The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  Along both sides of the ship, men leaped overboard, to their deaths. Even with life preservers, no man could survive long in the frigid waters of the Weddell Sea.

  Sub commanders, fighter pilots, drone pilots, and missile operators—warriors who fought using highly sophisticated equipment from far away—rarely saw the up-close-and-personal face of war as did the soldiers on the ground, where one saw the blood drawn from an enemy soldier shot in the stomach or in the head, or retrieved the body of a buddy hit in the chest by a mortar.

  For a flash, the sight reminded Pete of stories of men leaping from high above the World Trade Center on 9/11. The duel with the enemy sub commander, and now this . . . it was all sobering in a way that Pete had never experienced.

  Still, Pete would remain on station long enough to watch the ship go down in order to transmit an accurate final report to Fourth Fleet on the fate of the Hercules. That fate should be final within the next few minutes.

  Ship’s brig

  ARA Hercules

  Weddell Sea

  7:12 p.m. local time

  The freezing-cold water sloshed up to their knees, soaking through their thermal gear and into their boots. Outside the steel bars, the passageway that only minutes ago held a sea of panicked humanity rushing to escape had emptied. They heard only the sound of rushing water against distant cries of men injured by the blast, men trapped and, like them, facing inevitable death.

  The silence of the men trapped inside the brig Rivers found surreal. They had given up and were listening to Bach quoting words, perhaps from the Bible. Perhaps from some philosopher. Not that it mattered now.

  “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.

  “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my load is light.”

  Bach’s words seemed to have a strange tranquilizing effect at a time when the men should have been wailing and beating on the bars. As Bach droned on, Rivers’ mind turned to Little Aussie. And yes, to Meg. So many regrets. If there was a God, he hoped God would forgive him.

  “And he shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there shall no longer be any death; there shall no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.”

  The water level had reached their waists. In the adjacent cells, some of the men started to wipe tears. In the face of death, Rivers could not bring himself to cry. Only wonder.

  Who would provide for Aussie?

  Would he ever have a father figure?

  Even if God forgave him, would Aussie?

  Would Meg?

  Would it even matter?

  “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea—”

  “Rivers!”

  Rivers looked around. “Rivers!” The voice came from down the passageway.

  “Here! In here!” Rivers strained to look down the passageway. He saw a figure wading through the water.

  “Nuňez! Is that you?”

  “Sorry for the delay. I was detained. But nothing that a whiff of smelling salts from a quick-thinking medic couldn’t cure.”

  “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I gave my word.” Nuňez put the key in the first cell door. “Remember?”

  Rivers exchanged glances with Dunn.

  “We must hurry.” Nuňez opened the first cell door. “The ship is going down fast. Turn around, Rivers, and I’ll get your cuffs.”

  Rivers complied. “That feels better.”

  “Here’s the master key. Unlock your buddies and I’ll unclasp Dunn.”

  “Got it.” Rivers sloshed over and unlocked the next barred door. Then the next.

  The British engineers rushed into the flooding passageway.

  “I’ve got two master keys. Turn around and we’ll get you uncuffed. Quick. Here. You take these guys and I’ll take the rest.” He handed Rivers one of the master keys. “Drop the cuffs in the water. Hurry.”

  One by one, the steel handcuffs were dropped into the rapidly rising water, each plop of falling handcuffs the sound of liberation.

  By the time they had shed their shackles, the water had risen above their waists and kept rising.

  “Follow me!” Nuňez said.

  They sloshed down the passageway a few yards, away from the direction of the water flow.

  “This way.” Nuňez turned left and moved over toward a ladder leading topside. “This way.”

  “You go, Leftenant,” Dunn said. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Rivers was first up the ladder, right behind Nuňez. He stepped to the main deck into a strong, cold breeze and looked around. The front two-thirds of the ship had already sunk underwater, while the back third and the ship’s superstructure remained above the waterline, sinking, but at a shallow angle.

