Introduction

Art Work by Doug O'Dell - Running the Edge (An online Fiction Action Novel) Matthew Jacobs, a member of an elite U.S. Coast Guard search and rescue team, finds himself facing the greatest challenge of his life. As a confident and aggressive search and rescue coxswain operating the venerable 44foot motor lifeboats, his job is to do the impossible, but sometimes the impossible can’t be done and he finds himself unable to save the crew of the fishing vessel Marc Eagle during a dramatic rescue attempt. During the failed rescue, he also loses two of his crewmen and very nearly his own life. He faces a loss of confidence and is haunted by the events of that fateful night. His world is further complicated when the former love of his life, the daughter of the skipper of the Marc Eagle, returns from her overseas missionary assignment and reveals a hidden secret, one that could forever tear them apart. Not only must they run the edge of danger presented by the tumultuous waters off the Oregon Coast, they must run the edge of their emotions as they attempt to reconcile their lives. Together they must face a final test that not only challenges their faith, but threatens to destroy them both.

2022/05/05

Running The Edge: Chapter 9 - The Ship Wreck

 

Chapter 9

The Next Day

 Ruth’s Place

The Ship Wreck

 

It wasn’t so much that Matt disliked the owner, Ruth Crawford, of ‘The Ship Wreck’, it was a good place to get a steak or hamburger, she was almost a regular person trying to make a living the same as anyone else, but the nature of the place attracted problematic characters. Tough as sharks hide trawler crews, drunks, and other assorted characters were regular visitors. Ruth tolerated more than most respectable places would, but even she had limits, and that limit was reached at least once a night. Any sensible person would leave before events started down an out-of-control path.  Even more sensible people wouldn’t show up. Timing was everything. The situation could get out of hand rather quickly and was directly proportional to the amount of alcohol consumed.  Even so, ‘The Ship Wreck’ was that one traditional hangout for the crew of the Umpqua River Station and Ruth treated them with a special flavor. She especially liked Matt.

Internet Stock Photo

Ruth was as tough as most of her patrons and never backed down from anyone or any situation, relying on a three-foot long, two-inch thick hickory stick she used as a cane to equalize things. She stood about five feet tall now as her back was bowed…she must have been five foot four or so in her younger days, her hair was died black and tossed, and no one knew for sure how old she was, but she looked like she was well past retirement age. Her husband Bill had been at least ten years younger. The joke was that she forced him to marry her in a shotgun wedding of sorts. She was holding the shotgun. Others say that before her marriage to Bill, she was quite the looker during the 1940’s…the War years. The true love of her life, a fighter pilot, so the story goes, left her behind and was killed when his plane was shot down over hostile territory. Some say he jilted her and just ran off when she got too serious. No one seemed to know. Matt thought it a sad story in either case, but was never sure about its authenticity, and no one was brave enough to ask her to find out.  In any case, what life she lived must have been a hard one because she was tough as petrified driftwood. Bill died five years into their marriage and she continued on alone, not ever taking up the banner of housewife again.

             He turned his Jeep CJ-5 into the only vacant parking slot available, the one next to the dumpster, which was overflowing with trash. A single street light cast a pale greenish light across the damp, mostly worn out, asphalt surface, and the entrance to the building was illuminated in a pinkish red glow from a half -lit neon sign. He struggled to step out with his stiff back, but when he finally made It, his foot slipped on something slimy. Looking down he found he was standing in a pile of vomit.

               “Oh great…this is going to be one of those nights…better be worth it.”

            He wiped his foot on a wet patch of grass next to the dumpster and half-heartedly stepped through the grungy door. He stopped just inside and surveyed the crowded room.

             The place was divided into several rooms with a private area in the back for those who simply wanted a good meal without the chaos from the other areas. The main room was dark and cigarette smoke choked every cubic inch stirred by rotating overhead fans so it blended into one homogenous smog. Twangy country music played in the background much too loud for comfort. Hanging from the walls and support beams were the ever-present nautical artifacts. Across the crowded room Matt recognized Chief Adams, Red O’Neil, and Julie Pile or JP as everyone called her. JP operated the Betty Lou charter boat service out of Winchester Bay. She was a thirty-year old brunette who stood just tall enough to fit under Matt’s chin and her athletic physique gave her an air of fitness, a fact Matt rarely failed to grasp, and chose to ignore. Matt became more like a younger big brother to her and kept the hormone induced young bucks of the station in check and out of trouble when she was around, not that she needed help…he just felt obligated somehow to do so.

             JP’s eyes immediately locked onto him. She dared not to show it, but lingering feelings for Matt evolved through mutual respect and genuine fascination for him, feelings that haunted her. The last thing she needed was an emotional conflict, yet underneath her ‘butch’ façade, lived a woman longing to bloom, wanting to be held and treated like a lady. Her reality fell far short of that, why else would she be here drinking overpriced, cheap beer in this dump of a place. She managed to put up with the childish pranks and the subtle innuendos the male dominated small units like Umpqua River would throw at her. She gave as good she got though, sometimes better, she had to because the alternative was not acceptable. From the age of fifteen growing up in Seattle and working on her uncle’s charter boat, this is what she wanted to do, and now that she was here, she would allow nothing to interfere. Through her unrevealed dreams she lived out desires she could not allow herself to show. Where she stood with Matt was at arms length, and so far, the line remained uncrossed. It was an area better left unexplored, for now.

