” He knew at most his ship could only take eight in addition to his own crew of six. But eleven? Nicoy immediately realized there was no way they could pull off flying the weight of three extra men, especially not in this weather. They’d have to make two trips. Or summon the other Seahawk from the Eagle.

 

     “Roger that Daring Nomad,” Jansen responded while immediately cutting to the com transmission to the Eagle. ”Eagle Actual, this is Big Bird. Did you catch that?”

 

     “Roger Big Bird. We’re prepping Echo Two for launch.” Ensign Nagost replied.

 

     Nicoy manipulated the controls of the Seahawk and stopped it dead in air as he gave the rescue team the okay. “Rescue team you are clear for deployment!”

 

     Immediately, Banim keyed the controls and opened the right side door of the crew compartment. Not a moment after, Baumer pulled down his thermal visor, sat precariously on the edge for three seconds as he activated his strobe light, and plunged into the ocean. Kustig stepped forward, visor down and clicked on his strobe as he sat on the threshold. He waited for Baumer to clear the drop zone and plunged in after him leaving O’Bannoch waiting on standby for him or Baumer to secure their first survivor.

 

     “Divers away,” Banim reported as he watched the two swim for the wayward boat through the turbulent waters. As his gaze followed their path to the boat he realized the massive thirty foot wave that was mere moments away from breaking on the side of Daring Nomad. “Warning! Warning!” he began, “Nicoy, Jansen, right side! You seein’ this?!”

 

     Looking on in bewilderment, Jansen hastily called to the ship, “Warning Daring Nomad, brace yourselves!”

 

     “What?!” the radioman of Daring Nomad barely had time to say as the enormous wave crashed down on the ship, sending it well beyond its righting limit.

 

     “Daring Nomad can you read me? Over! Daring Nomad! Can you read me?!” Jansen yelled.

 

     “EAGLE Actual, this is Lookout.” Seaman Mikathon suddenly broke over EAGLE’s open tac-com. “Daring Nomad has capsized. Repeat, Daring Nomad has capsized.”

 

     Nicoy and Jansen looked on incredulously as the ship lulled hopelessly; capsized on the spot. “Tell those divers they’d better hurry their asses up! They’ve got eleven souls to save! And get O’Bannoch in the water, double time!” Nicoy called over the Seahawk’s tac-com.

 

     “Roger that!” Banim responded, pointing to O’Bannoch and then down to the water below. He shouted to O’Bannoch, “Change of plans. Eleven crewmen. Capsize. You’re goin’ in! Get who you can and get back!” O’Bannoch stepped forward, pulling down his visor and activating his strobe light. Banim slapped his shoulder and O’Bannoch anxiously leaped into the water.

 

 

 

Upon realizing Daring Nomad’s new predicament, Baumer and Kustig doubled their efforts. Their rescue plan involved the two of them finding floating crewman who’d abandoned ship, tagging them with high frequency strobe lights, and then send them to O’Bannoch who would hold position beneath the Seahawk. Once the crewmen were there O’Bannoch would coordinate the crewmen’s retrieval with Banim operating the Seahawk’s winch, pulling them one at a time aboard the hovering craft. That plan was still in effect, though they were instantly harried now as the ship had capsized and the crew was potentially unable to make it out of the ship. They stopped momentarily in the surf several meters from the ship; they glanced at one another, nodded, and immediately dove under and made their way into the ship.

 

     From the cockpit of the Seahawk Nicoy and Jansen monitored the three divers via their strobe-light positions. As Baumer and Kustig approached the boat they saw them stop and then disappear underneath the swells of the waves as O’Bannoch approached the ship. “Shit. This has gone from bad to worse.” Jansen rapped off nervously. “EAGLE Actual, what’s the status on the other bird?”

 

     “Standing by Big Bird. We need to know if it’s absolutely needed before we can okay the launch.” Ensign Nagost replied.  

 

     “Shit!” Jansen remarked. “Banim, what’s the status of our divers?”

 

     “O’Bannoch is deployed. No strobes yet!” Banim shouted back. He then paused for a brief moment, “Belay that! I’ve got O’Bannoch and two strobes detected. Prepping winch retrieval!”

 

     Nicoy and Jenson both exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing there were at least two survivors made the mission that much more worthwhile given the horrendous conditions. “Roger. Copy that EAGLE? We have two confirmed survivors.” 