  Out beyond the sinking ship, in the choppy gray swells of the Weddell Sea, dozens of sailors, fighting for their lives, flailed and splashed in the water. Some floated facedown, apparently unconscious. Some had life preservers. Others did not. In the few seconds that he waited for the others coming up the ladder, Rivers saw three sailors slip under the surface. “This way!” Nuňez motioned as Dunn brought up the rear.

  They moved in a single line up the raised deck toward the stern, away from the advancing line of water.

  They reached the heliport on the fantail at the ship’s rear, which was rising at a steeper angle as the bow section sank deeper. Under whipping winds and with the eerie loneliness of a ghost town, they realized the back of the ship had been abandoned. Every sailor who could get off the ship had already abandoned ship.

  “This way! Inside the hangar!”

  They followed Nuňez inside the ship’s helo hangars, where two choppers, the Super Puma that had flown them in from Antarctica and a Sea King, were crammed inside and had rolled forward against the bulkhead as the ship’s bow angled down.

  “Are you going to try to fly us off this rust bucket, Lieutenant?”

  “Hang on.” Nuňez stepped inside the Super Puma.

  “Leftenant, this ship is sinking fast, we need to get out of here,” one of the engineers, Walter Turner, said, his voice shaking.

  “Hang on a second, Turner,” Rivers said.

  “We may not have a second,” Turner protested. “I can feel the deck angling down and he’s in there wasting time.”

  “Not there.” Nuňez exited the Super Puma, then disappeared inside the Sea King.

  “Sorry, Leftenant, but I’m not staying in here with the ship sinking around us.” Turner turned and ran outside the hangar toward the stern.

  “Follow him, Dunn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dunn followed him out onto the fantail. But Turner had a point. The sharpness of the deck angle had become much steeper in the last few seconds as the bow sank deeper into the water and the stern climbed higher into the air, rising toward the last fatal angle before the ship disappeared into the sea.

  “People, don’t panic,” Rivers said.

  “We’re with you, sir,” one said.

  “We live together or we die together,” another said.

  “The Lord be with us,” Bach said.

  Dunn returned to the hangar. “Terrible news, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “Turner just jumped off the ship.”

  Rivers cursed under his breath.

  “Lord, receive his soul into your bosom,” Bach said.

  “Rivers, give me a hand?” Nuňez from inside the chopper.

  “Dunn, don’t let anyone else get out of the hangar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rivers stepped into the Sea King and, as he did, the stern rose another two or three degrees so abruptly that he almost lost his balance.

  “I had a feeling this might be here,” Nuňez said. “
The pilot and copilot were killed in the blast, and nobody remembered it in the rushed panic to get off the ship. We’ll have to throw it over the back and hope it deploys.”

  “The chopper’s life raft?”

  “It holds six. There are nine of you left. But if it deploys, it’s better than nothing. Give me a hand.”

  “Bloody good.”

  The raft, undeployed, was housed in an orange cylindrical container that resembled a fat garbage can. Rivers stepped down from the chopper, gripping the handle at one end of the cylinder. Nuňez followed him, holding the other.

  “Okay, I counted three or four life preservers in the chopper. Dunn, can you grab them?”

  “You bet.”

  “Let’s go, men.”

  Rivers and Nuňez stepped out onto the fantail into the daylight, holding the orange cylinder between them. Both men were Navy men. Both knew that the raft was designed to deploy on impact with the water.

  Dropped from a chopper at five hundred feet, no problem. Dropped from forty feet off the rising stern of a sinking ship . . . who knew if that would be sufficient impact to deploy it?

  They walked to the stern and looked down. “What do you think?” Rivers stared at the swirling water behind the ship.

  “Fifty-fifty that it deploys from here,” Nuňez said.

  “Sir, we have five life preservers.” Dunn emerged from the helo hangar, holding the orange life jackets in his arms.

  “Okay, if you can’t swim or are a weak swimmer, raise your hand.”

