And Hell Followed



  And Hell Followed

  Mark Scott

  Copyright © 2014 Mark Scott

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  Bruce Martin was a journalist for the Biscayne Sun for eight years. He was a good reporter. Martin had an uncanny knack for sniffing out a story and getting to the bottom of it. He was, as so many in the press tend to be, egocentric. Martin believed that he was far more intelligent than most Americans. That fact, in his mind, qualified him to educate the rest of society. This personality trait made Bruce Martin a first rate journalist, if not a first rate human being. When Martin's chief editor assigned him a mundane story on the Coast Guard's new role since nine eleven, he was less than thrilled. He never could have imagined that it would turn out to be one of the biggest stories in U.S. history.

  Martin now found himself on the Coast Guard cutter Courageous which left Miami two days earlier. The cutter arrived on station in the Windward pass the previous night. As the Caribbean Sea flows north it is funneled into a series of narrow passages between the islands. The majority of ship traffic must move through these passes; consequently many are patrolled by the Coast Guard looking for drug smugglers. The Windward Pass lies between the southeastern coast of Cuba and the western shore of Hispaniola, the resident island of the Dominican Republic and Haiti.

  Martin sat on the starboard air castle, a sheltered weather deck ten feet above the waterline. He leaned his back against the brilliant white bulkhead while he jotted his impressions into a spiral notebook. Occasionally he would sweep his thick black hair from his eyes. He shifted his tall, slender frame in an effort to gain comfort. Every now and then he would stop and lift his face, tanned and handsome, to take in the beauty that surrounded him. Martin listened to the soft song of rushing water as the ship's bow sliced the Caribbean, allowing it to cascade along the two hundred and ten feet of hull. He watched the rise and fall of the cutter churn the blue water into luminous clouds of foam. The foam slid along the ship, sinking into the sea and as it did, fading from white to a brilliant turquoise before dissipating altogether. Martin stared off across the long, slowly rolling swells. He marveled at the water's beauty. The sea here was the deepest, purest blue that one could imagine. On the horizon, wearing a crown of fluffy cumulus clouds was the island of Hispaniola.

  The serenity was broken by the shrill of the loud speakers. "Now, all hands man flight op stations. All hands man flight op stations." Martin rose to his feet. The roll of the cutter made walking difficult. In a half walk, half stagger he negotiated the narrow passageways and ladders that took him to the flight deck level. There he could see the deck crew preparing to launch the helicopter. Opening a hatch Martin stepped into a dark passageway. He nearly lost his footing as the ship turned hard to port and into the wind. Moving up a second ladder he began to feel a little sea sick as the bow rose into the swells, then fell into the trough with a shudder.

  Arriving on the bridge Martin could hear the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of the helicopter's rotor blades. The volume steadily increased until he could actually feel the noise beating against his chest. Looking out a large window Martin watched as the red aircraft glided by the bridge so close that he could see the crew inside moving around as they performed their duties. The helicopter banked off towards the open ocean. Martin turned his attention to the bridge.

  The bridge is the nerve center of a ship. It is on the bridge that the ship is steered, the engines controlled and navigation plotted. The Courageous' bridge was surprisingly small, maybe fifteen by fifteen feet. A traditional ship's helm was mounted before a huge glass window at the front and center of the bridge. Mounted above the helm was a large compass that was surrounded by monitors and other electronic equipment. On either side of the bridge there was a door, or hatch, in nautical terms. Each hatch led out to a kind of balcony called a bridge wing. On each bridge wing was mounted a machinegun. On the starboard bridge wing there was a forty millimeter gun. On the port wing there was a fifty caliber gun. Blue vinyl tarps were stretched out over the bridge wings to offer some protection against the elements. On the roof of the bridge is the crow's nest. In the crow's nest, just as in the days of the three masted sailing ships, a lookout stands his lonely vigil. A modern lookout, however, has a lot of assistance from technology. He uses a giant pair of binoculars which are mounted on a pedestal and can swivel in a full circle. The "big eyes", as they are called, are capable of measuring distance, seeing in infra-red or switching to night vision. The lookout can view a suspect vessel in the infra-red spectrum and can tell if the vessel is smuggling marijuana. When compressed into bails, Marijuana gives off heat just like a pile of grass clippings in a backyard. The big eyes can detect this heat, allowing the lookout to give a boarding party advanced notice of what they will encounter. Martin thought it was ridiculous that the lookout still relayed this information to the bridge by a most primitive means; he spoke into a metal tube that ran between the crow's nest and the bridge.