 It took several seconds for Matt to make his way over to the table as he was intercepted several times. When he finally arrived, he extracted a chair, turned it around so he could somewhat painfully, lean his arms against the back. Ruth, wearing a beat-up old sailor’s rain cap sauntered over through the smoke-filled room all but buried by the crowd and her small size.

  “Matthew son, haven’t seen the likes of you in here for nigh on a month or two.” Ruth reached her tiny, but stout arm around Matt’s head and pulled him close to her. “Ya know I love ya boy…how’s that bump on your head?” She clowned with him as she kissed his forehead.

 Matt rotated and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “The heads fine, he whispered,” then shouted, “Gotta love this woman.” JP and Red joined in with gaudy chuckles and chortles as Ruth patted Matt on the head.

 She leaned toward Matt and in a softer more concerned voice muttered, “We were all worried ‘bout you hun. Good to see you up and around.”

 Matt tossed a wink at her and grinned at which she blurted out, “Oh child, if only I was thirty or forty years younger, or you were thirty years older.” She sauntered off between laughs and jibes using her cane to force people out of her way.

 Matt shook his head, “So what kind of event is so big I have to come down here and risk getting lung cancer breathing these toxic fumes in this place.”

 Red grinned widely and said, “It just walked in the door behind you, my good friend…right over there,” he nodded with his head and pointed with his beer glass in the direction of the front entrance. Matt turned. What he saw stopped him cold.

   Sharon stood near the entrance as though waiting for someone. Her eyes eventually shifted in their direction and with the Chief standing and waving she acknowledged his overtures and tried to weave her way through the mass confusion of people.

Matt couldn’t believe she would set foot in here, not exactly the kind of place she normally visited, although he and she, at times, had stopped by before she left. He stood as she approached and her eyes made contact with his, but she turned to the Chief first and gave him a hug, and finally to him.

 “Hi Matt.”

 Hi Matt? Was that all she could muster, he thought to himself. He nodded and pulled another chair into the table so she could join them. Sharon cast a casual glance at Matt. She uncomfortably shifted her gaze away like some school girl caught looking at a boy she had a crush on.

 Julie, intrigued took the first move, “Hi, I’m Julie Pile…everyone calls me JP. You must be the world-famous sister of ole Nate.”

 “World famous? Sharon said, “I am his sister, but hardly world famous.”

 JP asked, “What was it you were up to, where was it now, New Guinea or some gosh awful place like that?”

 Sharon politely smiled and said, “I was an educational assistant to two missionary doctors. We, worked with a tribe in the highlands. We really bonded with them and I just fell in love with the people we met. I also did some linguistics studies of the people there. I hope to get my masters degree in anthropology someday and thought that would be a great opportunity to gather some research material. What is it that you do?”

 JP was immediately embarrassed, not an easy thing to have happen for her, and she lowered her glass of beer and rather sheepishly said, “Oh…I run a charter boat. I help people catch fish.”

 Matt cast a somewhat condemning glance toward JP and using just his eyes told her to tone down the attitude. She in turn cast a jaw clinched grin toward him and shrugged her shoulders with an ‘oops’ expression.

 He leaned toward Sharon, “I know you don’t drink, but would you like something?” he asked Sharon.

 “Water.”

 He waved at the waitress and asked for a glass using just hand signals.

 Sharon casually shifted her glance back and forth between the crowd and Matt, but remained uncomfortably quiet. He in turn felt uncomfortable as well, and not wanting to stare shifted his glance clumsily around the room searching for something clever to say. Simultaneously, they spoke to each other.

 “….How have you b..”

 They laughed and cast a foolish look toward each other. Matt lifted his hand toward her and said, “You go first.”

 “How have you been Matt. I wanted to reconnect again since the visit at the hospital but with the new job and all I’ve been sort of tied up the last few days. I hear you brought the 303 back.”

 Matt barely heard what she said. He could not keep his eyes off her. The noise that filled the roomed muffled into a homogenous mumble becoming part of the smoky fog drifting around, and nothing else was real at that moment. His world became surreal for those few moments and he said nothing, he just stared.

 “So, how are you doing, Matt?” She asked.

 He blinked himself back to the moment and the room regained a normal realm. “Yeah sure, I’m sorry…I’m fine…I’m good…Yeah, the 303 is back, but Red here is the one who did all the hard work. I just looked her over. Listen, are you hungry…you want anything?”

 She pursed her lips together and sighed before leaning forward to whisper, “I would rather leave. I love Ruth, but I don’t like this place.”

 “Of course, you don’t. I don’t either really. Do you mind if we go someplace that is not so crowded?”