 

     Lieutenant Angelus was barely able to hear EAGLE’s response through the cacophony of waves crashing and wind blowing, “***vivors confirmed. Repeat conf*****” was all he was able to hear before another unrelenting wave smashed into the cutteran’s two hulls. Again he caught himself admiring the dual-hull design of the ship, the beauty and nature of it tearing through the fiercest of the ocean’s tempests. He recalled how at-home it made him feel and how deeply he admired the nomadic nature of living aboard a ship, that life suited him. But again, Lieutenant Angelus was drawn back to the immediacy of the situation of the now capsized boat, and returned his attention to watching the rescue.

 

 

 

Baumer and Kustig had entered the capsized ship through its port side and were immediately able to locate two crewmen making for the ship’s exits. Baumer tagged the first with a high-frequency strobe light while Kustig tagged the other man and they quickly sent them toward O’Bannoch who approached just behind them. As they met O’Bannoch he immediately brought them to the surface, but was so engrossed in saving them that he neglected to tell Baumer and Kustig of the additional survivors to expect.

 

     The two instinctually proceeded through the natural surroundings of the ship and located another fleeing crewman, immediately tagging him and pointing him to the surface. Again, they looked at each other, happy that they had already located at least three crewmen, but Baumer didn’t wait long to point to his watch and they both thought to themselves about the time that remained before their air ran out—but more importantly the air of the remaining crew members—as much of the ship was already submerged in the ocean as it began to sink. They continued through the network of the ship to locate the remaining five crewmen, completely unaware of the eight that were actually in need of their help.

 

     As they proceeded through the ship they passed through the crew quarters and found the room near entirely flooded, with a mere foot left of dry ground on the floor, which was now the ceiling of the capsized ship as it slowly drifted down to its watery grave. Passing through the crew quarters they then swam through the ship’s galley which led them to a passageway to the bridge. The watertight door had been dogged down snuggly and double locked. Kustig thought to himself about the captain sealing off the bridge in pursuit of the idea of going down with his ship. Despite having no knowledge of the captain or how he valued his ship or cargo to support this notion, Kustig knew the traditions of the sea and how deathly serious the men who worked it took them. Regardless, they would have to check it out, so Kustig drew a small flare-torch from his vest and began cutting through the door. Meanwhile Baumer checked his mission timer: 15:10. They had five crewmen left and just over fifteen minutes to get them and return to the surface. He caught Kustig’s attention, pointed to his watch and flashed five fingers three times, then pointed to the other bulkhead in the passage, held up five fingers, and finally pointed one finger in a circling motion up to the surface. He was off to find the other five and didn’t want to waste any time while Kustig handled the bridge door. Protocol dictated that they stay together, but the pencil-pushing bureaucrats who wrote the regulations didn’t have lives to save. He hustled off without further hesitation, eager to get the job done.  

 

     Baumer swam through the murky ship as it plunged deeper into the ocean and was grateful for his thermal visor which would point out all signs of bio-heat and indicate any warm bodied survivor in his midst. As he passed through the next passageway Baumer found himself in another crew stateroom. He saw four racks and various personal belongings floating in the dark water; a tin of chewing tobacco, a porno mag, a picture of someone’s sweetheart—typical items for lonely deckhands thousands of miles from home. He found three of the remaining survivors but was surprised to see a mother and father with their pre-teenage son. They were in the midst of taking their last breaths as the remaining air pocket in the stateroom filled; the room was now completely submerged. Their faces were quickly wrought with desperation and panic as they began choking on their last breaths. Baumer quickly realized they didn’t have much longer and unplugged his five minute reserve oxygen tank and gave it to the son. He then removed the inflatable raft he always carried and gave it to the father, pointing up followed by a ripping cord action—the raft had a built-in strobe light so as to alert any nearby rescuers of its position. As the family shared breaths from the oxygen tank he pointed toward the exit and hurried them along, leading them back the way he came and toward the passage way that would lead to an exit. He checked his watch, 11:35. He still had time.