  Martin stood in a back corner of the bridge next to the chart table. The cutter's navigator, Dave Anderson, poured over a scattering of nautical charts. Looking up from his task he flashed a smile at Martin, "What's up Marti?" The crew had bestowed the traditional nickname on Martin. He thought it rather juvenile and undignified but he endured it, nevertheless, as he was a little intimidated by most of the crew. Some of the crew, Anderson being one of them, was surfers. All of the surfers were in great shape and filled with a macho zest for life that Martin admired, though he did not fully understand it.

  "Where exactly are we Dave?" Martin asked.

  "We are right about... here," responded Anderson pointing with the sharpened point of his pencil to a spot on the chart.

  Martin leaned forward, examining the chart. He saw where the run lines intersected at a spot nearly in the center of the Windward Pass.

  "Has this area been very productive for you in the past?" asked Martin.

  "Oh sure. It's pretty much a straight shot up from Columbia. A lot of runners will bolt for Haitian waters if they spot us. Personally I prefer the Mona or Anegada Pass. 'Cause when mid patrol break comes around we're in close proximity to some great surf. P.R. has some really hollow reef breaks like the Gas Chambers. But Anegada, ah, Anegada! We have a secret spot, a reef break, accessible only by boat. That place, on a good northeasterly swell, goes off!"

  Martin wasn't sure he understood all the jargon Anderson had just rambled off. But he got the idea; the surfers of the Courageous had their own secret paradise.

  "Where's Anegada?"

  "BVI"

  "Where?"

  "The British Virgin Islands"

  "Sounds sweet!" responded Martin.

  "You know it man. One of these days I'm gonna take some leave and bring the old lady down. She'd love it."

  A group of guardsmen entered the bridge. It was the change of the watch.

  Anderson nodded a goodbye to Martin before sliding down the ladder and disappearing. The radio on the bridge crackled to life. Everybody on the bridge stopped instantly and strained to hear the helicopter pilot's voice.

  "Coast Guard cutter Courageous, Coast Guard cutter Courageous this is Coast Guard zero six one five, how copy over?"

  The O.D., (officer of the
deck), lifted the mike off of the radio. Squeezing the mike's key he spoke, "Coast Guard zero six one five this is Courageous. I have you five by, (good reception), at this time over."

  "Roger Courageous, zero six one five, be advised that we have a contact at approximately zero two zero relative at twenty miles. Subject is a white trawler with a red waterline. The waterline appears to be a legitimate waterline. Venezuelan colors. Have observed two, tango whiskey Oscar, two P.O.B. at this time. How copy over?"

  The O.D. responded, "Roger roger zero six one five. Do you have a vessel name over?"

  "Roger Courageous that is affirmative. Vessel name is Canarian, over."

  "Zero six one five, Courageous, standby one."

  "Roger Courageous standing by on one four over."

  The O.D. spoke, "X.O., (executive officer), do you want to check the hit list?"

  The X.O. nodded his approval. With that the O.D. walked over to the chart table.

  He removed a black three ring binder from a shelf on the bulkhead beside the table and began thumbing through the pages. Martin was scribbling feverishly in his own notebook.

  "X.O. do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Martin asked.

  "Fire away," the X.O. responded.

  "I was wondering if you could explain that exchange between the helicopter and the Cutter, please sir." said Martin, feeling a little intimidated as he stared at his own reflection in the X.O.'s mirrored sunglasses.

  "Well the helo, (Coast Guard slang for helicopter), crew has spotted a trawler that is suspicious. We have a list, that we call the hit list, anyway; this list is generated by intelligence agencies. If a vessel is on that list then we will definitely intercept and board. If a vessel looks strange or is behaving strangely then we will also board."

  "What is zero two zero relative?" asked Martin, referring to his notes.

  "That is the position of the trawler relative to us, the cutter."

  "What was the pilot talking about...something about a legitimate waterline?" asked Martin.

  "Sometimes, if a vessel is really loaded down, they will paint a fake waterline in an attempt to appear that they are not carrying a load. That is almost exclusively a pot smuggler's trick and to a trained eye it is easy to detect."

  "So this guy isn't loaded, since he has a real waterline," Martin inquired.

  "My guess is that he isn't running grass, I'll put it that way. It doesn't mean he ain't loaded with coke or guns, illegals, or hell in this day and age, he may be bringing in a nuke for all we know. My experience tells me if he's a trawler and he's way out here, then he's probably up to somethin'."

  "Okay, let's see," responded Martin anxiously as he hurried to ask his questions before the X.O.'s duties required his full attention. "Venezuelan colors, he's flying a Venezuelan flag?"

  The X.O. nodded "yes."