 “I thought you’d never ask. Please, can we?”

 Matt pulled away from the table, “Well folks, we’ve had about all the fun we can stand so, we’ll be seeing you.” He waved to his friends as the two of them stood and pulled away from the table. Red nudged JP and using his eye expressions and a nod of the head he indicated that he knew some magic was starting to work again.

 ****

 Ruth sauntered over and intercepted them, “Sharon, my dear. Fancy seeing you here. Long time, no see. When did you get back into town?”

 “A while back.”

 “Well, we’ve missed you.” She threw a wink at Matt as she turned away.

 The crowded room slowed their progress toward the exit and they bumped into numerous people. Matt struggled to make headway with the cane and Sharon felt almost lost in the crowd with the smoke burning her eyes and lungs. She turned to look for Matt who had managed to fall behind. She was bumped and shoved from behind and was suddenly pinned into the chest of a large man. She raised her head and found herself squeezed into the chest of Nathan’s hired hand Hoke. He stopped in his tracks and stared down at her.

 His stare set chills coursing through her. She knew Hoke from before leaving and never liked him. He was a vulgar man with a vulgar life and she was afraid of him. He stood about six feet four inches tall and carried a heavy seven-day growth of gnarled beard across his broad face. He was a brute of a man, a good percentage of his bulk spreading across his wide gut.

 He squinted as he recognized who she was and opened his mouth in an intimidating grin exposing a string of smoke stained, un-brushed teeth, a few of which were missing. She tried to back away, but the crowd was so thick she could not move, then, she felt someone grab her arm and pulled her away from being so close to Hoke.

 Matt said to her, “Come on, this way,” and she quickly followed his lead. Hoke’s stare followed the both of them as they finally made their way to the exit. His grin fell into a scowl and his jaw tightened. As he watched them slip out the front door, he clinched his jaw tighter and mumbled to himself.

 Once outside in the cooler moist air Sharon let out a sigh of relief and Matt laughed out loud, “Good grief, it was crowded in there. This stupid cane just got in the way.”  

The two of them moved across the parking lot toward his Jeep, Sharon said, “Thanks for rescuing me.”

 “Hey, that’s what I do, I rescue people. I could tell you were uncomfortable being in there. You never did like that place.”

 “I still don’t. but I do like Ruth. She is a real character.”

 “Why then did you come tonight. Not exactly the kind of place you would normally want to spend your free time.”

 She hesitated for a few seconds before answering searching for an easy way to say what she wanted to say without sounding obvious. “Well, I ran into Chief Adams and he said you would be there tonight and…I wanted to see you.”

 Matt cast a long look into her eyes. Even in the harsh glare of the parking lot light she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. “I’m glad you came.”

 She paused before speaking and looked into his eyes. It had been so long since she had last gazed into them the same way. He still possessed a boyish charm, the goose bump kind of charm, she, somewhat embarrassed, looked away and then back again into his eyes, “I’m glad I came too.” The two of them simply stared into each other eyes allowing their silence to say the words neither of them could find the courage to speak in the moment.  The chill in the air no longer seemed so cold and the noise coming from inside Bill and Ruth’s place slowed to a low-keyed pace until two people burst out the door breaking the moment. Sharon turned away and asked, “Can we go someplace a little more private.”

 “I know just the place. Where’s your car?”

 “Don’t have one. Pete dropped me off. I was going to catch a ride home with Chief Adams or someone, but do you mind driving me home, later?”

 Within a few minutes they were driving up the hill where the Umpqua River Lighthouse overlooked the Pacific Ocean. A few seconds later they rolled into the overlook parking lot in front of the lighthouse and stopped where they could watch the light rotate above them.

  A late winter mist filled the air and the two white and one red beams of light emanating from the domed prism cut through the air that extended well across the compound and faded into the night. Although no longer an important navigational aide, mariners could spot the lighthouse miles out to sea on a clear day. It was one of several lighthouses still maintained by the Coast Guard up and down the coast.

 Over the past few years, more often than not Matt was supposed to assign one of his deck crew to perform maintenance and cleanup chores, but he enjoyed being suspended on its heights so much that he would often do it himself just to find time to get away.

 The first few months after Sharon left, he would linger on its heights and look out across the Pacific and wonder where she was and what she was doing.

 “I’ve forgotten just how beautiful it was, the lighthouse I mean,” Sharon said.

 “It’s just a lighthouse like all the others.”

 Sharon paused, “For me it’s not. It’s our lighthouse.”

 He began to feel a small knot of uncomfortable dread forming inside his gut. She had not changed at all, still that sentimental girl with attachments to moments and events he rarely was able to grasp. When she spoke of such things, he seemed to always find a way to say the wrong thing. He clinched his teeth and held off responding before saying, “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

Like two shy people trying to generate a measure of confidence between them, they sat almost motionless waiting for the other to say something. For Sharon, her thoughts shifted from the past to now, to what she needed to say, but found it difficult to muster the courage to speak.