 

     While Baumer searched the ship Kustig continued to burn through the door’s locking hatch with his flare-torch and had nearly finished. With a loud *thunk* the locking hatch gave, and he deactivated his flare-torch and returned it to his vest. He then quickly kicked the dogs and wrenched the door open. To his shock he was greeted by a lifeless blood-enshrouded, unblinking body that appeared to be the ship’s captain. He must have been injured when the boat capsized. Kustig inspected the body and found a gash in the captain’s head and determined that to be the cause of death; if that didn’t kill him, the ensuing flooding of the bridge surely did. He checked his mission timer: 11:03. It’d taken him too long to burn through the door, and as much as he pitied the deceased captain, he knew he had to move on as there were others to rescue. He tagged the captain with a strobe light and left the cabin. His body could wait to be retrieved until after the storm. He saw a ladder that led further down into the ship’s holding bunk and proceeded to swim up it as the overturned boat continued to sink.

 

     As he swam up through the tunnel he found a hold that housed several large car-sized crates, as well as two panic-stricken crewmen. One was desperately tugging at the other who had been lodged under a heavy crate of whatever it was the ship was transporting. It was immediately apparent to Kustig that the pinned man would never make it. The look on the crewman’s face told Kustig that he was clearly taking on water and in immense pain both to the crate pinning him and his lungs filling with the harsh freezing water of the Pacinus Ocean. He grabbed onto the freely floating crewman who was tugging at his fellow shipmate and despite a fierce struggle, was able to wrench him off and tag him with a strobe. He removed his reserve tank and gave it to the man and pushed him toward the hatch forcing him to leave his drowned shipmate. Kustig quickly tagged the other body and checked his mission timer: 7:52. Shit. He’d taken far too long with those crew members. The boat had already submerged beneath the surface and there was no clue as to how deep they had already sunk. Always leaving at least five minutes to spare, and in this case having forfeit his reserve tank, Kustig decided to head back to the surface. On his way he briefly reunited with Baumer and through the use of hand signals, informed him of the two dead crewmen he’d come across. Baumer resigned himself to continue the search for the remaining crew and watched as Kustig nodded, activated his own pick-up strobe, and made for the surface with the surviving crewman in tow.

 

 

 

“EAGLE Actual this is the Flight Deck!” the voice of Lieutenant Angelus boomed over EAGLE’s open tac-com despite the onslaught of waves, wind, and rain rushing around him, “I’ve lost visual on Daring Nomad Repeat, Daring Nomad is down!” He squinted through the storm and could still see Nicoy’s Seahawk holding his pattern, but there was no site of the Daring Nomad, she’d clearly gone under.

 

     “Lookout, can you confirm?” Captain Baldsmith asked as he entered the room, his near seven foot size commanding as much attention as his rank.

 

     “Captain on deck!” Ensign Nagost shouted prompting seaman and officers to quickly stand-to.

 

     “As you were.” The Captain curtly said, “Lookout can you confirm?”

               

     “Confirmed!” Seaman Delahunt’s voice cracked over the storm. “No sign of her!”

 

     “Survivor number two aboard and secure!” Banim shot in on Big Bird’s open tac-com, much to the relief of everyone listening in, “We’ve got two more on deck.”

 

     Good. Nicoy and Jensen both appreciated the retrieval of at least two survivors and the securing of two more, but that still left seven more unaccounted for, and the three rescue swimmers. Jansen looked intently down on the water searching out more strobes with his night-vision goggles. Nothing. Wait, what the?  Jansen immediately focused in on the site that just shot to the surface, one of the divers’ emergency floats. “Banim do you see that?” He asked.

 

     “Roger that Jansen. I’m seeing it.” Banim responded. I also see the three survivors clutching it for dear life. We have seven survivors accounted for!”

 

     “EAGLE Actual this is Big Bird.” Nicoy shouted, “You get that? We are reporting seven accounted for. Repeat we have seven confirmed survivors.”

 

     “Roger that. Keep us posted,” Captain Baldsmith quickly replied.

 

     As Nicoy received the response from EAGLE, Jansen reported the sighting of Kustig’s strobe light and that of another survivor. “We’ve got Kustig plus one. That makes eight. Banim let’s get ‘em up here double time!”

 

     Aboard EAGLE’s bridge many seamen began feeling a touch of relief as more survivors were located and brought aboard the Seahawk. “Keep it up people; we’re not out of this yet.” Captain Baldsmith said, seeming to judge the mood and address everyone’s unspoken thoughts.