  "What is P.O.B.?"

  "People on board."

  "X.O. we have a hit!" exclaimed the O.D.

  The X.O. raised his hand and extended his index finger indicating for Martin to wait a minute. "Let's get with Miami and get all the data available on the Canarian," said the X.O. in a calm and measured voice. The O.D. turned and asked, "Where's the Bo swain's Mate?"

  "Here sir," said a young man as he stepped onto the bridge from the starboard bridge wing. "Take this down to the radio shack and tell them to come up with Miami. Tell them we want all the data available on the Venezuelan vessel Canarian, number forty six on the current hit list. Got that?"

  "Aye aye sir," replied the Bo swain enthusiastically. Then he turned and bounded down the steps leaving the bridge.

  "X.O. do you wish to deviate?" asked the O.D.

  "Standby," said the X.O. as he walked over to a black telephone that hung on the back wall of the bridge. He picked up the hand piece and pushed the numbers to ring the Captain's cabin. After a couple of seconds the X.O. spoke "Cap'n this is X.O., sir we have a visual by the helo that is on the current intel pub do you wish to deviate?" The X.O. paused and listened intently to whatever it was that the captain was saying. Then he spoke once more saying simply "aye, aye" before hanging up the phone. "Mister Storey, (that was the O.D.'s name), deviate to Canarian's course and intercept."

  "Aye, Aye," replied Ensign Storey. With that Mister Story began issuing orders which had the immediate effect of sending the bridge into a flurry of activity. He began by giving orders to the young man at Courageous' helm. "Helmsman, come right zero one eight degrees."

  The helmsman replied, "Helm aye, right zero one eight degrees." The helmsman then began to vigorously spin the wheel to the right. Suddenly he braked it then made some minor adjustment, all the while watching the ship's compass in front of him. Gradually the compass needle drifted onto zero one eight degrees.

  Then the O.D. barked another order, "Navigation, project an intercept course for vessel Canarian."

  The navigator responded with a simple, "Aye."

  "Are you going to board this boat?" Martin asked the X.O.

  "You bet! It's on the hit list. Even if he wasn't on the list just the fact that a trawler is in these waters is suspicious enough," responded the X.O.

  "Is it only drugs that you're looking for? I mean since nine eleven are you alert for any terrorist activity?"

  "Let me tell ya somethin' about the Coast Guard Marti. We've been at war with terrorist way before September the eleventh. I mean step back and look at the big picture. All of these drugs that we are trying to stop; do ya think it's all about money? Oh sure there's billions of dollars being made from drugs, but the money funds an ideology. Take coke for instance, follow the money and it leads you back to several Marxist groups in Colombia, Ecuador and Peru. The politicians call them 'narco-terrorist'. The money finances the ideology and the terrifying methods of cramming that ideology down the collective throats of a population. So the Coast Guard has been in a running battle with terrorism for many decades now. The public, though, is just now becoming aware of it. But for us...it's business as usual."

  Martin stood there for a moment rather stunned. The X.O. really understood, not only his mission, but the geopolitical forces that necessitated his mission. The X.O. spoke concisely and articulately. Martin had looked down upon the Coast Guardsmen. In Martin's mind, he was a college graduate and most of them were not. Those that had finished college, in Martin's estimation must be some sort of loser to be in the armed forces. Yet here was one that was every bit as educated and perceptive as himself. Martin was taken aback. It would not be the last time that these men would surprise him.

  The X.O. excused himself and joined the O.D., who was hunched over a nautical chart. Martin stepped out onto the port bridge wing. He looked out across the rolling blue Caribbean. The sky was a vibrant blue. Enormous towering clouds drifted slowly, suspended in the air by balmy breathes of the tropics. The cloud tops were a brilliant white. Each was etched with shades of blue that grew darker and darker until, at the base of the cloud, the blue was nearly black. Veils of rain linked the clouds with the sea below. The warm wind chilled as it picked up in velocity and the water faded from deep blue to a dirty green color and then, to slate gray. The orderly march of the long rolling swells became disrupted. The sea fell into confusion with the waves cresting and spotting the ocean with frothing whitecaps. Martin watched as a luminous spear of lightning leapt from a cloud to the water below. Seconds later came the low rumble of thunder. Off to his left Martin saw another cloud bulging at its base. Being a Floridian, Martin knew what this was and so he waited with eager anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the bulge elongated. Finally a thin and wispy waterspout began its' slow dance across the waves. Martin watched it twist and writhe like some kind of strange atmospheric belly dancer. He stood, mesmerized by the spectacle until the cyclone diminished and receded, disappearing into the belly of the gathering storm.