 “Matt…we need to talk about a lot of things, someday. Right now, I’m just trying to get my feet back on the ground so please forgive me if I seem lost. I hope you understand. I have so much to tell you…but, it’s just going to take some time to reconnect first.”

 “I never understood why you had to leave when things were going so great for us. It hurt when you did that, and I was confused…even angry. Almost six years and never a word from you, all Jack would tell me is that you were doing okay.”

 “And you think I was not hurting.”

 "I didn’t say that.”

 “That’s what it sounded like.”

 Matt rolled his eyes and shifted his position to one side so he leaned more against the door. “I tried to figure out why you left but could never find any real answers. None of it made sense. Seems we could never connect on one thing. No matter how much I tried, you simply could not share my life with your desires.”

 Sharon sighed hoping he would have let go by now the reason why it was important to do what she did, “I’ve tried to explain that to you before, but you never understood.”

 “Well, I thought the night before you left you believed otherwise.”

 Sharon clinched her jaw and rolled her head to one side. A knot of emotion obstructed her chest and a lump crowded her throat. She fought to keep the tears from breaking loose as she remembered their last night together.

 “Don’t…don’t even go there Matt. That night should have never happened. You haven’t changed at all. Everything has always been about you, it’s never about anyone else. You could never understand that I could love someone with all my heart, but also want a life of my own. There was never any room in your heart to share anything with anyone except for yourself.”

 “You…you were the most important thing to me and when you left, I felt I had lost my whole world.”

 Sharon said nothing. Her expression shifted slowly from one of disappointment to one of despair. She inhaled a quivering audible sigh and in a shaky voice said, “Please, take me home.”

 Inside Matt’s chest burned a fire that threatened to consume him. As he looked at Sharon and saw the disappointment in her eyes, he said nothing but just watched her deep breath as she fought back the tears.

 “I did it again didn’t I.”

 “You don’t have to say anything…just take me home, please…take me home.”

 Neither of them said anything for several moments until, he turned off the engine and said, “You’re right you know. We do need to talk about a lot of things. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Take all the time you need to figure out what you need to say. I promise, I’ll be ready to listen.”

 A single tear flowed along the edge of her nose and curved around her soft lips. She turned to him, “Matt I never stopped loving you. My biggest fear was I would allow life to interfere with living because of my love for you.”

 He placed his arm around her shoulder and gently held her as close as the bucket seats would allow. “My biggest fear was that you would find something else to replace me.”

 Sharon stepped out of the Jeep and folded her arms against the chill. To the right about thirty yards away stood the Coast Guard lookout building with a single car parked next to it. He followed removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. They stood together silent for a moment when two bright lights arched across the compound catching Matt in the eyes temporarily blinding him. A large pickup truck pulled alongside his Jeep and three obviously drunk men clambered out.

 “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

 Matt squinted in the dark against the bright lights of the truck and recognized Hoke, but did not recognize the other two. Sharon moved closer to Matt who stepped in front of her placing himself between the three men and her.

“What do you want Hoke.” Matt threw out.

 “Just looking for some fun is all. Same as you…ain’t that right guys.” He reached across Matts shoulder to lift Sharon’s hair, but she slapped his hand away.

 “Whoa there…a feisty one we have…I like that.”  The two other men surrounded them partially cutting off their path to his Jeep.

 “Alright Hoke, you’ve had your fun…now take off.”

 “Oh no, no…we’re just getting started.” He reached for Sharon’s hair again only this time Matt stopped his arm with the cane.

 “That’s enough.”

 Hoke staggered backwards half laughing and half grumbling, “Look at the big hero guy’s this is the big hero, Matthew Jacobs. Except, oh yeah…you aint no hero now, are you. From what I here, you’re just a plain old coward a no-good lousy coward.”

 “Matt, we need to go. Let’s just go.” Sharon said half aloud.

                 “You’re going to find out what we do with cowards around here and then we’re going to have some real fun with the sweet thing here.”

 Matt backed away with Sharon behind him watching out the corners of his eyes for the other two. Either one of those two he could easily take, but Hoke was a giant of a man and could easily crush him if he ever let him get a hold. The three together was more than he could handle, especially with his busted ribs and vertebrae.

The one on his right lunged toward Matt, but Matt swung his cane in a quick snap catching the guy across the head. He crumbled. The other on the left tried to tackle Matt, but he was able to dodge his advance swinging the cane so it struck him across the back.

 Sharon screamed and Matt yelled, “Run to the tower…”

 She bolted as fast as she could, but the first attacker was back on his feet and chased her down to grab her from behind. She screamed and kicked as he lifted her off her feet and started carrying her back toward the truck.

 Within a few steps, he heard other footsteps running across the compound from behind him. It was Patterson who was on tower watch. He slammed into Sharon’s attacker knocking both of them down. Sharon screamed and rolled across the asphalt skinning her knee in the process. “Sharon run - lock the door.” He shouted at her.