 

     Deep beneath the hovering Seahawk and the awaiting survivors were the sinking Daring Nomad and the determined Baumer. He’d already seen seven survivors, and heard about two who hadn’t made it from Kustig. There was no way that family was part of the crew. That meant that their original number of eight was incorrect. There were more survivors. Baumer knew it. He checked his mission timer: 6:16. He only had one minute to search the rest of the ship given that he no longer had his reserve tank. They’d already checked the bridge, the galley, the crew’s quarters and the hold, which left only the engine room. Well aware it couldn’t be completed in one minute, he again adopted the common mantra of men in his position: screw protocol, I have a job to do.

 

     Baumer swam back through the main corridor and approached the last hatch. He pried it open and proceeded up a small stair case and peered into the main engine room. There he saw the dismally lit untidy room. Tools littered the ceiling, while various items floated in the murk. Baumer continued to pan the room when he came across the slightly dim presence of heat. Simply the engine cooling, the father must have been the eighth crewman he thought as the ship sank deeper into the frigid abyss. No survivors. He made a point not to look at his timer, knowing it was below 5:00. He’d stayed well past his limit; he needed to head for the surface while he still had air to do so.

 

     Leaving the mess of the engine room he swam back through the main corridor and eventually out through the same hatch he’d entered through. From there Baumer swam toward the surface and the cluster of strobe lights, as he saw one disappear from his ocean view. Behind him, sinking in the cold black depth were the bodies of the pinned crewman in the hold, the captain on the bridge, and floating in the engine room among the clutter of the cooling wrecked engine, were the two lifeless blue bodies of the ship’s engineers.

 

 

 

“Any more?” O’Bannoch shouted as Baumer finally breached the surface.

 

     “Tapped out! Less than two minutes left on the tanks!” Baumer yelled back, slightly confused. 

 

     “There’s still two more!” O’Bannoch replied; his words indistinguishable due to the hurricane around them and the Seahawk’s roaring engines above.

 

     “No more!” Baumer quickly shouted back, giving a cut-neck motion and then pointing at them both and then up toward the Seahawk.

 

     O’Bannoch reluctantly nodded, after falsely interpreting Baumer’s inaudible words. The two of them took the winch up together swaying in the fierce winds as the other survivors before them and slowly but surely made their way up to the Seahawk as Nicoy maneuvered the controls to return to the ship.

 

     “We lost the last two?” Banim asked as Baumer slumped into one of the jump seats after coming aboard the Seahawk.

 

     “Huh?” Baumer responded. “Yeah the captain and another didn’t make it.”

 

     “Yeah we know that. What about the other two?” O’Bannoch queried, “There were two more crewmen.”

 

     “Two more?” Baumer hesitantly asked, catching his breath.

 

     “Yeah, from what the others say, they were the engineers?” Banim probed.

 

     Shit. “The heat source in the engine room.” Baumer muttered more than asked. That’s what O’Bannoch was saying before they took the winch up to the Seahawk. Baumer ran his wet gloved hands over his short cropped hair as he acknowledged for the first time, the compartment full of the seven survivors. He observed the remaining four crew members of the Daring Nomad, cold and morose after the loss of their shipmates, then looked on as the family of three huddled together, frigid and frightened after the ordeal they’d just experienced. He tried to focus on the lives saved, rather than those lost but his mind couldn’t help but drift off to thoughts of the raging sea as he contemplated the nomads lost to it as the Seahawk returned to the ship.

 

     “EAGLE actual, this is Big Bird, we are coming home.” Jansen reported as Nicoy gunned the controls and sped toward the ship.

 

     Lieutenant Angelus focused on guiding the Seahawk to a safe landing. Despite the successful return of Big Bird in the horrendous hurricane conditions, he couldn’t help but feel melancholic; as though the mighty and cruel sea had yet managed to claim some manner of victory over the rescue. He tried to shake off the feeling, well aware that every life saved from the jaws of a cold death at sea is a victory. Still, he couldn’t quell the forlorn feeling creeping up his spine that everything wasn’t as it seemed.

  

 

 

***

 

 

 

From the recorded audio logs of Captain Darellon Baldsmith:

Naval Guard Cutteran NG 0083 “Eagle”

27 November, 3.2220                                                                                                

 

     Modulator: Begin recording:    

     

     Cpt. Baldsmith: A week has passed since the search and rescue. We passed through the hurricane relatively unscathed, some bent lifelines and a few seasick seamen, but nothing that doesn’t build character. We were able to recover the bodies of the 4 remaining crew members of the Daring Nomad. The bodies and the survivors have been flown to Santa Bianca on the South-Pacinus coast of Amassia, thus we are currently down one of our Seahawks: Mother Goose was dispatched to split the flying hours of my flight crews. This doesn’t concern me too deeply as we’re only 4 days out from port and they'll only be gone a day. The watches have gone well since then. The waters have calmed and it’s looking as though the last week of this patrol won’t be as hectic as we’d thought given that hellish hurricane.