  The Courageous sailed on into the wall of rain. The drops beat so furiously upon the tarp stretched over the bridge wing that the noise was akin to standing in a d
rum. Martin retreated onto the bridge. The cutter's bow rose and fell as it plowed through the angry seas. The Courageous began to roll from side to side. Martin started to feel a little queasy. For forty five minutes the Courageous sailed through the storm. Slowly the rain abated and the clouds began to part, allowing shafts of sunlight to illuminate areas of the still choppy waters.

  Finally the cutter passed from the storms influence and made a heading for the Canarian's position, now just twelve miles off the starboard bow. For the next thirty minutes Martin sat in a corner of the bridge writing all he had observed into his notebook. Then came the voice of the lookout, "Bridge, lookout."

  "Bridge aye," responded the O.D.

  "Bridge I have a contact bearing zero six zero relative at approximately five nautical miles."

  "Bridge aye."

  The O.D. strode over to the phone and called the Captain's cabin. "Captain," he said,

  "we have a visual contact with the subject." The O.D. hung the phone up and walked out onto the forward bridge wing where the X.O. was standing staring at the Canarian through binoculars. A couple of minutes later Martin heard somebody call out, "Captain on the bridge!" That statement drew the X.O. and O.D.'s attention. The Captain nodded to them approvingly. Then the Captain took his seat at the front of the bridge to watch his junior officers intercept the Canarian.

  By now the Canarian was plainly visible through the large windows at the front of the bridge. The Canarian looked to Martin to be about a mile ahead of the Courageous. The O.D. left the X.O. watching the vessel through his binoculars and walked back onto the bridge. Standing beside the helmsman the O.D. reached up above the helm and removed a microphone from one of the radios situated over the ship's wheel. The O.D. brought the mike to his mouth and spoke confidently, " Motor vessel Canarian, motor vessel Canarian , this is the United States Coast Guard Cutter Courageous, heave to and prepare to be boarded." The only response was the crackling static of an empty radio channel.

  "Motor vessel Canarian this is the United States Coast Guard, do you copy, over?" Again, no response. The O.D. walked over to the helmsman and guided him as he steered the Courageous to within twenty yards of the lumbering old trawler. Now Martin had a good view of the Canarian. The vessel seemed innocuous enough. She was around sixty feet in length and her movement through the water seemed labored in comparison to the cutter. The gunwales were a weathered white, thin and cracked to reveal the lines of the planks from which her hull was constructed. Here and there, along the trawler's length, the white paint was streaked with streams of rust. The waterline was a faded red. The Canarian's thick bow responded clumsily to the swells. Her wide beam made her roll heavily first to port and then slowly back to starboard. With each roll the bottom of her hull was visible and Martin could see that she was infested with barnacles and algae. On the main deck, amidships, was the pilot house. The structure was basically the boat's bridge and like the Courageous' bridge, the pilot house was lined with many windows. Martin wondered how anybody could see out of those windows, as they were filthy and encrusted with salt spray. Inside the dark figure of the helmsman stood, unmoving, at Canarian's wheel. Directly behind the pilot house was a tall mast with a boom angling out over the trawler's stern. Ropes hung limply and the cutter was now so close that Martin could hear the block and tackle clanging off of the rusted rigging.

  The X.O. turned to Martin and said, "See her trawlin' rig Marti? It's all rusted up, these guys ain't fishin!" The O.D. stepped out onto the bridge wing carrying a bullhorn. Lifting it to his mouth he spoke, " Motor vessel Canarian, motor vessel Canarian, this is the United States Coast Guard Cutter Courageous, heave to and prepare to be boarded." Once more there was no response. The O.D. leaned out over the bridegewing and called out to the Bo swains mate on the deck beneath the bridge," Give 'em the water canon Smitty!"

  "Aye, Aye," came a voice from below.

  A water canon is a high pressure fire hose attached to a long metal muzzle which is mounted onto a swiveling pedestal. The device is used primarily in firefighting but it is also employed as a nonlethal means of stopping a reluctant suspect vessel. To stop a fleeing boat the canon is used to pour large volumes of water down a vessel's stack in the hopes of, either drowning the engine or cracking the engine block. This tactic, however, was unsuccessful with the Canarian. The old relic merely sputtered and coughed a few puffs of white smoke before continuing on. The O.D. was then forced to use a more direct approach in apprehending the incompliant vessel. He gave the order to pull two hundred yards ahead of the suspect and to maintain that distance.

  "Helm," said the O.D., "on my command swing hard to starboard. We will go dead in the water and block her."