 Matt was cornered against the retainer wall by Hoke and the other attacker, but he held the cane in a defensive posture which slowed their drunken advance. The smaller man lunged at Matt again swinging wildly at his head, but Matt ducked the swing and slammed the cane into his gut which doubled him over.

 Hoke stood a few feet in front of Matt glaring in anger, “I’m going to bust you wide open.” He lunged at Matt but Matt was quicker and sidestepped his advance throwing a right hook which connected on his temple momentarily staggering him.

 Patterson hopped to his feet and kicked the other attacker before he could regain his footing catching him square in face. Sharon screamed again too frightened to move.

 The other attacker regained his feet and managed to grab Matt from behind and Hoke, with blood flowing across his face, started pounding on Matt, but Patterson ran across the compound and body slammed himself into the back of Hoke. He all but bounced off his massive bulk, but the blow allowed Matt a chance to break the hold. He spun around and connected with a sharp blow to the man’s face knocking him to the ground. Hoke roll to his feet, a nimble move for such a large man and started to lunge toward Patterson. Just before he lunged, two vehicles screamed around the corner and skidded to halt. Four members of the Coast Guard station piled out and surrounded the scene. Hoke, yelled at his two and they staggered back to his truck and sped away.

 Matt holding his ribs, leaned against the retainer wall grimacing from pain in his back. Sharon ran to his side and knelt next to him. Patterson staggered over out of breath. “You okay man?”

 “Patterson, I owe you one man.” Matt said as he wiped the blood from his mouth and tried to catch his breath.

 “Me too.” Sharon said as she gave him kiss on the cheek and hug.

 Patterson cast an embarrassed smile back to Sharon. I called the station for backup when I saw Hoke, figured he was up to no good. The four station members surrounded them and they chatted about the incident until a county sheriff cruiser pulled up next to Matt’s Jeep.

 Sheriff Joe Tripp, a large man himself, stepped out and took a look at Matt.

 “What’s going on here Matt?”

 “Just a misunderstanding is all.”

 “Looks like more than a misunderstanding. Let me guess, Hoke.”

 Matt said nothing, he just looked at Joe. Patterson blurted, “It was Hok…”

 “It was just a misunderstanding. We’re okay.”

 “Well, Matt…next time you have a misunderstanding, I want to know about it.”

 Matt nodded and everyone started to leave.

 “Thanks guy’s…I owe you all.”

 Sharon moved closer to Matt, “Can you take me home now.”

 “Sounds like a good plan.”

 After he drove to her place, he waited as she stepped out of the Jeep. She walked to the apartment door then turned toward him. He cast his eyes toward her and nodded good night, then drove away.

 Early the next morning Sharon’s phone startled her awake. She fumbled to answer it and finally held the receiver to her ear. “Uh…hello.”

 “Hi mommy. You awake.” Hearing Nickie’s voice jolted the sleep from her eyes and she sat up in bed. “Oh hi sweetie. You and Sandy having fun?”

 “Yeah, but I’m ready for you to come get me now.”

 “Oh honey, I will soon, I promise. I’m just about all settled, just have to finish up a few things. I miss you so much.”

 “Me too. Guess what?”

 “What?”

 “We went sailing yesterday.”

 “Oh my, that sounds like fun.”

 “It was fun, but we got wet, and that wasn’t so fun.”

 The two of them laughed and shared for several minutes the sailing adventure details before Sharon asked, “Can I talk to Sandy?” A few seconds later Sandy was on the line. “Hey girl. I adopted Nickie by the way. I own her now, she’s mine.”

 Sharon half laughed and half wasn’t so sure she meant what she said. “Just kidding. We’ve been having the best time. I love her so much. Just want you to know she’s okay, but hun, she needs her mommy.”

 Sharon sighed and almost cried, “I owe you so much Sandy. You’re the best friend anyone could have. Don’t know what I would have done without you.”

 “Have you told Matt yet?” Sandy changed the subject.

 "No, not yet.  I still haven’t figured out how to tell him.”

 “You can’t keep this a secret forever you know. I’ll keep her as long as you need me too, but you have to face the truth and tell him soon.”

 “I know. I will, I promise just as soon as I figure out how.”

 “Well hun we gotta go. Love ya…and don’t worry, Nickie and me are fine, but I am worried about you.”

 “I’m okay Sandy. Love you too.”

 

Running The Edge: Chapter 8 - Drydock

 

Chapter 8

Dry Dock

Two Weeks Later

               

Chief Adams spun around in his chair and kicked his feet across the back of his desk. A thin, blue, cigar smoke vapor filled the room as he puffed several times blowing the fumes toward the ceiling. Matt tried to ignore the pungent smoky accent but he had to wave his hand across his face a few times to clear a small area of clean air from which to breathe. “You really ought to quit smoking those disgusting things,” he said as he inclined to a shallow bend pulling a chair to one side in front of the desk. His ribs and back were still sore and he grunted as he reclined into the soft confines of the chair.

The Chief took another long drag and exhaled again adding another layer of smoke to the room. “No way, I like them too much, besides it builds confidence in the crew.”

“Confidence. How?”