 

     Modulator: INCOMING TRANSMISSION.

 

     Bridge: Captain Baldsmith, Lookout spotted a raggedy-looking freighter four Nauts’ off our starboard side. Radar has confirmed. It matches the profile for Southeast Pacinu smugglers.

 

     Cpt. Baldsmith: Acknowledged. Looks as though it’ll be an interesting last few days after all. Prepare boarding party. Set Alert 1. I'm on my way.

 

     Bridge: Confirmed. Setting Alert 1.

 

     Modulator: End recording.    

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

As lead tactical boarding officer on EAGLE, Lieutenant Angelus had gained immense knowledge through tough on-the-job training; boarding ships, inspecting cargo and ship manifests, thwarting drug runners, and occasionally razzing pompous yacht owners who think the ocean is theirs by inheritance. His team of twenty Buccaneer-Commandos—Bucs, for short—was well trained and practiced; the five fire-teams of four executed superb boarding-action maneuvers and each of them was a top-notch marksman. Furthermore, all twelve boarding parties he’d overseen on this tour were executed flawlessly. That’s probably why he now found himself in hour three of his thirteenth mission which had escalated to a full-on ship to ship firefight that left his team of Bucs, crippled, severely outnumbered, and isolated, on the Pacinu freighter. Unlucky thirteen, Lieutenant Angelus thought as he crouched behind a crate in the freighter’s cargo hold as pirate-smugglers peppered his cover with bullets, keeping the remains of his squad pinned down. Son of a bitch, I wish I had some explosives.

 

     “Covering fire!” Chief Petty Officer Vasic shouted. CPO Vasic led Bravo team and was an excellent leader, inspiring confidence in all of his men through tough love. Lieutenant Angelus was happy to have his cool below decks with him at the moment. Vasic had smartly positioned his men up on a catwalk behind considerable cover directly above Angelus’ position.

 

     Lieutenant Angelus jolted, alert and aware that his Alpha team—which now only consisted of himself and his lead shooter, Petty Officer Simund—now had to move from their covered position to the next one in the narrow window that Bravo team provided the covering fire. “Moving!” Lieutenant Angelus shouted in response.

 

     He and Simund sprinted for the cover of a heavy Exo-Loader suit that he assumed was used to carry the massive weapons crates that his team discovered strewn about the freighter’s cargo hold—weapons which were now held in the hands of the freighter’s crew. Not only had the routine inspection gone horribly awry after a nasty run-in with a trigger-happy gunman eager to test out the merchandise, but he was now pinned down and cut off from any return route back to EAGLE. He thought for a brief moment about the first of his team’s casualties: the entirety of Charlie team. Gone in an instant—a well-placed high explosive incendiary round, ending their lives before they could even react. But there was nothing he could do for his fallen comrades now as his thoughts turned to the firefight Delta and Echo teams were locked in with the enemy crew above decks, evidenced by the staccato of gunfire reverberating throughout the ship. He further wondered what efforts were being made by EAGLE to neutralize the situation.

 

     “Grenade!” A Bravo team Buc called.

 

     Angelus immediately reacted, diving under the legs of the Exo-loader and covering as much of his body as possible. The following thump and concussive blast indicated to Lieutenant Angelus that it was merely a concussion grenade. Mind numbed yet alive, he was grateful for the concussive blast as he realized the loader’s legs didn’t provide full protection from any shrapnel the grenade could have ejected. He simultaneously realized that the loader wasn’t just a standard Exo-loader. He recognized the shape of an ammunition belt fed from an ammo pack on the loader’s back to a twin-barreled mini-gun on the loader’s right arm. Fused onto its left arm was a triangular shield type attachment. These aren’t your everyday smugglers. A spark popped into his mind. Unlucky? Hell no. I make my own luck.

 

     Lieutenant Angelus immediately shouted to his teammate who had found cover behind the Exo-loader’s power supply station, “Simund, I need cover fire!”

 

     “Roger that.” Simund responded; quip and precise as always. He stepped out of his covered position and fired off five bursts from his AC-7a, and hinted at a smile when he saw three of the bursts score hits.