  "Helm aye!"

  The O.D. then summoned the Bo swain, "Go below and assemble the Damage Control Crews in the forward peak and amidships deck two."

  "Aye!" came the enthusiastic response.

  Martin was alarmed by what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that this crew was actually going to risk colliding with another vessel. Martin dared not question them but he was certainly worried and perhaps even a little frightened. He watched the Canarian slip astern. The Courageous held her position for some ten minutes before the O.D. snapped the order, "Helm hard to starboard!"

  "Hard to starboard aye!" and the helmsman began feverishly spinning the cutter's wheel. The Courageous leaned to the right then lurched to a stop. The engines went nearly silent as they now idled, awaiting their next command. Martin could see the Canarian approaching, never wavering in course or speed. To his horror it soon became apparent that a collision was eminent. Martin began moving around nervously, he wanted desperately to yell a warning but he saw the crew was not overly concerned and that calmed his fears. The Canarian closed the distance until suddenly there was a sickening thud. The cutter was jolted. There was a long screeching sound as the trawler scrapped down the Cutter's hull. Then a series of loud bells sounded followed by the P.A. blaring, "Collision, collision, collision! This is not a drill, this is not a drill. All damage control petty officers report status to the bridge. This is not a drill!" The radios on the bridge crackled to life as the crews reported that no apparent damage had occurred. Once again Courageous' engine roared to speed and the O.D. matched the Canarian's course just yards off her port beam.

  The O.D. and the Captain stepped out onto the starboard bridge wing and stood next to the gunner's mate. Both officers lifted their binoculars and trained them on the Canarian. Martin turned his attention to his notebook and was scribbling down notes when he was startled by three quick and loud pops. He looked up just in time to see a wisp of smoke stream off the forty millimeter gun barrel.

  "My God, they're shooting at them!" Martin thought as he scurried out onto the bridge wing to watch. The gunner's mate fired three more shots across Canarian's bow. As each round slammed into the sea it sent a violent plume of water ten feet into the air. Still, the old trawler never altered in speed or course.

  Martin heard the Captain address the gunner, "Take out their engine at the amidships waterline."

  "Aye sir!" said the gunner swinging the weapon from Canarian's bow to her middle. The water along Canarian's hull exploded as four rounds slammed into her. The old boat lurched and slowed while drifting off to her starboard. Within seconds, however, she straightened out and limped along at half of her original speed and spewing a cloud of thick white smoke from her stern. Pop, pop,...pop, pop, four more rounds ripped through the frail wooden hull and finally the battered trawler eased to a stop.

  The O.D. radioed the Canarian once more and once more there was no response. Suddenly, much to everyone's surprise, the pilot house door swung open and out stepped three men.

  The O.D. picked up a walkie talkie and spoke into it, "Boarding party Bravo, Courageous. Radio check over."

  "Courageous, Bravo have you five by, how me over?"

  "Bravo, Courageous, have you same. Do you have a lavaliere mike, over?"

  "Roger Courageous."
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  "Bravo, Courageous, I want you to wear it and give me a blow by blow, keep your mike on, be vigilant. Stay alert, stay alive...somethin' doesn't feel right about this, over."

  "Courageous, Bravo, roger, wilco...over."

  Martin looked over at the Canarian. Her crew stood on her stern, staggering in an attempt to keep their feet under them, as the trawler pitched and rolled in the swells. Soon the boarding party's launch came into view. The launch was a zodiac. The gray inflated hull wrapped around a center console where the Coxswain, (person who drives the boat), stood. The rest of the boarding party sat in two rows opposite each other. The boarding party looked more like riot police than sailors. They each wore a flak jacket and a helmet. They all carried either an M-16 or a shotgun. Each guardsman sat with his weapon between his legs, butt on the deck, barrel pointing skyward. The Boarding officer was the only one who carried a side arm, a nine millimeter pistol worn under his arm. The zodiac slowly motored between the two vessels, a thin trail of blue-gray exhaust smoke mirroring the foam of it's' wake. Cautiously, as though inspecting the Canarian, the zodiac circled the suspect. Martin would occasionally glance at the gunner, watching him, reading him for any anxiety.

  A sharpshooter with an M-16 took up a position on the cutter's bow. Both the gunner and the sharp shooter never moved their weapons from the three men on the Canarian's stern.