“Well, it’s like this. Think about it. When we’re out on a run, as long as I have a cigar stuck in jaw, they know we’re okay.”

 “Oh really…"

“Now if there comes a time when I spit it out...then...” He laughed out loud at his old joke. “So, they let you out early. You must have given them too much grief and they couldn’t put up with you anymore.”

 “I think it was the other way around Chief.”

“Yeah…sure, that’s what it was - not. Anyway, good to have you back, so how’s the ribs anyway?”

 “Hurts.”

 An uneasy silence followed while Matt twisted in his chair to achieve a more comfortable position. With each movement his face contorted with discomfort. Chief Adams watched in silence until he resettled.

 “Matt, listen. I need you take it easy for a while. No operational duty, no heavy work load. The doc said you need more time to heal.”

 “Physically or in my head.”

 “Well, frankly, both? Listen, you went though hell. If anyone deserves a break, you do, so just take it easy for a while. Regroup, maybe even take some leave and get away from here for a while.”

 “I’ve already been laid up for four weeks. I’m sick of just laying around regrouping.”

 “Your call matt, but, I can put you behind a desk.”

 Matt threw a disgusted look at the Chief. “Do me no favors, okay.”

 Chief Adams spoke through his cigar, “Wasn’t trying to. Alright, listen, maybe there is something you can do. The 303 is ahead of schedule in its refit. Bob called this morning said she would be ready for a test run by tomorrow. If all is well, we can bring her home.”

                 His statement caught Matt’s interest. “…and.”

                 “Think you should check her out.”

                 “Thought you wanted me to shy away from operational duty.”

                     “I do. Just take a look at her make sure she’s fit for duty. Red can do all the field testing.”

Chief Adams removed the cigar and held it to one side, between his thumb and forefinger. “Not asking you to take her out, just look her over, Red will take her for a quick spin and bring her back home, be good experience for him and it’ll give you something to do. That old sea snipe Bob Crandell and his crew do good work at the dry dock, but I do want the 303 checked out before we bring her back. Nothing fancy, don’t overdo it. Just look her over. You game?”

                 “Bob is a good man as long as he isn’t talking so much. He sure likes to spin a long yarn. I guess I’m in.”

                 “You leave first thing in the morning…0900. If the 303 is fit to go, I expect the her back here by late afternoon.”

  

1000 The Next Morning


The CG44303 sat gleaming white with a fresh coat of vinyl paint across her hull and superstructure. A new blue and red stripe adorned the front flanks. Her deck appeared pristine, painted with blue deck gray paint embedded with nonskid coarse sand and all of the stanchions were freshly painted buff brown. The newly replaced superstructure looked like she had never received a scratch. Except for shallow dents in the bow and on the rear compartment, she was once again a beautiful boat.

             Matt ran his hand across the handrail that curved around the backend of the rear compartment, caressing the coldness of painted metal with his warm hand. He climbed into the forward compartment then into the engine room. There the brand-new diesel engines shined in perfection, illuminated by the warm glow of lights from each corner. Back on deck, he limped into the coxswains flat and sat in the new operational chair. Finishing work was still required like the detail rope work that once adorned the wheel and many of the fittings, but the wheel felt like home. He placed his hand on the throttles and pitched a glance out the new windshield. His eyes focused across her bow that extended almost twenty feet from the coxswains flat.

Slowly, almost imperceptivity his mind drifted. The moment left him behind and his mind stumbled back to that night, and he again heard the roar of the surf and felt the power of the storm. Strobe like images filled his thoughts; screams, collapsing breakers, shattering spars, choking, gasping for air. They tore at his soul. It was the same haunting images and sounds he so often wrestled across his nightmares, but now they subverted his waking hours. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to reestablish his presence to the here and now, but they would not vanish. They gripped his mind and choked off his air. His breathing turned shallow. His skin clammy and pale, he became an imitation of who he was. He wanted to vomit.

             “You okay son?”

                 A voice startled him back from his self-induced nightmare and he spun self-consciously around in the seat.

             “Uh, yeah. I’m fine Bob. She looks great.”

“You kind of pale looking. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No…I’m alright. Just tired. My ribs still hurt some.”

                 “Alright then. It took some work to get her back in proper trim, but she’s about as ready as we can make her.”

             “I can see that. She looks great Bob. Let’s do a walk around.”

              The two of them spent the next twenty minutes surveying the repairs. The engine room now filled with two brand new Cummins diesels with brass fittings that shined bright and golden. Two new power props shined with a copper like hue and her hull newly painted with a special dark maroon paint look clean and trim. Under the stern, near where the props were located, two new zinc plates were attached, to act as sacrificial anodes to prevent premature electrolysis deterioration on the metal parts of the hull.

Bob explained some of the improvements he had made during the repairs that would help eliminate some of the potential issues they might face, like new Morse throttles that were less likely to cause an engine stall. Louder alarms should there be an engine stall, and a new more modern radar system.