 

     Lieutenant Angelus didn’t hesitate with the time his teammate bought him and he hurried into action as he climbed aboard the Exo-loader, seated himself in the operator’s chair, and engaged the hatch’s sealing mechanism. Inside the loader the internal systems hummed to life and Cephus grabbed onto the arm controls out of instinct and activated the intuitive controls for the targeting system as he loaded and readied the dual chain-guns of the right arm. He then broadcasted over the loader’s microphone, “Simund, Bravo, consolidate and form up on the crates behind me. There’s a service ladder at 8 o’clock-high beyond their lines, I’m gonna’ walk you right up to it. We’re blowin’ this joint!”

 

     “Roger that!” CPO Vasic responded.

 

     “Copy that.” Simund said lowly.

 

     Lieutenant Angelus spooled up the barrels of the mini-guns and pulled the trigger as he laid down covering fire from the loader. Bullets peppered the positions of the pirate smugglers while they fled and fell alike, opening up a hole for Bravo to move through. “You’ve got a clear path to that ladder!” he said as he lumbered straight past the ladder to draw off any residual enemy fire. As he took cover from a rocket launched toward him he mistakenly clenched a nob on the left arm control stick and activated the triangular shield-like device on the loader’s arm. Pincers immediately opened up on the edges of the shield mount as a beam of light shot out of the shield’s open end, revealing a powerful flat laser blade. The rocket impacted on the laser-mount and merely scorched the ground around him as he realized the laser was a shield in addition to being a blade. In response he broke cover to draw off more fire as he launched a revitalized attack with this new found weapon and the repeated salvos from the dual mini-guns.

 

     Simund and the remaining three members of Bravo team—Chief Petty Officer Vasic and Petty Officers Dalls and Granera—formed up on the cover behind Lieutenant Angelus in the loader. They surveyed their surroundings and gauging it clear, they broke cover and made for the ladder. As they reached the ladder, Bravo team began their ascent as Simund laid down additional cover fire. Dalls first, then Granera, followed by CPO Vasic, and finally Simund disengaged and began ascending the ladder as Lieutenant Angelus carried on with his diversion. As they neared the top Dalls saw the hatch open in front of him. Relief flooded through Dalls’ body as he saw light burst into the cargo hold and thought the cavalry had arrived to escort them back to the ship. That relief was short lived, as bullets began raining down on Bravo, tearing them to pieces as they perched helplessly on the ladder.

 

     Out of the corner of the loader’s peripheral vision Lieutenant Angelus was able to make out the flashes of gunfire ricocheting off the surface of the hold. Stupefied, he turned around to a vision of horror as he watched the bodies of Bravo team fall to the floor in the hail of gunfire. Simund, the last one on the ladder was able to return one burst from his assault carbine as he was riddled with holes and eventually lost his grip on the ladder. His body was the last to hit the deck as Lieutenant Angelus stood aghast in dismay at the site of his murdered Buc teams. No. His boarding team had been completely eradicated. Where were Delta and Echo? Were they even still alive? Was anyone coming for him? No. He was trapped and alone. I’m not going down without a fight.

 

     Emboldened by the deaths of Simund and the rest of Bravo, the pirate smugglers rallied and continued to exchange fire with Lieutenant Angelus in the loader. Their spirits lifted and their courage bolstered, several of them began breaking the cover of their concealments to rain down fire on the loader—the last fighting member of the boarding party.

 

     Stupid move. Lieutenant Angelus rallied from the loss of his team, and revitalized by the thoughts of his last stand, recognized the pirates who had broken cover and readily responded by claiming those foolish enough to break cover with a hail of fire from his dual barrel chain-gun. Claxons blared as the mini-guns began to run out of ammo. No matter. I’ll run it dry and quench its thirst with bloody vengeance. A death at sea now sounded all the more appealing to him and a death in service to his world, country, and shipmates, was full of valor. Why then, did he suddenly feel depressed about it? He would die a good death. Dying at sea gave him comfort and solace, but he still felt dejected as he realized it wouldn’t be complete, not unless they were here. But they weren’t: Davriel, Jonos, and Savos were nowhere near him. They were all over the world.