  The zodiac maneuvered to the trawler's stern. Martin could see the Coxswain manipulating the throttle and wheel to hold his position. When the zodiac rose in the swell to a point level with the Canarian's deck a seamen deftly leapt from the launch onto the suspect. Instantly he wheeled around and pointed his weapon at the three men on the stern, motioning for them to put their hands in the air. The boarding party waited for that perfect moment when the two vessels would be level, and then one by one, they scrambled onto the Canarian. Once all the guardsmen were onboard the trawler, the zodiac sped off to the cutter's port side. The boarding party frisked each of the men then had them sit with their backs against the trawler's transom. Two seamen, one with a rifle and one with a shotgun stood watch over them. The boarding officer, Lieutenant White radioed the cutter, "Courageous, Bravo, suspects secured. Beginning vessel search, be advised there is no odor of mj at this time over."

  Martin stepped up to the X.O.'s side and in a low voice asked, "X.O., I know you're really busy, but do you mind if I ask you a quick question?"

  The X.O. never took his eyes off the Canarian and replied simply, "Sure Marti, go ahead."

  "Sir, what does Mister White mean when he said that there is no odor of mj? "

  "That means he doesn't smell marijuana. When these smugglers load a boat to the gills with tons of pot, you can smell it before you even board the vessel. The fact that he doesn't smell it tells him that they are carrying somethin' else. My bet would be coke. That's probably why they didn't want to stop. If they're carrying a couple hundred pounds of blow, man that's a hell of a lot of money to be lost if they're busted."

  Martin watched the boarding from the bridge wing, just outside of the doorway so that he could still hear the Lieutenant's radio messages. Martin watched as the Lieutenant and Petty Officer Anderson slowly and cautiously opened the door to the pilot house. First the Lieutenant stepped in followed by Anderson.

  Lieutenant White's voice came over the radio again, "Courageous, Bravo, be advised in pilot house at this time, gathering intelligence before continuing search, over"

  The O.D. answered, "Roger that Bravo."

  "X.O.", Martin asked, "What does he mean by gathering intelligence?"

  "They'll write down the frequency their radio is set to, note any names, paper work, contacts, charts...where they've been, things such as that. They're basically just gathering information that will be disseminated by intelligence agencies."

  Martin listened intently to the radio transmission from the Canarian. The O.D. stood directly in front of the radio listening as intently as Martin. Mister White had followed directions by leaving his lavaliere mike on. The Courageous could hear everything from their comments to the creaking of hatches as they opened them. The lieutenant spoke, "Courageous...be advised that we are about to enter the main hold. There is no light down here so we're donning our nvs, (night vision goggles), at this time. Oh yeah, that's better I'm looking for.....found somethin here...I got a mop, I'll use the handle to push open this hatch...don't like this...something's just not right about this down here."

  Martin could not ask the O.D. nor the X.O. about what was being said since they were concentrating on the situation so he grabbed the Bo swain as he walked by and asked him, "Bill, why is he pushing the door open with a mop for?"

  The Bo swain answered just as knowledgeable as any officer, "Checkin for booby traps. Sometimes these creeps will rig a hatch or even a bale. One of their favorite tricks is the old grenade in the can."

  "What?" asked Martin.

  The Bo swain continued, "They pull the pin of a grenade, then carefully slide it into a can so that the handle is still closed. A grenade won't detonate until the handle is released. Then they tie a string to the grenade, and then tie that to the hatch. A Coastie comes along opens the hatch, pulls the grenade out of the can, the handle is released and BOOM!"

  Martin nodded his understanding and went back to listen to the transmissions of the boarding party. Mister White continued his narrative for the sake of the O.D., " O.K. easy does it that's it...hatch is open, looks clear steppin through, Anderson's right behind me...huh....the hold is completely empty...hasn't been used in a long time. There's allot of spider webs and even some bilge water sloshin'around. Wait a minute...I see another doorway off to our left here, Courageous...proceeding to that doorway...turning the knob. easy...easy, there! She's open! Goin' in."

  Martin could hear the Lieutenant breathing nervously and labored. He could hear the wooden planks of the decking creaking in protest under the weight of the two men. Suddenly the Lieutenant said something that caught everyone's attention. He said simply, "Ah ha...here it is." The O.D. responded immediately by grabbing the microphone from the radio and addressing Lieutenant White, "Bravo, whatcha got?"

  "Courageous...I'm really not sure, but we certainly have something. It's kind of hard to make out with these damn goggles on. Appears to be a couple of dozen sealed stainless steel canisters about waist high and a foot or so in circumference...very strange. I'm taking a closer look now. Ya know...these things look like the old fashioned milk cans back on my grandfather's farm. I'm trying to pop a lid off but they are sealed tight...won't come off."

  There was a rustling in the background and Martin could hear the two men whispering but he could not understand what it was that they were saying. The next time Lieutenant White spoke there was obvious alarm in his voice, "Courageous, egressing at this time."