 After their walk through, they returned to the work shed where a rustic, potbellied wood burning stove greeted them with warm dry air. For several minutes they sat warming their hands toward the stove and drinking a hot cup of coffee. Matt’s crew, along with Bob’s crew were making some last-minute touch up repairs before they lowered the 303 into the water.

             Bob sat uncharacteristically quiet during most of this time. He was about sixty-two years old with white hair. His sunburned face was creased with dark lines. He was a stout, handsome man, but not tall with strong hands and broad shoulders.

Matt spent most of the indoor time scanning the décor of the old shed. Hanging on the walls were a half dozen or more old photos of WWII submarines. Tucked into one corner was a glass case about six feet long and two feet wide and high. Inside was an immaculate scale model of one of the fleet submarines from that war. He deliberately leaned over so he could get a closer look.

             “You build this?” He asked.

             “Took me better than a year to finish it, almost two years, but yeah. It’s the old Blue Fin, the sub I was on during the war back in 44.”

             “I knew you were in the Navy, but you never said anything about being on a sub.”

             “Yeah, I was a snipe. Kept those engines running and just about everything else working too.”

“See much action?” Matt asked.

                 Bob, turned away toward the stove and hesitated before answering. As he refreshed his coffee he rather stoically replied, “Yeah, we saw some action.”

                 “Ever get scared.”

                 Again, Bob hesitated. “Scared. Well, no, never scared, but I was terrified a few times.”

                 Matt chuckled under his breath. “What happened to get you so terrified?”

                 “It doesn’t matter none now, that was a long time ago. All that matters is that the Good Lord got me through it and I survived and went on to help win the war.”

Matt straightened returned to his seat. His expression drifted into a somber mood, one that Bob recognized.

                “I couldn’t help but notice how you reacted when you first climbed onboard the 303. Got some lingering bothers don’t you. I know. I can see it.”

                 “Good grief Bob. Now don’t you go prying into my head too.”

“Not prying son. Just concerned. You are not the same as you were before the accident. A blind man can see that. I’d suspect most everyone can see it, except maybe you. Nothing to be ashamed of. Things like that happen.”

                 “Not everyone loses their crew and their friends.” Matt shook his head with a shallow side to side wave. “Not everyone kills their crew and their friends,” he repeated in a lower voice.

                 “Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself because you survived.” Bob waited for Matt to react, but all he did was stare at the floor. “I’m going to tell you something I rarely ever talk about and I’m going to ask you to not repeat it to anyone.” Bob continued.

                 “That’s okay Bob, you don’t have to…”

                 “Yes. I do,” Bob cut Matt off. “It was June 12th, 1943. We were patrolling the area just west of Mindanao hoping to find some Japanese cargo ships or oil tankers carrying oil from Malaysia back to the main islands. We just sighted our first convoy and spent the next three hours working our way into position to get off a few torpedoes.

Moved in real close as those Mark 14 torpedoes were no good, had all kinds of design flaws at that time. Crews risked their lives to fire off torpedoes that would not explode or ran too deep, or ran wild. Skipper wanted to make sure we got a good hit so we worked our way in. Before we could fire, sonar indicated a fast- moving vessel was bearing down on us. Turned out to be a Jap destroyer escorting the convoy hell-bent on taking us out.

Must have spotted the wake of our periscope as we were taking a bearing. We barely had time to dive and spent the next six hours sitting as deep as the hull would allow us, deeper really, just off the bottom, having depth charges dropped on us. That Jap destroyer skipper was pretty salty and persistent. The closer he got, the more leaks we developed, but we were able to bypass most of them and keep them under control. Things were getting a bit dicey so our skipper had had enough and decided to fight back. Turned out to be the wrong move. On our way back to periscope depth, their sonar got a good lock on us and the destroyer dropped four cans, must have been right on top of us. Cracked the pressure hull and we were done for.

              The forward section collapsed trapping half the crew. We blew everything trying to surface but we were just too heavy taking on too much water. All we could do was button up all the hatches and move the rest of us, eight guys, into the control room which was still air tight and where we had the ability to use the airlock to get out.

                 I guess we were lucky in that by that time, we were pretty shallow, only about one hundred and fifty feet, but that is a long way to make a free ascent to the surface using an Escape Apparatus made of a rubber lung and an oxygen bottle and pair of goggles. They taught us how to do that in sub school, but that was in a tank under controlled conditions from maybe 100 feet depth. Those things were not designed to operate that deep.

                 We drew numbers to see who would go in what order. I never won anything in my life but I got number1 so was the first to go out. I was scared out of my hind end and tried to not panic as I ascended, but I don’t know, I must have blacked out on the way up because I do not remember what happened. Somehow, I made it to the surface without drowning or blowing up my lungs with an embolism. When I came too my life vest was inflated and I was drifting all alone.

                 None of the others made it. I saw one body…his lungs all bloodied. Drifted for several days in shark infested waters before being spotted by a Catalina search plane and picked up. Spent three weeks recovering.