 

     Realizing that he would die without his brothers angered him. He resolved himself as the warning alarms blared in his ears and the messages littered his vid screens: Low ammo. Skeletal Integrity: 15 percent. Systems failing. It would end here whether he liked it or not. So he would make it one hell of an end at sea. If I go down, we all do.

 

     The pirate smugglers converged on the loader’s position and continued their sustained fire. They watched as the mini-gun barrels spooled empty and laughed with pure malice as they fought harder, fired until their clips rang empty and then reloaded. They wanted this man dead. And they were going to have him dead. They all watched as the loader bowed under fire, seemed to turn in retreat, and suddenly lurched forward and charged toward one of the ship’s sides. It smashed into the hull and the impact was felt and heard throughout the ship. Trickles of water began bursting out of small holes in the freighter’s sides. Pirates looked on to the calamity down in the hold, their smiles and laughs slowly fading as they realized what was happening. The loader lifted its left arm high above its head activating the laser blade attached to the shield’s end. The pirates looked on in wonder at the yellow hue that the blade emitted. They watched in utter disbelief as the loader drove the blade directly into the side of the ship. It removed the blade as a huge rush of water washed into the boat. The freighter shook and seemed to ring out in pain as the loader slashed into its sides a second and third time in the shape of an “X.” Pirates began turning and breaking for what exits they could, horrified as they faced the realization of what this madman was doing. He knew he was dead. He would take them all with him to his watery grave. 

 

     Lieutenant Cephus Angelus now saw the remnants of the pirate-smuggler crewmen as they broke cover and fled. He suddenly smiled. Fools. Running won’t save you from the crushing impact of the sea. With a final lurch of the controls he crashed the loader into the ship’s hull one last time, breaking through the side as the onrush of the dark waters of the deep began flooding the entire cargo hold, sinking the pirates’ freighter: crew, cargo, and all. Everything went black as the waters entombed the ship and it sank into oblivion.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Lieutenant Angelus woke up in EAGLE’s infirmary with Corpsman Trasker overlooking his charts. “What the hell?” He queried as he took in his sights. His best friend on the ship Lieutenant JG Zaneil Banim was waiting by the edge of the cot exchanging a word with Trasker. 

 

     “Hey, there he is.” Banim responded. “Tryin’ to squeeze out on the money you owe me by punchin’ the ticket on your last week huh?”

 

     “Zane? How did I—” Lieutenant Angelus began slowly.

 

     “Get here?” Banim broke in, “Well, after the freighter went down thanks to some madman’s antics, we looked for survivors and… the bodies. We found a couple o’ guys left from Delta and Echo in the water right after the ship went under, along with plenty of those Pacinu bastards—they were real quick to ask for help. Then as we sent down dive teams we found the rest of your guys in the ship’s hold. As we recovered the last of ‘em we stumbled across something strange: an Exo-loader riddled with bullets and almost entirely full of water. We opened the thing up and imagine who we found in there.” Banim was smiling and shaking his head at Angelus, “You were smiling like you were asleep and having a funny dream or somethin’. We lugged your dead ass outta’ the water and got you topside, only to find that you weren’t dead at all.”

 

     Trasker then interrupted, “We’re quite interested to know how that happened by the way.”

 

     “Yeah, about that.” Angelus started, rather unsure of it himself.

 

     “Don’t stress it too much for now. Your body’s had enough for a while.” Trasker said, “The good news is you escaped mostly unscathed. No internal or external wounds of any kind. As if the ocean revitalized you or something. Very peculiar indeed.”

 

     “Good news for all the ladies out there.” Angelus weakly grinned.

 

     “I don’t know about that.” Banim chuckled, “But hell, anyway you look at it, you’re alive, and that’s enough for me man. Good to have you back! And hey, today’s Thursday, we’re pullin’ into Apacinia tomorrow—tour’s over.”

 

     “Which is why I’m letting the ‘irregular’ manner of your survival, slide.” Trasker reported, “It’d only add to the amount of work I’d have and would delay your Matriculation ceremony. We’re having a feast for the fallen tonight, and you’re the guest of honor before we see you off with the ceremony tomorrow. Better get some rest Angelus.” Trasker concluded as he resumed studying several patients’ charts.

 

     “So now that you’re done with the Naval Guard, ships, pirates, raids, rescues, and life at sea,” Banim posed, “What are you gonna’ do?”

 

     “I’m gonna’ go home and see my brothers.” Cephus said with finality as he leaned back in the cot and fell into a deep restful sleep.