  The O.D. radioed back, "What's going on there Bravo?" There was silence for what seemed like many minutes, though it was only seconds. Finally, Mister White spoke, but now it was scarcely more than a whisper. "Courageous, Bravo. Anderson thought he saw some movement in the back corner behind some crates. He signaled me to egress. Somethin' is definitely freaky here. I think the best way to resolve this is to go visual, (remove goggles), and turn on our flashlights out here and go in with Anderson braced in the doorway coverin' me. How copy, over?"

  The O.D. looked over to the Captain and to the X.O. for guidance. The Captain said, "Take one of the seamen from the fantail and have him go with the shotgun to assist in entry of that space." The O.D. replied, "Yes sir", he then relayed the instructions to the boarding party. Martin watched as one of the seamen left the fantail and disappeared into the wheel house to make his way below. Several minutes passed before the boarding party made another transmission. "Courageous, Bravo we are lit up and entering once more..... Yea these are some really weird lookin canisters, yep! Yep! There's someone in here! Stand up! Stand up! Hands up! Get your damn hands up! That's it I'm not going to hurt ya fella. This is the United States Coas
t Guard...it's O.K....you're O.K. Courageous be advised that I have what appears to be one very nervous male, twenty somethin', appears to maybe be of middle eastern descent, hell I don't know."

  With that single statement the bridge fell so silent that one could hear the proverbial pin drop. The Captain left the bridge wing and strolled over to the O.D.'s side. The Lieutenant's voice came across the radio once more. "See I told you this wasn't right." Then Martin and the Courageous' crew could hear Lieutenant White address the man in the Canarian, "its O.K. fella...your O.K. I need you to keep your hands up over your head and walk towards me....do you understand English?" A strange voice could be heard on the radio shouting something in a language that Martin did not recognize. Suddenly an enormous blast of hot air shot through the bridge accompanied by a deafening roar. The explosion was so intense that Martin felt it as much as heard it. He fell back against the bulkhead. Confused, he was unsure if he had been thrown by the force of the blast or had recoiled instinctively.

  The O.D. shrieked, "Holy shit!" Grabbing the microphone the Captain yelled into it,

  "Bravo, Bravo." The Captain dropped the mike and ran past Martin onto the bridge wing.

  Martin rushed to the railing and looked down at the Canarian. What he saw shocked him, literally, like a jolt of electricity leaping through his body. The majority of the deck behind the pilot house was gone. There was a gaping hole with a thick black smoke issuing from it. Martin could see the figures of the boarding party lying on the deck, unmoving. Meanwhile the solitary seaman that was guarding the prisoners was just now struggling to his feet.

  He was obviously dazed and disoriented. Martin could see him looking around for his weapon. Finding it he stepped back, always keeping an eye on the prisoners. He looked down into the hole and was yelling out Anderson's name. Suddenly the seaman began to frantically tear at his flak jacket as he ran towards the prisoners shouting and motioning for them to stand up. Martin observed that the prisoners seemed frightened and confused, not sure of what they were supposed to do. Martin noticed that the Canarian was taking on water at furious rate. Now Martin understood the seaman's panicked effort to rid himself of his flak jacket. If he fell into the sea with the heavy jacket on, he would sink like a rock. The seaman ran up to the prisoners and began pushing them over the transom and into the water. By this time the zodiac had come from around the Cutter's stern and was picking the Canarian's crew from the water. The seaman ran back to the trawler's ragged wound and jumped down into it. Martin could now plainly see that the other crew members were carrying Lieutenant White through knee deep water. The Lieutenant was covered in a white powder that was streaked with many rivulets of blood. The blue shirt of his uniform was dark with blood. He hung limp and lifeless in their arms. The boarding party disappeared through a doorway. By the time they came out of the pilot house and stepped out onto the deck again, the Canarian's bow was pointing at a sharp angle towards the sky. The zodiac glided up beside the boat and took the men aboard. The launch had no sooner pulled away from the Canarian, than the old trawler gave an eerie gasp as she exhaled vapors from her forward hatch. A second later the battered trawler slipped beneath the waves, carrying her mysterious passenger and cargo with her to an abyssal tomb. From the moment of the explosion until the sinking of the Canarian less than four minutes had elapsed. For Martin, however, it seemed to be a much longer span of time. Now he understood what people meant when they described an event as occurring in slow motion.

  The Captain began giving orders to the O.D. to relay to the crew. "I want a M.O.P. team to secure the passageway to the clinic. I want the corpsman to be in full M.O.P. gear. When the boarding party comes aboard I want everybody off of all the weather decks and I want field tests on that powder A.S.A.P.! I want to know what that stuff is!"