  One hand went up. “I can’t swim at all,” Lawrence Respess said.

  Another hand up. “I’m not so hot at it.” This was John McArthur.

  Then another hand. Then another. And another.

  “Perfect,” Rivers said. The cold wind whipped up harder. “Five hands up. Five life jackets. Respess, McArthur, Meredith, Awe, Holt. See Captain Dunn. Get those jackets on! Now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The more the stern rises,” Nuňez said, “the greater the distance to the water, and the greater the chance it deploys when it hits the water.”

  “True,” Rivers said. “But if we wait too long, the ship goes down anyway, and we’re about to lose our footing because of the angle. It’s like standing on a steep hill.”

  “Sir, the men have their life jackets on.”

  “Okay, listen. We’ll toss the raft overboard. We don’t know if it will deploy. Whether it deploys or not, we’re going overboard. We have no choice. Everyone remove your boots. Dunn, Bach, Edwards. Remove your thermals and your boots. The water weight will bog you down. If the raft deploys, swim to it. If it does not, swim together and make a human circle in the water, locking arms in the water. The five of you with life preservers can help the three who don’t to stay afloat a bit longer.”

  “The three who don’t have life preservers?” Bach asked. “There are five without life jackets. What about you, sir? And Lieutenant Nuňez?”

  “Just follow instructions,” Rivers snapped. He looked over to Nuňez. “Okay, let’s do this. On my count . . . one . . . two . . .”

  They heaved the orange barrel into the sky off the back of the stern and watched as it fell down to the surface, splashing water in every direction as it landed. It disappeared. Then, like a floatable fishing cork, it popped back to the surface.

  Nothing.

  “Men! In the water! Move! Move! Guys with life jackets first. Remember to form a circle and interlock arms.”

  “Leftenant, will that do any good?” Meredith asked. “Aren’t we going to freeze in the water anyway?”

  “Meredith, if you don’t want the life jacket, then take it off and I’ll give it to Bach.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “In the water!”

  Meredith volunteered first. He hesitated a second, then crawled over the back and jumped. Then Awe. Then Respess hesitated. “I don’t know, Leftenant.”

  “Go, Lawrence.”

  Respess held his nose and leaped off the stern.

  “Look, Leftenant!” Dunn pointed out to sea. “The raft! It’s deploying!”

  Like an orange flower coming to full bloom in the spring, the orange raft, its automatic air pump activated, unfolded onto the water, complete with a sheltered canopy. An orange floating tent rolled on the waves behind the sinking ship!

  “Let’s go! Everybody in the water!”

  Bach and Dunn were last over the back, leaving only Rivers and Nuňez. “Are you coming?”

  “Not enough room in the raft,” Nuňez said. “I’ll make do.”

  “Then you go,” Rivers said.

  “There’s no time to argue, Leftenant. Your men need you! Now! Go!”

  Rivers clasped Nuňez’s hand. “You’re a good man, Lieutenant.”

  “Go, Rivers!”

  Rivers turned and leaped over the stern.

  A second later he splashed butt first into the Weddell Sea, sank under the surface, and came up shivering.

  “Leftenant!”

  He turned and saw Dunn and Meredith, who had already managed to swim to the raft. “Over here!”

  Rivers put his head in the water and started a furious crawl stroke. A minute later a hand grasped him. “Everyone is here except Respess,” Dunn said.

  “Where’s Respess?”

  “Don’t know, sir, but please get out of the water.”

  Rivers’ arms and legs ached and quickly stiffened from the cold. “Okay.”

  Rivers pulled up into the canvas floor of the large rubber life raft and looked around. Men were sprawled all over the canvas. Choking. Coughing.

  “Anyone seen Respess?” No response. More coughing. In freezing wet clothes, the cold would be a problem. Even in a covered raft.

  “Leftenant! Look!” Dunn pointed out into the water.

  Floating on the water. A life preserver. Empty. The life preserver Respess had been wearing. Rivers winced. First Anderson, then Turner, now Respess.