                 For years I carried a heavy guilt on my shoulders. Kept asking myself, why did I survive and the rest did not? I blamed just about everything and everyone including myself trying to reconcile what had happened. Started drinking, hard drinking. Started getting into fights, got busted up bad several times as a result. Ended up in the brig busted several times.

                 Honest truth was, I was a wreck and headed for a bigtime crash and burn. I didn’t know who I was or why I was even alive. This went on even after the war ended. Until one day several years later I found myself living on the streets. I was hungry, cold, and scared. I had no purpose, no direction, I hated myself and wanted to die but couldn’t. One day, I ended up walking by this little church and I felt compelled to go inside. Not something I was inclined to do, hadn’t been in a church since I was three. But I went in and this preacher man started talking to me. Guess he just knew I needed someone like him to set me straight. Oddly enough he never did preach to me, just listened as I recounted what had happened. After I finished my story, he just patted me on the back and said, “Forgiveness can be the most difficult of actions, especially when we must forgive ourselves. Problem is, I don’t see where you did anything that needs forgiving. What happened was not your fault. You can’t keep beating up yourself.”

             “I began right then to see myself differently, it changed my life Matt. When I accepted the truth about who I was and what had happened, I could no more refuse to accepted it than I could refuse to breathe. The terror I had carried with me for all those years were wasted years.”

             “Just like that, poof, you were good again.”

             “Oh no, all those demons fought hard to hang on to me and I struggled, had a lot to learn, still needed to grow, still do. There isn’t a day I haven’t thought about all those other guys, and sometimes I still question why I made it and they didn’t. What I do know now is it wasn’t my fault and I had nothing to run away from. I knew there wasn’t anything I could not face, no matter how scared I was”.

             “So, you’ve never been scared since then.”

             “Didn’t say that. Said I could face those difficulties with assurance that no matter what happened, I could accept the outcome.”

Matt jumped in, “Being scared and feeling defeated are two different things. One is temporary, the other eats at your gut wasting your insides away.”

 Bob, slow to answer, calculated his next words. “It is through defeat men are made. Through defeat, we begin to see ourselves in a different light. The ones who overcome it are the ones who ultimately win.”

                 Matt stepped over to the submarine model again and stared at it for several seconds without saying anything. Bob simply let him stand without speaking.

                 “Well, Bob. Great story. I just have a hard time buying into it.”

                 “I understand why you might feel that way. Whatever you are searching for, whatever the reasons you use to keep blaming yourself is something you have to face yourself. All I can do is to share how my life changed once I accepted what happened and that I had nothing to do with its outcome. What you do, what you believe is between you and God. For what it’s worth, I think you’re just running away. There aint no shame in getting help when you need it.”

                 Bob stood and walked over to the submarine model. “I know it’s been hard., but I also know just how tough you really are. You are a good man caught up in an unfortunate accident.”

Matt placed his hand on Bob’s shoulder, “Thanks Bob, you’re a good snipe, but a lousy shrink.”

             Red stepped into the office, “Hey Matt, looks like we’re ready to go. Time to drop her in the water.”

 “Just think about it, Matt.”

 “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

                 They made their way back to the covered dry dock area where the 303 was perched. Red climbed aboard and made a rapid inspection of the engine room and the coxswains flat. After satisfying himself all was good, he leaned over the port side and waved to Bob.

                 “Let her fly Bob, let’s see if she’s seaworthy”.

                 Bob waved back and walked over to the winch controls that raised and lowered the trolley frame that carried the 303. Raising his right hand with a thumbs up he waited for Red to respond likewise, then he pressed the down button.

 A medium pitched whine filled the air along with some creaking and growling when pulleys and metal wheels strained against the railing as the entire structure began to roll toward the water. It took about thirty seconds for the 303 to finally float free.

                 Red shouted to EN1 Johnson to fire off the engines and within a few seconds of each other, both of the powerful Cummins diesels roared to life. Red pressed the throttles into reverse and backed the 303 into the channel and for the next half hour he ran the 303 through a series of maneuvers using the wheel and throttles. At times reaching full speed, then, bringing the bow around in a highspeed turn.

 Back and forth, forward and reverse, the 303 seemed herself again flying about like a young colt on a summer day. After being satisfied all was back to normal, Red brought the 303 alongside the dock next to the dry dock and shut down the engines.

 Bob took the bow line and secured it while another of his crew secured the stern line. “How’s she feel?” he shouted.

               Red, a lanky redheaded kid from Alaska, jumped across onto the dock, “She feels real good Bob, you did a great job. Good to have her back.”

           Red spoke with Matt for a few moments before he and the other two crewmen climbed aboard and shoved off. It would take a good number of hours to make the run down the channel and across the Newport Bar, then down the coast to Winchester Bay. Matt and Bob watched the 303 motor down the channel, neither of them saying anything until it was out of sight around the bend.

             As Matt and Bob walked away from the dock, Bob commented, “She’s a good boat Matt.”

             “You got that right my friend. She just needs a good skipper. By the way, I’ll think about what you said.”

             Bob smiled and nodded, “You do that. You’re going to be okay.”