  The O.D. responded with the traditional, "Aye, aye sir!" Martin was concerned, he didn't understand what the orders meant but he could tell that things were not right. The crew seemed very apprehensive. Martin had watched these men work under a lot of stress and they had never exhibited any signs of weakness. Now, however, they seemed to be worried and a little confused as to just what was going on. Martin grabbed the Bo swain and asked, "What's a M.O.P. team?"

  The Bo swain answered, "It's a team that wears suits to protect them from biological or chemical attacks. They're trained to detect and clean an area that's been exposed to that." Martin was now scared, he moved to the back of the bridge and stood there, not moving and not speaking but straining to hear and understand everything that was said. Several minutes passed when the O.D. announced to the Captain that the boarding party was aboard and in the clinic. He said that the corpsman's preliminary evaluation was not good. The clinic was reporting that White was unconscious with no vital signs. Anderson was not much better. The two seamen appeared to be in fair condition with some cuts and minor burns. The O.D. relayed to the Captain that the corpsman was requesting a medevac to Gitmo, (Guantanamo naval base, Cuba). The Captain responded glumly, "Very well. Make it so." Another ten minutes or so passed before the O.D. addressed the Captain who was sitting in his chair, staring out the window at the endless blue rolling sea. "Captain", said the O.D., "M.O.P. team is reporting that field test for chemical and biological agents are all negative. Field test for Cocaine is positive." The Captain sat motionless for a second then with an audible snort that slightly tossed his head back he murmured, "What the hell was all of that about then? I don't know... this isn't adding up." The O.D. spoke again, "Sir somethin' else that's strange here, the coke appears to already be cut. But even though it's cut it's still really high grade stuff." Martin jotted down that conversation in his note book and then continued to just stand there, doing and saying nothing.

  The Captain and some crew members went below and Martin followed them. The Captain went into the clinic while Martin and the others waited outside in the passageway.

  The crew was visibly shaken and distraught. Nobody spoke. Martin rallied the courage to break the silence.

  "How are they?" he asked in a low and soft voice.

  A crew member whom Martin had seen before but did not know his name answered, "Anderson's pretty banged up....it appears that the Lieutenant didn't make it."

  The words took a couple of seconds to be absorbed by Martin. "Didn't make it....that's unbelievable, just a couple of hours ago he was joking around with his boarding party now...he's dead. This can't be happening!" thought Martin. His thoughts were interrupted by the P.A. "Now all hands set flight ops, prepare to take aboard medevac...this is not a drill."

  Martin could feel the cutter come about into the wind. He walked out onto the air castle and ascended a ladder to the next deck up where the flight deck was. He stood beside the launch, now cradled in its davits once again. The helo became visible aft of the Courageous and slowly closed on her. The aircraft drifted in over the flight deck, its nose tilting slightly upward. As soon as the aircraft's tires hit the deck men in bright orange vests and white helmets with dark goggles leaped from the nets that hang along the sides of the flight deck. They swung straps onto locks on the deck, securing the helo to the cutter. Slowly the shrill noise of the turbine began to subside and melt into a whish, whish, whishing cadence as the rotor blades continued to spin. After a minute or so Martin could see the helicopter's door slide open. A member of the aircrew leaned out and motioned to somebody that was unseen from Martin's vantage point. Two guardsmen, half bent over under the threat of the spinning blades, hustled a stretcher bearing Anderson out to the helo. When they had loaded Anderson onto the aircraft they motioned to yet another set of guardsmen who hurried out to the medevac. They too bore a stretcher, but this one had the dark form of a body bag lying on it. Martin watched as they lifted the body onto the helo ,then one of the guardsmen leaned into the helo and draped an arm over the body bag in a quick hug. The Lieutenant's shipmate spun around and left the flight deck. The air boss walked out onto the deck and crossed his arms over his head. The swishing of the helicopt
er's blades became quicker and quicker. The volume of the turbine steadily grew until it hurt Martin's unprotected ears. The flight deck crew crouched down and scampered about under the aircraft, releasing it from its bonds. The helicopter lifted and hovered for a second before banking off to port in the direction of Gitmo. Martin stood there with the rest of the crew and watched it shrink in the sky until it disappeared. The Courageous' helo now came into view and had soon taken its spot on the flight deck. "Stand down from flight ops. Set the at sea watch." drolled the P.A. For a long while after that announcement the silence was broken only by the sound of water spilling past the Courageous' bow and washing along her hull.