  “Hey, wait for me! Wait!”

  “Look!” Dunn said. “On the ship!”

  The stern had risen much higher. One man stood alone at the top. “Wait for me!”

  “Is that Nuňez?” Rivers squinted, trying to get the salt water from his eyes.

  “Not Nuňez. It’s Montes.”

  “Leftenant! He’s jumping!”

  Rivers cleared his eyes in time to see a man fall from the back of the sinking ship.

  “Help! Help me! I’m drowning!”

  Rivers hesitated. “I’m going for him.”

  “No! Leftenant! This guy murdered Anderson and he tried to execute you. It’s over a hundred yards. You’ll never make it in this cold water.”

  “I’m going. It’s the right thing to go.” Rivers dove headfirst from the raft into the frigid waters of the Antarctic.

  CS Miro

  Weddell Sea

  depth 40 feet

  7:20 p.m. local time

  Pete watched, his eyes glued on the large screen as the stern of ARA Hercules slipped under the water.

  Now, in the place of the mighty ship that moments ago had steamed across the water, only dark gray seas and pale blue skies.

  Out of his respect for the dead, he allowed himself a self-imposed moment of silence.

  “Radio. Notify Fourth Fleet. ARA Hercules has been sunk. Mark that at 1920 hours local time.”

  “Mark 1920 hours local time. Aye, Captain.”

  Silence.

  “Captain! FLASH message in from Fourth Fleet. Radio traffic intercepted reveals British prisoners believed to be on board ARA Hercules!”

  “What?” Pete’s throat closed. “Let me see that!” He snatched the FLASH message from the radio officer and glanced at it. “Down scope! Surface the sub! Now!”

  “Surface the sub! Aye, Captain!”

  Meg Alexander’s suite

  Bellas Artes Suites

  Mac Iver 551

  Santiago, Chile

  10:14 p.m. local time

  Part of the prob
lem with waiting on the unknown was finding a constructive use of one’s time during the waiting process.

  Shelley needed to keep Meg’s mind occupied, and with their hotel so close to Chile’s most famous landmarks, they had spent the day taking in the Modena presidential palace, where Pinochet had staged his famous coup against Allende, and then the Basilica de la Merced Catholic Church.

  Neither the palace nor the church were open to tourists, so they hired a cabdriver to drive them by each location and then drop the three of them—Shelley, Meg, and Aussie—off at the Santiago Town Square, where luscious flowers and greenery, sun-drenched palm trees, and European architecture made for a charming blend that integrated the flair of Paris with a semitropical atmosphere.

  The strategy of occupying Meg’s mind with sightseeing had helped, at least somewhat. For a little while anyway, Meg seemed distracted with small talk and commentary on the wonders of the great South American capital.

  But now, approaching 10:15 p.m., having retired to Meg’s suite for a cocktail, Shelley finally understood her duty. She would wait with her friend, be with her friend, support her friend and her friend’s son no matter how long it took, no matter what the outcome.

  Little Aussie had long since gone to bed, and she sat alone with Meg at the small hotel table in Meg’s suite, sipping red wine and reminiscing and hoping for brighter days to come.

  “To brighter days.” Shelley held her glass high and smiled.

  “I shall drink to that.” Meg flashed a smile, the only one Shelley had seen since their arrival in Chile. “You know, Shelley, we may never find Rivers. We’re spinning our wheels. Perhaps we should return to London. What can we accomplish here anyway?” She sipped her wine.

  Shelley smiled. “I can’t answer that because I don’t know the answer. But if you are asking what good you are doing here, then my answer is that you’re following your heart. You’re following it wherever it may lead you. And that, I would say, is a good thing.”

  “You have such a way with words, Shelley. What would I do without you?”

  The phone rang.

  “Hello . . . This is Miss Alexander . . . What? . . . What?” Meg’s hands shook and she began to weep. “Please, Captain. Talk to my friend.” She handed the phone to Shelley.